“Okay, Dalton, tilt your chin to the right. A little more. There. Perfect.” The shutter clicked as Joe took the shots.
He’d become better with the camera, she noted; he’d become more confident. “You look fabulous.”
“Of course I do,” Dalton returned, with a smile Joe captured before he lowered the camera.
“We’re good.”
“No, I’m great,” Dalton returned with a laugh. “I’m your best subject.”
“You’re my only subject.”
“See?” He strolled over, as if without a care in the world. “By the way, we’re getting a major motion picture coming through that will be looking for runners to be part of a marathon race. You interested? I’ve got some pull with the casting.” He winked at Taylor. “My wife.”
Joe shrugged. “If my schedule allows.”
“Won’t pay much, but as soon as Marielle begins casting for extras, I’ll shoot you an e-mail. Could be fun if you can do it. I’ll be in touch with you, too, missy. Can’t wait to see my shots.”
“You mean I don’t get to be in a movie?” she teased.
He winked. “Okay. Twist my arm. I’ll see what I can do, but it’s up to the missus.”
“I’ll have your proofs in about six or seven days,” Taylor told him.
“Call my wife and she’ll set something up. She knows where I am more than I do.”
Taylor laughed, shook his hand. “Will do.”
“Good to see you,” Joe said, taking Dalton’s outstretched hand.
Dalton reached around and clasped Joe’s hand in both of his. “Thanks for doing this, son. Talk soon.”
With that he strolled off toward his BMW, swinging his cane the entire way.
“He’s a funny guy,” Taylor observed.
“Don’t let the deadpan fool you. He’s sharp as a tack, and his wife is a saint. He’s responsible for a lot of the South Side’s redevelopment projects. He has a heart of gold.”
“He told me his burns were from a fire.”
“House fire when he was ten. Started when a kerosene heater malfunctioned. He saved his younger brother. He’ll tell you his burns were a small price to pay.”
She’d found the opening she’d needed. “What about you?”
“Me what?” He frowned.
“Well, you saved Susie.” She put her camera in the bag. She hesitated. Blurted it all out in a rush. “Look, I don’t know how to say this, but I think you should be in the book.”
“No.” His answer came swift and fast.
“You need to tell your story.” Taylor swung her camera bag onto her shoulder.
“No.” He strode off, held out his hand, and indicated she should take it. She caught up, and he guided her down the walkway toward the fountain.
“Are you going to give me a reason?” Taylor asked, his hand firm in hers.
“I’m already in a stupid calendar with my shirt off. That’s enough. This project was never to be about me. So no.”
He could be stubborn, too, couldn’t he? She sighed as they stopped at the fountain’s edge. Behind them the century-old pavilion rose from the ground, majestic red roof seeming to kiss the sky. “I can see why Dalton likes it here.”
“Quieter than Art Hill. Not as many people.”
“Unless there’s a wedding. I photographed one here once. Wedding and reception both under the pavilion and on the terrace. It was lovely.”
“Sounds like it,” Joe said, kicking a small pebble. A silence fell between them, the only sound the water cascading down into the reflecting pool below. On occasion a car honked down on Government Drive as the driver wove around the cyclists.
She sighed. “Please do the photo.”
“No.” He stared at water that shot into the air before cascading down a series of terraces.
“I know you mean well, but understand that I can’t.”
“Why? Help me understand.”
He went to the water’s edge. Sat on the concrete ledge. “I’m not the one worthy of sympathy. I’m the whole reason Susie was burned. It’s my fault.”
Confusion had her brow knitting. “That makes no sense. You tried to save her. How is it your fault?”
A dark shadow crossed his face despite the full sun. “Believe me, I wish it weren’t true.” He inhaled deeply and exhaled a harsh breath that sent one of his long, dark strands heavenward. He raked a hand through his hair, jerking the wayward lock back into place.
“Joe?”
His beautiful eyes had turned angry, bitter. “How is it possible? Believe me, I ask myself that every day.”
He was mad at himself. She reached forward to touch his hand, but he pulled away. “I don’t understand.”
He gave a harsh, bitter laugh. “It’s quite simple. I never should have had to have saved my sister.”
“But you did. You were a hero.
“No.” He shook his head, violently sending those locks swinging again. “No, never say that. I’m no hero. I wanted to watch something burn. Fire fascinated me. I wanted to control it, like my dad. Instead, I’m the stupid kid who scarred my sister for life with a fire I never should have started. And there’s no way I can ever forgive myself for that.”
* * *
As the confession left him, Joe wanted to take it back. Retract his words. For he saw Taylor’s eyes widen. He saw the horror. The disgust. The shock. Oh, she masked her reaction quickly, but he saw it, as he’d known he would.
“Joe …”
He slid about a foot away. “No, don’t pity me. I’ve had enough of that to last a lifetime.”
Hurt had her lower lip quivering, and his finger itched to touch it. “Whatever you do, don’t you dare say you’re sorry.”
She folded her hands in her lap. Stared at him, not knowing what to say.
So he filled in for her. “Do you see why I can’t do the book?”
Below they could hear two kids calling out to each other. “Maybe that’s the whole reason you should do the book. Maybe it’s time to let that battle go,” she suggested.
“Like you have with Owen?”
Her mouth formed a horrified O, and Joe hated himself. Damn. When he’d first met her, she’d called him a cad. She’d been one hundred percent right, especially after he’d hit her with that low blow. “Owen means nothing to me,” she insisted.
“No, but he’s stalking you again and you refuse to do anything about it.”
“Marci.” She fumed. Scowled. Glared at him. “You talked to Marci.”
He didn’t confirm or deny. “You want me to pose for the book. Do you know what you’re asking?”
She nodded. “Yes. You’d have to expose yourself.”
“Which I don’t want to do. Tell me, why should I show my scars to the world? Why should I do this when you won’t tell him to take a hike, or even ask for help?”
“I will handle Owen on my own.”
“And until you let me help you deal with Owen, I’m not going to be in the book. We each want something. Quid pro quo. You’ll have to meet me halfway.”
Her frustration grew. “You are impossible.”
“Pretty much.” Oddly, he’d calmed. Lost the anger that occurred every time he thought of what he’d done. “You know, I thought I could handle things. I was twelve. I’d used matches before. I was a Boy Scout. I’d show Susie how to start a fire. How to put one out. To this day, it’s a blur how things got out of control, how we were suddenly in the middle of a burning field with no way out. So while you may think you can handle things, while you may think it’s all fine, trust me, in the next second it can all go straight to hell.”
“He threatened. But he never—”
Joe cut her off. “Even verbal abuse is too much. I’ve been on too many calls. Seen too many things.”
Silence. Finally she admitted, “I don’t know what to say or do. He is scaring me.”
“Say you’ll let me help. Don’t be one of those calls.”
“I won’t be. And no. This i
s my problem.”
“Let me help,” he insisted.
“Let me take your picture.” She sighed, watched a pair of sparrows as they circled and made figure eights. Joe reached out and touched her hand. Took it into his, where it warmed, felt right. He knew what he had to do.
“I’m a big believer in compromise. You let me help with Owen and I’ll let you take my picture.”
“For the book.”
He didn’t pull away, a first. “It’s a big step for me to even let anyone see my skin, much less let it be made into a permanent record. Can we start with the photo shoot, go from there?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“So you agree? My picture and you let me help with Owen.”
“Yes,” she repeated.
He felt the tension drain away. “Good. We’ll cross all the other bridges as we come to them. Deal with things together. Sound good? And I’m sorry if I’ve been an ass.”
“You’re a sensitive guy in a tough guy exterior. I get it.”
He still had hold of her hand. Brought it to his chest as if branding him.
“Well, you’ve broken through. Made me mush. Made me want to kiss you as if it were as essential as breathing.”
He felt her fingers tremble. “Then why aren’t you?”
“Because we’re in a very public park and I wouldn’t stop, and what I want to do to you would get us arrested.” He took her hand, moved the fingertips to his lips and kissed each one.
“Maybe we should leave. My place is five minutes away. The AC is still on the fritz, but—”
His mouth found hers, tasted the sweetness that was fast becoming the nectar he needed for life. “Let’s go.”
* * *
He was the first man she’d brought home to her apartment. As she opened the door, she felt shy. Nothing was fancy. His TV could swallow hers twice. Her furniture was mismatched hand-me-downs, the plaid couch arriving after her mother’s latest redecorating binge and the chair a garage sale gift from her sister. At least she’d straightened up this morning—no hand-washed undies draped over the white ladder-back kitchen chairs.
She gestured. “This is it. Can I get you anything?”
“Absolutely.” He tugged her against him and wrapped his arms around her waist. “There’s definitely something I want.” His mouth came down on hers, nipped lightly. “Some of this.” He teased her lips, brought his hand up to cup her breast. “And definitely some of this.”
Her knees liquefied. Heat pooled. He intensified the kiss, feathered his fingertips over her chin, and lightly drew a line down her neck to the hollow of her throat. Her eyelids fluttered closed and she snuggled closer, wanting to close any gap.
Touching him created anticipation, yet it was also like coming home. She could lose herself and be totally safe. She molded her mouth to his, the tingles traveling to her toes expanding tenfold. She grabbed his hand, wanting to be even closer. “Follow me.”
She led him into her bedroom. Here she’d splurged, buying a brass bed she’d found on Craigslist. She’d found a bright floral comforter set, the edge of which he was already drawing back. She fell with him onto the bed, the mattress giving and their clothes flying as they came together skin to skin.
She liked the weight of him, the way his body joined with hers. She cried as he filled her, as he shattered her body into a million delicious pieces, every nerve heightened with pure bliss.
Joe was a slice of heaven on earth, and she clutched him close as her body, slick with sweat, began to come down, the trembles ebbing.
He reached over, wiped her brow. “Good.”
She could only nod. Blink a time or two, for he’d brought her almost to tears, their lovemaking had been that special.
“I’m glad.” His legs wove between hers, and she barely noticed the roughened texture. “I hate fighting. This is so much better.”
She nodded. Her head drooped. “Agreed,” she mumbled sleepily. He’d worn her out. “We can plan later.”
“We will,” he promised, and with that, she curled up in his arms, secure that all would be well.
Chapter Twelve
The next two days passed uneventfully. Almost settled into a routine. Off Tuesday through Friday, Joe would meet Taylor later in the evening after her photo shoots. He maintained his hours of daily training—he planned on running the St. Louis Rock ‘N’ Roll marathon in October and wanted to either win his age group or place in the top five.
They’d go out to eat, or go to the movies, and then spend hours at one or the other’s apartment. He’d agreed to let her photograph him, but hadn’t yet determined where, which is why Friday morning found him out driving around trying to decide.
She’d suggested doing something associated with firefighting, but he’d nixed that idea, preferring something more along the line of simply wearing either his boxing shorts, his workout gear, or his racing wear. An industrial setting perhaps. Or against the shimmery steel of the Gateway Arch, which during the summer months heated up until unbearable to touch. Or maybe the graffiti wall of the downtown Riverfront Trail, which he was about to go run. He parked his truck. Stepped out into the heat. Hit the remote.
His phone buzzed, and he reached into his pocket. He recognized the number. “Hey, Harry.”
“Hey. Got your message. Sorry I didn’t get back to you until now. Had a big case I was working on. What’s up?”
“Need a favor.” He’d known Detective Harry Wright since high school, trained with him many times. So Joe explained Taylor’s situation with Owen. “She’s a friend and I care about her, but she refuses to do anything. Can you help?”
“Yeah, let me do some digging. Find out what’s going on, see if there’s anything we can do. Give me a few days. I’ll be in touch.”
“That’ll work. I’m grateful for any help.”
“You can buy the next round.”
“That’ll work too.” Joe put his phone away, checked his shoelaces, and began his run.
* * *
In the end, he decided to do his pictures in a field. It was Susie’s idea, and that Sunday, the last day of June, after he’d worked the weekend shift, he and Taylor drove out to rural St. Charles, to a farm a friend owned. She climbed out of the truck, grabbed her camera, and shut the door. “This place is perfect.”
She glanced around at the quintessential farm, complete with red barn with white trim and those blue metal silos. A few chickens pecked at the ground. Black Angus grazed in one pasture and in another, corn reached knee high. A tabby cat slept on the porch of a low-slung ranch house. “Are they here?” she asked.
“No. We have the place to ourselves for a few hours.” He strode toward a metal gate, undid the chain, and slipped into the pasture. She followed. “Watch where you step.”
“Will do,” Taylor said, making sure she didn’t place her Converse in what Missourians referred to as a cow patty, otherwise known as a pile of cow poop. He waded out into the tall grass with the feathery tops.
He’d chosen to wear a pair of jean shorts and he stripped off his T-shirt, baring that chest she’d palmed with abandon. She licked her lips. “We forget to bring the Off,” he called. “You’ll have to check me for ticks later.”
Sunlight brought out highlights in his dark hair that fell almost, but not quite, to his shoulders, and the wheat grass created shadows that danced over his skin. Her breath caught. He was the most attractive man, and her pictures would prove it. “I’m sure that won’t be a problem as I’ll need the same done for me. It’s going to require getting naked, you know.”
He grinned wickedly. “That’s the only part I’m looking forward to in all this. Let’s get this done before I really start to itch. I’d prefer not to have to need dabs of pink calamine lotion.”
She moved into a slightly flattened section of grass, lowered to her knees, and began to shoot. Like the first time they’d met, she issued instructions, telling him where to place his hands and how to stand. This time, though, she knew him
and he relaxed, enjoyed himself. Less than fifteen minutes later, they were finished. “That’s it. You’re done,” she called.
T-shirt in hand, he strode over. “Let me see.”
“How about we get that shower first?” She slapped at her leg. “Now I’m itching. We can take one together.”
“Yeah, a shower would be good.” He kissed her lightly on the lips. “I’m ready for the naked part.”
He certainly was, Joe realized, his fingers tightening on the wheel during the drive. She’d seen his scars. Touched them. He’d shared his deepest secret with her—that he’d caused the fire—and she was still around. That thought amazed him. For the first time made him hope for the future, that maybe he’d found someone. He blasted the AC and the radio as he drove to his place, making it in record time because every light was green.
He kissed her the moment they were inside the door with a passion rooted in newfound confidence. Tugged on the hem of her T-shirt so it came up and off. Cupped her breasts, ran his thumbs over the lace. His fingers traveled lower. “Checking for ticks. So far I don’t see any.”
His hands continued to caress her, sliding each bra strap down. He turned her so her back was to him, unhooked her bra. He lifted her hair, kissed the nape of her neck. Ran fingertips down her spine until he reached her waistband. “None here.”
He turned her back around, put his fingers into her belt loops and pulled her to him. His lips crashed on hers. Then he undid her zipper, slid her shorts down. Dropped to his knees, caressed her legs. “Still none.” He liked the way she gasped as his finger slid under the elastic of her panties. He rubbed her wetness, then pushed the fabric aside so he could taste. Her mewling cry was music to his ears, and he drank her until he pulled away. “I want to come inside you.”
“Oh yes,” she gasped and then her hands were on his shoulders guiding him up. She didn’t even bother with his shirt, going straight to the button on his shorts. Joe’s burned skin had been visible all day, but the moment of panic still came, and then ebbed. She’d never faltered. Never hesitated. Even now, she had her hand on his cock, one leg coming up around his waist.
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