Chapter 6: An Edge Heart

Long after Lucas had gone Emma remained still in the center of her studio, her head whirling from the intensity of their contact. The studio seemed lonely without him, yet the unsaid emotions that had simmered between them still permeated the air from his touch.

She encircled herself, as if to keep her heart in place and stop it from galloping out of control. She was confused about her feelings—torn between the caution bells ringing in her head and the irresistible attraction for Lucas.

Let her get this near was risky. Dangerous to feel this way once again.

She broke the last time she allowed someone in. She had also vowed, after that loss, that she would never let someone harm her again. Here she was, poised on the brink of something she couldn't describe, something that may destroy every wall she had created.

She looked over at her easel, at the half-finished painting mocking her with its imperfection. Though just now all she could see was the turmoil whirling within her, the painting was supposed to depict the storm and the peace that followed. The storm had never felt so real.

She sighed frustratedly and reached for her sketch pad and charcoal pencil, seated before the easel. She had to focus this energy into something useful and divert herself from Lucas's ideas that ate through her every waking hour.

Her fingers ran quickly across the page, black, whirling lines created by the charcoal reflecting her inner conflict. Drawing without thinking, she let her feelings pour over the paper. She also became aware of what she was sketching as the picture evolved gradually.

Lucas was the one.

Tall and powerful, his body emerged from the shadows on the page, yet his stance revealed a sensitivity in the way his shoulders curled inward. From the drawing, his dark, piercing eyes stared back at her with the same intensity that had tormented her ever since their first encounter.

Emma dropped the pencil and gazed at the picture in front of her as her heart hammered. She was engaged in what? Why was she sketching him? Why was she still thinking about him?

With short, erratic breaths, she hid her face in her hands. She had never experienced this before—so enthralled with someone in a manner that defied logic or reason.

Her heart hurt more, however, even as her head shouted for her to go. Rotten for him.

Though Emma couldn't get rid of the sensation that she was floating above the sea of feelings Lucas had awakened in her, the following several days passed in a haze. She tried to concentrate on the commission, but every time she took up her brush she started to think about him—his touch, his voice, the way he had looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered.

She had not seen or heard from him since their most recent conference, and part of her was glad for the distance. It allowed her time to consider everything that had transpired between them. But another aspect of her—that which was gradually winning out—missed him. missed the way he gave her the vitality she hadn't had in years.

One late evening her phone rang with a fresh message. Emma stared at the computer, her heart skipping a beat at Lucas's name.

Lucas : I'm hoping you're doing alright. When you're ready, I would like to follow up to see how things have progressed.

Her fingers lingered over the computer, not knowing what to say. Though not enough to show him yet, she had made some progress on the commission. And even after everything that had transpired, part of her wasn't sure she was ready to meet him once again.

She could not, however, ignore him permanently. Business, after all, is what this was. No matter how hard her emotions wanted to drag her in the other way, she had to remain professional.

Emma: Though not ready yet, I have done some development. When it comes, I will let you know.

She sent and quickly came to regret it. Why was she pushing him away? Why could she not just say she missed him and wanted to see him?

She told herself, safer this way is. safer to keep her emotions guarded and him at far.

Her heart hurt for the relationship she was depriving herself, even as she attempted to persuade herself that this was the best choice.

Emma got up the next morning determined. She must complete the picture. She had to quit let her emotions control and concentrate on the task.

She worked on the canvas for hours, layering on the paint with quick, assured strokes with her brush. First the stormy heavens took shape—dark and violent, with bursts of light peeking through the clouds. Beneath it, a guy was standing on the brink of a precipice, back to the observer gazing out at the anarchy ahead of him.

Lucas came first.

Though she had not meant to paint him, his image had slipped into her art. She was unable to get away from him or from the draw he pulled on her.

Emma had completed the first coat of the painting by the afternoon light peeping through her studio windows. Her pulse thumping as she gazed at her creation, she retreated to appreciate it.

It was just what Lucas had asked for—the storm before the quiet, the fight before serenity. But it also was much more. It reflected everything she had been feeling, everything she had been battling from the minute she had seen him.

It startled her as well.

Her phone buzzed once more just as she was about to finish. Lucas is it.

Lucas would say Tomorrow I would like to see the artwork. Free, then?

Emma's pulse pounding, she fixed her gaze on the mail. Though she wasn't sure if she was ready to meet him once again, she knew she couldn't keep running from him indefinitely.

Emma: yes. Show up in the studio tomorrow afternoon.

She pushed submit and started to feel nervous right away. tomorrow. She had him scheduled for tomorrow.

She also had no clue what would transpires when they were face-to-face once again.

Emma walked tensely around her studio waiting for Lucas to come next day. She had set the picture on the easel and covered it with a towel to protect it from inadvertent looks.

Her pulse surged with both excitement and fear, wondering Lucas's opinion of the work. Would he notice what she had unwittingly exposed about her emotions? Could he appreciate the range of feeling that each stroke had carried?

Emma startled as the doorbell rang. She went over to open the door after rapidly cleaning her hands on her apron.

Lucas stood there, looking as usual calm and shockingly gorgeous. His black eyes softened as they locked with hers, and for a minute the world appeared to constrict to just the two of them.

"Emma," he said gently. It's nice to see you.

Her breath seized in her throat, and she faked a grin. "You also." Please come in.

He entered and his presence enveloped the space right away. With the strain mounting for weeks, the air between them was heavy with unsaid words.

Emma waved toward the covered painting on the easel and added, "I hope you're ready to see the progress."

Lucas nodded, without turning away from hers. "I had been looking forward it.

Emma came up to the easel with shaking hands and gently removed the covering to expose the painting beneath. She retreated, inhaling as Lucas absorbed the picture before him.

He said nothing for a minute, long enough. His gaze swept over the picture, absorbing every detail—the stormy heavens, the man on the brink, the turbulence and peace whirled together in a wild symphony.

At last he turned to her, his face blank.

"It's perfect," he murmured gently, his voice carrying much more than simple appreciation. "Exactly what I was looking for."

Emma exhaled a breath she had not noticed she was holding, and relief poured over her. But as she looked at him, she saw something more in his eyes—something that made her shudder.

She understood.

He could see the emotions she had worked so hard to keep under control, poured into the picture. She also understood at that instant there was no going back.

She began, then he cut her off. Lucas—

"I know, Emma," he murmured, approaching her closely. I could see it.

Her pulse thumping in her chest, his presence overwhelmed her senses as he approached. She couldn't back off, to maintain her distance. She wanted to. She was stuck unable to flee in the crossfire of her own feelings.

"I can't," she said, her voice shaking. "I am not able to do this."

Lucas, nevertheless, continued. He stretched out, lightly gripping her hand in his, his touch shocking her.

Indeed, he whispered gently, his eyes fixed on hers. You only have to let go.

Emma also realized she was gone at that instant.