Secretly Mine-Chapter 170: Falling [Lucas POV]

I closed my eyes, doing everything in my power to control myself. A moment ago, I lost control. I pulled her into me—too fast, too close.

What was I even thinking?

Though I brushed it off, like nothing had happened, her warmth continued to linger on my skin. I wanted more. I wanted to know how her skin felt as it pressed against mine. I wanted to feel the warmth of her entire body, the sweet scent of her breath..

"Lucas?"

Her bell-like voice woke me up from my trance.

"Hmm? What was the question?" I asked, trying my best to pretend like I wasn’t fighting a war in my mind.

She giggled, "I asked if you could help me blend the color of this shadow. I seem to be doing it wrong."

I glanced at her canvas, noticing the spot she was struggling with right away. "Of course. Let me scoot up and I’ll show you."

She nodded and waited for me to position my stool behind her. But the moment I leaned in, I noticed a loose strand of her hair hanging gently down the side of her neck.

My mouth went dry.

Look at the brush. Not her neck. Not the curve of her collarbone...just the brush.

I averted my gaze, focusing on the painting.

"Hold up your hand. I’ll show you the best strokes to blend in the shadows so they don’t look choppy," I said.

Leslie held up the hand that was holding the brush, allowing me to swoop in and place my hand over it.

"If you use smaller, almost feather-like strokes like this.... see how that blends in the colors nicely?"

Her soft hand felt so nice beneath mine that I hesitated to let go.

"Lucas?" she asked.

"Huh? Oh, I’m sorry. Here, you try it," I said, quickly withdrawing my hand.

I pulled back like I had touched fire. But the heat stayed with me.

She didn’t say anything right away, and I couldn’t bring myself to look at her just yet. My pulse still hadn’t slowed. I busied myself with wiping a smudge of paint from my thumb using a nearby rag, though the gesture was pointless.

"Like this?" she asked softly, trying out the technique I’d shown her.

Her brush moved gently across the canvas. Feathered strokes, slow and careful. I leaned in again, keeping a safer distance this time.

"Yes. That’s a lot better," I said in a softer tone than usual. "Just loosen your wrist a little more, it’ll help with keeping the strokes lighter.

She did as I told her, immediately noticing the difference.

"Thank you so much! This is so much easier now," she said with a big smile. All I could feel was my breath catching in my throat.

Her smile was absolutely radiant. I found it hard to focus on anything else.

She went to brush a strand of hair away, leaving a smudge of red paint on her cheek. My fingers twitched with the instinct to wipe it away.

I shouldn’t.

But it was driving me mad.

"You’ve got a little something..." I motioned vaguely toward her cheek.

She blinked, then reached up with the back of her hand. "Here?"

"Uh, a little higher... No, lower. Here, let me..."

I reached forward before I could think twice, brushing the spot gently with the edge of my sleeve. My knuckles grazed her cheek.

So soft.

She stilled.

Our eyes met, and for a second, neither of us said a word. Her breath hitched slightly, but I heard it. Felt it.

Step back, Lucas. Step back now.

I continued to yell at myself to step back. One wrong move and this perfect opportunity to spend alone time with her would vanish.

"So, yeah. It’s coming along very well. Good work," I said, shifting the attention back to the painting.

Leslie nodded softly in reply, turning to look back at the canvas in front of her. When she lifted her paintbrush to continue, I noticed that her hands shook slightly, making her strokes less steady.

We painted in silence for a while. Only the sounds of soft scratches of brushes against the canvas could be heard.

I did my best to focus my attention on the painting in front of me, but my eyes couldn’t help but wander over to Leslie. The light from the window caressed the side of her face, making her glow like a fairy.

It was such a picture-perfect moment that it made me glance over at the massive canvas in the corner of the room. The canvas was a project I’ve been working on slowly and with great difficulty.

Maybe one day I will show it to her.

But before showing her, I would need to finish it first.

-

About an hour later, Leslie put down her paintbrush and turned to face me with a big smile.

"I finished! I’m actually happy with how it came out!" she said cheerfully.

I glanced at her canvas, noticing the realistic red apple in the middle of the painting. For a first attempt at oil painting, it came out very well.

"Amazing! You truly have a talent for this, Leslie," I cheered, giving her the praise she deserved. "I can tell that you’ve studied art well. The way you handled the shadowing was not something a beginner could do."

A faint blush surfaced on her cheeks, but her smile remained. "I look forward to our next project! Maybe a landscape? Those are your specialty, Mr. L.L. Lewis!" she teased.

"Oh, please don’t call me that. And sure thing! Think about a landscape you’d want to paint, and tomorrow we can start on it. I’ll get larger canvases for us as well."

"Okay! I’ll think about it tonight! You should also think about it. I’d like to hear your suggestions tomorrow." Her voice was sweeter than honey.

-

After dropping Leslie off at her house, I came back to the painting room and uncovered the large canvas I had thought about earlier.

A half-finished portrait of Leslie appeared in front of me. After today’s encounters, I couldn’t get her out of my mind even after she went home.

My fingers gently brushed the mostly dried paint of her lips.

"Maybe I can get it right today," I mumbled, pulling out a fresh paintbrush.

I painted well into the night, until I became frustrated enough to give up for the night. This wasn’t the first time this happened. No matter how many times I tried, I couldn’t capture her beauty. The special glint in her eyes.

Maybe I should just stick to landscape paintings... portraits have never been my thing.

But as I thought of Leslie, picturing her in my mind, I shook my head. She was the most inspiring thing that ever showed up in my life. Like the first rain in spring that helped the flowers grow.

I glanced back at the unfinished portrait.

I knew I was falling for her.

Falling in quiet, measured increments.

And the worst part?

I didn’t want to stop.

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