Bayside Escape, page 11
He wanted to know the stories behind those streaks and wished he’d been there to witness them coming to life. He pictured Violet working at the pottery wheel, crouching before the kiln in the corner of the room to carefully set her artwork inside. But his heart ached at what was so blatantly missing.
There wasn’t a sculpture in sight.
The opposite side of the room told a different story, one where paint cans and tubes were organized by color. Canvases and paintbrushes separated by size and type. An easel displayed a half-finished painting of the back of a man standing on a dock, the outline of a boat visible in one of the slips.
The only commonality between the two sides of the room was the unfinished floor, marred and scratched, speckled with dried paint and clay. This history of Desiree’s and Violet’s lives coming together.
He picked up a beautiful pottery bowl with fluted edges. “It’s all so familiar, and yet it’s not.”
“It’s been a long time.” Violet waved at the left side of the room. “That’s Desiree’s side. She paints, obviously. We share the studio.” She pointed to a closed door and said, “That’s a supply closet.” Then she pointed to another door across the room and said, “That’s the bathroom.”
“Did you give up sculpting? You were a natural. I always pictured you crafting beautiful sculptures of the kids you helped.”
She walked to the windows and looked out at the water. “I still sculpt, just not here.”
“Why not here?” he asked, joining her by the windows.
She shrugged, fidgeting with the edge of her tank top. The deep purple made her hair look even darker and her eyes even brighter. He wondered if her moods still influenced her clothing.
“Sculpting was our thing,” she said. The strain in her voice told him that revealing as much wasn’t easy for her. “It’s private, something I do for myself.”
He pushed his fingers into her hair and cupped her cheek, wondering if she knew how much that meant to him. “I’m glad you didn’t give it up. Where do you sculpt? I’d love to see that studio, too.”
Her eyes flicked toward the window, then back, with a hint of apology lingering in them as she said, “At Justin’s.”
That felt like a punch to the gut, but he pushed past it to try to understand. “You keep secrets from your sister and all your friends, but not from Justin? Does he know about the coffeehouse, too?”
She shook her head. “We know some of the same people, but he doesn’t hang out there or anything. Dwayne is his cousin.”
He took a step back and said, “I’m trying to understand, babe. I really am. But if there’s more to you and Justin, please tell me.”
“There’s not.” She crossed her arms. “When I came here, I barely knew Desiree. She was like a figment of my imagination. The sister who was put in front of me for a few brief, uncomfortable days at a time. I had no idea if we’d get along or if we’d ever feel like real sisters again. She was the one my father chose to keep.”
The hurt in her voice slayed him. “I’m sorry, babe. I thought that was Lizza’s decision.”
He reached for her and she shook her head, but she didn’t step away.
“If you had a stepdaughter, would you let someone just take her away?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “But that doesn’t matter. You wanted to know why I don’t sculpt here. I had enough going on with Desiree and the inn and the fucking shitstorm Lizza had created. I didn’t want my memories of you added onto that. But I also didn’t want to forget you or what it felt like to be with you. When I told Justin that, he offered his studio where he does stonework. Our schedules worked out perfectly. In the spring and summer, he does most of his studio work during the day and on weekends. My summer schedule is the opposite. Between the gallery and the inn, I don’t have time to sculpt until late at night. This year we didn’t take any reservations after August because of the wedding, but we usually take them until late fall. And then mine and Justin’s schedules flip-flop.”
The sting over how much she’d shared with Justin took a back seat to the heartache she’d just revealed about her feelings toward Ted. Andre had met him at the wedding, and the guy had talked about Violet like a cherished daughter, not like a castaway. As much as he wanted to tell her that, the way she’d thwarted the conversation told him she had no intention of talking about that situation right now. He could only hope she’d open up more about it soon, as she had about other parts of her life.
He was in awe of his strong, resilient woman who had found a way to keep him in her heart while also dealing with rekindling her relationship with Desiree, dealing with the inn, and everything else she’d had to handle.
“I’m glad you have a place to sculpt where you feel safe, and I hope your creativity flows freely there.” He lowered his lips to hers in a tender kiss.
“I was serious before, when I mentioned bringing your landmine of boxes up from your cottage and sharing this space. We can move some things around, make room for your sculpting supplies?”
“Whoa, girl. Slow down. Are you asking me to move in to your studio with you?” he teased. “That’s a pretty big step.”
She smiled and said, “Bigger than letting myself go all mushy while you’re fucking my brains out?”
He kissed her again. “You had no choice in that matter. My sexual prowess was stronger than your badass exterior. So yeah, it’s a bigger deal. Although I’m not sure it’s bigger than letting me drive your bike.”
“Damn it,” she snapped. “You’re right. I should have led with that.”
He took her hand and headed for the door.
“Why are you rushing?” she asked, hurrying to keep up.
“Are you kidding? I want to seal this deal before you change your mind.”
Chapter Nine
AS THEY SET up Andre’s art supplies in the studio, the coming together of their belongings reminded Violet of the night he’d set up space for her to share his crafting tent and art supplies in Ghana. It had felt just as good then as it did now.
“I couldn’t help but notice that the rest of the house looks like it’s been updated. Why did you leave this room unfinished?” he asked as he carried fluted bowls to another table.
“When we first arrived here, Lizza had arranged for renovations to be done by Justin’s family’s company, Cape Renovators. Of course, Lizza’s ideas were off the wall and would have completely ruined the character of the house. Rick is an architect, and with his help, Desiree and I redirected their efforts, but we couldn’t bring ourselves to renovate Lizza’s studio.”
“I thought she didn’t stay at Summer House with you and Desiree when you were little.”
“She didn’t.” Violet set her sculpting tools down and said, “But she had a studio in our house in Oak Falls.”
“What was it like back then?”
“I was only seven when we left, but from what I remember, it was what most people probably call normal. We played, went to school, had family dinners…”
“With Lizza and Ted? She was around more then?”
“I think so. My memories are mostly of what I lost when we left—sweet, perfect Desiree and Ted, the only father I had ever known. What I remember about Lizza is very different from what Desiree remembers, so I’m not sure if my memories are fabricated from wanting to believe them or not.”
“You were both so young, I’d imagine you’ve both spun some of your memories in one direction or another. Kids do that as a means of denial or survival. How do yours and Desiree’s memories differ?”
She stifled the urge to shrug. As much as she disliked revealing her memories, each hidden piece of herself she shared with Andre brought a lightening all around her.
“Desiree’s memories revolve around trying to get Lizza’s attention and Lizza being so absorbed in her artwork, she’d get upset when she was interrupted. I lived with Lizza for many years, and she does disappear into her artwork. But don’t most artists?”
“Somewhat probably. But when we were together, you were at your calmest and most centered while we were working with fabrics, drawing, or sculpting.”
“I still am.”
“Actually, that calm was second only to the peacefulness that came over you when you were with children.”
It was true, but she hadn’t realized he’d noticed. “I do enjoy working with kids. The thing is, while I remember Lizza being consumed by her art, I also remember her leaving art supplies out for us to try whatever she was doing. If she was painting, she would set out blank canvases nearby with paintbrushes and paints open, inviting us to join her without verbally doing so.”
“You realize that could be the same memory perceived differently.”
“I know, and it’s so frustrating. I swear people should have thought bubbles over their heads so those things don’t happen.”
“What would yours say?”
“Fuck off, usually.” She laughed and said, “My whole life all I wanted was to be with Desiree, and then when we were kids and spent a few weeks here with our grandmother, we clashed all the time. She was a huge reminder of everything I’d lost and missed. I took off on my own a lot, avoiding the obvious. She says she wanted to be freer, like me, and I would have given anything to be less free and with her. But even as a kid I couldn’t muster the courage to stick around the inn. I know Lizza thought she was doing the right thing for each of us, but she put us both in our own emotional jails. Luckily, Ted helped Desiree learn to love and be loved.”
“Then who taught you?” He drew her closer, and she wound her arms around his neck as he said, “You are a loving person, babe.”
“Yeah, but I’m not so easy to love. I do mean shit, like disappearing from Desiree’s life, from your life, and being snarky, and I curse and—”
“You protect yourself in the only ways you know how because you’ve always had to, and you protect others with sharp words and threats, because you’re a loving, strong, generous woman. It just takes the right stubborn people to earn the keys to unlock the Daisy in you.” He pressed his lips to hers. “I’ve met a lot of your friends, and I think you’ve given away more keys than you take credit for. I’m one of the lucky ones.”
She felt her cheeks burn and said, “I’d hardly call you lucky. There are plenty of women who would have jumped at your proposal and not been afraid of disappointing you or losing themselves.”
“You could never disappoint me, and the only place I’ll let you lose yourself in our relationship is in the bedroom.”
She was glad for his levity. “You are wicked in the fuckery department.”
“Speaking of fuckery…”
Heat rose in his eyes, and he pulled her tight against him. His mouth covered hers, unexpectedly tender. His tongue swept and probed in an intensely slow, erotic rhythm, claiming a little more of her with every stroke. She held her breath, hoping he’d take even more, but his efforts remained soft and sensual. Just when she felt herself melting against him, he kissed her harder, more demanding. She went up on her toes, her body vibrating with desire as he fisted his hands in her hair, angling her mouth beneath his, and took the kiss even deeper. His tongue thrust against hers as their hips ground together, and he pushed one hot hand beneath her shirt, cupping her breast. She moaned into their frantic kisses, as he brushed his thumb over her nipple and eased his efforts.
She whimpered, and he smiled against her lips as he said, “Remember when all we did was kiss?”
He didn’t give her time to answer, taking her in another intoxicatingly rough and possessive kiss. His hands were everywhere at once, fisting in her hair, groping her ass, palming her breasts. Heat seared through her veins, filling her chest, and pooling in her core. She shoved her hands beneath his shirt, needing to feel closer to him, and he eased his efforts again, creating a dizzying rhythm. It was exquisite torture, and she didn’t want it to end. When he reached one arm out and swept his drawing supplies off the table without ever breaking their connection, she knew it wouldn’t have to.
He held her tighter, pressing all his hard heat against her, as he reached beneath her leather miniskirt and tore down her panties. Her skirt came next, followed by her shirt and bra. She kicked off her boots as he stripped himself bare. Good Lord he was hot. His thick cock bobbed between them as he hoisted her onto the table. She grabbed his head, holding their mouths together as he drove into her in one hard thrust, sending scintillating shocks racing up her spine. She wrapped her legs around his hips, clawing at his back and shoulders, as he pounded into her. They devoured each other’s mouths, and she grabbed his ass, helping him drive in even deeper. The tease of an orgasm hovered just out of reach. Her limbs tingled and her breathing shallowed, anticipation mounting inside her. He reached between them, finding her magical spot with deathly precision, and catapulted her up to the clouds. She tore her mouth away and sank her teeth into his shoulder, and he followed her over the edge, surrendering to his own powerful release.
“Fuck baby,” he panted out as they came back down to earth. “Christ, I love you.”
She finally lifted her mouth from his shoulder, leaving tiny punctures around his tattoo.
He brushed his scruff along her cheek and said, “Do you remember biting me like that the first time we made love?”
“I didn’t until just now,” she admitted.
She thought she’d remembered every second of the night they’d finally made love, but now more bits and pieces were trickling in. She’d been so overwhelmed by the intensity of her emotions, the practically out-of-body experience of making love with him—of loving him so much—everything had blurred together. But she’d never bitten a man before. How could she not remember that?
“The first time we made love, you went soft in my arms. You were so open and loving, I remember thinking that I would never let anyone hurt you again.” He kissed her neck, holding her so close his heart thudded against her chest. “And then you said, Don’t ever stop.”
“I did?” She did not remember saying that, though she remembered hoping he never would.
“Yes. Then it was like you cut yourself free, and you went a little wild. We both did. And you bit me so hard you drew blood.”
“Damn,” she said, smiling against his shoulder.
“It was the most intense experience I’d ever had. Seeing you let go like that made me let go, too. That’s when I proposed.”
He lifted her off the table and lowered them both to the mass of canvas tarps. She lay in his arms, sated and happy, as he kissed her so deeply her body started getting all tingly again.
When their lips finally parted, he chuckled and said, “I’m an idiot.”
He gave her a chaste kiss and then pushed to his feet, pinning her in place with a scorching stare, causing her heart to stumble. He stared so long, the air between them sizzled and popped. Just when she was about to go to him, he turned and strutted scrumptiously naked toward the bathroom, as if he hadn’t just turned her world upside down.
You’re a whole lotta sexy. I’m the idiot.
AS THE MOON rose over the water, they lay together on a blanket in the studio surrounded by flickering candles, incense, and sketches they’d drawn of each other. Cosmos was fast asleep on the tarps. A cool breeze whispered through the open window, chilling Violet’s legs. She snuggled against Andre’s bare chest and put her leg over his. Her panties and his shirt were not enough to warm her, but his body heat helped. The hair on his legs tickled, but she’d never been more comfortable or happier. They’d spent the whole day in the studio, making love, talking and sketching, leaving long enough only to grab blankets from the linen closet and retrieve snacks from the kitchen. A box of crackers, a tray of fruit and cheese, and half a loaf of Italian bread sat off to the side, along with some water and a half-empty bottle of wine.
Andre kissed her temple. “Are you too cold? Want to go back to the cottage? Or downstairs to get some tea?”
“No way. I want to stay right here forever. I miss this so much. Not just being with you, but just being. Remember how we would sit outside our tents at night listening to the sounds of the village?”
“I do, and sitting around the fire with the villagers when I was teaching you to sketch people. Do you still do that adorable nose-wrinkle thing when you’re drawing faces?”
“I never did a nose-wrinkle thing.” She leaned on his chest and said, “Wipe that smirk off your face.”
“Okay, nose wrinkler.” He leaned up and kissed the tip of her nose. “You know, there were nights when I’d try to convince myself that meeting you was all a dream. That I imagined everything. But then I’d remember the feel of your body next to mine or the taste of your skin on my lips, and I knew I couldn’t have imagined something so beautiful.”
She rested her cheek on his shoulder and ran her fingers over the hair on his chest. There were times she’d wondered if he’d been real, too. But then the pain set in, and she knew he’d been as real as the water in the bay. “I haven’t done this, just being, without the stress of guests at the inn or trying not to think about how much I miss you, since I came here. I never realized how empty I could feel. But I feel so full right now, I have no idea how I survived without this. Without you. Not that I need a man to make me feel whole.”
As she said the words, she knew they weren’t true. It was a knee-jerk reaction to define autonomy, but with Andre she’d never needed to. She lifted her face so she could see his and said, “I always thought I was whole, but the truth is, when I left you, I left a piece of myself behind. A big piece. One that I didn’t even know I possessed or could give away.”
A small smile lifted his lips as he said, “I’ve carried it with me ever since. When I woke up and you were gone, my first thought was that one of the village kids came to get you to tell them a story, go for a walk, or make one of those little clay or cloth animals you used to make them. I always thought I was whole, too. But after I realized you were really gone, emptiness consumed me. I thought I’d be busy enough when I returned to Boston that I would eventually get over us, but that was even worse. Then I thought maybe Operation SHINE would fill that gap. But being in the field just reminded me of what I’d lost, and I realized being whole doesn’t have to do with strength or capabilities. It comes from here.” He placed his hand over his heart. “I carried you in my heart for all this time, and I thought I would never be whole again. It’s not surprising that we both tried to replace each other and couldn’t, because what we shared wasn’t just sex and great conversation. It was this.”
