“Painted lips again?”
He came toward me and lifted his chin in a silent request that I look behind me. I turned sideways in my chair, staying mindful of my sore foot. That’s when I saw it. Not it…me. Two of me. One was a black and white painted image of me. The other a combination photograph on one half of the canvas, the other half blank. Bright red lips were the only point of color on the second picture. The first painted image was so lifelike, even more so than the actual photographic image on the other canvas. I stood and hopped over to the painting. The brush strokes were miniscule and almost a perfect duplicate of the photographic image. You could even see the tear streaming down my face. The sadness in my eyes, the stance, slumped shoulders showed a tortured woman. Sad yet still…beautiful. A moment caught in time.
“It’s…I can’t believe…how?” I whispered and lifted a hand to touch the painting. Before I could, Alec gripped my wrist and pulled it back gently.
“No touching. It’s still wet. I worked on it through the night.”
My eyes went wide and I gasped. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t realize. That’s dumb. I mean, I should have known, it makes sense. Sorry,” I frowned.
Alec’s hand reached out and he caressed a lock of my hair, rubbing it together with his fingers before trailing one fingertip down from my temple, cheekbone and along the side of my chin. Goosebumps broke out against my arms and I shivered.
“Cold?” he asked with a hint of a smile. He knew what he was doing to me. How his touch ignited something inside.
“No,” I licked my lips and stared brazenly at his, wishing he would lean forward and put his lips on me. Anywhere. Everywhere.
“Well then, let’s get started.” He combed his fingers through my hair, pushing it over my shoulder. Then repeated the movement on the other side. Not what I was expecting, but it felt good, so I went with it. “Sit, I’m going to paint your lips.”
I groaned but hopped back over to the seat, plopped down and rolled my eyes before he came around and knelt in front of me. “Do you ever think about anything other than work?”
“Are you referring to the fact that I want to kiss you until I’ve stolen all your breath? Or the fact that if I could, I would shred your shirt, and suck on your pink tips until you begged for me to make love to you?”
“Make love?” I snickered even though his words made me hot and bothered; they were hot...and bothered me…a lot!
“Of course, chérie. the French make love. There are many forms of making love. Hard. Fast. Slow. Deliberate. I plan to do all those things to you, and for many, many hours. But not now. Now is the time for work. Later, we play.”
I nodded not able to speak any further. I wanted to know what ‘play’ meant to him. I had a pretty good idea it was the kind of play I hoped it was. God willing. Slowly Alec painted my lips with the goopy cherry red paint. When he was done he lifted me from the chair and carried me over to the painting of me he’d done.
“This is where it gets tricky. I want you to place your lips over those on the painting exactly where they are painted. I will guide you as best I can. You will get close and then slowly press them against the painting so that the paint transfers.”
I gave him a hard look, but, like yesterday, I didn’t want to speak and mess up the paint on my lips. Now, more so than ever before. He gripped my head and I placed my hands on each side of the wall around the painting. First, I got really close.
“Be careful not to touch the painting anywhere else, or I’ll have to redo it,” he warned which sent a fissure of fear tumbling through me. I sucked in a long slow breath through my nose and let it out, then leaned super close to the painting. When I got to where I thought I should be, he centered me lightly by holding my head on each side before pushing ever so slightly so that I’d move forward.
I puckered my lips and kissed myself then pulled back. He helped me reverse so I wouldn’t lose my balance and helped me to the chair. The black and white painted image now had a perfect set of red lips. It actually looked almost as though he’d painted them there, but you could tell it was a kiss. It wasn’t perfect, but I thought it looked good.
“Exactly as I pictured it. You amaze me, Mia,” he said in awe as he stared as his masterpiece. His arms were crossed over his chest, one arm supported by the other, one hand holding up his face at the chin where he stared and stared at his painting.
“Ever heard that saying, ‘take a picture it will last longer’?” I giggled.
His head turned in slow motion and I caught his gaze. “This will last a lifetime in someone’s home. Get passed down from generation to generation leaving a legacy for years to come.”
Well, when he put it like that, I guess it was pretty flippin’ fantastic.