by Hart, Taylor
“Yes.” He seemed to evaluate her. “Do you?”
“I used to. My mother believed, and she wasn’t in your face about religion, but …” She sighed. “I haven’t prayed since she passed.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Finally, he broke the silence. “After my mother died when I was young, I felt so lost. I didn’t have the comfort of my father, but I kept praying, as my mother had taught me. And I felt better.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Later, as a SEAL, it’s hard to explain how many times I felt an undeniable voice tell me to go left when I had been ordered to go right, then a building would explode. Little things like that.”
She scoffed and couldn’t believe the things this man had been through. “Yes, little things.”
“And big things.” He swallowed. “My mother was Christian. Her view of God was personal. She had this picture of Christ holding a lamb on my wall when I was young. And she told me how Christ was known as the Good Shepherd because he would always come for us. No matter how lost we were.”
His words touched her, filling her with warmth.
He sighed. “I liked the idea of someone being there to find me. There was one mission where we’d gone into enemy territory to retrieve something important and … I’d provided cover for the team when enemy assailants caught us in a firefight. They left and I stayed and I worked my way to the second rally point.”
Her heart raced and she felt terrified just listening to his story. She couldn’t imagine what it’d been like.
He sucked in a breath and waited.
“What happened?”
“I died.”
Reflexively, she hit him in the shoulder, making him laugh. “Not funny. What happened?”
Blaine sobered quickly. “I got to the rally point and waited for two days. I’d buried myself to my nose and put foliage over me to stay hidden from the enemy. And boy …” His eyes were glassy. “I prayed. I prayed so long and with such fervency. And I must have fallen asleep at one point, because I remember dreaming about that picture. The one with the lamb. And the Savior.”
Another round of warmth washed over her.
His eyes fluttered. “I knew I hadn’t been forgotten, even though I’d been lost.”
“You were found.”
“Yeah.”
She nodded, loving the idea that she was never lost to God.
Gently, he reached out and brushed his hand from her elbow to her fingers. “The other night, I had this feeling I should go inside your gallery.”
She blinked, feeling the truth of what he was saying. “Really?”
“Sounds crazy, right?”
Her heart hammered in her chest, and she didn’t know what to do with all of this or the fact that he was leaving. The man was leaving in less than a week. “Yeah.” Feeling like a complete chicken, she stared up at him. “Listen, I have some things I have to do tomorrow at the gallery. Could we just meet for dinner tomorrow night?”
His face went blank.
Dang. Dang. Dang. She’d ruined the moment. She’d ruined everything. “You wouldn’t have to cook if you don’t want to. I mean, I just need to go through some things and figure out if I have enough money to miss the trip to Washington or not.”
The blank face turned to one of doubt. He put his hand up. “You don’t need to worry about me.”
But she did want to worry about him, even though this whole encounter scared her. “You promised me clean cooking, right? And you’ve only cooked me eggs. That doesn’t qualify as a real meal, does it?” Why was she saying this? It was like her heart and brain couldn’t agree on whether or not she wanted this man around.
The side of his lip tugged up. “Okay, I’ll cook you dinner.”
“Great,” she said, turning and moving to her bed. “Six, does six work?”
“Six is great.”
She moved to her bedroom, thinking she was already in way over her head. “I’ll look forward to it.”
Chapter 6
Blaine finished putting the kitchen together and went to the futon, getting it ready for bed. He laid it flat, put the sheet back on, and spread the blanket out.
The woman had just had a freak-out. He could tell.
Should he leave? He sighed. He didn’t want to leave. Selfishly, he wanted to stay with the beautiful artist with a laugh that he had to work for. When he got it, it felt like a balm to his soul. He thought of the way she pressed her gentle fingers to his face.
No. Right or wrong, selfish or not, he couldn’t leave yet.
Pulling the key out of his jean pocket, he put it on the coffee table next to the couch. He pulled off his shirt and wished he’d stopped to get his bag at his father’s place.
He could get it tomorrow. Would he really go to his father’s place and deal with everything?
His father. Why had he left a random key? Why had he … Blaine cringed and clasped a hand into a fist. No. No. No. Pain slashed the center of his chest. He hadn’t really had time to process everything with his father, and now, it was hitting him. He stumbled, but caught himself. Memories of his father raced through his mind: their fight last Christmas on the phone, their fight when he was twelve. Blaine put his hand to his cheek where his father had struck him.
“Blaine.”
Jolting, he turned to see Elena there, wearing shorts and a T-shirt, her hair no longer pulled back, but wavy on her shoulders.
“Are you okay?” Her brow furrowed in concern.
Her nearness startled him, but he didn’t pull away. “Fine.” He didn’t even know this woman, he reminded himself. Why was he here?
Her hand settled on his back. “Do you need to talk about it?”
The woman had no idea what her touch did to him. “No.”
“You can cry if you need to.”
“I’ll pass.” His voice was flat.
She moved closer to him. “You’re one of those manly men who doesn’t cry, right?”
He wasn’t displeased she was trying to talk to him. He just wasn’t comfortable sharing with her after her earlier withdrawal. “I haven’t cried since I lost my mother.” He winced, thinking of that night.
She didn’t move. Everything about her was still. Then she said, “I remember the night my mother passed. I was standing in the hospital, and everyone was in a flurry around me. Nurses rushing in and out, the doctor talking to my father. The sounds of monitors. Beeping. All I could see was a canvas. A flurry of paint. A mixture of all the colors running together, blending into an ugly shade of brown. I remember pressing my hands over my eyes, feeling the tears but not registering them. All I wanted was to make the brown color go away.”
He thought of the canvas of her mother’s half-formed face, of the pain, the fury in it. He thought of Elena almost ruining it last night, and he thought of her pain—of their pain. Without thinking, Blaine turned to her and took this woman into his arms, pulling her into his chest.
She hesitated. Then she rested her head against him and sighed.
It felt wonderful. It was the strangest thing he’d ever felt, this relief from being in someone’s arms. He hadn’t believed it was possible until this moment. She put her hand on his chest, spreading it wide.
Fire burned into him. Gently, he put his hand to her cheek, and their eyes met. In the moonlight, he felt like he could see into her soul, her pain. She was taking her own fair look into his.
“My father called me at the beginning of last December and practically begged me to come for Christmas,” he said with more than a twinge of guilt. “I didn’t come.”
She took his hand, gazing at him sadly. “It’s okay, Blaine. You’re here now. It’s okay.”
Her words provided a bit of comfort. She was stunning, beautiful, magical. Different from any other woman he’d ever known. Softly, he stroked her face, from her eyes down her jawline, as she had done earlier when she’d said she wanted to paint him and called him Hercules.
It was like he was in a trance. “What was Hercules’s weakn
ess?” he whispered.
She blinked. “What?”
He didn’t stop tracing the lines of her face, moving his fingers lightly down her jawline, tracking them down her neck. He gently kissed her jaw. “I think if I’m Hercules, you would be my weakness. Because I can’t resist you.”
Softly, their mouths met. All time was lost with this woman. He felt her yield to him, and she grasped his shoulders as he deepened the kiss. He pulled her closer, loving the feel of her body against him.
The thought of how Antonio had looked at her so possessively coursed through him. Stupid. He’d only met her last night. How could he feel so possessive of her already?
She pulled back. “I’d better go to bed.”
He let out a breath. “Yeah, me too.” He watched her walk away and wondered how he would ever go back to base.
* * *
The next morning, Blaine woke with a start. Checking the watch on his wrist, he noted it was barely five in the morning. Quietly, he sat up and slipped on the clothes from yesterday. He grabbed his wallet and put on his shoes. Not wanting to wake her up, he found a doorway that led to some stairs, and rushed down and out to the sidewalk.
The thing about New York was that it was slower at five in the morning, but not by much.
He stopped at Charlie’s and thought about getting her a coffee too, but she’d made it pretty clear she needed a day away from him, so he ordered his straight black and skipped buying a book this time. At the corner, he was about to hail a cab and just go straight to his dad’s apartment, but at the last minute, he couldn’t stomach going there quite so early. So he started to walk.
After all, he liked walking. This time he walked into the heart of Manhattan, sipping his coffee, taking his time. He took in the sights. Around noon, he found himself in Central Park. He was starving, so he did something he knew Elena would be proud of—he bought a hot dog.
As he ate the sauerkraut-filled dog with a sprinkling of brown sugar, he reflected it wasn’t that bad. He sat by the fountain and watched some kids playing hopscotch, and he thought about Elena. The woman he’d tried not to think about all day. How had he felt connected to her so quickly? It was unlike anything he’d ever experienced.
But facts were facts. He was leaving. She was staying. And she had what appeared to be some complicated thing going on with Antonio, even though he didn’t really understand what.
The guy had proposed to her, so it must have been something, right? And the guy had clearly been surprised as well as ticked when he’d found Blaine there yesterday.
Blaine began walking back to her place. He thought about going to his father’s, but it was almost two, and he wanted to marinate some steaks he’d bought and put together a nice salad and … He didn’t want to go to his father’s place.
As he walked, he relived his time with her yesterday: the way she forgot the world when she painted, the way it felt like she could touch his soul when she touched his face. He’d never had a woman touch him so deliberately before, like she was looking for something.
He grunted and threw away his hot dog wrapper, noticing he was standing right in front of the gallery again—and again, the door was slightly open.
Chapter 7
When Elena woke, all she could think about was how awkward it would be to see Blaine. Then she realized he was already gone.
Disappointment washed through her, and she felt a bit purposeless. Well, okay, she would go to the gallery and do what she always needed to do at the gallery: find money to pay the bills.
When she arrived at the gallery, Marissa, her manager, had been more than surprised to see her. “Decided to be a gallery owner today, I see?” she asked Elena with a smile. Marissa wore a red, tight, elegant scoop dress that went off the shoulder, down to her wrists, and clung tightly to her knees. Spiked heels completed the ensemble. Marissa was her mother’s age and excellent at running the gallery.
“I got your texts yesterday,” Elena said. “And I’m here.” She went to her office, noticing some of the pieces from the show were already being packed up for storage.
Marissa followed at her heels. “We’re storing half of your paintings. We had some pretty good sales, but we’re in the process of moving the Richmond collection in for this weekend. You remember they have a small family show they wanted to host.”
“Yes.” She vaguely remembered Mr. Richmond had enough money to flatter his wife and show off her paintings in a flamboyant affair for close friends and family. “Thank you, Marissa. You’re doing great.”
Marissa nodded. “We need to discuss the overhead budget for the rest of the year and brainstorm some possibilities. I’m going to level with you. We need some outside—” She cleared her throat. “—assistance again this month.”
“I know.” The lower pit of Elena’s stomach clenched. They’d been coasting, and she knew it. She got to her office and unlocked it, pushing open the door and ignoring the piles of mail on her desk. She thought about how she did not want to go to Washington and do her father’s dog and pony show. “I wanted to talk about other revenue stream possibilities.”
Marissa hesitated. “Okay.”
Elena took a piece of mail off the top of the pile, and then put it back, already overwhelmed. “Okay, so what options do we have?”
Marissa sighed. “You know it’s already being rented out some weekends, which I don’t like.”
Elena was quite familiar with Marissa’s snobbiness when it came to what the gallery should and shouldn’t be used for; they’d gone the rounds this past year. “Marissa, it’s not like we’re not renting it to artists. They are new artists and deserve a break.”
Marissa wagged a finger at her. “They need to pay regular prices so we can make our payments.”
Elena floundered, not wanting to argue with Marissa. “We need to brainstorm possible investors.”
Marissa shook her head, her hands on her hips. “Investors? Just how bad is the money situation?”
Elena thought of her conversation with the bank last week. “Bad.”
Marissa cursed. “So get help from your father.”
That was what Elena had been doing. She cringed. “It’s complicated.”
“Why can’t you go to your father?”
Elena sighed, moving behind the desk and sitting. “I … I don’t want to play his games anymore. I’m tired of showing up at his events and saying what he wants me to say.”
“Is this about Antonio?”
Elena was surprised Marissa would ask that. “What?”
Marissa sighed. “He showed up yesterday all upset. He said something about how you weren’t taking your daughterly duties seriously, and there was some dangerous man in your apartment?” Marissa’s lips curved up.
Marissa wasn’t the judgy type at all. In fact, she was more of the type to encourage Elena to date lots of men, and Elena could see blatant curiosity written all over her face.
“Elena?” Marissa grinned wider.
Unable to stop from feeling like a sixteen-year-old caught making out with her boyfriend, Elena laughed. “Oh my gosh.” She put her head into her hand and knew she was blushing.
Marissa sat on the chair in front of her desk. “Spill it, girl.”
Elena stared up into Marissa’s overly red lips. “It’s nothing.” She looked away.
Marissa picked up a piece of mail. “Spill it, and I will help you dig your way out of this pile of mail.”
Elena relented, recounting everything that had happened since Blaine had walked in after her show.
Marissa used a letter opener and paid half attention as she opened letter after letter, putting them in a nice, stacked pile, all the while keeping wide eyes on Elena and whispering “oh my” at the appropriate times.
When Elena finished by telling her that Blaine would have dinner for her at six, Marissa had turned on her phone and jumped a bit. “Wow. Let’s get through these bills and get you back to dinner with the hot soldier.”
Encouraged
, Elena dedicated the next couple of hours to paying bills with Marissa and discussing possible ways of getting more income without asking her father. It made her feel better that she’d told Marissa.
“I never liked Antonio,” Marissa confessed in her know-it-all motherly way, and handed her another bill. “He gets very obsessed with you. Have you noticed that?”
Elena had noticed that. “It’s partly my fault, because I’ve let him be the buffer between me and my father for a long time.” She wrote out another check, feeling horrible.
Marissa tsked her tongue, handing her another bill and addressing and stamping the one she had just paid. “Hmm, I still don’t like him. The guy always has some agenda.”
Elena agreed, unsure of what to do. “Well, no matter what, I need to figure out how to solve this cash flow problem, or I’m going to have to go to Washington and kiss my father’s ring.”
Marissa took another check and put it in an envelope. “I’ll keep thinking about it.” A wide grin spread across her face. “You need to finish telling me about this handsome, mysterious soldier you ate pancakes with. Exactly how cute is he?”
Elena laughed. It felt good to have girl talk with Marissa. How long had it been since she’d really done that with anyone? “Well, he’s—”
They were interrupted by a knock on the office door. “Excuse me.”
Elena’s pulse spiked. It was him. She shot to her feet and moved around the desk for the door, pulling it back.
Looking like a ray of sunshine, Blaine stood there, flashing a smile at her. “Excuse me, I need to talk to someone about buying a painting.”
Marissa rushed to her side, doing little jumps and clapping her hands. She burst out of the office and threw her arms around him. “You are cute!”
Chapter 8
Blaine finished the salad, smelling the steaks sautéing in the pan. Elena didn’t have a grill, which, if Blaine were staying much longer, he would have to remedy.