He choked on his beer, and after a minute of coughing, he said, "What brought that up?"
"You mentioned the article. I was curious. Of course, you don't have to answer. In fact, you shouldn't answer," she added, her cheeks burning. How could she have just asked him about his sex life?
Amusement filled his eyes. "I can answer if you want."
"I don't need an answer. It's not my business."
"I've never had a threesome."
She was surprised by his response. "Really? I'm sure you've had opportunities."
"Sure, but it's not my thing. I like to give one woman my undivided attention and vice versa. What about you?"
"Same."
"Interesting. As a country music star, I'm sure you've had your share of men hanging around."
"After I became a star, there were a lot more men."
"I'll bet they were around even before that. You're a beautiful woman, Chelsea. And if you ever lost the haunted look in your eyes, you'd be even more spectacular."
"You think I look haunted?"
He gazed into her eyes. "I do. The shadows are deep and dark. They guard your secrets, your pain. I wish you could share the burden with someone."
"I can't," she said quickly. "I told you why."
"I know, and I understand. But you live a quiet life now. Are you still as worried that some press outlet will come digging into your past at this point? They've had plenty of opportunity to talk to your family and friends."
"They did talk to them. For months, everyone I knew was hounded by reporters and photographers. It hasn't been quiet that long. But I have to admit I was starting to relax until Austin showed up. He brings chaos and publicity with him."
"I think you're going to have to talk to him if you want him to leave you alone. Maybe not about your secret but certainly about your desire to be done with him."
"We had that conversation over a year ago. He has something else on his mind besides our personal relationship."
"And you're not a little intrigued?"
"No, I'm not. Most of Austin's ideas are bad." Deciding to change the subject, she said, "What about you? Was there a woman in your life when your accident occurred?"
"Yes. Kaylee Warren."
"Was she a skier?"
"No."
"What did she do?"
He hesitated. "I don't want to answer."
She was surprised at his reply. "Why? You were happy to answer my question about a threesome but not what your girlfriend did for a living?"
"It's a cliché."
"Oh." It suddenly made sense. "She was a model, wasn't she?"
"Yes. A very popular lingerie and swimsuit model. She was on the cover of a lot of magazines."
"Of course she was. What happened between you? Why did you break up?"
"Kaylee liked me better when I was racing down mountains. Visiting me in the hospital, watching me hobble along on crutches, or wheel around in a wheelchair was not her favorite thing to do. Eventually, she just stopped showing up."
"That's terrible."
"To be honest, I was so caught up in my head, in my injuries, in my broken dreams, that I barely noticed she wasn't there. We'd only been going out a few months. It wasn't like it was the love story of the century. It was fun while it lasted. She wasn't someone I thought I could count on, and I was right. She's engaged now to a football player. I hope his career doesn't flame out before the wedding."
"It's so difficult to trust people when you're famous. I trusted Austin, because we knew each other when we were at the very beginning. We weren't famous yet. We weren't stars. It felt more real. But as we grew in stature, our relationship faltered. He wanted the fame part of the life more than I did. We started picking restaurants because he wanted to be seen somewhere. And then there were the groupies. There were so many girls hanging around Austin. It went to his head."
"He cheated on you?"
"At least once that I know of. He apologized profusely. He said it would never happen again. I don't know if it did or it didn't, because we were spending more and more time apart. Our tours were going in different directions."
"Hard to make a relationship work under those circumstances."
"We were definitely more focused on our own stuff. We were done long before we actually split up. That's why I don't know why he's here. There has to be a hidden agenda."
"You can find out."
"Not tonight. I'm not going to talk to him. I'm still going to hope he disappears. Were there any other serious relationships in your life besides Kaylee?"
"As I said, I wouldn't call that one serious. As for other girlfriends, I had a few over the years. I went out with a couple of skiers. But as you just mentioned, it's hard to date someone when your careers are taking you to different countries."
"And you never met anyone who made you want to try to stay closer together?"
"I was consumed with skiing. I lived and breathed the sport, traveling the world to find the most challenging run, the fastest time, the biggest rush of adrenaline."
"All that sounds terrifying to me. I've been skiing probably six times in my life, but I never made it past the bunny slope. Even the lift made me nervous. I would hang on with both hands as we went over the trees. I couldn't figure out why they couldn't just put a bar down, so you wouldn't fall."
"Harder to ski off that way."
"Also harder to fall off," she retorted.
"It would be very, very rare for anyone to fall off a lift. We should ski this winter. I could show you how to feel more secure."
"You said you don't ski," she reminded him.
He shrugged. "I might make an exception for you."
"Why?" she asked curiously. "Why the hard press, Brodie?"
He met her gaze head-on. "I like you, Chelsea. I think we connect on a lot of different levels. And you'd enjoy skiing. If you could find the courage to let go and trust yourself to make it down the mountain, you'd feel free."
"Well, the winter is a long way off." Her nerves tingled from the look in his eyes when he'd told her he liked her, that they were connected. She felt the connection, too. Not just the physical attraction, which was practically sizzling, but the emotional attraction as well. This man understood her better than anyone she'd ever met. While that was good, it was also scary.
She pushed back her chair and stood up. "I'm going to see if Austin is gone."
Brodie followed her into the living room, coming up so close behind her that she could feel his warm breath on her neck. Austin had left. Her porch was empty. She could go home. Relief ran through her.
"It's safe now." She turned around, only to find herself up against Brodie's solid chest, his hands sliding down her hips. "What are you doing?" she asked breathlessly.
"Aren't you a little tired of playing it safe, Chelsea?"
Her lips parted as her heart pounded against her chest. She should say no, she wasn't tired of being safe. She loved that safe feeling more than any other feeling in the world.
But Brodie's eyes were darkening, and his hair was falling sexily over his forehead, and his mouth was so damn close.
"If you tell me no, I'll hear you," he murmured.
She couldn't bring herself to say the word, nor to push Brodie away, as he leaned in, touching his mouth against hers.
The heat was instantaneous. There was no awkwardness, no tentative getting-to-know-you vibe, no hesitation—not even on her part. It was a blast of full-on desire, a release of emotion and frustration and more than a year of putting her passions on ice.
Brodie had been right. She was tired of playing it safe, so she turned off her brain, wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him back for another kiss and another…
She felt a sense of urgency to keep things going, because the second they stopped would be the second she had to come back to earth and deal with reality, which was nowhere as nice as this.
But eventually they both had to come up for air, and when she stared into Brodi
e's dark eyes, she saw a depth of longing that shook her. She wasn't the only one feeling swept away; he was right there with her.
"Chelsea," he murmured.
She didn't know what else he wanted to say, because he couldn't seem to get any more words out.
She licked her lips, still tasting him on her mouth. God! What had she done? She'd just made it so much more difficult to go back to her carefully controlled existence.
"I—I have to go," she finally said, slipping out from under the grip he still had on her hips.
"I'm not sorry," he said, following her to the front door. "I'd be lying if I said I was."
She opened the door, then paused. "I'd be lying if I said that, too. But since we're being honest, what happened just now won't happen again."
"Why not? It was good."
"I told you before—I need to be on my own."
"All right. I can be patient. I won't push."
She smiled at that. "You've done nothing but push."
"I can't argue with that. But it's only because I think you're worth fighting for."
His words touched her heart. She actually couldn't remember the last time a man had wanted to fight for her. But she wasn't going to tell him that. "Good night, Brodie. You don't need to walk me across the street."
"Then I'll just watch you from here. But first—give me your phone."
"Why?"
"Just give me your phone."
She handed him her phone, and he texted himself a message. "Now you'll have my number, and I'll have yours. It's the neighborly thing to do."
She smiled. "Okay, fine—neighbor."
She slipped her phone into her pocket and headed home, feeling his gaze follow her across the street. When she got inside, she locked the door and then looked through the curtain. He was still standing in the doorway. He gave a wave and she found herself smiling long after he went into his house.
Brodie was fun, and she hadn't had fun in a long time. But she needed to be careful, because that kind of fun could also be dangerous.
Chapter Eight
Thursday afternoon, Chelsea asked her students, including Travis, to spend the last hour working on their drawings. She encouraged them to expand on an idea or a picture they'd done earlier in the week and make it better, adding more details, more color, really bringing the image in their head to life.
She walked around during the hour, offering suggestions, so that when she got to Travis's desk, it wouldn't seem out of the ordinary for her to ask him if he noticed anything else about the vehicle in his picture. She tailored her questions as specifically as she could: Was the vehicle a van or a truck? Did he know what color it was? Did the car have a license plate with a number on it?
Travis seemed to hear what she had to say, so she left him to his work and returned to her desk. She pulled out her phone and saw three more texts from Austin, each one pleading with her to call him, talk to him, give him five minutes of her time. She texted back that she was busy all day and night and there was nothing to say.
When he didn't text back, she hoped that was a sign he'd given up and left Whisper Lake. But if he was sitting on her porch when she got home, she was going to have to deal with him. She couldn't keep running away.
As the clock ticked down the last few minutes of the day, she told the kids to finish up and start putting their things away. When the bell rang, most of her students were ready to leave, but Travis was once again lingering behind. As the others left, she went over to his desk. He was slowly putting away his crayons.
"Can I see what you drew?" she asked.
He nodded, as she picked up the picture.
Travis had added lots more detail. The car was now a white van. The flower was on the driver's door. It felt like it was part of a business logo. Excitement ran through her, wondering if the van belonged to the arsonist. The house was still on fire. There was still a figure with an evil smile watching the scene. But there was also a For Sale sign in the yard. She'd known the house was empty, but she hadn't realized it was for sale.
If the arsonist was targeting empty houses, did he have some tie to a realtor? Or was the sign enough of a lure?
It was crazy for her to play amateur detective when her brother was a real detective and working on the case with a fire investigator. They'd no doubt explored the real estate angle.
As Travis put his things in his backpack, she tried to engage him in conversation. "Did you wake up when you heard the sirens, Travis? Did you go to the window and see the fire?"
He gave a negative, shake of his head. "Not supposed to get out of bed."
Which wasn't really an answer. Was Travis afraid to admit he'd been awake, that he'd looked out the window, that he'd seen something, because he didn't want to get in trouble for having gotten out of bed?
"Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night," she said. "And I can't go back to sleep, so I walk around the house. I look out the window. I get something to drink. Do you ever do that?"
"Not supposed to get out of bed," he repeated, not meeting her gaze.
She tried another tack. "Did you see who was driving the van? I wonder if you could draw that person next time. Was it a man? Was he old like your grandpa or young like your dad? Or was it a woman like me?"
Travis stared at her, indecision in his eyes. She held her breath, feeling like they might be on the edge of some sort of breakthrough.
Then an impatient, female voice came from the doorway. "Travis, there you are. Are you ready to go? I've been waiting for ten minutes."
Chelsea turned her head to see a twenty-something female wearing navy-blue slacks and a white shirt with a postal service insignia. Kimberly Walker was Travis's cousin and was a mail carrier. She was actually happy to see her instead of the grandfather. Maybe she could ask Kimberly about the picture.
"Sorry," Chelsea said, as she moved toward the door. "It's my fault. I was talking to Travis about his artwork." She turned back to the little boy. "Why don't you put your crayons in the back room?" As the little boy ran to do as instructed, she added, "I hope I haven’t made you late for anything."
"It's fine. I just don't know why Travis is always the last one out."
"He seems to like being here."
"I guess that's good. It's always hard to tell how he feels about anything."
"Well, I do know that he's still upset about the fire across from his house. He draws it every day." She showed her the picture. "I know the fire was set by an arsonist. I'm wondering if the van is a clue. You haven't seen a van with a flower on it by the house, have you?"
"No, but I live with my boyfriend, Cody Johnson, on the other side of town, so I'm not at the house very much, except when I'm picking up Travis or dropping him off." She paused. "Grandpa said Travis was asleep the night of the fire. When the sirens woke him up, he hid under the bed. He often goes there when he's upset. He likes tight, dark places."
"I'm probably reading too much into the picture. I've just been a little worried about Travis's obsession with the fire."
"He focuses on lots of weird stuff. You should see how many pictures of bees he's drawn. And I don't think he's ever been stung or anything. I wish his parents could come home. He gets quieter and more in his head all the time. My grandfather does his best, but he works part-time, and he doesn't know how to get Travis to talk; I don't, either." Kimberly paused, looking toward the back room. "Travis is taking a long time to put his crayons away."
"He's never quite ready to go home."
Kimberly frowned as her gaze swung back to Chelsea's. "You think he's unhappy at home? Because Grandpa does try to make sure Travis is okay. But he gets tired at night and sometimes he falls asleep in front of the TV. I try to help him out, but I'm busy, too. Thank goodness, Travis's mom will be back in a month."
"That should be good for everyone," she agreed.
Travis slowly returned to the classroom, taking his time to slip on his backpack.
"I'll see you tomorrow," she said.
>
"Come on, Trav," Kimberly said, impatience in her voice. "We're going to meet Cody for ice cream. And if you want, you can get two scoops."
Travis nodded, looking a bit happier at the prospect of ice cream. As he left the classroom, Kimberly hung back to add, "I'll talk to Grandpa about your concerns. I'll also see if I can get Travis to open up. Or maybe Cody can. My boyfriend is really good with him."
"That would be great."
After Kimberly and Travis left, she put Travis's drawing in her bag and then headed out to the employee parking lot. Maybe she'd show it to Brodie. Not that she was looking for another reason to see Brodie. But he had suggested the detailed art assignment, and he'd probably be curious to see what had come of it. At least, that's the story she was telling herself.
When she reached the school parking lot, she was dismayed to see the man leaning against her car. He was talking to one of the school aides, who had no doubt pointed out which vehicle was hers. Britt was a pretty twenty-two-year-old, and watching Austin flirt with Britt reminded Chelsea of all those other groupies who thought Austin hung the moon. At one time, she'd thought that, too, until she'd realized his charm wasn't reserved just for her.
Austin straightened when he saw her. Britt gave her a slightly guilty look and then quickly left. She drew in a deep breath and moved forward. She couldn't keep avoiding Austin. She had to get this situation settled once and for all.
There was an unusually serious look in Austin's hazel-colored eyes. He was a good-looking man, blonder than he'd once been—fitter, too, his jeans clinging to his lean legs. He had a nice golden tan going, probably from days spent on his yacht. They'd dated for almost two years and known each other for four years before that. But Austin felt like a stranger now.
"Chelsea," he said. "We need to talk."
"You keep saying. About what?" She opened her car door and tossed her bag onto the passenger seat.
"I want us to write a song together."
His words made no sense to her. "I don't write songs anymore. You know that."
"I also know you're a brilliant writer, guitar player, singer and duet partner. And it's a crime for you to be teaching music instead of performing."
My Wildest Dream: Whisper Lake #2 Page 7