Jake and I watched Carlos saunter down the hallway. Jake looked pissed. "Carlos knows about us. I was trying to avoid that exact thing. Fuck."

I shook my head. "You know what? I'm glad." He looked at me, surprised. "I don't like to hide things. With me, what you see is what you get. I am who I am and I'm proud of it. And I'm proud of being with you. So screw him."

Jake smiled, a wan, but gentle half-smile. "I suppose it's too late now, anyway." He pulled out his phone and looked at the time. "I guess I'll go back to the office."

I shook my head and grabbed his hand, pulling him to me. "Oh no you don't."

"What?"

I stepped way into his space, putting my finger on his chest. "This is the day you get a quickie before you go back. And you're going to show me your house because I've never seen it."

His eyes flashed. He nodded, not saying anything, which was unusual; he was normally pretty chatty. I guess I had stunned him into silence. I went to go and leave, but before I could turn to go down the halls to find our cars, he grabbed me, hard, slamming me into him. Hand on my ass, hand on my shoulder, he kissed me like it was his life's work. Like he was creating a moment with me.

And for the second time in that courthouse hallway, on the terracotta tile, in the historic building, I lost myself with him. People walked up and down the hallway, clattering their rollaway briefcases and their shoes. These sounds barely registered in my consciousness. No other sensations registered, really, except for the taste of his tongue, his seductive smell, and the feeling of his hard, athletic body.

He might be mine now.

Suddenly propelled to get a fucking move on, we split apart, kissed again really quickly, and then, with a hand squeeze to say goodbye, breathlessly headed to our cars.

We drove in separate cars to the same place. Once I parked in front of the duplex, no private investigator in sight, I got out of my car, feeling electrified and turned on. As in, really fucking heated. Wet. Wanting to be naked with him.

But I had to be a mom first.

Awkward. Yet parental responsibilities came first.

Jake pulled up right after me and I went over to him. "Let me check in on Roberto and I'll be over." He nodded.

He looked like he was feeling about the same way I was, like he was going to explode if he wasn't touching me. But he didn't touch me anywhere except my hand, holding it. He walked with me over to the duplex and then dropped my hand, looking at me.

"I'll be just a minute," I said.

"Be fast," he muttered, and then he went and unlocked his home.

I walked to my house, opened my front door, and called in to Sara, who had been watching Rob during the hearing. I was grateful for her help. She was the only one available at the last minute for that emergency hearing. I had lucked out that she was going to work late tonight at Macy's, so she could help me. Thank heavens for holiday hours.

When I walked into the living room, Rob was sitting on the couch reading a book and Sara was reading something on her tablet.

"Hey guys."

"Hi mom."

I looked over at him. "You good, mijo?"

"Yep. Tia and I went to the park and came back and now we're reading."

"Sounds good," I responded, grateful for the awesome free babysitting.

"How did it go?" Sara asked in a low voice, getting up. She walked with me into the kitchen before I started talking.

"Carlos basically lost," I told her, "but Jake and I made up. But then Carlos caught us in the hallway so he thinks that Jake lied on the stand."

"Huh?" She had a look on her face of utter bewilderment.

I realized that I had not told my friend everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours.

"I'll explain but right now, Sara, can you watch Rob for just a little bit longer?" I was begging. "Like less than an hour? Jake has to go back to work. I need to go talk to him."

"By talk you mean—," she started, suggestively.

"I hope so," I giggled.

She laughed. "Go get him, mama. I'll watch Roberto."

"I'll be back in a little bit, mijo," I called to Rob. "Just a little bit more."

"Uh-huh," he muttered, his nose in a book. Clearly he was my kid, lost in his reading.

I knocked on Jake's door, a little tentative, because I had never been inside his place. The door opened. Mr. Handsome Businessman stood there.

"Come on in, Lucy."

He opened the door the whole way and I stepped inside, looking around. His place was basically the same layout as mine, except reversed. As I expected, there wasn't much in the way of furnishings, just a table and chairs in the dining area, a couch and a coffee table in front of the television, and not much else. It was clean and orderly. There was nothing on the walls, however this made it seem light and airy rather than depressing. It was minimalist to the utmost degree.

"Looks the same as yours, no? Most of my stuff is at my house," he said, "for the remodel. So I only moved what I needed here and put the rest in storage."

"Tour, Jake. I want to see it."

He smiled. "Well, this is the living room."

I nodded. "Duh."

He took my hand, holding it lightly. His hand was warm and dry, and bigger than mine. I noticed that his fingers were long, his nails well kept. He had artist's hands. Sensuous hands. God I wanted them on me.

"I sleep in here," he said, pointing to the master, "and paint in here."

We stepped into the second bedroom.

There were two large tables, a stool, an easel, and canvases stacked against the walls all around the room. One table was stacked neatly with large pads of paper, jars with paintbrushes sticking out, paint tubes, colored pencils, charcoal, markers, and other art supplies. The other table was bare, but splattered with paint.

He walked over to the table with the art supplies, picked up the large pad of paper on top, and walked over to me.

"These are my drawings of you."

He handed it to me, his eyes a piercing blue.

For a moment, I just stood there, grasping it with both hands, looking down at it, wanting to open it and unwilling to breach his privacy.

But this was intimacy.

Letting someone know you, all the parts of you, not just the parts that you want them to see. I felt like he was giving me a piece of himself that he didn't know that he had to give. And I wanted to accept it. I gently set the tablet on the empty table and opened up the cover. Then I gasped.

The first picture depicted my face. Just my face. With very few lines, he had captured the curves of my jaw, the angle of my nose, the upturn of my eyes, the line of my brow. My hair was suggested with just a few quick strokes. I looked calm, reposed.

And beautiful.

I turned the page.

The second picture illustrated just my lips. My full bottom lip, slightly pouting. My upper one separated from the bottom, sensuously. The hint of my teeth beneath.

Page flip. My eye. Just one, at half-mast, alluring, upturned, with full cat eye makeup.

Page flip, my face again. More detail this time, and from different perspectives: first, my face in profile; then looking to the right; then straight on.

Page flip. This was the first one of my body and I was seated. It depicted my back, head, neck, and arms. He had taken the time to draw my spine in intricate detail; I could probably count the vertebrae. I recognized the way my waist flared in from my generous hips.

Page flip, just my hips, from the side, my hipbone jutting out, and showing the tops of my thighs and the curve of my waist.

Another picture, my arms.

Another, my hands, different poses.

I turned the page again. This one was my whole body, perky breasts on display, my generous thighs, my shoulders covered by my hair.

Another one, my ass.

And another page of my ass.

And yet another page of my ass. I stifled a giggle.

The sketches were all utterly realistic, but also better than realism. It was me, clearly, but he had made me look beautiful, sensuous, curvy, and like there was a light emanating from me.

This was how he saw me.

And he had piles and piles of sketchbooks, canvases, and papers.

I looked up from the drawings and he stood near me, uncertainty radiating from his handsome face.

"They are just sketches," he began, "I drew them quickly, you know, they are just to get the idea down."

"Stop."

"What?"

"Don't minimize them. You have unbelievable natural talent. You are an artist. You create beauty. They are amazing. I love them."

He still looked uncertain.

"What do I have to do to convince you that you are an artist?" I asked.

"I don't know," he said, "but I'm going to let you do that. You can look at all of them if you want. Right now, though? I can't wait anymore to have you naked."

I smiled. "Okay," I whispered, and walked to the door, looking back at him over my shoulder. "You coming with me?"

"Yes. Right now."