Chapter 13

“Can I see you?” Paul asked, lifting his head.

Martha studied his face before nodding, slowly unhooking her buttons. Once her dress hung open, he pushed it down her shoulders, letting it fall to a cotton pool at her feet. He pulled her shift over her head. She stood before him, naked and bathed in dying light, her gaze unwavering, her body perfectly still.

Paul circled her once, his eyes sliding up and down her skin, noting each mark, each dip, each stray hair. She was beautiful like the desert, hard and golden. He loved the way her skin stretched across her back like the canvas on which his mother used to paint. He loved the way the ends of her hair curled this way and that, creating unexpected waves against her back. He loved the freckles that dotted each of her shoulders—eight on the left, twelve on the right.

“Can I touch you?”

Martha nodded.