Capture Her Heart

by Catrina Maddox

  She flopped onto the couch, kicking at the coffee table as she wondered what to do with herself. The bandages on her hands meant that any work in the studio involving clay was out. Sketching was out too; she had tried to do it with a charcoal pencil clasped between two fingers and had thrown the pencil across the studio in frustration when she could not draw anything useful.

  The whole day stretched before her, idle, even though she planned to take a bit of a break that week, she was still used to doing things, even if it was a slower pace.

  A change of scene was needed. Perhaps if she took her pastels down to the lake she would have a better chance as the soft stick would be more manageable to her hands.

  Emily raced around the house, gathering up what she needed and tucking her sketchpad and pastels into her old backpack. She swung it onto her shoulder and headed out of the house, feeling more at peace with a goal in mind.

  8

  The change of scene had worked for her. The peace of the lake with a side of people-watching thrown in enabled Emily to get some work done. Unfortunately, she had more of the pastels on her bandages than in her sketch book. Feeling the slight crisp of too much sun on her face, she ambled her way back to the house. Passing down the side to go to her studio was a habit to put everything away ready for next time. She unlocked and stepped into her sanctuary, the familiar smell of clay, glazes, paint, and other assorted chemical smells assaulted her. Her studio was an old shed that had been extended, so it was more like a one-room Bach holiday home turned into a studio. Her two kilns in a lean-too carport-like area out the back. You couldn't see the studio from the road, tucked as it was up past the main house, hugging the bush line. A large porch had been tacked on the front, which meant that Emily could open up the doors into the studio on a summer day and let the breeze in. You had to know the studio was there, so Emily was often left in peace, unless one of the locals stopped by.

  Sometimes her Uncle came and sketched on the hammock he had set up between two trees below the deck, keeping her company. His studio was confined to the other side of the house, where he had taken one of the largest bedrooms and turned it into a studio before she had been born. The land her Uncle owned went some 10 acres back from the house plot so the studio was not overlooked, a lot of native wildlife enjoyed the bush-clad hills.

  She stowed away the pastels and other drawing supplies she had stuffed into the pack and pulled out the sketch pad she had been using. She had grabbed the first one she had seen, not realizing the pad was the one she had used to capture those images of Blake the morning after. She collapsed onto the sofa that was pushed up against the wall and used it to take her coffee break and started to flip through the book. She stopped when she got to the first image of Blake. The image showed him lying asleep in the bed, the sheets pushed to the bottom edge of the mattress. One leg was slightly bent, one hand under the pillow. His head was resting on the other out to his side like a male naked tiger at rest. His intricate tattoo peeked over his hip at the top of his world-class buttocks. Even now, the compulsion to take a bite out of them made her mouth water.

  “Thought I'd find you here.”

  Emily screamed as his voice floated down to her, caught unaware of him returning and entering the studio.

  “I think I'm having a heart attack.” Emily gasped for air into her lungs.

  “Sorry, I thought you heard me enter. What has you so engrossed?”

  “Ah, nothing.” Emily tried to shut the sketching pad that had fallen onto her lap when she had forgotten about it.

  Blake wiped the pad out of her reach before she could get it closed.

  “You have a good memory,” Blake’s sensual tone slide across her blunted nerve endings.

  Emily was lost for words. She never expected Blake to see the drawings. She closed her eyes as Blake turned the page of the pad.

  “When did you draw them?”

  “I did them the morning after we, ah, had sex,” Emily confessed.

  “I see I left an impression on you then, and we didn't just have sex, Emily.”

  “You left more than an impression,” Emily muttered under her breath.

  “Pardon? I didn't hear that.” Blake dropped down onto the sofa next to her.

  “Nothing,” Emily brushed him off.

  “These are wonderful. It’s not often you get to see how you sleep. I'm pleased that I don't drool, at least. You even got my portions right.” Blake turned to look her in the eye as he dipped the pad to show her the drawing he had open, the one she had drawn where he wasn't asleep on his stomach.

  “Someone kill me now.”

  “Come on, you must have drawn plenty of naked men in life drawing classes?”

  “I didn't go to art school, Blake, so the answer is no, I have not drawn a number of naked men.”

  Blake glanced at her in surprise, “I find that surprising.”

  “I started doing art when I was a teenager, and what with my Uncle and friends, I never found the need to get schooling. By the time I had left high school, I had sold my first piece anyway.” Emily shrugged her shoulders. Personally, she had no problem with self-taught artists; not everyone benefited from being told what to do creatively.

  “I was just surprised. I guess my assumption about artists is showing.”

  “Did you go to university?”

  “I got a degree while I was in the army,” Blake shrugged as he flipped to another page in the pad.

  “You have been drawing today.” Blake held up one of her bandaged hands, the evidence of pastels all over them. “I'll change these out tonight before you go to bed.”

  “Thank you.” Emily thought it better to be accommodating since he was helping her.

  Looking at his naked form, there was one question she had been dying to ask.

  “Can I ask you a personal question?”

  “I thought that's what we had been doing.”

  “Okay, so when did you get the tattoo, and what does it stand for? It’s beautiful, by the way. Suits you.”

  Emily felt Blake stiffen next to her. She glanced at him as he continued to flip through the sketchpad as casually as he had before. Nothing in his expression gave anything away, so she almost thought she was mistaken about his body’s reaction.

  “Thank you. It’s actually three tattoos that make up one larger design. This is not something I share with people.” His hand came over to rest on her thigh next to him.

  “The first part of the tattoo I had done when I made it into the SAS; the second part when I was made chief of my own squadron”

  “And the third?” Emily held her breath.

  “And the third when I left the army after my last mission went wrong to honor those who didn't make it back.”

  Emily almost regretted asking him about the tattoo, but it was such a prominent marker on his body. She knew it had personal meaning for him. She didn't want to cause him pain by talking about his last mission; clearly, the army had meant a lot to him.

  “You can't tell its in three parts. Whoever designed it obviously knew you well.”

  “Cain helped me design the tattoo.” Blake put the sketchpad down beside them on the sofa.

  “Well, it’s beautiful. I found it very distracting.” Emily couldn't help herself confiding in him.

  “Hmm, I like what it made you do.” Blake used his finger to push her jaw back up as he got up from the sofa, his finger crossing her cheek as he pushed a lock of hair back behind her ear that had come loose from her ponytail.

  “I'll go make us some dinner. Come in when you're ready. I'll take about twenty minutes.” Blake was gone as quickly as he had appeared in the studio, leaving her emotions all over the place again. The man was turning out to be anything but what she thought him to be. Oh, he was still the most dangerous man in the room, but he had depths she wanted to drop into, and that was a danger all the more to her. Get a grip on yourself, Em. He's only here for the week, then he will be gone again, just the way you want it.

&n
bsp; Emily was sitting on the sofa after another tasty, filling meal prepared by Blake. The man sure was a wizz in the kitchen. She wiggled her butt back into the sofa, getting comfortable.

  “Right time for changing your bandages.” Emily looked up as Blake spoke. He was standing at the entrance to the hallway with the large first-aid kit in his hand.

  “Do you want to do this in the kitchen?”

  “No, I'm comfortable here, and since this is going to hurt, I'm not moving off the sofa.”

  “I'll try not to make it hurt. You want to take some painkillers before or after?”

  Blake put down the first-aid box on the coffee table in front of her and walked into the kitchen. It didn't take him long to return with a glass of water with a straw in the glass.

  “Thanks.” Emily held out her hand for the painkillers, a smirk on her face.

  “Here you go, munchkin, drink all that water down.”

  Emily couldn't help but laugh. This man didn't have any problem with her wacky sense of humor. It was a nice change.

  Blake dropped down onto the sofa next to her. The size of the once-large sofa decreased as his thigh rested against hers. He moved to open the first-aid kit.

  “Ahh, that hurts.” Emily scolded him sometime later as he wiped her right hand. He had already finished her left hand. It quietly throbbed away with a fresh bandage on.

  “Almost done, squirt, just a little longer. Your hands are looking good. How about after this I make us some popcorn and we can blob out on the sofa and watch a movie?”

  “Oh, that would be nice.”

  “Right, that's done. Give me time to clean up. Make yourself comfortable.”

  Emily studied as his world-class ass moved past her, heading for the bathroom, with the first-aid box and the used cotton balls and bandages. His casual clothing of jeans and a T-shirt didn't hide what he was. His hands were a little scrubbed up from the work on the roof with Evan, and the size of them belied the gentle nature in which he had used them to clean her hands; not to mention how he had used them to ring some much pleasure from her body.

  Wow. The painkiller was stronger than she thought as she tried to get her head to focus on the here and now.

  “I didn't think this would be your style?” Emily watched him return from the kitchen a bowl of popcorn one hand and two cans of soda in the other. The sight of a straw poking out from his hand made her smile.

  “What, popcorn and movie night with a cute girl?”

  “Well, yeah. I mean I would have thought you would be going out every night...” Emily trailed off as she realized what she was about to say.

  Blake laughed at the expression on her face as he dropped onto the sofa next to her, placing the bowl of popcorn in her lap.

  “You have some interesting ideas about businessmen, then. Now, let’s see what you have to watch in the way of movies, shall we?”

  Emily was grateful. He didn't call her on her statement; he had shown her quite a different side to himself than the first image she saw in the newspaper article. He had been nothing but supportive and attentive to someone he didn't know that well, he was very community-oriented, and always helped his friends, no questions askedthey had his loyalty. What would it feel to have this man as hers?

  In the end, they settled on a thriller, where the political intrigue was to the fore. The plot moved in a number of twists and turns that were difficult to keep up with. She couldn't stop yawning, so Blake pulled her over into his arms.

  “What?” Emily looked up into his eyes.

  “It’s easier to share the popcorn with you, sugar, plus I think you’re tired. Relax and enjoy yourself.”

  Blake looked down at the woman in his arms. She was too good for him, but he wasn't going to let that stop him making her his. He knew that he needed time for her to get to know him and trust him, so he was going to make the most of the week to do just that. Once she had let herself relax in his arms, it had felt like he had won some sort of prize. God, he was getting soppy in his old age; he'd never felt this way about someone before and didn't want to spoil the occasion, so he was tiptoeing around. He knew he was taking a chance with her.

  “So, you grew up here with your Uncle? You never mentioned your father.”

  “Hmm…” Emily had been enjoying cuddling into Blake; the painkillers had made her quite drowsy.

  “That because he's dead.”

  “I'm sorry, sugar.”

  “Don't be. I didn't know him that well. He died when I was sixteen.”

  “Won't have made it any easier, sugar.”

  “No, it didn't, but his work came first to him, before me or my mother.”

  “What did he do?”

  “It might be easier if I just give you his name.” Emily didn't know why she was talking to Blake about him; it just seemed right.

  “Gavin Stone.”

  Blake looked down at her. It was not a name he expected to hear from her. Shit.

  “Your father was Gavin Stone, the Formula One driver?”

  “Yep.”

  Blake frowned as he thought about New Zealand's most famous race driver. He had died on the track after winning four world titles. “Doing what he loved,” they said. He had married a famous actress.

  “Does that mean your mother is Olivia Stone?”

  “Yep,” Emily yawned.

  “Talkative little thing, aren't you.” Blake thought about this revelation. He scanned his memory. Gavin and Olivia had always been in the media. Both kept the tabloids hoping with their love life, but he didn't remember a daughter being mentioned.

  “Is that why you don't like being in the limelight?”

  “Yes,” Emily picked at the sofa with her hand.

  “My Dad and Mum were always on again, off again. One minute they were madly in love, and then...” Emily shrugged. “I didn't really feature in their lives, unless it was as a guilt trip, they could pull on the other.”

  Blake felt his heart contract at her tone of voice. She was trying hard to sound casual, as if it didn't hurt her, but he could hear the catch at the back of her voice.

  “So, how come you ended up with your uncle?”

  He could feel the sign that went through Emily’s body as she considered what to tell him.

  “I ran away to my Uncle’s place. I told him my Mom had okayed it by asking him how else I would have gotten on the plane to see him. I didn't explain that I had tricked my nanny into doing it.”

  “How much trouble were you in when they found out where you were?” Blake smiled at the thought of a miniature version of a feisty Emily.

  “Not much. It took them a month to realize I was missing.”

  “What? Damn,” Blake couldn't stop the surprise and anger from his tone.

  “Yeah, my uncle gave them hell when he realized and gave me a choice: I could either stay with him or go back and live with Mum. They were on one of their 'breaks.' Look, it’s not like I didn't know that they loved me in their own way; they just had more important things in their lives than a daughter. After all, they'd paid good money for nannies and such to look after me,” she shrugged.

  “But you were only a child. You should have been their number one priority,” Blake blazed out, unsure he could hide the anger he was feeling at her parents.

  “Dad tried to be more involved after that. I think he secretly liked come to Glen Point to visit and be anonymous, but driving came first; it was like a sickness in his bloodhe had to race. Look, I turned out alright, and being in Glen Point was much better for me. After the first month, I met Catherine and I liked having a routine of school.”

  “But what about your mother? Didn't she miss you?” Blake stroked her arm. He needed the contact more than she did at that moment.

  “Mom's a difficult woman to describe. She loves me, but she doesn’t know how to be a parent. Dad always came first. He was the love of her life. I spent years chasing the windmill, but now I just accept her for who she is. My uncle has been both mum and dad to me. I
was so lucky to have him in my life.”

  Blake watched as she snuggled further into his side. The sunshine, coupled with the painkillers and the pain from her hands, had blunted her usual feisty self and let some of her walls down.

  “I think he was the lucky one, sugar.”

  “It's in the past, Blake. Did it have an impact on me? Yes, it taught me a valuable lesson. I'll never be second-best in a relationship.” Emily felt the warmth of the big body next to her as she snuggled in further.

  Blake studied the woman, who was now asleep in his arms. He could feel the anger still racing through his bodyno parent should ever make their child feel like they were second best. He was grateful she had her uncle and the people of Glen Point. He couldn't imagine having parents whose life was fodder to a gossip mill. He needed to show her that they were meant to be togetherthat love isn't an illusion.

  9

  The fourth time that Emily woke up in her ginormous, colorful bed on Sunday morning, it was with a smile of ecstatic bliss. She rolled over in bed dreamily as she reached out to the man in the bed with her hand following the lines over his dragon tattoo, only to encounter clean, crisp sheets. With a groan of frustration, Emily continued to roll over until her face was buried into her pillow, a cry of dismay falling from her lips. She couldn't believe that Blake tucked her into bed again, with only her fantasies and memories for company. She was starting to wonder if it was all her imagination, the longing looks and touches. Maybe he was only helping her and she had read the situation wrong. Her erotic dreams were starting to take a toll. At first, she had thought it was Blake's way of ratcheting up the sexual tension between them. Still, instead, she spent the last four days with a man who was infuriatingly casual and maddeningly friendly. When he wasn't keeping his promise to Evan to help with the roof, he would take an interest in her work, seemingly fascinated by the way she constructed her work and the various glazing processes she used.

  Take yesterday, for example. After working on the roof in the morning with Evan. He had come back to the house and found her in the studio. He had quizzed her for a good forty minutes about some of the works in progress before dragging her inside to cook her another healthy and delicious stir-fry, and then, chivying her into changing and going for a quick jog along the lakefront. He found out that she ran and swam for enjoymentsomething they had in common, he said. That had been the start of getting her to go on small runs with him down on the front of the lake.