me, his hands on my shoulders and … shit.
He’s massaging them.
His touch feels hot, even though his shirt.
“First, you need to relax. You are too tense. Drink more wine.”
I reach for the glass and finish it, though the reason I’m tense is because he’s fucking massaging me. And I’m not about to tell him to stop.
“Okay, good,” he says, and then leans down, his mouth at my ear. My eyes flutter shut, my body poised to shiver from his breath at my neck.
Dying. I’m already dying.
“Relax,” he murmurs, resting his chin on my shoulder. He takes his hands and runs his palms down over my biceps, over my forearms, all the way to my hands. He guides my hands to the clay in front of me, placing my fingers along the edges, moving them as he would move.
I know there’s a different INXS song playing now, but all I hear in my head is The Righteous Brothers “Unchained Melody” because Claudio is full-on Patrick Swayze right now and I’m a pixie cut away from being Demi Moore. If he starts kissing my neck, I’m going to lose it.
But he doesn’t. He just stays pressed up against me, guiding my hands.
“Let me show you,” he says softly into my ear, sending sparks down my spine. “Then you will know.”
I try to do what he says. I relax back into him.
And the moment I surrender, the more my fingers begin to move on their own, kneading, creating.
“See,” he murmurs, “you just need to stop thinking so much. Let go.”
But it’s too hard to let go. I cling to my worries like a battle axe. I worry about what this means. I worry about what’s next.
I worry that this man might want me. And if he wants me, I don’t know what I’m going to do.
Because I want him, too.
And nothing good can come out of hooking up with my agent’s ex-husband. Not if I truly want to start my career over. Not if I want to stand on my own two feet. I don’t care if the divorce was a long time ago, if there is no love lost between them. You don’t do that. And you especially don’t do that to Jana.
She would make me pay.
“Grace,” Claudio says softly, pausing my fingers. “Do you see?”
I kind of zoned out, so I blink and look down at the clay.
I see a face looking back at me.
At first I don’t know whose face it is. Naturally, I don’t have the skill to make anything lifelike. And yet I know who it is.
It’s my heroine.
“Do you see?” he repeats, and I can hear the smile in his voice.
I nod, a flush of pride moving through me, and turn my face slightly to his.
His eyes are right there.
His mouth is right there.
It would take no effort for his head to dip down one inch and press his lips to mine.
Oh lord. He’s going to kiss me.
He has to.
My eyes drop to his beautiful lips and they part slightly.
But when I look up, he’s staring deep into my eyes instead, and I can count every thread of gold in his dark irises, every black lash that frames them.
“You just needed to let go,” he whispers. His gaze turns hot, desire flickering across his face.
Then he straightens up. “More wine?”
He removes his hands from my arms and grabs the bottle, pouring us both another glass. With space between us, it feels like all the air has come back into the room, sobering me up a little. I sit up straight, remembering to breathe.
“Thank you,” I say, grabbing the glass.
“Prego,” he says. He sits back on his stool, hooking his feet around the legs. “Now you know how to create. Now you can do it on your own. You just needed someone to show you. Just like Robyn showed you how to be an author. Now you are an author. Just you.”
I take a sip of wine and give him a grateful smile. In some ways I feel like Claudio has taken it upon himself to fix me, help me face some things about myself, help me deal with moving on.
And that’s all you are to him. Just a project, something to mold. You’re like another piece of clay, ready for transformation.
Nothing more than art.
Ten
Grace
A knock at my door pulls me out of a deep sleep.
“Grace.” Claudio’s voice sinks into me like I’m still dreaming. For a moment I’m confused, because I could have sworn I dreamed about