by Stacey Lynn
Cara isn’t only lacking that assertiveness, uncertainty swirls around her. From the short conversations we had about her family, I figure they’re a bunch of new-money assholes who expect perfection and when it isn’t given, the person who’s disappointed them becomes less important, or ignored completely.
While I know she has Jenna, and she’s mentioned a brother fondly, I wonder who in this world has ever taken the time to tell her she is important.
I’ve at least had Irvin. But this girl, every time she’s given a compliment, she doesn’t brush it off, trying to be coy or fish for more, like she thinks she has to brush it off. She simply appears like she doesn’t believe them, like she’s just done with Luca and me agreeing she’s special.
It’s not even that she might not believe it, it’s that she can’t see what we see in her. I’m determined to show her exactly the kind of beautiful and selfless woman I believe she is.
I’m drawn to her, and attracted to her physically, and I don’t want her to just think I am, remaining uncertain where I want to take us, I want to be able to fill her with confidence that if she gives us a chance, it won’t only be worth her time, it has the potential to be the best damn decision she’s ever made.
I think about all of this while we eat lunch, keeping the conversation mostly about tonight’s show. We laugh about Lucy, how she’s still scratching at the guest bedroom door when it’s closed and her new bed is exactly where Cara rested her head last weekend.
After we’re done with lunch and I return to my condo, Lucy bounds out of her kennel and attacks my calves and legs, her nose sniffing in hyperspeed.
One damn night with my dog, not even, but only a handful of hours, and I’m playing second fiddle in my own home to the lingering scent of a woman.
Given Lucy’s inherent love of Cara, I’m considering keeping the dog too. It’s the first time I’ve considered it instead of continuing to foster.
“Calm down, Luce.” I rub her head, scratching behind her ears while she whines and bumps my thighs with her nose. “She’ll be here later, just chill, dog.”
She jumps on me, throwing her front paws to my hips in her recent version of a hug, her tongue lolling at the outside of her mouth, tail wagging so hard it’s beating against the doorway.
“Come on, we’ll go out and I’ll feed you.”
She scampers off my hips and bounds to the door like I told her Cara’s arrival was imminent. While I’m walking the damn dog, she’s more playful, bouncing and bounding and ignoring other dogs for probably the first time, as if she too is as excited as I am for the chance to spend another night with Cara.
Cara has wrapped both of us around her finger, and I couldn’t care less about it.
The walk takes longer than normal because Lucy is in no hurry to do her business so by the time we get back to my place, I’m running late to shower and get dressed in one of the rare black suits I have.
I’m not a suit guy, definitely not a tuxedo man, but Cara has told me that while tonight’s dress is dressy, it’s also not formal.
I pull on my suit, slide my money clip into my breast pocket, and double-check my black tie is knotted decently. It’s a wreck. Crooked and wrinkled. I rip it off and unbutton the top button. The only ink on my body that’s visible is the curve of a design that appears in a hint above my collar and the backs of my hands.
I don’t bother shaving, and instead run some hair cream through my hair to hide the fact it’s been mostly beneath a hat all day. Hopefully, it looks good enough to be on Cara’s arm with her coworkers and members of the art community she mentioned she’s dying to impress tonight.
* * *
—
I pull up to Cara’s apartment building, only two minutes late, and frown as I see her standing on the doorstep to her place.
Her simple, black high heels add several inches to her height, but it’s her exposed legs that snag my attention first, forcing me to follow the length of them, pausing at the hem of her dress that floats just barely above her knees. She has her arms wrapped over her front, tugging a white wool coat closed around her, and in the chilly breeze, her chestnut-colored hair flows around her shoulders, swirling and giving off a halo effect that makes me want to drop to my knees and pray to God that somehow, she and I are meant to be together.
Yet I’m frowning as I climb out of my car, meeting her at the passenger door where she’s already hurrying to.
“You shouldn’t have been out here,” I say, hating the scolding tone in my voice. I open the door, but block it so she can’t slide in to her seat without brushing past me. Her teeth chatter from the cold even while she grins at me.
“Seems silly for me to wait for you to run up five flights of stairs just to run back down them again. I didn’t mind.”
I take her hands in mine, where she’s been briskly rubbing them together. “Your hands feel like ice.”
She laughs softly, and I almost feel like Lucy when she presses one to my cheek. She has turned me into a dopey puppy needing to please her. “You’re sweet. I’m fine, and like I told you earlier, I could have just met you there. The gallery is closer to your place anyway.”
She’s independent. Trying to live on her own and make something of herself. It’s the reminder of who she is, who she wants to be, that reminds me how utterly uncertain she is of herself too. I draw back, skimming my gaze down her body again.
“Yeah,” I say, this time my voice rough and full of meaning. “But if I’d done that, I wouldn’t have the memory of your sexy legs or what I’m imagining is an even sexier dress, sitting next to me in my car.”
“Well,” she huffs. “I hope it meets your expectations.”
I lean forward and brush my lips across her cheek. She stills at my sudden movement, but relaxes when my hand settles at her hip, holding her to me. “I have a feeling, Cara, that you will surpass all the expectations I have of you.”
My lips linger at her ear, until I’ve inhaled enough of her sweet, flower scent to last me until we get back home. I give her a teasing nip at her earlobe, feeling her shudder from the contact beneath my hand.
When I pull back, her lips are parted, eyes dilated. She stares at me like I’m the most unexpected gift she’s ever received.
Little does she know, I think the exact same thing about her.
I step back, hiding my erection pressing against my dress pants behind the opened car door, and gesture for her to enter. “Shall we go?”
“Yeah,” she whispers, licking her bottom lip, just a hint of her desire still flaring in her eyes and that soft, seductive gesture. “I wouldn’t want to be late.”
I only hope we don’t have to stay the entire night. I saw the hangings earlier. I could barely stomach the sight of them. “Pretentious” came to mind, more paint splatters and wiggly lines in mismatched colors, I couldn’t bring myself to ask Cara’s opinion.
To me, art should have a message. Tattoos aren’t all that different, only a different medium and canvas, but there should always be a story behind the art. Something that resonates with your soul.
The art I saw earlier filled me with the need to pop Excedrin.
* * *
—
We arrive early, and Cara speeds off to spend the next hour assisting Luca with final preparations. I make myself available doing whatever Luca requests but art, especially modern art, is outside my realm of knowledge so while I help readjusting lights to Luca’s specifications, I mostly try to stay out of the way.
Once the doors open and the crowd filters in, I give up the idea of spending the night next to Cara. I keep an eye on her, instead, while she’s working, showing off piece after piece, smiling and nodding politely, all while the passion in her rich blue eyes hold me captive. They light with excitement while she discusses not only the pieces available f
or purchase, but when she is pulled into any conversation that delves into art. It’s obvious from the way her body responds—even as she stifles the occasional yawn—that although she might be worn out from the long day, she not only loves art, creating and discussing the various modes and periods, she lives it.
When she’s in between conversations and sipping sparkling water from a champagne flute, I go to her, settling a hand at her lower back.
“Tired?” The dark circles are blooming beneath her eyes and as I ask, she hides another yawn behind the back of her hand.
“Yes.” She turns to me, eyes fluttering as her gaze travels up my suit before reaching my face. “I’m exhausted. How much more time do we have?”
“Not long, from what I can see, most of the pieces have already sold. You’ve done really well tonight.”
“Well, Marco has quite the following.”
She’s referring to the artist who appeared earlier with a flash of personality twice the size of his small, five-and-a-half-foot frame. His assistant has been on his heels all night, cowing to every whim he’s requested. Her short red hair and slim jaw make her seem familiar, but I haven’t paid much attention to her. Twice though, I’ve caught her glancing my way with what can only be interest in her eyes.
Too bad for her I’m uninterested in whatever she’s considering offering.
“Marco’s a pretentious ass,” I mutter, and take a sip of my own water. I’m driving tonight so I’ve opted not to drink, plus I hate champagne and it’s all they’re serving.
“Yes,” Cara giggles softly, “he is that too.”
I tip my glass in the direction of the canvas we’re standing in front of. “Be honest with me. What do you think of this?”
“Well.” Her eyes do that sparkle thing again, and she turns to face it. I do the same, keeping my hand resting on the small of her back. “I think Marco is quite talented. His use of—”
“It’s shit, isn’t it?” I murmur the question in her ear so no one close to us can hear.
She huffs a quiet sound, shaking her head, but she also doesn’t deny it.
“Honest, Cara. Tell me what you think.”
She turns to me, tilting her head back so she can look me directly in the eye, and her eyes glimmer with humor. “It belongs in a seventh-grade science experiment on optical illusions, I think. Or one of those adult coloring books.”
“It gives me a migraine.”
Her smile widens and she covers her mouth with a laugh. “It makes me want to throw up, and not because I always feel like throwing up.”
The reminder of how sick she can get erases my humor. “How are you, really?”
Her hand settles on her stomach and she grimaces. “It’s been a while since I’ve eaten. I have some almonds in my purse, but that’s in the back.”
“I’ll get them for you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s not a problem. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Cara looks so thankful, color blooms on her cheeks and I’m unable to resist her sweet expression. I lean down and brush my lips to her temple, whispering, “Stay here.”
I move quickly, ditching my glass on the table near the bar as I head to the small lunchroom at the back. There, I quickly find her small designer clutch and I take out a small bag of almonds along with a ginger candy. She might not want to have it while she still has to talk to customers, but I drop it in my pocket and head back out.
When I reach her, she’s speaking with Marco and his assistant, both of whom turn their attention to me as soon as I reach the trio.
I nod, acknowledging them, and ignore the way the assistant’s eyes narrow in annoyance on me.
“Here,” I tell Cara, her taking my complete focus. I rip open the small bag of almonds and take her hand, dumping a few into her palm.
“My apologies,” she says to Marco and his assistant. “I haven’t eaten, and…” Her voice trails, like she doesn’t want to tell them she’s pregnant.
I do it for her. “Sorry, my girlfriend is pregnant.”
“Oh,” Marco says, his face twisting into something akin to disgust.
Next to me, Cara gasps. So she’s not exactly my girlfriend. Yet.
But it’s the redhead whose lips press together, brows lifting slowly as she says, “Excuse me, Braxton? Pregnant? Girlfriend?”
And I remember exactly where I’ve seen those eyes before. And that red hair.
Jesus. It was just last week I brought her home. She’s the gymnast. And hell if I can remember her name although she clearly remembers mine.
Cara’s gaze bounces back and forth between us. “You two know each other?”
The redhead…good Lord, why can’t I remember her name? I’m usually better about this. She glares at me and then sneers at Cara.
“Yeah, we know each other. I’m Anna, and you should know your boyfriend is a cheating jerk because he just fucked me last week.”
Chapter 13
Cara
My stomach rolls and I absolutely lose what little appetite I already have.
Anna’s declaration rocks me back so harshly, Braxton’s hand lands on my lower back to steady me.
“Excuse me?” I ask. I had to have misheard her.
Based on the anger suffusing Anna’s features, I absolutely haven’t.
“Cara,” Braxton says. My head snaps to his, and I don’t know if he can see my shock that’s quickly mingling with anger, but do I even have the right? We’re not together.
We’ve never been together.
Technically, tonight’s our first date, and of course he’s had women before me, and in the last couple of months.
Unfortunately, none of the logic quickly racing through my mind is settling the effect this news has on my nerves.
“Don’t.” I shake my head, stepping away from his touch. Already my face is feeling flush with heat and embarrassment.
I turn to Marco and mutter, “Excuse me.”
As I’m turning to walk away, I still hear Braxton say, “You have no idea what you’re talking about right now but throwing that down was bullshit, and makes me glad as soon as you disappeared into your Uber, I wiped that night from my memory.”
Oh crap. What a jerk! I can’t believe any of this, but why am I so surprised?
Why am I so hurt? So he slept with someone last weekend. He has every right to do so. We’re not together, and of course he dates one woman at a time. Although perhaps it does explain why he never returned my text.
My hands are trembling so profoundly it’s virtually impossible to push down on the door handle. It takes me several tries before the handle doesn’t slip out of my hands and it’s just enough time for Braxton to reach me.
“Listen to me.” His body heat crowds my back and he pushes both of us into the room, letting the door close behind us.
I jump from the harsh sound of the lock clicking and refuse to face him.
I cannot believe this is happening with a client of the gallery.
Luca is going to murder me for causing such a scene. And Anna? She not only works for Marco, she works for an agency that represents and promotes the most up-and-coming artists on the West Coast.
She’s not only viciously astute in the art world, she has connections like I would if I would have gone into law with my father.
This has disaster for Luca’s gallery written all over it.
“Don’t.” I drop my head into my hands, trying to calm my breathing. When I get upset or stressed, my stomach knots, which is the last thing I need. “Don’t say anything. You don’t owe me an explanation.”
He fucked me just last week.
Her shrill voice is a Ping-Pong ball inside my
brain.
“Cara.” Braxton’s hand lands on my shoulder. His touch is gentle but warm, radiating heat beneath the thin layer of my cap-sleeved dress.
I shake my shoulder, but he doesn’t remove his hand. Instead, he steps up closer, until his chest is flush with my back and his hand on my shoulder slides down my arm until his palm is at my stomach—covering my stomach, where our child grows.
I’m going to be sick.
“You’re right. I don’t owe you an explanation. I was with that woman before you ever came into MadInk, Cara, before I knew about you.”
All my runaway thoughts screech to a halt and my hands drop from my face. “What?”
“Yes.” He’s laughing now, shoulders shaking, bumping against me, and I know he’s not doing it to be mean, but is there anything really funny about this? I can’t find the humor.
His hand on my stomach presses in, and he shifts me, turning me so we’re face to face and his hand is at my back. “You might still be pissed when I tell you it was the night before you came into MadInk, but if I’m going to be completely honest, for the last two months, every time I was with a woman, I was honestly just trying to fuck the memory of you out of my head.”
“That’s disgusting.” My brows furrow. If he thinks I’ll be flattered by his admission, I’m not.
“Might be, but it’s also real.” He cups the side of my neck, holding me gently. His thumb brushes back and forth against my sensitive skin, igniting pops of pleasure skipping down the length of my arms and chest. “What’s also real is that since we spent that night together, I’ve thought about little else besides being inside you again. So you can be upset I’m not a monk, upset I can treat someone like Abby—”