Grounded (Up in the Air, #3)(40)

That got to me, and my eyes filled with those humiliating tears that I couldn’t seem to avoid lately.

He traced a tear down my face, giving me his fondest smile. “I freely admit that was enough to catch me, and you’re going to tell me I’m crazy, but I’ve been around the block too many times to count, and I was experienced enough to know, right from that first meeting, that I was falling for you. I didn’t understand it until after our first time together, wouldn’t have given it that name, but that doesn’t change the fact that I was lost from then on. But let’s get back to my favorite subject.”

He reached across the tub, turning the water off. He plunged that hand back into my hair to cup the back of my head.

“Next, I fell for that hard-won composure of yours, that steely self-control. When I got you to smile at me, or even to acknowledge my presence, it felt like an accomplishment. I’ve never needed the chase, never wanted it, really, but I relished it with you, even knowing that it was trouble for me, that you were trouble.”

“Next, hmm, let’s see, that’s harder to pin down, because that was a lot of things at once. I’ll lump it all together and say that I fell for your reaction to me next. Your submission. I’ve never felt anything like this kind of chemistry before. The way you trembled at my touch, that innocent response that you couldn’t hide, and that I couldn’t doubt. And then we made love. After that, I couldn’t call what I felt for you anything but love, not to myself, even knowing that you didn’t feel the same, at least not like I did—not yet.”

There was such an adoring sort of understanding in his eyes that I felt something raw heal inside of me. Yes, my natural skepticism had hurt him, but at least he seemed to get why I was this way. He seemed to get me.

He wasn’t done.

“And then there were your paintings. Those dreams in your eyes. The world cannot have been a beautiful place for you, but it becomes so beautiful through those paintings of yours. You put your soul into those paintings, and nothing in this world is more beautiful to me than that soul of yours.”

I had always been uncomfortable with praise, any kind of praise, and his outpouring was in a league of its own, as far as compliments that moved me went. I felt so overwhelmed that it was hard to keep looking directly at him, deep into those tarnished turquoise depths, but I managed it through sheer force of will, my whole body trembling with the effort.

He continued relentlessly. “And then there’s the fact that you’re stunningly beautiful, and you couldn’t care less about it. Your beauty devastates me, Bianca, yet you put less value on that beauty than any woman I’ve ever met. Even if you realized just how stunning you are, which I know you don’t, it wouldn’t matter to you, wouldn’t make any difference at all, and I find that so charming about you.”

“Sometimes I feel like I’ve made a muddle of it all,” he continued. “Like all I do is screw up, but I swear to you that I’m trying my best. I’m only terrible at this relationship thing because I’ve never done it before, but I promise I’ll keep working until I get it right. I’m nothing if not determined.”

The thought floored me. I spoke without thinking. “Now that’s a depressing thought, James, because if you’re terrible at this, there isn’t even a word to describe how much I suck at it.”

He threw back his head and laughed, and my mouth moved into a smile automatically. He brought his laughing lips close to mine. “Not true, Love. You’re doing perfect, as far as I’m concerned.”

His mouth was a whisper away from mine when I spoke. “You haven’t made a muddle of it, James. You couldn’t be terrible at anything, even if you tried. I think you’re perfect.”

He kissed me, a kiss that started out soft but as always our unquenchable hunger for each other quickly took it further. He was gripping my hair and plundering my mouth within hot, drugging moments. I rubbed my wet chest against his.

We made love slowly, leisurely, lovingly. I lay my cheek against his wet chest when we finished, kissing my crimson name on his pounding heart.

He stroked my hair for long minutes, still buried inside of me. He seemed in no hurry to pull out.

“I love you, Bianca,” he said very quietly. “There isn’t a thing about you that I don’t adore. Even the things that have made it hard for you to let me in hold a special place in my heart. I never thought I’d meet a woman that I couldn’t doubt, a person that I could so easily give my trust to, but I know your soul, and it is so pure and clear to me that I feel like I can see right into it.”

I didn’t know how he could say that. I felt so cynical sometimes. But I soaked up his words, loving the way they made me feel. I didn’t have to agree with the words to be touched by them.

“I love you,” I told him simply.

We were silent for long minutes, communicating only through stroking touches and soft kisses. Eventually, reluctantly, he pulled slowly out of me, pulling me flush against him right away.

“Can I tell you about my parents?” he asked finally.

“Of course,” I said quickly, surprised that he thought he had to ask. “I would love to hear about them. I love to learn about you.”

“You would have liked my mother. She was so passionate, so opinionated, but also kind. She didn’t come from my father’s world, but she didn’t put up with any of the nonsense that the high society set tried to throw her way. She hated luncheons and teas, hell, she hated all of the insufferable social functions that weren’t directly helping a charity, and the term ‘socialite’ made her see red.”