“You said that you wanted to remember your past, I’m giving you the first piece.”
“Daddy!”
As Meghan tore from the bed at breakneck speed, she stared across the room in silence. Standing within the frame of the open door, dressed to the nines in a crisp white dress shirt and black suit pants, Jarrod reminded her of a male cover model from the GQ magazine. With a deep smile and ease, he swept his running daughter up into his arms. But, the smile barely reached his eyes as they met hers across the space.
Still, clad in the thin wrap from the night before, she resisted the urge to cover herself. Instead, she sat up boldly in the bed, and she was glad that she did as she finally saw a flicker of emotion in his cold eyes.
He wasn’t as immune to her as he wanted to pretend, she surmised, plopping the pillows behind her back, and faced him again. But, as their gazes clashed again, the shutters covered his green orbs.
“Come on, Daddy!” Meghan insisted, pulling him into the room, and once she had, she slammed the door closed. Then, like a proper and prim lady, the little girl planted her hands on her hips. “Now, Daddy. I want you to tell Livvy why you got her some dumb old boring paper!”
“Meghan!” she gasped, eyeing the child. “That was so unkind to say! Apologize to your father at once.”
“I’m sorry,” Meghan said, dropping her head. “I know that it’s wrong to be rude.”
Jarrod squatted down. “That was bordering on rude, popette. Always remember that you have to think before you say things, especially when they aren’t the nicest things. With all that being said, I will accept your apology.”
“I’m sorry, Daddy,” Meghan said, childishly returning his hug. “I know that I need to work on my big mush mouth.”
He pulled away from the little girl slightly. “I want you to give me and Olivia a few minutes alone, okay? Rosa needs you in the kitchen. I think that she wants your help making some conchas sweet bread.”
“Oooh, conchas bread’s my favorite!” Meghan said, already running for the door. “And Rosa will let me lick the spoon if I ask nice enough. Bye, Daddy…bye Olivia!”
After the door slammed behind her, they were finally alone.
“We need to talk,” he said stiffly, staring at her from the middle of the room. “Get dressed. I’ll wait for you on the balcony.”
“Stop ordering me around,” she snapped, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. After standing, she crossed the room until she was standing before him. “I’m not a petulant child for you to mold into whatever image you fashion.”
“I just thought that you’d be a little more comfortable if you were dressed while we talked,” Jarrod admitted stiffly with a hooded gaze. “It’s twelve o’clock in the afternoon, for pity’s sake, so you should be dressed anyway.”
“Does my attire bother you?” she taunted, taking a step back before making a full circle before him. “I was beginning to think that nothing beat behind that chest of yours.”
“Full of venom and bite this morning, huh?” he muttered, and interest flared in his eyes. “What has you in such a foul mood today?”
“Take a look in the mirror and you just might find out who,” she shot back, folding her arms along her chest defensively. She raised her chin haughtily. “Now, why are you here? What do you want?”
His lips pursed in a thin line. “For these past months, I haven’t done enough to help you remember your past. That’s not being fair to you, not even in the least. So, I’m giving you a huge piece of it today,” he said, stepping around her, and kept his back to her. “Now, unless you want to parade around in front of Rosa and Meghan like that, I suggest that you get dressed.”
She stepped behind him. “Why do I get the feeling that it’s you rather than anyone else that’s bothered by what I’m wearing?” she suggested, feeling the heat from his rigid form. Before her riddled nerves deserted her, she laid a firm hand against his strong back. “Last night, we were on the----”
As he whirled around fast, she gasped, and again, she had to remind herself to breathe as his strong arms closed around her. Again, the fire in his green eyes nearly scorched her alive. “Olivia, don’t play with me. I’m a fucking man, a virile one at that, and if you’re not careful, you just might get what you’re asking for.”
“With the way that you’re running and hiding, I doubt that,” she shot back, unperturbed, and then shook her head to clear it. “But, you’re right. Let’s just forget about last night and pretend that it never happened. As far as I’m concerned, it didn’t. Besides, it didn’t mean anything, right,” she lied, staring into his chest, and pulled back. This time, she was the one who turned away. “Just give me a few minutes.”
In seconds, he’d crossed to the bed and lifted the drawing pad. Tense, he faced her one final time. “I’ll meet you downstairs in the study.”
With those words, he left.
On shaky legs, she moved for the bathroom.
Moments later, showered and refreshed, she dressed in a fuchsia-hued sundress with frilly sleeves. She ran the brush through her thick tresses before dropping it onto the dresser. Deciding to skip on any makeup, she crossed to the closet. After pushing the flat white sandals onto her feet, she took in a sharp breath to compose herself and moved for the door. Within seconds, she was making her way down the staircase. Once she reached the bottom, she hovered there nervously for a seconds before heading for the study. A few moments later, she reached it, and without knocking, she entered.
Unsurprisingly, Jarrod sat behind the huge desk, talking business with someone on the other end of the line. He waved a hand at the chair facing the desk dismissively as he frowned during the conversation. Without a word, she closed the door and crossed the room. Keeping her eyes level on him, she sank into the armchair.
“How is that even possible, Marc?” Jarrod barked into the phone. Though she couldn’t make out the other party’s words, it was obvious that he was cursing as well. “Take care of it, damn it! Use any means necessary, do you understand me?” With a disgusted expletive, he hurled the cell phone onto the desk before standing. “Let’s go.”
“Go where?” she demanded, off put by his dark mood. “With you acting like this and yelling like a Neanderthal, I don’t think that I want to go anywhere with you!”
The words had barely left her before he was sprinting from behind the desk, and in split seconds, he was leading her across the study. “For once, just shut up and listen,” he snapped. But, then, surprising her, he stopped before whirling to face her with an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, Olivia, I don’t have to right to take my bad mood out on you. Let’s try this again, shall we? There’s something that I’d like to show you. Would you mind accompanying me there?”
“I’d love to come,” she said shyly with a smile. “And I have to admit that I’m curious as to what it is.”
He frowned in concentration. “Once we get there, everything will make sense.”
As they made their way from the house, and began strolling along the beach, she sensed a nervous energy from him. Just why, she didn’t understand, she frowned, walking along his tensed form, disappointed that he wasn’t holding her hand like he had days ago. Together, in mutual silence, they strolled along the beach.
When they were about 30 minutes out, he altered course, heading towards a rocky alcove. As he reached the alcove’s edge, he held out his hand, and she took it gratefully. “The jaunt gets a little rocky past this point,” Jarrod said, being careful as he ascended and tightened his hold. “But, I promise that it’ll be worth it. I call this part of the island, my own little paradise.”
And he was right, she thought, a short moment later, catching her breath at the sight before her. The pure white sand covered the earth, and it seemed to sparkle with gold specks of dust. Amidst it, along the shore, there rested a single bungalow. Shaped like an L at the front and arching at the angle, the wooden bungalow probably held only about three or four rooms if that many, she surmised, s
topping beside him. The bungalow’s wood was stained a reddish color and held short steps. A single window rested on the left side of the double-paned glass door while the porch held a wooden bench. The white drapes were partially open at the window, but still, she couldn’t make out the bungalow’s interior from their stance.
“You want to go in?” he asked tentatively, and again, she sensed nervousness about him.
She smiled up at him. “I’d love to,” she said without hesitation.
A pebbled walkway led to the bungalow’s entrance.
Holding her hand, Jarrod led the way.
As they took the short steps, her anticipation mounted.
Whisking a key from his pocket, he inserted it into the keyhole.
A second later, he pushed the door open before stepping aside. “Go ahead and go in,” he muttered. “I have to check the generator around back.”
“Okay,” she nodded, stepping inside and turned before giving a sound of pure awe. “Wow. It’s absolutely beautiful.”
Though quaint and small, the living area held a daybed. Covered in naturally toned light brown hue, the daybed was flanked by two large brown pillows, and its bottom and straight arms were made of pure wicker. Overhead from the ceiling, the white floodlights hang in a perfect row between widely spaced beams. A simple vase rested amid the center of the matching wicker table which contained a table skirt that wrapped around it in the same light brown fabric as the sofa. Finishing up the palette, in the far corner of the room, was a fireplace with gas logs.
Releasing an appreciative sigh, she stepped further into the room. She looked to the ceiling again. Unsurprisingly, the beams created a symmetrical pattern, one that was evident throughout, she thought, trailing towards the next room. A quaint kitchen with a tiny rectangular island made up it up, complete with stainless steel appliances and accessories. The next room was the bedroom, and it housed only a king-sized bed flanked by a sheer white covering that hang from the ceiling. Huge, white pillows flanked it and were tossed at precarious positions on the bed. A deep intimacy ensued within the small space, and it enveloped her instantly.
To no surprise, a pair of sliding glass doors led to a full length balcony. Leaving the doorway, she crossed the room, and a moment later, she was pushing the sliding glass door aside.
Upon stepping outside, she inhaled the ocean air.
But, as she glanced around, the surprise filled her further.
A stool was parked center at the front of a huge easel. To its right, there was an oval table which held paint brushes of all sizes, various color palettes in tubes and containers, cloths, rags, charcoal pens and pencils, sketch pads on the bottom rung of the table….
In other words, an artist’s dream world, she thought, picking up one of the brushes.
“You like it?”
As she heard Jarrod’s husky tone, she whipped around and the paint brush clattered to the balcony floor unnoticed. “You startled me,” she said with a shaky breath, transfixed to one spot as he sauntered across the space. Just the mere sight of him was enough to send her heartbeat into overdrive, she realized with a deep flush.
“You didn’t answer the question,” he muttered, reaching down to retrieve the fallen paint brush from the floor, and stood. “Do you like it or not?”
With careful precision, he traced the brush’s soft bristles along the edge of her face, and again, she marveled at how a simple caress could be so blatantly erotic. As he halted the brush’s movement, she dispelled a sharp gasp and finally remembered to breathe. “I love it,” she admitted on a breathless whisper. “Every part of it.”
She held his stare.
Openly defied his need to run...
The awareness flickered in his eyes.
And for a moment, she thought she’d won.
But, to her disappointment, the same aloof expression returned to his face.
Jarrod dropped the brush onto the table. “It’s all yours.”
“M-mine?” she stammered with confusion. “What do you mean?”
“While you were in your coma, I had this place built for you,” he said, looking away from her. “Every square inch of it belongs to you---your own private paradise away from the rest of the world.”
The tears blurred her vision. “Y-you had all this built for me?” she whispered, covering her mouth partially with unsteady hands. “But, why? I don’t understand.”
“Olivia, I’m giving you part of your life back,” he stated, and again, uncertainty played along his handsome face. “The one thing that you loved most was your art and painting. So, I always had hopes of giving this to you once you came out of your coma. And now, it seems like the right time to make it---”
Before he could step back, she hurled herself at him and he caught her midair.
“Thank you,” she murmured tearfully, burying her face into his neck. “So much.”
To her relief, he returned her embrace before releasing her. “Well, have at it,” Jarrod muttered, a bit unsteadily himself, and stepped back. “It’s all yours, my little Jane Doe.”
With a pent-up breath, she faced the blank easel.
“I-I don’t know how to begin,” she said shakily, facing him again.
“Just start anywhere,” he suggested, placing a brush in her hand. “This is your new beginning, and you start it anew in any way that you want. No matter how dark and obscured things seem, the truth of your true self still lies within.” He paused. “I’m going back to the house and work on a few things. There’s a cell phone in the bedroom if you’re in need of anything.”
Lifting a tube of red paint from the table, she squeezed some into one of the holes on the painting tray. Before she realized what she was doing, she’d filled every hole with a different color and with such ease. After dipping the brush into the black paint, she painted a single stroke along the white page. To her astonishment, her hands begin moving in fast and urgent strokes, and it was if she was releasing some pent-up magic at her fingertips. Exhausted hours later, she turned away from the easel with a satisfied sigh. She glanced overhead in surprise. Just when had early evening arrived and replaced the afternoon, she thought dazed, staring at the darkening skies.
She’d been so lost in her painting, she realized with a jolt, facing the easel again.
As she faced it, she dropped the paint brush in stunned surprise.
On the easel, a perfect image of a wounded Jarrod Sabatino stared back at her.
***
“Perfect,” she sighed, taking a step back from the easel, five weeks later. “Simply perfect.”
It’d taken seven long painstaking hours to get the painting finished, and every minute of it had been worth it.
An unguarded Jarrod held a sleeping Meghan in his arms, and so much love had shone on his face as he did so. Somehow, she’d managed to capture the precious moment, and now standing here, looking at it, she felt much like an intruder, having stolen something so personal and private.
Smearing a paint-wet hand over the dirty smock, still holding the paintbrush in her hand, she wandered to the railing before propping against it.
Just what was it with midnight and Lamarie Rock, she pondered, staring up at the full moon. The dark hour and dark skies always seemed to share a blatant intimacy, one that resounded straight to the secluded island.
A few minutes, having cleared her mess, she peeled the smock off and dropped it in the chair close to the easel. Only a red smear ran across the bottom of her denim shorts and not even a speckle of paint was on the navy tank top. Plus, she’d had the good sense to tie her hair back in a ponytail; so, there wouldn’t be any globs of paint there, hopefully.
A sigh left her again.
Another night here, alone----
Not that she didn’t appreciate the solitude from time to time, she thought, falling onto the chaise lounge, but she missed Jarrod and Meghan like crazy.
Like now---
She’d been at the bungalow the entire day, having not seen eithe
r one of them.
But, first thing, tomorrow, she would, she vowed.
Suddenly restless, she stood.
She cast a glance towards the ocean, and at once, the wild and crazy idea sprang.
A midnight swim just might be the thing, she mulled, hurrying back inside. A minute later, with towel in hand, she strode across the white sands. After reaching the crest of the hill, she stopped and breathed in the ocean air.
“Absolutely beautiful,” she murmured, admiring the oceanic view, and resumed the jaunt again. For minutes, she walked, knowing exactly where she was heading. Once she reached the spot where they’d been weeks ago, she stopped.
She dropped the towel to the ground.
Reaching for the hem of the tank top, she peeled it off, and then, stooping over, she shucked the shorts off. The lacy black brassiere and matching panty fit her curves well, and served as a great substitute for a bathing suit, she mulled, pulling the band from her long tresses. Without a further thought, she ran towards the lapping waves. The waters closed over her, cooling her off, and finally, the tension began to ebb away from her. Taking a fast and deep breath, she went under, and then came up for air.
She glanced back towards the shore.
Her heart leapt in her throat.
A lone figure stood.
One that she’d know anywhere…
Clad in striped board shorts, he was the perfect picture of dangerous masculine power.
Before she could muster another thought, Jarrod dove in the water, swimming straight for her. Like a helpless prey, she awaited the predator; but, rather than being afraid, she was eager to be captured, she realized, staying in place.
In long, broad strokes, he swam, and in seconds, he was upon her.
A shy smile played on her face, but it died upon seeing his thunderous expression.
“What the hell are you doing out here alone?” he demanded angrily. “Do you realize how dangerous that is? What if something had happened? What then?”
“Don’t tell me that you came all the way out here to yell at me!” she muttered. “Why are you so upset! I was just taking a quick swim.”
The Pawn (Shattered Series Book 1) Page 16