The Anatomy of Emotion

Chapter Four

March—Cannes

Maeva feels his fingers on her face while she is still asleep, light strokes that follow her cheek, and then her neck. Sounds bleed in next, the surf outside and the soft sound of his breaths. Finally, she swims her way out of the dark and flutters her lashes open to glowing blue eyes. Her first thought is that they are like cyanine.

Corin smiles at her, "good morning beautiful." The sun is catching the ruffled strands of his hair, making a dark halo.

She reaches out and runs her fingers through it. It is soft and damp, "you've showered."

She looks down at him. He is dressed in jeans and a dark red tee shirt that does all sorts of gorgeous things to his shoulders and chest.

"I got up and went for a run a bit ago. I also washed your clothes and made you breakfast," he kisses the tip of her nose.

"Good lord, what time do you wake up?" She arches a brow, but most of her attention is on tracing the V of his shirt collar.

He raises one back, "I slept in until eight. It's almost noon now."

"What!?"

She scrambles over the top of him to see the clock—it indeed reads 11:40AM.

"Fucking hell, I'm late for a buyer's meeting and a commission. And I'm covered in sex sweat. What the fuck am I—where's my cell phone, I need Saria..."

Corin laughs and grabs her around the waist, "easy, easy. Your clothes are in the bathroom, with your phone. Go take a shower, get dressed, your breakfast is in the oven. I'll be in the recording booth, come get me when you're ready to go."

She listens to him talk and finds herself extremely turned on, "thank you. Want to come make sure I don't slip in the shower?"

"Mhm, don't tempt me," he kisses her knuckles, "there are far too many things I could do to you in that bathroom."

She watches him leave his room with a sigh, stretching out on the bed and inhaling the dirty smell that clings to the sheets. Then, she remembers the time and leaps for the bathroom. Her cell phone glints on top of her folded clothes. Saria answers on the first ring.

"Miss Leroux!" She squeaks, "I've been calling, I wasn't supposed to pick you up was I? God, I'm so sorry, please don't fire me. I've rescheduled your commission for one, but the couple who want to buy won't flex and are starting to get irate. I'm sorry—"

"Saria, shut up," Maeva snaps, "I overslept, you're not fired. Listen," she flips on the shower and strips out of Corin's shirt, "take the buyers out to lunch on the gallery, someplace with courses, I'm going to be at least an hour. Call my commission and see if they can push back another thirty. Be charming. Can you do that?"

"Yes..." her voice is hesitant.

"Don't use that tone, just steel your ovaries and do it," Maeva hangs up and jumps under the water, scrubbing down as fast as she can with a bar of soap.

She comes out smelling rather masculine, but her clothes still smell like perfume and paint thinner. It makes an interesting mix as she slips them on. Downstairs, she finds a pile of croissants still warm in the oven, and a fresh cup of chamomile tea on the stove. He had remembered her distaste for coffee. He had also remembered how much she loves bacon, because the croissants are stuffed with bits of it in between cheese. She swallows three nearly whole, chasing them with tea, and grabs a fourth on her way down to the basement.