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Chapter Twenty-One
It was as though the boulder she’d been carrying since she was sixteen had finally rolled off her back. Saskia led Clay into her home, revealing herself to him.
“Your home is like your art.”
With the sun streaming in, the bold colors stood out, the teal walls peppered with her designs in lighter colors and her signature fleur-de-lis. If he looked closely, he’d find Lynx too. The sofa was fuchsia, with lava lamps in bright colors, from oranges to greens to blues, scattered around the room. She’d scoured charity shops to find them. Even the rug burst with color in its geometric pattern.
“It’s so you,” he whispered.
She said just as softly, “I didn’t think you knew the real me.”
Clay reeled her in, wrapping his arms across the small of her back, holding her in a loose hug. “I was hurt. I didn’t believe I knew you. But I do know you… in the ways that count.”
She looped her arms around his neck. “And I know you.”
She’d revealed all the worst parts of her life, and he’d given his story to her too. They’d both led lives that were far from perfect, but they’d overcome.
“Welcome to my home.” To her life, to her love.
“Thank you for letting me in.”
With those words, she knew he understood that he was special. That she’d given very few people insight into who she really was. People thought they knew her through her art, but they couldn’t know the hidden core inside, the fearful core, the distrusting core. But Clay had seen her from the beginning, even if he didn’t know it. He’d recognized the artist in her, encouraged her as he did all his other artists. But she’d blown him off.
She never would again. “I love you, Clay Harrington.”
His eyes were suddenly ablaze. “And I love you, Saskia Oliver slash San Holo slash Lynx. I love all of you.”
She laughed. “You make it sound like I have multiple personalities.”
His wicked grin heated her insides. “I love every one of them. Especially the succubus that comes out when we’re in bed.” He snugged her closer to him, letting her feel what the press of their bodies did to him.
How had she survived these last two nights without him? Suddenly, she wanted him with the intensity of a fever running through her veins. Trailing her hand down his arm, she wrapped her fingers around his. “Then we need to let my inner succubus loose again.”
She led him up the narrow, carpeted stairs.
She’d treated the house like it was a piece of art that needed to be restored—cleaning and polishing wood floors, taking down faded wallpaper, painting walls, buffing hardwood paneling.
At the top, she turned, backing down the hallway, pulling him with her. “I’d show you my studio, but I’d rather show you the bedroom first.”
He leaned in to kiss the tip of her nose. “That’s a fantastic idea.”
She’d painted her bedroom in the bold colors she loved—red wine walls, rugs to match, purple comforter, and dusky rose pillows. When she flipped on the lights, lace doilies over the lamps would dance color across the walls. But now the sun shone through the sheer curtains, bathing the bed in light and warmth.
“Just like you,” he whispered. “Full of life and color.”
Lying back on the purple comforter, she rested on her elbows and smiled at him. “I need you to make love to me right here until the sun goes down.”
Make love. It had been so long since she’d said those words.
“I would love to.” He crawled across the bed to her on all fours, like a stalking jaguar. Then he stopped. “Please tell me you have condoms in the house.”
Her laugh was husky with desire. “I thought you were going to carry them in your wallet.” Fist in his shirt, she pulled him down. “I don’t want to use one. There’s only been you. And I won’t get pregnant. I’m on the pill.” She felt the need to explain. “It helps with the cramps.”
His lips a hairsbreadth away, he whispered, “You’re safe with me, I promise.”
“I’ve always felt safe with you.”
Straddling her, he reached for the dark hoodie she wore, unzipping it, pushing the sleeves down her arms. Then he murmured in awe, “You are so damned beautiful.”