by Meredith, MK
Claire choked on her mimosa, and Larkin patted her on the back.
“You have the wrong idea, ladies. As I said before, we are just friends.” Dread wrapped her chest in a tight squeeze. The last thing she needed was the North Cove Mavens making wedding plans.
“That’s the best way to start.” Maxine raised her glass for a toast.
She saw the hell Larkin and Blayne had been put through...all at their amusement.
And look how they turned out.
Claire swallowed against the panic clawing up her throat. She might deserve the harassment after laughing at their expense when they were dating. But she was different. She wasn’t strong or crazy enough to risk her heart again for a happy ever after...the after was too painful.
Chapter 7
Wednesday morning, Claire patted Mitch’s arm in encouragement, and the heat of her touch raced through him like there was a prize to win. “That’s it. Perfect,” she praised.
It had been days since he’d last seen her, but she’d had an event Sunday, and he’d had clients and court Monday, so midweek was the soonest they’d been able to reconnect.
The fact he was so aware of the time that had passed made his chest constrict. He had one rule. No attachment.
But her eyes danced in delight, oblivious to his disquiet.
If this was the look she gave every student, they would be bound and determined to please her no matter how ridiculous the task might be.
He felt like an idiot, trying to draw with his eyes closed, but apparently, she was all about the scribbles. It left him feeling edgy. Kind of like hiking through the woods during hunting season. But he’d made a deal. And he was a man of his word.
Her fingers lingered on his bicep, and he tightened it before he could stop himself.
Fucking amateur, but his scolding inner voice had no impact whatsoever because as her hand pressed into his muscle, his dick jumped with the thought of her wrapping those long, slender fingers around it instead.
Clearing his throat, he shifted in his seat to make room for the inconvenience.
Finally aware of her actions, she stepped away, pretending to busy herself organizing the art supplies on her work table, but there was no mistaking the soft blush coloring her cheeks.
She grabbed two tacks and his paper. “Okay, now I want you to take a moment and study your drawing. What do you see?”
He followed the curves of his swirling lines. What the hell was she expecting? They were indecipherable marks. He’d been scribbling with his eyes closed, for fuck’s sake.
Feeling restless, he stood from his chair, then rounded the desk to sit on the edge. He crossed his arms and stared at the damn picture, unsure why he suddenly felt so annoyed. “I don’t know what you want me to say. It’s scribble.”
“It is, and that is exactly what I wanted you to do with that part of the task. But now, I want you to look closely and see what shapes jump out at you.” She spoke with a patient cadence and a kindness in her eyes that made him want to say yes, ma’am.
And then scoop her up in his arms and show her just what he was capable of doing with his eyes open.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t a possibility, so he studied the frustrating picture more closely. The shapes were the curves of her breasts and the dip of her tiny waist, but he couldn’t say any of that. She’d hightail it out of the Cape house faster than the rabbits into the woods when he and Ryker cleared brush from the yards.
He flexed his fingers, studying his picture. “I don’t know.” Angling his head from side to side, he tried to see something other than a mess. For some reason, he wanted to please her, but he just couldn’t see a damn thing.
“Look here.” She slid a finger along four circular shapes. “This makes me think of your family.”
His family? Nope. His family only had three people in it. Four made no sense. A tightening in his gut left him feeling hot and agitated. Shrugging out of his sweatshirt, he tried to look again.
“Do you see it?” she prompted.
Brushing his hands down the front of his “moose juice” t-shirt, he stared harder, then shook his head. “Nope. Sorry.”
She tilted hers, studying his face with a thoughtful curiosity in her gaze, then back at the drawing. The Cape house was silent except for the ticking of the large grandfather clock in the foyer that used to belong to Maxine and Stuart Van Buren. She’d left it for Ryker when he’d bought the property, and then he’d donated it to the Center when he and Larkin had moved out to her house tucked in the woods on the north coast of the North Cove. He and Ryker used to race to sit at the base when the monstrosity struck twelve. They could feel each resounding dong in their bones.
His mind wandered in every direction but where it was supposed to. He blamed Claire, and the way her top molded so perfectly to her breasts, making his hands itch to do the same, and how the tie of her shirt made her waist seem so impossibly small that he wanted to wrap his hands around it to see if his fingers could touch. He blinked and focused back on his paper.
Once again, she traced along a few more lines. “How about here? It looks like a couple in a joyous reunion.”
He laughed. If he saw a couple, they were in the throes of great sex, not a damn reunion. That implied a commitment. And that wasn’t something he was willing to try. You couldn’t hurt anyone you didn’t make promises to.
“Sorry, sweetheart. That looks more like the beginnings of a happy ending, not a happy ever after,” he winked at her.
She gave him a disgusted look, then back at the drawing. “Do you ever think of anything except sex?”
He shrugged. “What do you expect? I’m telling you how I see it. Sorry, your program isn’t working. But you’re giving it a go. That’s what’s important.”
Thank God a look didn’t actually have the power of the intent behind it, or he’d be dead. “I’ll have you know, my program is working just fine.” She marched up and snatched the drawing from the wall.
Shoving him from the edge of the desk, she pointed to the chair. “Sit.”
She slid the paper and colored pencils in front of him. “Now color the images we discussed.”
He sighed. “Aww...come on. Are you serious?”
She crossed her arms and tapped her toe. The kids were in for a big surprise if they thought they were going to get away with anything just because she had the sweetest smile and kindest eyes on the Atlantic coast.
“Fine.” He picked up a black pencil, then colored a section of the paper, being sure to stay within the lines. No reason to tick her off anymore.
After a few minutes, he glanced up to find her watching him from her work table. He paused at the worry in her gaze. “What? I’m doing what you asked.”
She nodded once. “The poem. When did you write that?”
He shrugged, coloring as he spoke. Truth be told, the action was relaxing once he got past feeling like a jackass for coloring in the first place. “A few days ago.”
She stilled. “Have you written any before?”
Setting the pencil down, he tried to anticipate where her questions were going. “Why?”
“Just something your mother said.”
“You can’t believe everything my mother says, and not because she lies. Because her perspective may be something altogether different than reality.”
“Or she’s spot on,” she challenged. “What else have you written about?”
Graduating from college, becoming an attorney. Hell, he’d written some words about the city attorney position he wanted, too, but something kept him from sharing any of that with her.
“Nothing specific. The weather, a feeling.” Hell, he had no idea what to say.
Her shoulders sagged almost in relief.
“Why?” He handed her his drawing.
Taking it, she turned it until she could study the images right side up. “No reason. Just curious.” She walked to the table and stood in front of him.
He dipped his chin.
&nb
sp; “I never want to be someone who doesn’t give credit where credit is due. It’s really beautiful.” She looked at him like he were a puzzle to be solved instead of his drawing.
“It is?” The gruffness in his voice surprised him, and he tried again. “You liked it?”
She looked everywhere but at him. “It’s sensual and full of worship as if the experience was really transcendent.”
His fingers found the edge of her jaw, gliding from below her cheek to her chin. Her skin was smooth, creamy like the homemade, whipped, vanilla cream cheese frosting that Evette iced her cupcakes with.
The poem was the result of a dream. One he shouldn’t have had, but it’d stuck with him. His body tightened in anticipation at the memory. “Isn’t it?” he rasped.
The tips of his finger brushed her lips, and she sucked in a breath. “Sex is great, but this is real life.”
Her upper lip was formed in a perfect cupid’s bow, supported by a full lower lip that he could spend hours exploring. Something had shifted over the past few weeks. The feistier she’d gotten with him, the more often he’d sought her out. She was an enigma.
And he wanted her. So. Fucking. Bad.
Wanted to feel her wrapped around him, wanted to sink so deep inside her he wouldn’t give a fuck if he ever found his way out—and neither would she.
“Real life deserves transcendence. Real life can be hard and painful, throwing challenge after challenge. Making love is one of the few things where transcendence is possible.”
Her eyes heated in interest. “Do you really believe that?”
“Don’t you?”
His heart pounded in his chest as her familiar scent tugged him closer. He found his lips inches from hers.
She licked hers, the pink tip of her tongue darting out with her breathless nerves. “I never have.”
“Then you’ve been doing it wrong.” Having her so close clouded his judgment. He’d been swinging from irritated to restless to full-on raging lust in the short time he’d spent with her, leaving him ready to explode.
Had her fiancé not taken her to those heights? To where she couldn’t tell where she stopped and he started? Where her vision went white, and she could barely breathe?
He leaned closer, desperate to taste her, desperate to feel her against him. A chance to ease the restless need he felt in her presence.
“What are you doing?” She placed her fingers against his chest, just before his mouth claimed hers. The look in her eyes showed a hint of fear or worry and then panic, which caught him off guard and slammed him back to reality.
Stepping back with a chuckle, he shoved his hands in his back pockets. “Completing your second lesson. You handled that just fine.”
She blinked. “My second lesson?”
“You held your own, a bit of flirtation. You didn’t shut down or run away.” His cover-up came fast. Thank God. He swallowed down his disappointment and frustration.
Her fingers burned against his chest with the scalding heat of her rejection. She could never know he’d almost just kissed her. Believing she might have wanted him to.
The look on her face transformed to confusion then irritation.
Clearly, he was the last person she’d ever want to reach transcendence with.
“Well, I’m glad your little experiment worked.”
Pretending to be distracted by his drawing, he picked it up and played busy at studying it, then turned it toward her. “I’m sorry yours didn’t.”
* * *
Later that evening, Claire picked through her closet, cussing at Mitch as she went. He’d made a date for her. A freaking date!
Apparently, the kiss she’d thought had been coming earlier, which had made her heart race in panic and celebration at the same time, had been nothing more than a damn lesson.
Sonofabitch.
Crazy didn’t even begin to describe what she’d gotten herself into. Every moment she spent with him only made her want more. She could get lost in his scent, his touch, the low rumble of his sexy voice.
Damn it!
Shaking her head, she rummaged through the pile of heels she was considering. Gold strappy heels, nude pumps, pink champagne, faux snake-skin stilettos.
Apparently, the guy was approved by Larkin. There was an inkling of peace with that thought. Claire could at least rest assured that her friend had her back. Mitch, on the other hand, wasn’t quite who she pictured as a matchmaker—unless it was for Bender. The dating app that seemed to be more booty call than a coffee date.
She frowned. That might not be quite fair, but he certainly seemed to choose his own dates based on looks and libido.
Cape Van Buren’s very own bombshell police officer Cindy Majors popped into her mind.
“Shit,” she whispered into the empty room.
That wasn’t fair either. Cindy was wicked smart and funny, too.
With a concerted effort, she stepped into her little slice of paradise.
Her closet. It was her favorite place in her apartment. Saving up from a few recent events she’d planned, she’d had a designer come in and create a little fashion haven in the small space. Glass shelves, stacked clothes hangers, a huge floor-to-ceiling mirror, all accented with silver and pink. The soft tones suited her and promoted a feeling of luxury.
Mitch might even say...decadence.
Which made her think of the fun they’d had in the park, which brought her back to her current situation. And she swore.
He’d been so impressed with how she handled his practice flirting that he thought she was ready for an actual date.
Which was total crap.
First, she hadn’t handled it well. She’d wanted him to kiss her so badly, she’d almost grabbed him right then and there and demanded he show her what she was missing.
If the bulge in his jeans was any indication, she was missing a damn helluva lot.
How fucked up was that? Children would be making art in that room, for Pete’s sake.
She’d thought his gesture had been genuine. She’d thought he’d wanted her.
She was simply a fool...or a simple fool, which was a double whammy.
Scraping hangers from right to left, she scanned through her blouses. Pulling out a soft peach tailored button-up, she held it in front of her, looking in the mirror. On a sigh, she threw it on the bed, then repeated the action with an ivory spaghetti-strap cami and a gray cashmere v-neck sweater.
Damn it. Now she couldn’t even dress herself. This whole situation was humiliating.
She looked at the rainbow of soft colors on her bed, trying to see it from another angle. One thing that was not humiliating was her program. Mitch had dismissed the work as though it had failed, but he had exposed so much of himself that she had been afraid to point it out for fear of scaring him away. So she’d kept her observations to herself.
If the dark silhouette of a person standing behind the drawing he’d made of himself, his sister, and mother was any indication, he had a lot of anger or fear or both surrounding whatever had happened when his dad had abandoned them so long ago.
Moving to her writing desk, she pulled open the center drawer to peek at his drawing once again. He kept surprising her with a sensitivity and creativity he never showed when he was about town. Her heart gave a little shudder as if waking up from a long nap.
“Did you find something?” Mitch asked from the doorway.
She slammed the drawer shut and spun around. Hoping to distract him, she arched her arm toward the bed. “What, so now you want to make me over, too? This isn’t Pretty Woman you know. Or the Ugly Truth.”
He shook his head, stepping slowly toward her bed. “How you look or what you wear has never been your problem.”
She froze, wanting him closer, but afraid to move.
“You’re a knockout, Claire.” He slid a finger along her collarbone to her shoulder, sending a shiver down her arm. “Any man would be crazy not to want you.”
“You’re crazy.” Her voice
was barely a whisper.
“Not that crazy.”
She blinked. Did he just admit to wanting her? Confusion and yearning swamped her. Then why was he sending her off with another man?
Because you told him to, dumbass.
She stood next to him, heat flushing her chest at his words. “You really think I’m a knockout?”
Stepping back, he swallowed hard and ogled her from the top of her head to the tips of her pink polish-covered toes. Suddenly her yoga pants and long-sleeved pullover were too warm for the cold Maine day.
He threw her a wink. “The only thing I’d change about your clothes would be leaving them on the floor.”
And there he was...Mitch-about-town. Shameless flirt. Unapologetic playboy. And all-around fun guy. Not to be trusted, but always good for a laugh. She could handle that Mitch. She slapped playfully at his arm. “You are ridiculous.”
He nodded. “Pick something already, then meet me out in your living room.”
The doorbell rang.
“I’m not expecting anyone.” She called out as she slipped her arms into the soft peach button-up.
“I got it.” She heard him answer in that sexy, masculine drawl that never failed to send goosebumps up and down her arms.
She believed he did have it. And she wanted him to give it to her. So help her God.
Quickly dropping her pants and throwing her shirt in the corner, she dragged the cashmere sweater over her head, then shoved her legs into a pair of dark-washed skinny jeans. Squeals echoed from her living room, and all she could imagine was that he’d invited Larkin.
That made her pause for a second. With a shake of her head, she ran into her bathroom.
A few quick swipes of deodorant, a spritz of perfume, lip gloss, and black liner, then she grabbed the pink stilettos as she made her way out her bedroom door.
Larkin and Blayne squeezed Mitch from both sides resisting his struggles to be released. Claire hid her giggles behind her fingers.
“Tell me you missed me,” Blayne demanded, the look of a well-loved woman shining from her crystal gaze.
