by Jolie Day
“I like a confident man,” she said. “Especially one who would buy something so expensive and meaningful for his ‘lady friend’.” She glanced over at the man in question, admiring his strong stance and his expensive suit. His dark hair was slicked back and his skin was naturally tan; almost glowing. He was definitely a work of art.
But taken, she reminded herself. Definitely taken.
She turned her attention away from the man and back to Mr. Sagawa. “Which one is he looking to buy?” she asked.
“The one of the man lying in the ocean, with the water running over him. He says that his friend is fond of the ocean and that would suit her fancy very well.”
“You can sell it to him,” she said. “But I would like to keep the focus-point, if you don’t mind. All other originals can be sold.”
“Of course, Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Sagawa said, bowing to her. “Thank you.”
“Thank you.” She bowed back and he took off to go make the deal with the young man. His brown eyes landed on her when she eyed him and Liz found herself flushing. She turned away, quickly, and walked as casually as possible toward her collection. Her heart ached exponentially at the sight of Carter’s body in each and every piece before her. She hadn’t thought about how much it would hurt to see these photographs of him; photographs that she, herself, had taken of him. Photographs that had started their relationship.
It was funny, Liz thought, how she could have gone so many years taking photographs and not met a man worth talking to until she met Carter McIntyre, who couldn’t even seem to express his deepest of emotions. She bit her lip at the thought and shook her head
Well, I won’t have to deal with that anymore. I can find a man who tells me exactly what he’s thinking and doesn’t run and hide when things get serious.
“Excuse me?” Liz turned at the female voice to find an older woman with a wine glass smiling at her. “Are you the artist? Elizabeth Morgan?”
“Yes, that’s me,” Liz replied, smiling politely. She held out her hand. “You can call me Liz.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Liz,” the woman said. “My name is Ana David. My husband owns a gallery downtown, but Hajime is a good friend of ours. I absolutely adore your work. It reminds me of…oh what was his name? He used to photograph all those lighthouses?”
“Emmett Morgan?”
“Yes! That’s the one!”
Liz chuckled. “He was my father,” she informed the older woman.
“Was he, really?” Ana gasped.
“Yes,” she said. “Taught me everything I know.”
“Well, you should be very proud,” Ana said, “because these photographs are just fantastic.”
“Thank you so much, Mrs. David,” Liz said. “I’m glad you like them.”
“Like? No, no, Liz. I love them. In fact…” She reached into the purse hanging from her elbow and pulled out a little paper rectangle, handing it over. “I’m sure my husband would love to showcase your work in his gallery. Especially if you’re still in touch with handsome models like this one.” She looked up at the photographs. “There’s so much pain in his eyes. It’s so subtle, but you caught it so well. That’s the kind of thing we’d be looking for.”
“Thank you, Mrs. David. I’ll take it into consideration. I’m no longer working with that particular model, but I’ll see what I can do for you and your husband.” Suddenly, Ana’s eyebrows knitted together and she tilted her head in confusion. “What’s wrong?” Liz asked.
“Nothing,” Ana assured her. “It’s just…you say you’re not working with that model anymore, but I just spoke to him a couple of moments ago. He said that he hopes to work more with you in the future and—”
“What?” Liz asked. “Wait, wait. The model in these photographs; you saw him?”
“Yes,” Ana confirmed. “Just a moment ago, in fact.”
“Where?”
“He’s right over there, looking at your father’s photographs.” She motioned with her head and Liz turned, her heart pounding in her chest at the sight of a very familiar backside. She nearly tipped over, her mouth gaping open before she could compose herself.
Clearing her throat, Liz turned back to Ana David. “I think I should probably go talk to him about this,” she said. “It seems we didn’t leave off on the same page.” She offered her hand again. “It was very nice to meet you, Mrs. David. I hope we can work together more in the future.”
“As do I,” Ana replied.
Liz nodded and turned back to where Carter was standing, surveying her father’s most famous works still hung up in Mr. Sagawa’s gallery. He had refused to sell any of them after her father’s death, which she appreciated. Especially since she finally had the chance to come back and visit them.
They were all of lighthouses, except for one.
The one that Carter was focused on was called ‘The Apprentice’. A little girl holding a camera that was too big for her hands. You could clearly see the smile on her face as her little finger rested on the capture. She was on a beach, with the wind blowing her hair and her pink and white dress fluttering in the breeze. She had on boots instead of sandals, because the sand was cold that day. Liz remembered staring at her father’s camera through that lens as he snapped the photo of her, laughing deep and loud. It had been the first day he took her out to work with him.
The best day of her life.
He’d never sold any prints of that one, but people had come from all over to see Emmett Morgan’s one and only work with a human subject; his own little daughter, Lizzie Morgan. You couldn’t really see what she looked like, but there was no denying that it was her. Not to Liz and, it seemed, not to Carter either.
“You look adorable here,” he murmured as she came to stand next to him. “A little artist in the making.”
“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice low, still in shock.
“I especially like the Hello Kitty stickers on your leather boots. Very fashionable.”
“Carter.”
“Why do you think I’m here?” he asked, glancing sideways at her.
“I have no idea,” she retorted, crossing her arms across her chest.
“That’s bull,” Carter murmured. “You know exactly why I’m here.”
“I want to hear you say it,” she said, looking up at him with one eyebrow raised.
“Now?”
“You scared?”
“Not in the least. I just…I thought the first time should be private. Don’t you?”
Liz glanced all around them, before grabbing his hand and tugging Carter down a long hall to a unisex bathroom. It was just next to the fire exit. First, she thought about going outside, but feared what might happen if she got stuck out there and had to call for Mr. Sagawa to come and rescue her. It was embarrassing enough that her…whatever-he-was had shown up in the middle of a gallery showing. It was even worse that she was considering doing what she did next.
Instead of leading him out through the fire escape, Liz shoved him toward the unisex bathroom, thankful that it was private and not communal. She locked the door behind them, before turning to face him, her hands on her hips.
“That’s a great dress,” Carter murmured, his eyes raking over her form, which was encased in a tight black cocktail dress. She wore matching four-inch heels and her hair was held up by stylish black and white chopsticks. Liz rolled her eyes.
“Enough with the flattery,” she said. “Say what you came here to say or leave, Carter.” Her heart was pounding against her ribcage so hard that she was almost certain he heard it, as well.
“I love you.”
The words were said state of fact, with no arguments to be made in either direction. His eyes were boring into hers, as if willing her to believe what he had basically just blurted. Liz almost expected him to shrug his shoulders, as if it was no big deal to be declaring his love for her.
But then he just did it again.
“I love you,” Carter repeated. “So m
uch more than I ever wanted to. Much more than I thought possible to love a woman. I love you and I’m certain that you love me, too. And that’s why you ran.”
“You ran first,” Liz retorted, her hands still on her hips but her eyes already beginning to fill with tears.
“That’s the part you really want to focus on right now?” Carter asked, the corner of his lips already starting to turn up in a smile.
Instead of answering him, Liz surged forward, pressing her mouth to his in a feverish and passionate kiss. He reciprocated, readily, turning to sit her down on the bathroom’s counter, his arms banding around her waist as he pulled her firmly against his body. It felt so good to be in his arms again.
But she needed more.
Liz reached for the zip on his jeans—which were very casual compared to her dress—and undid it, as well as his belt. Carter’s eyes widened for only a second before he started to respond in kind, reaching under her dress for her underwear and practically growling when he felt only a thong there.
“You are going to kill me,” he husked, pushing up her skirt and pulling down the panties, before shoving down his own jeans and stepping closer to Liz. He entered her in one swift motion and Liz let out a soft sigh, her arms wrapping around his shoulders as he began to move.
“Say it again,” she moaned. “Please. Say it again.”
“I love you,” Carter breathed in her ear, pumping in and out of her. “God, I love you so much, Liz Morgan.”
“I love you, too,” Liz moaned. “Fuck, I love you so much, Carter McIntyre. So much!” She rocked her hips against his in return, her ankles locked at his ass, helping his rhythm stay constant and just where she needed him. Carter went faster and harder than he had ever gone before, pulling back just slightly so that he could stare into her eyes as he drove them both closer and closer to the edge. Her reached down, taking her cheek in one hand and pressed his lips to hers, softly.
When he pulled back from the kiss, he rested his forehead against hers and continued to pound into her. “I love you, Liz,” he grunted as he came inside her.
“I love you, too,” Liz responded, following right behind him.
They stayed there for a long moment, each of them knowing that they would eventually have to leave their little bubble and go back out to mingle with the gallery owners and patrons who would no doubt want to talk to them about their work.
But that could all wait. At least for a few more moments as they continued to bask in the aftermath of their lovemaking.
THE END
Marc Kelly is a hot bad boy biker on the run. He is the embodiment of pure, erotic masculinity—what every woman dreams of. On an undercover mission to find the new doctor in town, Marc stumbles across Lauren Stanton. Will he be able to complete the task assigned, or will he take a chance and save the one woman who has kindled feelings he’s never experienced before?
Find out in Jolie Day’s steamy romantic suspense novel titled SCORE: Hell’s Seven MC Biker Romance. (Warning: Adult readers only!)
Reading Sample:
The sand was still warm under her toes as Lauren Stanton started the short walk back to her house, perched just a few hundred feet from where the brilliant blue ocean kissed the shore. This was the part of her day she loved best; her walk on the beach. She tried to go as early as possible, when the sun was still high in the sky, the sky bright blue and dotted with cotton candy clouds. Her dog—a gorgeous, strawberry-blonde golden retriever named Emma—would splash around in the water while Lauren enjoyed the view and occasionally threw her favorite tennis ball, laughing at Emma’s puppy-like demeanor as she shot off like a cannon after the toy.
When it looked like the sun was about to start its descent, Lauren pushed herself to her feet and grabbed her flip flops at her side, brushing the sand off of her backside and whistling for Emma to heel. And, like the good girl she was, the golden would race back to stand at her feet, tail wagging as her belly dripped salty sea water and her smiling mouth held tightly to her ball. Then they walked together to the back steps of Lauren’s beach house, Emma bumping her head against her best friend’s hip for scratches behind the ear.
Like every other day, Lauren took her time on the walk back, luxuriating in the warmth of the sand under her feet, the grittiness as it smoothed her heels and slid up into the cracks between her toes, the spray as she kicked it with every single step she took. There was a strange sense of safety in these tiny grains of sand. For a couple of hours every day, it was like the beach erased every single scar on her body, forming her into a new person.
It usually only lasted until she returned home, however; when she had to get back to work.
Lauren spent her mornings in the town of Slightuckett, RI, far from the city she used to know—or any cities, really—and acted as one of the only doctors within a five-mile radius. She treated citizens of all ages, and was well-known here, even after only a couple of years where most of the town people had lived here all their lives.
She would see her patients in line at the grocery store and ask about how their children or spouses were feeling. She knew everybody by name and they knew her as “Dr. Stanton.” A few lucky ones got to know her as Lauren. But nobody knew about her past, which she kept close to her chest, hidden away deep inside her, behind polite smiles and chitchat.
Her clinic opened at half-past six AM and Lauren often found herself working the early morning shift, which she didn’t mind in the least. She was the only person, doctor or nurse, that didn’t have children to take care of in the early mornings—unless you counted Emma, who had to be fed and walked before sunrise—or a spouse to spend those last moments of nightlight with before the sun broke through and forced them both from the warmth of their bed.
Very few patients came in during the opening hours, anyway. The ones that did usually needed a dose of medication that they weren’t allowed to keep in their own home and had to be administered by Lauren or whatever nurse was unlucky enough to be scheduled at the same time. The real rush began at ten, when parents came in with flu-stricken children, or tiny babies and toddlers that needed their checkups. There were a few regulars that showed up; seniors with arthritis or respiratory issues; college students coming in for free condoms or to receive their monthly notes for birth control, or just to take advantage of their school-paid insurance plans, which allowed visits every two weeks for anything they needed, at no extra cost to them.
By the time Lauren’s shift was over, at two in the afternoon, she could feel the blisters on her feet, the scars burning under her clothing, injuries that had long faded giving her aches like they’d been left there last week. The office was a ten-minute walk from her beach house and the beach was less than two more, but the second Lauren stepped foot on the warm, early afternoon sand, she felt the stress melt away. The tension was always gone from her shoulders by the first time she threw Emma’s ball in the direction of the ocean.
Today had been no different, of course, but Lauren couldn’t help but feel as if something was…missing. She tried to shake the feeling off as she ascended the steps to her cozy beach house. It was tinier than most that lined the coast, but that was just fine with her. Perfect, actually. Why buy a house with all that space when you didn’t need it?
Her current home had everything she needed and nothing more; a bedroom with a balcony overlooking the ocean, a kitchen just big enough to fit all her utensils, pots, pans, and appliances, with an attached dining room, a sitting room with a fireplace and bookshelves built into the walls, and a fence around the front of the property, keeping trespassers out. Even better, Lauren could see anybody approaching her house from the windows in her sitting room. The view was clear enough that anybody who so much as turned the corner was visible to her, nearly any time of day.
As she reached the deck behind her house, Lauren tossed her flip flops under her patio table and stretched her limbs, smiling contently as the light ocean breeze and the sound of waves lapping against the shore. She was done treat
ing patients for the day, but a pile of paperwork awaited her on the table, held down by a couple of heavy medical journals she often took home with her from work. This is where she came after her beach walks; an attempt to balance her work life and her after-hours relaxation.
Before, when she was still living in an apartment and dragging herself through the door at all hours of the night, she might have poured herself a glass or two of wine while she pored over the papers at her kitchen table, her feet propped up as her eyes and pen scanned over words that she was too tired to read.
But that was before Slightuckett; before working at the clinic and living among people who all knew her name and smiled as they passed her on the street; before Emma; before…it.
Lauren shuddered and it wasn’t because of the wind on the bare skin of her arms. She shook any thoughts of cities and concrete and dim streetlights out of her mind as she sat down with Emma at her feet, nibbling on her toy. There was a cooler next to the table and Lauren reached inside for a bottle of water, cracking it open and taking a long, refreshing sip.
She hadn’t had wine in nearly three years now. Nor had she had anything else with the ability to make her lower her defenses. And, she’d vowed, she never would again.
Emma nuzzled her ankle and Lauren reached down, scratching that spot behind her ear that made the retriever arch into her touch, her tail thumping on the hardwood floor of the deck. She’d gotten Emma not long after she arrived in Rhode Island, from the daughter of one of her deceased patients.
Mrs. Pollack had been sick with Dementia for a long time, her mind deteriorating to the point that she was never allowed to be left alone. The last time she’d come to see Lauren, she hadn’t even known who her daughter, Claire, was. Nor did she have any idea who Lauren was. Every few minutes, she asked who they were and where she was, not recognizing her surroundings in the slightest. Claire Johnson had held her hand as tightly as possible as she continued to remind her mother, over and over again, that they were at the doctor.