“And that’s what you’re providing for her and the rest of those kids in the program. Guidance and opportunity. Even more than that, I think.”
“I want to give them a chance to lift themselves up, not let a few bad choices or a shitty home life destroy them for good.”
“Because that’s what Kathryn Tremont did for you.”
I nod. “It’s the only way I know how to pay her kindness forward.”
Melanie’s gaze is soft and thoughtful. “I’m sure she’d like that. Have you ever considered starting a school of your own?”
“Christ, no. Even if I had the interest, I don’t have room in my life for the kind of commitment that would require. I’ve never been a long-term kind of guy. And now . . .”
I don’t have to say the words out loud for Melanie to pick up on them. She studies me with a compassionate, yet practical gaze.
“You can’t stop living or doing the things you enjoy, Jared. That includes painting. I think you should keep creating as long as you can. I think you need to paint, almost as much as you need to breathe.”
I feel myself nodding in agreement, even though there’s a gnashing fear inside me that’s screaming at me to let my art go. To give up.
Melanie’s tender affection is the only thing that’s ever been powerful enough to silence it, even for a minute.
I push my empty plate away and hold my hand out for her, an invitation for her to come sit with me on my chair. She steps over and settles on my lap. I hold her there, both of us looking out at the calm tide for a long while.
Her fingers play idly in my hair. “You seem so much more relaxed out here than in the city.”
“I love the ocean,” I admit. “Especially when the waves are green like they are today. They make me think of Kentucky pastures, all the rolling hills on the farm. There’s nothing in the city that evens me out like being here does.”
“Have you been back to your family’s farm since you left?”
“Only once, seven years ago. I wanted to see the bulldozers roll in and knock every building down. I stayed until they had plowed the whole damn place under.”
She goes utterly still in my arms. Then she carefully lifts my chin, coaxing me to look at her. “Who did that to your home, Jared?”
“I did.” I think back on that day, all my anger. All the pain I wanted to bury along with the barns and the beautiful, rambling house I once loved. “After my first multi-million dollar auction for one of my paintings, I used most of the proceeds to buy back the farm from its new owners. The ink wasn’t even dry before I arranged for the wrecking crew to come in and raze the whole property. I didn’t want the reminders. I didn’t want to think about someone else living in a place that should have been ours. I left as soon as it was done and haven’t been back.”
“Jared.” Melanie’s gaze has never looked so sad, so bleak. She’s shocked at what I’ve done. Appalled, even. But there’s an anguish that goes deeper than that. Anguish for me. “I hate Denton Sweeney for everything he did to your family, and the others he bilked. I hope he’s rotting in the worst kind of hell.”
Her voice is filled with quiet fury. There is a fierce protectiveness in her words and in her beautiful, sad eyes, as if she would defend me to her last breath—or burn down the world before she’d let anyone do me harm.
I’ve never seen anyone look at me like she is now. Her caring rocks me to my core. So does her strength. She’s a lioness, a warrior queen.
And she’s mine.
At least, I want to pretend she is. I want to pretend I’m worthy of the devotion I see in Melanie’s lovely face. That I might one day be deserving of her.
A low rumble of thunder in the distance warns of a coming storm. The clouds are darkening overhead, the winds kicking up from the water.
“We can’t stay like this,” I murmur, wishing I could hold her in my arms forever. I reach up and smooth some of the bright copper tendrils of her hair away from her cheek. “We should go inside.”
She nods silently, her gaze still holding mine with a tenderness that nearly breaks me. “I’ll get the plates and glasses.”
We clear the table and take everything into the house just as the rains begin to sweep in from the horizon. She puts the condiments away while I load the dishwasher and turn it on. Without speaking, she briefly caresses my back, then places a warm kiss between my shoulder blades.
The air stirs as she moves away, but it takes me a minute to realize she’s no longer in the kitchen with me.
“Melanie?”
I step through the empty living area, hearing nothing but the sound of rain pattering on the roof and against the windows. My bare feet carry me to the studio at the back of the sprawling beach house, and there I find her.
Standing in the center of my workspace, she’s just taken off her white jeans. My mouth waters at the sight of her long, bare legs. She pulls her top over her head and lets it fall from her fingertips to the floor.
I step inside, drawn as surely as a moth to a flame. “What are you doing?”
“Making the most of a rainy day.” Smiling, she removes her bra and panties, then closes the distance between us. “You’re overdressed.”
She unbuttons my shirt, then peels it off me. I can’t resist the urge to kiss her. Wrapping my hand around the back of her neck, I pull her against me and cover her mouth with mine. Our kiss is unhurried and tender, despite the rising demand of our mutual need for each other.
When we part to catch our
