That sounded amazing. A day on a boat. Sunbathing, laughing, swimming.
“Your whole body just went pliant,” he observed. “That’s a yes.”
“I have to work.”
“Work around it.”
She could. Tami Johnson was a lawyer who kept incredibly crazy hours. Tami wouldn’t be able to meet her until the weekend anyway—if then. “Okay.”
“Gotta get up before noon.” He gathered his art supplies and paper. “Leaving the dock at ten sharp.”
She turned in her chair and watched him walk to her door.
He winked as he grabbed the knob. “ ’Night, Ace.”
“ ’Night.”
He closed the door behind him and she whispered to the room, “Love you, too.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Yeah?” he grunted, pushing into her deeper.
“Yeah,” she breathed, taking all of him. Her legs were wrapped around his waist and he had her ass in both hands, pulling her to him while she held on to his shoulders.
He thrust deep again, his palm wrapped around her neck, his other fingers resting between her butt cheeks and pushing her in closer.
She gasped. He dropped his mouth to her nipple and thrust again.
“Ev.”
“Let go, Ace.”
“Ev!”
“Come for me, baby.”
“Ev. Wait,” she laugh-commanded.
He halted, his lust-filled eyes hazy but coming to hers.
Smiling, she palmed his face with both hands and kissed his lips. “My calf is cramping.” Biting her lip against the pain, she attempted to straighten her leg.
“Damn. I liked that position.” He let her go so they could come apart. “Left or right?”
“Left.” She sat, grabbing her calf and pulling her knee to her chin.
They’d come back to Evan’s studio after boating. Ash and Gloria had gone out on the boat, too, and Sofie and Faith. The girls had a chance to dish while watching water sluice off the muscular, tanned backs of the men who kept cannonballing off the boat’s edge.
“Show-offs!” Gloria had called out.
They’d basked in the hot sun and over a hot grill. Evan made burgers—no turkey this time—and corn on the cob dressed in parsley, butter, salt, and pepper. Faith’s idea. Best corn on the cob ever.
Asher and Evan then had a contest to see who could chug a can of beer faster. Asher won, but Evan argued it was because Ash spilled half his beer down his chest. Charlie took the opportunity to point out the bad boys of Evergreen Cove were alive and well.
Evan had crossed over to her and kissed her lips—which drew very interested looks from Sofie and Faith—and said, “Nope. Down a musketeer.”
Asher had grunted. “Down a stooge.”
At which Evan had pointed out, “If one of us is a stooge, it’s not Donovan, it’s you.”
Charlie hadn’t missed Sofie sucking in a long, long breath and averting her eyes at the mention of Donny, proving he was missed by more than just the guys.
The moment Charlie and Evan walked into Evan’s house, he’d pushed her in the direction of the studio. Despite the fact she was exhausted, she let him. Within seconds, he had her stripped, laid flat on her back, his tongue visiting every part of her from neck to thighs. He’d allowed her to climb on top, and she produced a condom from the pocket of her discarded jean skirt.
He’d grinned his naughty grin and rolled it on. He’d also pointed out, “Need to keep a stash in here, apparently.”
About that, he was right. They did need a stash in here.
Now, he massaged her calf, laying another long, slow, warm kiss on her mouth while he was at it.
Mmm.
Cramp averted, she flopped to her back and realized she’d done so on top of something. A sheet of large, thick paper. “Oh, no, am I on your artwork?”
“Have an idea.”
She sat up. The paper was blank.
“Oh, no you don’t.” She started to stand when he came at her with a variety of colored tubes of paint. “I almost didn’t get it out of my hair last time.”
“Tie your hair up.” He pushed her shoulder until she fell backward. “You always have one of those thingies in your pocket.”
She did, indeed, have a hair tie in her pocket. Nevertheless, she argued, “Evan.”
Kneeling in front of her, his eyes warmed as they danced over her naked body. “Make art with me, Ace.” He lowered his lips and kissed her, and unable to argue with a request like Make art with me, Ace, she gave in. Soon her mind went on vacation and her limbs wrapped around him.
They made art. Blue and red and yellow, and where it mixed purple and green, art. After thoroughly enjoying themselves, they rolled to a nearby drop cloth so as not to destroy the fine wood floors in his studio. Evan sat and tucked her against his front. She’d pulled her hair up as instructed, but noticed a strand had come down.
She held it out and groused at the red paint striping her hair. “Man! I knew it!”
A male chuckle vibrated her against her back. They were speckled in paint from the neck down, and it’d taken some very careful planning to not end up with it in (ahem) places that weren’t safe, but they’d managed.
He dropped his chin on her shoulder, kissing her neck as he did. “You’re sexy and beautiful.” Another kiss, then, “I love that you let me do that.”
Her heart ka-thumped the moment he got to the “I love…” part. She didn’t know what the ka-thump meant—but it felt very similar to hope mixed with fear. She chalked it up to too much sun and paint fumes.
“Now we burn it in the fire pit,” she concluded, studying the painting leaning against a few others. She could make out the shape of her breasts when he had been behind her, and his butt cheeks when she’d ridden him.
“Absolutely not.”
“Evan!” she scolded. “You can see the sex on that canvas.”
His arms squeezed her, painted fingers linking with hers. “I know. It’s amazing.”
“You can’t let Lyon see this! You can’t let anyone see this!”
He chuckled again. “Relax, Ace. I’ll paint in a few more lines, hide the obvious parts. Like that nipple.” He pointed with his free hand.
She gave him a playful slap. “You can’t keep it.”
“Let me keep it.” His soft murmur against the shell of her ear made her spine melt against his front. “I don’t burn art, Ace.”
Her thoughts, and her attention, went to the stack of dark art leaning against the wall. The paintings of smoke and billows, smears and smudges. “I see,” she murmured.
His head turned as he looked with her. She said nothing, not sure if it was her place to ask.
His arms tightened around her. “I dream of Rae.”
Charlie squeezed his fingers. She was right about the paintings. They were sad. “This would be an appropriate time to say I’m sorry,” she whispered.
He kissed her neck and murmured, “You’re sweet, Ace.” His soft chuckle tickled her skin. “Outside and in.”
Warmth unfurled in her chest, but her eyes hadn’t left the paintings. “Why do you keep them?”
“They’re the truth. Always been honest.”
He was. Evan always told the truth. “You’re beautiful, Ev,” she returned quietly. “Outside and in.”
Turning her, he kissed her mouth, this time long and slow and oh-so-smooth, his arms skimming over her nude body.
When they broke apart, her eyes went to the painting of them they’d just created. “But why keep this one?”
His arms had wrapped around her once again. He gave her a squeeze. “Never want to forget.”
Her eyes closed, her heart sliding into her throat and clogging her next breath. His words were sweet, and said while his lips rested against her ear. What she didn’t know was if he never wanted to forget because this was the beginning of something that would last forever… or if he never wanted to forget because this was something that would soon end.
<
br /> Well. She would have to avoid reading into it.
She was still trying not to read into it when he helped her up and carried her into the bathroom closest to the studio. And when they showered. And when she pulled on one of his T-shirts and crawled into his bed upstairs.
She especially tried not to read into it when he said, “ ’Night, Ace,” kissed the back of her neck, and crawled in behind her, wrapping his arm around her waist.
The more she tried not to think of it, the more she did. Thought about all of it—every angle, every possibility, every minute breath, utterance, or slide of his turquoise eyes.
Which was likely what kept her awake until the wee hours stretched into dawn and beyond.
Tired was settling in when Evan’s phone rang. Letting loose a sleepy groan, he reached to the nightstand and promptly knocked the phone to the floor.
She laughed and he grumbled, but she thought it sounded like a laugh through the grumble, which made her smile despite being epically sleep-deprived.
“Yeah?” he said in a rocky morning voice as he rolled back onto the bed.
She was stroking a hand on his back, admiring the planes of hard muscle with a soft touch, when those muscles grew harder. Taut. Rigid.
“Where?” His voice had gone as rigid as his body. “I’m on my way.” He tossed off the blankets and stood, phone resting between shoulder and ear. In a tone sharper than before, he repeated, “Yeah, Pat, I’m on my way.”
Pat?
Oh no.
“Lyon?” Charlie guessed, her stomach sinking.
Evan, naked, pulled on jeans and a T-shirt. “Fell on the diving board. Cracked his head.” The cell was still in his hand, and he spun, searching the floor. “Where are my shoes?”
“When?”
“Just now. They’re driving to the ER,” he said while searching, tossing dirty clothes over his shoulder. Then his voice got loud. “The fuck are my shoes?”
Heart hammering, stomach tossing, she scrambled out of bed. “Ev.”
Aiming his loud, angry voice at her made her bristle. “Why Pat and Cliff bought a goddamn pool with a goddamn diving board is beyond me. Too old for that shit.”
She had already pulled her sundress over her head. “Is Lyon okay?” He was being irrational, but she understood why.
He spun on her. “He needs stitches. That sound okay to you, Ace?”
Pins and needles prickled her from head to toe. Partially for his anger, partially because stitches sewn into the kid she loved more than life itself was… scary. Tears of worry burned the backs of her eyes.
He turned and jogged down the stairs, calling behind him, “Lock up when you leave.”
Leave?
“Evan! Wait.” She heard keys jingle and the door open, catching up to him at the side door. He paused long enough to poke his head back in. “Wait,” she repeated. He waited, but his brows were creased, that Downey look of determination etched into his features. “I’m coming with you.”
“Charlie, I don’t have time—”
“I’m coming with you,” she stated more firmly. “Let me run home and get dressed before we make an hour-and-a-half drive to Fairport. In the meantime, you can put on socks and underwear, which you will need later when we’re stuck at the hospital longer than we’d like to be.”
His eyes narrowed, but she could tell she was getting through.
“You’re upset. I can drive.”
“You’re not driving, Ace.”
Well. Worth a shot.
“At least grab some granola bars while I’m getting ready. Pat and Cliff will refuse to leave Lyon’s side and likely be starving when we get there.” She knew the Mosleys. That’s exactly the way this would play out.
He dropped his keys in his pocket, a sign he was going to wait for her. But the miserable expression, the worry in his eyes, intensified.
“Ace.”
She reached up and palmed his cheek. “He’s in good hands. We’ll get to him as quickly as we can. May want to pack a change of clothes if we have to stay the night.”
Something severe crossed his face. His eyes narrowed and he reached for her, squeezing her hand and then pulling her into him the rest of the way. She went to him, allowing him to fold her in as she held him.
“My boy.” The two words were spoken roughly, into her hair, and in a broken tone similar to the night he called about Rae.
Charlie’s stomach flopped.
But she had to be strong and not let that break her. They had a long drive to make and someone needed to be levelheaded. She pulled away, looked into his eyes, and put her hand on his cheek. “I know, baby.”
“If—”
“No, Ev.” She shook her head. If nothing. There was no if when it came to Lyon. He was going to be fine. He was going to live a long, healthy life. So was Evan. So am I, Charlie decreed, sending a look up to the heavens and silently saying, Right, Rae?
To which she’d like to think Rae cocked her head to one side and affirmed, Damn straight!
Evan took her hand from his face and squeezed her fingers. “I’ll pack. Ten minutes.”
“Ten minutes,” she confirmed, then grabbed her purse from the sofa, bolted out the side door, and sprinted to her house.
Twelve minutes later, they were on the road. She kept up a constant stream of chatter the entire drive to try and distract him, but it was useless. Plus, she was just about talked out. She’d jabbered on about everything she could think of while he remained mostly quiet, his eyes alert and frowning at the windshield.
The trip was almost over, and she was relieved. She couldn’t take much more of his worried silence.
Giving up, she grasped his hand and twined their fingers. He squeezed, a light squeeze, but the action relaxed her. “Here for you, Ev.”
He spared her a glance and his lips lifted the slightest bit. “I know, baby.”
She sagged back in her seat, feeling more tired thanks to worry piled on top of her sleepless, and active, night. Her eyes closed on their own, but he spoke, making her instantly alert.
“Messed up,” he said.
“Sorry?”
“I messed up,” he reiterated, louder this time. Untangling their fingers, he put both hands on the wheel. “Acted like a kid—an irresponsible kid while my kid—my only reason for breathing in and out—was bleeding—”
She heard his voice go taut, fighting through what may have been tears.
“Bleeding from his head in Pat and Cliff’s swimming pool,” he finished.
“That wasn’t your fault,” she interrupted, unwilling to let him take the blame.
“Wasn’t it?” Again, he turned his angry tone on her. “I didn’t insist they come take him this week so I could paint? So I could get into your pants?”
She sucked in a breath, telling herself he was worried and didn’t mean what he was saying. But, ouch.
“Rae was right. I can’t be a good father and embrace this other side of me at the same time. Drawing takes everything I have. It takes away from my son. Erases all reason. Sucks every last brain cell out of my head.” He banged his palm on the steering wheel, making Charlie jump. “Damn it! I should have been looking out for my kid, not fucking around in the studio with Asher.” He tossed a hand in her direction. “With other shit that doesn’t matter.”
Wow. That hurt worse. A physical pain curled up next to the worry and lack of sleep and settled in for the long haul.
He fell silent and Charlie didn’t say another word.
* * *
Lyon was crying and hadn’t stopped, according to Pat, for the last hour. That was when he’d insisted on a mirror. She finally relented and handed over a small compact from her purse.
It hadn’t been the stitches to send him into tears, though Evan was not surprised. Lyon was half Rae. Rae had a stomach of steel and had always been fascinated by blood and guts. Their kid, as it turned out, was like his momma in that way.
No, what had Lyon’s bottom lip dragging the top o
f the hospital sheet was what they’d done to prep him for the stitches, and soon, the MRI.
They’d shorn his hair.
“Poppa has short hair.” Cliff gestured to his graying head.
“You have no hair!” Lyon argued, more fat tears rolling down his cheeks.
“It will grow back, sweetheart,” Patricia said, running a hand over the part of his head not sewn together. “I think you look handsome.”
“I don’t want to be handsome. I want to be cool!” This sent him into another slack-jawed crying jag. Evan couldn’t take it one more second.
He climbed into bed with his son, scooting him over and wrapping an arm protectively around his small shoulders. He addressed Pat. “Can you get Charlie? She’s in the waiting room and would probably like to come back.”
“Sure, sweetheart.” Her hand left Lyon’s head.
“I’ll come with you,” Cliff said, following her out.
Lyon’s tears stopped like a shut-off water main. “Aunt Charlie?”
“Yeah.”
“Aunt Charlie came?”
Evan smiled down at his son, feeling like a royal asshole. His kid got it. Got it like that.
“Of course she did,” he said, stating what should have been obvious to him over the last two hours. “She loves you. She wants to make sure you’re going to be okay.”
And she wanted to make sure Evan was going to be okay. Which was why she’d talked for most of the trip and had unwrapped a granola bar and practically fed it to him. Shit. He’d been a prick.
“Do you think she’ll like my hair?” His eyes had gone wide, tears drying on his cheeks. Evan shook his head at his boy. This kid. Never would he cease to amaze.
“Oh my gosh! Who is that handsome devil in a hospital bed?”
Charlie, a hand to her chest, her mouth open but smiling, said exactly the right thing, proving to be better at handling pressure than Evan was.
“Name’s Evan,” he teased with a wink, though for all he knew she felt like punching him in the nose for his behavior earlier.
She threw a hand at him. “I’m talking about the very suave younger man with the awesome haircut.”
Lyon beamed, his dimple denting his cheek. “I have a hundred stitches!”
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