“These?” I asked dubiously. I looked back at them. There had been total joy in their creation, but joy did not always translate into skill. I hadn’t painted in a long time. I was rusty, green.
“Yes,” he said. “If you don’t mind. I know I will have memories of you when I leave tomorrow, but I want more than just that. These will trigger my memories.”
I studied him for a moment, knowing he was completely serious. There was no way I would actually let him pay for one, though. “You can choose one. But you don’t owe me anything.”
“But who doesn’t need money,” he said.
Me, I thought. There was still a chance I didn’t need anything after he left me. The memory of the ringing phone echoed in my ears. It sounded like waves.
“Pick one,” I said. “And you’ll make me smile.”
He grinned at that, a sight that warmed my soul. He put his hand at my waist. I could feel his skin burning through my thin tank top. He peered over my shoulder at the easel, his breath at my ear. “This one. Because it isn’t finished.” He turned his face so his lips were touching my cheek. “That’s what hope is. An unfinished painting.”
If I just turned my head, I could meet his lips. I could kiss him and ignite that passion I was trying so hard to bury. But this wasn’t a deserted beach. It wasn’t nighttime. And if I kissed him now, I would not be able to stop, not until my hands were on his hard body and he was deep inside me.
I swallowed hard, as if bread were stuck in my throat. “Okay,” I managed to say. I kept my eyes on the horizon as the sun disappeared behind the gray. “I think we should head back now.” He stayed put, those soft lips close, so very close. But eventually he pulled away and nodded.
Esteban helped me back up the red-coated hill and through the tall buffalo grass until we got back to the Jeep. He followed me all the way back to my house, riding his motorcycle right behind me the whole way. I kept stealing glances at him in the rearview mirror. He looked sexy as hell, in control of the road. I remembered when I was on the bike with him, wondering what it was that got me to take such a chance with him.
You still don’t know anything about him, I told myself. The only thing you know is that he is a bad man. Bad people like him like to be around bad people like you. Just end it.
I felt the shadows wanting to choke me, to swerve the Jeep over the bridge we were crossing, to hit the guardrail and go tumbling down into the canopies of acacia trees. I saw it happening, the feeling of falling, the crunch of metal, the smash of glass, the world finally going black.
I shook my head and kept my grip tight on the steering wheel, my eyes half on the road and half on Esteban. It felt like it took forever to finally pull up in front of the house. I was such a bundle of nerves, overcome with fear and confusion, that I stayed in the car until he parked his bike and came over to the door, knocking on the window.
He peered at me in concern and said, “Are you all right?” He knocked again and finally I was able to put my hand on the handle and open the door.
I collapsed right into his arms. He didn’t say anything, but simply held me close to him. He smelled like coconut and leather.
“You’re going to be all right, Lani,” he whispered.
He got my keys out of my purse and opened the door to the house, then led me inside. It was dark, quiet. Strangely cold. Or maybe that was just me.
“You’re shivering,” he said as he carefully took off his jacket. He held it out for me, as if to cover me in it, but then had second thoughts and placed it on the couch instead. “And you’re covered in paint. Let’s get you warm.”
He took me over to the bathroom and led me inside.
Chapter 6
Esteban shut the door and went over to the tiled shower, turning the knobs until the right temperature water came spraying out. He glanced at me over his shoulder. I was standing by the sink, my arms folded across my chest, my mind both blank and racing, like an empty videotape was just looping and looping. I was freezing now, my skin a mix of gooseflesh and paint splatters. My hands were the color of the sun-mirrored sea.
How is there something still so wrong with me?
He approached me like I was a skittish filly, all measured moves and careful glances. He didn’t say anything as he slowly moved for my tank top. He grabbed the hem and with the slightest lift of his chin, motioned for me to raise my arms in the air.
With my breath and my heart in my mouth, I did so. He carefully pulled the tank top up until it was over my head. He flung it behind him and it landed on the floor. His hands, wonderfully warm hands, went behind my back to the clasp of my bra. With a swift, easy motion, it came undone and he pulled it away from my body.
He didn’t let himself stare at my bare breasts. Instead his eyes remained focused on mine, forever trying to gauge my thoughts, to read me.
I stayed absolutely still as he bent down and started to pull my shorts and underwear off. They slid down my legs with ease and his hands went for the inside of my thighs, lifting my legs to get my clothing out from under them.
Those were tossed across the room, too. But his face and hands slid up my thighs in tandem,
