Whisper of Love (The Bradens at Peaceful Harbor, Book Five)

by Melissa Foster

  What the fuck, PJ? You had everything. You were supposed to be the next Ken Griffey, Jr. You were supposed to be here. You were supposed to be the guy I believed you were. How am I supposed to deal with this shit?

  Tears rushed into his eyes, and he squeezed them closed, cursing his parents, the fucking baseball team, the police who’d chased his brother’s car. Gulping for air, he tore the hat from his head. It was frayed along the seams, stained from years of daily wear, and still, when he looked at the damn thing, he saw his brother’s face after his last game. Wear it proudly, little brother. I’m on to bigger, better things.

  Tears streamed down Nash’s cheeks, anger burning in his gut. His fingers turned white against the red hat.

  “Bigger and better? You asshole. You fucking asshole.” He tossed the hat on the ground and shoved the keys to the chest in the lock, panting like he’d just been in a fight. His eyes shot to the hat, seeing the bright light of excitement in his brother’s eyes and bringing fresh tears to his. Goddamn it. He tugged the hat back on and pressed his palms to his thighs, dragging air into his lungs. His head dropped between his shoulders. He didn’t look at the chest as he lifted the top.

  A musty smell assaulted him. Hands fisted against his thighs, he lifted his gaze, meeting the ghosts of his past head-on. Phillip’s voice rang out in his head as his eyes drifted over each of his family member’s smiling faces in a framed photograph—One, two, three, four. He stared for a long time at his father’s face. God, he missed him so fucking much. There was a time he could feel his father’s hand in his if he tried hard enough, or recall the weight of it on his shoulder. But that had faded like the night swallows the sea, in stages of darkness. Breathing harder, he took in PJ’s awards and trophies, his winning jersey from his senior year, the picture of the two of them arm in arm after that last winning game. With a trembling hand he lifted his brother’s jersey, revealing PJ’s favorite baseball mitt and ball beneath. Memories pummeled him like bullets, knocking him off-balance. He shoved the shirt into the chest and sank down to the floor, too overwhelmed to process a damn thing.

  Pushing unsteadily to his feet, he stumbled forward and turned away from the offending items, only to find himself face to face with more ghosts from his past.

  He stared at the finished sculpture, An Unfinished Life, his fingers curling into fists. He wanted to create magnificent pieces that came directly from his soul more than he wanted to breathe. He could feel the chainsaw vibrating in his hands, the adrenaline pumping through his veins as he carved away layers to find the heart of the wood. He could smell the hypnotizing scent of fresh-cut wood and feel the grit as he sanded it to perfection. He looked at the forge that hadn’t been touched in years, and the scent of hot metal filled his senses, the clank of the hammer as he bent metal to his will rang out in his ears. He wanted this part of his life back—the excitement of gallery openings, the security of large commissions, creating pieces he could take pride in. He wanted to make Phillip proud. And he wanted Tempest. Damn, do I want Tempest.

  She’d come into their lives like a tree trunk became a work of art, revealing more of her true self with each impassioned moment they spent together, chipping away at the armor that had sheltered his heart for so long. She’d given Phillip more in a handful of days than he’d ever known his son needed.

  She gave me this moment of clarity.

  His hands shook as he closed and locked the chest. His legs felt like lead as he left the studio and locked it up tight, his chest aching even worse than before. He counted his steps up to the back porch, remembering how adorably flustered Tempest had been the night she’d found out her sister was engaged. The first time he’d held her in his arms. That was the start of it all.

  He’d trusted her with so many parts of himself already. Maybe it was time to trust her with this, too.

  Chapter Eleven

  NASH HAD NEVER heard one, two, three as many times in his life as he had over the last week. Phillip continued counting the chickens, the number of cups of food they fed the goats, the steps down to breakfast each morning and again on the way up to bed at night. It had been nine days since Tempest had taught him to count. Eight days since Nash had opened the chest—eight days since he’d begun gathering the courage to tell her about PJ. She’d already become so entrenched in their lives, reading to Phillip and dragging them out for walks in the park, where Phillip had begun exploring more independently. She’d taken them out for a drive and ended up at the local preschool, where Phillip had loved playing on the playground equipment. She’d gone back to Peaceful Harbor again yesterday to see a client, and he’d forced himself to revisit the items in the chest again. It was less traumatic this time, but nowhere near easy. He didn’t feel like he was suffocating, just like he was being punched in the gut repetitively. He’d wanted to tell Tempe about PJ last night when she’d returned home, but she’d taken a bath and gone right to bed.

  It was Monday night, and Phillip was counting good-night kisses. Nash brushed his curls from his forehead and gave him a final good-night kiss. “Thanks for all the extra kisses buddy.”

  “Kiss me more?” That soft “r” tugged at Nash’s heart. Phillip’s heavy lids fluttered closed, and Nash kissed each pillowy cheek one last time.

  When he finally left Phillip’s room, he closed the door behind him and heard Tempest singing in the bathroom. She took a bath nearly every night. Afterward she usually sat outside playing her guitar. On the nights the heat between them seared so hot he knew he couldn’t control himself, he listened from the confines of his bedroom. Other nights, when he trusted himself not to take more than passionate kisses, he joined her. Inevitably she ended up snuggled against him, and they’d talk about Phillip and the progress he was making, or she’d tell him about the kids she was working with and how much she enjoyed them. She talked a lot about her family. He felt like he knew each one of them. He loved living in her world for a little while each night, and learning about her big, happy family, which not only brought them closer together, but it also helped him to lower his guard and made him want to share the most private parts of himself. But holding her in such an intimate embrace, their fingers laced, her hips nestled between his legs, was both heaven and hell.

  He leaned against the wall outside the bathroom and closed his eyes, listening to her sweet, melodic voice. He couldn’t believe she’d been living there for less than a month and she already seemed like family. They’d only shared a few hot kisses since the day he’d stormed out of the barn, and it had been hell refraining from taking things further. But first he had to deal with his demons.

  He listened to the cadence of her voice as she sang about never growing up, telling himself tonight was the night he would tell her about PJ. She sang soft and slow, about little brothers’ favorite songs and a new apartment in a big city. The song was clearly written about parents and children, but his thoughts turned to PJ. Her voice was like feathers drifting over his skin; each word brought rise to happier memories.

  Nash sank down to the floor, crossing his arms over his knees, and tipped his head back against the wall, closing his eyes and struggling to hold on to the image of his brother’s face. He could see him so clearly right then, he wanted to burn PJ’s ever-present smile and square jaw into his mind, to make it easier to recall when his mind became clouded with pain and his brother’s face eluded him.

  As she sang, he dug deeper, remembering the sound of PJ’s laughter as his older brother drove him around town the first week he’d had his license. The feel of his brother’s strength as they wrestled in the yard. His hand burned with the sting of catching one of PJ’s pitches when they were playing ball in the yard. Tears burned his eyes as she sang of wishing she’d never grown up and wishing life could be that simple again. How many times had Nash wished he could go back in time and somehow bring Phillip with him, just to have more time with his brother? He thought of the pride in PJ’s eyes when he’d pitch a winning game. More childhood memories slammed in
to him, each dragging him deeper into the past. PJ harassing him about his artwork and then showing up at each of his school art fairs. He was Nash’s biggest fan, just as Nash was for him.

  “Nash?” Tempest touched his arm. “Are you okay?”

  He hadn’t even heard her come out of the bathroom. His fingers curled into fists as he tried to climb out from under the weight of the past. But it wasn’t enough. The tears still burned. His throat was too tight to swallow. Whatever portal he’d opened refused to close. He lifted his face, bringing her worried, beautiful eyes into focus. Emotions swelled inside him, battling for space with PJ’s ghost—and he knew it was time to finally face his past.

  He pushed to his feet with Tempest watching him so intently it was like she was reaching into his thoughts. He imagined her coaxing them out, as she’d already done in so many ways. Something inside him softened, taking the sting of fear out of his waiting confession, and replaced it with trust.

  “Is your offer to talk about what happened in the barn still good?”

  Surprise shone in her eyes. “Of course,” she said with a sweet smile. “Let me just put my stuff in my bedroom.”

  His eyes dropped to the toiletry bag in her arms. “I cleaned out a drawer in the bathroom vanity for you last weekend. I must have forgotten to tell you.”

  “You did? Thank you! Give me one sec.”

  She disappeared into the bathroom, and he listened to the drawer opening and her setting her things inside. He was eager to share more of himself with her, both emotionally and physically, and he hoped that tonight he’d finally be able to.

  Tempest came out of the bathroom with a bounce in her step. “That’s so much easier than carrying it back and forth. I just have to remember to bring my shampoo and stuff when I go back home next weekend.”

  He hated the idea of being without her again next weekend, but he was too distracted by the alluring bounce of her braless breasts and the tantalizing peak of her nipples pressing against her soft white cotton tank top to focus on it. The ends of her hair were damp from her bath, causing transparent wet spots along the swell of her breasts. He dropped his gaze, hoping to slow the heat flooding his veins, but got stuck on a flash of taut skin between her top and her flannel pajama pants. He dragged his eyes back to her face, hoping that would be safer. Her hair was tousled in that devastatingly sexy, just-had-a-good-mattress-romp way she wore it. Holy shit. How could he possibly concentrate with all of her accidental sexiness on display?

  As she tucked that always-unruly lock of hair behind her ear with another adorable bounce and said, “Should we go outside?” she had no idea what she was doing to him.

  I’d rather go to the bedroom. “Sure, but you need to put on a sweatshirt.”

  “Why? It was pretty warm today. Did it get chilly?”

  “Not chilly enough,” he said under his breath. If only it were winter, maybe then he could stand outside and cool the hell down. Like metal to magnet, his eyes found her breasts, and he felt himself get hard.

  She followed his gaze to her breasts, and her cheeks pinked up.

  “Sorry.” She hurried into her room and he followed her, knowing she’d throw on her favorite pink hoodie with the white stripe on the sleeve that she wore nearly every night.

  He couldn’t believe he was already cataloging her favorite clothes, among which were her strappy leather sandals and those minuscule cutoffs she wore just about every night when they fed the animals. She was slowly torturing him, but it would be an awfully enjoyable death.

  “I forgot you were going for the whole weekend. How long do you think you’ll keep going back to Peaceful Harbor on the weekends? You seem to be picking up quite a few clients.” Three more kids had signed up for her music classes this week.

  She pulled her hoodie on and zipped it up with her back to him. “I don’t have enough kids yet to afford full-time space for the classes and still earn a living. So until I do, I’ll continue with my patients there. And even when I’m here full-time, I’ll still go back for the Girl Power meetings. The Girl Power meeting isn’t until next Saturday, and Cole’s company picnic is the following day, and of course then I’ll see my music therapy client. That weekend will be crazy.”

  She spun around with a playful glint in her eyes that nearly made him forget anything but the desire to take her in his arms and devour her.

  “Better?”

  “Hardly.” He strode through her room and opened the door to the deck. As she stepped outside, he said, “Remind me to buy you a big, bulky sweatshirt.”

  She laughed, and they sat on the bench, their legs brushing. He uttered a curse and moved a few inches away.

  “What’s wrong? We always sit close.”

  There was a slight pout to her voice that drew him close again. He draped an arm around her, pulling her against his side and trying to ignore the lust coiling low in his gut. Impossible.

  “I know we do, but…Maybe it’s seeing how much good you’ve done for Phillip, or how you’ve made me feel things I haven’t for a very long time. Or how much happiness you’ve brought to our lives. Or maybe it’s because of what I want to talk to you about—or how incredibly hot and sexy you look every minute of the day and night. I don’t know why, but it’s getting damn hard to keep my emotions in check. Being close to you like this makes me want more, and at the same time, I can’t give you more until I get this off my chest.”

  “Okay,” she said softly, and wiggled out from beneath his arm, sitting beside him. “Then let’s get to the root of the matter. What do you want to talk about?”

  “You’re so ready to take on whatever stands in your way. How do you do it?”

  She fidgeted with the edge of her hoodie, but her eyes never left his. “This is the new, risky Tempest, remember?”

  “I hear you, but I’m not buying it, angel.” He took her hand, brushing his thumb over her knuckles and wondering where the endearment came from. The surprise in her eyes told him she was wondering, too. He laughed, earning the same from her. “You are like an angel, the way you came into our lives and opened our eyes to a fuller, happier life, when I didn’t think we were missing a damn thing.”

  She dropped her eyes, a shy smile on her lips.

  “You’re not risky, Tempe. You’re careful, and you’re giving, and without even trying, you make me want to open up. There’s an innocence about you that is so intriguing, I keep forcing myself to hold back.”

  “You don’t have to hold back.” She met his gaze with a sultry look in her eyes. “I’m not that innocent.” Her tone belied her words.

  “I don’t mean ‘naive’ or ‘inexperienced.’ You have goodness about you. You trust and you share like it’s as easy as inhaling and exhaling. And you deserve to be with someone who can do the same.”

  He pressed a kiss to the back of her fingers, and her eyes darkened. He loved that look so much, he leaned forward and kissed her softly. Her lips were moist and warm, and when he deepened the kiss, she leaned in to him, her hands wrapping around his neck. She kissed him hungrily, her tongue moving swiftly over his as he slid his hands beneath her hair, angling her mouth so he could take the kiss even deeper. She was sweet and hot and tasted so damn perfect. He didn’t have a chance in hell of backing off, and when she moaned into his mouth, all his blood rushed south, taking his ability to think rationally with it. He palmed her breasts, earning another sweet, needy sound. Lust coursed through him, spurring him on to take more, but somewhere in the back of his mind were the words he’d just said, reminding him of what she deserved, of what he needed to give her. She was good, and open, and honest, and she deserved the same.

  Silently cursing his conscience, he forced himself to pull away. “I’m sorry.”

  He fixed her hoodie, taking in the flush of her cheeks, her pink, swollen lips, and the crystal-blue pools of desire in her eyes, luring him in again. Like an addict unable to go cold turkey, he had a burning desire, a dire need, to kiss her again. He hauled her against him, pressin
g his mouth to hers again and again and telling himself he was easing off. But her mouth was liquid heat, and he couldn’t pull away.

  One more kiss.

  Their kisses turned fervent and messy, then sweet and sinful.

  Just one more.

  They were both lost in their wild, frantic kisses, as if they were the last kisses they might ever get.

  When he finally gathered the strength to break their connection, they both came away breathless.

  “Keep kissing me, Nash,” she pleaded. “I lay in bed every night wishing you had kissed me more. I can’t wait any longer. We can talk later. Please, I need you to kiss me again. Now.”

  His emotions whirred as their mouths crashed together. She made a low, sensual sound, and it vibrated through him, arousing his primal instincts, and he was gone. Done. Too into her to think at all. He pulled her onto his lap, deepening the kiss as she straddled him. Working the zipper of her hoodie down, he palmed her breasts, a desperate sound escaping his lungs.

  “I need more.” His words came fast and hot, his voice unrecognizable as he tore her shirt up, exposing the most spectacular breasts he’d ever seen. Her nipples pebbled tighter as he took one taut peak in his mouth. He palmed one breast, running his other hand over her waist, her ribs, her hips, her ass. No matter how much he took, he still needed more.

  She clung to his head, arching against his mouth. “Feels so good,” she panted out, guiding his mouth to her other breast. “I want you so bad, Nash.”

  He drew back, searching her eyes and knowing he should stop, but the raw desire looking back at him drove him to lower her to the bench. He captured her mouth again, taking her harder, kissing her deeper, and getting so fucking lost in her he didn’t know if he’d ever find his way back.