Celia’s yearning for art and León’s passion for painting ignite,
but their journey teaches lessons far beyond the canvas.
Painting Celia
Incubadora Book 1
by Maya Bairey
Genre: Women’s Fiction, Steamy Romance
"You
can live in my pool house, if you'll teach me to paint."
Living
alone in her bare mansion in LA’s Hollywood Hills, gentle Celia
takes up art therapy, hoping it will soothe the deep scars of her
past. Each failed artwork deepens her fear of losing to depression,
like her father.
León, an intense painter struggling with
a creative block, empties his savings to move to LA in search of new
visions. He needs a cheap studio and some raw, authentic
inspiration—his dreams and future as an artist depend on
it.
Brought together by their colorful mutual friends,
Celia offers León a deal: he can live in her pool house for free if
he teaches her to paint. As he becomes her infatuated teacher and she
his reluctant muse, both are laid bare by their pursuit of honest
art. Could the desperate creativity that drew them together also rip
them apart?
Unique and powerful, this sensual slow burn romance unfolds between mature characters, exploring themes of healing, trauma, and empowerment. Perfect for readers who appreciate new contemporary romance and women's fiction, this novel includes diverse, over 40, LGBTQ characters, making it a profound choice for those looking for explicit angsty romantic stories that mirror their own experiences and complexities.
ARTSY
EXCERPT
León’s
first sight upon awakening was his painting, Celia in blue.
He’d tossed
fitfully all night, submerged in half-sleep, dreaming that she swam circles
around him. She was made of living paint, a teasing sprite of liquid curves and
lashing waves of blue. The urge to touch her burned in him, but he dared not.
His fingers would smear her deep lacings of color.
He awoke at
dawn to his canvas shining in the morning light. Dozy and bemused, León
breathed in her image—glowing Celia, revealed in luminous hues. His fleeting
dreams faded as bright pride swelled. Beaming from his bed, inhabiting every
brush stroke, he reveled in the painting’s story. The colors were raw, visceral
and daring, that all-important curve of her waist striking upward, its path
true and exquisite through the fluid blues and golds.
It was
perfect. The best thing he’d ever done.
He got out
of bed and walked closer, in love with the colors in early light. Her shape
floated at peace, vulnerable and authentic as one can only be when alone. It
whispered echoes of the womb, relief from fear, trust in support of dark water.
It was the most honest image he’d ever painted, and though she was the subject,
it came from inside him. He’d felt fragile before, and it could have looked
like this.
What a
story. She was wonderful. He wanted to paint her again.
SPICY
EXCERPT
“Wait,” he
said, moving close behind her, face hovering over her shoulder. “Look.”
She
followed his gaze past her to the dark pool house window. The low light
reflected her murkily, the polarized film tinting her nearly-nude reflection a
faint pearly purple. She had only moments to be amused at his painter’s eye for
imagery before his hands traveled around her from behind to caress her bare
skin.
She closed her eyes and let her head
fall back, but León watched their reflection.
It was another moment he had to
remember—to paint. In his arms, Celia was warm flesh and scent and movement. He
was free to explore her for the first time, the anticipation of it making his
head swim. But in the window, he saw a shadowy mirror woman, faintly iridescent
and indigo. She was shrouded, unobtainable, beckoning him with welcoming curves
he could see his hands roaming, but untouchable.
He finally pressed his length against
her from behind, pulling her body to him with one hand on a breast and one on
her stomach, starting to slide lower. She inhaled as his fingers inched under
the band of her panties and turned her head to his for a kiss. He was still
sneaking a look at the reflection, his breath racing.
“León,” she murmured. He finally looked
at her, the supple human within his reach. “If you are thinking about a
painting, so help me god….”
“I’m not,” he said. “I mean, I can’t
help it.”
She turned in his arms. “That light is
going off.”
She left him, going down on one knee on
the daybed and stretching to reach the lamp. He had just one second to see her,
reaching forward with one arm, one leg stretched back to the floor. What a
line, what a pose! Then the light was off, and he could only see her faintly in
the reflected aqua light from the pool outside.
In a quick motion, he began unbuttoning
his jeans. He was done looking. It was time to feel those places his brush had
gone first.
Maya Bairey lives on the banks of the Columbia river in Portland, Oregon, with her husband and their old cat, Dory. Turning from corporate writing to storytelling, Maya was surprised to find she had a bunch of passionate stories inside her, where stuck people learn to live out loud.
Her debut novel, Painting Celia, explores the intersection of honest art and intense love, where creativity and passion can heal and change us. Maya invites readers to have a fun escape, but also to look inward, discovering their own creative and emotional depths.
For a deeper dive into the Celia’s world, visit bairey.com.
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ReplyDeleteI plan on reading this one. Sounds like a story I would enjoy.
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