I want the painting installed today.” His tone was harsher than he’d intended, but he didn’t want her to leave.
Getting nothing but silence from the foyer, he was about to blurt out “latte or mocha?” when he heard a rustling of fabric. Was she leaving?
Through the doorway, he spotted her bag near her shoes on the floor, and watched as she stepped down, sock-footed, into the living room and disappeared from view. What had drawn her attention? After he licked his lips to make sure the cuts from his fangs had closed, he marched past the kitchen island, still conscious of the heavy throbbing between his legs.
With her back to him, she stood before the wall of windows. Careful to stay out of the direct sunlight, he moved closer to better observe her. Jeans hugged her shapely legs and bottom as if they were custom-made. A colorful knit scarf draped around her neck hinted at a carefree attitude, and the sun on her long, dark hair gave it a rich, auburn cast. With her mouth agape, she stared at the view.
And he stared at her.
“I knew it,” she whispered.
“What?” She jumped at his question, evidently not expecting him to have heard her. He felt her raw emotion, the eager thumping of her heart in his head.
Excitement flickered in her expression, but was gone a moment later. “Nothing.” With her eyebrows slightly lifted as if to better control herself, she dropped her eyes and turned toward the foyer.
He stepped in front of her, blocking her way. “No, tell me.” For some reason, he needed to hear her verbalize what she was feeling when she looked out the window.
She frowned, stared at her hands. “Well…I’ve always wondered whether the islands and the peninsula could be seen from one of these lofts on a clear day.” She met his gaze with damp eyes, then abruptly turned away. “Sorry. I’m a little overwhelmed by your view. Should we—”
“No, please go on.” Was she crying? He sifted through the air but detected no sadness. Why were there tears?
Her eyes narrowed. Clearly, she doubted his sincerity.
“I’m serious. I’ve lived here on and off for so long that I’m rather immune to the view, I’m afraid. Tell me what you think when you look out. What you see.” As if watching a conductor raise his baton, he held his breath in anticipation.
“It’s stunning, of course. Magnificent.” She stood at the window with her arms crossed.
“Come on. You can do better than that. That’s not what you were thinking when you first looked out. Tell me.”
She seemed to come alive then, hopefully noting the sincerity in his voice. “Well, all right.” She cleared her throat and faced the view again. “I see how the Olympic Mountains seem to stretch out forever to the north and south and wonder how much has never been walked on by human feet.” Wide-eyed, she glanced over at him and he nodded his encouragement. As if to get more serious, she gathered her hair into a loose ponytail, using a hair band around her wrist. She took a deep breath and continued.
“The jagged peaks against the unusually clear sky remind me of a torn strip of paper glued into place. A contrast of shapes and textures, very different, yet united by color.”
His heart thumped unevenly at first, then as he tuned in to her voice, it seemed to blend in with the beating in his head as she continued.
“Today, it’s a study of blues. The misty mountains. The indigo water. The pale, cloud-strewn sky. But tonight it may be pinks and tomorrow it may be grays. It honestly takes my breath away.”
“You have an artist’s eye for description. What else?”
She wiggled a finger around and pointed at the distant peaks. “Could there be a person exactly right there? Or a bear? Or a mountain goat? Or Bigfoot?” Her laughter tickled his ears. “Pretty silly. Not really an artist’s description.”
“Mmm, not at all. You see and imagine more than an average person would when confronted with the same scenario.”
When she looked over at him, her full upper lip puckered into a playful smile, and a strange sensation, as well as a few familiar ones, tugged at his insides. Seeing the view had lighted her mood and that made him…happy.
He longed to pull her into his arms, to mold her body against his and to bury himself inside her with more than just his fingers. Instead, he plunged his hands into his pockets to hide