by Deanna Chase
“Oh,” she says, her face flushed. “Hello to you, too.”
I grin and head through the dining room to her kitchen. “Wine?”
She grabs the bag of food and follows me. “White or red?”
“White.”
She opens the refrigerator door and hands me a full bottle of sauvignon blanc, followed by a corkscrew.
“Perfect,” I say.
While I open the wine, she turns to pull dishes from the white cabinets. As she reaches up to grab them, her T-shirt rides up, exposing the creamy flesh of her lower back. In an effort to control myself, I turn toward the window for something else to focus on. “Jesus, Lucy.”
“What?” She spins around, holding the plates to her chest.
“This view is fucking amazing.” The night is crystal clear, and the moon lights up the Pacific.
“Yeah,” she says. “This was my dad’s house. He was an oceanographer before he retired. Being close to the ocean gave him peace.”
The look on her face is so sad and tender I want to forget about dinner, pull her into my arms, and hold her until the pain fades.
But she grabs two wineglasses and holds them out to me. “You pour. I’ll set the table.”
Dinner it is. Moments later, the lemon-grass halibut is resting on a bed of rice and smells like heaven on earth.
Lucy sits across from me, a fork poised in her hand. “This is amazing.”
Not as amazing as she is.
Her eyes sparkle with joy as she raises her wineglass in my direction. “To new friends.”
I set my fork down and grab my glass but don’t raise it yet. “Is that what we are?”
Uncertainty flickers in her expression. “Aren’t we?”
Her pouty frown makes me want to forget the food and show her just how friendly I really want to be. But I’ve opened the door to the conversation no guy ever wants to have. Dumbass. Why did I ask that? “Of course we’re friends. But I don’t usually share my bed with friends, so this is new for me.”
She lets out a startled laugh. “You mean you’re not friends with any of the girls you’ve slept with? Ever?”
I shrug and give her a chagrined smile. “Only you.”
“Well…” She picks up her glass again and holds it out. “Then this really calls for a toast.”
Raising my glass, I nod. “To you, the singing pixie with a fiery voice.”
She pauses and then giggles.
Holy shit, I’ve never heard a sweeter sound. So far I’ve seen sassy Lucy, sexy-as-hell Lucy, rock-star Lucy, and supportive Lucy. But this Lucy? The one that’s relaxed and completely unguarded? This is the one I want the most.
“And to you, the man with the gorgeous ink.” She casts a glance at my arm, eyeing the vibrant green dragon.
It’s my design, but Mike inked it. I clink my glass to hers, and we watch each other as we both take a sip. After a few bites of fish, I put my fork down and lean in. “You were amazing on that stage, you know.”
Her cheeks redden, but she gives me a pleased smile. “Thank you.”
“Tell me you’re going to be a regular with the band. That you’ll be back on that stage next week.”
Her eyes cloud over and she hangs her head, staring at her food.
“Lucy?” I reach over and gently clasp her hand. “You were born for that stage.”
Her head snaps up and her fire is back. “That’s what everyone says. But what if I don’t want that life?”
I release her hand and sit back, studying her. “What life? One that puts that sexy smile on your face? One that clearly lights you up on the inside? I saw you on that stage. There wasn’t anything about it you don’t love. And I’m pretty sure if your ex hadn’t barged in, you would’ve stayed on that stage until the bar closed.”
Her lips quirk up in a small smile before her expression turns serious again. “The other night, that’s not real. That’s not what being in the music business is about. All they care about is charts and how many seats can be filled. The label, the producers, the managers, they manage to take everything that’s good out of it. I can’t even record my own damn songs.” She bites her lip as if she’s said more than she wanted to. “Sorry. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. People would kill for the opportunity I’m throwing away.”
The troubled expression on her face and the way she pushes her food around her plate makes me want to stuff my words back down my throat. Too late now. “That’s not ungrateful. Sounds like you’ve found out what you don’t want. But that doesn’t mean you have to give up music, does it?”
She lets out a long sigh. “No. But almost everything I love about it is tainted now. The audience wants to see me sing with Cadan. And since I’m still under contract with my label, I can’t record anything new unless my lawyer manages to get me out of my contract. Which isn’t looking likely. Everything is a mess right now.”
“And you left because of your ex?” Jax told me he was a cheating bastard, but I get the feeling there’s more to it than that.
“You could say that.” She grabs the wine bottle and refills her glass. After a sip, she peers at me. “What about you? How does a painter go from having work in galleries around the country to trading it in for a tattoo gun?”
I choke mid-sip and my eyes water as I cough.
She raises her eyebrows, waiting for me to answer.
Shit. I guess I deserve that. I’d pried into her life and what she plans to do with her gift. It’s only fair she should get to ask about mine. I clear my throat. “Elsa and I painted those pieces together.”
Her expression turns soft, sympathetic. “Elsa was your soul mate?”
“Yes.” It’s my turn to stare at the food. “After the accident… Well, I was pretty beat up.” It takes me a moment to find the courage needed for what I want to tell her. I rest my right arm on the table in front of me and run my hand over the dragon scales. “The accident was pretty horrible, and a piece of metal was lodged in my forearm right here.” I reach over and take her hand. Pressing her fingers to my arm, I guide them over the expertly camouflaged scar.
“Oh wow,” she says with a gasp. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice it before.”
We’ve only known each other for a couple of days, but we’d spent a lot of time exploring each other during that time. I shrug. “I do my best to avoid letting anyone touch the scar. It’s too painful.”
She pulls her hand back as if she’d been burned. “It’s still sensitive after all this time.”
I shake my head. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Oh.” The look on her face says she knows exactly what I mean. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. But it was painful for a few months, so during that time I didn’t paint, even though it was all I could think about. I wanted to work, to block out the awful memories, but I couldn’t. Then when I healed, I found out blocking the memories were impossible. Every time I started a piece, I’d only see her. I had over two dozen pieces started when I finally gave up. The tattoo thing is just a way to stay creative and to make some money. It was never my passion.”
“But you’re good at it,” she says.
I smile at that. “How do you know?”
“I saw the back piece you did for Jax. It’s amazing.” She takes a bite of her halibut and another sip of wine.
Good. She’s eating again. And for once I was able to talk about Elsa without feeling as if I’d been sucker punched. I stare at her. What is it about this girl?
She catches my eye and raises one eyebrow. “What?”
I shake my head and let out a low chuckle. “You know, I have absolutely no idea.”
Chapter 23
Lucy
The night Seth brought dinner to my house marked a change in our relationship. We went from two strangers who couldn’t keep their hands off each other to two people who were rapidly becoming close friends. It was more than confusing because we were still wildly attracted to each other, but we both knew it couldn’t
last. Not with the uncertainty of my future hanging over our heads.
Still, Seth and I spent the next three nights together. It’s surprisingly easy when we’re just hanging out and amazing when we’re in bed together. Not to mention he seems to be able to make me laugh when no one else can.
On Friday morning I wake to the sound of light rustling. Or is that scratching? I pop one eye open, and the first thing I notice is Seth is gone from my bed. I open my other eye and my gaze follows the sound.
Seth is sitting in my bedside chair, smiling at me. He has a pencil in his hand and is studying me while he sketches.
Joy fills my heart. The mere fact that he feels comfortable enough to work in front of me, heck, to draw me, is overwhelming. “Morning,” I say shyly.
“Morning.” He’s focused, his eyes darting back and forth from me to his sketchpad.
I lie there, waiting for him to finish, wishing we could stay in this moment forever. I like being his muse, love sharing his passion with him, if only by being his subject.
“What’s that look?” he asks, his brows pinched in concentration.
“Look?”
“The one you were just giving me. Your mood changed, but I’m not sure to what.”
“Oh.” I sit up, pulling the sheet with me to cover my chest. Then I stop. “Is this okay?”
He laughs. “Of course. I’ve got what I need.” He continues to work on the sketch, though, shading and smudging his lines. “Now, what were you thinking about?”
“You.” I wave at him and me. “This. The fact that you’re drawing here. It makes me feel… special, I guess. I get the feeling you don’t work much in front of other people unless it’s for tattoos.”
He pauses and then nods. “That’s true. Elsa…” He closes his eyes and takes a breath. When he opens them he gives me a sad smile. “Elsa is the one who got me started drawing, you know. I always associate it with her. Or always had, but lately, it’s different. It’s something I’m compelled to do, and while she’s always with me, it’s nothing like it was before.”
“It fulfills you,” I say.
“Yes. But it did then, too.”
“Sure. But it’s not the same, is it? I mean, when I sing with Cadan, there’s magic there. It feels so right. Like a calling or something.”
He purses his lips together and slowly nods. “Yeah. It was like that with E.”
“And now? I bet it’s more personal. Like it’s something you do just for you because it gives you joy, but not in a mystical sense. Cosmic forces have nothing to do with it. Right?”
Again, the slow nod.
“That’s how it is for me with the singing and songwriting. I pull something from deep inside that really only has meaning to me. It’s a true expression of myself—not shared with anyone.” I sit up straighter. “It’s great when someone else gets something out of it, like when an audience is really enjoying themselves, but it’s just different. It’s for me first. Not them. And I know that sounds selfish.”
“No, it doesn’t,” he says and puts down the sketchpad. “It’s the truth. And it’s pure.”
“I don’t know about that.” I laugh. “I don’t see myself as pure.”
His gaze dips to my barely covered chest and he grins.
“Hey, we’re talking here,” I say with a chuckle.
“Right.” His desire-filled gaze locks on mine. “You were saying?”
I swallow and force myself to not yank him back onto the bed. “Just that when we offer our art without that soul-mate connection, we consciously give something of ourselves without it being pulled from us. I’m not saying our soul-mate gifts aren’t pure or less worthy. Just different. Like when I sing with Cadan, the effect is what the audience needs or wants. But when I sing by myself, it’s an extension of what’s going on inside me. Weren’t the paintings you did with Elsa similar?”
He stands and rubs his stubbled jaw. “Yeah. Sometimes. Our commissions were, for sure. And paintings we were compelled to paint but didn’t know why. They always had more meaning to the final owner than they did to us. The stuff I do now… yeah. It’s an artistic expression that is only mine. I hadn’t thought of it that way before.”
“Does that make you feel sad? Like you’re letting anyone down?”
He sits on the bed next to me. “No. But it’s different for me. I don’t have a choice anymore, do I? Is that what you think?”
“Sometimes.” I let my head fall back against my headboard. “Is it okay for me to walk away, knowing how much joy people get from our songs? Or knowing how deeply touched people can be?”
“Yes,” Seth says with conviction. “It’s not fair for you to sacrifice your own well-being and sanity just so a bunch of strangers can experience the magic for a couple of hours during a concert. The weight of the world is not on your shoulders, Luce.”
“I know.” I close my eyes and see an entire hospital ward of sick children, their sweet expressions shining back at me. Those are the ones I ache for.
“Come on.” He wraps his hand around mine. “I think it’s time for breakfast.”
“Shower first,” I say.
His grin is back. “Even better.”
***
We’re emerging from the shower together when the house phone starts to ring.
Seth wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me back against his chest. His lips brush over the nape of my neck and he murmurs, “Let the machine get it. I think I’m going to keep you locked away in your bed all day.”
A tingle runs from the base of my neck down to my center. “Excellent idea.”
But then the old recorder beeps, and my lawyer’s voice floats up from downstairs. “Lucy, I’m sorry to call you on Christmas Eve, but the label is getting antsy. They’re demanding you return to the studio by January second. If you don’t, they’ll definitely move forward with the lawsuit.” His voice goes soft and truly apologetic. “I’m sorry it’s come to this. Give me a call and let me know what you decide.”
A chill runs through my body, and I start to tremble despite Seth’s arms wrapped around me. I’m going to have to give him up.
“Shit,” he says and lets me go. A second later he wraps my fuzzy robe around my shoulders. “Are you all right?”
Shaking my head, I push my arms into the robe and cinch it tight.
“Luce?”
I glance up at Seth. He’s already stepped into his jeans and his green eyes are filled with worry.
“What can I do?”
“I…” Oh my God. What am I going to do? I have no choice. If they sue me, I’ll lose Dad’s house. They won’t just sue me for the advance; they’ll sue for loss of income. My life will be in shambles. Angry tears spring to the surface, and I slam my hand against the bathroom door. “Those bastards!”
Seth doesn’t move. He doesn’t try to calm me or comfort me. He seems to know that’s the last thing I want right now.
I turn to him, frustration making me shake. “I have to go back.” I’d known this all along, but it’s finally starting to sink in. I’m truly trapped.
He takes a small step forward, a haunted but determined look on his face. Slowly he raises his arm and holds his hand out to me.
I take it, and though the solid weight of his hand in mine is welcome, it only makes me feel worse. Once I go back, there will be no more Seth. I’ll be sucked back into Cadan’s world no matter how hard I try to stay away from him.
“For how long?” he asks.
“I don’t know. Six months to two years. It depends on how long it takes to record the new album, and then there will be the tour. The more successful the record is, the longer it will be.” A pit forms in the depths of my stomach. I’m not quite sure whether it’s the dread of going back to a life I now know I don’t want or the fact I’ll be leaving this man who has become more than a lover. Somehow in the last week he’s become just about the only person who helps me feel normal.
He pulls me into his arms and tucks my head against
his chest. “If they sue, what do you stand to lose? Is it worth hanging on to?”
A sob clogs my throat as I pull away. Waving a hand around the room, I gesture to the house.
Recognition dawns in his expression. We’re both silent, then he says, “Let’s get breakfast.”
“I’m not really hungry.”
“I know, Luce.” He gives me an ironic smile. “Humor me anyway.”
I nod. “Let me get dressed and I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
Seth shifts forward and tips my face up so I have to meet his intense gaze. Then he leans down and kisses me, tenderly at first, but then our joining turns heated, desperate. It’s almost as if he’s saying good-bye already. I cling to him, wanting to get lost in everything he has to offer. But then reality slams into me, and I know I have to let go. In less than two weeks I’ll be back in LA with Cadan, working on the album, and Seth won’t be there to save me.
I pull myself from his embrace and cross my arms over my chest. “Go on down. I’ll be there in a minute.”
He gives me a long look. Then he pulls his T-shirt over his head and disappears down the stairs.
My hands are shaking. I close my eyes and sink down onto the bed, clasping them together. My life since leaving Cadan has been so normal. Lonely at times. And certainly there’d been a piece of me missing, that part of me that comes alive while singing. But that seemed to come back while singing with the band last week. It turns out I don’t need Cadan to find joy on the stage. It’s different, not as intense or emotional. But damn it’s fun.
I could live life finding meaning in less intense ways. If only Cadan hadn’t signed that damned publishing contract. If my songs and Dad’s house weren’t on the line, I’d walk and let them do their worst. But they are and I can’t let them go. Those two things are all I have.
With a deep breath, I finish getting dressed, stuff my feet into a pair of fur-lined boots, and make my way downstairs. “Hey. What’s cookin’?” I peek over Seth’s shoulder and grin. “Waffles?”