Loving Grace (22 page)

After dinner and dishes, Jared was yawning.
He hugged Grace, saying for her ears only, “I have a good Father
and Grandmother.”

“Yes.” Grace rubbed his back.

“I wish...I wish they didn’t have to leave,
that they lived here.”

“I know you do.”

He sighed. “I love you too, mom. It’s hard to
want so much.”

Grace’s eyes burned and blinked, not looking
over at Noel who was sitting on the other side. “It’s really hard.
But I am proud of you. And you have people who love you.”

He pulled back and yawned again. “Grandmamma
is going to paint us. That’s going to be cool.”

“Yeah, cool. So you be very good for
her.”

“I will. I want to see her paint, to have one
of all of us together.” He scooted off the sofa. “Goodnight.” He
went to Noel and hugged him, then padded up the stairs.

Grace noticed he didn’t ask either of them to
tuck him in.

Rosalind was in bed. Noel muted the already
low sound on the TV. Grace looked at him.

He had been looking at her, but only stood
and asked quietly, “Can I choose what you wear for the
painting?”

She shrugged, and nodded. All the things his
mother had told her ran through her head. A mature, older man, who
would make a wonderful father for Jared, a loving and caring one,
who was deeply complex in that bridge between artist, lover, son,
father, man.

They walked upstairs together. Grace held the
door open to her room to allow him to walk through. She leaned
against the dresser and watched him open the wardrobe. She bit her
lip watching his dark fingers touch one garment then another. He
lifted the rack and brought out a spring dress she’d bought the
year before, to wear to Seth’s daughter’s recital. She remembered
donning the champagne sheath and loving the feel of the satin,
pleased with the way the material flowed and draped over her body.
It had no sleeves, and a loose boat neckline that draped to the top
of her breasts, the straight lines fell to an inch above the
knee.

“No shoes, and only the ring you wear.”

She nodded. “What do you want Jared in?”

“I’ve already told him.”

Her eyes followed him as he walked to the
door. He hesitated, his hand on the knob and his warm eyes on her.
However, after a few moments, he left, and Grace released that
tense breath she’d held, feeling almost afraid of what Rosalind
would see through her artist’s eyes.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Grace arose early, close to dawn and had her
shower, before drying her sleek hair and putting on some mascara.
She was in her robe, in the kitchen, making coffee when Jared
awoke. Noel was getting dressed, Rosalind was out back, setting
up.

Jared was dressed in white, something she
never could get him to wear. She could only assume his father had
talked him into it. His tawny skin looked warm, his hair coal-black
in contrast with the white linen shirt and jeans. He too was
barefoot.

“Want breakfast?”

He hopped on a stool. “Just a Pop Tart. I
don’t want to get my shirt dirty.”

She smiled and popped two in the toaster,
then put them on a plate. She was sitting with her coffee, hearing
the birds sing through the open back door and feeling the morning
sun already, when Noel walked in.

Grace’s whole body felt the impact of him. He
wore all white, an unbuttoned linen shirt; much like Jared’s except
that it looked sexy, so wonderfully good on his muscular frame. His
trousers were of a similar material, very European looking in
style, but casual. Her eyes went to his swarthy bare feet, her
gaze, moving slowly up his long legs, muscular thighs. They
lingered on the trousers’ waistband below his navel, skimming
upwards over his ridged abdomen before she jerked her eyes
away.

Yet he’d watched her, and she knew it. While
getting his coffee, he chose to stand very close to her bare knee
where the robe parted.

“I’m going out to watch Grandmamma.” Jared
jumped down and headed out the back door. “Hurry up and dress,
Mom.”

Grace let a shaky breath escape and finally
looked up to meet Noel’s stare.

He held it with velvet brown eyes before
leaning down and kissing her coffee scented lips. “This is the kind
of morning that a man wants to take his lover back to bed, to lay
with her on sun dried sheets and make love.”

“Noel.” She closed her eyes, accepting
another kiss before she stood. “I need to dress.” She fled on shaky
legs to her room. She leaned back against her closed door and
willed her heart to stop thudding.

~ * ~

Rosalind had chosen the side with the privacy
fence where Grace had planted vibrant spring tulips and impatiens
in yellow, white and purple. There was a white wrought-iron bench,
scrolled and graceful.

Grace padded out to join them. Rose sat on a
foldout stool behind her easel, wearing colorful slacks and a
silky, flowing top and looking very much the artist. Noel was
sitting on the bench, one leg along the seat, and one foot on the
ground. Jared sat on the grass, leaning against Noel’s knee and his
head resting against it. Grace found her spot was to sit between
Noel’s legs, to lean back against him.

She sat down. Before she could move, he’d
pulled her back and had his arms around her.

Noel said easily, “Relax, Grace. Rest your
head on me.”

Relaxing was impossible because that strong,
warm body was behind, against, around her. However, she made an
attempt, rolling her head to look at Rosalind.

All artist now, the woman’s gaze and sharp
eyes reminded her of Noel’s mode when he was working. His mother
came over, moved Noel’s hands, and had one resting on his son’s
shoulder the other under Grace’s arm, splayed under her breast.
Rosalind shook her head no, when Grace tried to brush away tendrils
of hair that ruffled in the breeze. Then she placed one of Grace’s
hands on Noel’s thigh, the other resting in her lap and had Grace
slightly bend her legs.

Once Rosalind began painting, Grace was at
first fascinated by watching the woman’s movements, in awe of the
expression on her face. But the sun and warm breeze, the birds
singing—the beat of Noel’s heart in her ear—soon had her absorbed
in the reality that he was here, and that he was holding her, and
touching his son.

The memory of the day they had made Jared
filtered through her mind, every moment of his exquisite passion
drifted through. She recalled how his body moved so dark and
graceful. The velvet brown eyes looking at her through sooty
lashes, while his hands made her body sing with pleasure. As if
looking down on them, making love that day, it was as real to her
as his scent and feel now, as the beat of his heart under her
ear.

Grace’s own heartbeat so unrelenting with the
memories, that she knew Noel must be feeling it under his fingers.
But she couldn’t help it. She breathed in through her parted lips,
hearing her air tremble out, feeling her fingers flex on his thigh.
She wasn’t aware of the hours passing until Rosalind announced it
was time for lunch.

Jared ran to his Grandmother, grumbling a
bit, because she covered the painting, but took her hand and headed
into the kitchen.

Grace was in the process of getting up when
Noel cupped her cheek and turned her. He lowered his head, kissing
her with enough hunger to stir both of them to the point his body
was hard, and his desire evident.

He pulled back enough to gaze at her, his
lips moist, his eyes with tawny streaks in the sunlight. “I want
you.”

“I know. I...”

“I could reach down this moment and slide
that dress up your lovely legs, and touch you, here in the sun, in
the open, and stroke the silken heat of you until—”

“Don’t.” She groaned, pressing her face to
his chest a moment, resisting the urge to kiss, lave, and touch
him. “I won’t get through this if you keep talking that way.”

He smiled, using her chin to raise her head.
“Then go in, quickly. I’ll be there in a few moments.”

Grace fled. Unlike her son and Noel’s mother,
who were laughing, eating leftovers from heaping plates, she drank
water, ate half a muffin. Noel come inside to get a soda and joined
them, hugging his son. He praised him for being so good, and
promised that he would sit for Jared to model him with clay.

All too soon, they were back outside.
Rosalind did not want to lose a moment. They sat for six hours.
Jared was allowed to get up and take breaks when he got fidgety.
Other than bathroom breaks, Grace and Noel were commanded gently to
hold the pose, and they did so until Rosalind declared the light
fading.

Grace ordered from a local restaurant. They
ate out back with the landscape lights brightening and the sun
setting. Relaxed now, she joked with Jared and asked many questions
of Noel’s mother, truly fascinated by the woman’s talent, one which
her son and grandson shared.

It was after Jared’s bath and while Rosalind
was in her room working, that Noel came into Grace’s room. Grace
was in the green silk robe she’d worn that morning, a gift from
Rita, and glanced from Noel’s body, clad in loose pajamas, to the
sketchpad in his hand.

She was smoothing lotion on her legs and he
sat down by the opened window, in the leather chair from her old
apartment. He was sketching by the lamplight. Grace tried to
pretend he wasn’t there. She propped her other leg on the bed and
smoothed in the lotion, stopping to tuck her hair behind her ear as
it slid forward.

Grace went through her rituals, too aware of
him, of the intimacy of the room and the things he’d said that day.
She was so emotional, so warm of skin and sensitive to her hungers,
that it was a mental struggle not to run over and fall on him, to
satisfy that intense yearning that never seemed to ease.

When he left the room, she fell onto the bed,
grabbing the pillow with tight fingers and letting the tears seep
out until she could sleep, only to dream of him.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Sunday Rosalind finished. Half way through
the day, Jared was allowed to sit beside her, sharing the winks and
secret smiles as she had Noel and Grace pose longer. By the time
the sun had set again, she told them to “Get lost,” for the
evening, so she and Jared could conspire on the masterpiece.

It was his last night there. Grace had
thought of little else during the day, storing up memories,
wrestling emotions, and fighting inner needs to take anything he’d
give her.

“I’m taking you out,” Noel announced

Grace went along, not only because she wanted
to spend time with him, but also because he had both Jared and
Rosalind telling her she must go.

They drove to a fish and chips place, dined
casual, and then because it was a warm night, strode the old city
streets that were full with strollers and college students.
Carrying strong cups of gourmet coffee, Grace let him hold her
hand, aware of the turned heads following them. She wondered if it
was recognition of who he was, or the fact he was with such an
ordinary woman.

She caught glimpses of them, when he stopped
by a restaurant to watch the revolving floor, the man in tails and
top hat, playing a grand piano. She saw Noel’s denims; his woven
leather shoes, his black T-shirt. However, she saw too, her
smallness next to him, her head reaching just to his shoulder, and
the curves of her body compared to his masculine build.

When he paused at an outdoor café, she sat
beside him, sipping her coffee, looking at their twined hands upon
the table, only half hearing the conversations and soft summer
music. She was still gazing when his thumb brushed her knuckles.
She looked up to find him, not gazing around at the scenery, but
gazing at her with a slight smile and soft eyes.

Feeling the warm breeze stir her hair, she
husked, “I can make a mistake with anyone but you, Noel.” Grace wet
her lips. “I have the wonderful parts of my life, of me, wrapped in
those times, of the things we have been and done. I won’t trade
that for something permanent that won’t be what we expect or
need.”

He leaned forward, forearms on the table
until their heads were close. His voice just as husky.” I want to
share my life with you, Grace. Not make you fit in it, or change
what we are. We are more than in love, you and I. We love, Grace.
We do it together or apart, and we love in spite of all the
differences. That’s not a promise I’m making you. That is what we
do and have done, no matter where we are or how far apart.”

“You’ll take lovers, Noel.”

“No. Grace.” He shook his head. “I’m not
confused or seeking or using sex, or making it an extension of my
art. Mother and I talked last night, she told me what she’d shared
with you, but I have known that for some years. If I had met you
before Elisa, I don’t doubt that the same would have happened. You
must stop looking at the surface. It’s natural, fears, doubts, what
ifs—but I see you as you see me, and there is nothing, time or
distance will do to change that.”

He released her hand and stroked her cheek.
“I have never wanted a woman as I have you. It is a constant ache,
both in body and heart. I have never had what we shared before or
since, and that’s the truth, Grace.”

She reached up to cover his hand and holding
it to her cheek as her eyes shone with tears. “I wish I understood
how or why.”

He smiled, reaching over to brush her tears
as they tumbled down. He said softly, “Darling, you are more like
me than different. You are more passionate, more giving, and more
beautiful than you realize. The most beautiful thing I have ever
seen, anywhere on earth, is the way you look at me. It makes me
forget anything, everything, but the fact that I want to hold and
touch you, to absorb that emotion into my bones and soul.”

Grace sniffled up the rest of her tears and
looked up at the night sky a moment to gather herself. “How can I
be in your life there, Noel? I’m not suited for it.”