by Bella Andre
Her body recognized Ryan’s determined look, the dominance in it, first. Probably because it was the same one he gave her in bed that always turned her insides to goo.
Even though the announcers were surprised when his coach returned to the dugout, while Ryan stayed right where he was, Vicki wasn’t.
“Looks like he’s staying on the mound for at least a few more pitches. I don’t know about that decision, given the fact that the Cardinals just sent in their cleanup hitter. He slammed forty-nine homers during the regular season.”
“This is do or die for Ryan Sullivan and the Hawks,” the announcer said in a hushed voice. “Another walk will force in a run. A home run and this thing is practically over in the first inning.”
Ryan waved off the first two signs from the catcher until, finally, he got the sign he wanted. His face was a picture of perfect concentration—and beautiful determination—as he took several deep breaths, went into his windup, and uncorked a fastball that caught the inside corner of the plate at the knees. Two great pitches later and the umpire barked, “Strike three!” giving the out sign with his hand and arms.
After Ryan struck out the fifth-place hitter on five pitches, a mix of fastballs and change-ups, the stadium became eerily quiet. And then, one more time, three straight blazing fastballs hit the corners with precision. Ryan didn’t give the batter even a hint of a chance.
The inning was over. Ryan had climbed out of a deep hole. And the Hawks were back in the game.
Big time.
Vicki cheered along with the rest of the crowd in the bar as one of the announcers said, “Looks like the Ryan Sullivan we all know and love is back.”
Throughout the rest of the game, Ryan’s determination and strength of will never wavered, to the point where the announcers agreed that it might have been his best pitching ever. Though she knew he wouldn’t get her message until the game was over and he’d finished dealing with the press, Vicki pulled out her phone to text him.
That was when she finally saw his message to her: I love you. Remember you promised to kick butt in the studio today.
She smiled at his sweet, yet tough, message. She texted him back: I love you, too. Looks like we’re both kicking butt today. I’m so proud of you.
Anne had returned happily to the studio awhile back with the bartender’s phone number programmed into her cell. Even though Vicki hadn’t had so much as a bite of her burger, she was too amped up now to eat. She put a twenty down on the bar and practically ran back to her workroom.
Most artists claimed that the end of a project was the easiest for them, but it had always been just the opposite for Vicki. The final days on a sculpture usually felt like they dragged on forever while she second-guessed and endlessly refined and then triple-guessed the whole damn thing from top to bottom.
But, amazingly, instead of flailing in these final important moments, she suddenly felt like she was mining a whole new bottomless well of inspiration.
Love.
Much as she hated to admit that her ex had been right about anything he’d said in that horrible interview, the truth was that Ryan’s love had completely changed her.
To actually know such a big love when she was in his arms and they were laughing or kissing or talking was so monumental that she could truly feel the energy of that love pouring from her fingers.
Vicki couldn’t believe she was actually smiling at her ex getting something right. Had she finally managed to move beyond her past...and into a beautiful future with Ryan?
She looked down at her sculpture. One hand was utterly masculine, the other feminine yet strong. She’d worked hard to make sure that neither hand grasped at the other and that there was no desperation in their hold. Only love, pure and sweet and real.
It hit her, suddenly, for the very first time, that she didn’t need to fiddle or worry over or doubt this sculpture anymore.
It was done. And it was good.
Really good.
She had Ryan to thank for all the beautiful inspiration he’d given her this week...and hopefully for a long, long time to come. He was her anchor, there to keep her safe and grounded when she needed him, but always ready to rise up to explore new journeys and adventures with her.
Yes. That was what she’d call her fellowship sculpture: ANCHOR.
One after the other, new ideas for future sculptures came to her. A baby’s hand held so gently in her father’s. A mother and son holding hands as they walked through a field of wildflowers instead of water. Another of the girl and boy, older still, siblings as bonded to each other as Ryan and his siblings were.
Needing to share her joy and excitement with the person who meant everything to her, Vicki reached for a rag to clean her hands off so that she could call. Hopefully, Ryan would be done with his post-game interviews by now. When she realized all of her rags were too filthy to make a dent in the clay on her hands, she got up and went into her supply closet to grab a clean pile.
She was on her tippy-toes reaching for the top shelf when she heard footsteps come down the corridor.
Figuring it must be Anne, back to dish over the bartender, and still giddy with the knowledge that she’d made something truly beautiful, Vicki turned around to greet her friend with a smile.
Too late, she realized it wasn’t her friend who had come to see her.
James Sedgwick closed the studio door behind him.
Chapter Twenty-six
“I heard you weren’t yet at the reception for the fellowship contenders.” James looked extremely pleased about it. “Everyone else is there, so it’s just you and me in this big building.”
Vicki had been so swept up in Ryan and his game and finishing her sculpture that she had forgotten all about the reception. “Shouldn’t you be at the museum?”
“I’ll get there when I get there,” he said with an arrogant shrug of his shoulders. “They’ll wait for me.”
He’d moved far enough into her studio by that point to run his hand over her sculpture. Her stomach roiled watching him touch it.
“Judging by today’s playoff game, your fiancé obviously wishes you were with him in St. Louis instead of here working on your project.”
Of course James knew Ryan was away. And of course he’d waited to corner her again until her protector was gone.
“Ryan pitched a brilliant game,” she countered. “Just like always.”
“Yes, I suppose he did. Once he regained control of his emotions.” He shook his head as he regarded her finished sculpture. “You didn’t take any of my advice on how to improve your work, I see. Emotion is fairly dripping from this.” He shook his head in disgust.
Even with a half-dozen feet of distance between them, James was too close, just as he’d been too many times before. Only, today, something was different.
She wasn’t afraid of him anymore.
Even as anger simmered, she remained outwardly calm as she asked, “Why are you here, James?”
“Last year’s winner sold her fellowship project for one million dollars. She has turned down more commissions this past year than most artists will be offered in a lifetime. She was talented, but not nearly talented enough to get everything that has come to her on her own. I’m the person who helped her, both through the fellowship program and with contacts for her future. You could have that too, Victoria.”
Vicki remembered the news of the sale and the pictures of the beautiful woman whose smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. Evidently because she’d sold herself to this horrible man for seven figures. No wonder Anthony and James had always been friends. They were two peas in a pod, with the barest difference that her ex-husband had gone one step further than making her his mistress and had actually married her.
She’d been accused by Anthony of not getting to where she was on her own merits, and maybe there had been some truth to that. Especially after she’d asked Ryan to rescue her rather than rescuing herself that first night.
The thing was, all this time she’d
been beating herself up for asking Ryan to rescue her, maybe instead she should see it as the gift it had turned out to be. Because if this nasty man in her studio hadn’t creeped her out so much, who knew how long it would have been before she got up the nerve to call Ryan?
To have missed out on even one of the sweet, funny, comforting, and sinfully sensual moments she’d experienced with Ryan would have been a far bigger crime than asking for help from her friend.
Was she still afraid that things could go wrong? Of course she was, because she was human. She’d made mistakes. She hadn’t trusted her instincts nearly often enough. And she’d broken her own heart in the process.
But even as true as all those things were, she loved Ryan enough to push those fears aside and put her entire heart—and soul—on the line for him.
And for herself.
No longer able, or willing, to hide her disgust with James, she said, “I’m glad we’re finally being clear. So now I’ll be just as clear with you: Whatever I achieve, whatever commissions come my way, I’m going to get them on my own merit, not because you’ve directed me like a puppet. I know you’re going to vote against me, along with Anthony. And I know you will both do whatever you can to turn the rest of the board against me, too. But neither of those things changes the fact that I wouldn’t work with you for all the money in the world.”
Just that fast, his distinguished face contorted into a nasty scowl. “In that case, don’t do it for the money or the fame. Do it for your precious baseball player. I’m sure his team and fans would just love to know all about your fake engagement. It will make them all look like such fools.” He leered at her figure and she felt as if spiders were crawling all over her instead of his gaze. “If Ryan is willing to lie for you, you must really be worth it. I’m offering you the world, Victoria. My silence—and support—can both be yours. All you have to do is take them.”
“Get out.”
He smiled at her, a baring of teeth with absolutely no real joy behind it. Talk about fake.
“You really are sweet, aren’t you? Too sweet to even know how to play off your own lie convincingly. What a pleasure it will be to show you just how enjoyable the darkness can be. You hard-to-get types are always the most fun. I’m going to give you so much, Victoria. So much more than Anthony ever did.” Rage, and something that looked like jealousy, flicked on in his eyes. “I saw you first, you know. All those years ago, I was the one who spotted you in the group of students, but I never even had a chance to introduce myself. Anthony stole you from me. Now I’m stealing you back.”
He punctuated his words by moving to the door and locking it. The click was horribly loud in her quiet studio.
So much of Vicki’s life had been about following—worse, not following—her instincts. She wouldn’t beat herself up anymore for all the times she hadn’t listened. But she would celebrate the fact that she’d finally started to pay attention to that little voice in the back of her head that had always been so much smarter than she’d given it credit for.
Right now the little voice was telling her that James was suave and cultured and charming and rich enough to always get what he wanted. Everything but her. Which meant that he was not just going to roll over and play dead when she said no. Even screaming no at him wouldn’t make a difference—not in an empty building.
So she would throw the word at him, instead.
“You’re right,” she said finally, as he stalked her, surely, confidently.
She moved toward her laden table of sculptures, so many of them false starts on the way to creating the sculpture that finally expressed everything her hands—and heart—had in them.
“Ryan and I aren’t engaged.”
His eyes filled with triumph. “That first night during cocktails, I knew he’d never kissed you before.” Fury rose again. “Did you really think you had pulled one over on me? No one pulls the wool over my eyes, Victoria.”
She’d counted on her admission to buy her a little time, and it had. Just enough to get within reach of her sculptures.
He moved closer. “Now it’s my turn to see just how sweet you taste.”
Even as revulsion swept through her, she felt surprisingly calm. Steady.
She reached for ANCHOR to throw it at him, but stopped just before her fingers could grasp it.
It was good, damn it.
Too good to waste on a creep like James.
She wrapped her fingers around one of her heaviest sculptures. “One thing about having a pro pitcher as a best friend—you learn how to always hit your mark. The size of your head will only make it easier.”
She was just lifting the clay up to throw it at him when he covered his head with both hands and skittered back so fast he could have been wearing roller skates.
“This is your last warning to stay the hell away from me.” She lifted her heavy sculpture higher and wound up to let it rip, but a beat before it left her fingers, he fumbled for the door lock and popped it open.
“I’m going to ruin you,” he snarled. Then fled.
Vicki was still holding the sculpture over her head when she realized he really was gone...and that she’d been the scary one this time.
She waited for shock to take her over, just as it had after she and Ryan had narrowly missed being hit by the car. But instead of dealing with shaking hands and a pounding heart, she felt clean. As if finally giving voice—and hands—to her rage had wiped years of frustration right out of her.
Just as she’d told Ryan a week ago, there was no guarantee that anyone would believe her claims about James’s behavior. Especially if he was already on his way to spread rumors about her, the most likely being that she had come on to him. But if there was a chance that she could stop anyone else from ever being on the receiving end of one of James’s oh-so-generous offers, she had to at least try.
Vicki put her sculpture back on the shelf, wiped off her hands on her shirt, and picked up her cell phone to make a few very important calls. “This is Vicki Bennett. There are a few things you should know about your fellow board member, James Sedgwick.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
The Hawks were still celebrating their first playoff game win, but even though Ryan’s pitching was one of the major reasons everyone was on such a high, the main person he wanted to celebrate with wasn’t there. He’d seen guys duck out of parties like this dozens of times over the years to go call their girlfriends and wives.
Now it was his turn.
He dialed Vicki’s cell as soon as he walked out of the bar, but she didn’t pick up. She’d promised to keep her phone somewhere she could feel it buzzing, even if she was working with her headphones on. Maybe she just needed to wipe the clay off her hands first. He couldn’t stop worrying about James trying something with her while he was gone, even though the creep had definitely kept a low profile around Vicki the past few days.
When her voice mail beeped, he said, “I have been thinking about you every single second since we hung up last night.”
Mostly, he’d thought about how easy it would be to let her to turn down the Italian residency so that he could keep skating through life. Just as easy as everything else had been for him.
But easy was overrated.
He wanted to earn Vicki’s love. Wanted to know that he’d fought hard for her heart—and for her happiness—every single day.
“I’ll be waiting in my room for you,” he told her, teasing, “It will probably save time if you have your clothes off already when you call me back.”
The bar was only a couple of blocks from their hotel and he was just about to walk in the front door when a cab skidded to a stop in front of the building. The door was flung open and every wish he’d ever had came true as Vicki jumped out and into his arms.
She rained kisses over Ryan’s cheeks, his chin, his eyelids, until he finally managed to capture her mouth with his. He never wanted to stop kissing her, never wanted to put her down, but the sooner he got her up to his room, the s
ooner she’d be naked and he’d be making love to her.
Hand in hand they walked inside, but instead of being able to head straight toward the elevators, a group of teenagers circled him asking for autographs.
When he hesitated, Vicki assured him, “We have all the time in the world.”
Without once letting go of her hand, he signed autographs and took pictures with the kids and answered their endless questions until he was finally able to say good-night. When he realized that waiting for the elevator would only bring on a fresh rush of fans, he dragged her off to the empty stairwell beside the elevators.
As soon as the heavy metal door clicked shut, he told her, “I want to go to Italy with you.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck and whispered against his lips, “Who needs Italy when we’ve got a stairwell in St. Louis?”
Of course he had to kiss her. And, of course their kiss quickly morphed into his pressing her against the gray painted wall so that he could get in closer to her.
When she smiled up at him, he realized the shadows that been in her eyes since she’d returned to San Francisco were finally gone.
“You don’t know what it means to me that you’d be willing to give up so much for me,” she said. “But you don’t have to. Not this time, anyway.”
“A residency in Italy at a major museum is what you’ve always wanted. I’ve had the big prize, many times over. It’s been fun, but now it’s your turn. Why would you turn down the opportunity of a lifetime?”
“Because I’ve finally figured out what I want, Ryan. What I’ve wanted all along.” She pressed another kiss to his lips. “You’re hard everywhere I’m soft. You love a crowd, when all those people make me want to run in the opposite direction. You’re easy and effortless, I’m always twisting myself up trying for something just out of reach. I thought those were all the reasons why we could never work as a couple. But I was wrong, so very wrong.” She moved her fingertips over his jaw. “Our differences are exactly why we’re so good together.”
