Country Roads (37 page)

Her answering smile was tentative and brief. Warning bells went off in his brain.

She eyed him for a long moment before she took a deep breath. “Why don’t I stay?” she blurted out. “There’s no reason I shouldn’t. I mean, the sex is fantastic and we enjoy being together, so why should we stop now?” A blush turned her neck and cheeks a deep rose. “If things change between us, we can end it.”

For a selfish moment he thought of a whole procession of days with Julia in his bed, her flaming hair spread across his pillow or his chest like a banner, her green eyes lit by laughter or dazed with arousal, her smooth, creamy skin warm under his hands. The word
yes
nearly forced its way between his lips.

How could he explain to her that he would never want to end it, so it was kinder to do it now?

He thrust a hand through his hair, trying to formulate a response that wouldn’t hurt her. “You’ve got places to go and people to meet way beyond Sanctuary, West Virginia.”

She squared her beautiful, bare shoulders. “I can do that later. I want to spend more time with you now.”

“Sometimes it’s better to quit while you’re ahead.”

He saw her flinch and felt like a heel, but he had to nip this idea in the bud.

“The sex is still great so we’re still ahead,” she said, before she gave what she undoubtedly thought was a worldly shrug. “When it isn’t great anymore, we’ll say good-bye.”

He would have laughed if he didn’t feel like his heart was being ripped out of his chest. “Sweetheart, the reason the sex is incredible is because of our feelings. Neither you nor I are the kind of people who find casual sex satisfying. There’s something more between us.”

“Exactly!” She pounced on his words like a terrier on a rat. “Let’s see where it takes us.”

He braced his hands on the mattress to shove himself fully upright against the pillows. She was sinking the talons of regret deeper and deeper into his flesh. “It will only make the inevitable that much worse.”

Her lower lip quivered and she sank her teeth into it.

“That came out wrong.” He stretched out to take her hand, thinking of the skill that lay in the fingers he held. “What I meant is I can’t leave here because of my brother and Eric. You need to leave because your talent demands the scope of the entire world.” He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. “As it is, I hate the thought of you leaving after I’ve known you only ten days. How do you think we’ll both feel after six months or a year?”

A sob wrenched itself from her throat. He had to consciously restrain himself from pulling her into his arms and telling her he didn’t mean any of it.

“M-maybe I won’t want to leave after a year. Or two years. Maybe I’ll decide to stay. I can paint anywhere.”

“Have you ever been to New York?”

Triumph flared in her eyes. “Yes.”

“How old were you?”

Her shoulders slumped. “Eleven. But I’ve been to Madrid to visit my parents several times since they moved.”

“What was it like to be there?”

“Thrilling. Inspiring. It gave me new ideas about color and composition.” Resignation laced her voice as she told him the truth.

Her honesty nearly undermined his self-control. She could have lied and said she found it dirty and noisy, but she’d refused. He’d never admired another person so much in his life. “You did me the honor of telling me the truth. I owe you the same.” He released her hand and fisted his in the bedclothes. “Much as I want to, if I agreed to let you stay, I would hate myself. It would poison our relationship sooner or later.”

She shook her head vehemently. “I don’t believe that. If we—” She stopped and slid him a look he couldn’t read. “If we fell in love with each other, neither one of us would care where we lived.”

He felt as though someone had slammed him against a brick wall.
She thought she was in love with him.
Then he got slammed a second time, even harder, as he faced a reality he had been shoving away:
he was head over ass in love with her
. “Holy shit,” he muttered.

“What?”

He took a deep breath. “You said you hadn’t had much experience with sex, so you may be confusing a really good orgasm with something more.”

“I’m not that stupid,” she said, her body rigid at the insult.

“Hear me out,” he said, holding up a hand. “I have a fair amount of experience; I know how to make you feel things you
haven’t felt before. It might color your view of me, make you think I’m something I’m not.”

“I think you’re a good lover,” she said. “And a good man. Are you going to disagree with either of those?”

Her eyes were hazed with tears again, which made it hard for him to think straight. “I’ll take the fifth.”

“I’m capable of making my own decisions and living with the consequences,” she said. “It won’t ruin my life if our relationship doesn’t work out.”

But it would ruin his. Was he just being a coward?

She didn’t wait for a response. “I’m tired of everyone assuming I’m some fragile flower who has to be protected from the realities of life. If I never feel pain, how will I understand joy? How can I be honest as an artist if I go on living this overprotected half-life?” She scrambled off the bed, dragging the duvet with her and gesturing wildly with her free hand. “Hurt me, Paul. At least you’ll be treating me like an adult.”

Pushed beyond his limit, he snapped. “Did you ever consider it might hurt me?”

Her hand fluttered downward. “What?”

He swung his feet to the floor and stalked around the bed to look down at her. “I’m not made of stone. How do you think I’ll feel when you decide to leave?”

Her eyes were huge with shock. “But you’re so…so confident and…and popular. Even married women want to sleep with you.”

He just barely stopped himself from taking her shoulders and giving her a good shake. Instead he sat on the bed so their faces were nearly level. “Sweetheart, do you really have no idea how extraordinary you are?”

“I’m not,” she whispered, a strange, stricken look in her eyes.

“Yes, you are. And I’m not talking just about your artistic talent. I’m talking about the essential Julia.” He grazed a fingertip over the swell of her breast where her heart lay. “You are a breath
of fresh air, a woman with grit and integrity. And you’re sexy as hell.” His smile went a little crooked, but he was trying to steer the discussion to safer ground for both of them. “Losing all that won’t be easy for me.”

She plunked down on the bed beside him. “I didn’t look at it that way. I mean, it never occurred to me that you would”—she waved her hand vaguely—“feel like that if we got involved and I left.” She twisted to look up at him. “That sounds selfish, but it’s more I don’t think of myself as being especially important in your life.”

If it had been any other woman, he would have suspected her of fishing for reassurance, but Julia didn’t fish. That she believed she meant nothing more to him than a passing fling nearly gutted him. The problem was if he told her the truth about how important she was to him, she would refuse to leave.

He dropped his hand to her thigh and gave it a squeeze. He thought about all those times he’d held onto his smiling mask during town council meetings and tried to convince himself this was no different. “You’re the first world-famous artist I’ve ever made love to,” he said, cringing inside at the caddish words, “so I’d say you were significant.”

He expected some indication he’d hurt her, but she just kept looking at him, her striking green eyes clear of tears or accusation. “We don’t have to stop seeing each other now, do we? Just because we had this conversation?”

“I—” He was nonplussed. He’d figured she would be either so angry or so distressed she would refuse to have anything further to do with him. As it dawned on him she was offering the precious gift of four more days in her company, a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. He intended to relish every minute he could with her. “No, we don’t have to stop. In fact, stopping sounds like a really bad idea.”

A look of relief skittered over her face. “Good, because I was afraid I’d messed up the rest of our time together.”

He grabbed her shoulders and fell backward on the bed, pulling her down with him as happiness coursed through his body. He was going to cram the next ninety-six hours as full as he could with memories of this incredible woman. He rolled them over, bracing his weight on his elbows as he lowered his head to kiss her.

Starting now.

J
ULIA PULLED THE
plug on the big tub and sloshed to her feet. After a long soak to take out some of the soreness from last night’s activities with Paul, she felt energized and ready to carry out her plan of action.

Grabbing a thick white towel from the brass rack, she stepped out onto the bath mat and buffed herself dry before heading to the bedroom to dress. She’d chosen her outfit carefully: the tailored beige trousers, narrow brown leather belt, and moss-green silk blouse said “serious businesswoman.” In a gesture of individuality, her cowboy boots peeked out from underneath the neat cuffs of her pants. She smoothed the hair Paul had so carefully and deliciously untangled into a tidy ponytail.

She made a face at herself in the mirror, just to prove the person underneath was still Julia Castillo. “Time to take over the world.”

She pivoted on her boot heel and strode out the door of her room. She was meeting Claire at the gallery in fifteen minutes for step one of her plan to convince Paul and Carlos she could manage her own life.

As she walked toward the Gallery at Sanctuary, a few aches and twinges lingered, reminding her of the tumultuous night she’d spent with Paul. She’d nearly made a mess of things with her outburst about staying for the sex. It had seemed like a good approach as she had lain basking in the afterglow of the Corvette
caper. Men were supposed to be susceptible at times like that, and Paul was all male, but he had that annoying and endearing protective streak.

He had nearly convinced her with his nonsense about how much it would hurt him if she left, but then she realized he was playing the role of white knight again, worrying about her feelings. He didn’t understand it would be much worse for her if she didn’t stay. If it didn’t work out between them, at least they would have given it their best shot.

Not to mention the joy of spending weeks and months with Paul while they explored the possibilities of their relationship. In fact, she hoped it would stretch into a lifetime.

All she needed to do was prove to everyone she could handle whatever real life threw at her.

Julia flung open the door to the gallery. Claire was seated at the glass-topped desk, staring at her computer screen. She swiveled the chair to face Julia, a smile lighting her face. “The acceptances are pouring in. I’m doubling the wine order and adding more trays of hors d’oeuvres. This is going to be a major event in the art world.”

Julia dropped onto the big cream couch as her knees went wobbly. Her focus was so entirely consumed by Paul, she had forgotten about her upcoming public trial by fire. “That’s great.” Her voice squeaked slightly and she cleared her throat.

“Don’t look so terrified,” Claire said, rising from her desk to join Julia on the couch. “These people are coming because they already admire your talent.”

Carlos’s harsh evaluations of her
Night Mares
swarmed like spiders through her mind. “But this style is so different. If they like my previous work, they won’t like this.”

“Give my clients some credit,” Claire said, her tone firm but kind. “They’re sophisticated connoisseurs. They expect artists to grow and change.”

“If you’re sure…” Julia heard the tentativeness in her voice and hated it. She straightened her spine and lifted her chin. “I believe you.” No more letting her uncle get into her head. “I wanted to ask you two things. First, could you set up the paintings the way you’re going to display them for the show before Carlos arrives?”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? From what you tell me, the strong emotional content is what bothers your uncle. Maybe we should downplay that.”

Julia shook her head. “I want him to feel the impact full strength.” She wanted him to understand that she had come into her own as an artist and as a human being.