by Casey Hagen
“Another front enclosure. Mmmmm.” He flicked the clasp and this time the sides snapped apart, revealing her breasts to him.
She sucked in a breath and smiled, locked in this sexual haze that his words and hands spun around her.
He bunched her skirt up to the tops of her thighs and glanced down at her. “Do you have any idea how damn sexy you are? God, I wish you could see what I see when I look at you.”
He leaned in and licked her nipple, one, two, three times before lavishing the same attention on the other. His hand drifted between her legs, where his fingers parted her, the sharp sensations making her eyes roll back in her head.
But he brought her back. He slid his fingers inside her, sent them deep, and thrust her right back into the moment and made her cry out as piercing, building shocks and sensations rocked through her.
She thrust her hips against his hand, wanting more. Needing more. She needed to know what a climax that she’d only been able to give herself felt like coming from Shane’s capable hands and body.
His beard scraped along her skin, making her burn for more. She needed him to touch her everywhere, all at once.
She grabbed the wrist between her legs to stop him.
“What is it?”
“Inside me,” she gasped. “Need you inside me.”
He pulled her in and took her mouth in a bruising kiss. His desire and craving fairly rolled off him in tangible waves. His kiss bruised her lips, but she welcomed the sting.
A burst of pure feminine confidence took over and she grasped him, rose up, poised him at her entrance, and lowered herself onto him. She relished the stretch, the fullness of him buried inside her.
She rolled her hips, the center of her, that tight bundle of nerves colliding with him just right. Each rock back and forth made her crave more and more until she frantically ground against him.
“More,” she cried out. “Dammit, I need more.”
He sucked her nipple into his mouth and pinched the other with his thumb and forefinger, the pleasure shooting straight to another part of her, adding just what she needed for everything to explode inside her.
She clutched his head to her chest and let out a scream that had her grateful the windows were closed, or her neighbors might think she was being murdered. She couldn’t help it. It was all so hot and overwhelming there was nowhere to go with the pleasure of it.
Sweat broke out on her neck. She dropped her forehead to his shoulder as the aftershocks continued to run through her.
“Bell,” he groaned, holding her still. “God, Bell,” he said, kissing her cheeks, her neck. His lips were everywhere.
“I love you, Shane,” she murmured against his neck.
He turned her face toward him and gazed down at her. “I’m home, Bell. I’m home.”
Chapter 10
Shane woke up parched at three in the morning, with Bell wrapped around him in her sleep. Despite his desperate need for water, he took a minute to study her in the glow of a lit salt lamp sitting on her nightstand.
Bits of red stood out on her neck and jaw from his beard. He’d tried to slow them down, to be more careful, but she’d come on like a freight train; as much as he didn’t want to hurt her or mark her, he wanted that energy, that passion, that heat.
Which explained his dry throat. He’d made love to her three more times after their interlude in the dining room. His muscles screamed from head to toe, but it had been worth it.
She was going to be sore as hell come morning.
He grinned in the night. He did that.
And he’d meant what he said…he was home.
He needed to get back to L.A. to turn over his plans and see what he could work out to stay with the company, but relocate to St. Helena. The minute he lost himself in Bell the first time, he knew for sure there was nowhere else in the world he wanted to be but by her side.
He slid out from under the covers and worked his way down the dark hall. At the sink he filled a glass with water, gulped it down, and filled it again.
The glow from her office grabbed his attention. What could it hurt to take a peek at where she worked her magic? He stepped in and closed the door most of the way behind him so he could switch on the light without waking her.
She had a laptop connected to two massive monitors. Along the longest wall she had collected images of what looked to be all of her clients, kind of like those walls in restaurants that have food challenges. Along the other wall she had frame choices and already-framed pictures.
In this digital age, he was surprised she still did that. Along the floor were different portraits he imagined either needed to be picked up or delivered.
For some reason, he pictured what she did as a part time, almost hobby kind of thing. It wasn’t. She had made life moments her career, and looking at the shots she took he realized she had an undeniable talent for it.
Ready to leave he went to flip off the light, when the edge of a framed photo along the wall opposite her desk caught his eye. Something about the hair… his blood ran cold.
It couldn’t be.
It wasn’t even possible.
He told himself to turn off the light and go, but he froze, his gaze going back to that wavy blond hair.
He crouched down and slid the picture next to it aside, and his heart froze right in his chest.
His wife and son.
The sharp edges of their image brought every fading memory into razor-sharp focus, sending rivers of pain and grief through his system. How did she do this? How the hell did she get this picture? And why?
They’d just…he had…she… Thoughts failed to form in his head, and rage, red-hot burning rage made him seethe.
“Shane?” she called from the hall. She crossed over into the doorway, a black robe swirling around her thighs, her gaze going from him to the picture and back again.
He advanced on her, making her back away, her eyes wide. “Where did you get this?”
“Well, I—”
“WHERE!” he shouted at her.
“Your mother.”
“Bullshit,” he sneered.
“It’s true. She had some images and wanted me to touch up the best one for her so she could give it to you.”
“I don’t believe you.” He headed for her room, slapping the light switch, flooding the room with light. “Where are my fucking pants?”
“Why would I lie about this?”
“I don’t know, but I sure as hell don’t plan on sticking around to find out.”
“She said you lost everything. All your pictures and mementos. She wanted to give something back.”
“So she asked you? No way.”
“Why not me? Because of our past, which has nothing to do with your family?”
“It has everything to do with them. I can’t mingle the two. I—Jesus, I hear their screams in my head. Do you get that? Almost every night, I hear the screams of my family from inside that damned house. They scream for me to help them. And I wasn’t there.”
“Oh, Shane—” She reached for his arm, but he shook her off.
“Don’t. Don’t touch me.” He shoved his feet into his shoes.
“This is not your fault.”
“I’m the father. I’m the husband. I was supposed to protect them.”
“And shit happens. It happens every damn day. Some of us have drug-addicted parents and our grandmother has to take us away to save our lives. Some of us die in car accidents, drownings, from cancer. It can happen to anyone at any time.”
“I can’t talk about this with you.”
“Why not? I’ve never once given you any indication that I bear any ill will toward your wife and son. There’s room for them in here.” She held her hand over her heart. “But now I’m beginning to wonder if it’s you who can’t manage to make room for them. How long has it been since you looked at their pictures?”
“Don’t.”
“How long, Shane?”
“I haven’t.”
“What?”
“I haven’t looked at them.”
“Not at all?”
“No, damn you. Are you happy now? No.”
She tilted her chin down and frowned, shaking her head. “This isn’t about me. This is about you. And you’re not ready for us. Maybe you’ll never be ready. I don’t know. I do know what I deserve, and it’s better than this. Let me know when you work it out. If it’s me you want, that is. Maybe I’ll still be here.”
“Bell.”
“Don’t call me that. You know the way out.”
***
Shane couldn’t remember the color of the walls of his condo. That had to mean something. He flicked on all the lights and looked around and felt nothing. He didn’t recognize the space he’d lived in for the past two years.
How was that possible?
He’d been frozen in another time.
And now, everything he’d missed stood as a painful reminder that a certain someone had woken him up, despite his stubbornness.
He didn’t ask to be woken up.
He grabbed a shower and threw on a polo shirt and Dockers before heading into his office. He had a three o’clock meeting with the head of Logan Arc, Clyde Darnell, the one who’d have his ass if this design wasn’t spot-on.
Shane had loved what he came up with. Now, sitting in Clyde’s office, he prayed his boss would, too.
The door flew open and all six-feet-four-inches of Clyde pushed through with a curt nod for Shane before taking a seat in the leather high-back behind his mahogany desk. “You know, I was beginning to wonder if I made a huge mistake putting my faith in you on this project.”
“I know, sir. I’m sorry. But I think I have something you’ll love. Do you want the computerized version or the drawing?”
“Is that even a question?”
Clyde still went by the old-school ways, which Shane suspected is why Clyde liked him so much.
“Drawing, it is.” Shane rolled the plans out on the drafting table in the corner of Clyde’s office, and turned on the light stationed over it.
He backed away and gestured for Clyde to take a look.
Shane tried to stand still while Clyde determined his fate, but almost five minutes in he fought wringing his hands, pushing them through his hair, and pacing.
If the man didn’t say something soon, he’d—
“Well, Shane, it looks like you’re finally back,” Clyde said with a confident smile.
“I wasn’t aware I went anywhere.”
“You’ve struggled since the fire. It’s like you’ve been burning ever since. You and I both know it. But this…it’s beyond your previous talent. It’s brilliant. So, who is she?”
He had one shot to deflect. Unfortunately, he didn’t think he was that good an actor. “Who’s who?” Shane asked, sliding his hands into his pockets.
“Don’t play dumb with me.” Clyde pointed at the drawings. “This kind of inspiration comes from the love of a good woman.”
Shane bowed his head. “I screwed it up.”
“I’m sure you did. That’s also why you look like shit.”
Shane shook his head. “I’m not ready.”
Clyde rolled up the plans and slid them into the plastic tube. “What are you waiting for?”
“For it to stop hurting,” Shane answered before he thought about how to temper his response. This guy had the power to make or break his career. And here Shane was, pouring his heart out to him like a teenage girl.
“Well, you might as well give up now, because the hurt will never completely be gone.”
Something about the way Clyde said it told Shane he knew from experience. “Who was she?”
“My first wife. Killed by a drunk driver. Pinned to a tree when she was jogging. Her death was slow. Agonizingly slow.”
For the first time, Shane said a silent thank-you for the fact that his wife and son had simply gone to sleep. They didn’t suffer, no matter how his mind tried to play tricks with him in his nightmares. “How did you get past it?”
“I met Meg, and she refused to give up even when I did everything in my power to push her away.”
That sounded familiar. Not that he had done everything, but he sure as hell had made his position clear the other night. And worse, he had accused her of being deceitful. Of meddling in his business. He was a shit. “Well, Bell kicked me out.”
“You just going to settle for that?” Clyde said, his forehead wrinkling with his raised eyebrows.
“She wants me to get my shit together.”
“I would say this drawing is a good start. So what else is it going to take?”
He closed his eyes and let the words fly. “I need to relocate to St. Helena.”
“Can you fly in once a month?”
It couldn’t be that easy. “Sure.”
“Consider it done. Work from home. Check in once a month. Expense your travel costs.”
“You’d do that for me?”
Clyde grabbed the plastic tube and headed for the door. “I didn’t do it for you. You earned it. With this,” he said, waving the tube in the air.
Shane took his hand and shook it. The weight of the world had been lifted. He didn’t realize he needed to leave L.A. until Clyde gave him the green light. “Thank you. I can’t thank you enough.”
“Just go get the girl, huh?”
Shane laughed, following him out the door. “I’m on it.”
***
Bellamy hadn’t managed to bring herself to drop the picture off to Pamela.
Okay, she was hiding out.
She didn’t want to face Shane again. Not yet.
He owed her a big, fat apology. And then maybe they could be friends.
Maybe.
Probably not.
Because they’d done it.
And it was so freaking good.
Like the kind of good that convinces people to stay in bed forever kind of good.
Willing to give up every appetizer and milkshake from The Chatter Shack forever if she could just have more good.
And then he’d left.
And she continued to hide.
The humiliation of having fallen for him again just to have him walk away was just too much.
Now she sat outside his parents’ house, her heart in pieces, her body having full knowledge of just what she was missing, and she was too scared to go up to the door.
“Bellamy, is that you?” Pamela called from across the street, wearing jogging attire.
Busted. Figures.
“Yes, it’s me, Pamela. I have that picture you wanted,” she called out the window.
“Oh, great. Bring it on in.” She waved Bellamy toward the house as she crossed the lawn.
“That’s what you get for sitting outside her house, muttering to yourself for ten minutes,” Bellamy whispered to herself as she climbed out of the car and snagged the picture from the back seat.
Pamela waited at the door, holding it open for her. “I can’t wait to see it. I just wish Shane was here, too.”
Why? He didn’t seem all that jazzed about it.
Bellamy stepped in, a wave of nostalgia gripping her by the throat. She hadn’t seen the inside of this house since the day Shane showed her the letter from the school in L.A. and told her he had accepted.
She decided to get this over with. Like ripping off a Band-Aid. She propped the picture up on a portable easel she carried with her for display purposes, and stepped back.
“I hope this is what you were looking for…” She trailed off, not knowing what to say when she had just memorialized two treasured and tragically-stolen family members before Pamela.
She usually looked for excitement on the faces of her customers, but this was different.
Pamela whimpered, and tears filled her eyes, making Bellamy fight tears of her own. She bit her lip, hoping the pain would distract her from the sorrow playing out over Pamela’s face. She took careful steps toward the picture as though, if she approached it
too fast, it might disappear.
“How did you do this?” Pamela ran her fingertips along her grandson’s cheek, and Bellamy’s stomach rolled.
“You did it. You brought them back.” Pamela hugged her, and Bellamy found herself holding on just as tightly. She didn’t know who for: herself and losing Shane again, Shane losing his family and not being able to move past it, or for the rediscovery of Laura and Jason.
And maybe it didn’t matter. She’d given this woman pleasure. It had been intended for Shane, who wouldn’t appreciate it, but Pamela did—and that was enough.
“How did you do it?” Pamela asked, turning just enough to look Bellamy in the eye.
“She specializes in bringing things to life. Who better?”
***
Bellamy froze at the sound of Shane’s voice, and pulled away from his mom. “I have to go.”
“Wait, why?” Pamela asked, with a frantic glance between the two of them.
“Because I hurt her,” Shane said, his hands in his jean pockets. Bellamy’s unnaturally pale skin told him just how much he’d hurt her. He bet she’d barely slept.
He sure as hell hadn’t.
Pamela scowled, her hands on her hips. “What did you do now?”
He took a step toward Bellamy. “I yelled at her when I found the picture.” He took another step. “I didn’t believe her when she said you ordered it.” And another. “I lied to us both by making us believe that I had moved past Laura and Jason’s deaths enough to do right by Bellamy.”
He reached her and smoothed the tears from her eyes with his thumbs, tears he’d bet his life she’d shed for his lost family. He settled a kiss on her forehead. “Does that about cover it?”
“And you left me, again,” she said, frowning up at him.
He nodded, and cupped her face in his hands. “Ahh, but that was only temporary. I had to figure out what held me back.”
Her hands curled over his wrists, anchoring him to her. Right where he planned to be for the next fifty or so years. “And did you, you know, figure out what held you back?”
“Yeah, the seven-hour commute had to go.”
Her eyes shot open wide, and her mouth fell open before snapping shut again. “You quit your job?”