Page 30 of Love.V2 (Occupational Hazards #2)

Tess

“The work she’s doing with the geometric patterns is incredible,” I gushed. Dylan’s hand on the back of my neck led me through the door to his room.

“The sharpness of the lines,” he muttered. I grinned.

“Exactly! That contrast of the bold edges with the softness of the watercolor. You can’t recreate it twice. The way she dilutes the pigment is so…”

“Organic,” Dylan supplied, tugging on my shoulder to stop me before I ran into the dresser. I glanced up from the little postcard-sized painting I’d been staring at ever since leaving Fiona’s workshop.

She was everything I’d wanted her to be and more. She was so smart, carelessly throwing out various techniques and theories that made me want to grab a pen and take notes.

“Organic. Exactly!” I beamed at Dylan, then back at the paper in my hand.

In her workshop, she’d let us experiment with her inks. I’d sketched out a little dragonfly on a lily pad, and drenched it in color. It was nothing like Fiona’s work, but I’d shadowed it enough that the dragonfly popped, nearly 3-D from far away .

“Mmm, excellent dimensionality. We could play with the light a little next time,” Fiona had commented when she saw my paper. “Do you mind if I borrow the concept? Mess around with it a little?”

I had nearly died. If Dylan hadn’t been there, holding me up, I would still be passed out on Fiona Winston’s studio floor.

He’d managed an interesting-looking squiggle, washed with blues and greens and purples.

Fiona had called it a “beautiful expression.” Expression of what, I wasn’t sure, and I’d been too overwhelmed to ask her to clarify.

“I know I should stop babbling about Fiona Winston, but I just met Fiona Winston, and she liked my painting , and I think this is the greatest night of my life.”

“I’m glad.”

When I looked up again, Dylan was sitting on the bed, folded hands hanging between his spread legs. A lamp in the corner illuminated the room in a soft orange glow.

Earlier tonight, opening the door to him had done ridiculous things to my hormones. He’d looked like a model in his crisp, well-fitted suit.

Now, though, he was less than picture perfect. He’d shed his jacket, sleeves rolled up. His hair curled around his collar in the humid night air. A soft smile played across his mouth.

And he was gazing at me with such aching fondness, my heart squeezed. This man, my man, had done this for me.

I might have floated on a cloud all the way here, but now I landed back on Earth. In a hotel room. Alone. With Dylan.

I licked my lips. “I really should stop talking about Fiona Winston.” My voice came out as a whisper. The smile deepened at the corners of his mouth .

“Or don’t. I love how happy you are right now.” He looked like he loved it. Like he loved me.

My heart thudded in my chest, landing like a stone against my ribs and then picking up speed like it was trying to take flight.

I gently placed the painting on the dresser beside Dylan’s.

“No, I…really think I need to stop talking now.” I didn’t want to fan-girl over a painter.

I wanted to get my body as close to his as possible and see what happened next.

I’d been looking forward to this trip for days, weeks even, thinking longingly of New York and the hotel every night he left me at my door with the taste of him on my tongue.

Sadness flashed through the affectionate look on his face. “I haven’t done a very good job of making you happy in the past. I’ve learned not to take it for granted.”

My racing heart fissured straight down the middle. “Dylan.” I stepped closer. Touching him was imperative.

“We both know it’s true. Tonight makes me remember how being with you can feel like magic.” Tonight had been magic. The dinner, how we’d hung on each other’s every word. Laughing with Fiona as Dylan accidentally splattered paint everywhere. Perfection, all of it.

Yet…I took another step closer, swallowing, my mouth suddenly dry.

If I’d been looking forward to New York for a long time, I’d been scared for longer. Long-nurtured fears and regrets bubbled to the surface, threatening to crack our perfect evening into pieces.

“What’s that face? You don’t agree?” Even though he was sitting, he didn’t have to crane his neck to see me. He was so tall, larger than life. And I was so small .

So small I sometimes became nearly invisible.

“Tess?”

In the end, it was the careful caution in his voice that made me speak up. I couldn’t keep this bottled up if it would hurt him, too.

“Tonight was magic. But it’s not always like this,” I said, my throat dry as I voiced the concern that had been prickling my brain for weeks. “What happens when things get back to normal? When it’s just boring life stuff again?”

“Boring life stuff?”

“I mean, we can always make new lists, but sometimes it’s just…

life.” My hands lifted, searching for the words.

“Sometimes I get overwhelmed and it might take me time to come back out of my shell. What happens if you get this job at Jinx and you lose yourself in work again? Or when it’s just a Tuesday and we have pasta and go to bed early? ”

Will this still work? I wanted to beg him for an answer. For some guarantee that twelve years from now, we wouldn’t revert to the cold, separate place we had been. Will you still love me when I babble about art? Will you still look at me like that when one of us forgets to pick up the groceries?

“I like Tuesdays.”

It wasn’t the answer I wanted. “Dylan—”

“I’m not done.” He grabbed my hands, bringing them up to his chest and holding tight. I shuffled forward until his thighs bracketed my legs. “I like Tuesdays. With you. I like pasta. And holding you while we sleep. That sounds like a great fucking day to me.”

I tried to pull back. He wasn’t getting it. “That’s…I’m not asking about pasta.” He held tighter .

“I know, Angel. I know exactly what you’re asking.

” He gripped my chin, drawing my gaze from the ceiling.

“You’re scared it’ll go back to the way it was.

That the ‘boring life stuff’ will get in the way of this.

” He squeezed my fingers. “I’ve done the boring life stuff with you before, Tess.

And I’d rather have a lifetime of Tuesdays with you than Saturdays with anyone else. ”

His words reached into my throat and squeezed. My heart fluttered again.

“Boring doesn’t scare me, Theresa Lynn. Doing it without you, though…” He shook his head, heart in his eyes, shatteringly sincere. His thumb reached out to catch a tear I hadn’t felt fall. “I’ve done that before, and that’s what scares me.”

I swayed forward, powerless to fight the pull towards him. He knew . He got it.

My lips brushed his, butterfly soft. I wanted to savor this moment. Maybe it would carry me through all those Tuesdays. Because he was right. Life happened, and we weren’t perfect. But we were better together than we were apart.

His mouth parted underneath mine. He whispered my name like a plea. A benediction. I let my hands slide across his shoulders. Cup his neck. Pull him closer.

All this time of quiet retreating and living separate lives. It was done.

I was done.

“I love you.” He’d told me a million times, but this felt like that first time. Like laying on his bed at the frat house, galaxies of possibility thrumming between us. “I’ve never stopped, Tess. Not for one minute. ”

We hadn’t said those words to each other the whole time he’d been in Chicago. One time in our lives, we’d exchanged them like breathing. I love you. I love you, too. Constantly.

Maybe we’d said them so often, we’d forgotten what they meant altogether. But I remembered now.

“I love you, too,” I whispered. He smiled into my mouth.

“Even while I left, I never stopped. Not for one minute,” I repeated his words, pressing my lips more firmly against him.

Hot palms circled my legs, sliding up the back of my thighs to pull me closer.

One of his arms clamped around my back while the other continued its exploration, easing over the curve of my hip, smoothing up my spine.

We were close enough that I felt rather than heard his groan.

I nipped his lip with my teeth, grinning bigger when he hauled me into his body, forcing my knee to brace on the bed, straddling him.

His fingers made circles down the back of my thigh, teasing the hem of my dress when he made the journey back up.

All the while, his breath was hot, tongue darting out in increasingly daring licks. “This dress,” he moaned, balling the fabric up then releasing it. “You look like you’re wearing rainbows.”

“Sounds cute.” I pressed light, close-mouthed kisses along his cheek.

“Oh, the dress is cute. The things I want to do to you in this dress?” He yanked, sending me sprawling against his chest. “Definitely more X-rated.”

My pulse pounded in my ears when I looped my hands around his neck. We were molded together now, not an inch of space between us. The contact was debilitating .

“Does that mean I have to keep the dress on?” I’d meant for it to sound teasing, but the words exited my mouth on a gasp. I barely finished speaking before his mouth was on mine. His tongue licked at my lips, demanding entrance. I surrendered.

With another groan, he pushed inside, savoring like I was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted. Pressed against his lap, I relished the undeniable feeling of his desire underneath me.

“If you really want to ruin that dress, Angel, I can rip it off you,” he panted, groaning as his tongue swept down my neck.

“But I haven’t felt your skin against mine in weeks.

I haven’t been inside you in months .” The word shuddered out, like he was confessing the ultimate sin. He drew back, eyes almost black.

“That little rainbow dress will not survive what I have planned.”