EMBER - Part Two (The EMBER Series Book 2)

by Deborah Bladon

  His hands land on my waist before I can react and I'm suddenly on my back with him hovering above me. "I'm sorry. I hurt you, didn't I?"

  I look up into his handsome face. He'd shaved before he arrived at my apartment and each time he does that I'm taken back by how gorgeous and strong his face is. I doubt that he's ever looked in the mirror and questioned whether or not he's attractive. "You didn't."

  "Why are you looking at me like that?" A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. "You've never looked at me like that before."

  I part my lips and dart my tongue over them. "I've never known anyone like you before."

  "A fireman?"

  I smile at the jest in his tone. "I don't know any firemen but that's not what I meant."

  "What did you mean then?" He brings his hand to my forehead to softly brush away some wayward strands of hair.

  "Sometimes I think you're too good to be true."

  "I think the same thing when I look at you." His lips follow the path that his fingers just took. "I didn't know a woman like you was out there."

  "I like when we're together," I confess softly knowing that revealing everything I'm feeling too soon, and when things are still unresolved between him and Maisy, isn't my best move but I can't help it.

  He slides his lips over my cheek before he brushes them against mine. "I love when we're together."

  I don't need more than that right now. It's enough to quiet the raging voices within me that are telling me that I shouldn't invest myself in this so soon. I'm trying not to but every moment I spend with him is making it harder and harder to stay objective.

  He kisses me one more time, before he slides his body from the bed, reaches into the drawer of the nightstand and pulls a condom out.

  ***

  "I wanted to ask you something." His breath is on my cheek.

  I try to open my eyes but I'm exhausted.

  After he'd sheathed himself, he'd sat on my bed with his back resting against the headboard. He'd helped me get onto his lap and then I'd ridden him until I'd come hard with my lips pressed against his.

  The moment my body stopped shaking, he'd pushed me onto my back and he mounted me. He'd pulled my legs up against his chest and had thrust himself into me over and over again until he released with a deep growl pulled between the syllables of my name. The look of raw pleasure on his face had brought me back to the brink and he'd lowered his hand to my core to gently glide his fingers over my flesh until I shuddered under the weight of one last intense climax.

  "Bridget." His lips are on my neck. "Please look at me."

  It's a request that I can't resist, regardless of how weary my eyelids feel. I pull them open slowly and I'm instantly greeted with the vision of his face only inches from mine. "What is it?"

  He pulls the pad of his thumb over my bottom lip. "Can I stay here tonight? I want to sleep with you."

  I want that too. I know, for a fact, that if he hadn't wakened me that I would have curled into the warmth and comfort of his side the moment he crawled under the covers with me. I have no doubt that I wouldn't have woken until the sunlight had poured into my room in the morning.

  "Stay," I whisper into his chest as he tugs me into his body. "I want you to stay."

  He adjusts himself next to me, pulls my casted arm onto his chest and rests his lips against my cheek as we both drift off to sleep.

  Chapter 8

  "I have a confession to make."

  I've just walked back into my bedroom after brushing my teeth and my hair. Dane had insisted on having a shower even though he knew that the water at this time of the day would be as warm as the icy depths of the Arctic Ocean. I had giggled when I first walked into the bathroom and saw my toothbrush with toothpaste already on it. He'd done that for me before he gotten into the shower, turned on the water and let out a loud yelp.

  I know that the next logical thing for me to ask is what the confession is but if it involves Maisy it's going to tarnish the memory of our first night actually sleeping together. He'd stayed over before but those nights were filled with passion and neither of us had slept more than a half hour at a time. Last night we fell asleep just before midnight and didn’t wake until almost seven. It's a milestone and in my life, it's a rarity.

  "It's about your drawing," he begins before he pulls on his boxer briefs. "It's actually about the drawing you did of me."

  I had promised Dane that he could have the drawing before I'd hung it on the gallery wall. After news broke of my accident, people had flooded the gallery looking for my work. It was a community gesture meant to help raise funds for my recovery and the outpouring had been more than I ever imagined it would be. With the shock in getting over the accident, and the awe in knowing that my name was now associated with the word 'artist,' I hadn't thought to tell anyone to put the drawing of Dane aside.

  Once I realized that someone had purchased it, I felt instant regret but I decided right then, on the spot, that I'd draw him again as soon as I felt well enough to.

  "Someone bought it," I say softly, not wanting to give credence to the words. It bites just to think about it, but it's even more painful to have to acknowledge it verbally. This is the first time we've spoken about it since that night.

  "I bought it."

  "What?" My eyes dart up to meet his. "You bought that drawing?"

  He scratches the back of his neck. "I went back the next day. I waited until I knew you were okay and then I went to the gallery."

  My intention from the moment I first brought my pencil to the paper to capture his handsome face was to give him the drawing. It would have been the first time I had given any of my work away. "I wanted to give it to you."

  "I know." He reaches down to pull on his jeans. "I wanted it so badly that I went to get it."

  The words hit me with an emotional force that's completely unexpected. That drawing represented so many things to me and it wasn't until I thought a stranger had taken it home, that I fully realized that.

  It's not just the fact that it's the first time I've ever drawn someone I care for. It was more about that the drawing symbolized a shift in my life. It was a tangible reflection of my decision to share my work with the world. Dane had pushed me to do that, and within the penciled lines of his brow and the shading of his hairline, I'd captured the face of the person who held more belief in me than I held in myself.

  Knowing that it meant so much to him that he went back to get it before it was lost forever, touches me on a level that feels too deep given the fact that we're still treading the waters of our new connection.

  "I can't believe you bought it."

  He tugs the sweater he was wearing when he arrived at my apartment yesterday back over his head. The static it generates, pulls his hair up and into a twisted mess. He looks even more striking when he's completely disheveled like this.

  "I had to have it." He rakes his hand through his hair but it does little to calm it. "I just had to."

  When I needed to make a decision on pricing the drawings, Brighton had urged me to consider the value in them. I had wanted to keep them at a reasonable price and to me that wasn't more than what amounted to a few cups of coffee. He had scolded me on not seeing the uniqueness in my own work. I'd given in when he suggested a few hundred dollars for each framed piece. I never expected Dane to pay that much, or anything.

  "Let me give you back what you paid," I say it quickly. The words feel awkward and misplaced given the fact that he just told me that he invested what amounts to a good portion of his weekly pay on a drawing that was his to begin with.

  "No." He reaches out to grab my elbow as I brush past him on my way to my purse. "It's worth way more than what I paid for it."

  I giggle as I turn to look at him. "I wanted to give it to you."

  "It's an investment." He leans down until his gaze is level with mine. "I see it as an investment."

  I may not be an expert on romance, but I do know enough to recognize that there's nothing endea
ring in a man buying something as a financial investment. "An investment?"

  He steeples his fingers together as he holds them in front of his lips. "Bridget."

  I can't take anything from the simple tone of his voice. "What?"

  "You invested yourself in that drawing," he begins before he rests his forehead against mine. "I'm investing myself in you. That drawing symbolizes something to me. It's a new beginning."

  I reach up to cup his cheek in my palm. "I'm investing myself in you too."

  "You don't know how seriously I take that." He brushes his lips against mine. "You are my future. I see it. I know it."

  Chapter 9

  "I received the report from Dr. Foster." She skims through the stack of papers that are attached to the clipboard in her hand. "He says that you're recovering nicely."

  He would say that. I'm not sure the man knows how to be impolite to anyone. When I saw him this morning after Dane and I said goodbye in front of the hospital, Ben had removed the cast before he examined my pale, shriveled wrist. He was hopeful and told me that I'd done everything by the book, which meant that soon I'd regain most of the strength in my left arm.

  When he'd tenderly touched my side, I had grimaced slightly from the faint bite of pain that still lingers. He'd warned me to avoid marathons which only spurred me on to make a joke about taking too many taxis around the city, and when he finally told me I was free to go, I'd thanked him for taking such good care of me.

  He winked and told me that according to Dane, I was capable of taking care of myself. I smiled at the reminder of how he values my independence before I'd left the hospital and taken the subway to the rehabilitation center.

  "Bridget?"

  I turn to look at the woman assigned to help me over this last hurdle in my recovery. "Yes?"

  "My name is Harper."

  "It's nice to meet you." I study her face. She's not much older than I am, but the air in which she carries herself makes it feel as though she has an entire decade of life experience on me. Her hair is black and cut in a short bob that skims her defined jawline. Her eyes are a striking shade of green. She's exotic looking and even though she's dressed in scrubs, I feel as though I pale in her shadow. She'd be perfect for…" I'd like to draw you."

  "What?" Her lips part slightly in an even smile. "Did you just say you want to draw me?"

  I glance at the papers in her hand before I catch her gaze again. This will be the first time I say it to anyone. "I'm an artist."

  "You're an artist?" She grins wildly, revealing a set of perfectly straight, white teeth. "I love art."

  It's a broad statement but one I understand completely. I've been enamored with art, in its many forms, since I was a child. It's rare to meet someone who instantly brightens at the mention of it. "I do pencil portraits."

  "Wait." Her hand leaps to my forearm. "Are you the girl who was hit by the police car?"

  It's a label I'm hoping won't chase after me for my entire life but it's understandable that she'd make the association given the fact that I'm in her office with the intent of healing my broken wrist and I just told her I do pencil drawings. Images of my work had been splattered across the papers and the news sites online in the days following the accident.

  "It is you." Her hand drops to her side. "I recognize you from the picture."

  I'm not even going to ask if it she's making that connection based on that unforgiving image of me on the hood of the police car with my dress twisted around my thighs and my head nestled in a bed of broken glass.

  "It's me," I confess. "I think you'd be perfect to draw."

  "I'm honored that you'd ask me." The tone of her voice doesn't match the sentiment of the words. The fact that she takes a full step back only adds to my suspicions that the idea is making her completely uncomfortable.

  "I wouldn't sell it if you're not okay with that," I try to reel her back in. "I just think your face captures so much. It has a story to tell."

  Her gaze drops to the floor and for just an instant, I see her shoulders tremble. "I'll think about it."

  I don't press for more than that. There are obvious secrets that she wants to keep hidden within herself and I'm not about to push this stranger to give me anything beyond the advice I need to get better. "What do I need to do for my wrist?"

  Her entire body shifts with relief once she realizes I've changed the subject. Her index finger slides over the edge of the stack of papers. "I'll show you some light exercises you can do at home and then you'll come back in a few days. I'll evaluate your progress and we'll work our way up to more."

  I nod in silence. I'll do whatever she needs me to do. I want to get back to work at the pub so I can move my life forward. I'm ready and as soon as my arm is completely healed, I'll be able to do it.

  Chapter 10

  "There's a vacancy here in our building." Zoe fumbles in her purse. "I have the mailbox key in here somewhere. I can't find it."

  I hold out my hands because we've run through this exact scenario before. She doesn't pull her gaze from the depths of her oversized handbag as she starts handing things to me including a package of tissues, a baby bottle, a tube of lipstick and a silver bracelet.

  "What don't you have in there?" I peer into the bag.

  "My mailbox key."

  I laugh as I pull the items closer to me. Harper told me I could use my left hand but not to carry anything that had much weight to it. I try to balance all the items Zoe handed to me against my chest.

  "Oh shit." Her eyes dart up to my hands. "You don't have a cast anymore. You can't hold all of that."

  I shake my head in protest. I want her to see that I'm doing just fine but she scoops it all back into her bag in a single, swift movement. "Now you're never going to find the key."

  "Beck can get the mail when he comes home." She motions towards the expansive lobby. "Do you want me to see if the super can show you the vacant apartment?"

  Zoe is caring and kind and at moments like this I can't help but label her as naïve. I have no idea about the financial logistics of her marriage to Beck. I know that once they fell in love with each other, that she had moved into his penthouse apartment. The fact that it has a Park Avenue address means that regardless of how many drawings I might sell this year, I doubt that I'd be able to rent a foot square space in the lobby to stand on. There's no way in hell I can afford to live within a twenty block radius of this place.

  "I have my eye on a place in Murray Hill."

  "Are you going to have a roommate?"

  I shake my head slightly as I wave to the doorman who just nodded at us. "I can live there alone. The rent is reasonable. It's a sublet."

  "Is it better than where you're living now?"

  Considering the fact that Zoe used to be my roommate, I'd think she'd have held onto some fond memories of the place I live in. It may not be much to look at but it was my refuge when I arrived in Manhattan and it gave me a quiet and safe place to retire to when the city felt too big and overbearing for me.

  "You used to live there too, Zoe," I point out as I fall in step beside her.

  She pushes the call button for the elevator. "I miss it sometimes. I love my life now but I miss us hanging out the way we used to."

  "You can come to my new place as soon as I move in," I offer as I follow her into the elevator. "I'll have you over for dinner."

  "I'll bring the wine."

  "You'll drink the wine," I tease.

  "Can you feel it, Bridge?" She turns her head to the left to look right at me.

  "Feel what?"

  "You're on the cusp of great things." Her eyes dart up to follow the lighted pattern of the numbers as we race upwards. "Your life is about to change."

  I do feel it and I couldn't be happier.

  ***

  "What's going on with that woman?"

  I know who she means. She's talking about Maisy.

  When I agreed to come over to Zoe's place for lunch today it was with the sole intention of tal
king about my upcoming appearance on one of the local news shows. A reporter had left a message at the gallery yesterday, asking me to call him. I had and he wanted to do a human interest piece on me that included details about my life before the accident and my plans now that my drawings had grabbed the attention of so many people. I was both flattered and terrified by the proposition but when I'd called Zoe to run the idea past her, she'd insisted I call the reporter back and agree to the piece. She told me that any publicity would help my quest to further my career. I know she's right but I'm here for not only a sandwich, but also a pep talk on the side.

  "What woman?" I ask knowing that it's only going to stall the inevitable for a few seconds.

  "Maisy." She turns on her heel to face me. "That's the name of the woman your boyfriend almost married, right?"

  Way to push the knife into my heart and twist it twice, Zoe.

  I should correct her about the boyfriend part, but I don't. "There's nothing going on with her."

  "Is he still living out of a suitcase?"

  It's as if Zoe has sucked up all the worried energy from my mother and is now shooting it off in one hurried barb after another. "He's still figuring out his house stuff."

  "It shouldn't take this long." She glances towards the hallway. "I asked around at the law office where I'm doing some intern work and everyone thinks it should have been settled by now especially since he owned the house himself."

  I can't say that I'm shocked that she dragged my personal business into her workplace. It's all coming from a place of wanting to help but it makes me feel exposed and embarrassed. "I wish you wouldn't tell other people about my life."

  "I worry about you." She turns back towards the counter and all the ingredients she pulled from the refrigerator. "Do you want lettuce on your sandwich?"

  "I want you to trust that I know what I'm doing."