by MK Meredith
“What's going on, or don’t I want to know?” Gage asked as he fixed the tether on his ankle.
“My niece. She's in a bad spot. I'm trying to get custody, but it's hard because her mother is still in the picture. Enough to keep her but not enough to protect her.”
“Big responsibility,” Gage said.
Jimmy nodded. “You took care of Bel.”
“Yeah, but we had our dad.”
“It's sad. Cleo’s so bright. One of those kids who sees the world in a way that makes it look much brighter. I'm afraid if I don't get her out of that situation, she's going to get hurt. And if that happens, I'll never forgive myself.”
Roque leaned over the water and gave him a pat on the back. “Look, man, see what you can do, but in the end, it’s not your fault.”
Jimmy shot his friend a look of exasperation. “You know it is.”
The men straddled their boards, watching the horizon for the telltale swell of a good wave. He pulled in a deep breath of ocean air and let it out in one long sigh.
“I can only imagine what it would be like to be responsible for someone so young, but I need to figure it out soon,” Gage said, splashing water across his board.
Jimmy slowly turned his head toward his buddy. “Soon?”
“Well,” Gage rubbed his chest as if his heart hurt. “I have nine months to figure it out. Fuck.”
Roque slapped his board. “That's amazing.”
“Wow. Congratulations, man,” Jimmy managed under the band of envy tightening about his shoulders. He was happy for Gage and Sam. He just wanted to create the same kind of life for Cleo.
“I'm thrilled as fuck. But I'm scared, too. I can’t count the number of times I failed Bel, but dad and I did our best to try to make her strong.”
“Try? Fuck that. She’s the strongest woman I know. She’s met every challenge I’ve thrown down for her head-on and a few I never intended.” He blew out a breath. “She just has to let go of all that shit with your mom. She thinks being lonely is less painful than the potential of losing someone she loves.”
Gage’s chin dropped to his chest on a sigh. “That would be my fault.”
Roque shook his head. “What are you talking about? You’re not to blame for your mother abandoning all of you when you were kids.”
“Maybe not.” Gage adjusted his board. “But I am for the second time she was abandoned. I never even looked back when I took off to film school in New York.”
That helped explain more to Jimmy than anything else. He understood the man leaving to pursue his dreams, but he also understood that for Bel, it was just another person who claimed to love her…walking away.
He gave Gage’s board a shove. “Maybe I need to kick your ass.”
With the green velvet hills off in the distance and the sound of the surf soft against her ears, Bel ran her fingers along the ornate tiles at the Getty Villa. The place was an artist’s dream, and she scanned the incredible mosaics that ran the length of the covered walkway on one side and admired the solid presence of the stout white columns on the other.
She preened in complete and utter satisfaction. The evening before, she’d crashed the red carpet and had mind-blowing sex in the stairwell of a building filled with the latest A-list celebrities, and now the object of her affection was with her at one of her favorite places on the planet.
“I’m not disappointed. Just look at this place.”
A warm sense of contentment moved through her at Jimmy’s words. “Of course, you're not disappointed. I have good ideas, too, you know.” She gave him a cheeky wink.
“How was I to know? It seemed you weren't interested in anything more than your professional reputation.”
She followed the path of his finger along an intricate pattern of burnt orange and a deep red, imagining the caress against her skin instead. She cleared her throat. “Yes, well, my career is important to me.”
His look softened as he studied her face. “I understand that. Becoming a location scout kept me out of an office and my eye keen for beauty. I take my camera with me everywhere and never miss an opportunity to capture something special.” He lifted his camera, pointing it at her, and shot a few photos. “Like now.”
She waved him away. “Don't be silly.”
“Silly?”
“Don't waste any memory on me.”
“Don’t tell me you’re camera shy, professor. Beauty’s in the eye of the beholder. I’m the judge, not you.”
“I don’t mind pictures, I’m just not the right subject. I need photographs that instill a deep sense of love, all different kinds of love. Using me is counterintuitive. And here I always thought you were a smart man.”
He snaked his arm around her neck, yanking her in for a searing kiss. She felt the punch of it straight through to her toes, her body coming alive with the feel of him pressed against her. As soon as he'd started, he stopped, and the absence of his warmth was immediately missed.
She pulled in a breath. “You are full of it this afternoon.”
“You seem to bring the best out in me,” he deadpanned.
As they strolled through the beautiful, Spanish-style building and out onto the lush grounds, she watched him out of the corner of her eye. He stopped to run a finger along the veins in the white marble stairs and glided his hand over the bushes groomed into a geometric shape within one of the beautiful waterscapes.
She was enthralled by how captivated he became with everything around him. He wouldn't just look. He would feel its beauty, literally and figuratively bending over backward to study an object. He’d squint and stare, the corners of his eyes wrinkling with the effort to study it from all angles.
It was how she felt when he looked at her, when he touched her, as if he wasn't just seeing her on the surface but deep into the inner recesses of her heart.
It left her feeling restless and exposed.
And downright petrified.
There was no love lost that wasn't first found, but she wasn't ready to admit anything more than a strong appreciation for her devastatingly handsome friend.
CHAPTER 12
Bel grabbed Jimmy's hands. “Come on, I don't wanna be late.”
He kept up but watched her in question. “Late for what? It’s the Getty Villa. We could spend the whole day here and still not see it all. Kind of makes it impossible to be late.”
“You'll see,” she said as she led him through the huge interior courtyard. The crystal blue waters they walked beside were centered in the space and bordered by palm trees and groomed shrubs.
Her favorite piece was the sculpture of a woman reclining on a wedge of rock at one end. The marble columns supporting the sun arbors on either side of the statue reminded her of ancient Romans and days gone by.
They made their way through large archways and into the darkened interior. Paintings and sculptures and clay molds, even pottery and tools and clothing, were found in every corner. “I still don't understand what we're doing,” Jimmy whispered for her ears only, sending a shiver down her spine.
“Right in here.” They entered a classroom that was more pottery kiln than desks and chairs. Clay and pottery wheels were set about the perimeter with one in the center next to short a man with a bald head and a charismatic glint in his eye.
“Welcome, welcome,” he said, encouraging visitors into the room. “Are you ready to begin?”
“Pottery?” Jimmy asked.
“Not just pottery,” Bel said. “We're going to learn how to make pottery the way the Romans did.”
“I'm telling you right now,” he warned, eyeing the pottery wheel. “I'm about as graceful as a drunk toddler.”
She grimaced. “That is an awful analogy.” But she giggled as they found their wheel. “I thought it would be fun for us to work together on this. Maybe it'll inspire some ideas for my workshop.”
They took their stools as the instructor opened up the session and gave a brief history about the origins of the use of clay and the pottery wheel. Assistants
brought chunks of clay and a bucket of water with small sponges and rags and wooden tools to each station.
“Now,” the instructor directed. “Dip your hands in the water, and then place your hands carefully to feel your clay.”
“You go first.” Jimmy scooted over to give her room.
Bel jumped right in. “Come on. Neither of us has to go first. We can do this together.”
The water on her hands was room temperature, so as she molded them around the cool clay, it created an interesting feel in combination with the smoothness of the material. She grabbed Jimmy's hands, guiding them under hers. “I could’ve gotten lost in this for days as a little girl,” she said.
He flexed his fingers, indenting the clay, but she smoothed it by directing his hands under hers in an easy manner. The sight of their hands around the clay sparked something primal inside of her.
“My brother and I did more times than not.” He chuckled with the memory. “But it wasn't clay—it was often just mud.”
She nodded, as the corners of her lips kicked up, and thought back to the times when she’d explored their backyard as a kid. Closer to the water, the ground had so much more sand, but once she got away a little bit, there was a plethora of real dirt.
How many times had her mother yelled at her for getting dirty? For being unsightly? She shook her head, too many times to remember…or care.
The instructor showed them how to spin the wheel and gently move the clay beneath their hands.
She eased her hands away so Jimmy could try first. His clean, masculine scent enveloped her as he moved with the wheel. The clay soon began to wobble back and forth, almost falling off the table. He caught it with a guffaw and stopped the wheel’s motion. His expression was content and happy, making her heart all soft and warm.
It tugged at her emotions to see him casually enjoying a moment in life. It was one of the things she really admired, his ability to appreciate experiences. She’d learned a lot since spending time with him, tasting him, touching him. He was her favorite new experience.
By challenging some of her fears, he definitely made her step out of her comfort zone. But she wasn’t about to tell him that—his ego would surely inflate beyond reason.
She started at the feel of his hand on hers, and once again, a swirl of butterflies took flight in her stomach. “Your turn,” he whispered.
Dipping her hands in the water, she cupped a little and let it run over the clay. She pressed her foot on the small pedal to spin the pottery wheel as her hands gently shaped the clay. It spun beneath her palms, smooth as silk but more satisfying.
She loved the feeling of it almost as much as the feel of Jimmy's body under her hands. Almost. But she couldn't think of anything more pleasurable than having her hands on that man unless it was his hands on her.
He glanced over at her, and heat rushed to her face.
Sticking her tongue out at him in a playful manner, she focused once more on the clay beneath her hands.
There was a power in love.
A power given, power taken.
The ability to mold another through acts of love, through the fear of the loss of love. It was some of the most motivating energy on the planet.
It was documented.
Science.
She couldn’t argue with science, but she most definitely could with her own heart. That sucker was not to be trusted.
Because love was also like this clay. With a gentle touch and firm direction, it would bend and move and mold and grow into something beautiful. But one wrong move, one touch that was too firm or too soft, and the beauty collapsed into an unrecognizable mass.
Jimmy reached out and placed his hands on the outside of hers without pressure. She looked at him, nearly startled to find his face right next to hers. He sat close, and the heady scent of him wrapped around her head in a satisfying cloud of masculinity.
“You have a special touch. I just want to feel how your hands move.”
She tried to concentrate, listening to the instructor and trying to mimic his movements. Getting her hands wet, she encouraged Jimmy to do the same and gingerly cupped her hands around the clay again. In and up, the clay began to move, and she adjusted her thumbs with a very gentle downward motion, and the rough idea of a bowl took shape.
A grin stretched Jimmy's inviting mouth, and Bel leaned forward, placing her lips on his.
He stilled for the briefest moment, then melted into the kiss, making her forget everything around them.
The bowl tumbled beneath her hands, and she broke away.
Her once round bowl was now nothing more than a pile of earth.
Jimmy laughed. “I feel like I should say sorry, but I'm not.”
“I believe you.” She winked. “Why don't we try that again?”
They both dipped their hands in the water and slid them onto the clay as she generated a slow spin of the wheel. He eased his hands away as she formed the ball, a look of appreciation on his face at her ability, and it left her feeling all aglow.
Bel wanted to tell him how much she was enjoying herself, how powerful and strong her body felt when he touched her, and how powerful and strong she felt when his body responded to hers so intensely.
But she didn’t say any of it.
Fear of rejection held her back.
“It's your turn now.”
He shook his head. “No way, I am not messing up the work you've done.”
“You don't have to, silly. We can get more clay.”
His cell buzzed from the pocket of his jeans, and he quickly washed his hands off, half drying them on his jeans before dragging the phone from his pocket.
“Goddammit.” His voice was low and tinged with frustration. “What do you need?”
Bel was surprised by his tone, unsure of who he could be speaking to.
He stared at the ground, then swore as he listened to the person on the line. “Calm down. Where are you?” He checked his watch and looked at her with a shake of his head, mouthing the words, “I’m sorry” as he stood.
Her stomach sank a bit with disappointment. It was clear that he wasn't going to be able to stay.
“I said I'll be there,” he growled into the phone before disconnecting the call. “I've gotta go.”
“What's wrong? Is it Cleo?”
Jimmy pressed his lips into a tight line. “It’s her mom. I’m real sorry about this.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?” She dipped her hands in the water to wash off the clay. “I can come.”
“No.” He put a hand out to stop her. “This has nothing to do with you. I don't wanna bother you with any of it.” He stepped away from the pottery wheel.
From her.
And for the first time since they'd been spending time together, she felt small.
She swallowed a lump in her throat.
However, as she watched him walk away, she had to give herself a reality check. People walking away wasn’t new, it was the norm. Something she was already familiar with, so feeling hurt or disappointed wouldn’t change a damn thing.
J immy tried to erase the look of disappointment in Bel's eyes from his mind, but it wouldn't be suppressed. It wasn't so much that he’d had to leave but rather when he said he didn't want to bother her that her light faded.
The last thing she needed to deal with was his crazy dysfunctional family. Besides, if he was the one to take care of it and screwed something up, then he could only blame himself.
The blame was something he’d learned a long time ago that he could handle.
Grabbing an Uber back to his place, he jumped out of his car and hopped onto his bike. Slipping the helmet over his head, he buckled it under his chin, then headed up Pacific Coast Highway with the plan to pick up Margo on the way to check on Cleo.
His sister-in-law was stuck in the parking lot of one of the north beaches with no way home, and apparently, Cleo was all by herself. After too much time with his own thoughts, he pulled into the parking lot a
nd immediately spotted the woman slouched on a bench.
She had mascara running down her cheeks, and her hair was in some sort of frizzed-out knot on the top of her head.
He slipped off his helmet and tucked it under his arm as he approached, wary of her mood. She went from hysterically crying to hysterically swinging in a matter of seconds these days. “What happened?”
“Not that you care. Bobby and I had a fight, and he left me here.”
Jimmy's throat tightened with a need to lecture on her poor decision making, her poor judgment of character, and how the hell she could leave her little girl all alone. “When was the last time you were home?”
She scowled and waved her hand. “Not that it's any of your business, but I was home all night. Bobby got pissed, and now I don't have the money to get back. Cleo is there. Just take me home.”
Trying to reason with her when she was clean and sober was impossible lately, much less the way she was upset now. Shoving his extra helmet on her head, he helped her onto the back of the bike.
“Next time, can you fucking drive a car like a normal person?”
He scoffed. “Next time, could you try acting like a mother?”
“What’d you just say?” she sniped.
“Just get on the bike.”
With a huff, Margo did as she was told.
Jimmy got her back to the apartment quickly and safely. She slid off the bike and stumbled up the stairs without a backward glance. “You don't have to come up.”
“The hell I don’t,” he barked as he passed her and knocked on the door. “Cleo! It's Uncle Jimmy. Let me in.” Silence was his answer, so he pounded again. “Cleo, it's Uncle Jimmy. Open up, sweetie.”
Finally, the door opened, and the large, scared eyes of his niece peeked through.
“Quit carrying on. She wasn’t in any danger.” Margo pushed past the two of them.
He wrapped his big hand around his little niece's head and pulled her in for a hug. She buried her face in his stomach. He held her for a moment, relief that she was all right leaving him dizzy, and then with his hands on her shoulders, he gently set her away. “Go grab your bag, kiddo. You're coming home with me tonight.”
