I got up and used his bathroom, wondering if he was home. It was so quiet. He might have gone for a run, or to the gym. I slipped on a long cardigan and went out to find him.
He was standing behind his easel, shirtless and barefoot in a pair of paint-splattered gray sweats. God, his body was phenomenal. He was lean and muscular, but more than that, he looked strong. Like his muscles were for more than just looks—like he knew how to use them.
His dark hair was carelessly messy, and he had a spot of green paint on his cheek, just above his stubble. He didn’t look up when I approached, his eyes intent on his painting. He tilted his head to the side, then applied a few strokes with a paint brush.
Edgar lay nearby. His ears twitched, and he blinked his eyes open to look at me. Then he huffed out a breath and went back to sleep.
“Good morning.” I kept a little distance, not sure if he wanted me to see what he was working on.
His smile lit up his face. “Hi, beautiful.”
I nibbled on my bottom lip and tucked my hair behind my ear. Hearing him say that gave me a tingly feeling in my tummy. “Hi.”
“How did you sleep?”
“Really good,” I said. “Thanks for taking care of Edgar this morning.”
“Sure,” he said. “I was awake, so I figured I’d let you sleep in.”
“That was nice. I think I needed it.” I stepped closer. “Can I see what you’re working on?”
He looked at his canvas, then back at me. “Sure. It’s close to being finished.”
I went around to where I could see it. He’d painted a red brick building, the façade covered in thick green ivy. The landscape around it was hazy and indistinct, but many of his paintings were like that. It was as if certain things stood out in his mind while the rest were fuzzy.
“What is it?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I thought maybe you could tell me.”
“This is from one of your visions?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said. “One of the most vivid. I see this building all the time. You don’t recognize it?”
I moved around him, so I could look at it from another angle. It was a beautiful building. But it didn’t seem even vaguely familiar.
“No,” I said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen it before.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive,” I said. “I’d remember a place like this. It’s beautiful. But I don’t think I’ve ever seen it.”
He put his palette and paint brush down. “Can I show you more of them? I don’t want to freak you out, but I thought you’d recognize all of them. I want to see if there are more that are unfamiliar. That might be important.”
“Sure,” I said with a shrug. I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to explain how he could see these things, but at this point it wasn’t doing me any good to dwell on the impossibility of it all. He had painted them, and other than this one, they were things I knew. Figuring out how would have to wait.
He pulled out the canvases that were leaning against the wall. Flipping through them, he showed me each one. I was able to easily identify them all. A park with a twisty slide I remembered from childhood. I’d been afraid to go down it and my dad had bought me an ice cream cone after I’d finally conquered my fear. A girl in the backseat of a car, surrounded by teddy bears and books—just like the time Dad and I had taken a road trip to California. Marshmallows over a campfire. My dad had engineered what he believed was the perfect roasting stick.
There were more, and in every case, I knew exactly what, or where, they were. All except the brick building.
William put his hands on his hips and stared at the painting. “Something must be wrong with it. Maybe I don’t have it right.”
“Or maybe it’s something else,” I said. “Maybe it’s one of your memories.”
“No, I’ve never seen this building,” he said.
“Well, what if there are things you can’t remember?”
He met my eyes. “That isn’t what this is. I’m sure of it.”
Before I could respond there was a knock at his door.
“I’ll be right back.” He leaned in for a quick kiss, then went to answer it.
“Hi, William.” An unreasonably attractive woman in a blouse and skirt stood just outside his door. She had a little boy perched on her hip. He was probably about three, with brown hair and bright blue eyes. “Oliver’s babysitter is sick. I have to go into the office and I’m already late. Is there any way you could watch him again?”
I stared at her while she talked to William, my blood running hot with jealousy at the way William smiled at her.
He turned to me. “Do you mind?”
“No, not at all,” I said, struggling to keep my voice even.
William opened the door wider, inviting them in. I lingered near the back of his apartment, feeling awkward in my pajamas and cardigan, with no makeup and messy hair. Especially because her hair was shiny and perfect, and her clothes looked like they’d been custom tailored for her body—and what a body it was. Her eyes took in William’s exquisite torso and I wanted to launch myself across the room.
“Ivy, this is Stella and Oliver,” he said. “They live next door.”
“Hi,” I said.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” she said, adjusting her son on her hip. “I didn’t realize you had a guest. I can figure out something else.”
“No, it’s okay,” William said in that matter-of-fact tone of his. “Oliver can stay. You get to work. I know how busy you are.”
“You are the best,” she said, beaming at William again. She put Oliver down. “I owe you for this.”
Owe him what, exactly? I hated how jealous I felt, but this woman was gorgeous. Knowing she was William’s neighbor—and they obviously knew each other fairly well—made me envious beyond reason.
“Before I forget,” William said, “you left something last time you were here. Let me go get it.”
He disappeared into his bedroom and my jealousy reached rage-inducing levels. What had she left here that would be in his bedroom?
“William is so amazing,” Stella said. “He’s such a sweetheart. And Oliver just loves him.”
“Yeah,” I said, trying desperately to keep the burning envy out of my voice. “William is great.”
He returned with a book and handed it to her. “Here.”
“Thanks, I totally forgot you had this. And thank you again for watching Oliver.” She stepped in and wrapped her arms around him. He hugged her back and I dug my fingernails into my palms. “I’ll see you later.”
She crouched down to talk to her son, reminding him to be good for Mr. William. After kissing him goodbye, she gave William one last stupidly beautiful smile, and left.
William closed the door behind her and ruffled Oliver’s hair. “Did you have breakfast?”
The kid nodded.
“Do you want to watch cartoons?” he asked.
Oliver nodded again, then ran over and climbed onto the couch.
Edgar sniffed in Oliver’s direction while William turned on the TV. He seemed to deem him unimportant for the time being, and went back to his nap.
William came over and tucked my hair behind my ear again. Beautiful neighbor or no, it was hard to feel anything but a little wave of giddiness when he did that.
“Thanks,” he said. “He probably won’t be here all day. He usually isn’t. Can I get you breakfast?”
“It’s fine,” I said. Oliver was a cute kid. He looked a little bit like William. I coughed and started walking to the kitchen to cover the renewed wave of jealousy that hit me at that thought. “I’ll just have some coffee for now, if you have any.”
“I’ll make you some,” he said.
“That’s okay, I can do it.”
He smiled and followed me into the kitchen, casting a glance at Oliver, who sat happily watching cartoons.
We moved around the kitchen together, William pulling things out of cupboards and ha
nding them to me. I realized I was being silly by insisting I make the coffee. He was the one who knew where everything was. But I needed to do something. The combination of jealousy and being in close quarters with a shirtless William was making my head spin.
“So, how long have you known Stella?” I asked when the coffee was brewing.
“She lived here before I did,” he said.
“Do you know a lot of your neighbors?”
“Not really.”
That wasn’t the answer I’d wanted. What was so special about her? I focused my gaze on the coffee pot, trying to ignore William’s broad chest and the lines of his abs. I knew I was being ridiculous. He’d told me he’d liked it when I used the term boyfriend. We hadn’t talked about it outright, but we were exclusive. Weren’t we? He couldn’t have something casual on the side with one of his neighbors. Could he?
I wasn’t giving William enough credit. That didn’t seem like him. Plus, I already knew William was the type of man who liked to help people. I’d seen him bring groceries to an elderly woman, and a sandwich to a homeless man. Why wouldn’t he be willing to help out a single mother? That was a good thing.
And it wasn’t as if he had Stella’s memories decorating his walls. Points to Ivy for that one.
I managed to keep my foolish jealousy to a low simmer all morning. William was good with Oliver. But then William was good with people in general, so it wasn’t surprising. He didn’t talk to him like a little kid—just spoke as if he was a regular, grown person. Always with that relaxed, calm tone he used with everyone.
After Oliver’s show was over, we took Edgar for a walk. Oliver wanted to play with him, but Edgar made it clear he was not interested in the small human. He didn’t growl, just turned his head away like the snob he was. William distracted Oliver by giving him a shoulder ride while I held Edgar’s leash.
I realized as we walked that we probably looked like a little family—two parents with their son and their dog. Indulging in the fantasy made me blush, but it was definitely enjoyable. William glanced at me a few times, that half-smile playing on his lips, and I wondered what he was thinking.
When we got back, William made lunch for Oliver—a peanut butter and jelly sandwich cut into triangles. I felt a little pouty, wondering why he kept peanut butter and jelly on hand. Did he eat that himself, or were they for when Stella and Oliver came over?
Rather than sit at the table pondering the nature of William’s relationship—past or present—with Stella, I excused myself and went to his bedroom. I still needed to call my insurance company about the break-in. And I was making myself crazy. Getting jealous because he had peanut butter and jelly?
I was feeling fiercely territorial. But I knew my jealousy wasn’t fueled by antagonism toward Stella. It was a sign of how deep my feelings for William ran. Despite all the strangeness surrounding him and his entrance into my life—the way he’d stalked me, how he knew things he shouldn’t, his visions now on canvas all over his apartment—I was falling for him. Hard.
First
I called my insurance company, then checked in with my boss. She was glad to hear from me, and said it was fine if I took a few days off to deal with everything. That was a relief. I still had to clean up the disaster that was my house, figure out what else had been stolen, and get the back door fixed.
My stomach still felt a little sick at the thought of someone being in my home. Would they have tried to break in if I’d been there? Would Edgar have been enough of a deterrent? I couldn’t be sure, but I resolved to look into home security systems.
When I came out, Oliver was finishing up his sandwich. William sat next to him at the table, flipping through a book. I wandered over to his bookshelf and scanned the titles. He had an interesting mix. Books about myths and legends, religions—both modern and ancient—and several about other forms of spirituality. A number of them were about angels.
Picking one up, I thumbed through the pages. Was he simply interested in topics of religion and spirituality? Or was he looking for answers in these books? I suspected he was searching for meaning. For evidence that his own story was true. I wondered if he’d found anything.
There was a knock at his door and I put the book back on the shelf while William got up to answer it.
Oliver jumped down from the table. “Daddy!”
A tall man in a button-down shirt and slacks crouched down while Oliver ran to him. If I’d thought Oliver bore a resemblance to William, I didn’t anymore. This man was like a grown-up clone. He had to be Oliver’s father.
“Hey, kiddo.” He picked up Oliver and smiled at William. “Thanks again, man. Stella won’t be home until later tonight, so I got off early.”
“No problem,” William said.
“We owe you,” he said. “Ollie, can you thank Mr. William?”
“Thank you,” Oliver said.
“Sure.” William ruffled his hair again.
Oliver’s dad seemed to notice me for the first time. His eyebrows lifted, and he grinned at William, giving him an approving nod.
William glanced over at me, then grinned back at him, like they’d just shared a virtual bro-fist. “See you guys later.”
I gaped at them as they left, and William shut the door.
“That was Oliver’s dad?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“Stella’s husband?”
“Of course.”
I smoothed down my hair and tried to act casual. But inside I was kicking myself for being so ridiculous. Stella wasn’t even single, and I’d had my panties in a bunch over her for half the day. “They seem nice.”
“Yeah, they are.” He narrowed his eyes at me, his mouth turning up in that subtle smile. “You were jealous, weren’t you?”
“What? No.” I crossed my arms and walked toward his bedroom. I wasn’t sure why, exactly, except I wanted to hide my suddenly flaming hot cheeks.
William’s footsteps followed behind me. “Yes, you were.” His voice was amused.
I stopped next to the bed. “No, why would I be jealous?”
He moved in close behind me, putting his hands on my arms. I froze. When he spoke, his mouth was next to my ear, his voice low. “You don’t need to be. But I like it.”
“You do?”
“Ivy, I’m jealous of everyone who’s ever been near you.” He gathered my hair in his hand and pulled it to the side, keeping it tight in his fist. “Everyone who’s touched you or held you. Who thought, even for a moment, that they could call you theirs. Because you weren’t. You were always meant to be mine.”
He leaned in and pressed his lips to my neck. That simple kiss lit up my entire body, awakening the desire slumbering in my core. I tilted my head and he kissed the sensitive skin at the base of my neck, working his way up to the soft hollow behind my ear.
One arm slid around my waist, drawing me into him. I arched my back, pressing my ass against his groin. He groaned, pulling on my hair to bare more of my neck to him. He kissed me harder, his warm tongue sliding against my sensitive skin.
He spun me around and pushed me down onto his bed. Crawled on top of me, hiking my skirt up around my hips. His mouth caressed mine, languid strokes of his lips. Flicks of his tongue. I slipped my hands beneath his shirt and ran them up his back, feeling the hard planes of muscle, his warm skin.
Shifting, he pressed his groin between my legs. I moaned as his erection rubbed against me. Our clothes were thin—just his sweats and my panties between us. I could feel his hard length, solid and needy. He started to move, thrusting his hips, grinding into me.
Soft kisses became frantic. He growled low in the back of his throat with every thrust. I pulled his shirt up, yanking it over his head. I needed more of him. More skin, more contact. He took my shirt off and tossed it to the side. His eyes moved over me as I lay beneath him in my lace bra.
“You’re so beautiful.” He touched my face, tracing down my cheek to my neck. Moved his hand along my shoulder and slid my bra strap do
wn my arm. His finger slipped beneath the top of the lace cup and he gently pushed it down, revealing my hard nipple.
Cupping my breast, he slid his tongue over the hard peak and I shuddered. He pressed his cock between my legs while he sucked on my nipple.
“Oh my god, William,” I breathed. “I want you inside me. I want you now.”
He paused, breathing hard, and looked into my eyes. “Do we need protection? I don’t have anything.”
I practically whimpered in disappointment. “Are you sure?”
The corner of his mouth twitched, and a look of nervousness passed across his features. “I’m sure. I wasn’t prepared to have you here. And… I’ve never done this before.”
“What do you mean? You’ve never…”
“No,” he said, his voice so serious. “I’ve never wanted anyone else. I told you, I’ve had you in my mind for as long as I can remember. It’s always been you, Ivy. Only you.”
I grabbed the back of his head and brought his mouth to mine. In the back of my mind I knew this probably wasn’t his first time. That there had to be something before last year—a past he couldn’t remember. But it didn’t matter. He was like a clean slate, untainted and unspoiled. And the idea of being his first—the first for the man he was now—was intensely erotic.
“Do it anyway,” I said into his ear. “Just a little bit. You can pull out, but I want to feel you inside me.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” I said. “Please. I need you.”
He nodded, and we pulled off the rest of our clothes. We paused for a moment, staring at each other. His body was gorgeous, a perfect mixture of hard lines and soft skin. He looked athletic and lean, with his broad chest, ripped arms, and deliciously defined abs. He slid his underwear off and my heart fluttered, the heat between my legs sparking. His cock was as beautiful as the rest of him. Long and thick, it stood straight up, the tip framed by the muscular Adonis belt cutting between his hips.
Settling between my legs, he kept the tip of his cock right at my opening. His skin was hot on mine, his weight on my hips tantalizing. He met my gaze, his intense blue eyes locked with mine. I put my hands against the sides of his face.
Remembering Ivy Page 11
