Come to Me Softly (Closer to You #2)(51)
Author: A.L. Jackson

Jared rubbed his chin, something sweet taking over his expression. “Baby, believe me . . . whatever you’re thinking right now doesn’t come close to what I’m imagining doing to you. But I’m never going to get this fireplace finished if you keep distracting me.”

“Distracting you?” It came as a flirty tease . . . because, yeah, that’s exactly what I was aiming for, teasing him a little, loving that we were free to engage in it, that we belonged to the other and none of this was a secret.

Loved that we could play.

And Jared had taken to teaching me all kinds of games.

“You are in the room, aren’t you?” he drew out.

I smiled, widened my eyes.

Obviously.

He bit out a smirk. “Then I’m distracted.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

He turned back to his work. I caught the slant of his eyes as he stole another glance at me. “Uh . . . no . . . don’t move an inch. Just sit there like the siren you are. Consider yourself motivation. Because the second I get this template laid out, I’ll be taking my prize.”

I blushed a little, fighting the girlish giggle that built somewhere in my belly.

God, how did this man make me feel this way, sifting through me with the heaviest weight and make me feel lighter than air?

“Hurry up, then,” I commanded, biting my lip.

Of everything he’d redone in this house, this was what he’d been most excited about.

The fireplace.

He couldn’t stop talking about it, the plans he had to design it himself, to transform the plain fireplace into something of beauty. To etch and carve and create. Three days ago, he purchased the thick cylinders of wood he would use. Wood he would bisect, cutting it in half to make two columns. Those columns would flank both sides of the hearth, and a heavy mantel would cap off the top.

And Jared would sculpt it all.

Jared had drawn out blueprints, plans to carve out these elaborate designs, an intricate pattern of petals and leaves, the stems twisted and twined, a snarled bouquet that perfectly flowed. Apparently he’d done some different woodworking jobs back in Jersey, but nothing close to the scale he was planning now.

No doubt, it would be stunning, accenting everything in this house perfectly.

A basic bench jutted out from the bottom of the hearth to create a sitting area. He had plans to cover that portion with flat, smooth stones, like a garden of rocks that would give way to the floral vines that would climb the walls.

Unadulterated pride had simmered all over his face when he first showed his idea to me.

It was one of the last projects he had planned for the house. It was almost complete, this house that was a dream, gorgeous and reflecting the true man Jared was inside. It shined from the walls, bore down from the ceilings, and radiated from the floors.

Since he had come back, I’d been struck by something I should have always known.

Jared was an artist.

I realized it when he first brought me here.

How could I not have seen it before? The way he’d been as a boy, constantly dreaming . . . imagining what we could create, taking us on journeys in his mind and doing everything he could to make them real.

Building.

Constructing.

Bringing the visions in his mind to life.

And his words . . .

God, the words that Jared wrote and the ones he whis- pered.

He was beautiful, that beauty formed within and pouring out.

A creator and a poet.

Maybe I’d only attributed art to my pencils and paper.

But Jared’s craft encompassed so much more than that. It infiltrated everything he did, weaving through his thoughts and flowing from his words, the creativity forged by his hand left behind in everything he touched.

And all of it was stunning.

Jared had convinced me to chase my own dreams, too. I wasn’t going back to nursing school this next semester. Instead, I’d enrolled at one of the art schools in town. I still wasn’t entirely sure what I wanted to do with it other than draw faces the way I saw them in my head, but I hoped these classes would help me hone my skills and point me in a direction where drawing would become my career.

My phone vibrated on the end table, gave way to a shrill ring. I glanced at the screen.

“Who’s that?” Jared asked offhandedly, settling back into his rhythm.

“Christopher. Surprised?”

“Uh, no. Asshole might as well move in.”

“Well, I guess you kind of owe him,” I pointed out, laughing under my breath as I swiped my finger across the faceplate to accept the call. Jared probably wasn’t all that far from the truth.

Christopher was a constant, a mainstay.

I loved that he cared so much about me. Underneath all the brashness and banter was a man whom I’d come to deeply respect.

He’d been there for me when no one else had.

I’d never forget it.

It didn’t mean I made things easy on him, because he sure didn’t make things easy on me.

“Christopher . . . I was getting worried. I haven’t heard from you in two hours.” I winked at Jared, and he just shook his head in disbelief and crawled over the plans he rolled out. He traced his finger over them.

“Oh, was just thinking about my favorite sister.”

“Your only sister,” I corrected.

“That’s what I said.”

“You’re such a jerk . . . did you just call to remind me of that?” I asked absently, because it took me all of about half a second to get distracted watching Jared tuck a pencil behind his ear. Slowly, he dragged his tongue over his bottom lip, then he caught it between his teeth, his focus intent.

Christopher laughed through the line, and I could almost see the smirk climb to his face, the mischief in the green of his vibrant eyes. “Nah . . . not this time. I was calling to find out what you guys have planned for Tuesday night.”

New Year’s Eve.

Right.

I just wanted to stay here, on the couch, curled up with Jared.

“Timothy’s having a party,” he stated.

Shocking. Timothy was always having a party. Memories of this summer flooded me, the night Jared finally snapped and gave in to what had been chasing us for so long, the first time his mouth met mine.

Fireworks.

There was no other way to describe it.

Jared paused his work, slanting his narrowed eyes up toward me. “Tell your brother I said not a chance.” He shook his head and situated another piece of wood.

Pulling the phone a fraction away from my mouth, I frowned in question. “You don’t want to go?”