He let her lead him out the door of the hotel. They stopped in front of the valet sign, and she looked up at him. Not knowing what she wanted, he looked down at her.

Her eyes grew wider and she pursed her lips as she reached into his pants pocket and pulled out the ticket. Handing it to the valet, she squeezed his hand again and moved closer to his side as they waited for his car. When it came, she walked to the driver’s side and got in. He hesitated, then got in on the passenger side, unsure why she was driving, unsure why she had noticed that he was upset, unsure why she was being so kind to him...

Quickly, she slipped off her shoes and set them on the floor of the back seat, and then pulled the seat forward and adjusted the mirrors. He looked out the window, and through the glass doors of the hotel, he could just make out the sign, ‘Evans/Whitman Wedding’. So, she was married. Isabel was married, and was having a baby, and none of it included him. It was only a few moments ago that he realized that he’d always secretly thought it would. Somehow, despite everything, he’d always imagined that someday it would be the two of them. Now that image that had been secretly hidden in his mind had been completely purged. He and Isabel were over, so over, long over.

He could sense her nervousness. She was like a tight ball of energy in the seat next to him. Glancing over at her, he saw her looking at him. Her green eyes were wide, and she was biting her lower lip. Worry. She was worried about him.

Her breath seemed to catch, and he could hear the small strangled sound in her throat. She wanted to speak.

“I…That, I mean-, well it’s none of my business…but…the baby, it’s not yours…?” her voice was barely audible as she asked the question.

Breathing out sharply through his nose, he shook his head, “Not this time.”

“Oh…” she looked straight ahead.

Turning, he stared out the window again. He nearly jumped when he felt her hand curl around his own on his thigh. Looking first at her hand, and then at her, he felt his breath catch.

“Why?” he asked her.

She glanced at him, looking confused, “Why what?”

“Why me?”

Her brow furrowed and she swallowed hard, “I-I’m not sure-.”

“You know what I’m talking about,” he said, turning in his seat to study her face.

“I…” she closed her eyes briefly, then quickly opened them and focused on the road.

They didn’t speak for the rest of the drive. He was surprised when she stopped in front of his place. She should have gone to her building, he could have driven three blocks on his own.

He watched as she reached into the back seat and grabbed her shoes, then slipped them on her feet. Her movement fascinated him. Shoes on, she opened her door and hopped out, then walked to his side and opened his door. Doors, car doors. He hadn’t opened hers for her tonight.

She waited as he got out, and then followed him into the building to his door. Looking at the keys in her hand, he could see her mentally working out which ones opened the door. Her first guess was correct, and suddenly they were inside. Switching on the entryway light, she closed the door after him and stood next to it hesitantly.

“Why don’t you go get some rest?” her voice was soft, and concerned.

“You can’t walk home alone.”

“I can. I’ll be fine. I mean, I did it for a year and a half.”

He looked into her eyes, “That was before.”

She seemed bothered by his words, and looked down at her feet, “I’ll just hang out here for a little while, then. No one’s home at my place anyway.”

The way she was standing, wearing her beautiful dress, but with her eyes downcast…

“Make yourself at home,” he said as he walked over to the staircase. He went to his bedroom and decided to take her advice. Looking at the door, he considered closing it, but decided there wasn’t really a point. Quickly, he stripped and left his suit draped over the easy chair in the corner, threw back the covers, then plopped on his bed in his boxers. A little bit of light came into the room through the door, which was open to the room below.

Listening carefully, he heard her moving around. First, he heard her use the phone and leave a message saying “Don’t know when or if I’ll be home, so don’t worry.”

After the phone call, he heard the bottles inside the door of his refrigerator rattle, and knew she had opened it. A few seconds later, he heard the sound of a plastic seal breaking and knew she’d gotten herself a bottle of water. Next, he heard paper pages being turned, and decided it had to be the Rolling Stone he’d left out on the counter in the kitchen. Closing his eyes, he pictured her downstairs, with a bottle of water in her hand, leaning over the counter while she flipped through a magazine, with her long hair down around her shoulders and that red dress clinging to her tightly.

His eyes flew open when he heard his stereo come on. He’d had the volume up high, and she turned it down quickly, then switched it from the cd player to the radio and flipped through several stations before settling on some sort of easy 80’s rock station. Not something he’d normally put up with listening, but if it was what she wanted…Reaching up behind his head, he flipped on the overhead speakers above his bed to hear the music better.

The next sound he heard made his breath catch in his throat. She was climbing the stairs. Lacing his hands underneath his head, he tried to act casual. It wasn’t a big deal to have a girl in his house, and he tried to make himself remember that when he saw her silhouetted in his doorway.

Leaning against the doorframe and fingering it hesitantly, he knew she was just there to check on him, still worried because of the reaction she’d seen him have earlier. He was afraid she’d ask him how he was feeling. How could he explain that his reaction had been the end of pain and not the beginning of it? Maybe it wasn’t necessary…

No, it definitely wasn’t necessary. She was just the waitress…

…The sainted waitress who sacrificed everything for her family, and worked like a slave, who had inspired him to do more work than he ever had, and whose every action seemed to fascinate him.

…Just the waitress who’d seen something in him that had shown through her eyes for a few minutes while she was beneath him, and who he’d been dreaming about getting back into his bedroom ever since the moment she last left it…

***

Maria stood in his doorway, watching him. She tried to tell herself that she was just making sure he was all right, but she knew why she was there. He was watching her, and his eyes were smoldering, and she knew he wanted her. It wasn’t surprising. He’s in pain, and a girl comes to his bedroom, offering herself to him – ‘any port in a storm’, of course he wouldn’t refuse. She should refuse. Walk away, not look back. It wasn’t worth it, she’d done this before…

She needed to turn herself around and walk away. This wasn’t going to get her anywhere. It was stupid to jump into this just to have an excuse not to face up to the fact that her life was changing. There were things she needed to do, the last thing she needed was to complicate things further. So, she’d made the mistake once, she could live with it and move on, but again…No. She looked up at him, determined to leave, then she saw his face…

No, no, no…

Clenching her hands into fists, she walked to his bedside and sat down carefully on the edge, reaching her hand out to put it on his forehead. He grabbed her wrist with his fingers and sat up to face her. His eyes seared her, he was so close that she could feel his breath hot against her mouth as it escaped through his barely parted lips.

If only he hadn’t looked like that, if only he hadn’t shown any weakness. It was too much. He was too strong, and a strong man in pain was irresistible. It was textbook.

This pull, this undeniable attraction to him. She couldn’t escape it. Every moment she was with him, she felt it, and the more she ignored it the more powerful it was. They were frozen, almost touching, and she knew what he was waiting for. So, she closed her eyes, and leaned into him as his mouth closed on hers.

His hands buried themselves in her hair as he sent shivers up her spine with his lips. She ran her fingers up his bare back and then back down again, and she lost herself in the feeling of his kiss, moaning softly into his mouth as his tongue explored hers.

The passion of the kiss fanned her smoldering desire into dancing flames, and she gripped his shoulders hard as he bit at her neck. Eventually, he moved her to her feet and turned to put his feet on the floor as he sat on the edge of the bed. His fingers found the zipper of her dress and slipped it down and the garment off before she even knew what was happening. He pulled her down for a kiss as he ran his hands around the skin of her waist making her shiver, then moved them up to unhook her strapless bra which he peeled away. She threw her head back as he pulled out of the kiss and moved his lips to her breast, softly teasing her nipple with his lips until she was gasping and then taking it into his mouth fully and grazing it with his teeth, making her cry out and dig her fingernails into his back.

He knew how to touch her. Everywhere, every inch of her skin that he touched felt white hot, and his lips seemed to make her nerves scream. She lost herself completely to his hands, his lips, his skin. When he slipped her small panties off she barely noticed, but when he began to stroke her lower lips with his fingers, she became extremely aware, thrusting her pelvis into his hand as he moved his fingers inside her, occasionally teasing the small bundle of nerves that made her shudder.

When the need became an unbearable ache, she reached down to remove his underwear but found they were already gone, so she pulled his head away from the place he’d been kissing her neck and told him with her eyes what she needed. She’d expected him to lay her on the bed but instead he pulled her tightly to him, so that she was straddling his hips, resting her knees on the bed. Then, he put one hand on her hip and guided her down until she felt him pressing into her entrance. He gripped her tightly and stopped her when she tried to impale herself on him too quickly, making her take him in slowly.

God, it was amazing. There was a little pain, but nothing like the first time. She continued to push down slowly and felt herself stretching, widening to accommodate him. Her eyes were open, and she watched as his breathing became uneven and his head moved back slightly. It felt unbelievable having him inside her, and she felt a tightness in her throat as though she were on the verge of a sob. Slowly, she rocked forward and upwards, and watched as his eyes fluttered and he gasped. Still watching his reactions, she moved down again, this time a little more sharply, and he let out a moan that was almost a whimper. Maria paused, lost in the wonder of what she was doing to him, and his eyes finally focused on hers and then gained an intense look as his hands found their way to her hips, urging her into a slow, steady rhythm.

***

She was driving him crazy. He couldn’t take much more. No matter how many times he told himself that he needed to let her do this her own way, he was constantly fighting the urge to throw her down on the bed. He needed more of her, he needed to get deeper. This was torture. It was all he could do to keep from screaming.

God, she was so tight, so wet, so perfect, and the noises she made…The soft mews, the throaty gasps, the moans, the low groans. He was so turned on, so hard…

Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, and he felt her hot breath as she sighed into his ear. It was killing him, a slow burn. He pulled back and was about to move her when he saw the look in her eyes. Those eyes. That look she was giving him, like he was the most amazing thing she’d ever seen.

“Why?” he gasped as she rocked slowly down on him, the feeling of her sliding onto him making him want to scream for more, do something to control her tortuous rhythm.

She stared at him, pressing her forehead against his as she continued the rocking.

“Why?” he asked, unable to keep the pleading from his voice as he thrust his hips up into her, making her eyes roll back for a moment, and eliciting a raspy moan from her throat.

Unable to stand it for another second, he lifted her off of him, and she looked down at him desperately. Quickly, he stood and picked her up, laying her down on the bed and then laying down on top of her.

He was about to thrust into her as she looked up at him with those smoky eyes, when he remembered that she hadn’t answered him.

“Why?” he asked again, his voice stronger this time. She took in a sharp breath, and her eyes flickered away from him. It was obvious she wasn’t going to answer, so he pulled her legs apart and buried himself in her hard and fast, unable to stop the loud groan from escaping his lips.

Her back arched and she let out a cry at his re-entrance, and he looked down at her as he began to move inside her to see that she was staring at him again, barely able to keep her eyes open.

“Because I love you,” she said in a strangled whisper as her hands gripped his upper arms tightly.

Michael stopped and pulled out. More because of the constricting pain in his chest than her words. She was young, she didn’t really know what she was saying. The pain in his chest had become an ache, and he watched as her eyes closed and she moved under him, begging him to thrust into her again. After another moment he did, burying his face in her neck, reveling in the smell of her, the feel of her, the taste of her.

The feeling in his chest had dissipated throughout his body, and it seemed as though it was present in every pore. He didn’t know what it was, and he didn’t know why it was – if he were somewhere else, he could paint it, but right now, he was inside her and there was nowhere else he wanted to be. Needing an outlet for the emotion, and unable to think of another, he began to speak it in the only word that came to mind, “Maria…”

At the sound of her name on his lips, her eyes flew open and she looked up at him. She was writhing beneath him, making him crazy, and he said it again, “ Maria…”

He was moving too fast, and he was close to the edge - he was beginning to worry that he wouldn’t be able to hold out long enough for her when he felt her come violently beneath him, crying his name, “ Michael.”

Her walls tightened around him, fluxing, making his vision cloud, “Maria…Maria… Maria…Oh God. MARIA!”

Michael squeezed his eyes shut as he emptied himself into her, savoring the moment as he thrust his few last times. When he opened her eyes, he saw her looking up at him, searching. This had happened before. She’d seen something afterward that changed that look in her eyes. He wasn’t going to let it happen again, so he leaned down and kissed her, tenderly but firmly. Now, she wouldn’t have a chance to think about leaving.

***

Maria answered his kiss passionately, still riding the high of her climax. It was overpowering, he was over powering. He was still buried deep inside her, and she felt him shifting his weight and pulling out while carefully continuing the kiss. Now, he was laying beside her, his hand on her cheek, kissing her senseless.

When he pulled away, she tried to catch her breath, staring at his face. He wouldn’t take his eyes off her, as if he thought she’d disappear if he did. She reached up to caress his cheek the way he was caressing hers. They stayed that way for a few moments, then she tried to get up to go to the bathroom. His arms were around her instantly, pulling her gently back.

“I-I have to…” she looked at him with a small smile.

He looked at her carefully, then released her. She stood, and feeling embarrassed of her nudity, she grabbed her dress off the floor and held it in front of her. Let him get a look at her bare ass, not like he hadn’t seen it before. When she exited the bathroom, she was surprised to see him standing right in front of the door. His eyes raked up and down her body, he was obviously not happy that she was dressed again.

Walking into the bathroom still completely nude, he shut the door behind him and locked it, then wrapped his arms around her, gripping her waist. She gave in to his kiss, but pulled back in protest when he started to unzip her dress. He nipped at her jaw and neck to distract her as he removed the garment for the second time that night. Once it was off, he pulled back and grabbed her hand to lead her into the shower.

When he turned the knob, the heat of the water made her jump and he moved her out of the stream until he’d adjusted the temperature. After a few moments, he brought her into the water, pressing his body flush against hers. She couldn’t believe the way he was continuing to touch her, keep her near him. They bathed quickly, while he continued to keep her close, pulling her back to him if she moved too far away.

He turned off the water and opened the shower door slightly to snake his hand around the corner and grab two towels from an unseen shelf. Handing one to her, he dried quickly and tied his around his waist while she did the same, securing hers under her arms. Before he opened the door to leave the shower again, he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her again. All of this kissing was leaving her dizzy. She barely had time to catch her breath, let alone think.

Grabbing her hand, he led her back to the bedroom and flipped on the light before walking over to his dresser where he opened a drawer and pulled out a black t-shirt and handed it to her.

“I can’t,” she said softly shaking her head, “I should get home.”

“Stay,” he said looking into her eyes.

She shook her head again, “No, I really-.”

He cut her off by grabbing her face between his hands and kissing her again, then pulled back, whispering, “ Stay.”

“Ok,” she whispered, taking the shirt from him, having no idea what she was doing.

He put on a clean pair of boxers and some pajama bottoms as she pulled the t-shirt on over her head and discarded the towel. Walking to the door, he closed it and turned off the light, then took her hand again and led her to the bed, making a motion for her to climb in.

Sliding into the bed after her, he quickly pulled her to him, then grabbed the covers, tucking them in around her. He held her against his chest, and she felt tense for a moment, then relaxed draping herself over him, her head lay on his shoulder, one of her legs was thrown over his. His arms were wrapped around her, and he turned his head and gave her a kiss on the forehead.

Maria felt limp. Lying there with him felt more perfect than anything she’d ever known. It was as though she was made to fit him, molded against his body. Closing her eyes, she drifted off to sleep before she even had a chance to process everything that had happened within the last few hours.

***

Michael held her close and knew she’d fallen asleep when he heard her breathing even out. He tried not to smell her hair, which had gotten slightly wet in the shower making its scent even more tantalizing. And, he tried not to notice how sensually her body was pressed to his, or how, even in her sleep, her tiny hand was making his toes curl with the small fluttering circles it was drawing on his chest.

He didn’t know what to think. The only thing that he knew for certain was that she made him feel…differently…than anyone else ever had. There was something about her, something he was drawn too. He wasn’t really sure what it was.

She sighed softly and snuggled her face into his chest. This wasn’t annoying. It wasn’t a pain, or something he begrudged her. Holding her felt right, good.

***

Maria opened her eyes to see the sun filtering in through the blinds on his windows. She was still in the same position she had been when she fell asleep. Lying on his chest, his arms around her. Yawning, she moved away, careful not to wake him. His arms fell loose at his sides as she sat back and looked down at him. In his sleep he was beautiful. All of his features were softened, and he had an earnest look.

The clock on his bedside table read 7:05, and she almost panicked, but then she remembered that it was Sunday, and she didn’t need to worry about work. Slowly, she moved out of bed keeping an eye on him to be sure he stayed asleep. Gathering her clothes from the floor, she went into the bathroom, and after taking one look at her hair decided that she needed to wash it before she went home. Hopping in the shower, she let the water wash over her as she considered everything that had happened.

Isabel. The beautiful woman had a name…and a place. His ex. He’d been with her for three years, and obviously was still deeply attached to her. So, that was one more reason to add to the list of ‘why it’s stupid for me to think that something’s happening between us’. Of course, last night had lessened one of her insecurities.

It had been obvious that he’d enjoyed himself this time. She’d watched his face…well, until he laid her down and she couldn’t even remember to breathe, let alone keep her eyes open…but before that she’d watched him, and she’d seen what it did to him. Thinking over the whole experience, she was-.

Wait. How could she have forgotten? She’d glossed over it because she was sure he hadn’t heard, but she’d told herself she would keep an eye on him to see if he acted strangely…but, she hadn’t. No, she’d been completely lost in his touch, and she’d forgotten to make sure he hadn’t heard her.

When her hair was rinsed thoroughly of the shampoo and conditioner, she turned off the water and stepped out to dress herself in the red dress. Finding a comb in his drawer, along with a three pack of brand new toothbrushes which she helped herself to, she managed to make herself look partially presentable, and opened the bathroom door. Never would she have expected to be greeted by the smell of food cooking. Carefully, she walked to the railing overlooking the main room and glanced over it to see him in front of the stove with a frying pan (of all things) in his hand. It looked like he was making scrambled eggs, and another smaller frying pan seemed to contain tiny sausages. She stepped back and took a deep breath before she started down the stairs. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined him cooking.

She walked carefully into the kitchen and stood in front of the kitchen counter opposite him. His back was to her, and he was still shirtless, but was now wearing an old pair of blue jeans. The muscles on his back were like the ones on his chest and stomach, definitely there, but not overly defined, just the way she liked them. A smile somehow found it’s way to her face as she noticed how the hairs on the back of his neck curled slightly, sexy…

He turned around when some toast popped up in the toaster on the counter behind her, and seemed surprised to see her. His eyes sought hers, and his jaw set itself firmly.

“Um, ‘morning,” he said as he pulled the toast out of the toaster and placed it on the plate he had sitting in front of it.

“Good morning,” she said, looking down at the floor. It was embarrassing to even think that he might have heard her last night.

She was still staring at the floor when she felt his hands on her hips turning her to face him, pulling her against him. When she looked up, he was leaning down to kiss her, and she tilted her chin up and met his lips. The kiss was sweet and slow, but didn’t break, and before she knew it they were gripping each other tightly, her arms were flung around his neck, and his hands were buried in her hair…

The smell of something burning reached both of their noses at once, because they each pulled back and stared at each other in confusion. He glanced at the stove.

“ Sh*t,” he hissed as he moved quickly over to pick up a pan full of crispy eggs.

How long had they been kissing anyway?

Picking up the pan, he carried it over to the sink and dropped it in, then turned to her with a grin. Her stomach dropped to her feet.

A grin.

She’d never seen one of his before. It had a smirky quality, and it certainly wasn’t large, but she knew what it was, and it was making her knees weak.

This was something she could get used to. Him, in the morning, smiling at her, kissing her. He made her feel so alive.

“Is this why you don’t cook?” she asked, hoping he wouldn’t see how his smile had affected her.

He laughed as he walked to the fridge and pulled out the carton of eggs, then got another pan out of the cupboard next to the stove, “Uh, I was just doing scrambled, because everybody likes scrambled, but-.”

“You’re cooking for me?” she asked him softly, she’d just assumed it was for him.

Whipping her a quick look he said, “Yeah, what do you think I’d eat in front of you?”

Unsure of how to respond, she simply turned and walked out into the main room. The sunlight was shining in brightly through the windows. Somehow his studio in the corner stood out, probably because it wasn’t lit, and she felt drawn to it.

There were stretched canvases leaned against walls and tables, some clean, some partially painted, some filled. A large one in the corner drew her. It was done entirely in black, a man trapped in a box with a look of rage on his face, though she wasn’t sure, she had a feeling the man was him. Glancing to her left from that one, she saw another larger canvas mounted on the wall. It was an extreme close-up of someone’s eyes, just a small bit of the cheek underneath and a small bit of forehead above the eyebrows. So, he was good. Of course, she didn’t know a good painting from a good wine, but she knew that it touched her.

Sketchbooks were littered all over the room, most open to a drawing. On closer inspection of one sitting on a table under the eyes, she saw an aerial view of a nude woman, lying on a bed, her hair fanned out beneath her, her eyes half closed with a look of rapture on her face. This too had an affect on her, and she began to wander around the room, closely examining the sketchbooks and the canvases, finished or not. They all seemed to be of the same woman. When she was crouching down to look at one which seemed to be just a view of a leg, she glanced down at a sketchbook on the ground. The drawing she saw in it was more crisp and in focus than the paintings and other sketches. Almost immediately she recognized the setting, it was Murray’s, a view from outside the front window. She saw a waitress standing behind the counter, with a hand on her head as though she were smoothing her hair back. It was the woman from all of the sketches and paintings….

Her. It was her.

Leaping to her feet, she looked at the sketches and paintings again. Now she could see it. Everywhere. Her own reflection, various snap shots of her body, leered at her from around the room. At first she was amazed. This was the way he saw her. He painted her, he was obsessed with her. Then Alex’s words from the night before began to echo in her mind. He’d never painted Isabel. He didn’t paint anyone he knew.

The truth of it hit her hard and fast. Just moments ago, she had let him kiss away her newest set of concerns, and it had been foolish. She didn’t mean anything to him. And, obviously she never would.

“It’s ready,” she heard his voice calling from the kitchen.

For some reason she panicked. Reaching her hands up to smooth her hair, she accidentally brushed them against her cheeks and felt tears. Crying. She was crying. Quickly wiping at the moisture, she took a few deep breaths to steady herself. What was she doing here? Everything was happening for her. A whole new future was stretching out into the horizon, and she was constantly consumed with thoughts of him.

“Maria?” his voice behind her made her jump.

She took a few deep breaths and didn’t turn to look at him, “Yeah?”

“The food is…” his voice trailed off. It made her want to turn around and see what was happening on his face, but she couldn’t. She knew he’d see she was upset.

“Uh, sorry, I really should get going,” her voice faltered slightly, and she took another steadying breath and tried to focus. Her eyes landed on the painting of… her eyes. She walked over to it and looked up, hoping that by concentrating on it she could distract herself.

His bare feet made whispering noises as he walked across the floor to stand behind her. Turning her head slightly, she was just able to make out his form.

“It’s you,” he said firmly, and she knew he was talking about the painting.

“Uh…yeah,” she said, trying to keep her voice light. “I sort of…I sort of knew that…”

She was shocked when she felt his hands on her hips, and felt a shiver run up her spine as he slid them around her waist wrapping her in an embrace from behind, pulling her to him. He buried his face in her hair, and when she leaned her head back against him, his lips moved to her neck. This was too much. It was so unfair for him to make her feel this way.

He didn’t see her as anything, just a stranger. No, he was a famous artist, and he was probably still in love with his now married ex, and he was closed off, and he probably wouldn’t be any good for her…and he made her feel like she was flying…

No. This had to stop. She was completely attached, and it didn’t really mean anything to him. An attempt to pursue things would be like asking to be a statistic. It was time for her to wake up and take control of her life, and that was going to start here and now.

Maria pulled away from him quickly. He looked at her, confused and started to reach for her.

“No, sorry. I have to go.”

He searched her eyes, his brow furrowed. For a moment she could have sworn she saw the strange sick look that he’d gotten-.

She tore her eyes away. This wasn’t the time for delusions. In fact, even if he did care it didn’t matter. Keeping her eyes on the floor, she walked past him on her way to the door.

“ No, Maria.”

His voice halted her. He sounded angry. Very, very angry. Snapping herself back to her resolve she walked to the coat rack by the door and grabbed her mother’s coat, then quickly slipped her feet into the shoes she’d discarded there the night before.

Suddenly, he was beside her, “What are you doing? You can’t just walk out, I-.”

She glanced up at him, “Really. I’m sorry. Shouldn’t have stayed last night anyway.”

Standing, she grabbed her evening bag from another hook and took another step toward the door.

“Don’t. Do not leave,” his voice was hard and low, as if he were lecturing some errant teenager.

Ignoring him she reached for the knob, only to see his hand slam on the door, muscles tensed, obviously trying to keep it closed. Why did he care? He didn’t, did-. No, he didn’t.

“Look,” she said, keeping her voice low to match his, glad she wasn’t facing him, “I am leaving. I need to go home.”

‘And I need to get on with my life,’ she thought.

“No.”

She was exasperated. Why was he making this difficult?

“I have things to do. Things that do not include you or my stupid job, and I need to get started on them. Now, stop getting in my way. I.Have.To.Go.”

The hand on the door relaxed, and dropped, and she heard him sharply release a breath. Quickly, she opened the door just enough to let herself through, then closed it behind her, moving quickly out of his building and down the street toward home.

***

Michael stared at the closed door and ran a hand through his hair. He’d let her slip away. All of those stupid movies about women liking it if you cooked them breakfast-.

His fist slammed hard into the door, and he fell on his ass, cradling his hand in his lap. That was probably a mistake.

So, what was it this time? He couldn’t imagine that there was any doubt about how he’d felt about last night, he’d completely lost it inside her. Was it the food? Did he not make it clear enough that he wanted her to stay? His work – the paintings? It might be that…no, she’d melted into him even after she’d seen them.

God, she was always like this. Hot and cold. Impossible to figure out. Most people at least gave him a hint what he was or wasn’t doing. Not her. Oh no.

The thing that didn’t make sense – that he couldn’t figure out – was why she would run if she thought she loved him. He believed it. Well, not that she loved him, but that she thought she did. It was all over her face, it was shining in her eyes…he didn’t really know why, but she saw something in him. So, why run? What was it? What was he doing?

Standing awkwardly he went to the freezer and pulled out an ice pack, and wrapped it in a towel, then laid in on his knuckles.

He sat on his couch and stared into the studio, at the exact spot they’d been when she’d suddenly pulled away. Maybe if he re-traced her steps…

Standing where she had been, he looked around. There was the picture of her eyes, she’d been staring at it. Glancing around, he tried to see if there was something that would have upset her. He’d done some sketches of Tess while she was staying with him, but he had a feeling they were in the book he kept on the coffee table. Turning in a complete circle, he was mystified. Everything that surrounded him was her. Was she upset by herself?

He laughed wryly as he went back out to the living room and flopped onto the sofa again, wincing as the movement jarred his hand.

This was not what he wanted. He wanted her to stay. She made him feel, she made him think, she even made him laugh. There was so much more he wanted to know. Even the thought of them having something…well, long term…didn’t bother him. Not as long as she kept making him feel the way she did, not as long as she kept looking at him like he hung the moon…

Throwing his head back, he stared at the ceiling, four stories up, so far away. It was so stupid that he was stuck wondering about all of this stuff. He sounded like a girl or something. In fact he could just imagine Tess as she’d re-counted every moment she’d spent with that guy she was interested in, wondering what she could and couldn’t read something into. Maybe it was time to call in an expert. Could Tess give him a clue about what was going on?

Somehow, the thought of calling Tess made him feel guilty. He only called her when he needed something. She was almost always the one who initiated contact. It was something he’d always noticed, but it had become more obvious since her break-up with Max. In fact, now every time she used one of her favorite lines it made him feel a little guilty, even though she never used it in reference to herself. He could just hear her as she watched him pout over something with Isabel, ‘It’s not all about you, Michael.’

It’s not all about you, Michael.

“It’s not all about you, Michael,” he said to himself as he stood and walked back into the corner to stand in the spot again.

So, maybe there were other things in her life. Of course there were. From the sound of things, she had a lot of stuff to deal with. He sat down on the floor and stared up at her eyes on the wall.

If it wasn’t about him, then what was it about?