Loving Grace (18 page)

Grace knew what she was doing in asking for
his child. She wanted to restore Noel’s wonder of life, his
seeking, creative and expressive gift. She was in love with him. He
was a unique man. Raising his child would be a delight and a
wonder, and provide her with someone to shower all that love on,
since he would be a world away.

Noel fell silent a moment, then asked, “Were
you and Seth close?”

“Not until father died. Seth was such a guy.”
She laughed. “Sports and gangs of friends. He had intense energy. I
was more like my Dad. Until my last year of college, we did our own
thing. We’re close now though.”

“It shows in the way he teases you.”

She snorted. “He’s a pain in the ass. But
after I’m over being annoyed, I always thank him for shaking me
up.”

Noel rolled to lean over her. “I’ll give you
one of the paintings when you leave.”

“Thank you.” Her eyes moved over him. “Have
you ever done a self-portrait?”

“In art school.”

“Do you have it?”

“No.” He laughed. His finger traced her ear.
“Are you thinking about the child we might have?”

“Yes. Do you want them to know you, who you
are?”

“Yes.”

He answered so fast she grinned.

“I’ll have mother paint me and send it to
you.”

She winked. “I’d rather have a nude. But then
again, I’m not so liberal that I plan on thinking of you doing...”
she paused and winced. “Sorry. That sounds...”

“Grace.” He kissed her deep and long.

When he lifted his head she murmured, “Not
slow this time.”

“No.” He groaned and rolled atop her.

Grace opened to him and gasped as he surged
inside, filling her completely. “Noel. Yes.”

He was strong, fast, untamed and possessive.
His sexual growls and husks joined hers. This time and the time
after, Grace could only describe later as fiercely passionate.
Their kisses, holds, touches, were tight and emotional. The motions
of sex so forceful that their groans and words grew louder and
huskily spoken. There was no ending to one body or the other, but a
melding of sensitive, wanting flesh, where hearts thundered, blood
heated, and the barrage of pleasure kept coming.

Night had fallen and the moon hung outside
the big window. Noel wrung every drop of passion from her, giving
her every ounce of his strength and hungers and desires. When they
were helpless to the mounting flames, knowing they couldn’t hold
back, he came deep, shuddering; vibrations running though his long
frame, until he lay spent, and rolled to his side.

Grace lay with him an hour longer, fighting
the need to cuddle, to sleep all night beside him. Eventually she
leaned over and whispered, “Noel?”

He blinked his eyes open and raised up,
stroking her cheek. “I’ll bring the painting. We have three weeks
before I leave, if you want it, Grace.”

She smiled. “Yes.”

His answering smile was soft. “Be careful,
I’ll come to you.”

She slipped out of the bed and dressed,
leaving the loft by moonlight, and hugging the knowledge to her,
that she had been given more time with him.

Chapter Twenty

The trial went on, and Seth informed her that
it looked as if Bryce and Elisa would get sixty years. Grace put
thoughts of it away completely to enjoy her time with Noel. She
borrowed Seth’s camera and took pictures of Noel in the park when
they picnicked, far from the crowds and people who might recognize
him. She took rolls of film, of him sitting in her tiny apartment,
reading a book, drinking coffee or sprawled out on the settee
making faces at her while she talked to clients.

Grace and Noel made a game of finding out of
the way cafés and restaurants, of walking hand in hand late at
night after reserving rooms at a bed and breakfast. They had to
avoid the tourist attractions, which Noel would have loved. But the
press still hounded him and his phone rang constantly, so they
became inventive.

One afternoon they followed a woodsy path and
ended up on the bank of the Potomac River. He stood a long time,
resting his chin on her head, watching fishermen and boaters,
following the flight of birds. Neither of them could forget that
time was fleeting, and that his flight was already booked.

A few days later, Grace was with him under a
shelter when a storm hit, deluging them with water and turning the
grassy park to mud. She stared, watching his laughter while a group
played a game of mud football.

He’d done that more often, laughed and been
silly. When he laughed at her, he’d always kiss her afterwards, and
Grace didn’t mind that he teased her when she ran screaming from a
bee or dropped a weight on her toe at a local gym. It wasn’t even
annoying when he put her glasses on and came up behind her while
she cooked. Just the other day, he’d heard her cussing and come in
the bedroom, weak with chuckles because she’d gotten one of the
garters stuck in the bedspread, garters she was trying to wear for
him.

No, she didn’t mind. He’d put the stockings
on her, kissing up her legs, lingering between, and pleasuring her
before they left the apartment. He was a sensualist, a man who
liked to feel, taste, and linger. She was discovering some of that
in her own character too.

Before their last day together, they had gone
to play cards with Seth and Rita, who was obviously a steady love
interest with her brother. Grace went to the loft to fetch the
painting. She stood for nearly an hour starring at it. Noel was by
the window, looking out at the drizzle.

She couldn’t catch her breath, so sensual, so
beautiful, so breathtaking was the creation.

He’d given her the pose of her standing on
the stump, back and neck arched, arms reaching high. The thick
green foliage looked rich, wet and fertile. However, in the center,
the focus was a she-creature; powerful, sleek, appearing lost to
some internal sensual emotion.

She cleared her throat. “Can I see the
others?”

Noel got them and lifted the first one off
the easel, and replacing it with the other one.

“Oh, Noel.” Grace bit down on a sob, her eyes
fogging with tears so that the image of her blurred. It was one of
her standing behind the fanned leaves, but here and there clearly
visible. What touched her most was the way he painted her eyes,
incredibly golden and full of mystery and secrets.

He switched again while she wiped her cheeks,
setting the third one up to view. This was one of her crouching,
staring at the viewer with passion and heat and a look raw and
sizzling. She glanced at Noel. “I didn’t hide much.”

“No.”

She sighed shakily, noting the way he’d posed
her, arms down, fingers touching the stump edge, actually obscured
her groin. But there was no doubt she was nude. It was the body
paints, the commanding look on her face that drew attention. The
body paint didn’t look like paint at all, it looked like real
animal skin. Now seeing what he had seen then, she was shaken with
the evidence that she’d had that much hunger for him then, and
now.

Grace stepped away and watched him carry the
other two back to his bed area. She sat down in a studio chair by
the window and let the night air waft over her.

He leaned against the window frame and
watched her. “When will you know?”

“Soon.” Grace moved her gaze over him. “Do
you want me to contact you?”

“Yes.” He went over and took something off
the table. “My mother’s address and phone. If I’m not there, she’ll
know how to reach me.”

Grace tucked it into the side pouch of her
purse. “You have my address, phone, and Seth’s?”

“Yes.”

She swallowed fighting off the pain of his
leaving. She didn’t want to waste a moment of their time. “How do
you want to do it? You want him or her to have your name,
legally?”

“Yes.” He glanced out at the night. “When you
know for sure, I’ll tell mother, talk to her. She’ll be thrilled.”
He smiled softly. “You don’t mind if she calls you?”

“No. I’d love that.”

He nodded, sighed and raked his hands through
his hair. “I must go, Grace.”

“I know.”

“I’m not leaving, you. I just can’t live
here.”

“Noel, I know that.”

He searched her face then. “I can’t ask you
to come with me. I don’t know what I’ll do, how I will live.”

“You’ll paint.” She stood, lightly tracing
his face from temple to chin. “You’ll do beautiful paintings and
the world will see how wonderful they are, and you’ll know again,
for sure this time, that it’s not something others can take from
you. It is you. The eyes of your soul and the beauty of your mind,
the gentleness of your spirit.”

He captured her hand, kissed her palm then
pulled her to him, holding her tight. “Stay the whole night.”

“Yes. Until you go, I’ll stay.”

And she did. She made love to him, with him,
until the deep of night, and they slept close, holding each other,
skin-to-skin and deeply dreaming, drifting on clouds—where time was
forever.

Chapter Twenty-One

Milan, Italy

Six years later

“It is here, Noel.” Rosalind came through the
studio door, breathless from hurrying across the expansive
courtyard and nearly an acre of land.

Noel glanced at his mother. He put his brush
and palette down, seeing a flush to her face that must have matched
his in excitement. She was nearing seventy but lithe and healthy.
Her once long black curls were now white and worn in an unruly
braid. Shorter than himself by a foot, she still radiated energy,
life and wit.

He wiped his hands on his paint-spattered
trousers and padded in bare feet to follow her back out the door.
As they exited his studio and apartment, her large villa came into
view. It was a home shared with her lover and companion, five of
their artists’ friends, and too many exotic animals.

“When did it come?” He felt his heart beating
vigorous in his chest.

“Just moments ago.” She stopped to catch her
breath. “Slow down.”

He laughed and swooped her up, making her
giggle like a girl as he ran toward the house carrying her.

“Noel! Put me down!”

“Hold on ol’ girl.”

“Ol’ girl!” She pulled his hair until he
yelled and laughingly set her back on her feet.

They were both chuckling as he waved to Paolo
who was lounging by the back garden, smoking his pipe.

“In the main hall. Go on.” She shooed him
ahead.

Noel ran to the front doors and pulled them
open, padding on the cool tile to the side table where the packet
lay. He headed back out.

“Wait! Don’t I get to see them?”

“Later. I promise. I’ll bring them to
dinner.” He ducked and kissed her cheek before jogging back to the
studio. Catching his breath, he fell into a worn leather chair and
lay the packet on his lap. His eyes moved around the
glass-ceilinged room at the painting after painting hanging
there.

His eyes paused, rested on the first he’d
done from the picture Seth had sent him. Grace five months along,
and trying to trim a Christmas tree, the glow on her cheeks
matching the red bulbs. He recalled the whole packet of shots, how
he’d wanted to paint them all. Grace in maternity clothing smiling
happy tears, as she opened the baby clothing his mother had sent,
or when she’d been sitting with a whole pie, her mouth full and
eyes wide at getting caught.

Noel looked at the one of Grace nine months
along, with her shirt pulled up and showing her big belly. One hand
pressed to the curve in a lovingly protective way. He had photos, a
movie of the birth of his son, whom she’d refused to name until
someone got him on the phone. He’d chosen Jared, for those serious
gold eyes and that thoughtful little face. It was his own way of
embracing the differences between himself and his father.

His mother called Grace every month and Grace
was so good to send letters, pictures, and when Jared began to
talk, to let him speak to his Grandmamma.

Noel sighed heavily; he’d started to paint
again, when Seth sent that first picture of Grace swelling with his
babe. Seth and Rita were married now, with twins. Noel was glad the
man had overcome his own skepticism of friendship, and that he
called once in awhile, sent pictures of his own daughter and son,
and of the three children playing together in the park.

Grace had moved when Jared was two, renting a
little house further in the suburbs with a small yard and near a
school, he’d started last year. Noel’s eyes misted when he’d seen
those school poses, and the ones Grace took of his son with his
lunch pail and backpack getting on the school bus for the first
time.

It had been two years since he’d seen
pictures of Grace. All of them now were of the children, mostly of
Jared with his tawny skin, jet curls and incredibly beautiful
little-boy face.

Noel’s eyes moved to the canvas he’d been
working on for a week. Over the years he’d painted Grace from
memory many times, he’d sketched her in poses he’d filed in his
mind; nude on the bed, asleep in the park, sitting in her chair
with those ugly glasses on, doing her work. He had stacks of
paintings in the other room, many he’d done the first year.
However, lately, Noel found himself looking at the golden eyes of
his son seeing the image of himself and Grace, and wishing he could
paint her again, now as a mother. Knowing what he did of her, now
that they had been apart, so distant and so many years, he was
intrigued by the added dimension, the fact she was a mother, the
woman who’d borne his son. Of late, it was all he thought
about.

Noel looked down and flipped open the packet.
His smile huge as Jared’s face appeared, warm skinned, sparkling
intelligent eyes and big for his age. Like he had been, Jared
looked nine or ten and stood tall, lithe though, but broad of
shoulder. According to Seth, and Grace’s conversations with his
mother, Grace had him in every sport and club in school and still
could not quench his questioning thirst. Like his grandfather, he
was studious, but that was balanced by an energetic and athletic
body, and like Noel, he loved art. Unlike him, he would rather
sculpt with clay and according to Seth, animals were his main
subjects.