Alexa gently rapped on his door, a lose knot of anxiety that called for caution pressed against her stomach, just above the fluttery feeling of their lovemaking and astounding discovery she has made about Christopher.
The man had repeatedly proven himself to be dispassionate, cold and unwilling towards the tender stroke of romance. But tonight she had seen differently. Tonight she had seen a wide spectrum of emotions, both good and bad, and all of it were in his paintings.
Every stroke had told a story, segueing from love to joy, wistful desires, agony and loss. Escape.
She wasn't a connoisseur, but there were all clear for the eyes to see, and they had shown much more than his blue eyes would ever reveal.
Very softly she knocked again. Terrified to alert anyone of her presence at his door.