The Art of You

Christmas Eve

“One more step.” Hudson kept hold of my waist, guiding me forward since he had me blindfolded with his tie.

We’d cut out of my parents’ Christmas party early because Hudson said he had a gift waiting for me. We’d stopped by his bar for a quick minute, then, once in his truck for the short drive, he’d removed his black tie and used it to hide my eyes.

I had to assume the gift would involve copious amounts of orgasms, and I was here for it. What I hadn’t expected was the fresh smell of paint when he’d walked me into our mystery location.

“I’m a little nervous,” I admitted, chewing on my lip.

“You should be,” he joked, then removed his hands from my body and went for the knot of the tie.

I swallowed, keeping my eyes closed as he removed my blindfold.

“Open your eyes.”

That husky command compelled me to do as he said. I slowly parted my lids and immediately sought out his hand at the sight before me. Well, surrounding us. I did a three-sixty. “Oh my God.” Is this real? “Did I . . . this is all . . .” Liquid pooled in my eyes, and I suffocated the breaths trying to escape, placing my free hand over my nose and mouth.

“All you,” he confirmed, my words still tangled up by my surprise. “Your parents kept every painting and sketch you ever did over the course of your life, until you stopped at eighteen, and they’re all here on these walls.”

I moved a step forward, and he went right with me.

Another deep gulp to chase down the lump in my throat was needed, emotion continuing to tank my ability to articulate my thoughts.

I couldn’t believe he did this. I mean, I could, because this was Hudson—the king of all men as far as I was concerned. Redefining what it meant to be truly loved at every turn.

“This is your studio now.” Still holding my hand, he walked around to face me, cupping my cheek with his other palm. “Your art collection. Or, I think it’s called an exhibit.” He smiled. “I call it, The Art of You.” His blue eyes pinned me with a slightly nervous look, like he was worried I’d reject his gift.

Not ever. It was the most thoughtful and amazing gesture.

“What do you think?” he asked when I’d still refrained from speaking.

What do I think? My knees buckled as I let my hand leave my face so I could attempt talking. “I think I love you.” I sniffled, trying not to release an ugly sob at how amazing this man was.

“I hope you love me-love me. Not just think.” His smile stretched into a handsome grin, one that met his eyes.

“Oh, it’s safe to say I love you-love you. With all my heart.” Tears hit his hand where he held my face, and he leaned in and pressed his mouth softly over mine.

The noise in my head went quiet, and when he stopped kissing me, I took the moment to peer around the gorgeous space again. Every wall was covered with my art. The unfinished drawing of my sister was on an easel, though, waiting for me. Next to it was another easel that had a black cover draped over it.

“A blank canvas you’re concealing there?” I asked him.

He closed one eye. “Not blank. I may have dabbled in drawing a little myself for this moment.”

“Really?” I was prepared to make a beeline for my next gift, but he gently took hold of my wrist.

“Not yet.” He reached into his pocket for his phone, then a moment later, music began playing from the speakers mounted in the corners of the room.

“Now you see,” I began, pulling my hands free so I could set them on his chest and lock eyes with him, “I’d think you’d play ‘Unchained Melody’ since she’s an artist in Ghost, and they have that hot pottery scene together. You know, we could make a little art together here.”

He pocketed his phone and brought his arm behind my back, hauling me against him in one swift movement. “But he dies in that movie.” His brows drew tight. “I mean, I’d haunt the hell out of you like he did, but . . . I’m not going anywhere.” He surprised me with a little dip, bending me back. “You did ask me if I could dirty dance, though, and I don’t remember ever answering you.”

“Artist”—I gestured with my head toward the covered canvas—“and now dancer. Full of surprises, mister.”

“For you, I’ll be anything you want and could ever need.” He twirled me around, the skirt of my red dress fanning out, then he hoisted me up in the air and I laughed, holding open my arms like Baby from Dirty Dancing as “The Time of My Life” played.

Yeah, this was the Christmas of all Christmases. Epic and incredible.

After the song changed, he tossed his suit jacket on the floor by his tie, then dragged his hand down the V-slit of my dress, using his palm to bend me again. The man was all hard lines and sexy masculinity as he took command of my body, taking the lead.

“There’s a bedroom upstairs, too,” he whispered in my ear, catching me in his arms after twirling me. “I figured you may have some late nights here.”

“We’re down the street from your bar. Does that mean you’ll join me on those nights?”

He stopped dancing and captured my chin with his big hand. “What do you think, sweetheart?” He laid a hot kiss on me, stealing my breath and thoughts along with it.

“Any more surprises?” I asked when the next song began, and he clasped our fingers, walking us around a corner to a private area away from the windows. I honestly wasn’t sure how he could possibly top this.

“One or two,” he said while we entered a lit-up room filled with art supplies. Like loaded with them. He’d gone all out. “Did you know there’s such a thing as edible body paint?” He let go of my hand and went over to a table and lifted a small red jar. “Strawberry-flavored dark chocolate.”

“Now this is getting even more deliciously interesting.”

With the lift of his chin, he motioned to a blanket already on the floor. After unscrewing the lid of the paint, he reached for a new brush. “Get naked, please.”

“Promise to lick it off?” I wet my lips before sighing, my heart never feeling so full. “Maybe it should be me with the paintbrush, though. I’m feeling rather inspired now.”

“Oh, are you?” He set aside the paint and brush, then worked the top two buttons of his pressed black dress shirt undone. “So, both of us naked, then?”

“Mmmhmm.” I unzipped the dress, and the red silk fell to a puddle at my feet, leaving me in only my strapless bra, matching satin panties, and fire-engine-red heels.

“And my job is done. A masterpiece already,” he said huskily while turning his clothes into a distant memory. “Why mess with perfection?”

Keeping my heels on, I shed the rest and stretched out on my back, waiting for him to join me on the blanket with the brush and paint, eager to see the new artist at work.

He took a knee alongside my body and spread open my thighs. The brush tickled my skin, making me laugh, as he slowly drew a line in red paint from my belly button to my breast.

“My favorite sound on the planet, a close tie to hearing you moan when I make you come,” he rasped before following the path the brush had taken to lick up the red-colored chocolate.

Talk about living art. Consider me very, very ready to explore my talent again.

We took turns with the brush after that. I wound up on top of him a few minutes later, perched right on his hard length while drawing little not-so-artistic squiggles along the ridges of his abs.

“You’ve been a good girl taking your pill, right?” he asked, holding my hips as I ground against his erection. “Not ovulating?”

“Yes to both. I’m good.” I set the brush and paint aside, leaning forward to kiss his chest, offering him the perfect opportunity to slip inside me. “Go ahead. Feel me bare.”

“My Christmas present, huh?” he asked with a hearty laugh. “It’ll be hard to top that next year. I just might want the chance to put a baby inside you then.”

“I hope you do.” I swallowed, meeting his eyes, then nodded my permission for him to connect our bodies, letting him take over.

He rolled me to my back, the red “paint” smeared all over us making us somehow a perfect mess, and I loved it.

The moment our bodies connected, he stretched me out, filling me deep. I whispered an I love you, that he caught with his tongue before returning the words.

Heaven was truly here. In an art studio with the man I loved. A Christmas miracle. Hell, I might even have to believe in Santa again.

After we made love, and he came inside me for the first time—an experience I’d never forget—he took me upstairs into the bedroom to shower and clean up. We wound up making love again there, too. The man was insatiable and could never get enough of me, and I was ditto all the way in that regard.

He had my pajamas already on the bed, little Christmasy ones that were cute but sexy. Just sweats for him. Gray, though, so merry Christmas to me.

We swapped our towels for the clothes, then he took my hand and guided me down the spiral steps to the studio. I still couldn’t believe my work was hanging up, framed and displayed like a real exhibit.

He walked me over to the covered canvas, and my gaze raked over the unfinished one off to the right, and my stomach squeezed. Because for the first time, I truly wanted to finish it. It took this very moment for me to understand why I’d left it partially incomplete in the first place.

Because in my head, if I finished, Bianca would really be gone. She’d be done.

But I was wrong. I’d left her in limbo. Me, too. Neither of us being able to move on. But it was time.

Tears filled my eyes as I cupped my mouth and Hudson pulled me into his arms, sensing I was going through something. He gave me all the time I needed, and when I was ready, I requested to see his work of art.

“Well, as far as I’m concerned, I’m looking at my masterpiece now.” His eyes roamed appreciatively over my body. “But if you’re ready . . .?”

“I am.” I nodded, setting a hand over my stomach, a little nervous.

He slowly removed the cover, revealing a rough sketch that I couldn’t love more, because he’d done this for me. For us.

“And what do you call it?” A flood of tears hit me as I stepped closer to take it in.

“Our future,” he said with a lopsided grin as he pointed to a cute one-story home he’d drawn. “We’ll build our own place somewhere near your parents’ house on Long Island.” He gestured to the profile of a woman holding her stomach. “You pregnant with our child.”

More and more depictions covered the canvas like the game of Life, only this was going to be mine. And it was real.

“The beach outside your parents’ home in the Hamptons . . . I’m thinking that’s where we should marry. You love it there, and you feel Bianca’s presence when you visit, so⁠—”

“Yes,” I cut him off, leaping into his arms. “Yes, I’ll marry you.” I linked my wrists behind his neck and kissed him.

I felt him smile against my mouth a moment later. “Sweetheart?”

“Mmmhmm?”

“Mind if I drop to one knee and ask you first?”

I sniffled, swiping away tears, while laughing. “Right. I skipped over that, didn’t I?”

He bit the side of his lip, which was ridiculously sexy, then reached into his pocket while lowering to one knee. He opened the box, revealing a simple solitaire set in a platinum band. “Will you marry me, Isabella?”

I set aside the ring box on a nearby table, lowered before him, taking hold of his face between my palms, eagerly nodding. “Yes, yes, yes.”

He crushed his mouth over mine, and we remained locked into that moment until we were both breathless.

When we finally came up for air, he helped me stand and swept me up into his arms. “Now, I’d like to carry my future wife to bed, because I need to be inside you again if you don’t mind.” He dropped his eyes to the box. “Want your ring?”

“I’ll get it later.” I held on to him, lifting my chin to hold his eyes. “I have everything I need right now. Just you.” And I meant that. Every word. All I’d ever needed was him and his love, and I knew he felt the same.

Hudson pressed a soft kiss to my mouth, then took me to the loft where we made love again. And after he fell asleep, I slowly crept down the stairs, put on my engagement ring, then began drawing again.

From that moment until the morning, I never left the room. Even with the sun coming through the window, I didn’t stop. I didn’t lower my pencil until Hudson came up behind me, setting his hands on my arms to hold me.

“You finished.” He leaned in, resting his chin on my shoulder to take in the sight of the drawing of Bianca sitting alongside a new canvas I’d begun working on after that one. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” he whispered into my ear, and I turned to catch his mouth and kiss him.

“Best Christmas ever.” I let go of a deep sigh as he changed positions, hooking his arm around me, drawing my back to his chest to hold me.

“And what do you call this one?” He gestured with his free hand to my current work in progress which was of a couple dancing.

I smiled and looked back at him. “The Art of Us.”