She could imagine the couch perfectly against the back crisp white wall of her small guest house in the back of her home she’d slowly turned into an art studio, so that she no longer had to rent a space and worry about her paintings being so far away. She’d had contractors come out and take walls down, add in better ventilation, a bunch of windows, and two new French doors. It had been over three months since it had been finished. She had wanted to decorate it herself and had been doing it slowly, but she’d yet to find the perfect couch for the space. She’d wanted something comfortable and bright.
She looked at the teal couch. It was the exact shade of a new art piece she’d been working mindlessly on. It was destiny! She knew she needed it. She had to buy it.
“It’s perfect.” She smiled, making him groan again.
“It really isn’t. Next, you are going to say those mustard yellow pillows are a must too!” She looked over to the throw pillows he was talking about and picked them up.
The fabric was soft, but the pillow was firm. She placed it on the couch, stepped back to where he stood, and tilted her head this way and that, all while biting away a smile at how easy it was to rile him up. She was going to buy the pillows too. But those she was going to get only to irritate him. They weren’t horrible, just not her first choice. But the joy they’d bring her would make them worth it!
“I think you are right about the pillows!” She clapped her hands together, a little giggle escaping from the back of her throat over the giddiness she felt about the couch and being able to make him feel something, even if it was nothing more than irritation with her.
Since Olivia had passed away, she’d stayed close to Grant, trying to help him live. To remind him that he had a lot of life still left to enjoy. Olivia had asked her to do that. Shelly would have done that and so much more for the woman.
***
She usually thought things out slightly better, but she knew that this time she’d messed up.
Huge.
Like heart shatteringly, earth-shakingly huge!
To mess with Grant further, she’d told the store manager they would carry the couch and the four throw pillows back to her home themselves. What she had forgotten about was that it was two very long uphill blocks they had to walk.
But that was not where she’d messed up. Nope. No sir.
Sweaty and hot, he complained the entire time. While at the beginning she’d laughed, after about half a block she’d just stayed quiet because he was right. She should have had it delivered.
That was not her problem.
She stood watching him as he moved the couch around in her new studio. She’d always thought he was handsome, but something about him lately had felt different. She couldn’t put her finger on what it was.
He’d been joining her almost nightly on her walks on the beach along the shore since that night a couple of months ago. In the darkness and against the chill of the salt driven air, everything felt right with the world. It had always been her place to center herself, and somehow sharing that with him had brought them closer. Not that she’d told him it was a special time for her and she wouldn’t. He’d over think things and freak out.
He looked at her, something playing in his eyes. The unusual but very sexy scruff he had covering his jaw made her press her lips together.
“What about here?” he asked as he ran a hand through his still very thick hair. Her hands itched to touch it. To touch the soft tresses and then run the back of her hand against his jaw to feel its coarseness. Wait, what?
“That’s fine,” she croaked out and walked to the small fridge she had in the space to hand him a bottle of water. The way he tipped his head in thanks made her want to sketch him.
“What is it?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, waiting expectantly for her to share. It was scary how well he knew her.
“I’d love to sketch you,” she shared. She’d asked him many times over the years, but he had always refused.
“Fine,” he agreed. Her head whipped up to look at him, almost sure he was messing with her.
“What?”
“I said, fine. Sketch me. Just don’t make me into something Picasso would have envied… or your version of a Dali…” She giggled at his weird response and grabbed her favorite sketchpad and a drawing pencil.
“You sure?” she hesitated. He tilted his head and stared at her in a way he had never looked at her before. A way that made her feel warmer from the inside out.
“Yeah, why not?” he finally answered. She looked down at her sketchpad.
“Okay,” she quickly replied. He grinned at her and shook his head.
“Where do you want me?” His deep voice asking her that made her whole body shiver. Whoa! What was wrong with her?
“Here, sit on the couch, the far end,” she directed him as she grabbed a can of soda for herself.
She usually didn’t drink pop, not the regular stuff at least. She was always worried about the sugar content, but with the weird way her body seemed to be reacting around him today, maybe her blood sugar was low? Or maybe she was having hot flashes.
Popping the tab, she walked, sipping her soda while opening all the windows and pulling the sheer gauzy material to the sides, so that the light could stream in. She didn’t turn to look at him, but she felt him. Literally felt his eyes on her skin as she moved around the space and shivered slightly.
“You cold?” his deep voice rumbled. He was too observant for his own good.
“No.” She cleared her throat, walked over to the couch, and sat next to him.
The familiar scent of his cologne and sun-warmed skin hit her. He shifted slightly, making her snap out of whatever weird hormone imbalance she seemed to be going through at the moment.
A silence unlike any other fell over them, and she placed her pad and pencil on her lap and moved her hand to the square of his jaw. He hadn’t shaved in at least two days. The scruff was coarser than she’d expected. She tilted his chin down. He was pliant under her hands. What would it feel like to kiss him? To feel his jaw scrap the inside of her thighs? she wondered and didn’t fight what her thoughts were roaming towards.
She closed her eyes, in hopes to steer her thoughts in another direction, but she could see him clear as day beneath her lids.
The salt and pepper scruff, the line of his jaw, the weathered, tan skin from his morning runs, the sweet laugh lines by his eyes. She breathed in deep, his scent filling her nostrils, and opened her eyes slowly, swallowing hard as she noticed his dark blue eyes seemed almost black as they stared back at her. Could he feel what she felt?
She opened her mouth to speak and then closed it, not knowing what to say. Her eyes drifted to his muscular neck, and she was glad that for once he wasn’t in one of his stuffy suits with one of his matching ties. He had a great neck. What would it be like to lick him? What would he taste like? Instead of letting those thoughts freak her out, she moved her knees below her body and moved in closer, both hands on his face now, and put him in just the right light, trying to focus on the task at hand.
Adjusting him and fixing his hair, she hadn’t realized how close she really was. She could feel the minty warmth of his breath tickling her lips and looked down at him. His eyes were on her. She licked her lips, and as if in a fog, his eyes watched her do it. Her lips tingled and her body shivered. What the hell was wrong with her? With shaky hands, she picked up the pad on her lap and started to sketch.
Her hands had a mind of their own as she looked at him, while he looked back at her with an intensity that filled the energy in the room. Her hands worked their magic, and she looked from her pad to him as time flew right by them, the energy never fading in the room. If anything, it made her skin prickle further and made her grow even warmer.
Her eyes drifted to his mouth, where she noticed a freckle on the side of his lip. She licked her own, wishing she could lick that tiny spot. Her breathing was off, her heart raced, but it had been so long since she’d felt this motivated to sk
etch. A tiny drop of sweat trickled down her neck and into her cleavage, and she watched his eyes follow it, leaving heat and desire in its trail. And that was when her hands dropped the pencil.
Hearing the slight clank of its bounce ringing in the room, she sat up straight and almost immediately stood up. What was going on? Why was he looking at her like that? Why was she thinking about him like that?
“You…” he cleared his throat. “You okay?” he asked, and she turned from him, placing the pad face down on an empty table as she stood and kept her back to him.
“Yeah. I… It’s just hot… I mean warm,” she nervously stuttered, her stupid heart beating too fast as what felt like a swarm of hideously big butterflies swooped in her belly, making her hands shake. “I think I … I need a break.”
“Okay,” he murmured, and for a moment she thought maybe he felt it too, but quickly shook away the preposterous idea. She almost laughed at the idea of Grant ever feeling anything other than friendship towards her.
She snuck a glance at him as she slipped back into her flip-flops, and her heart twitched with soft sadness.
No, Grant Alexander would never be able to see her as more than a friend. She wasn’t as polished as the women he saw now. Was she actually sad about this?
Oh Shelly, Shelly, Shelly… of all the stupid things to do, she had to do the stupidest of all.
She had fallen for her best friend. Her! The woman who seemed to be immune to deeper feelings than lust had gone and fallen for the one man who would never ever see her as anything but a friend and a pain in the ass.
In a panic and without thinking, she grabbed her keys.
“I forgot I told Jess I would water her plants,” she blurted out when she felt him near.
“Oh… want me to …” he started to offer, but she shook her head.
“No! Stay. I already bothered you enough. I’ll see you later, okay? Okay!” she said over her shoulder, almost running to her car.
She didn’t look back. Not once. If she had, she’d have seen him stand and watch her the entire time.
Chapter Seven
Five Months Ago
Grant
She ran out like the devil was on her heels, and he let her.
Everything in his body screamed at him to rush after her, but he stayed where he was.
Her body folded into her car and she left without one look back at him. Go after her, a voice whispered in the back of his mind, but he shook it away. It was better this way. He locked the door and slipped out her back gate and into his. Throwing his keys onto the counter in the kitchen, he grabbed a glass of water and drank as he looked outside.
She’d been so damn close to him. How many times had he almost grabbed and kissed her? In his mind, she would have fought him for a second before she’d melt into his arms and given in to whatever the hell they were both fighting. He closed his eyes and could see her, smell her. She infiltrated his senses like no other woman, which scared the living daylights out of him.
Commitment and relationships didn’t bother him. He liked the stability and love he’d shared with Olivia. It was when it ended that did him in. That terrified him. The moment love ended, and it always did. Whether it was boy leaves girl or in his case girl leaves boy, it always ended one way or another. He couldn’t put his heart and ass on the line again.
Could he?
***
Night had fallen, and he sat on his deck right outside of his bedroom. The night was unusually clear. The beach was empty, other than a group of surfers who were setting up a bonfire and a family of five who was packing their shit to go home.
He sat there with a glass of Irish whiskey and fought the urge he’d had since Shelly had returned. Her car was in her driveway. From where he sat, he could see she was in her studio, the soft lights on. Shaking his head, he picked up the phone, made plans, and got ready.
He was too old to try again. Someone always left someone else. He’d had to bury Olivia, he didn’t have it in him to try again. Not with someone who meant so much to him.
***
Dressed in a navy suit he liked, he opened his front door thirty minutes later, keys in hand. And there she was. About to knock on his door, she put her hand down slowly, and his blood warmed, his body tightened in a way only she’d been able to have him do lately.
Looking at her in those skin-tight yoga pants, a skin-tight tank top that showed off her curves beneath the shawl she had on, his mouth watered.
“Hey,” she whispered. He didn’t say anything. He wanted to, he just didn’t know what he’d say, “I, umm…I’m sorry about earlier… Grant, I…” his phone rang and she stopped talking. He took it out of his jacket pocket and held it to his ear, his eyes never leaving hers.
“Yeah. Sure, Erin… be there in twenty,” he said into the phone, his heart beating hard in his chest when he took in the disappointment in her warm eyes, the slight flush over her cheeks.
She’d felt it. FUCK! She’d fucking felt it! What they’d had in her studio, she’d felt it.
He just couldn’t let them go there.
“You’re going out.” She licked her lips and drifted her eyes downward. It hit him like a punch to the gut to disappoint her. His dick was coming to life, everything in him fighting to reach out to her.
“Yeah. Is everything okay?” he asked, his voice cold and unaffected.
“Yeah,” she replied, sounding distracted, her eyes not meeting his. She shook her head, and he knew she was going to come up with an excuse. “I just came to see if you wanted to go for a walk. I should have known better. Have fun,” she said, turning around. Something about the way she said that pissed him off. So much he couldn’t stop himself from grabbing her hand. He saw anger and passion flashing in her eyes.
“Look… I just… ugh…How old is this one, Grant? Twenty-seven? Twenty-Five?” Erin was twenty-eight, not that he was going to share. “Is that what you want?” she asked, and boy was that a loaded question.
“You better be clear about what you mean, Shell. Want for what?” he asked, his face mere inches from hers. He watched her open her sweet mouth and then close it.
“Nothing. I don’t mean anything. Have fun.” The sound of defeat in her voice surprised him, so much that he let her go, and she walked away from him.
He got in his car and drove off.
Then for some reason, he pulled over into a damn Denny’s parking lot, called Erin, and canceled.
He didn’t go home.
He had a plate of pancakes, two cups of coffee, and a conversation about the San Diego Chargers’ upcoming season with the waiter. Afterwards, he returned emails from his phone, drove around mindlessly, and didn’t return home till after three in the morning.
To his surprise, her light in her studio was still on. He wanted to go and talk to her, lay it all on the table, but he couldn’t. He wanted her, but he treasured the friendship they shared too much.
So instead, he went to bed.
Chapter Eight
Four Months Ago
Shelly
It was dark and quiet. It usually was, at one in the morning. The silence usually helped her think and paint, but right now, it felt too quiet. Too many thoughts rolled through her mind, and most of them lately were about Grant. She'd been ignoring him for the last month, and he hadn't even noticed.
Before she walked out on him after she’d sketched him, they’d been walking together along the shore almost every night for a couple of months. It’d been nice and she missed it.
Missed the intimacy of sharing the darkness at her favorite spot with one of her favorite people. Before she messed everything up by leaving, things had been nice. Better than nice. She hadn’t realized how close they had become, and when she’d been drawing him, touching his face, looking at him, it had hit her like a rogue wave.
She loved him more than friends.
She'd gone over there that very night to apologize, and he'd been ready to leave on a date. Making her realize she was a gr
ade-A idiot. He would never see her as anything other than his pain in the ass, old friend. She wasn't going to catch his attention. She was too unpolished for him, and even if she could clean up slightly, she was a lot older than his usual dinner dates, even if she was four years younger than him.
With a sigh, she grabbed her favorite sketchpad and a pencil and lay down on her couch. She opened it to the sketch of him. Without thinking, her hands traced the line of his jaw, and even if it was only a piece a paper, she almost found herself getting lost in his eyes.
She was in love.
For the first time ever. And she couldn’t shake the heaviness away from her heart. The thought made her eyes suspiciously wet. Why? Why after so many years breathing was she feeling this? Now? And with him?
With a sniffle, ignoring the lone tear that fell from her face, she filled in the shadows and lines of his face. Something she knew from memory. Getting lost in the feeling and drawing, an idea sprouted, and she flipped the page.
Closing her eyes, she let her hands do what they did best. They moved across the page, dragging the pencil with it like a conductor would an orchestra. She got lost in the soft, folky music she forgot had been playing, and in the vision in her mind's eye. Opening her eyes, she wiped away her tears and filled in the details of the masculine hand she was drawing. His hand.
Lost in her work, she didn't hear the first thumps of a knock at her door. Or the second. Not till she stretched her neck did she see the door open and jump at the sight of his lean body at the French doors.
"Hey. You scared me." She tried to smile. "What's up?"
"I saw your light on," he commented, and she looked at him. He was serious and unreadable. Much like he'd been the last month, but she only had herself to blame. "Late night?"
"Yeah. Are you just getting home?" she asked, knowing he had been at a charity event for the local children’s hospital. She had donated two pieces, one for a silent auction and the other for their own walls.
"Yeah. They loved your piece," he shared. She smiled.
Wishing For You (Never Too Late Book 2) Page 3
