by Juniper Hart
She wandered through the land for hours and hours, climbing trees and exploring grassy nulls in the wilderness. Several water bottles and granola bars later, the sun was starting to set. Charlotte couldn’t believe an entire day had already gone by, and she really didn’t want to leave. City life was necessary for a photographer, she felt, because how else would she get her photographs displayed? But it was suffocating her. Charlotte felt crammed into her tiny one-bedroom apartment and was claustrophobic even when outdoors. Every place she went was always crowded, and she wasn’t a people person at all. In nature, she was relaxed, but she needed to get back before it got dark. Charlotte let out a heavy sigh, savoring the view of the river she had found nestled in a valley for just a moment longer. Reluctantly turning to leave, Charlotte blinked. Strange, she couldn’t see the trail from where she was standing… Surely she hadn’t wandered too far, right?
Charlotte remained calm. There was no need to panic. Panicking would blow up in her face. Trying to think clearly, she headed in the direction that looked the most familiar. Stepping into the tree line, her eyes searched her surroundings desperately for the trail. Where could it be? Her heart started to thump in her ears as she wandered aimlessly between the trees and along the river, trying to remember when she’d last seen the trail. The entire day she had been so careful to not let it out of her sight, yet somehow she had. Of course a day that had been so wonderful would end dreadfully. Charlotte didn’t have the luck to have a perfect day.
The more time that passed, the more anxiety bubbled underneath the surface. It was getting darker and darker out, and Charlotte began to fear she would have to spend the night in the forest. Oh, she definitely didn’t want to do that. The park rangers wouldn’t be patrolling this far out, and it would get dangerous out there. Shrugging her pack off her back, Charlotte fished out her cell phone and turned the screen on. Damn it. No signal. Soon, a full moon was hanging low in the sky. As Charlotte continued along the river, the trees towered over her like twisted shadow creatures, bowing with each gust of wind. Even though she knew she needed to head into the trees to spot the path, walking next to the water soothed her. With the moon just above the water, it illuminated the river bed. It was much more inviting than the shadows and the eerie aura radiating from the darkness of the forest.
As she reached a bend in the river, a noise shuffled behind her. Hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, her eyes widening. Each thud of her heart was painful as she slowly turned to see what had caused the noise. There was nothing. Was her mind just playing tricks on her? That thought wasn’t a lasting one, the sound of crinkling leaves came from behind the brush lining the forest. It was definitely an animal of some kind… Charlotte turned back around and hurried along, hoping that if she left it alone, it would leave her alone as well. But after a few steps, Charlotte could hear the rustling grow closer. Whatever it was, it was following her. Maybe it was just a squirrel or raccoon…
With another glance back, she noticed the way the moon caught the reflections of two yellow eyes within the shadows just a few feet away from her. She could see the tell-tale almond-shaped pupils of a wildcat. Charlotte stumbled back in fright before steadying herself and breaking into a run. There was a roar from the cat as she darted into the trees, but the woman was no match for the wildcat. In no time, it launched itself at her and pinned her to the ground. The mountain lion’s sharp claws dug into the flesh of her biceps as it lowered its menacing face to hers. The beast's skin pulled back to flash its elongated teeth as it growled at her. Charlotte could see the primal instinct deadening its eyes. She was an invader in its world, and it had the right to protect its home. Charlotte desperately wanted to tightly shut her eyes to brace for her pending death, but the terror made her unable to even blink.
Before the lion could strike, a flash of white tackled it from Charlotte. Hisses and screeches sounded from the cat before there was an unnerving silence. The woman wasted no time to find her footing, backing away several feet before finally glancing around for her savior. The first thing her eyes found, though, was the mountain lion lying dead at the base of a tree. Her wide chocolate eyes went wild to find the thing that had protected her from the beast. Nothing was stirring in the immediate vicinity of Charlotte; all life had already left the area to avoid deadly wildcat. But then, her eyes focused on a pale figure just off in the distance. The glowing silhouette of a man in the moonlight. Without thinking, Charlotte raised her camera to her eye and quickly snapped a picture. When she lowered the camera from her face, the pale man was gone without a trace. How was he so fast? Charlotte was frozen in place, trying to take in all that had happened and how closely she had walked with death.
1
TWO WEEKS LATER
Charlotte stood alone with her champagne flute in hand, not a sip taken from the glass. She wanted to stay clear-headed during the gallery opening, even if her nerves begged to be soothed by a few sips of the bubbly. She had no real reason to be nervous though; her photographs had already sold. Her eyes fixated on the little red plaques next to each one that signified it had been purchased already. They had sold within moments of the gallery opening—the buyer paying three thousand dollars for each of her eight photographs, which was higher than the prices she set. Charlotte had been mingling with the guests for over an hour and had yet to come across the buyer; she wanted to meet the person who liked her work enough to pay such a crazy amount. She was proud of the project, but she didn’t think it was worth twenty-four grand. Perhaps if she were a world-renowned nature photographer, but she was a no-name artist.
Her eyes scanned critically over her display, taking in each picture for the millionth time. She had selected the best photos from the day and laid them out in chronological order, entitling the series, A Day in Washington. The photograph she had taken at dawn, deer grazing in a meadow, a tree that had grown around an abandoned bike, the squirrels, birds flying in a cloudy sky at noon, exposed tree roots at the river’s bend, toads croaking at twilight, and the mystery man in the moonlight. Charlotte’s gaze always fell back to that photograph. It had been hard for her to get it off her mind in the weeks that followed. Her thoughts always raced with possibilities when she tried to find an explanation as to how the man could have killed the mountain lion so quickly and then ran away in the blink of an eye. Charlotte toyed with the possibility that she hit her head when the mountain lion tackled her, and her perspective had just been skewed. But the photograph before her proved as evidence that something was off about the man in it. It was a remarkable picture, and Charlotte was ridiculously lucky to have had captured it. The shadowy foliage outlined the photograph, some of the vibrant greens coming to life by moonlight peeking through the higher branches and highlighting patches of the evergreen leaves. The moon reflected off the shimmering river beautifully and illuminated the shore so clearly that you could make out the rocks that lined the riverbed. And then there was the pale silhouette. In an image so crisp, somehow only his figure was blurred. Not a single detail could be made out of the man. Heck, she couldn’t even tell if he was wearing clothes. It had been the photograph that gained her acceptance into the gallery, she thought, since the person who viewed her portfolio gushed so much over it. Overall, Charlotte suggested it was a good thing she had included it in the project. She had almost kept it for herself.
“Are you the photographer?” a deep voice with an Irish drawl called from over her shoulder. Charlotte nearly jumped out of her skin at the suddenness, not having realized how deep in thought she was. Two cool hands were gently placed on her arms to steady her. Her eyes traveled up the arms of a tailored suit to the face it belonged to. A set of vivid green eyes were burning into her. The man who towered over her by a foot was jaw-droppingly handsome with scruffy facial hair, defined bone structure, full lips, and tousled raven hair. “Sorry there, dove. Didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said musically. “So, are you the artist?” he questioned her again.
“Oh, yes. I’m Charlotte Jone
s,” she said weakly, extending a hand for him to shake.
When his cold hand grasped hers, Charlotte witnessed his eyes take her in. He liked the way her slender yet womanly frame filled out the simple black dress she wore that flared out from the waist and flowed to her mid-thigh, and the black stockings that went just above her knee kept drawing his eyes to her legs that were long for her stature. And her chin-length bob of pecan brown hair framed her soft, angelic face perfectly. He loved the way her doe-like eyes glimmered up at him with curiosity and sheepishness. “Killian Walsh,” he purred to her in a voice huskier than the one he had used previously. “Your work is breathtaking, Miss Jones,” Killian cooed to her, his intense gaze unwavering once he locked eyes with her.
Charlotte could almost feel sparks flying through the air. A man with his good looks was bound to be married or a womanizer, so any flirting would be meaningless and just his nature, right? “Thank you, it means a lot to me. This is my first time showing my photography at a gallery,” she admitted to him with a kind smile.
“You don’t say?” he said, making her brow crease in confusion. “Well, I didn’t know I had purchased the debut collection.”
Charlotte gaped then, staring up at him with nothing but shock and awe. The gorgeous Irishman had bought her photographs? For twenty-four thousand dollars? “You bought the collection?” she breathed, still too astounded to comment any further.
Killian nodded, “Aye. It caught my eye.” His gaze finally left her and went to the portraits on the wall. His eyes were fixated on the last photograph for several moments. “I really enjoyed the sunrise photograph,” he added, his eyes then peeling away from the last picture and landing on the first.
“Thanks. It was quite an adventure getting to that overlook by the crack of dawn,” she chuckled dryly.
“Not a morning person, I take it?” he questioned, glancing to her with humor gleaming in his eyes.
Charlotte shrugged, “Not really. I’m a night owl. The sunrises I normally see are just before I go to sleep.”
Killian delivered a grin that would make any girl weak in the knees. “You’re my kind of lady then.” He winked at her.
A deep blush covered Charlotte’s lightly freckled cheeks. His heart sang in his chest at the sight of it. He didn’t even know the world made humble women anymore. “You have a wonderful eye, Miss Jones,” he complimented. “We all think we know what nature looks like… But then there’s a fresh, unique perspective that brings a whole new beauty to it.”
It was like he was trying to make her blush—and he was trying; Charlotte just didn’t know it. She tried to recover herself, not wanting to look like a little school girl who was too shy to talk. “Well that’s probably the nicest compliment I’ve ever received on my work, so thank you. I take it you’re an outdoorsman? With having purchased such a collection…”
Killian flashed her that heart-melting smile again. “I suppose I am. I spend quite a bit of time in the wilderness.”
“I must say I’m jealous,” Charlotte replied. “It’s easy to get caught up in the city life and lose touch with nature. I was thankful for the project in that sense. It was almost like therapy.”
The slight smile on her rosy pink lips had Killian magnetized. There was something about the woman before him that was simply charming, and he couldn’t shake it. “Well, I may actually be able to help you get more time in nature,” Killian told her with confidence.
“What do you mean?” she questioned, not at all understanding what he was hinting at.
“I want you to do another project for me,” he explained. “This collection is going to go in my office. However, I need something else for another room in my house.”
Charlotte didn’t know how to feel about his request. The man had already spent so much money on her collection. Could she really take more of his money? Well, Charlotte wasn’t taking it; he was purchasing her work from her. A few minutes ago, she didn’t even know him, so the amount he spent on her work was unrelated to her personally. Did she really have a reason to say no to such an offer? Especially with knowing how much he was willing to spend.
“Well…umm… What kind of project did you have in mind?” Charlotte asked softly, wanting to know all of the information before she made a decision.
Killian sighed, “To be completely honestly with you, I’m not sure. I know where I want the art to go, but not what it should be. Something that suits the space.” He looked down at her to see her eyes glazed over a bit, clearly unsure as what to say with how little information he had given her to build on. “I know that must sound vague. Why don’t you come back to my house after this event to see the space? Maybe you can get a feel for the room to help spark an idea for the subject matter.”
Go back to his house? Charlotte was in awe that he had asked her, even for professional purposes. Killian looked and sounded like a dream. She was tempted to pinch herself just to be sure that she wasn’t, but she had to be in a dream. Everything else that day had been painstakingly real, and she couldn’t even blame it on the alcohol; she hadn’t drank anything. “I can’t think of a reason why not.” Charlotte said weakly back at him.
“Fantastic.” His hand brushed against her arm. His fingertips grazed against the scars the mountain lion had left behind, which were hidden just barely by her short sleeves. Something ignited in his smoldering green eyes, but Charlotte didn’t see it, as she was looking down at his hand as his touch glided across her soft skin. Already he hated seeing her perfect flesh marred like that. She radiated such an innocent spirit, one that shouldn’t know what pain felt like. Clearing his throat, he pulled his hand away, “Well, I won’t take up any more of your time. I’ll see you later tonight.” He straightened his tie, turned on his heel, and walked away from her.
She was left swooning like the schoolgirl she was trying her best not to be. Charlotte gave herself a pass though. After all, it wasn’t every day that she was approached by a deliciously handsome man with the most enchanting Irish accent, who had happened to pay six times her asking price. Handsome, charming, rich… Charlotte wondered why he was giving her the time of day. If he had twenty-four grand to shell out on some pictures, she was certain that he could have hired someone to shop for him. And why wasn’t a wife keeping him in arm’s reach? It was all beyond Charlotte’s comprehension.
The event went on, and Charlotte hung around her own display for a while to talk to people who approached her about the project before she wandered around the gallery to take a look at everything else. It was always bittersweet to look at other photographers’ work. She loved looking at all of the different styles and perspectives and drawing inspiration from it all, but being in the field professionally, she couldn’t help but compare each one to her own. It always filled her with thoughts such as, ‘Why didn’t I think of that?’ and ‘Wow, that makes mine look like hot garbage.’ And that gallery was no different. So many photographers showed off such raw talent, polished into beautiful gems that were displayed before her. Even though she hated comparing herself to others, she had a lovely time taking in all of the art. Some of it was so intricate, adding elements of different mediums to bring their stills to life. It really made her want to get creative with her own art, perhaps move away from her traditional form of photography.
When the evening was winding down to a close, a gentle hand touched the small of Charlotte’s back. Her chin turned up to find Killian peering down at her with gentle eyes. “Would you like to join me for dinner before we head back to my house?” he asked her.
“Sure,” Charlotte answered right away. As if she could tell him no. Even though she knew she shouldn’t feel that way, after he spent such an exuberant amount on her art, she felt like the least she could do was go to dinner with him. Not that she wanted to say no, but she wasn’t ready to admit to herself that she was already smitten with a man she had just met. Charlotte knew nothing about him; she told herself that her feelings couldn’t be anything more than infatuation.
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br /> “Wonderful,” Killian smirked, keeping his hand on her back as he guided her from the gallery. “Don’t worry about your car. I’ll get you home tonight and arrange for your car to be dropped off at your residence,” he told her calmly as he paced over to a cobalt blue imported sports car. She didn’t know why she had expected anything less from a man so wealthy. Killian moved to the passenger door and opened it for her. Once Charlotte climbed inside, he gently shut the door behind her. Her eyes immediately surveyed the inside of the car. The black interior was free of any slight blemish, and still smelled new. The dash display was high tech and sleek. Killian then slid into the driver seat and buckled up before taking off down the boulevard. “And don’t you even think about getting your wallet out, dove. This is my treat, all right?” he called over to her.
“Well, considering you just paid me more than twenty thousand dollars, wouldn’t it be like you paying anyways?” Charlotte joked.
A husky laugh sounded from the man. “Aye, you got me there.” Once his mesmerizing laughter died out, Killian shook his head, “I mean it, though, Miss Jones. And I don’t want you thinking about how I bought your pictures. It’s irrelevant for the night. Deal?”
Charlotte studied him for a long moment, appreciating that he didn’t want to use the fact he had purchased her artwork to have power over her. It was rather admirable. A lot of guys would have used it to their advantage to get as far as they could physically. A smile spread across her lips. “As long as you call me Charlotte instead of Miss Jones.”
Killian’s lips tugged into a big grin, “Aye, deal, Charlotte,” he cooed. The way he pronounced her name left Charlotte longing to hear it again. Every syllable was uttered so perfectly, it was almost intoxicating. Like a siren’s call. The soft ch- and elongated arl- followed by a curt pronunciation of the ending sound... She found herself wondering again just how she had been so lucky to have cross paths with Killian Walsh.