Free Raising Hell by Julie Kenner Page A

now. The room is right next door to the reading center. Watercolor, I think, although I haven’t paid that much attention. It’s always incredibly crowded, and I’m sure that Mr. Sims would be thrilled to have you volunteer. I think he’s only got one right now, and they’re both run frazzled trying to help all the students.”
    “You want me to volunteer?” he asked, desperate for clarification. “Just walk in, pick up a paintbrush, and start showing those folks how it’s done?”
    “Well, yeah.”
    The idea was absurd. He had no intention whatsoever of marching into an arts center and setting himself up as a damn teacher.
    He was about to say as much, in fact, when she stepped forward and took his hand. “Please? I need to go anyway. Carrie and I have been volunteering together for months and I swore I’d be there. I made a commitment. And I’d really love to have the company.” The corner of her mouth curled up. “Besides, I think you might enjoy it.”
    Nick rather doubted that, but he couldn’t deny the hope in her eyes. Or, rather, he didn’t want to. He pressed her fingers to his lips, kissed them gently, and nodded. “All right,” he said. “Let’s go.”

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Chapter Eight
    “E xcellent, Mr. Delacorte,” Nick said. “Your composition has really improved since Wednesday.” He indicated a portion of the canvas where Mr. Delacorte had drawn a rabbit peeking out from under a bush. Mundane, ridiculous, lacking in even the slightest tidbit of raw talent. And yet somehow still compelling simply because Mr. Delacorte had infused the painting with so much raw energy and desire.
    And, in truth, he’d also managed to improve in just the three days that Nick had been working with him. That wasn’t the amazing part, though. No, what had been really surprising wasn’t Mr. Delacorte’s improved skills, but how much Nick had enjoyed helping the squat little man along.
    Not that he’d started the project with high expectations, but Delilah had been so eager, so excited when she’d introduced him to Mr. Sims. And, honestly, that first day had been more enjoyable than he’d expected.
    He hadn’t planned to go back, but Delilah had promised the reading group that she’d return, and from the moment he’d seen the fire in her eyes as he watched her work with the students, he knew he couldn’t refuse her this anymore than he could refuse her in his bed after each session of painting.
    They’d gone each day after that, and Mr. Delacorte’s painting skills had increased dramatically. And Nick had to admit he took a proprietary pleasure in that fact.
    Even more, he’d realized just how much he admired Delilah. Not as a beautiful model. And not because she’d revealed to him the joys of volunteering. He did enjoy the teaching, but he had no intention of clinging to that in some happy-go-lucky Pollyanna fashion. That was hardly Nick’s style.
    No, his admiration stemmed from her defiance of her father. She’d not only defied her father by coming to New York, but she’d combined that bit of rebellion with the dream of a career of which her father wholeheartedly disapproved. And while he knew that Delilah wished her father understood, she also seemed to have come to peace with the idea that she simply had to live her own life, risking her father’s respect and love.
    Of course, her inhibitions had slipped dramatically away over the last few days, so what she said now about her father was hardly telling. He smiled a little, thinking about their wild nights—and days—when they were away from the canvas. Her father was hardly the focus of their conversations. For that matter, conversation was hardly a priority lately.
    But even before he’d started pushing aside her inhibitions so that he could get at her soul, he’d been astounded by the strength he’d found in her. A strength that made her stand up to her father, even while continuing to love him deeply.
    He finished washing his brushes and then