by Gemma Hart
The photo was taken beautifully as well. I knew she had set this up in Mackleson’s back room but you’d never have guessed looking at it. With a subtle gray backdrop and diffused lighting, it looked like the photo had been taken at a reputable New York studio.
“Where’d you learn photography?” I asked, wondering where this woman’s talents ended.
Clara wrinkled her nose at me, making me laugh. “I don’t really know photography. I just learned enough from the internet and books to make my pieces look good. I certainly wouldn’t call myself a professional photographer.”
Maybe she wouldn’t. But I damn well would.
“These are good,” I said, nodding in wholehearted approval. “These are really, really good.” I looked at another photo of an upholstered wingback with pincushion tucks. It was elegant yet modern. It was detailed but not stuffy. She really had an eye for walking that delicate balance between beautiful and overdone.
A soft glow of dusky pink warmed her cheeks. She looked up at me shyly. “You think so?”
I looked down at her, surprised. “You know it’s good,” I said slowly. “You have to know that these are worth a showroom in New York, right?”
Clara bit her lip, lowering her eyes, before shaking her head and smiling. “I know,” she said, without any hint of pride or boasting. “But…I dunno….It just feels different to hear you say you like them.”
Those hazel eyes flicked upwards at me again, making my chest tighten with an unfamiliar but not unpleasant feeling.
I wrapped my arm around her, bringing her close to me. She fit against me perfectly. I kissed her forehead before capturing her lips. I knew I was just getting in deeper with every kiss, every moment spent with her, but I didn’t care. She was a heady drug and fuck was I hooked.
But there was a small sinking feeling growing in the pit of my stomach. I tried to ignore it by burying myself deep inside Clara every night or holding her close every day.
I hid it by working with her in the hardware store, laughing as she berated a customer for working on a project without consulting her. Or by listening to her talk late at night, her head resting against my shoulder.
But none of it stopped that dark feeling from getting bigger with each passing day.
That feeling of: you don’t know how to love her.
I tried to ignore it. Bury it. Hide it.
But the words echoed through my brain day and night. Even when I held Clara’s naked body close to me as we settled into bed, I could hear it resounding through the inner corners of my head.
You don’t know how to love.
That, I couldn’t deny.
Looking back on my life, all I saw was fracture lines across my heart. Most people learn love from their parents, specifically their mothers. But our love had been more of a desperate one. We starved, we shivered, and we worked as partners to lessen the suffering we both endured. There was no quiet, no respite, no moment of simple mother and son. It was a cold and cruel partnership that pushed us to become harder, stronger people. I had learned how to endure anything to survive from my mother.
And from David Lowell? I had learned just how biting words could be. I learned how easily you could snap a man with a look or a gesture. If anything, I had learned the meaning of every word opposite of love from that man—hatred, cruelty, detachment, coldness, sadism.
I was an expert in breaking hearts.
I had no idea how to protect them.
Every time I watched Clara move—fuck, every time she breathed—I felt my heart tighten in need…and fear. She was too good. She hardly knew me. She didn’t even know my name! And yet, she had opened her heart and her home to me.
Despite the heartbreak of her own past, she had somehow maintained her humanity. She was still clearly able to love and give love.
But I wasn’t that good. I had lost all that years ago.
“Jonah?” Clara asked, later that night in bed. We sat in the tumble of bed sheets, both completely sated after a very thorough lovemaking session. But despite it, my cock still twitched at the sound of her voice. Fuck, she was addicting!
I ran my hand across her forehead, brushing away the honey blonde hair. “Hmm?” I asked, my eyes still closed.
I felt a small hand touch my chest. I opened my eyes and looked down at her.
“What is it, baby?” I asked, my voice husky from sex.
Clara looked up at me. “Is something wrong?” she asked softly. “You seem…distracted.”
I immediately rolled over, pinning her beneath me. With one hand raking through her silky hair and another cupping her breast while my thumb flicked over her nipple, I murmured huskily, “Distracted? We can go again to show you that nothing distracts me from this body.” I smiled as I took her lips.
Clara blushed but shook her head. “That’s not what I meant,” she said. She sounded a little breathless as her nipple rose against my touch. I could feel her skin rippling in sensitivity as I began to tease her body.
“I meant,” she said, clearly trying to remain focused. “I meant, you seem a little…sad. Sort of. Did something happen today?”
I paused. Stroking her hair gently, I looked down at her.
Sad? I was fucking miserable.
Did she know who Jonah Lowell was?
Jonah Lowell had a list a hundred miles long of how many women he’d crushed along the way.
There weren’t enough hours in the day to count how many women had been hurt or ruined by me. Sometimes I played with them for a few months. Others for a few hours. But in the end, I left and ignored them. I had no way of doing anything else. I felt comfortable in the hollow spot. I had learned through the years that I could make a very comfortable life alone in that hollow spot.
Jonah Lowell didn’t love.
He fucked.
Jonah Lowell didn’t stay.
He left.
But Clara….
She was different. She was special. I wanted to tell myself that I could be different with her. That everything could be different. But the truth echoed too loudly in my ears to make any difference.
I shook my head. “I’m sorry, baby,” I murmured. “Guess I’m just a little tired today.” I looked down at her full, creamy breasts with the dusky rose pink nipples.
I lowered my head and sucked hard on one. Clara immediately arched her back and cried out, her hands gripping my head against her.
“But let me make that up to you,” I whispered harshly, before I thrust my cock deep into her. I looked down and saw desire immediately bloom in her hazel eyes. I kissed her again as I moved my hips once more, thrusting my length deep into her wet warmth.
“Let me make that up to you,” I said again.
***
“Is that it?” I asked, loading the last of Clara’s latest chairs into the back of the pick up. It was an old Chevy with the faded letters of Mackleson’s printed along the doors.
Clara sighed as she nodded. “Yeah, that should do it. You can just unload them to the back room. I’ll meet you there in an hour or so. Benji’s called me over to his place for some help on reno-ing his kitchen.”
I raised a brow in surprise. “You can renovate a kitchen now?” I asked. What the fuck? Was this woman Superman?
Clara laughed, shaking her head. “No. Definitely not. I’m going over there to talk him out of doing it himself. He’s just gonna drive his wife up the wall if he tries to smash in the walls again on his own.”
I grinned, deciding to ask later what walls Benji had smashed in before. I gave her a quick kiss and slipped into the truck, ready to haul over her latest creations to the store so she could photograph them.
Ever since I had gotten a good look at her photos, I had given a call to Mrs. Drune, asking her to look up all the potential buyers for the bigger furniture and home goods companies in New York. Clara was too good to leave any stones unturned.
I had taken a few photos of her work with my phone and had sent them to Mrs. Drune. I wanted to give C
lara every opportunity her work deserved.
As I drove down the road, nearing Mackleson’s, I saw a sleek black Audi parked by the store.
Immediately, my fists gripped the wheel, recognizing the car. How the absolute fuck had he found me?
I threw the truck into park and walked stiffly but quickly into the store.
Inside, I found old Alex shuffling around, confused and uncomfortable as my uncle stood in the middle of the store in his expensively tailored gray suit.
“Er…if you told me what project you were working on…sir,” Alex tacked on hastily, unsure how to address this wealthy stranger, “I could help you out.”
Martin’s eyes landed on me as soon as I walked in. His lips tightened and his eyes turned razor sharp.
“I’ve found my project,” he said quietly. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to take use of that back room you have there for a few minutes. Don’t come in and don’t let anyone else come in.”
With that, he turned around and headed towards the back room like he owned the place. I followed, ignoring Alex’s sputtering expression.
As soon as the swinging doors closed behind us, I spoke, “How the hell did you find me?”
Martin turned around slowly, taking in the scattered furniture pieces and the several standing lights and backdrops.
“The how is pretty obvious, I’d think,” he said, looking over a small side table that stood next to him. The man was wealthier than God. His means of finding anybody in world was most likely limitless. “I think what you’re asking is, why.”
“Fine then,” I said, my voice curt. “Why?”
Martin gave me a cold smile. “Why do you think? You’re the head of a multi-billion dollar corporation. You think you can run off whenever you want to play house with some backwoods sales girl?”
I pulled in a slow breath. I knew what I was doing had been irresponsible. But for over twenty years, I’d dealt with a stepfather who couldn’t stand me to an uncle who was constantly conniving to take everything out from under me.
This was a long break, granted it. But it was one out of twenty years. He had to have known that at some point, I would tire of this bullshit.
“Worried about the board meeting,” I said, not really a question. I leaned against a wall, my arms crossed so that I wouldn’t punch a wall. I didn’t like hearing Clara being mentioned by Martin. At all.
“Of course I am!” Martin exploded.
“I would’ve been back before then,” I said calmly. “There’s no way Mrs. Drune wouldn’t skin my ass if I wasn’t.”
Martin huffed a laugh and shook his head. “And then what? After the deal, you’d come back here to play more house?” He gave a disgusted look at my weathered flannel shirt and jeans.
“What are you supposed to be?” he sneered. “Some lumberjack?”
“Why the fuck does it matter to you?” I asked in a quiet cutting tone.
Martin gave me a twisted smile. “Because I know a mistake when I see one.”
I raised a sardonic brow. This man, divorced twice with a daughter who he hadn’t seen in over ten years, was about to tell me about my mistakes?
“That’s right, son. A mistake,” he said, as if he could tell what I was thinking. Martin ran a hand down his chin, his graying stubble scratching against his fingers.
“You think you can live this kind of life?” he asked, gesturing around the dim back room that I had grown so accustomed to. “You think you can live in this kind of town?”
I kept my arms crossed, not answering.
Martin shook his head, a cold smile playing at his lips. “No, you’re fooling yourself and you know it. You and I, even without any blood relation, have one thing in common.” He gave me a flat, cold stare. “We’re ruthless. We’re heartless. We can give a fuck all about what’s happening unless it contributes to our bottom line.” Martin snickered. “You know I don’t like to admit this but you think DXC Global would be doing as well as it is if you weren’t like that? This is a high stakes game we play, son, and half measures don’t work. Men who can’t make the hard decisions, the devilish ones, the ones that play between the shades of gray for ethical behavior, those men invariably fail. The only reason why you’re still President of DXC Global is because you aren’t one of those men.”
I pressed my lips tightly together. “A compliment, I’m sure,” I said dryly. But I knew it was. At least when it came from Martin Lowell.
Martin looked surprised, as if it could be taken any other way. “To be sure. I just complimented you on your success in running a multi-billion dollar corporation.” He paused, looking me over carefully. “And that’s the exact reason why this kind of life is a charade and you know it.”
I did, goddamn him. I did. Everything he was saying was verbatim the things I had been thinking ever since I realized I felt more than just lust for Clara.
“Men like us don’t ‘settle down.’” Martin almost sneered at the phrase. “We don’t love. Those kinds of ideas take up time and energy that can be better spent elsewhere. And, kid, I knew it from the moment I saw you as a scrawny little twelve year old.” He looked me straight in the eye. “You don’t have that kind of heart.”
I know.
“It’s not a flaw,” Martin continued. “In our world, it should be considered a blessing. But it’s time you finally stop fooling yourself and accept who you are. You’re not meant to be some two bit lumberjack in fuck all Vermont. You’re not some settle down husband who’ll be happy with Little League games and Sunday dinners. Stop fucking around, kid, and get your head straight.”
Every word, as disgusting as it was to hear, was the truth. I knew it. Martin knew it. There was no future for me and Clara. And every day I stayed here, I was just making the inevitable heartbreak for her more unbearable.
Although all of it was the truth, I still couldn’t help but rage. With a force that shook the entire building, I slammed my fist hard behind me against the wall.
Some of the chairs in front of me actually skipped a few inches from the force of my punch.
“I’ll be in New York by the end of the week,” I said slowly.
Martin nodded, satisfied. “Good. Clean yourself up too,” he said, eyeing my recent beard growth with a critical eye. “Unless you want the board thinking you’re some kind of vagabond.”
With that, Martin pushed past the swinging doors and walked out of the back room, leaving in his wake the destroyed pieces of my secret hopes for a life of innocent happiness. Of a life with Clara.
Chapter Six
Clara
I stood behind the counter at Mackleson’s, looking down at the small black cellphone. A smile curled my lips as I wondered just how late Jonah would be without his cellphone to wake him.
Jonah relied on his cellphone for everything and I was surprised to see he had left it at the store.
I had left the house early this morning to deliver a piece I had been working on to a customer across town. Deliveries like these were a normal part of my job but now with Jonah in my bed, warming me up with his arms, I was reluctant to leave the bed, let alone his embrace.
It was hard not to feel so good in Jonah’s arms. He was the first man I had ever been with who never seemed to tire from holding me. Usually, most men start off by tucking my head against their shoulder, holding me tight after lovemaking. But as body heat and hot breaths increase the warmth between us, they would roll over, pushing me aside for the sake of comfort.
But Jonah seemed to revel in touching me. He held me close to him, kissing my forehead frequently. If I fell asleep with my head on his arm, I woke up in that same position.
Or actually, I corrected with a small smile, sometimes I woke up with him nestled even closer against me, with his arms completely wrapped around me, tucking my arms into my chest. I was tucked against his back and held tight, feeling like a precious object that had to be treasured.
I bit my bottom lip and sighed a little, thinking of that darkly gorge
ous man. I had noticed a bit of a change in Jonah recently. There was something dark that was clearly hanging over him, affecting him.
He still was as insatiable as before. Often in one night, he would take me two or three times before taking me another two or three times in the morning. He still would hold me at night, talking to me in a low, warm voice. He would ask me about my past or my plans for my future. He made sure to always let me know how impressed he was with my work, which made my toes curl with pleasure.
But now, during all those moments, I saw a lingering shadow in the back of his eyes that I had not seen before.
I wasn’t completely stupid. Obviously, the way Jonah had rolled into town had been quite unusual. Maybe even suspect.
There had definitely been a moment when I had wondered if he had been some kind of serial killer on the run.
But despite the hesitations, I had found myself drawn to the tall stranger like a magnet. And once I was close enough to him, I realized that whatever his past was, his present was good enough for me.
And that was all that mattered.
There was a roughness to him at times, a coolness that sometimes took me by surprise, but I could see that at the center of his being was a man simply trying to do good.
I looked up at the front door. The bell above it calm and still.
Should I call the house to wake the bum up? I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he had taken an extra hour to himself in bed. The man slept as if he hadn’t slept properly in years.
There was a loud sudden clatter from the back room that made me jump in surprise.
“Ah Jesus!” I heard Alex mutter to himself. “What is this!”
I rolled my eyes. I had heard the chinking sound the clatter had made. “The nails!” I called out towards the back. “Alex, they’re the nails that Hammerson ordered for his back porch project!”
There was a pause before I heard a confused and slightly annoyed voice reply, “What?”
I huffed an irritated laugh before heading towards the back to clean up whatever mess was there and to reassure Alex that the large crate of nails was not some hallucination.
