Rainey's Song Ch. 09

"Unfortunately, it means that there are going to be some cutbacks. Fellowships and departmental grants are at the top of the list of possible sources. Which means your current fellowship funds are directly in the line of fire."

Aidan's eyes closed as he silently swore. He was on an eight-thousand dollar per year fellowship at the university, but even that wasn't enough to keep him from maxing out his loan allowances since he was only a part-time student.

After a moment he cleared his throat.

"You're sure. It's a done deal, then?" he asked.

"No, not yet." Professor Graham responded.

Aidan pinched the bridge of his nose. "Well, when will you know for certain—about what's going to be cut?" he asked, managing to keep most of the apprehension from his voice.

On the other end of the phone, the professor sighed. "I don't know, Aidan. Probably by the end of the week. There's an emergency meeting scheduled for tomorrow morning, so maybe I'll have more news for you then. But," Graham paused, "I should tell you that this information is technically not supposed to leave the department until a decision has been made. But as your advisor, I thought you should know. Just in case."

"I appreciate it," Aidan murmured, his mind racing.

"No problem," the professor said. "At least you've got your freelancing to fall back on, though." Another sigh filled the phone's earpiece. "I don't know what I'm going to tell the photo/art majors. Anyway, I'll be in touch."

"Okay, Professor Graham. Thanks…for letting me know."

Hanging up, Aidan sat perfectly still, staring sightlessly at the darkened screen of his laptop. Dammit, this was the last thing he needed. He only had another year of school left and then he'd have his masters degree, but, after that phone call, things might not turn out that way at all. If he lost that fellowship, he was pretty much screwed. It'd probably take him another two years to finish if he had to make up the difference.

Then again, Graham had said there was a chance his funding might be cut, not that it was definite. There was a possibility that he was worrying over nothing.

And, he thought with a grimace, there was a chance he wasn't nearly worried enough. Still, if he sat here thinking things over in his head, he'd go insane with doubt and questions and, right now, he was too damn tired to deal with that.

Plus, Rainey was out there.

He glanced at his closed office door, imagining her sitting on his couch, waiting for him. Without thinking about it, he got up and walked toward the door. Toward her. Even if his entire graduate school career might need to be put on hold, he'd deal with that when it became an issue. Right now, he wanted to take his mind of everything else besides her.

Switching off the light, he opened the door and left the office.

*******

It was almost surprising how at ease and comfortable Rainey felt in Aidan's apartment. She was waiting for him to finish up in his office and, seated on the floor between the couch and coffee table, she occupied herself by flipping through one of the many photography books he had lying around. Those books were everywhere: on the bookshelf, strewn across the coffee table, stacked in the corners of his office. Even in the bathroom, she smilingly mused.

That was part of what she liked about him. His work wasn't just work, it was an extension of his identity. Part of her longed to have the same kind of faith in her writing that Aidan had in his photography. When she'd started college, she'd almost enrolled as a marketing major simply because creative writing somehow seemed too idealistic.

But, after only a few days as a marketing major, and one advanced math class that she'd rather not think about ever again, she gave up on that and officially settled on creative writing. To make her dad feel better, she was considering a minor in communications, but that was still up for grabs.

Besides, she thought, smiling, she still had another three years to think about it. And right now, she didn't want to think too far ahead; all she wanted to do, really, was take things slow and easy.

With Aidan.

A wider smile played at her lips as she turned one of the large, glossy pages in a book of Ansel Adams photographs. After Aidan talked about Adams and Imogen Cunningham last night, she wanted to see some of their work. Well, she really wanted to see some of Imogen's work, but the Adams book had been on the coffee table when she sat down, so that's what she'd opened.

Having kicked off her shoes, she'd settled herself cross-legged on the floor, the hem of her white, knee-length skirt riding up just a bit as she examined the book. Most of the images were black and white, but the rich crispness of the hues—deep black, somber gray and bright white—was so well done that the landscapes appeared to shine and shift right in front of her.

She hadn't exactly known what Aidan meant when he'd said that Imogen's photos seemed to breathe as you looked at them, but if hers were anywhere as good as Adams' then Rainey could understand why he admired her so much.

Absently, she heard the phone in Aidan's office ring and him answering it; the door was closed so she could only hear the muted timbre of his voice and a few words here and there, but even that was a small sensory pleasure for her.

"You are so lovesick," she muttered to herself with an even larger grin.

A few more smooth pages slipped through her fingers when, from his office, she heard Aidan's tone turned agitated. Frowning, she peered down the hallway at the closed door, hoping nothing was wrong.

"Are you sure…?" she thought she heard him say. Then, more muffled conversation, followed by, "…thanks for letting me know."

Seconds later, the door swung open and Aidan emerged, his head down, giving Rainey a minute to admire him. His black sweats were a little baggy, but the long-sleeve gray shirt he wore was made of some sort of stretchy material that clung to his toned chest and arms, faintly outlining the muscles underneath. She was pretty sure she'd never get tired of looking at him.

"Did you finish up?" she asked when he reached the end of the hallway.

"What?" Aidan looked up, his brow furrowed. "Oh. Yeah. I'm done." He sounded distracted; a little stressed.

Stretching her legs out beneath the coffee table, Rainey watched him for a moment where he'd paused between the hall and the living room. She could see the tense set of his shoulders and the way he rolled them, trying to relax.

"Everything okay?" she asked.

He finally looked directly at her, caught her concerned smile and smiled back. With his eyes fixed on hers, he walked over and slid down onto the floor next to her.

"Just a little stressed, but," he leaned into her, one hand planted on the carpet next to her hip, "I know someone who's very, very good at helping me relieve stress." His mouth was inches from hers; she could feel his breath against her skin and her entire body tingled.

Still, she managed to ask. "Yeah? Who's that?"

His left hand stole up to the coffee table, inching toward hers where it rested on top of the open photography book. His eyes locked with hers, slid to her lips and his grin turned teasing.

Suddenly, he swooped in, planted a loud kiss half-on, half-off her mouth and pulled the book into his lap.

"My stress reliever? It's Ansel Adams," he announced with a grin.

Rainey blinked, then laughed when she realized that he was teasing her. She nudged her shoulder into his. "I think I'm a little offended."

Aidan turned a few pages, then looked up and smiled. "Offended? Why? We've already established that you're good for hangovers."

Rainey rolled her eyes. "So is Tylenol."

"Yeah," he conceded, his eyes going back to her mouth, this time with complete seriousness, "but you taste much better than Tylenol."

Suddenly feeling over-heated, Rainey dragged her gaze from his and shifted the large book so it rested between them on their legs.

"And yet I still take second fiddle to Ansel Adams," she joked. Turning a page, she smoothed her hand across a gorgeous landscape. "But looking at these I can almost see why."

"Mmm," Aidan murmured, moving closer, his shoulder and arm slightly behind her so he could get a better look at the book. "He's amazing isn't he? Here," he flipped a few pages. "This is one of my favorites."

Rainey examined the picture, a full-page black and white image of a lone road beneath a cloud-dotted sky in what looked to be the middle of nowhere. In another photo, the subject matter would be everyday, boring even, but she felt compelled to trace and retrace the road's path, marked by a faded white lane line, as it stretched into hills in the distance.

"See how the hills seem to swallow up the road?" Aidan asked her, his voice low. "I love that. I love the organic horizon that the hills create in the background set up against the man-made, inorganic asphalt. And yet," he traced a finger where the hills and road met, "they still come together so perfectly here."

Rainey glanced at him, the profile of his down-turned face so close to her own and, God, she felt her heart speed up. It seemed odd for her to love listening to him talk about photography to the point that it affected her like this, but it did. She admired him as much for his love of the craft, as for his talent with it.

"You could be in here, you know?" she said.

"What?" Aidan dragged his eyes away from the photo and gave her a crooked grin. "I could be in a book of Ansel Adams photos?" He sounded slightly confused, but mostly just light-hearted.

"Your work, I mean." Rainey turned to fully face him, the book still in her lap. "Lyn showed me some of your photos today—from Deception Pass. They're amazing, Aidan. Have you ever submitted to galleries?" She didn't know much about photography, but she knew that some of his work deserved to be showcased in public.

An unreadable expression passed over his face and, it might have been her imagination, but he seemed to tense up a bit. "I've thought about, yeah," he said. "Just never…have."

She chewed her lip for a minute. "Do you not want to?"

Absently flicking at the edges of the book's pages, Aidan shrugged and leaned back against the couch, not looking at her. "The issue isn't whether or not I want to. It's getting my work accepted and…" he trailed off.

His pensive tone curbed some of Rainey's enthusiasm, but she tried again. "I might be a little biased," she said, "and I definitely don't know a lot about photography, but I really feel like your work is…brilliant." She shrugged, catching the small smile he aimed at her. "Lyn said the same thing. It's art." He seemed to flinch slightly when she said that.

On a sigh he glanced at her then down at the book. "I appreciate that you think so, sweetheart, but" he ran a hand through his hair, "it's really not that easy. I'm a freelancer with a degree in photojournalism. You don't just wake up one day and decide to be an artist."

Even if that's what I'd always planned to be, Aidan thought.

God, but he didn't want to think about this right now. Especially after the phone call he'd just had with Dr. Graham. Just thinking about it made his neck tighten up and he rubbed it, praying for the tension to dissipate. And it did, a little, until Rainey spoke again.

"Aidan, you wouldn't have to wake up and decide to become an artist. You already are."

He looked at her and her smile sent pleasant shivers through him. But then he took in what she'd said and shook his head. "Unfortunately, art doesn't pay that well."

And these days, apparently, neither does freelancing, he ruefully thought.

Rainey laughed a little. "Well, there's something kind of romantic about the whole idea of the starving artist. You're still young. You could handle a few years of idealistic poverty."

Aidan tried to laugh, too, but it felt more like a grimace. Great. Of all conversation topics, she had to settle on this one, he thought. He loved being with her and he was glad she was here, but this was the last thing he wanted to talk about right now. Or ever, actually.

So, it surprised him when he heard himself say, "I once dated a girl who thought pretty much the exact opposite." Now how the hell had Julia worked her way into this conversation? Perfect. Now he'd brought up two topics he'd rather not discuss.

He glanced at Rainey and, seeing the interest in her eyes, knew he had to at least finish his thought before dropping the subject.

"For Julia—my ex," he said, "the whole photography thing translated into not quite a waste of time, but definitely not a worthwhile career." Okay. Now it was time for him to shut the hell up. Change the subject. Something. "God, I'm hungry," he muttered. He got up and headed for the kitchen, hoping Rainey would just let the subject drop.

Still sitting, Rainey clearly sensed the mild distaste Aidan had when he'd spoken of his ex-girlfriend. Julia. She wondered if she was the one he'd had that bad relationship with, then decided it probably had been her. After all, he'd mentioned her name that first time Rainey came to his apartment; and then, like now, he'd changed the subject so fast that it was clear that memories of Julia weren't something he liked to dwell on.

And, from what he'd just said about her—that she'd considered his photography barely more than a waste—made Rainey dislike her, too. How could anyone not love Aidan's work? Had Julia been blind? It was obvious to Rianey that Aidan was shortchanging himself and, she suspected, he felt the same way. If he wanted to be a freelancer, then that was fine, but she sensed an underlying sadness in him when it came to his work.

Aidan emerged from the kitchen with a saucer, a small knife and a plastic carton of strawberries. "I hope the Chinese food shows up soon," he said, sitting down next to her. "I hate ordering take-out from this place. They're the only restaurant around here that delivers and it takes forever." When he settled next to her, she saw that the saucer contained a light dusting of sugar. "In the meantime…" he murmured, opening the carton for her to take a strawberry.

She took one and nibbled on the sweet, juicy berry, watching as Aidan sliced another down its center and dipped it in the sugar. She started laughing as he chewed.

"What?" he asked, licking granules of sugar off his thumb.

She gestured toward the sugar-covered plate. "I'm pretty sure you just destroyed any nutritional value that strawberry had when you coated it in sugar."

Aidan grinned and dipped the other half of the strawberry, holding it out for her. "Don't knock it 'til you've tried it," he drawled. "Growing up in England, all of us kids ate strawberries this way. Nope," he said, moving the berry out of reach went Rainey went to take it from him. His smile turned slightly sensual. "Open up."

Their gazes locked and Rainey, hypnotized by his eyes, obeyed. He placed the berry into her parted lips, brushing a thumb along her bottom lip as she chewed, his eyes fixed on her mouth.

The combination of his intense gaze, the feel of his finger on her mouth and, well, her growing obsession with him created a warm flood of desire in the pit of her belly. And she was pretty sure she'd never had a better-tasting strawberry.

"Good?" he asked, letting his blue eyes wander up to hers. When she nodded, he laughed lightly. "Another win for team Britain."

Rainey playfully shoved at his shoulder. "For someone who's so attached to England, it's pretty ironic that two of your favorite photographers are American."

Aidan popped another strawberry in his mouth and shrugged. "Like all art, photography is universal. I don't care who you are; if you take photos like that," he jabbed a finger at the open book, "you and I speak the same language. I'll never match the Ansels and Imogens of the world, but I truly appreciate their gifts."

"You're just as good as them," Rainey said. "And I really think that if you—" She was cut off by the sound of the knife clicking loudly against the saucer when Aidan heavily put it down.

A frustrated sigh escape him and he rested his elbows on the coffee table, glancing over his shoulder at her.

"Rainey, it's not that easy," he said, a slight tightness in his voice. "First of all, getting accepted by galleries is incredibly difficult and secondly, I don't have the time to be an artist. It's either the journalism or this," he gestured at the book. "Having a full-time hobby isn't an option for me."

Rainey's smile slipped and she glanced away. He seemed angry, irritated with her, but she couldn't figure out why…

Damn, Aidan thought. He hadn't meant to come off sounding so impatient, but he was just so stressed. That phone call from his advisor had him worried. Plus he didn't really like to dwell on where his career—and past—had taken him.

Yes, he was happy. And now, with Rainey, he was honestly happier than he'd ever been, but that was when he took everything in as a sum total. Overall, weighed as a whole, his life was a good one and he wasn't complaining.

But when he examined everything individually, he knew that freelancing wasn't really what he wanted to be doing. But like he'd told Rainey, practicality had to outweigh passion for him.

Still, he felt like a jerk. He looked at her; she was chewing on her bottom lip, her hair partly shielding her face from him as she stared down at the book in her lap. God he loved that she liked looking at his favorite photographs. Julia had never understood what he found so enthralling about "a bunch of boring snapshots" as she'd called them.

His mouth twisted. How the hell hadn't he realized that she wasn't right for him? How had it taken her exposing her lying, self-centered core for him to wake up? The more he thought about, the more he realized how utterly different she and Rainey were. And the more he was thanking God for his better judgment this time around.

Well, except for the fact that he was taking out his tension on her. Which wasn't fair, at all. She looked up at him, a small, hesitant smile on her mouth and he felt even worse.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…push you," she murmured. "I mean, I understand that it's got to be hard. Doing the whole art gallery thing. I just think that if you give it a chance…" She trailed off and looked away.

He felt like such an asshole. The silence between them grew and he stared at her for a long moment before leaning in and tucking long strands of her auburn hair behind her ear.

He turned her face toward his so they were only inches apart and waited until she fully looked at him before he said, "I'm sorry for being such a jerk just now. Thank you for believing in me that much." When she smiled, he lightly kissed her, loving the way he could hear her breathing speed up just a bit. "You have sugar on your lips," he whispered, licking the corner of her mouth before returning his attention to her lips.

He brushed his mouth leisurely over hers, barely touching, prolonging the thrill of this contact that he was beginning to crave. Her breath flickered against his lips; the nerve-endings there burst to life, causing the hair on the back of his arms to stand on end.

Aidan shivered. Simply from her breath against his mouth.

God…

He didn't know if he was praying or begging. Didn't really care either way. His entire being, every fiber of conscious awareness was centered on Rainey. He shifted, leaning toward her. Surprising him, she didn't relax backward but arched forward, into him and his touch.

God, she was driving him crazy. His left hand stroked down her arm, past her ribcage and settled on her hip, kneading the flesh there, urging her toward him. But since they were sitting on the floor, there wasn't very far for her to go. He wanted to feel her pressed up against him, like he had when they woke up together. With the pressure of his hand on her hip, he urged her forward, onto his lap. He felt her hesitate for a moment and was afraid she'd pull away.