Truth in Watercolors (Truth Series Book 2)

by Rose, Kimberly

  “I was a mess,” I breathed out with obvious panting. So freakin’ obvious.

  “You were so fuckin’ sexy. With paint smeared up here.” Wes touched me under my shoulder and ran a thick bead of paint up my shoulder blade to the base of my neck. My head fell to the side allowing his caress.

  “And your hair was stuck across your face.” Wes’ hand moved up my neck until my jaw was cradled in it. I turned my head to look into his eyes. I saw the heat in them fall beneath his eyelids when they closed.

  “You wanted me?” I whispered.

  “Fuck, I’ve always wanted you, Capri.” With his confession, my eyes closed tightly, relishing his words.

  Wes fell silent, and I didn’t talk either. Instead, I breathed in, inhaling his closeness and absorbing all of him. With my eyes still closed, I felt the tip of Wes’ nose brush against my own. The movement was so soft, yet so intimate.

  “You’re so wrong. Nothing about you is blank. You’re the most vivid woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on.” The whisper of his words tickled across my lips and then swirled away. “Come with me,” Wes said grabbing my hand and pulling me limply behind him.

  Wes flicked on the lights and pulled me into the middle of the dance studio. He positioned me directly in front of him facing the mirror.

  “She’s beautiful,” I told Wes gently touching the image he’d painted across the right side of my body. The mermaid’s tail was painted in soft swirls of gray. Her face was a mixture of black and white, smeared gracefully together. Her black hair was splayed around her body and highlighted in white, giving it a halo effect.

  “She is,” Wes said, but he wasn’t looking at the mermaid. He was looking at me. “She’s only black and white, yet nothing about this mermaid is plain or blank. She’s stunning.” Wes’ hand met mine where it was still tracing along the edges of the painting. His finger touched the tip of mine and followed my movement. “She’s soft, and she’s gentle. She’s illuminated, and she’s mysterious. She’s understated, yet each unique piece of her is enchanting.” Wes’ finger touched the corner of my hip and turned me around.

  “She’s me?” I asked through more of a breath than my voice.

  “You’re so fucking beautiful,” Wes said and dropped his forehead to mine. There was something in the air between us then. It was so tense I could feel it stretching, pulling, and tightening. Then, it broke.

  Wes’ lips smashed against mine, and I reached up to fist his shirt in my hands. His hands gripped my hips and his fingers dug into my sides. Our lips and our tongues clashed and mixed, but nothing about this kiss was frantic. It was slow and deep, reaching farther into me than any kiss had before.

  I slid my hands up his chest, neck, and ran my hands through his hair. Wes’ hands loosened their grip and wrapped around my lower back pulling me into every solid inch of him. I was so wrapped up in this kiss that I didn’t notice I was moving backward until Wes had me smashed up against the mirrored wall.

  He slid my feet apart with his own and pressed himself between my legs. I released his mouth to inhale sharply at the contact. He didn’t miss a beat, continuing to lick, suck, and, oh God, bite my neck. My forehead fell onto his shoulder in a quiet moan that I couldn’t have contained if I tried. “Wes,” I whispered, but I was not even sure why.

  His hands left my waist and grabbed my hands, bringing them above my head. He pinned them against the mirror and pulled back from my neck to look into my eyes. “You’re not missing something, baby. You’re everything,” he said, and his lips were back on mine.

  He loosened his grip on my hands and brought them back down my side pressing his tongue into me with the rhythm of his hips. The fire of pressure where he stood between my thighs was building. I reached my arms up and wrapped them around his neck. I needed more. I had to have more of him.

  I pulled my mouth from his. “Wes, please,” I whispered again, but this time I knew exactly what I was asking for.

  “Tell me what you want.” His spoke softly into my neck.

  “You.”

  “What do you want from me, C?” Wes asked again nibbling into the base of my neck. I leaned into him, and then forced my hand to his cheek and moved him off me. I held his cheek in my hand.

  “You,” I repeated.

  “Me?” Wes asked, and his fingers dug themselves into my hip again. I nodded. He inhaled deeply and took a slow step away. “Me.” He nodded then turned his back to me.

  The coolness of the mirror started to seep into my skin between my steadying breaths. I fought the urge to speak again, but ignored it, letting my words rest with Wes. Praying they would stick.

  I watched as his head fell, and his hands raked through his messed hair then he looked over his shoulder at me, and his eyes apologized. “I’ve gotta go.” I blinked my own eyes, silently willing him to stay. He walked away.

  I stood against the cold mirror watching the empty doorframe Wes had passed through for what felt like hours but was truthfully only minutes. Surely he’d come back. What the crap had just happened? I kicked off the mirror and went back into the gym in search of my shirt.

  Telling Wes about me left me too open. Wrapped up in the moment of released insecurities and built-up want, I likely asked for more from him than he wanted to give. I wouldn’t regret it, though. I held it in for too long, and with the steady swirl of push and pull we’d begun to play, it was time he knew that I wanted all of him.

  Before slipping my shirt back over my head, I stopped and ran my hand across the smear of gray where the mermaid once was. Wes had tried so hard to show me that I was more, that I was something. Then he left me with this. Why couldn’t he let himself be something to me, too?

  I walked through the quiet youth center, making sure to lock all the doors and turn off all the lights. It was amazing how lonely this place felt without Wes in it. I wanted to be mad at him for the way he left, but something inside of me told me to give him some time, that I had pushed too hard. Then, when I got to the front door, I saw the unmistakable set of headlights in the parking lot. I smiled sadly. He didn’t leave.

  Locking the door, I went to my own car, tossed my purse onto the passenger seat, and slipped in. All the while two bright headlights watched over me. As I was putting my keys into the ignition, my phone lit up.

  I pulled it from my purse and read the text message.

  Wes: Good night. Drive safely please.

  I smiled. That was all he had for me tonight, and that was enough.

  The rumble of his car engine rattled my crystal ornament against the window. I leaned over my desk and watched Wes park his Chevy in the driveway. I wondered why he was here because we weren’t due to meet at the youth center for another hour. Being an early riser, I woke up just as the sun peeked between my curtains. Being confused and embarrassed about last night, I’d been painting his hands since.

  His hands, his lips, and the memory of them seemed to have imprinted against my skin. I’d woken up doubting last night had happened and thinking I’d given him a piece of me I’d hidden so carefully only in a dream. The warmth of his hands lingered all over my body though, making sure I wouldn’t forget his touch.

  The look on his face when I told him that he was what I wanted wouldn’t leave my mind either. He appeared confused, and certainly caught off guard, but what I couldn’t seem to shake was the flash of disbelief I thought I saw. What I had a hard time coming to terms with in my mind was whether Wes stopped last night because he wanted me to behave like just another one of his girls, or if he wanted to set me apart from the rest. The thought that he very well could have been herding me into the flock made me physically ill.

  Those girls viewed Wes as something to be conquered or claimed. They didn’t care about the man who worked hard to do what he loved, and who worked even harder for those he loved. They didn’t want to know about the time he split his head open falling from a skateboard or when he adopted a sick dog to give it a good home until it passed. I didn’t want to be one of t
hem. I wasn’t one of them.

  I watched Wes climb out of his car and giggled to myself when he checked his reflection in the shiny surface, straightening out his white tee and fluffing up his hair. I slipped on my own white peasant tank top over my cami and adjusted my perfectly distressed jean shorts before heading downstairs to meet him.

  “Hey.” I opened the door shyly standing half behind it.

  Wes’ eyes widened as he took me in, and a slow smile crept across his face until it reached ear to ear. “Hey.”

  I sighed and opened the door wider. “You’re early.”

  “Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “I was actually thinking we could play hooky today.”

  “You wanna ditch? My dad always told me to steer clear of the bad boys.” I smirked playfully at him.

  “Oh, but C…” He stretched his arms out to his side, giving me the perfect view of, well, everything. “We’re so much more fun.”

  I laughed and moved away from the door. “Where to, trouble?” I asked grabbing my handbag from the hook on the wall.

  “You’ll see,” he said reaching behind me to grab the knob of the door and close it. The simple way in which half of his body wrapped around half of mine reignited those warm places he had branded. I forced my feet to keep moving forward when what I really wanted to do was roll into his arms.

  At his car, Wes held the door open for me and closed it tightly when I settled into the leather seat. He slid into his own seat and gestured toward the radio when the car rumbled to life. “Ladies’ choice.”

  “You know, for a bad boy, you sure are being awfully well behaved,” I teased leaning forward to turn the old dial.

  “I’m trying,” he said placing his arm across the back of by seat and turning as he backed out of the driveway. “Really fucking hard.” The woodsy clean smell I’d only ever known on Wes blasted me back to my seat. Memories of what that scent was like smeared across my neck and held me frozen against my seat. “I never took you for a static girl.” Wes chuckled and nodded toward the stereo that I had abandoned. I reached up with one stiff arm and twisted the dial until a station came through the speakers.

  We drove together silently toward the coastline, listening to Kings of Leon on the radio and smelling the sea air creep up on us. Almost at the exact moment “Use Somebody” came on, Wes’ fingertips touched the top of my bare shoulder from where his hand still rested behind my seat. For the entire duration of the song, his fingers danced and tickled softly across my skin.

  “Hey, Capri?” Wes’ voice spoke hesitantly, and his hand stopped cupping my shoulder in his palm. “About last night,” he started to say, and my defenses immediately stood on alert. I didn’t want to hear this, and I couldn’t hear this. What would he say? It was a mistake. He went too far. It wouldn’t happen again.

  “I’m sorry I walked out,” he continued, and I nodded. Here it comes. “I was so overwhelmed. I didn’t know what to do. I’ve never been as caught up in someone as I am with you. You’ve got me so wound up and flipped inside out that it’s hard for me to know which way is up.”

  “You needed a minute?” I asked to clarify but still held my heart tightly to my chest.

  “I needed a minute, yeah.” I let go of the tension by laughing softly.

  “And how are you feeling this morning?” I asked.

  “Stoked.” He grinned widely at me, and I scrunched up my nose in a smile back. “And how are you feeling today?” he asked back.

  “Frustrated,” I said waggling my eyebrows at him. Wes threw his head back in a healthy laugh.

  “Shit, me too, C. Me, too.” He shook his head and bit his lip surveying my bare ankle to bare thigh. “God, I’m a dumb shit.”

  Wes held the door open for me once again. I smirked at him as I passed through, but once I stepped inside, my smile dropped. “What is this, Wes?” I asked consciously breathing through the empty space between my heartbeats.

  “It’s just art, Capri,” Wes whispered behind me rubbing the back of my arm. “Relax, this is where you belong. I’ll show you.” I nodded and moved forward with the gentle urging of his hand.

  When we’d parked in front of the tiny eclectic building in La Jolla, I had no idea what to expect. A restaurant, or a pub maybe, but not this; not an empty space filled with some of the most beautiful paintings I’d ever seen. The floor was a solid concrete slab, and a few modern sculptures strategically marked it off into four sections. Each section looked like it highlighted a different artist.

  Wes led me to the first exhibit by my hand. “These are all local,” he said, waving his hand around the space. “Each month the artists submit a sample of their work, and the curator chooses five of them to host a showing the following month.” I had no idea this place even existed, but my skin buzzed with excitement.

  The first one was someone who’d utilized scrap fabric within the painting. We stopped in front of what appeared to be the first in the series. It was the Golden Gate Bridge created out of hundreds of different fabrics. They ranged from plaid to polka dot, from textured to matte, and some even had a sheer, see-through quality to them. Even seen through my eyes, it was spectacular.

  “So, is it just as stunning in brown as she is in orange?” Wes leaned in and whispered.

  I leaned back, shoving him with my shoulder at his teasing comment. “It is,” I said and led him to the next painting with our finger-woven hands.

  We continued around the room, admiring the wide range of talent to be found here in San Diego. One artist created mosaics made up of tiny painted plaster squares. The fact that the artist had used a combination of classic art forms creating something unique was brilliant to me.

  Wes pulled me along into the showing of an artist who specialized in scratch art. The artist coated clay boards with India ink, and then etched on bits and pieces creating fascinatingly realistic images. “This one.” Wes nodded to a black and white piece on the wall. “I wanted you to see this one.”

  “Wait.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “How often do you come here?” I knew Wes was an artist. His love of drawing, and his talent at designing tattoos was a testament to that, but I had no idea that he frequented a local art gallery.

  He shrugged one shoulder but focused on the piece hung on the wall. “A few times a month when I get off work early and I don’t want to go home.” My jaw fell open. He came a few times a month? I was no art gallery aficionado, but that seemed like an awful lot of visits.

  “Why would you rather come here that often than go home, Wes?” I eyed him carefully.

  He directed his attention back to me and sucked his lower lip into his mouth. His eyes seemed to ponder something, but then with a sweep of his lashes that look wiped clean. “Sometimes there are nudes.” He gave me a full-toothed grin. “It’s like kosher porn.”

  “Ugh, Wes.” I rolled my eyes away from him and nodded back to the Etching. “So, why did you want me to see this?” I asked.

  “What do you see?” He waved his hand at the painting.

  “A rainbow,” I said. Obviously.

  “What color is it?”

  “White.” Obviously. I could see it.

  “Did you know, C, that white is the sum of all colors?” Wes grinned at me clearly proud of his chroma-knowledge.

  “Or the absence of color,” I corrected him.

  “Nah,” He clicked his tongue against his teeth and unwove his hand from mine to position himself behind me. “You see, when light hits the white at just the right angle,” he brushed his hand down the front of my white peasant top, “a rainbow is released.”

  I snorted. I couldn’t help it.

  “Did you just snort at me?” he asked with a smile in his voice.

  “C’mon. You can’t tell me that you didn’t notice how that sounded. When it hits the right angle, a rainbow is released.” I covered my mouth with my hand to hide the second snort.

  Wes’ forehead fell to my shoulder, and his body shook in silent laughter. “I think you’ve been
spending too much time with me,” he said and lifted his head. “I’ll always give you a rainbow, C,” he whispered through a laugh and proceeded to grind against my rear end obscenely.

  I giggle snorted and shoved my elbow back into him. “Oh, my God, stop.”

  “Just call me the leprechaun.” He laughed and stepped back to my side where I shoved him again, but with my hand. “Okay, okay,” he said mimicking an OM stance with his hands. “So what I was getting at before I was so awesomely interrupted.” He winked at me, and I melted. “Was that you say you wear white because you are blank, empty, all that bullshit.”

  I placed my hand over my heart faking offense.

  “But really, white is the presence of all color. You may not see it,” he nodded back up to the white rainbow, “but you’re every color, Capri. You just have to find the light that helps you display it.”

  “Huh,” I said when really I meant wow.

  “So, what brings you by today, Weston?” Ridge’s mom busted out a tray of my favorite Snickerdoodles.

  “Yesss.” I swiped three and shoved them into my mouth before the tray hit the coffee table.

  “Dude, save some for me.” Ridge came in with a skateboard in hand and took only one for himself. Amateur.

  “Ridge?” Mrs. Jackson gave him the softest stern face I’d ever seen.

  “Sorry, Ma.” Ridge plopped down on the couch across from me. “Wes,” he corrected himself and flipped me off when his mom wasn’t looking.

  “It’s okay, kid,” I said and flipped him off in turn when Mrs. Jackson turned her back to pull open a curtain. Mentor of the year right here, folks.

  “Look, Ma. I got a B on my science test.” Ridge leaned over pulling a blue wrinkled sheet of paper from his backpack.

  “Atta boy.” Mrs. Jackson clapped her hands once then swiped the sheet from Ridge’s hands. “Would it kill you to put your paperwork in your folder?” she scolded smiling proudly at Ridge.

  “A B, huh? That’s pretty decent,” I said winking at Ridge to let him know that I was joking.