by Eve Langlais
‘You’ll see.’ Which was useless, as far as reassurance went. But his quick wink settled her mind a bit. ‘I have to talk to people now, Hattie.’
‘Right. Just, first, this is my mother.’ She’d joined them in the centre of the room.
‘Pleasure to meet you, Mrs Bell.’
‘And you, Tom. I hope we’ll be seeing a lot of you in the future.’
Hattie saw his eyes twitch. They hadn’t made any decisions or any promises. She still didn’t know how much Tom wanted to be involved in the baby’s life, let alone her life. Though, judging from his reaction to her in the purple dress, he still wanted something.
‘Mum, he’s got important people to talk to.’
‘More important than the mother of his child?’
‘Mum!’
‘It’s okay,’ Tom reassured them. ‘I would like to meet you again another time, Mrs Bell. But I’m afraid I do have obligations this evening. I hope you enjoy the show.’
They wandered past the landscapes first. Urban architecture made to appear fragile against the onslaught of nature. There were amazing collages of images juxtaposing texture and colour and form to create something magical from the everyday. It was fascinating to Hattie to see the world from Tom’s perspective. There was something in his photographs that reflected his fears. Man was ultimately powerless in these images. The strongest, toughest man-made structures could still be invaded and brought down by the creeping growth of natural structures. He was hopeless in his surrender, only able to observe the defeat, powerless to stop it.
They made Hattie want to weep for him. Pregnancy hormones, obviously. She fumbled in her bag for a tissue and hoped that her mascara was waterproof.
‘Oh. Hattie.’
She looked to see where her mother was pointing and then wondered how she hadn’t noticed it before. The whole wall at the back of the gallery was taken up with just one image. Unframed, it had been made to appear as though it was painted directly onto the plaster of the wall. Hattie walked towards it as if in a trance.
She didn’t remember him taking this. It wasn’t from the shots he’d set up. She was sitting on the floor, near the fireplace of the huge drawing room. Her old cardigan had been pulled over the white nightgown he’d made her wear. Someone must have just said something funny because she was looking up and her eyes were alight with laughter. Her hair was bright with sunlight and her skin luminescent. Larger than life, literally; but it didn’t attempt to disguise the fact that, in life, she was large.
‘You’re beautiful,’ she heard her mother whisper, as though she’d just discovered an extraordinary truth.
It was true. In that moment, captured and enlarged by Tom, she was beautiful. Other people were mesmerised by it, too. She saw them, trying to walk away, have conversations, look at other pictures, but compelled to keep turning back, shoot glances over their shoulder, step closer again.
She felt the same. She never wanted to stop looking at it. She’d always believed that she was beautiful. Had no shame in her body. Others had seen it, too – the woman who’d done the pastel drawing of her at the life drawing class had known it. But Tom had done something more. He’d shown her beauty to the whole world. She’d never have to defend it to anyone, never have to explain to them, never have to overcome their prejudice. She could just show them this picture.
‘There are others, Hattie.’ She glanced at her mother, surprised to remember she was still there. She gestured to another part of the gallery. ‘I think you should look.’
So she did, with a last lingering look at herself on the wall. In the next section, she found the images she’d been expecting. The cobweb photo she’d seen on Tom’s laptop. A couple of nude shots. Then she was surprised to find some of the pictures he’d taken for her portfolio. They were good, but they weren’t the sort of thing she’d expected in an art gallery.
‘He loves you.’
Hattie shook her head.
Her mother smiled. ‘Look at them again, Hattie, and ask yourself what Tom sees in you.’
Her vulnerability. He’d told her that. But there was more. He’d captured her sense of fun and her confidence. He’d shown her strengths and her weaknesses. She was there in his pictures. Alive, as three-dimensional as in her own body. And loved.
She could see it now. There was a tenderness in the portraits that she hadn’t noticed at first. A care for the person at the heart of them. They wanted to show that she was special, cared for, protected, loved.
Which made the shock of the last picture all the greater.
Hattie shuddered, flooded with memories of that day on the shoot. Her fear of the horse, trying to relax, then losing control, terror rising, flying through the air...
‘It’s okay. You’re safe now.’
Tom had his arm around her waist and his head bent close to hers.
‘I don’t know why it scares me so much. It’s just a picture.’
His lips twitched. ‘They’re all just pictures, Hattie. But it’s my job to make them mean more than that.’
‘They do. You’re good.’
‘This one brings back bad memories, too, probably.’
‘It wasn’t the best day.’
‘No.’ He seemed to be struggling to find words to speak next. ‘I wanted to leave it out of the show.’
‘Why?’ It was a good photo. It worked with the theme of the exhibition.
‘I was ashamed of it. You were in danger and I just took photos of it.’
‘Tom...’ She turned to him.
‘No, let me finish. I felt guilty. You know that. You know why.’
‘Lianne.’
He took a deep breath. ‘Yes, Lianne. But I’ve realised something these last few weeks, Hattie. You’re not Lianne.’
She nodded. That was pretty obvious.
‘When you were in trouble, when you were scared, you phoned me.’
‘I didn’t know what else to do.’
‘You did the right thing. You asked for help.’ His face was screwed up with tension. ‘Lianne never asked for help.’
‘Oh, Tom.’ She put a hand on his cheek. ‘You couldn’t have saved her.’
‘I know. I know that now.’
‘I’m glad.’
He smiled. ‘Did you see the picture of you?’
‘Which one?’ she teased.
‘Hattie.’
‘Yes. Thank you. It’s the most amazing thing anyone’s ever done for me.’
‘You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known, Hattie.’
God, where was that tissue? That mascara wasn’t waterproof and she could already feel her eyes misting over again. Tom wiped away her tears with his thumbs.
‘I love you, Hattie Bell. Miss Community Service, 2007.’
He gazed down at her until she shivered with the intensity of it.
‘Well?’ he prompted gently.
‘I love you, too, Tom Metcalfe. So very much.’ She slid her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his. It was a sloppy kiss, wet with tears and chaotic with laughs and failed attempts to speak, but it didn’t matter. It was Tom and he loved her and she wouldn’t have swapped it for any other kiss in her life.
He’d pulled away slightly and was looking down at her earnestly. ‘Will you move in with me?’
She couldn’t have heard him right. She pulled back slightly, enough to see his face. ‘What?’
He smiled, but she could see the tension in his jaw. ‘I want it all, Hattie. The house, the children, the family car. The commitment.’
She closed her eyes and took a breath. ‘You don’t have to do that, Tom. I’m okay with things the way they are.’
‘No.’ He was shaking his head. ‘Love means taking the responsibility. Saying the words. I love you, Hattie, and I want to spend the rest of my life showing you how much.’
‘Do you really mean that?’
‘Hattie, I put together an entire exhibition to show you I mean that.’
She grinned.
‘Not the entire exhibition.’
‘Well, okay. Not the lichen-covered rubble.’
‘But the rest?’
‘The rest is all about you, Hattie. To show you I love you. To show you I’m serious.’ He leaned forward to rest his forehead against hers. ‘Please.’
She took his face in her hands and kissed him again, softly. ‘Oh, yes.’
Books by Ros
Thank you for reading!
If you enjoyed this book, why not try one of Ros’s other stories?
Short Stories
All I Want For Christmas
Table For One
Twelve Days
Last Night of the Summer
Island Fling
Novellas
Reckless Runaway at the Racecourse
The Tycoon’s Convenient Wife
The Oil Tycoon and Her Sexy Sheikh
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About the Author
Ros is a writer, a church worker, a crafter, a blogger, a twitterer, a lazy gardener, and an appalling housekeeper. She lives in a sixteenth century shed in England and is very glad that it has twenty-first century plumbing. She is interested in almost everything except cricket and football (US and UK) and mostly she likes happy endings in fictioyn and in real life. Ros has been writing stories for as long as she can remember, never dreaming that other people would be interested in reading them. A few years ago, she discovered a writing forum on the internet, and has never looked back. Her head–and her hard drive–are full of ideas for fresh, fun, contemporary romances that she hopes you’ll love as much as she does.
No Restraints
Lilly Cain
Copyright © March 2014, Lilly Cain
All rights reserved
Published by Lilly Cain
Cover design by Talina Perkins
Cover image/model – Jason Baca
ISBN: 978-0-988048-83-6
This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
The publisher and author(s) acknowledge the trademark status and trademark ownership of all trademarks, service marks and word marks mentioned in this book. No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file sharing, and e-mail, without prior written permission from the author.
Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
Chapter One
Selene stared at the devastation. Alicia was going to kill her. The office looked like a tornado had struck. “Are you sure this is necessary?” she asked the plainclothes detective standing beside her.
The cop was a woman, but you’d never know it from her shoes. Selene shuddered. She wouldn’t get caught dead in steel toes, even though technically she was supposed to be wearing them at the office. The building was located to one side of the airstrip and their hangar had a full-service garage. The woman gave her a look as if she knew Selene had been mentally putting down her footwear. “Yes. It’s all in the warrant. Investigations into illegal imported goods tend to be thorough.”
Selene sighed at her dry delivery. The investigating officer just had to be female. At least she might have enjoyed bantering with a man. Now her day was blown and she had nothing to show for it. Whatever the police were after, she was certain they wouldn’t find it—there was nothing to find. She and Alicia Davis owned and operated Host Airlines, a micro fleet of small passenger jets and light cargo airplanes. They followed the rules, especially Alicia, who handled all the paperwork. Selene was more the marketing and promotions manager, coming up with ways to increase business while Alicia made the numbers work.
No way was there anything dirty going on.
“Detective Steeves, over here.” One of the uniformed officers pawed through their files. He had a stack of papers gathered up into a box in a way that would make Alicia lose her mind, if she wasn’t off on her honeymoon right now.
Selene leaned against the wall nearest the door and watched the flurry of activity. Alicia had chosen a hottie, to be sure, and the two of them were probably never going to leave the bed in their beachside suite during the two weeks they vacationed in Jamaica, but marriage was a path Selene would never choose. Still, she was not calling Alicia and telling her that the cops were taking the office apart. The crazy girl would be on the next flight back. Selene might not want marriage, might not believe in it at all, but no way would she make her partner leave in the middle of her honeymoon. Moonlit beach sex was the best.
“We’ll be taking your accounting records and all inventory records. A receipt will be provided to you in due process.” The detective motioned the team out the door, but paused long enough to give Selene a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “We’ll be back, Ms. Carter. I advise you not to use one of those fancy little planes to go anywhere.”
In minutes the police were gone. Selene pulled out her chair and sat down. The place was a mess. She picked up the copy of the warrant papers and leafed through them. They made no sense. The cops were looking for illegal goods smuggled across the border from Mexico. They did have a route that passed near the border, but not over. She shook her head. How could they have become suspects? She looked again at the legal mumbo-jumbo on the search papers. It was hopeless.
She needed help. But not from Alicia. She needed someone who knew the ins and outs of the law. She turned the thought over and didn’t like the result. She only knew one person who could help her. Not that he would want to, not after what had happened between them. But her whole life was sunk in this business. She’d invested every cent she owned, as had Alicia, and their chief mechanic and silent partner, Tess Dixon. They’d just reached a critical stage in the company; it was going to grow, or it was going to flop.
An investigation could lead to cancelled flights, bad publicity, even the loss of their license. They’d be ruined—not only her, but the best friends she’d ever had. Selene threw the papers down on the desk. Alicia and Tess were the only friends she had. Most women didn’t like her, or at least they didn’t like her reputation. They never got to know her much further than that. She ground her teeth together. She wouldn’t disappoint Alicia and Tess. She’d beg for help if that’s what it took.
Like it or not, she needed a cop. A very specific, gorgeous hunk of sexy uniform. She needed Detective Tom Barker. She just had to hope he wouldn’t laugh in her face.
* * *
Tom took careful aim and tapped his cue, ever so gently, against the cue ball. He stood up to watch it tap his third ball into a corner pocket. A hard slap on his shoulder, before the ball even clinked into the hole congratulated him on what looked like it was going to be his second win of the night. On the other hand, as he looked across the green felt, there wasn’t anywhere to go from here. He bent and snapped the cue quick and hard against the cue ball, sending the white ball to a corner where it would be a bitch of a move to hit anything.
“Good luck, David.”
David laughed—the man never seemed to be in a poor mood, even when he was losing. Tom leaned his cue against the wall and picked up his beer. He took a long swallow and checked his buddies’ game at the next table. No surprises there, just lots of laughter. Some of the tension seeped from his shoulders. A game of pool had been a great idea after getting through his final day of testifying at court. Now, with that over, he had a week’s vacation coming to him. He needed it. This last case had been hard, the recovery of a kidnapping victim from her own father. The Chicago newspapers had jumped on the story and the courtroom had been like a game show, with the m
edia hounding every doorway, relentlessly asking questions he had no desire or right to answer. He just needed to relax.
“What do you think?” a feminine voice cajoled, and Tom looked up from his drink to look at the waitress’s big, brown eyes. Very nice, although he’d always gone for blue eyes and blonde hair. “Want another beer?” She grinned at him, but something about her smile seemed a little too familiar. Naughty, rather than nice. He’d had enough of bad girls.
The possibility of asking Denise, the waitress he’d been considering asking for a little female company during his week off, dwindled. He hadn’t slept with a woman in nearly a year, hadn’t even thought about dating for months. Work and the occasional day out with the guys had become his life. His friends told him he needed to get laid. But every girl he considered, every girl that had attracted him enough to make him think about it, eventually reminded him of a certain bad girl.
“Nah, thanks.”
David rolled the cue ball right into the left centre pocket. The boys crowed, having wrapped up their game, and joined him and David at theirs while they sipped at their beers and made lighthearted jokes about the size of David’s cue. Tom joined them, but he didn’t feel much like laughing anymore. God, it had been a year. You would think he’d have gotten over it by now.
He set his beer on the wall shelf, bent to the table and checked out the angles on his next potential shot.
“Hello, Tom.”
He glanced up. Sweet Jesus. Think of the Devil and there she was. He let his eyes drift down the vision before him, then slowly dragged his eyes back up to the face of the woman standing next to his table. Long, long legs, a sweet curve of hips and a plunging neckline that could bring a lesser man to drool; Selene Carter wore a little black dress like no one else. Her blonde hair was longer now, but her blue eyes were the same—full of mischief and the promise of the kind of sex that sent a powerful longing straight to his groin. He took another look at the shot and listened to his buddies’ sudden silence. A woman like her didn’t just wander into the pool hall.