Exposed to Passion (Five Senses series Book 3)

by Gemma Brocato

  Recalling how her face had burned with shame and embarrassment when the “popular” girls had singled her out, Rikki empathized with Katie. Bullying played hell with an impressionable young girl’s self-esteem. Her eyes ached with sympathetic tears for her young companion. “You wish what? That you were a little curvier? More accepted? More like Suzannah or Alyson?”

  Katie’s eyes widened. “No! I just wish they’d leave me alone. They’re so hateful. One day, they’re going to push me too far.”

  What had she gotten herself into? Headlines and worry about school shootings and rampages flared flash-bulb bright in her mind. Would Katie do something like that? Would Rikki have, if her own teenage torment had continued? She cast frantically through her memory, trying to recall if any of those kids had been female.

  She put a hand on the girl’s arm and turned her, claiming her undivided attention. The pained expression on her face tugged at Rikki’s heart. “What do you mean, Katie?”

  Katie shrugged and lowered her gaze. “Nothing.”

  “Listen, regardless of what you think, what those girls are doing is wrong, whether someone is bullied by girls their own age or dealing with it from women closer to mine. Unfortunately, ugly little girls grow up to be ugly little women. It is never, ever your fault. Do you understand that?” Katie refused to meet her gaze. “Have you talked to an adult about this? Your parents, or a counselor at school?”

  “Yes. My mom says they’re just jealous. The teacher I confided in told me to ignore them, and she talked to the Suzannah’s parents.” Katie mumbled and shook her head. “But that only made it worse. So now, when I see them coming, I go the opposite direction. I didn’t see them today until it was too late.”

  “You’d never do something drastic, would you?”

  “No! God no! I hate violence.”

  Rikki released the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.

  Katie finally raised her head. “There are better ways to deal with stupid people. I’ve written them letters, but don’t send them. It’s just cathartic to do it. I think that’s the right word.” She shrugged. “I’ve forgiven them for their bad behavior, but not for their sake. I’ve done it for me. I’ve tried humor when faced with them. Honestly, I kind of feel sorry for them, because the joke usually goes over their heads. Then they get mad and accuse me making fun of them.”

  “Have they ever gotten violent with you?” Rikki pushed her cart toward the coffee shop in the corner of the store, gesturing for Katie to walk along.

  “They bump me in the halls at school and knock my books out of my hands. They’ve hacked into my Facebook page and posted a bunch of inappropriate pictures. I shut my page down but that made me feel more isolated, so I opened it back up.” Katie’s steps dragged and she took the bag of apples out of the cart and twisted the opening into a knot. She kept her eyes on the cart and continued. “Suzannah and her dumbass boyfriend, Brett, occasionally throw things at me. Paperclips, pencils. Suzannah prefers fruit. Last week it was a banana, today, an apple. I hope they never pick anything bigger, or canned. I bet it would hurt.”

  Rikki remembered suppressing the urge to hurl a can of peaches at Sherry Hillman. “Are there ever witnesses to this, like a teacher or cafeteria supervisor?”

  “Mr. Kerrigan’s caught them in the halls, but they always say it’s an accident.” The girl chuckled, an oddly triumphant sound. “I’m smarter than either of those two girls and most of their friends. My revenge will be getting out of Granite Pointe and becoming someone. They’ll be stuck here, having babies senior year, and spending the rest of their lives working menial, minimum wage jobs. I’m more ambitious than they are. I’ll go to college, find a good job, and be somebody.”

  Rikki’s heart swelled with happiness. Katie might be the object of bullying now, but she was right. The best revenge was rising above it. It was the course of action Rikki had set out upon when she’d been Katie’s age.

  Making a snap decision, Rikki asked, “Katie, do you have a job?”

  “Nope. I’ve been trying to find one, but I don’t have any experience at anything, so it’s been tough.”

  “My grandfather’s exhibit is going to be at the Maritime Museum. I’m looking for an intern to help me.” Giving this bright girl something to focus on other than her tormentors might help boost Katie’s self-esteem.

  Excitement lit the girl’s face. “Really? What does an intern do?”

  Rikki’s heart twisted, moved by the emotion in Katie’s eyes. “You’d help with correspondence and display. I need someone to work after school at the museum. Once the exhibit moves to the next town, I’ll still need someone to work a couple of hours a week taking care of minor stuff.”

  Katie bounced on her toes and Rikki grinned at her enthusiasm.

  “I can only pay minimum wage, but the experience would be great, and I can write a letter of recommendation for you when the position is over. Plus, I may be able to organize some academic credits you can apply to your graduation requirements.”

  “Omigod, omigod! Really?” Katie clapped her hands together and started to boogie in place, a charmingly awkward display of enthusiasm. The kid trembled with glee. Rikki doubted the girl’s grin could get any bigger. A shining beacon turned on in Katie’s face, all thoughts of her bullying classmates dismissed in light of the idea of having a paying job.

  “What do you think? Can you start next week?”

  * * * *

  Sam’s attention wandered yet again off the homework papers he was supposed to be correcting. The universal law of gravitation wasn’t nearly as riveting as the memory of Rikki Salerno wearing a purple jacket and tight running shorts in the early morning sunlight. He’d resisted the urge to wrap her in his arms when he’d run up on her in the park that morning. A fiery halo had lit her hair, glints of red winking in her messy ponytail. The sight of her when she turned back toward town and ran ahead of him! He’d have been happy to follow her for all twenty-six miles of a marathon. But, his need to talk to her overruled his desire to watch her spectacular behind, so he’d quickened his pace to catch her.

  Rikki had tensed when he’d started ranting about Marguerite Sims. Without knowing how, he’d made her angry again. He didn’t understand it, but she seemed defensive when he’d made disparaging remarks about her boss. He was going to have to watch his comments about the pampered princess when he was around Rikki.

  And, if wishes did come true, there would be a whole lot of around Rikki time. Her image in his mind’s eye—exotic, interesting, and intriguing, all wrapped up in one sexy package…. He fidgeted in his hard teacher’s chair, suddenly uncomfortable with the tightness of his khakis. Thank God, there weren’t any students in the room. That’d be a hell of a thing to explain to a bunch of horny teens.

  Sam glanced at the clock over the classroom door. Oh, hell. He was late for his meeting with Jack. His brother was at Brewzer’s, their most recent construction project. They’d been hired to remodel the Granite Pointe satellite of a popular Boston sports bar. Work had been ahead of schedule, but they’d hit a snag when they tried to replace the grease trap the former tenant had left. It was a stinky, disgusting task that even that guy from television’s Dirty Jobs would have passed on.

  Thank God he didn’t have to climb into the pit to loosen the bolts holding the trap in place. Sam tossed down his pen and stuffed the homework papers in his briefcase. He grabbed his jacket, locked the door, and jogged toward the staff parking lot. His easy lope pushed thoughts of his run with Rikki that morning to the forefront of his mind. The flashback of her when they’d parted company, and he’d run backward to watch her retreat, pinged through him like a bouncy, out-of-control rubber ball.

  Sam arrived at Brewzer’s and found Jack standing outside the alley door, talking on his cell phone. Breathing through his mouth to minimize the stench wafting from the open grease trap, he waited patiently until Jack finished his conversation.

  “Jesus, it smells worse that a cesspit
. Who drew the short straw to climb inside?” Sam asked.

  “None of our guys. Things got a little more complicated when Frank Brewster went to apply for a permit to remove the trap. The EPA got involved. We had to hire an environmentally certified contractor.”

  Frank owned the restaurant and was one of their favorite clients. “Well, shit. I bet he’s pissed. That’ll cost a boatload of cash he hadn’t planned on.”

  “At least our estimate covered some contingencies. It’s not like we didn’t warn him. But the lighted marble bar is now out of the plan.” Jack grinned. He’d argued against the extravagance from the get-go. “Even without it, Frank doesn’t have much room left for any more surprise expenses.”

  A breeze blew through the alley, intensifying the odor. Sam coughed. “All right, let’s take this inside. The smell out here is wicked. Plus, I want to check the supply list for the Sims Foundation project.”

  “Are you sure we have the go-ahead to build these panels?” Jack asked, closing the door behind them and walking to the small drafting table set up in the corner. He pulled a neatly inked list from the bottom of a stack of drawings and handed it to Sam.

  “Yeah. Even if we didn’t, I’d pay for the material and do the job myself. It will be worth it.”

  Jack eyed him speculatively. “Huh? What’s that about?”

  “I’m in lust with the client.” Sam tested the weight of those words on his tongue, then grinned. It sounded about right.

  “Is she the same woman who denied your application for a grant? What the hell, Sam?”

  “No, this is a completely different woman. Rikki Salerno. And from what I can tell, she is nothing like Marguerite Sims. Rikki’s down-to-earth. Not at all like the pampered princess sitting in her ivory tower in Maine.” He scratched his chin while he stared absently at the list he held. “Rikki is gorgeous and has a body that won’t quit. She’s lean and supple, but curved in all the right places.”

  “Yep, that sounds like lust.” Jack laughed. He pulled another sheet off the stack. “Here’s the drawing and cost estimate. You might want to take that to her for a final okay. I can send a crew to pick up supplies tomorrow. Since this is a rush job, I’m bringing Avery in to help.”

  Avery Childers was an employee at the café owned by Jack’s fiancée. The teenage father had started working there after Jem inherited the restaurant from her aunt. She’d hired Jack for the remodel, and Jack had fallen deeply in love with Jem. Much to the delight of Eileen Kerrigan, they’d planned a June wedding. Their mother had already expanded her family by one son when their sister, Pippa, had married Clay Mathers. Mom was definitely after having another daughter. Especially since her future daughter-in-law was a terrific chef.

  “Good idea,” Sam replied, taking the paper from Jack. “Avery can use the extra money. Especially now that he’s enrolled in culinary classes at community college. Tell him we’ll start work this Sunday. That way it won’t interfere with his schedule at the café.”

  “He could start on Friday.”

  Sam shook his head. “I’ve got the photo club field trip. Rikki’s agreed to come along to help out and keep an eye on the kids.”

  “Firelight and starry skies? Seems like the kids might end up being the chaperones.”

  “I won’t lie. The idea of pulling one over on a bunch of teens is appealing. It’s like springtime has brought the worst out in them. I had to break a pair up in the custodian’s closet yesterday.” At the time, he’d contemplated creating a reason to get Rikki alone in the pitch-black space and seeing what developed, pun intended. He’d been as hard as a tree trunk just thinking about it. That condition changed in a hurry when he’d discovered Brett Erskine and Suzannah Cohan taking advantage of the location first.

  “You keep telling yourself that’s why you’re stopping by. You might even convince yourself. That way, when she ends up in your arms, you can pretend you didn’t knock on her door in hopes of a booty call.” Jack snorted and tapped a finger to the list Sam held. “If everything is okay on that list, I’ll send Avery on Friday with the truck to pick up the material and deliver it to the shop. It will be ready on Saturday.”

  “Okay. Listen, I have to jet. I need to drop the club application for a grant and the chaperone information at Rikki’s. I might even try to talk her into sharing a pizza.”

  With any luck, they’d share a little time between the sheets, too.

  Chapter 8

  Rikki minimized her Internet browser and opened the Lightroom program on her laptop. Now was as good a time as any to attempt to organize some of the five hundred images she’d taken around Granite Pointe since she’d moved to her home away from home.

  While the software loaded, the doorbell rang. She glanced out the front window and discovered a semi-truck parked in front of her house. What the heck? Opening the door, she stepped out onto the porch. A large man wheeled a wooden crate with a smaller cardboard box stacked on top up the walk.

  “I think you have the wrong house,” she called from the top step. “I’m not expecting anything.”

  The driver, wearing a filthy jacket with the name Mark embroidered on the pocket, paused and lifted a clipboard off the top of the box. After studying the papers, he shot a glance at the house number posted beneath the porch light. He shook his head. “Nope, according to the manifest, this is the place. You, um…Marguerite Sims? Sims Foundation?” he asked after consulting his clipboard again.

  “Yes. If it’s from the Sims Foundation, it must be for the exhibit. Can you deliver it to the Maritime Museum on Front Street?’

  “Sorry, no can do. I have to deliver it to the address marked. But it’s not from the Sims Foundation. Looks like it’s from some guy named…um, Silas.”

  Rikki rolled her eyes and gestured toward the door. Leave it to her grandfather to send something so large to her house instead of the museum. The crate rattled as Mark maneuvered it up the steps and over the threshold. It probably contained another new aspect of the already re-configured exhibit she’d have to implement. More damn work to do.

  How the hell would she get it to the exhibit? It might fit into the back of her SUV, but there was no way she could lift it by herself.

  The driver handed her the clipboard and while she signed for the container and he deposited the boxes in the middle of her living room. Taking his paperwork back, Mark tore the top copy off, shoved it into her hand, and waved a jaunty goodbye.

  As she closed the front door against the cool evening air, her cell phone rang. “Mars, The Bringer Of War,” the stern, spooky ringtone she’d set for her grandfather. She groaned. Great. As usual his timing was freakishly impeccable. She answered as she walked toward the crate. “Hello Grandfather. How are you this evening?”

  “Ach, Marguerite. It does not matter how I am. I’m checking to see if you got my gift?”

  “Gift? I just received a delivery. You should have sent it to the museum. It’s for the exhibit, right?” Rikki snugged the phone between her ear and shoulder and pulled the packing list free of its envelope.

  “No. Inte. This is for you. It is something you can use. Every photographer should have this.”

  Reading the paperwork, she frowned. “You sent me a portable darkroom? You didn’t need to do that, Grandfather. I have programs on my computer to work with—”

  “Lyssna, Marguerite, listen to me now. I insist you use the film, as I did. You will never understand true light and shadow unless you capture it the old fashion way.” His superior sneer was evident through the phone line. He muttered in Swedish for a moment, then continued, “Manipulating a photo on a computer to create great art is fusk…it is cheating. Young people today are lat, just lazy.”

  This conversation was getting old—like yesterday. Maybe the day before. “Grandfather, please. I don’t want to get into this argument with you again. Technology has changed. Artists are changing along with it. No one does it the old fashioned way anymore.”

  “Jesus Kristus! Marguerite, just
because everyone does it the lazy way does not make it right! Everything you need is in that crate. I sent the chemicals you need to develop the prints. And film. You have my old Nikon camera. You have the tools to make a great picture. I want to see something from you next week, Granddaughter. When I come for the opening.”

  Son of a— She hadn’t expected him to descend until the exhibit went to Baltimore. She hated it when Silas dropped these little bombs. Almost as much as she hated his use of her given name. Barely containing an aggravated growl, she crumpled the shipping manifest in her fist and gritted her teeth. “I’m looking forward to seeing you,” she lied, praying he wouldn’t hear the insincerity in her tone.

  After a short discussion about where he would stay when he came to town, which, damn it all, was her spare bedroom, she hung up. Frustration and anger bubbled their way to the surface and she gave into it. She threw the packing list across the room and kicked the corner of the wooden box. She let out a yell when her bare toes connected with the sharp corner. “Son of a bitch, that hurts!”

  Blinking back pained tears, she hopped over to the sofa to sit down. She’d just pulled her foot into her lap to check for splinters or breakage when the doorbell pealed again.

  Muttering, she lowered her foot to the floor and winced when her big toe made contact with the hardwood surface. “It’s like freaking Grand Central Station here tonight.”

  Limping to the front door, she jerked it open with a scowl on her face to find Sam Kerrigan standing in the waning light. Her heart sped at the sight of him in a casual stance, leaning on one leg, his hand stuffed in the pocket of his jeans. Backlit by the sunset, he resembled a demi-god. Irritation with her grandfather, and pain from her injured toes, melted away at the sight of his smiling eyes and impish dimples.

  “Hi.” A grin curved his lips and pushed those damn creases deeper into his cheeks. Her knees turned to jelly. “I hope it’s okay that I just stopped by. I have an estimate for the panels we talked about last night, some stuff you need to know about the field trip, and the foundation application. Can I come in?” He handed her a sheaf of papers he pulled from the back pocket of his loose fitting jeans.