That clearly was not the response she’d been expecting.
‘What?’
‘From the first, you literally ran away on the jogging trail. You tried to cancel this picnic and now you want to run some more.’ He looked her dead in those bright green eyes he was coming to adore and said, ‘I didn’t peg you for a coward.’
She could have done a great beached fish imitation with the way her mouth opened and closed repeatedly.
‘How dare you call me a coward!’ she finally snapped.
‘You’re acting like one.’ He refused to back down.
‘Why? Because I think I might not want to date you?’ She scowled hard. He liked her better like this.
‘No, because you absolutely want to date me and you keep trying to make excuses to get out of it.’
‘I don’t need a reason to not date you.’ She wouldn’t look at him.
‘Exactly, so if you really didn’t want to, you wouldn’t be making excuses. You’d just stop. But you are making excuses so I know you want to.’
She was incredulous. Literally staring at him with her mouth open. He wanted to laugh. He wasn’t at all sure his logic made sense, but it was damn fun arguing with her. He liked her fiery. He didn’t like her shut off.
Finally, she laughed and said, ‘You make not one bit of sense, you know that, right?’
Taking her hand, he replied, ‘What makes sense is you and me giving this a go. Let’s take it slow, OK? I promise to not rush you and you promise to give me a fair shot. All right?’
For several long moments she stared at him. He could see her weighing the options, looking for an out, but when she spoke she said what he wanted to hear. ‘OK. We’ll give it a shot.’
Grinning, Connor leaned over and planted a hard kiss on her lips.
‘Good.’ Reaching for his CleanSlate, Connor said, ‘How about I draw you? Will you let me?’
She nodded, but then looked chagrined. ‘Connor. You didn’t –’ She waved a hand in the direction of his groin. ‘I could –’
‘All I want is to draw you.’
It wasn’t completely true. He’d gladly make love to her. But they weren’t there yet. He was definitely going to have to take things slow with her. She needed to trust him. Especially if she was ever going to tell him the full story.
Chapter Nine
‘How would you like me to pose?’ Bridget eyed the tree trunk and wondered what she was getting herself into. The idea of sitting completely still for an extended length of time didn’t appeal to her.
‘I don’t want you to pose per se. I’d like you to get comfortable and just relax. Leaning against the tree would be nice, but whatever will be comfortable for you so long as your face is fully exposed.’
Bridget took a deep breath to expel the last remnants of the emotional overload she’d just gone through and switched positions with Connor so that she now leaned against the willow tree.
Watching him work was almost surreal. Deft fingers wielded the stylus on his screen. His concentration seemed complete. He didn’t speak, only looked intently at her from time to time. At first, it was quite embarrassing to sit quietly under his scrutiny. He seemed to be seeing beyond the surface; unravelling her layers and deconstructing her, only to reassemble the pieces in his mind’s eye. She fancied that he was seeing not Bridget the woman, but lines, shapes, angles, and shadows as he set them indelibly in ink.
Slowly, she relaxed and let her mind wander. Unsurprisingly, her thoughts turned to Skyler. The note she’d brought in confirming her appointment had been completely ambiguous. She was scheduled in at a private practice just outside of town. So, Bridget still had no idea what was really going on with her. She only knew that the once bright, vivid girl was withdrawn and seemed shattered.
Objectively, that had been happening slowly for a while now. The semester started with Skyler being gregarious and funny. Quick with a joke and always the first to support her fellow students. Bridget couldn’t really pinpoint where it had all changed, but slowly Skyler had become more quiet, less involved. Bridget often caught her staring off into space with a worried frown.
As the girl’s professor, there were boundaries she couldn’t cross, but she always made herself available to her students. Skyler had been a regular at Bridget’s study groups originally, but now her attendance was sporadic at best. She looked pale and the shadows both under and in her eyes grew more pronounced every day.
Bridget had a very bad feeling about whatever was going on with her. The scene in the bathroom could have been anything, really, but her intuition said that Skyler was pregnant. Not that you could tell at this point; she was as tall and lithe as ever, but where before she’d seemed to stand tall, now she appeared shrunken. It was as if her spirit was folding in on herself and that was something that Bridget couldn’t stand to see.
She knew that feeling. She knew what it was to question your very being. To second-guess everything you ever did that led up to a pivotal moment in time. Every time she thought back to the weeks leading up to her rape, she wished she could go back in time and kick her own ass.
She’d tell that child, for child she truly was in so many ways, to listen when someone warned her in good faith. To realise that sex and dating was not something you played with. Just because someone presented a pretty picture that didn’t mean there was anything beautiful underneath the surface.
‘What’s the scowl for?’
Connor’s soft voice drew her out of her brooding thoughts.
‘I’m thinking about a student of mine.’ She took a deep breath and blew it out. ‘She’s a young girl. A freshman. I think she’s in some kind of trouble, but I’m not sure and she’s not talking.’
‘You asked her or you just mean she hasn’t come to you?’
‘No, I asked her directly. I think she might be pregnant, but she looked me in my face and told me to mind my business.’
‘At the risk of offending you, she’s right. It really isn’t your business.’
Bright anger rushed through Bridget, though she knew his words were true.
‘My business or not, I care about this girl. She’s one of my best students and I’m watching her fade away right in front of my eyes.’
Connor was quiet for a while, just watching her.
‘What can you do for her?’
As quickly as it had come on, her anger deflated.
‘Nothing. That’s what makes this so bad. It isn’t my business. She’s a legal adult and can do whatever she wants. I just hope she’s talking with someone if she isn’t talking with me. All I can do is what I’m already doing. I’m keeping my door open.’
Connor smiled at her and she felt her blood warm in response. He had a way with that smile. It was simultaneously tender and mischievous, as if he knew something he was just dying to tell her at the same time as he really wanted to laugh with her.
‘What?’ She laughed nervously, pushing phantom strands of hair back from her face.
‘I was just thinking that I like you, Professor Ross. I think your students are very lucky to have you.’
She smiled back, inclining her head and saying in her best Scarlett O’Hara, ‘Why thank you, suh.’ She laughed. ‘Are you done with that portrait yet? All this sitting here and holding still is quite exhausting.’
‘Yes.’ His eyes sparkled and he looked like the cat that ate the canary as he said, ‘Close your eyes.’
With a giggle, she obliged. A few seconds passed and she felt the heat of Connor’s body as he settled next to her. His thigh melded along hers and she felt his hands taking her own and placing his slate into them.
‘OK, open your eyes.’
Looking at the slate, she was struck speechless. Whereas the first portrait had been done from memory and its details were a bit off, this one was startling in its realism while being entirely fantastical. The only real objects he’d painted were her and the willow tree. He’d captured her with a contemplative look on her face. She was mostly
in profile, her eyes looking off into the distance. The tree framed her, its droopy branches serving as a living curtain and giving her the appearance of a nymph or some kind of wood elf.
He’d not depicted her actual clothes, but rather had drawn her in a 1920s-style dress with lots of layers and ruffles. The mint green of the fabric set off her red hair and her eyes were almost emerald in his drawing, furthering the otherworldly aspect of the painting.
The background was truly startling. An alien landscape rose up behind her. Purple mountains broke through pink clouds off in the distance. The carpet of grass surrounding her was cerulean while the sky was green, in opposition to reality. She seemed at once completely herself and totally foreign, and the effect was disconcerting. One thing that couldn’t be denied, however, was that it was masterfully done.
‘Connor.’ She was awed by his skill. ‘It’s amazing. I can’t believe you did this. And so beautifully.’
He flushed a little and shrugged. ‘Thanks. It’s easy when you have the perfect subject.’
She’d be fooling herself if she didn’t admit that it was nice for him to be in the hot seat for once, but in truth, this was the work of a truly skilled artist.
‘You should show your work. I mean, is taking photographs what you really want to do for a living?’
Connor’s stomach clenched at her question. Of course he didn’t want to be a photographer, he wasn’t one. Not that he’d ever made a point of correcting her assumption. Hell, he had his camera with him right now.
The reality was that he was content with his life. His job was less than illustrious; in fact, he’d had more than one woman dump him once she found out he was a janitor.
The last had stood up in the middle of the diner he’d taken her to and screeched about how she didn’t date men who scrubbed toilets for a living and couldn’t do better than the local greasy spoon for a date. She’d demanded he take her home and stormed out of the diner.
He still got furious over that particular humiliation. He’d never been back to that diner and it had been one of his favourite spots. Marge, the owner, had always had two eggs fried with bacon and toast waiting for him when he got off work. He liked to eat breakfast at night. Always had.
After Janelle had dressed him down like a dog in front of the regular crowd, he’d never been back. He really didn’t want to ruin what was turning out to be a great day with a revelation that would spoil everything. No one wanted to date a janitor.
‘No, I don’t want to be a photographer.’ He side-stepped the subject. ‘If I had to choose between the two, I’d always choose drawing and painting over photography.’ Warming to his subject – and infinitely relieved to slide away from dangerous territory – he said, ‘Photography, for me, is a foundation. I take pictures to capture moments in time. I often come back and use those photos as puzzle pieces in my art. Maybe I want to paint a flower and I’ll pull out some nature photos that I took. Or I might capture an image because it pulls me due to the emotion involved in that moment.
‘I have a portfolio of photography. I particularly love architectural photos. That’s what drew me to this place. I was doing some research on the architecture of River Rock and the book mentioned this estate. It used to belong to the Rocco family that founded the town. Their line died out when the last son had only daughters who moved away in 1935. Since then the house has passed through a lot of owners and now sits vacant.’
Catching Bridget’s eye, he said, ‘She’s a beauty, though, isn’t she?’
‘Yes, it’s gorgeous.’
‘But painting –’ He continued his previous line of thought. ‘Painting is like being the master of my own universe. I get to determine every single detail of the canvas.’
‘That makes sense, but why digital art rather than traditional brush and canvas?’
‘Because my universe doesn’t always follow traditional rules. Take, for instance, the painting I just did of you. In my mind, you need to be surrounded by jewel colours. Not the baby blue sky or the mediocre green that is grass. Your hair –’ he couldn’t resist reaching out and stroking the silky locks ‘– is like restrained fire. Molten copper waiting to flow down your back. Your skin, so pale and cool, like the ice keeping the fire banked.’
She laughed at his whimsy but that was how he saw her. She was fire and heat trapped in a cool exterior. Heat that he wanted to explore a lot more of.
Eyeing the sky, Connor could see clouds rolling in. With a sigh, he stood and held out a hand to Bridget.
‘Come on, sweetness.’ He smiled at her obvious pleasure at the endearment. ‘It’s time for us to go. There’s a storm coming.’
She gripped his hand and helped gather up the remnants of their lunch. With everything back in the basket and his pack firmly on his back, they made their way back to their respective cars.
After throwing the basket and pack into the back of his late model Toyota Pathfinder, he walked over to her Mustang and was struck by the disparity in their lifestyles. Her car cost more than his annual salary. His car was only paid off because he’d gotten it for two grand from a guy who was desperate for cash and he’d dipped into his little life fund to do it. For the first time, Connor wondered if he was biting off more than he could chew.
Of course, he’d never been one to shy away from a taking a huge bite out of something he wanted.
‘When can I see you again?’
She smiled at him and, with a flirty little grin, said, ‘Well, I’m given to understand there are rules to this sort of thing. So I’m supposed to keep you dangling for at least three days, but then I have a study group, and then classes, and then so forth and so on, so why don’t we just go with what works for you?’
Her grin was open and laughing he couldn’t help but respond with one of his own.
‘Fair enough.’ He squinched up his face and pretended to think hard. ‘Why don’t you let me take you out to dinner tomorrow night?’
‘Deal.’ She stuck out a hand and they shook on it.
‘Question. Do I get to pick you up or shall we meet at the restaurant?’
Pained embarrassment flashed across her face and he wanted to kick himself for what was an obvious question at this stage. One sexy encounter, which hadn’t gone all that well, didn’t amount to establishing trust.
‘Never mind, Bridget.’ He cut her off before she could speak, and smiled to take away any remaining embarrassment she might feel. ‘I’ll text you the name of the restaurant once I’m sure I can get reservations. OK?’
She smiled and nodded. Leaning in, he dropped a quick, sweet kiss on her lips, refraining from taking it any further. He’d pushed her enough for one day.
‘Do you want to follow me back to town?’
She shook her head and started her car, ‘No. I have to stop by my office for a little while. I’ll just see you tomorrow.’
‘Sounds like a plan.’ He made to step back but she grabbed his arm.
‘Thank you.’ Her green eyes burned with an emotion he couldn’t quite name. ‘For everything.’
Rather than cheapen the sentiment with inadequate words, he simply nodded, kissed her one last time, and stepped back, watching her until she rounded the curve of the drive and disappeared from sight.
Bridget watched Connor fade from view in her mirror and contemplated the danger she was in. She hadn’t lied. He hadn’t done anything wrong. The problem was her. She’d come too close to losing herself with him.
Something about that man ate at her self-control. His mouth on her body had been delicious and she’d wanted so much more. Too much. The ache he’d created had burrowed in deep and low and she’d wanted him rougher, wilder. Dammit, she’d almost demanded he bite her.
She couldn’t allow herself to go there.
Impotent fury washed through her and she pounded the steering wheel. This wasn’t fair! She was a good woman. She went out of her way to be. She’d never asked for this!
Dammit! Why couldn’t she make this go away?<
br />
As if in answer to her question, the memories rose up suffocating her. Quickly, she pulled to the side of the road and fought the smothering sensation overtaking her. No. No. No!
She wasn’t having this. Not here. Not now.
Gripping the steering wheel as if her life depended on it, she concentrated on taking deep, full breaths until her head cleared and she could once again focus.
Forcing the memories away, she threw the car into gear, and drove on without another glance backward.
Chapter Ten
‘Thanks for a great meeting, everyone!’ Jean, the group moderator, grinned and enthusiastically clapped her hands. ‘Evan has provided some refreshments for us all. Same time next week, and we’ll be reading Sandra Brown’s Where There’s Smoke.’
Bridget, Claire, and Mona grabbed cookies and coffee then headed over to the leather club chairs surrounding a low wooden coffee table in the centre of the bookshop. The rest of the group mingled and browsed through the store, taking their treats with them and grabbing up their selections before heading out into late evening.
Evan, Claire’s husband, always made sure to get this area back together for them since they had started making a habit of hanging out well after the book club ended. She and Claire had met and grown close through this club over the last year and they rarely missed a meeting. About six months before, Bridget had finally dragged Mona to one and she’d become a regular, joining both the club meeting and their little duet. The three of them had become extremely close over the months and she counted both of them as her two closest friends.
While she waited, Bridget contemplated the text she’d just received for what had to be the 50th time.
Unable to get reservations. My place for dinner.
8 p.m. The Lofts @ Warehouse 21. #2.
He wanted her to come to his house for dinner. She wasn’t sure she was ready to go there with him. Public places were safe. Well, safer at any rate.
‘OK, miss, spill,’ Claire said as they settled into their chairs. Mona took the opposite seat, gazing at Bridget with clear concern.
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