Page 100 of Saving Grace

She forces a smile. It’s twisted between pride and sadness, and strung together with the happiness she wants so desperately, but is too afraid to let in. We have come so far. Some days, when our heads get the better of our hearts, we are both victims of old haunts. “Come here, let me show you all the parts I adore.” I grip her hips and pull her closer.

I grab up a paint brush, a clean one from the pot sitting beside the easel. “Here.” I swipe the bristles over her forehead. It’s like I’m painting the most beautiful portrait. I am, because it’s her.

It’s Grace.

There isn’t a thing on this earth I wouldn’t do or go through for this girl. I trail the tip of the brush over her cheekbones, one and then the other. “These, so fuckin’ pretty.”

She huffs a laugh. But her posture relaxes, her shoulders lose tension, and she moves back into my space.

Good girl.

“And these”—I swipe the bristles over one eye as she lets them flutter shut—“do things to me I can’t explain.”

I drag it over her lips, slow. Her breath hitches, and she opens her eyes. “These sweet lips... covering mine, pressed against my skin, wrapped around my?—”

Grace snatches the brush from my hand. She dips it into the dark blue paint I admired earlier, swirling the bristles through the satin liquid. Her gaze drifts back to me as she considers something. Delicately, she wipes the tip on the edges of the pot and lifts it out.

“These are my favorite parts of Mackinlay Rawlins...”

The brush floats over my eyebrows. I chuckle as her eyes follow the blue as it coats my forehead.

“Shhhh, I’m working.” She gives me a mock-stern look. I clear my throat and adjust my seat on the stool, sitting up straighter. Her obedient subject. The brush dips, kissing my jawline, before the bristles cascade over the angles and onto my neck below my ear. Blood rushes south. More so, when her fingers trace the same path.

“And this.” Swirls of cool liquid cover my Adam’s apple. Her lips part slowly, eyes narrowing with concentration as the brush travels. Eyes dilating as I swallow. I hold her gaze. She puts the handle between her teeth, and my cock is rock-hard. Her fingers flip the buttons loose before she pushes the dirty shirt from my shoulders, and it hits the floor. The next breath I take nose-dives, crashing only to burn out. How many times have I been shirtless in front of this woman? Since day one. But now, it’s as if everything has shifted.We’veshifted.

Everything is a thousand times more raw.

More real.

“Gracie . . .”

The cold bristles press against my lips. “Shhhh, I’m not done. Going to mark every last place.”

Gorgeous girl, I’m so far gone it hurts.

So completely gone for this girl.

Chapter Twenty-Six

GRACE

Blue looks good on Mackinlay. My favorite color on my absolute favorite person. I track the paintbrush over his collarbones, and he groans. Dark blue eyes follow my hand before flitting back to my face. I wonder if he’s connected the color yet? His dark blues now the valleys of the mountains on my canvas. The depths had to be him. My reminder of how far he has come. Come back from. Just how deep he lives inside my heart these days.

“And this part, is what kept me here. I knew it was in there, all it needed was a little coaxing out.” I run the bristles over his chest, right above his heart. I want it to be mine. So much. I’m desperate for this to be permanent. To not wake up one day to have him change his mind, realize I’m not enough, not what he wanted.

“Hey, and you did.” His hand raises my chin. Those dark blues reach my own eyes. I can’t breathe. “Finders keepers, gorgeous girl.”

Lord above, how does this man read my mind so easily? I huff a strangled laugh. It’s as if he can see right through me. “I’m going to hold you to that, Mack.”

“Good.” Warm hands frame my face. “I can’t promise it will be easy, not all the time, Grace. Nothing this strong ever is. Only worth it.”

I slip the brush between my fingers, cupping his face, smashing my mouth to his. I open, wanting him in. Wanting him to claim me. Needing him to take what’s been his for so long. Strong arms fold me in closer. The brush drops from my fingers to the floor. Hands work my ass before he hauls me onto his lap. He’s hard beneath me, shoulders plummeting with every breath he takes in.

“I’m guessing this paint ain’t edible?” he asks.

I laugh, my head tilting to one side. “Nope, it’s not. But...” I lean back and pull open a drawer from my small desk. Fingers curling around a flat tin, I rock back toward him and hand over the watercolors. “These won’t kill you.”

Cheekiness pulls at his face, his shit-eating grin widening. “God help me, I’ve created a paint-eating monster,” I say, pushing my palms together in mock prayer. Mack stands up from the stool and lowers me to my feet. Swiping up cushions from the small sofa I have against the wall for sketching, he drops them to the floor.

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