Page 75 of The Sculptor

He started as my muse.

The boy that sat across from me in history class.

The one who always needed to borrow a pencil.

He was relentless in his pursuit of my attention.

And I was helpless to stop it.

Not when he asked me to tutor him in chemistry when his GPA was higher than mine.

Not when he bribed my friend to leave me stranded after school so he could be the one to take me home.

And I especially didn’t stop him when I found him on the bench that afternoon where I sketched into the evening.

Duke Potter has always known what he wanted.

Me.

And that kind of devotion is unmatched in every area of my life.

He’s right. He has, and always will, keep me warm—even if he’s the reason I’m literally cold right now.

“I remembered the bath salts,” he says, all proud of himself as he sprinkles them in the water. “Just in case you get sore again.”

“I’m starting to think you just like me wet and naked.”

I know good and damn well he didn’t jump in that lake just because I wouldn’t wake up. The man is still a rambunctious boy. He wanted to jump in because the lake is his favorite—even when it’s too cold to get in. During our last winter here, he spent hours on the dock, just staring at the ripples in the water.

The lake is his peace.

“Newsflash, Ray. I always think of ways to get you wet and naked. My intentions are always two-fold and never as chivalrous as you think they are.”

I laugh. At least he’s honest. “When you plan these naked times,” I tease, stepping into the hot water, “do you plan to get naked with me?”

Because I will be seriously bitter if he leaves me alone in this tub.

“I’m so disappointed in you, Ray.” He makes a tsking sound as he drops towels on the stool and steps into the water. Duke insisted if we didn’t want to be the next Rose and Jack from Titanic, we should immediately strip and use each other’s body heat to stave off the hypothermia.

Again, his way of getting us naked on the back deck so he could carry me over the threshold properly—his words, not mine.

But you didn’t see me complaining.

Because I love this man and his creative ways of loving all of me.

“Come here, Mrs. Potter.”

The name snaps me to attention as he eases down into the water, his defined pecs the only skin on display.

For a moment, all I do is stare at his hooded eyes and outstretched hand, beckoning for me.

“Ray?” he prompts. “Is something wrong? Is it this cabin?” Concern takes over, and he sits up straight. “We can leave. We don’t have to stay here if you don’t—”

I slide closer, stopping him right there. “I love you,” I admit abruptly, an urgent need taking over. “Sometimes I’m overwhelmed by the sheer vastness of it.” Placing my palms against his cheeks, I lean in, pressing my forehead against his. “It’s all-consuming—always floating around me.”

He groans, taking my hips in his hand.

“I thought I was crazy—that I had issues that I let manifest into my need for you. I tried to let you go.”

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