“I don’t ask a whole hell of a lot outside work, but I am now. As a personal favor, please reconsider.
I set the card on the table. “What if my being there ruins it for her?”
“Can you trust me?”
With my life, but we weren’t talking about me. This was about Tara. I pulled the invitation back out of the envelope and read it over a second time. “You think a lot of people will be there?”
“I’m sure of it.”
Maybe, then, she’d be so busy she wouldn’t even notice I was there. “I’ll do my best.”
When we said goodnight, I walked the crowded streets of Boston’s North End. Even this late at night, it was vibrant and bustling. I’d taken a car service, knowing how hard it would be to park in this area, and would take one back to my apartment in Back Bay, later, when I walked off the angst I felt, wishing I knew what to do about Tara.
Countless times I thought about getting in touch with her, talking myself out of it an equal number. Whenever I was alone, I’d get lost in my head, replaying every moment I’d spent with her, wishing I had done it better.
I missed everything about Tara. I dreamed of her so often—her smile, her laugh, her soft skin, the heat of her body. Mine yearned to be near hers.
When I left Italy, she’d said goodbye, cutting me off, telling me not to embarrass myself before I could say…what? I couldn’t even remember. That I was sorry. That I’d do anything if she’d forgive me for not protecting her, not believing her, not trusting she was exactly who my heart kept telling me she was, even though my brain fought so hard against it.
If I could go back and do it again, I wouldn’t let her silence me. I’d tell her all those things. I’d also tell her the most important thing of all. That no matter how crazy it sounded, I loved her.
It wouldn’t matter how much time passed or how long it was before I saw her again. We might meet one day, maybe as strangers, yet I’d still love her the same.
30
Tara
“Don’t be mad,” said Pen, who was practically tiptoeing into my studio.
“What did you do?”
She handed me an envelope. “Open it.”
I pulled out the enclosed card and read the first line.
Please join us in celebrating the first US showing of artist Catarina Benedetto’s Tuscan Collection.
“Are you fucking kidding me? Pen? This is in three days!”
“Is that all you’re mad about?”
“You’re kidding, right?” I sat down on the stool by the window and read the invitation for the second time, at least until the tears that filled my eyes made it impossible to continue. “Pen, how could you do this?”
“It wasn’t just her.” Quinn walked in the studio door.
“It was all of us.” Ava and Aine followed her.
I hugged the invitation to my chest as tears ran down my cheeks. The simple truth was, if they hadn’t done this, I’d probably be in my eighties and have ten thousand paintings lined up and still not have agreed to do a show. I looked into Pen’s eyes first. “Thank you.”
She raced over and hugged me. “You know we’re doing this because we love you and are so proud of you.”
“You really think I’m ready?”
“You’re absolutely ready,” said Quinn, hugging me like Pen had, except around her massive pregnancy belly.
“When are you due again?”
She rubbed her stomach. “This little nugget can make a showing any time she wants after Friday. But to answer your question, not for another three or four weeks.”
“And I’m a month after her,” said Merrigan, Kade’s wife, coming in through the open door.
“I can’t believe my sister and my daughter are going to be the same age,” said Quinn, hugging her stepmother.
“We might as well tell,” said Ava, looking at Aine.
My eyes opened wide. “What?”
“Both of us are due in November,” answered Aine.
“Except I’ve only got one in here,” said Ava, pointing at her stomach.
“You’re having twins?” squealed Quinn, rushing over to hug Aine.
“It looks that way,” she answered, pulling out a sonogram photo and passed it around.
Penelope picked up one of my brushes and banged the end against the easel. “Ladies, need I remind you that Tara’s show is in three days? We have a lot of work to do.”
“Good thing we brought manual labor,” said Ava, pointing to the door. “The guys are out there, waiting to do your bidding.”
“Yes!” shouted Pen, pumping her first into the air. “Who’ve we got?”
“Tabon, Griffin, and Mercer for now. Kade is on his way,” said Ava.
Pen grabbed my arm. “Come on, let’s get this show hung.”
“I just need a minute.”
She nodded. “We’ll start moving everything into the gallery.”
Once everyone else was gone, Quinn walked over and put her arm around my shoulders. “Are you okay?”
“I’ll be fine. A little overwhelmed is all.”
“I understand. Just know that everything we’re doing is because we love you that much.”
I walked over, closed the studio door, and locked it. “There’s something I need to ask you.”
“Of course.”
“I should’ve a long time ago, and I know this isn’t the right time either, but I have to know.”
She walked over and took both of my hands in hers. “Tara, what is it?”
“The missing money and Aine’s bracelet—do you still think I stole from all of you?”
Quinn gasped and put her hand over her mouth. “You never got our messages!” She pulled me into a hug. “Oh, Tara, I’m so sorry, and I wish you had said something sooner. “It was all a terrible misunderstanding. In fact, right after Pen left that message, Aine found the bracelet.”
“And the money?”
Quinn nodded. “It’s a long story, and it doesn’t matter now, but yes, it was found and, again, a terrible, horrible, awful misunderstanding. Can you ever forgive us?”
“It isn’t about forgiving you, Quinn.”
We both jumped when someone pounded on the door. “Hey, open up! Feed us more paintings.”
Quinn and I looked at each other. “Tabon,” we said at the same time.
“Your mother sent these,” said Pen, bringing a giant bouquet of orange roses into the gallery office we shared. “Aw, that was sweet,” she said, reading a card from the florist while handing me the other card. “Did you know that orange roses mean the sender is proud of you?”
“I had no idea.” I opened the envelope and pulled out the card that said simply, “I love you, Mom.”
“By the way, she did RSVP her regrets. She’s in Turks and Caicos, and with the short notice and all…”
“She wouldn’t have come anyway, you know, since my dad will be here.”
“But the flowers are gorgeous, darling!” Pen said in her best impersonation of my mother. She handed me a glass of champagne. “Ready?”
“No.”
“It’s going to be amazing.”
“Who is coming again?”
“Family, friends, the Times art critic, you know, no one terribly important. And don’t worry, for tonight, everyone knows to call you Catarina.”
Because of the scandal with Brand and my father, I’d made the decision to paint and open the gallery under a pseudonym. Deep inside, it wasn’t the only reason, not that I’d let my mind drift in that direction tonight. I rolled my eyes. Who was I kidding? Every painting that hung on the walls of the gallery would send my mind drifting in that direction.
“Pen?”
She came back over and took my hands in hers. “You’re ready. This is going to be amazing.” She pulled a roll of stickers out of her pocket. “Red sold dots at the ready.”
“I don’t even care if anything sells.”
Pen tucked my arm in hers. “I do! Come on, let’s go downsta
irs and greet your patrons.”
When we walked out onto the landing, the noisy room went silent for a couple of seconds before erupting into applause.
As I looked down at the sea of people, it was as though they magically parted, giving me a clear view of the man whose likeness hung on the wall in front of him. He turned, then, and our eyes met.
31
Halo
There she was, more breathtaking than I remembered. Her deep blue eyes were piercing, as if she was waiting for my reaction, and then she looked away.
I looked back at the painting, the one of a man in a kitchen, the broad span of his back obscuring what was on the counter top where his hands rested. Besides me, only one other person knew what—who—was behind him.
When I turned back toward the stairs where she’d stood, Tara was no longer there. I desperately wanted to see the rest of the collection, the scenes she’d chosen to paint from our time together in Italy. It had been so brief, yet the memories were that of a lifetime.
As I’d feared, my being here did not add a happy memory. When I turned toward the front door to leave, I felt a hand on my shoulder.
I slowly turned back, capturing her wrist before she could withdraw her arm. I brought her hand to my lips and kissed it. I motioned to the red dot on the untitled painting’s nameplate. “Please tell whoever bought it that I’ll pay ten times what they did. A hundred times.”
“It isn’t for sale,” she murmured.
I hadn’t dropped her hand, and she didn’t pull away, so I gave it a squeeze. “I haven’t seen it all yet, but what I have is beautiful.”
Tara’s cheeks pinkened, and she looked back at the painting. “If it weren’t for you, this dream never would’ve come true. Thank you.”
“I think it would have, but for whatever small part I played, you’re welcome. Seeing your work is such a pleasure, obviously not just for me.” I motioned to the packed gallery.
“I don’t care what anyone else thinks,” she whispered. Her eyes were wide as though she hadn’t meant to say the words out loud.
I leaned forward and brushed her cheek with my lips. “I miss you so much.” I put my arm around her shoulders and turned us both toward the painting.
“I wish we could go back.”
“So do I.” I leaned my cheek against her hair, breathing in its scent.
“Catarina, there’s someone—”
I dropped my arm, and we both turned. My eyes met Penelope’s shocked ones.
“You’re here.”
“I am.”
“I’m so sorry to intrude, but Mr. Farago would like a word.” Tara nodded, and Pen looked back at me. “New York Times art critic,” she whispered.
“Go ahead, I have lots to look at.”
I was still studying the same painting when I felt another hand on my shoulder. “You made it,” said Doc.
“Glad I did. Thanks to you.”
“I have to admit, this one is my least favorite.”
“To each his own.”
“Why do I have a feeling it’s the opposite for you?”
I shrugged. “Like I said…”
“Merrigan is waving me over. No doubt to buy another painting.”
“How many have you so far?”
“As many as she wants.”
Doc walked away, and I slowly made my way around the gallery. The next painting I came to was of the front of the farmhouse. This one, I had to have. I saw Ava, Razor’s wife, and motioned to her.
“Hey, Knox. Glad you could make it. Tabon is around here somewhere.”
“Thanks. I appreciated the invitation. Um, what do I do if I want to buy a painting?”
She reached into her pocket, put a red sticker on the nameplate, wrote a number on a small piece of paper, and handed it to me. “If there are any others, just flag me or Aine down. When you’re finished, you can arrange payment with Quinn. You can’t see her from here, well maybe you can since you’re so much taller. Anyway, she’s in the back. Oh, and none of the paintings can be picked up until next week.”
“Are a lot selling?”
“Oh, yes. Excuse me.” She dashed off in the direction of another raised hand.
“I had a feeling you’d like that one,” said Tara, coming up behind me.
“I like so many of them. Unfortunately for me, the majority are sold.”
She leaned forward. “It’s kind of crazy. I mean, I hope that people aren’t buying them just to be nice.”
I saw Penelope headed our way. “Listen, I know you’ve got a lot going on tonight, but I wondered if we could get together sometime.”
“I’d like that.”
“Should I call you?”
“You should stay a while.”
I could do that.
32
Tara
“I’m sorry to keep interrupting you,” said Pen, pulling me in the direction of a woman I recognized. Rebecca Elgin wrote for an international art journal and was widely known as an expert on Italian art.
“Ms. Elgin, may I present Catarina Benedetto,” said Pen before leaving us on our own.
The next two hours were a whirlwind of people wanting to meet and talk with me. I tried to stay focused but found myself perusing the gallery to make sure Knox was still here.
There’d been so many times I wanted to ask about him, even contact him, but talked myself out of it. I’d pushed him away. How could I tell him I felt ready for him now? How could I even begin to explain?
Now, he was here and had asked if we could get together. I couldn’t stand the idea of him leaving, saying he’d call, and then never hearing from him. That’s why I told him he should stay.
With no one waiting to talk to me and the crowd thinning out, I made a beeline in his direction.
“I hope you’re not getting bored.”
He waved his arm. “I can’t get enough. Each one is more beautiful than the rest. There are a couple I’m more partial to, however. I was hoping maybe I could get you to change your mind about selling that one.” He pointed over to the one he was standing near when I first saw him.
“Maybe we could work out joint custody.”
He laughed and looked around. “I didn’t see your father here tonight.”
“He was, briefly. It’s my night and all.”
Knox nodded and looked around, as though he’d run out of things to say.
“Come with me.” I grabbed his hand and led him to the back of the gallery. I opened the door to my studio, not bothering to turn on the lights. I closed the door behind us, put my arms around Knox’s neck, reached up, and kissed him. Our tongues wound around each others’, and I groaned. Knox put his arms around my waist, cinched up the hem of my short dress, and cupped the bare cheeks of my bottom. He spun me around so my back was against the wall.
“If I had known all you had on under this was a thong, I would’ve pressed you up against one of your paintings and done this.” He kissed me again, his hands kneading my ass.
I reached up and pulled the strap of my dress off my shoulder then pulled at one of his arms, bringing it to my bare breast.
“That is so fucking sexy,” he murmured, latching on to my nipple with his mouth. “I love your tits.”
When I heard footfalls in the hallway, I reached over to make sure I’d locked the door behind me. Knox pulled the other strap of my dress down and sucked the opposite nipple into his mouth.
“Every night, I dream of having my hands on your naked body.”
“I dream that you’re inside me.”
Knox groaned and brought his lips back to mine.
“Make it come true.”
He pulled back and looked into my eyes, illuminated by the light of the moon and the street lamps. “Now, Tara?”
“Now, Knox. Please, I’m begging you.”
“I don’t have a condom.”
“I’m on birth control,” I said, lowering my legs and pulling at his belt buckle. Knox put his hands on mine, stopping me.
“It can’t just be this, Tara. I can’t bury myself inside your warmth, walk out that door, and never see you again.”
I grabbed his hand and put it between my legs. “You said once that I was yours and you were mine.”
He slid one finger inside me. “I meant it.”
“Then, hang onto me. Don’t let me go.”
Knox thrust a second finger into my pussy and, with his other hand, unfastened his belt and pants, letting them fall to the floor. I cried out when he withdrew his fingers and lifted my legs.
“Put me inside you.”
I grabbed his hard cock and positioned it at my opening, moving my thong to the side. Knox thrust deep inside me and stilled. He rested his forehead against mine.
“Shh,” he whispered. “Don’t move, just feel how perfect our bodies fit together. I don’t ever want you to forget this moment, Tara.” He shifted so one hand was under my bottom. He cupped my cheek with the other. I closed my eyes, focusing only on how Knox pulsed inside me.
“Look at me.” His hand moved to my neck. “I love you, Tara. I don’t want to spend another day without you in my life.”
“Then, don’t.” I remembered Pia’s words. “Run to love, to me instead of away, Knox.”
His fingers pressed into the sides of my neck. “Say it.”
“I love you, Knox.”
Epilogue
Halo
“New York City, huh?” said Tackle, helping load boxes into my SUV. “Where are you gonna park this thing?”
“As if finding a place to park a car is any cheaper in Boston.”
After he loaded in the last box, I set the wrapped painting, Tara’s gift to me, on top. “Well, I better get on the road.”
“I’m happy for you, Knox.” We hugged and patted each other’s backs.
“I have a favor to ask.”
“What’s that?”
“Sloane…she’s going through some stuff.” I kicked a rock near my boot. “It isn’t my place to say what, but if you could watch out for her, I’d appreciate it. I’ll be back as often as I can…”
Halo (K19 Security Solutions Book 8) Page 17