Excerpt

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Owen didn’t let go of her hand, and together they unveiled the next painting. While all the others had used color in that subtle, life-like way that was Owen’s signature, this painting was a study all done in grays, the palest not quite white, the darkest not exactly black. It depicted a man’s hand resting of the curve of a breast, all but hiding it. The play of light and shadows in this work only reinforced the tenderness of the gesture. Need fluttered inside Lydia, and she squeezed Owen’s fingers.

“I assume that’s us?”

“Don’t doubt it for a second,” he said with a grin. “I watched you for hours, the first time we slept together. Afterwards, I mean. I was drawing you in my mind, every curve, every inch of skin.”

Each words felt like a caress, and Lydia could feel warmth spreading over her neck and face. She tried to cool down with a sip of champagne, only to discover she had emptied the glass.

“Would you like more?” he offered, taking the glass from her.

“No, thank you. I think I’ve had enough.”

He walked away to put the glasses on the coffee table, and Lydia took advantage of his turned back to press her hands to her cheeks. She felt like she was burning.

“Would you…” She cleared her throat. “Would you do it? Paint me, I mean, paint me nude?”

Coming back to her, he pointed at the gray painting. “I tried. That’s the closest I could get to it. Every time I tried to expose more of you…” He shrugged, a self-derisive smirk twisting his lips. “I’ve never been all that good at sharing.”

She couldn’t help chuckling at those words. “Good. I don’t particularly feel like being shared.”

She studied the painting a little while longer. It was very different from the rest of his work, but she found that she quite liked this style, the gradation of the grays and the smoothness they gave to the entire image. It might be her favorite yet. It was only the first one in which Owen himself was more than a washed out reflection.

They had come almost full circle, and there was only one painting left.

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