Chapter 21CalderI carried her to my bed after we fucked. She insisted she could walk, but I wasn’t about to let her steal the pleasure of caring for her.
I washed her pussy with a warm cloth, gave her a bottle of water, and fed her slices of oranges before she fell asleep in the middle of my bed.
After I went downstairs to gather our things, I crawled in next to her and slept.
I slept for hours with her body curved against mine and her cheek resting on my chest.
The warmth of her body soothed me in a way I’ve never felt before. I woke up in awe that this is my reality.
The temptation to leave her alone to rest was strong because I wanted to go down and work on the sculpture for her sister. I wanted to use the inspiration that has flooded me from the inside out to create something as beautiful as the woman who shared her body with me.
If I weren’t a cynic, I’d think I’m falling in love with her.
I’m smart enough to know that feelings set that deep inside of one’s soul take time and patience. If there’s a snowball’s chance in hell that one day Raelyn will love me, I’ll wait. I know that if I see her more and spend time understanding the woman she is, I’ll be lost to her forever.
Her phone starts ringing in her purse.
She stirs next to me. Her right eye opens a crack. “Are you real?”
I chuckle. “Very real.”
She moves her legs as the phone rings on. “I’m sore in places I’ve never been before.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Both of her deep brown eyes lock on my face. “You should. That was incredible.”
I lean over to kiss her forehead. “That was the beginning.”
As her phone quiets, she glances at her purse. “What time is it?”
“Early,” I answer. “It’s just past six.”
“I don’t have to be at work until eight tonight, so that gives us time for more.” A light-sounding giggle follows those words.
“Time for more?” I ask with a pop of both my brows.
She drags her thumb over my bottom lip. “This and ...”
“That?” I grab my erection through the thin sheet covering us.
She gazes down. “Yes, that.”
Her phone rings again, and concern drapes her expression.
Before she can ask, I move to grab her purse. “I’ll get that for you.”
Her hand dives inside the moment I’ve placed it on the bed next to her. She glances at the screen. “Amsterdam? Who would be calling me from Amsterdam?”
“Someone who speaks Dutch?” I smile.
She returns my smile with a brighter one. “There’s only one way to find out.”
Her finger slides across the screen to connect the call. “This is Rae Walsh.”
Staring at her, I try to register what she just said. My eyes drift to the painting on the wall behind her. Even though the room is darkened, I can see the painting clear as day in my mind’s eye.
A beautiful blonde woman is sitting on a swing in the vast expanse of an empty field. Her face is upturned toward the sun as the light blankets her in a halo. The colors are a muted mix of greens and blues except for the woman. She’s wearing a white dress. Her golden hair is caught in the wind created from the swing’s movements.
It’s calming. It’s soothing. It has fed my soul for almost a year.
When I asked the woman I bought it from who painted it, she pointed at the messy signature. All I could make out was a rounded R followed by Walsh.
She said the name of the artist was Ray Walsh. Eleni Melo offered me the painting when I stopped by her compound in Brazil. I was on vacation alone. She was trying to shove one of her sculptures on me in exchange for a night spent together. I turned down both but made an offer on the painting that was sitting on an easel nearby.
Her assistant, Ray, was off running an errand. She assured me it wasn’t a problem for me to buy it. “Ray will appreciate it,” she said.
No. Rae will appreciate it.
My beautiful Raelyn.
I hope to hell she got every last cent of the five thousand dollars I handed to Eleni in exchange for the painting.
I turn back to look at Raelyn as she talks to whoever is on the other end of the phone. I finally listen to her side of the conversation.
“I’m very interested in the position,” she says, picking at a loose thread on the sheet covering her body. “I’d love to do a video chat. Can we set that up for tomorrow?”
I want to grab the phone from her hand and fist it in mine. I selfishly want her in New York, not in a place where an ocean separates us.