The Solitude of Passion

by Addison Moore

  “What do you think?” Max breaks out into a spontaneous massage over my shoulders, and I groan with approval. “Should we knock out the presents?”

  “I don’t see any other way out of this catastrophe,” I moan into him as he continues his barrage of digital affection.

  “We haven’t had cake.” Sheila pops up unexpected. I glance over at the kids and see that Colt has managed to squeeze himself in the plastic-lined tub, and for a minute I wonder if he qualifies as adult supervision. “I’m a big believer in tradition,” she continues. “Cake first. And please, Lee, stop referring to every Shepherd event as a catastrophe.” Her eyes bulge from her skull. It unnerves me when she does that. If I didn’t know better I’d think it were a tragically unnatural condition, but for Sheila it’s just par for the course. It makes me question whether or not my children are in danger of bullfrog genes. Of course Eli was spared, and Max is stealth—godlike. If I had a daughter that looked exactly like Max with that thick ebony hair, I’d call her Black Beauty.

  A soft ache stirs in me as I twist into him. He’s so gorgeous, and he’s all mine. It almost doesn’t feel fair.

  “The gift is for my wife,” he says before pulling me in. “I got the antique press,” he whispers it hot and sultry right into my ear.

  “Oh my, God!” I throw my arms around his neck. “You did?” I’ve been wanting—drooling over a six-hundred-year-old wine press that was ready to go to auction.

  “All for you.” He presses in a heated kiss.

  “Thank you,” I whisper. “We’ll put it in the museum.” A year ago Max and I filled the lobby of Shepherd Inn with antique pieces we’ve been collecting in an effort to offer more than just a tour of the winery. This way guests soak in a little bit of history while visiting the facility. Local schools come up all the time. We offer shuttle rides through the fields and presses. Max and I have taken Stella and Eli out on field expeditions more than we can count. Which reminds me, “Stella told her teacher we make grape juice.”

  “My own daughter insults me like that?” His dimples dig in as he holds back a grin.

  “Somebody needs to keep your ego in check,” I whisper, slipping my hand up his shirt and gliding it over his chest, nothing but skin over steel. It’s no secret Max hates working in the fields, but his body sure appreciates the effort. “I love you, Max Shepherd. You know that?” The words stream from me, soft and dreamlike.

  A slow growing bulge blooms in his jeans just under my left thigh, and I lean into it.

  “Promises, promises,” I muse.

  “That’s one promise I plan making good on sooner than later—and, you know I love you more.” He presses in with a sweet kiss, slipping his tongue straight into my mouth before pulling away like it never happened.

  “Playing dirty, are we?” I rake my fingernails over his chest before dipping them into the lip of his jeans. “What in the hell is going on in those pants of yours?” I whisper, biting down a smile. “Have you been looking at Candi again?”

  His chest rumbles with a laugh. “Candi’s the anti hard-on,” he says it low, secretive. “That woman can deflate every dick in a ten mile radius just by opening her mouth.” He pulls me down by the neck and crashes another searing kiss over my lips.

  “Enough, you two.” Shelia sprinkles us with water as if she were baptizing us. “Get a room would you?”

  “We’ll do better than a room,” I say, bouncing off his lap. “We’ll get the cake.” I pull him up with a look that suggests a detour to his old bedroom is in order.

  Colt shouts something to the kids, and Eli shrieks with laughter. It ignites a fire in me, charges the air with the currency of youth, makes me want to have a thousand dark-haired babies with Max.

  We head into the house and a layer of refrigerated air congeals over my flesh.

  “Oh, that feels good,” I moan. “I never want to go out there again.”

  “You know what I like about you?” Max reels me in, blessing the top of my head with a quick peck.

  “What’s that?” I give a little laugh because I know where this is going.

  “The fact you’re always hot and bothered.” His cheek slides up one side, and his dimples dig in deep. Max knows how to render me useless with little more than his facial expressions.

  “The fact I’m hot and bothered is simply an aftereffect of being near you.” I hook my fingers over his jeans and give a gentle tug. “This way,” I say, leading him up the stairwell.

  “Did you hide the cake upstairs?” His eyes glow sky blue against the dark expanse of the hallway. He’s seducing me with that ultra-serious demeanor he knows I can’t resist.

  “Are you complaining, Shepherd?” I cover his ear with my mouth and let it out by way of my teeth.

  He gives a hard moan. “Never.” He swoops me up in his arms and carries me over the threshold of his old room, locking the door once we’re inside. I bounce to my feet and push him over to the bed.

  Max’s bedroom encapsulates his teenage years. A bookshelf sits rife with paperbacks, old sports trophies that have long since lost their luster, an empty champagne bottle he swears we drank from the night we were together in high school, old yearbooks stacked four deep on the top shelf.

  I run my finger across his desk and hold up a film of dust for his inspection.

  “Your mother does not love you,” I tease.

  He lands a kiss high over my cheek and pulls me onto the mattress in one swift move. “Looks like I’m going to need you to kiss all the pain away.” He runs his hands up my dress and unhooks my bra with a twist.

  I push him back onto the patchwork quilt decorated with alternating balls and bats. “How many girls did you have on this bed?”

  “Just you.” He closes his eyes and pulls me down until I’m sitting right over his chest.

  “Max!” I give a playful swat. “I’ve never slept with you in your room before.” And it feels criminal.

  “Yes you have, plenty of times,” he says it groggy with his lids half-closed. “You were just physically absent, so you couldn’t enjoy it.”

  “Very funny and slightly disgusting.” I groan into him as I unbutton his jeans. “But I’m here now. If you’re good, maybe I’ll let a fantasy or two play out.”

  His eyes gloss over as he flashes his signature brilliant smile. “You’re a real live wet dream, Lee.”

  Max pulls my dress over my head, quick as a heartbeat.

  “Nice move, Shepherd.”

  “Are you kidding? I’ve been dreaming of the things I could do to you on this bed for years.”

  “Oh? I’m amused by this.”

  “That’s right.” He hooks his finger into my panties and tugs them off, forcing my knees together for a moment. “You had it right the first time.” He pulls my legs on either side of him, high on his chest. “You gave me my first hard-on, you know that?” It comes out more informative than playful.

  “I’m honored.” I trace out a letter S over his chest with my finger. “You gave me the girls equivalent.”

  He rumbles beneath me with a dull laugh. “I thought we’d have something big back then.” His eyes expand just past me as if he were living out a painful memory.

  “Yeah,” I whisper, afraid we’ll drift too far and I’ll get lost in the black sea of grief with my legs awkwardly parted over his chest. “I thought we’d have something big, too. And, now, we do. Maybe we always knew this day would come.” It feels as though I’ve defused a bomb. My thighs tremble from the sheer terror of where the blast could have landed us.

  “We’re here, aren’t we?” His dimples go off, and my insides melt at the sight of him.

  “You want to know something?” I touch my fingers to his perfect face and trace out his lips like I used to dream of doing way back in junior high when Max wouldn’t give me a second look. “I have burned through a thousand nights thinking about you under the sheets.”

  “Really?” He looks stunned by this.

  “True as God.”
/>   “Lee.” His lips tremble as though this were too much for him, like he wanted it but never knew it could happen.

  We almost had something way back when but life gave us a detour, and, now, here we are, right at the starting gate—the bedroom he spent all those nights in, hot and bothered.

  “You know what would make the sixteen-year-old boy in me really happy?”

  “If I let you beat me at a video game?”

  Max moans out a laugh. “And this.” He pulls me in by the knees and lands the most intimate part of me over his hot mouth. His fingers dig into my legs, imprisoning me in this position—not that I would ever move. There’s no place I’d rather be than right here with Max Shepherd burying kisses between my thighs. “I’m going to love you, Lee.” Max pulls me deeper and rides his lips, his tongue over me in waves, his teeth grazing me ever so gently.

  A heated breath escapes my throat, and I give a little cry.

  Max thought we could have something big, way back when. The truth is, I did, too. I thought for sure he wanted me, but he didn’t fight for me and Mitch did. Max made the decision all too easy, and I can’t help but wonder what would have happened if he didn’t. Mitch and his glorious face blinks through my mind, and I push him away. It’s water under the bridge now. I hope my heart can accept that one day, maybe then I can finally move on without the agony of losing him all over again. I’m with Max now. I belong to Max. A part of me has always felt like that even when I was with Mitch. And, ironically, now that I’m with Max, I know for certain a part of me will always belong to Mitch. It’s a twisted game my heart plays, and I want none of it.

  Max burrows in and lashes his heated tongue over me until I forget all about the world and everyone in it.

  It’s just Max and me.

  No more detours.

  After an hour-long lust-filled exchange, that has forever scarred the landscape of Max Shepherd’s childhood bedroom, we drift back downstairs. The crowd outside has dwindled considerably. Most of them have probably melted into the lawn, considering they were made of wax and silicone to begin with.

  We present Sheila with a cake that’s frosted a garish shade of red and strike up our vocal cords in honor of the birthday girl herself.

  Stella and Eli belt out “Happy Birthday” so loud you would think Sheila was on the moon or dead. I love the way their voices rise up over the crowd—how they sing with a passion that says we’re unafraid of anything. I miss having that kind of fearlessness. I wonder at what point it left me—with the death of my parents or with Mitch?

  I try to shake Mitch out of my head like dissolving the picture on an Etch A Sketch.

  “See that?” I whisper to Max as the crowd disperses. “We officially have the cutest kids on the planet.”

  “That’s because the most beautiful woman on the planet is officially their mother.” He lands a kiss on the edge of my lips.

  My mouth opens to return the compliment and closes just as fast. Stella holds Townsend DNA, and in this strange moment, I can feel Mitch lingering between us like some forgotten apparition.

  “Let’s put some teamwork into this.” I nod over to the frosted monstrosity.

  I cut the cake while Max scoops the ice cream.

  “This stuff is rock solid.” His bicep redefines itself as he digs into the carton. “It’s like I’m hacking it from a glacier.” He chips a piece and flicks it at my neck, licking it off in one hot track.

  “Hey, hey.” Hudson drifts over with a plate in hand. “This is a family show, keep it PG.” He tosses a crumpled napkin at Max. “Got a second? We need to talk.”

  Talk. I’ll give him something to talk about. I’ve been avoiding his fiscally unsound mind all night. Robbing me of over a hundred thousand dollars makes me a little more than stabby. I shoot Max a look. Last time my ass.

  Candi struts over with her pale expanse of flesh, rippling with the slightest movement. Why do I get the feeling we’re about to get tag-teamed by Hudson and his hussy half?

  She bats her ferociously long lashes in my direction. Swear to God it looks as if she sacrificed a pair of butterflies for the effect.

  “Can I talk to you?” She bites down on her cherry red lip as if she’s flirting.

  I’m guessing a loan has something to do with it. All that peroxide and Botox doesn’t come cheap. I’d add clothing to the list, but that’s a non-issue with her at the moment.

  I hate to burst her financial bubble, but I’m the wrong Shepherd to hit up for cash.

  I follow her out to the side yard where the crickets sharpen their cry and the smell of night jasmine lights up the air with its delicate perfume. The scents, the sounds of evening are bolder out here—virginal—undisrupted by the untamed air.

  Candi’s skin glows a dull bisque against the velvet backdrop of a navy sky. She looks surreal, luminescent, makes me wonder if she’s human or some high-tech blowup doll that I inadvertently financed for Hudson.

  “Okay, so,” she sighs, shaking her head. “A long time ago…” She jabs her hair behind her ears.

  No good story ever starts with those words. A warning flare goes off in my chest. A horrible feeling wraps itself around me, thick as a kerosene-soaked blanket. Something tells me, Candi is about to launch a blowtorch confessional.

  As soon as she and Hudson started dating they became fodder for the tabloids—dubbing them “the vineyard giant and the pageant queen.” Pictures of her and my moronic brother-in-law splash the supermarket checkout stands at regular intervals with each headline more outlandish than the last. They’ve managed to pull down the stock of Townsend Shepherd Inc. with every snap of the shutter.

  “A long time ago, when I was barely eighteen”—she nods into the caveat—“I met this guy who said he filmed models.”

  I close my eyes. “Sex tape,” I whisper. “It’s going to take us down like a stone.” I’m going to strangle Hudson for bringing this woman into our lives—although I might have to strangle Sheila first for bringing Hudson into the world. The natural hierarchy of homicides insists I start at the root.

  “It’s going to take you down like a stone?” She bats her lashes at me incredulous, and I’m half tempted to free those butterflies by ripping the wings right off her eyelids. “What about me? I’m going to be a mother.” Her long fingernails glitter over her belly like ten miniature flames, and, right about now, I’m wishing they were—that she might magically combust and take all these problems with her. “I’m going to have to face my baby one day. What if he or she sees it?”

  “Rest assured, he will. He won’t want to, but that’s the way the world works, Candi.” Maybe it’s the heat setting me off, or the blank canvas of night that’s swallowed us whole, or the fact in a week I’ll be wishing the only blight Hudson had stained our world with was a simple cash draw, but I don’t stop there. “Not only will your child see it, but he or she will be mortified that all of their friends can enjoy it for their viewing pleasure as well.” I take in a breath. Nothing I say will really matter in the end.

  Her face contorts into all sorts of open-mouthed positions. “I don’t think—” her voice breaks. “I never think.” She drops her face into her palms and starts in on a low, moaning wail.

  Crap.

  I feel horrible. Reducing an expectant mother to tears was nowhere near the top of the to-do list today. I wrap an arm around her shoulder. Candi can’t change her past. God knows none of us can. Me of all people should appreciate that barbed wired truth.

  I’m sure Candi has a sweet side to her if I just get to know her a little bit better, and with the DVD I’ll be able to do just that.

  She continues to tremble into her hands, and guilt lines me, heavy as lead.

  “It’s me who never thinks,” I say, pulling her in. “I’m really sorry.”

  Candi presses in, and my face gets buried in her hair, the light scent of licorice permeates her like a fog. It reminds me of Stella after a bath. It reminds me that Candi is somebody’s daughter. And, for a se
cond, I wonder if Stella could ever land so far off the mark in life.

  Candi gives a death grip of a hug, and those expansive foam pillows she calls boobs conform to my body, tight and smothering.

  I’ll have to make sure there’s always a three-foot clearance between Max and her ever-expanding bosom.

  “Lee.” Max’s voice penetrates the shadows.

  “We’d better get back,” I say, ushering us in the direction of the patio. “I wouldn’t worry too much about that tape. Why let something that happened a long time ago ruin something special that’s happening now?”

  “I guess you’re right. Hudson and I have made much better films. I could do things now that I couldn’t even imagine back then. That’s part of what’s got me so upset.”

  My jaw goes slack.

  Figures. Candi’s sting of embarrassment has more to do with her inexperience than it does bearing more than her soul to the viewing public.

  We trek back and find Max cradling Eli on the porch and my heart melts. I kiss my little boy’s feather soft hair. Eli is pliable in Max’s strong arms—exhausted past the point of no return. I hoist Stella over my hip and offer Candi another partial hug.

  “No matter how painful it’s going to be, you’ll get through it,” I say. “Trust me, I know. I had a dark period myself.”

  Max glances up. The whites of his eyes cut through the night like glass.

  “But Max saved me,” I add quickly, whitewashing Mitch from our lives with a simple stroke of the tongue.

  It was so damn dark, and Max pulled me out.

  We say goodnight and walk toward the car as a stabbing pain blooms in my heart.

  Max may have saved me, but it still hurts like hell.