Once all the children had been collected, I headed back to our farm. Our farm. I wasn’t sure just when I’d begun thinking of it that way, but it was true. The smell of the soil, the worn buildings and the vivid green of the fields had woven their way into my heart. I didn’t want to think about how much the man who worked the land played into those feelings of belonging.
Since I was seldom home this early in the day, I took advantage of the opportunity to grab my easel, paints and music and go into the woods. There were pictures in my head begging to be given life, and I was eager to spend some time pouring them onto the canvas.
I set up, turned on my favorite play list and began working on a scene that had been in my mind for the last few weeks. The forest was silent except for the chirp of bugs and the chattering of squirrels, and I enjoyed having the time to hear myself think. I’d loved teaching this summer, and I knew for sure it was what I wanted to do after graduation. But there was something to be said for a little break now and then.
Something had shifted between Sam and me since the day Owen had made his unexpected visit. He was by turns more tender and yet somehow almost aloof. I wasn’t sure how that could be true, but it was. When we made love—and that was doubtless what we were doing; it had moved beyond sex after that first night—he seemed desperate, not only to bring us both pleasure, but to connect in some way. But when I brought it up, he joked about our friends-with-benefits arrangements. I couldn’t be angry; it was exactly what I had wanted, and I had gotten it.
Absorbed in both my work and my thoughts, I was working on the background, making the trees come to life, when a shadow fell across the canvas. I didn’t startle as I might have, because I could smell Sam’s unique aroma. Instead I smiled.
“Are you here for a lesson?” I kept moving my brush over the canvas.
“I might be.” He didn’t touch me, not wanting to disturb my work, but he stood so near that I could feel him against my skin. I breathed deep, inhaling his scent. Laying down my brush, I turned.
“Okay.” I stood up and pointed to my small artist’s stool, the collapsible one I used when I was working outside. “Sit down.”
He looked down at me, considering. His brown eyes were filled with that inscrutable something that I’d been noticing for the last few weeks. He hadn’t shaved this morning, and soft blond scruff covered his jaw and cheeks, tempting my fingers.
“All right. It’s about time I get a lesson, considering I’ve been feeding and housing the teacher for the last two months. Not to mention giving her the best sex of her life.”
I laughed, surprised by his teasing. “The best, huh? Someone’s full of himself this afternoon.”
He spread his hands in front of him. “I only speak the truth. Now, are you going to teach me or not?” He sat down on the chair, looking faintly uncomfortable and more than a little incongruous; it was obviously not designed for a man of his size.
I bit back a smile. “Pick up the brush, and we’ll work on some stroke work.” My brush looked tiny in his large hands. I found another one to use myself, to demonstrate what to do.
He was surprisingly adept, and after a few minutes, he was painting passable leaves. I worked on a few other techniques with him, leaning over his shoulder so I could help.
“No, not quite like that. Here, let me show you.” I covered his hand holding the brush with mine and brought it to the canvas. “See? Just a light touch at the top and then a little more as you move down—yes. Just like that.”
He grinned up at me. “Am I natural, or do you make all your students feel good about themselves? Or are you just trying to get into my pants?”
I laughed. “All of the above. Yes, you’re actually good. And I do try to make my students feel good about what they can do.” I swung a leg over his lap, facing him while I straddled his hips. “And I definitely want to get into your pants.”
“Oh, you do?” He laid my brush on the tray and used both hands to hold me by my ribs. “Isn’t there some rule against that?”
“Not if the student is a really sexy guy who is more than happy to put out to his teacher.” I thought about what I’d just said. “Well, and assuming both are above the age of consent. Which we both are.”
“Hmm. If you decide you want to teach, you might want to brush up on those pesky little details.” He threaded his fingers through my hair. “But this student is more than a little hot for teacher.”
I hummed a little, feeling the thrill of desire shoot straight to my core. “Is it safe out here? I mean, will anyone find us?”