Friends or Lovers Ch. 02

**It's been a long time since I submitted anything and I really didn't know where this was going for the longest time. No sex this time, sorry. Enjoy anyway.**

Marty's heavenly blue eyes stared into mine. I had seen that look before when he was about to do something new and exciting, like getting on the scariest rollercoaster at an amusement park.

His head slowly came closer and I could see every detail of his perfect face. The dark lashes, the sweep of his arched brow, the way an unruly lock of hair dared to mar his perfect forehead. I saw it all in incredible detail as I held my breath waiting for the inevitable.

I allowed my eyes to close and the light in front of my lids darkened as Marty leaned his face over me. He paused just a breath away. It was all I could do to hold still. I felt his warm breath on my already over-heated skin.

Finally, the tip of his nose lightly touched my cheek as his lips came into contact with the corner of my mouth. The most gentle pressure and he was gone.

I still had my eyes closed when I felt the movement on the edge of the bed. "Jeez, woman! Are you going to stay in bed all day? I'm starving." His voice was full of humor. My eyes snapped open to see that he was already at the bathroom door and he glanced over his shoulder with a grin, "I'm gonna have a shower." The door closed with a snap. I heard his muffled chuckle.

I pressed my palms over my eyelids. Oh, my heart can't take this! I pressed so hard I started to see lights flash. I exhaled with a groan and sat up.

Every teenage thought and insecurity flew through my head. What did that kiss mean? Could he really love me? Did I screw up somehow? Will he ask me to prom? An involuntary giggle escaped me and I pressed my fingers to my lips, afraid he'd heard me. I could hear the water from the shower and a picture of him wet and naked flashed through my brain. I shook my head trying to think straight.

"Make breakfast." I told myself. I grabbed an old cotton robe from the back of my closet and headed for the kitchen. I didn't have much food in my fridge but I could at least make a decent omelet.

I was lost in thought as I cooked. I moved the pan off the fire about to reach over to get a couple of plates when his warm hands encircled my waist. I gasped and flinched in surprise. "Did I scare you?" he breathed in my hair.

I could feel the heat from his body as he pressed into me. "I forgot you were here." I tried to sound casual but my voice trembled slightly. I felt the rumble of his chuckle on my back.

He pressed his cheek into the side of my neck and inhaled. "You smell good."

God help me, it felt so good to have his strong arms wrapped around me. "It's the eggs. I dabbed a little behind each ear." Why did my voice sound foreign to me? I almost forgot how to move my lips naturally.

I felt his cheek tighten with his smile. "Naw. It's definitely you." His breath brushed my collar bone and I tried to suppress a shiver. "You smell like sun and rain. . and summer." He inhaled again. "And . . .lemons?"

"Fabric softener." I croaked. "Aren't you hungry? The eggs are getting cold." My hands reached for the plates again.

It happened so quickly, I never would figure out how I didn't fall over. He spun me around, his left hand at the small of my back, pressing me to him. His right hand held the side of my neck. "I want a proper morning kiss."

His lips were on mine. Soft and insistent. A small whimper escaped me and my lips parted slightly. My arms didn't know what to do, they hung lifeless at my sides. He pulled back but didn't move away.

My eyes fluttered open, confusion etched deeply in them. He took my wrists and placed my hands on his bare shoulders, then he opened my robe and his right hand moved inside my robe and under the back of my shirt. My skin tingled and burned where his hand touched me. His left hand snaked under my arm to hold the back of my neck.

I've always read that eyes could smolder with desire but never could imagine what that meant. Now I knew. Marty's eyes smoldered with desire. They were dark and intense and I couldn't look away. I could only stare back in wonder.

His lips were on mine again, more insistent than before. He parted his lips but didn't deepen the kiss, just molded his mouth to mine, playing with each lip in turn.

I don't know how long it took but I suddenly realized that my hands were in his hair, holding his head, running over his neck and shoulders, his face. His own hands were not still. The hand at my back ranged over my shoulder blades down to my hip, caressed my ribs and slid under the waistband of my pajamas. His other hand was in my hair, on my face, neck and shoulder.

Slowly, I pulled away and placed my heated forehead against his chest. I tried to slow my breathing and pounding heartbeat. His hands rubbed my back and I could hear his ragged breathing start to go back to normal.

"Wow." I sighed shakily into his chest.

"Yeah." His voice didn't sound too steady either. My face flushed with happiness, that I could make him feel that way.

His chin rested on the top of my head. "What have I been missing?" He whispered. He gently tilted my chin up with one finger so that I could look into his eyes. "Well?" He was smiling warmly, his face still slightly flushed.

I swallowed audibly. "Well, what?" I was having a hard time stringing coherent thoughts together. "I . . . well, uh . . .what?" I noticed then that he didn't have a shirt on and the clean smell of him was making it even harder for me to think, let alone that incredible kiss that had scrambled my brain. As I slowly came to my senses, I was embarrassed that one of my hands was pressed to his heart, while the other had slid into the waste band of his jeans. "Well, I guess we should eat."

He let me go.

I had a hard time keeping up my side of the conversation as we ate breakfast. My head was spinning as I picked at my half of the omelet.

"Hm?" I said with a blink? I think he had asked me something.

"Well, what do you think?" He said again. "Hello! Where did you go?" He was laughing at me.

I tried to remember what he had been saying a moment before. "Oh, sorry. Um . . . What were you . .?"

"The park? I said we should take a walk in the park today." He reminded me.

"Right." I finally remembered. "The new gardens. We should do that . . But it's still raining." I pointed out.

"Ah, come on." He encouraged. "You love the rain. Get dressed, I need some fresh air." He hopped up and went to get dressed himself.

He was right. I did love the rain. I loved the smell of the wet soil and the sounds. Especially the sounds. The thud it made when it came down in thick, sparse fat drops. The whooshing noise when the wind blew it hard against the windows and the shushing sound it made when it was a light even spray. I wished I could paint the sound of rain.

We were soon trudging over the damp sidewalk on our way to the park. I had on a rain slicker and waterproof boots. I was well prepared. But Marty hadn't brought anything but what he'd had on last night. The coat was dry enough but his shoes would be soaked before long. I loaned him one of my ratty baseball caps to keep most of the rain off his head.

It was only drizzling when we reached the new gardens. The soil was dark and damp, the plants gleamed with the wetness and it all smelled so clean and fresh.

I inhaled deeply as we walked through the rough stone path, "It smells so good." I sighed.

"You should do a series of paintings inspired by the gardens," Marty suggested. "Like the ones you did about the Griffith Observatory. I really loved those."

It warmed me inside to know that Marty enjoyed my work. I used to think he was just humoring me about liking them but over the years he's talked me up to some pretty important clients and sent a few customers my way. I owed him for that.

"You know, you still haven't picked out a piece for yourself," I reminded him. "You were supposed to pick one from the Coastal series to go in your apartment. Unless, you want something else now."

He squeezed my arm, "I've changed my mind, about which one I want." He glanced at me from the corner of his eye. "I want one that you haven't shown me . . Yet."

I looked at him confused. "What do you mean, yet?"

He spun me to him and wrapped his arms around me. "I want that self-portrait you did a couple of years ago, that you refused to show me." He grinned.

I pushed away slightly, "Ugh! Not that one." I turned my face from him, embarrassed. I knew I should never have told him about that experiment. I have always been intrigued by the self-portraits of artists like Van Gogh and Frida Khalo. I like how they stared out of the canvas as though they were challenging the viewer.

He squeezed me closer, "Please, at least let me see it." He cajoled. He nuzzled my cheek with his cold nose. "I promise to pick something else, if you insist, but at least let me look." He turned on his most devastating smile and I was lost.

"I . . uh. . Guess we could at least take a look..." I murmured.

Before I knew what was happening I was unlocking my studio and letting him in to view the painting. "I don't even, think it's here. I mean, it's probably in storage." I stalled as I lit up the large studio space.

Canvases were everywhere. I often work in a series of paintings, with an occasional commission thrown in. I had a large commission for a Beverly Hills hotel in the works. I was on the tail end of the project but it wasn't due for another month and I had to admit I was stalling to finish it.

Marty stood looking at it, his head tilted to the side and shrugged off his wet coat. He didn't say anything, letting me take his coat and hat from him. I hung everything on a couple of barstools I often used.

"Well?" I asked quietly.

"Don't get mad." He started, squinting at the large canvas.

"Oh, oh." I said. "You hate it."

"No. No really." He didn't move. "It's just . . . You're so much better than this." He shrugged.

"What do you mean?" I was instantly defensive even though it was sort of a compliment. "I thought it was coming out pretty good. I mean it's not finished!"

"Hey," He smiled at me to calm me down. "I just mean ... it's sort of commercial, don't you think? I like you're personal stuff better." He shrugged. "That series you did of that old building, down by Chinatown. Now that stuff was excellent." He was using his hands now, describing the separate paintings. "The way you captured the way the light danced on the architectural elements and the subtle shadows that were created. I was sorry that I didn't get to buy the whole thing . . I really wanted the one. . ." He trailed off looking at my smiling face. "What?" He blinked.

I sighed happily, "You amaze me. You remembered that? I sold that over 8 years ago." I shook my head in wonder. I had almost forgotten I had even done it. I sold the whole 10 painting series to an architect in Malibu.

"I remember all your work that I've seen." He smiled widely. "I happen to think you're a genius. Haven't I ever told you that?"

I nodded slowly. "Yeah, I guess you have. I don't know why but . . .I just never really thought. . ." I turned slightly. This was dumb, I started to tear up.

"Hey, what's up with that?" He moved to me and wrapped his arms around me, pulling my face to his chest. I fit perfectly to him. "I didn't mean to make you cry. I thought you knew how much I admired you." He lifted my face with one finger. "And not just you're artistic skills."

He stroked back my damp hair and kissed an errant tear from my cheek. "Haven't I made it clear that I think you, my lovely Lily, are an incredible woman. Strong, soft, funny, intelligent, beautiful . . And . ." He pressed his forehead to mine. "Did I mention, sexy as hell."

I leaned back from him enough to look into his eyes. Our eyes locked, heat began to crawl up my neck and down my belly. Marty's breath deepened, his hands cupped my face holding me in place while his face moved to mine.