Page 120 of Tears of Ink

My head swims with him; his smell, his touch, the sense of his body next to mine.

And then in a moment of clarity I know what my centrepiece is going to be.

It’s what I want to give him. My heart.

“I’ve got to go to the studio.”

“What are you doing?”

“Can you deal with the painting today?”

His eyes narrow, his hands still tenderly placed on my cheeks. “No, I don’t know anything about that.”

He knows more about painting than I ever will. He’s innately talented, a talent that’s been squandered by his family.

My gaze holds his, intense, I’m hoping he can comprehend every emotion I can’t express. “Yes, you do. It’s all about dreaming.”

I go to pull away, but his lips are back on mine, his tongue sweeping into my mouth, my body melting against his.

When he breaks the kiss, my blood is singing in my veins. Hot and fluid, it hums and burns. “Have a good day.” His voice is low and intense and my stomach pinches.

“I will.”

And then I leave before I give in to my carnal desires on the ballroom floor. I believe the Wicked Witch of the West would have something to say about that—and so would the cleaners.

I lock myself into the glass studio, stripping off my top and tying on an apron, and then I set to work. I don’t even know if what I’ve envisioned is possible. But I’m sure as hell going to give it a go.

“Sweet mother of God.” I wipe at the beads of sweat gathering across my forehead. When am I going to learn to think things through?

In the small kiln is a swirling pool of ruby red liquid. I clutch at the small bellow and then using a metal hook I spread the material, blowing it gently to make it spread across the metal sheet spread on the desk top. The swirls I make look like nothing more than half-hearted question marks, but I know once they are finished and fitted together where the head of one links with the tail of another it will create what I want—a ying and yang.

When the first batch is done, I put them into the kiln to bake, and then start on the next lot. I’m going to need a lot of question marks that’s for sure.

Funny that my life and my future all come down to a question mark.

It epitomises the moment I’m in. The past is fractured behind me, and unexpectedly Elijah has helped to set me free from the burning hatred and regret.

In front of me is a future I can’t yet see.

In a couple of days my work will be in front of the press. Sky Arts will be here, and they will know I created this—that all of this is mine.

The future could be anything.

Then I think of Eli, marked with my ink. The man torn between what he wants and who he’s been made to be.

The man I feel more for than I ever even considered possible.

I want to go and hunt him down; to touch him, inhale his breath, and absorb his skin and smell. But I want to honour him more, so I keep working, and leave conscious thought behind me as I throw myself into creating yet more and more glass.

It’s getting dark when I find my way to the ballroom. Everything has been moved, and the room is now a cavernous blank canvas. Exactly how I wanted it.

“Are you going to tell me what you have planned?” I shiver as I hear his voice and place my hands on my hips. When I turn, I find a wide grin on his face. The blues dance like the sea under the sun.

“Nope, not until the night. I want it to blow you away.”

He steps closer, his hands finding a purchase against the skin of my stomach. “You always blow me away, everything you’ve done here is extraordinary.”

His tugs me closer, his breath fanning across my skin. I melt and allow myself to absorb into him. His mouth grazes across mine, my breath catches and a shiver of deep anticipation runs through me.