by Bella Andre
Rosa had learned early on in Hollywood that if she didn’t keep the walls around her heart tall and thick, she wouldn’t be able to survive it. But she’d never been tested like this. Never wanted to drop all her walls so that she could let someone else in.
“Drake—” Every inch of her ached to be back in his arms. But she needed to be stronger than that, needed to force herself to close the door behind him for good this time. “I can’t go with you.” She held up her hand before he could come closer. “And you can’t kiss me again to try to convince me either.”
“You’re right, I can’t if you don’t want me to. But you can kiss me again anytime you want. And when you do?” His eyes grew even darker. Even hungrier. And were so sexy that she nearly melted into a puddle of goo as he said, “All bets are off.”
She shook her head, hoping that might clear it. When it didn’t, she decided to try another approach. “We shouldn’t even be having this conversation right now. I don’t have any clothes on.”
His mouth curved up, but he still didn’t drop his gaze from her face. “Then put some on and come back with me.”
Clearly, he wasn’t the kind of man who was used to taking no for an answer. “I still don’t understand why you want to paint me so badly.”
“You make me remember why I love it.” It was the most beautiful, heartfelt thing anyone had ever said to her, and she was still reeling from it when he grinned and added, “And you make me remember why I love kissing too.”
She shouldn’t have laughed. Shouldn’t have encouraged him, especially when she was still nearly naked. But how could she stop herself from laughing when he was so gorgeous and persistent and wonderful?
The laughter felt strange in her chest, her throat. And not just because she had barely even smiled in the past two days. It was more that she hadn’t really laughed in years. She frowned, wondering if that could be true.
Had she really not laughed in that long?
She looked up into his eyes when she felt his fingers lightly stroking her cheek. “Come to my cabin. Sit on the leather chair with Oscar. Let me paint you. We don’t have to make it any more complicated than that right now.”
He wasn’t lying—she already knew that Drake Sullivan simply wasn’t capable of it. And yet she also knew not complicated couldn’t possibly be true. She needed to be brave enough to lay out the consequences for him in black and white.
“I want you, Drake. There’s no point in pretending I don’t. So if I come back to your cabin, we both know where it’s going to go. Where we’re going to go. And I can’t let us go there when I’m not—” She couldn’t look into his eyes. “When I’m not good enough for you.”
She both felt and saw the frustration that fueled the light pressure he put on her jaw so that she had to meet his gaze again. “Like hell you aren’t.”
“I know you don’t watch reality TV,” she shot back, “but if you knew more about me and my world, you’d get why people would judge you if they found out you and I even know each other.”
“And if you knew more about me and my world,” he echoed back, “you’d get why I don’t give a damn what other people think. Especially when I know they’re all dead wrong—and that the only thing that matters is what I think. What you think.”
Every argument she made, he came right back at her with his own. She hated herself for even considering saying something about his parents—but she had to do whatever it took to save him, didn’t she?
“What about your father? What about how you said he was obsessed with painting your mother? What about what happened to him after she left?” Every word tasted sour on her tongue, and her stomach clenched so tightly she felt sick from poking him right where they both knew he hurt.
A muscle jumped in his jaw, but he didn’t back down. Didn’t back away. “Maybe—” His jaw tightened even further for a moment. “Maybe being with her was worth it.”
Rosa’s eyes went wide. “But...you said...I thought...”
She couldn’t even think a straight thought right now, let alone speak one aloud.
“I’m not going to pretend I have all the answers, Rosa. Hell, I’m not going to pretend that I’ve got any answers at all right now. All I know is that I’ve suddenly started to see things differently. Black used to be black and white used to be white. But as soon as you showed up on my cliffs?” He stroked her cheek, a feather-light touch that rocked her all the way down to her core. Rocked her in ways she hadn’t known a man could. “You started to change everything.”
“But what if it’s a bad change?” The words spilled from her lips as if from a faucet on full blast. One propelled by all the fear she’d been trying to keep at bay for so long—a soul-deep fear of making changes in her life that might end up being the wrong ones.
His slow grin warmed her like a beam of sunshine. “I don’t need to know where things will end up to be sure that I don’t want to go back to how things used to be.”
“I don’t want to go back either.” It was the only thing she was sure of, the only thing that hadn’t wavered in the past seventy-two hours. No, the second thing. Because she’d been drawn to Drake from the first, and she couldn’t even imagine that changing.
Yesterday, she’d told him she wasn’t a victim. But if she never took another risk, then she’d be proving herself a liar, wouldn’t she? Yes, Drake was dangerous. Shockingly so, considering how much she wanted him—and not just his body or his hands on her. Because if she was being totally honest with herself, it was his heart that she wanted most.
Right now he wanted to paint her, wanted to kiss her. But what if that was as far as it ever went? What if she let herself fall...and he didn’t fall with her? And what if she not only had to crawl back to her family and the TV show, but also had to do it with a broken heart? What would be the point of putting her walls up then, when behind them she was already destroyed?
“Oscar misses you.”
Drake’s words yanked her from her infinite worries spiral. “Oscar?”
“He’s been a mopey mess since you left, just keeps staring at the door wishing you’d walk through it.”
Though her worries were still spiraling around and around, sunshine began to break through anyway. Just the way that lone beam of light had fallen on her in the middle of the storm on the cliffs two days ago.
“Are you playing your dog card to get me to come back with you?”
“I am,” he said with another gorgeous grin. “But only because the apple pie didn’t work.”
This time when she laughed again, it didn’t feel quite as rusty.
Maybe he was right—maybe everything didn’t have to be quite as complicated as she was making it out to be.
And even if it did turn out to be the most complicated, messy thing she’d ever done?
Maybe, just maybe, he was also right that it would still have been worth it.
“If you wouldn’t mind waiting outside,” she said, suddenly feeling shy about her near nudity even though she’d been wearing only a towel the entire time they’d been talking—on top of already having been wrapped naked around him, “I’ll put my clothes on and go back to your cabin to see your dog and eat your pie.”
When he grinned at her before turning around and heading for the door like the gentleman he’d been from the start, Rosa suddenly wished she knew how to paint.
Simply so that she could capture him forever the way he’d already captured her.
Chapter Twelve
Rosa smiled shyly at Drake as she stepped out of her motel room ten minutes later. “Sorry I took so long. I was having a hard time getting the tangles out of my hair.” She seemed more than a little nervous as she ran her fingers through the silky strands. The sound of a car door slamming out in the parking lot made her jump and reach into her bag for her big sunglasses. “We should go.”
He hated how she felt like she needed to hide from the world, all because some asshole had taken and sold those pictures of her. But considering ho
w hard it had been to convince her to come back to his cabin, he didn’t want to risk his luck by pushing her on it right now.
But he wouldn’t stop himself from putting his hand on the small of her back as they headed across the second-floor landing to the stairs. Now that he’d touched her, kissed her, he couldn’t stop wanting to do it again. And again. And again.
Lord, the way she tasted.
Just thinking about how sweet she’d been, how eagerly she’d wrapped herself around him, how soft her skin had been, made Drake call upon every ounce of control he possessed to keep from spinning her around against the motel wall so that he could devour her.
He’d promised not to kiss her again—and he meant it, even if it killed him to keep that promise. He hadn’t planned on jumping her when she’d opened her door, but as soon as he’d looked into her eyes, primal need had taken over. He hadn’t been thinking, hadn’t even realized what he’d done until she was in his arms, kissing him back with just as much hunger. Just as much need.
But this thing between them was bigger than a kiss. Because Rosa wasn’t just a woman he desired. She made him want to take risks. Big ones. Even if it meant taking a hard look at his long-held beliefs about what had happened between his parents.
Drake had always assumed that if his father had it to do all over, he would never have let his mother become his all-consuming muse. But had Drake assumed wrong? Neither Drake nor any of his siblings had ever asked their father that loaded question. Hell, the five of them had hardly even said Lynn Sullivan’s name aloud during the past thirty years. No one in the extended family did either, as if they all knew that simply talking about her was as good as handing their father a match for a loaded powder keg.
But now there was this whole mystery of why his father suddenly wanted to give his paintings of their mother to each of them. What could have changed?
Drake got into the driver’s seat beside Rosa, and when she smiled at him, he was glad to have a reason to push thoughts of his father to the back burner. For now, he only wanted to concentrate on her. And as he let himself really drink her in, he suddenly noticed what she was wearing.
Yesterday, she had shown up at his cabin in sweats. Today, though, she was wearing the same Montauk tourist gear. It looked completely different. Closer to couture than five-and-dime.
“What did you do to your clothes?”
She ran her finger over an intricately stitched blue and green pattern along the hem. “I made a few modifications.”
“A few modifications? You’ve turned that sweatshirt into a piece of wearable art.” He knew some damn good fiber artists in the city and was certain they’d be just as impressed. No wonder she’d had the spools of thread and package of needles in her grocery bag. “How long have you been doing this?”
She shrugged, clearly uncomfortable with his question. “A while. Although I don’t normally repurpose clothes. I didn’t have any canvases to work on yesterday, and I needed my hands to be busy to keep from losing it.”
Mentally filing away that piece of information of just how important creating art was for her, he asked, “You stitch straight onto canvas?”
She nodded. “But it’s just a hobby. No one knows I do it. Just my family...and now you.”
When she didn’t meet his eyes, he reached over to tip her chin up the same way he had in the motel room. “Why doesn’t the whole world know how talented you are? That you’re an artist?”
Instead of answering him, she licked her lips, and he couldn’t resist brushing his thumb over the damp flesh. As long as he didn’t kiss her, he wasn’t breaking his promise. But when she shivered and her eyes darkened with desire while her gaze shifted to his mouth, he was hard-pressed not to drag her closer and kiss her breathless.
“Rosa?”
She lifted her eyes back to his. “What did you ask me?”
He nearly groaned from the sexual tension sparking like a live wire between them. He’d never wanted anyone like this. Never had to hold himself back either. “You’re on TV every week, and I assume your family sells certain products to your viewers, right? So why are you keeping your art a secret?”
“It’s not art,” she said first, and then, “You ask too many questions.”
On the contrary, he was starting to see that he hadn’t asked nearly enough. Not just of his father and Rosa—but of himself too. That didn’t mean she needed him to hammer on her right this second, though, so he simply said, “Did you bring your needle and thread? You could use one of my canvases while you sit for me.”
“They’re in my bag, although I’m not sure I want to make anything in front of a real artist.”
He looked down at the hem of her shirt, then back up into her eyes. “You told me not to be modest yesterday, so I’ll say the same to you now. I’d like to paint you while you work, if you’ll let me.”
She bit her lip as she thought about it. Finally, she said, “Okay. But the rules are still the same—you can’t show it to anyone.”
“I won’t.”
He needed to tell her about his sister seeing the paintings, but he didn’t want to risk her changing her mind about coming back to his cabin. Working to justify his decision by telling himself he’d divulge it to her soon, he gently stroked her chin with his paint-covered fingertips one more time, then finally started the engine.
* * *
“Did you paint all night long?” Rosa stood in his doorway with her mouth hanging open. Oscar had given a bark of joy when he spotted her and was now leaning heavily against her thigh while she stroked his head.
Drake hadn’t thought about how this would look, hadn’t been thinking about anything other than praying that she hadn’t yet left town and getting to the motel before she could. There was no point in pretending he wasn’t consumed by painting her. Not when the proof was right in front of her.
“I’ve been painting since you left yesterday.” And now that she was here again in the flesh, he was itching to get at his brushes and canvases again. “Wherever you want to sit, or stand, or lie down—it’s all good for me.”
He was reaching for a brush when he noticed her looking at him with concern in her eyes. “Wait, are you saying you haven’t slept since yesterday?”
“I didn’t need to.”
She frowned. “Have you eaten?”
“I’m good.” The only two things he was hungry for were Rosa—and the chance to paint her.
“No, you’re not.” She headed into the kitchen with Oscar close on her heels. “I’m not a great cook like you are, but I can make sure you don’t starve, at least.” She opened the fridge and pulled out cold cuts, cheese, pickles, and mustard. She found a loaf of bread on the counter and grabbed a plate from the open shelf above the sink.
Even watching her make a sandwich fueled Drake. Both as an artist, as he worked to capture her making a sandwich in his kitchen—and as a man, when she popped a piece of turkey into her mouth, then licked off her fingers.
Lord, did he ever want to slide his tongue along her skin.
“Come eat,” she said a few minutes later, pushing the plate and a soda toward him on the small, tiled kitchen counter.
But he didn’t want to waste one single second of this chance to paint her live and in the flesh. “Thanks, I’ll grab it in a bit.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m going to have to force-feed you, aren’t I?”
He didn’t bother answering, not when he was utterly focused on capturing her expression—the slight tilt of her mouth as she scolded him, along with the light flush in her cheeks that had remained in the wake of their kiss.
“Open up.”
Drake was taken unawares by the sandwich pressed to his mouth. But though he did as she asked—ordered, actually—he was barely aware of what he was tasting. All he could focus on was how close she was standing between him and his canvas, and how good it was to have her nearly flush against his body.
“I’m going to stand right here until you finish this.”
He took another bite, then washed it down with the soda in her other hand. “It’s good,” he said as he finally registered the taste. “Really good.”
Her smile came fast and beautiful, one dimple flashing. “Thanks.” He wished she’d take his compliments about her artistic skills as easily as she took one about a sandwich.
After he took another bite, she took one out of the other side. “Mmm,” she said around her mouthful, “it is good.”
Funny how much more intimate it felt to share a sandwich with her in his cabin than any five-star dinner with white tablecloths and dim lights ever had. Intimate enough that he couldn’t wait any longer to tell her, “My sister dropped by unexpectedly this morning. She saw the paintings, but she’s promised not to tell anyone.”
About to feed him another bite, Rosa lowered the sandwich. “She will.”
“Suz is a master secret keeper. It’s what she does for a living—she makes sure that companies can keep their computer systems totally secure.”
But Rosa was shaking her head. “These paintings were just supposed to be between you and me. Not you, me, and your sister.”
“Other than an oath signed in blood, I don’t know how I’m going to get you to trust me when I say that she’s not out to hurt you.”
“What did you tell her about me?”
“Only that we’d just met and I wanted to paint you.”
“Was she horrified?” Rosa didn’t wait for him to answer. “Of course she was. No one would want their brother to get mixed up with some reality TV trash in a nude photo scandal.”
He put his hands on her shoulders. “If you’re trying to piss me off by insulting both yourself and my family all at the same time, it’s working.” Her eyes widened. “The only thing she’s horrified by is what happened to you. She told me she wished she could write a program that would erase the pictures off the Internet forever—that she’d been thinking about ways to protect people from cyber harassment for a while now.”