I arched an eyebrow at him. “Pancakes don’t wear floor-length tutus. I don’t know if I can, Jack. I don’t want to mess it up.”

“You can’t mess it up, Abby. Flip.” He sounded certain.

“And my arms? You still want them above my head?”

He nodded, serious. His eyes were on me, moving across my body, taking in each and every curve covered in paint. “I want the impression of your breasts, your stomach, and your waist.” His finger was tapping his lip, that perfectly pink lip.

Tearing my gaze from him, I did as he asked. I attempted to flip over onto my stomach. The sensation of the paint sliding made the landing feel different than I thought. I expected it to feel like a belly flop, which would have stung my stomach and breasts, but this felt different. The paint slid as my weight came down, pressing my figure into the canvas.

My body let out a huff of air, paint covered hair trailing behind me, sticking to my back as I flipped. The skirt was huge and half twisted, half folded under me. “Oh, Jack, I’m sorry. The skirt...” I was about to apologize, but I felt his hands under my arms pulling me backwards, away from the canvas like a stamp. My back was to his front, as he lifted me. The skirt sounded like a million shopping bags crinkling at the same time. He twisted me toward him.

Eyes dark, he pressed his body against mine, getting paint all over his shirt. “The painting is perfect because you are perfect. Abby...” his voice hitched in his throat. His arms were wrapped around my waist, his lips next to my ear, silent.

My heart was racing in my chest. Jack held onto me, naked and covered in paint. Before my bubble could swell any bigger, it burst. Jack’s arms loosened, releasing me. He nodded toward the shower and said, “Better change.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

After the shower, I put on a pair of Jack’s sweats and laid on the couch in the studio. Jack continued to work as I drifted off to sleep. A strange feeling spread over me before that night was over. I didn’t know if it was dread or elation, but somewhere in my gut I knew it was both.

I woke up the next morning to the scent of coffee and Jack’s painting hung on the wall. He stood in front of it, freshly dressed, dark jeans hugging his narrow hips, shirtless. His feet were bare as well. Laying on my side, I stared at what I’d done. It was so different from his other paintings. The oranges and blues were bright, passionate. There was nothing muted about it. Turning, Jack saw my eyes, and smiled.

He walked toward me, with a cup of coffee in his hand, “Good morning,” he said, handing it to me. I sat up, reddish brown hair pressed to the side of my face.

He looked stunning. I forced my eyes to his face and smiled shyly, “Good morning Jack.” I jumped in the shower and put on another pair of his sweats. When I came out, Jack was standing there, waiting for me.

There was a moment of silence as my eyes drifted past him to the canvas. That’s when he asked softly, “Do you regret it?”

I glanced up at him, and shook my head. “No. Necessary evil, I suppose.”

He bristled, “Of course.” Reaching for his shirt, he turned and pulled it over his head. The black tee molded to his body, as he walked away.

It took me a second to figure out what upset him. “Jack,” my voice was sharp. “I’m a minister and I stripped for you. There’s a naked painting of me hanging on your wall.” My voice cracked. The wave of what-have-I-done crashed into me.

He turned back to me, a wounded expression on his face. “It’s not stripping. It’s not hooking. It’s not fucking like that!” The veins in his neck rose as he yelled.

“Maybe for you it wasn’t, but for me it was.” He huffed, and turned, ready to leave, but I grabbed his arm. “Stop, and listen. Damn it, Jack! You don’t listen! Maybe it meant nothing to you, but it did to me. It matters. This is something that was supposed to be with my soulmate, and not strewn across a canvas. I wanted the first man to see me, the first guy that touched me, to be someone who actually loved me. I wanted those things, Jack. This isn’t how I thought things would be. It feels wrong, not because of you, but because of me.” My voice faded as I spoke. I couldn’t look at him. It wasn’t shame; it was disappointment. Somewhere in the back of my mind, it felt like I settled, and it unhinged me.

Jack stood in front of me, his jaw set tight, listening. When I stopped, he breathed deeply, trying to calm himself. “What do you want, Abby?” His voice softened. He leaned closer to me. I took a step back. “Do you want me to tell you what you want to hear? I don’t even know what the fuck that is? I try to talk to you, to tell you, but you seem so unattainable... like a goddess just out of reach. Last night it was all I could manage to keep my hands off of you. The scent of your skin was intoxicating, and yet, I couldn’t touch you. I can’t ever touch you. I can’t ever have you; I can’t ever love you because you’re not mine. You’re out of bounds.”

My voice squeaked, my jaw dropped as I looked up into his stormy eyes, “What did you say?”

His shoulders slumped as he shook his head, his hands pressing on his temples. “You’re out of bounds. I can’t be the one that makes you fall, Abby. You chose your path, you said your vows, and since that’s the life you want, I’ll help you keep it.” He turned from me, walking back to the painting.

I stared at his back. Every part of me felt like it shattered into a million pieces. Did he say he loved me? Did I really hear those words fall from his gorgeous lips? Padding to him slowly, I stopped behind him, asking, “Jack?” He turned, his expression still unpredictable. “Kiss me.” I whispered the words, standing there in front of him with my lips parted, barely breathing.

His eyes fixated on my lips, watching me, wanting me. Without tearing his gaze away, he said, “I can’t. I can’t do that to you. I missed my chance.” The last words were a whisper. I stepped closer to him, looking up into his face. He was close enough to touch, but I didn’t dare.

“What chance?” I asked.

He gazed down at me, blinking like it would erase the memory from his mind. “High school. Before you ran. I didn’t want to mess things up between us. I thought if you really wanted to kiss me that you’d complete the kiss. But you didn’t.”

“I thought you didn’t want me. From the way you acted, I thought I didn’t matter to you like that.”

His eyes were wide, and soft, so soft. He breathed, “I’ve always wanted you like that. But the things you said, about my past, about the other girls—it seemed to cancel out any chance with you.”

Swallowing hard, I gazed at his face, his eyes that seemed so lost and haunted. I shook my head softly. “I grew up, Jack. Your past doesn’t matter to me. It’s part of you.”

He reached out for me, tugging me by the waist closer to him. Gazing down into my face, he whispered, “I’m sorry, but I can’t be the one to start this. I can’t be the one to pull you from your calling and break your vows.”

Reaching up, I stroked his cheek, gently running my fingers along his smooth skin. He sucked in a jagged breath, closing his eyes. Jack’s scent was perfect, filling my head, making me bold. Leaning in, I pressed my lips gently to his. Lowering my lashes, I could feel his breath hitch as it happened. My head swam. The sensations flooded my body making me want more of him, but he pulled away.

“I can’t, Abby...” He pressed his lips together tight, looking away from me at the canvas on the wall. “I can be anything and everything else for you, but I can’t be the one who makes you fall.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

The next few days passed in silence. I went back to Kate’s to get away from Jack, but it did me no good. Everything made me think of him. The way his eyes looked at me the other night. The way he spoke of me as though I was an angel and his love would condemn me made me cry.

Kate noticed I was missing Sunday night, and grilled me on it the next day. Her dirty mind asked, “Did you sleep with him? Why’d you stay over?”

Swallowing hard, I picked at my bagel. I wanted to talk about it with someone. Jack held me so high that it felt like I was horrible for wanting him so much. I glanced up at her, “He painted me.”

She choked on her bagel. “What? Like one of his naked girls?”

“Exactly like one of his naked girls,” picking at the bread, I formed a pattern on my plate. I pushed the crumbs around with my finger. Glancing up, I could see Kate’s eyes widen.

“Abby,” she stared, not blinking, paused like a cartoon character in total shock. “Why? Why would you do that?”

“He’s giving me the painting. I can do what I want with it. No one can see it, and it can stay at the top of my closet forever or I can auction it off and get rid of my loans. It would let me start preaching somewhere else.”

“Who in their right mind will take a nude preacher? Abby, what were you thinking?”

I glared at her, wishing she asked different questions. “You won’t be able to tell it’s me, and no one else was there, so they won’t know who it was either. Kate, it’s already done. I didn’t have a problem with it, so neither should you.”

“Then what’s wrong?” she sipped her coffee, her tone softer.

“He said he loves me.” My eyes stung and I could feel my lashes growing wet as I tried to stop the tears. I was such a mess. Before I left Texas I knew exactly what I wanted, and now, the only thing I wanted was Jack and he wouldn’t have me.

“Abby,” she gasped, “what happened? What’d you say?”

“I tried to kiss him, but he wouldn’t. He said he would be the reason I “fell.” Kate, he talks about me like I’m an angel, and being with him will ruin me. After all this time, I found out why he didn’t kiss me, that he loved me since the beginning. And now it’s too late.” Kate shifted her chair so she was sitting next to me, and handed me a napkin to dab my eyes. I took a deep breath to steady myself.