9781631056314TattooedHeartsJolieNC

by Mika Jolie

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Half of my heart takes time.”

  John Mayer – Half of My Heart

  For the second time, Claire stepped off the ferry. This time the light of day had slipped away, and a thin mist oozed across the pink-and-gold sky. She was on her way to dinner with the love of her life in Woods Hole, the strolling village in Falmouth.

  “Here, hold on to me.” Forrest extended his arm as they stepped into a patch of snow.

  Without a word, she slipped a hand in the crook of his arm. They walked off the harbor in close silence. Similar to life on the Vineyard in the winter, the town was embraced by quiet calmness. Even the rumble of traffic was absent. Unlike the many occasions in the last decade she'd been around Forrest, tonight the silence between them was comfortable, down to their footfalls clip-clopping in a rhythmic echo on the street.

  “This is a new restaurant,” he informed her, “Like the Wharf’s Side; it’s a part of the farm to table movement. Everything is sourced from local farms and fishermen.”

  “Do they work with Herring Creek?”

  He nodded. “As a matter of fact, yes. I was here earlier delivering pies.”

  Claire smiled, envisioning Forrest on the farm’s truck, making the morning’s delivery. “I’m glad you and your mom are working together.” She felt him stiffen. Once again, her heart twisted in pain for him and the complete disorder and confusion his life had become.

  “I came alone,” he said, his voice emotionless. “After that I went to the hospital to process Mrs. Kane’s release forms, then my office.”

  “You had a long day.”

  “It wasn’t too bad. Saw a few patients, nothing too heavy.” He shrugged. “It gets a little crazy in the summer, otherwise, my workload is pretty manageable.”

  They ambled through the streets, the ambience comfortable, relaxed. There was something very natural with them like this, arms linked and walking side by side on a date. As friends, her conscience interjected for the hundredth time.

  Two friends having dinner. Nothing more.

  Just because they were of the opposite sex and had crazy animal sex less recently meant nothing. They were friends. Longtime friends, who were once lovers. Briefly. That logical side of her brain pointed out. She had a shot at his heart and blew it. No need for the butterflies nesting in her stomach to start flapping their wings. No need to look forward to the goodnight kiss, and all the things that might come after.

  Which meant there was no need for that beautiful, off the shoulder, ruffled chambray dress under her coat. Definitely no need for the lacy matching underwear or the ungodly amount of time she spent on her hair. A total waste of time. She’d looked in the mirror at her sexed-up hair. A full-bodied mess that said take me—up against the counter, in the women’s bathroom, and again on the ride back to my place. Totally not a friend-zone hairdo. So she’d flattened the tangled curls into a wispy ponytail. Safe and pragmatic friend hair. Nothing sexy or super-starrish.

  As for the four-inch, stunning, knee-length leather boots. Well, it was cold and at five-feet four inches tall, the additional height came in handy standing next to Forrest. At six feet three inches tall, he towered over her. The disparity in their height was almost laughable and sexy. Tall, rugged doctor-farmer next to her small, petite frame. The dapper gentleman whether in a tailored suit or in jeans, a shirt and leather jacket as he was now.

  Yeah, definitely a turn-on for her in that I’m big and strong and I protect you kind of way.

  She nestled a little closer, latching on to his muscular forearm as they walked off the harbor to their dining destination. Not that she needed his support. Aside from a few snow patches, the roads were manageable, and the restaurant was right across the street. But then his bicep flexed under the black leather jacket, and she couldn’t help but tighten her grip.

  Friend zone. She was reminded for the hundredth and one time.

  Right.

  With an imaginary flick of her middle finger, she told her conscience to shut the fuck up and grabbed tighter onto Forrest’s arm on the chilly evening. She didn’t pull away from his warmth until they entered the bright, nautical setting restaurant, a short stone’s throw from the Steamship Authority Ferry Terminal with views of the ocean and ferry. Within seconds they were greeted by a young, attractive couple.

  “Miss Peters, what an honor!” The pretty brunette beamed. “I’m Valerie and this is my husband, Richard.” She smiled at her husband. “I’ll take your coat and Richard will take you to your table.”

  Forrest helped her out of her coat before slipping out of his hip-length burnished black leather jacket. He removed the wool beanie and slid his fingers through his hair. Her heart went pitter-patter in her chest at the simple gesture. So very sexy. In dark jeans and slim fitted tattersall indigo shirt, he looked more like a fashion model than a doctor.

  “When you told us you were coming for dinner, Forrest, we reserved the best table,” Richard said with a smile after their coats were hung. “Please follow me.”

  Forrest reached for her hand, clasping it as he led her through the restaurant. Claire took in the layout of the tavern. The front half was seating for the café, with a relaxed, open feel, perfect for reading and spending time watching the boats sail by. As they walked toward the dining room, they drew a few glances, but no one seemed to care the famous Claire Peters was dining at a local tavern. If anything, it was Forrest the women’s gazes lingered on a little too long. For as long as she’d known him, he seemed oblivious to the attention channeled his way. The dining room, decorated with simple elegance, gave a relaxed ambience with lighting perfect for a candlelight dinner. While the tables were close, wine crate stacks helped to keep a little privacy. Richard led them to table by the window with a stunning view of the ocean and sunset.

  “I’m impressed, Dr. Desvareaux,” Claire said once they were alone. “Great view.”

  “Great menu too.”

  “Do you come here often?” She tried to make her tone as indifferent as possible, but a poker face she’d never had. The idea of Forrest here on a date with another woman, laughing, talking. Ugh!

  Friends, her conscience whispered.

  “I’ve eaten here a few times since they opened.”

  Her stomach flopped.

  “But not the way you’re thinking,” he continued. “I’m usually at the bar.”

  Bounded on a spree of sheer relief, she asked, “To what do I owe this honor then?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Claire turned her attention to the pinkish-orange hue casting over the sea, reflecting off the ocean waves rolling in slush due to the frigid winter, then back to Forrest. His eyes were on her and very serious, waiting for her to answer his question. She licked her lips, a nervous gesture. “I know this isn’t a date.”

  He sat back and continued to watch her, looking calm and relaxed while she was squirming inside. Claire touched one of her ears. His eyes followed her movement then back to her face. Shit! She was beyond nervous.

  The waiter came just in time to take their drink order. After Forrest ordered a bottle of wine, and they were alone once again, he said, “You were saying this isn’t a date.”

  His eyes met hers once more. Claire absently brushed at the ruffles of her dress. It was hard to maintain that stare. The blue in his graphite eyes were sharp and seemed to have the ability to cut through her.

  “Is it?” she asked, not quite sure how to respond.

  He sat back, brows furrowed. “You look beautiful.”

  He didn’t answer the question, but whatever. He gave her something better, a compliment. Her body temperature rose, going from slightly chilled to overheated.

  “Um, thanks,” she mumbled.

  He continued to stare at her. Damn him and his gorgeous eyes. “I need to ask you a question.”

  “Yes.” She smiled. “While this is nice, I’d much rather be at your place.”

  His lips twitched in amusement. Another fa
iled attempt.

  “Last night,” he said quietly, “I helped you sleep.”

  Caught off guard, she let out a surprised laugh. Good to know her words had registered. “You’ve been thinking about this.”

  “All day,” he admitted and shrugged. “I’m still a man.”

  Oh, she was well aware of how manly he was. The butterflies in her stomach flipped and started the Kid-n-Play kick step. Claire picked up the menu and gave it a cursory glance, mostly to torture him a little, but noted the fritters with four different kinds of what was described as light and zippy sauce. “Have you had the fritters?”

  “They’re delicious.”

  “Good. I will have them.” She placed the menu down and looked straight at him. “By the way, the answer is yes.”

  His brows went up. “Yes?”

  “You want me to say it?”

  A genuine smile crinkled the corners of his eyes, making him even more handsome, if that was possible. “Humor me,” he said.

  She leaned forward, rested her chin on her palm, elbow on the table, and stared at him. “I touched myself thinking of you last night.”

  He let out a low groan, a sexy sound that caused that spot between her legs to go damp. Claire squeezed her thighs together. “How does that make you feel?” she asked, all hot and bothered.

  Hooded eyes stayed on her for a beat, and when he spoke, his voice was low and raspy. “Tortured.”

  “You should explain that since we are only friends and all.”

  He laughed. “It means that image will be burning in my mind the whole evening. But at least we got one thing settled.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Good to know over the last ten years we’ve thought of each other.”

  Her whole body pulled for him, her blood thrumming through her veins to the rhythm of want. “You mean…”

  He nodded. “I’m going to mentally recite the periodic table so I can calm down and we can go back to our non-date, date.”

  Well, that didn’t help one bit. The idea of Forrest stroking the hardness of his arousal while thinking about her sent a shot of heat to the tip of her breasts, causing Claire to squirm in her seat. She was relieved when the waiter brought their wine and took their order.

  The rest of the night flew by faster than a fighter jet. Time was a thief. They shared a basket of fries, drank too much wine and managed to catch up on ten years within a couple of hours. Laughter was shared. Here and there between the calm space of an old friendship rekindled, a touch of melancholy rested on them, but overall they stayed connected, in a trance. So much so they failed to notice the onlookers who glanced at them, or the sun dipping lower on the horizon as stygian darkness took over the sky, or when the street lights clicked on. When Forrest proposed they walk down two blocks to a nearby bakery for dessert, already half-delirious with pleasure and not wanting the night to end, Claire held on to him again and moved at a relaxed pace about the village the short distance down to the bakery.

  A bell on the door rang when they entered the cozy gourmet boutique. The place was simple, high ceilings, wide plank floors, and wooden walls. Inside smelled of rising yeast, fresh cinnamon, and rich brewed coffee creating the feeling of a never ending warm embrace. Although she was full from the dinner and perhaps just a little tipsy from the wine, the delicious display of treats was too tempting to pass up. A staff member greeted them and exchanged a few friendly words with Forrest.

  “What can I get for you, Doc?” a young man with shaggy blond hair asked.

  “Hey, Tim,” Forrest greeted warmly. “Two of your café au lait and one beignet.”

  “Make that two. Mine with chocolate filling.” She elbowed Forrest’s hip. “I don’t share my sweets.”

  “Two chocolate beignets then,” Forrest said, rubbing his hip with feigned pain. “We’ll be by the fireplace.”

  “Excuse me.” A girl with a blunt bob cut and pierced eyebrow appeared from the kitchen. Claire guessed she had to be in her late teens or early twenties. The girl looked at Forrest, but her eyes lingered on Claire. “You’re Claire Peters.”

  Claire smiled. “Yes, I am.”

  The girl paled and for a second Claire thought she was going to pass out. Good thing her date was a doctor.

  “I have all your records.” She played with her apron pocket. “I just wanted to tell you that I think you’re so talented and we’re very proud you’re one of our own.” She smiled shyly. “I sing and one day would love to be like you.”

  Maybe it was the fact that she was sharing this magical night with the man she loved, or the fact she'd never lost sight of how much she had managed to achieve in the last ten years, but her heart softened to the girl. She’d always known part of it was due to a little bit of luck. Sure she worked her ass off and knew how to sing, but had James not discovered her that night, who knew where she’d be right now.

  Her heart squeezed at the girl’s nervous jabber. Once upon a time she’d been the somewhat timid girl with dreams to make it big. “What’s your name?”

  “Amber.”

  She shook the girl’s hand. “Do you have anything recorded?”

  “Um... No.”

  “Amber performs with a local band on the island sometimes,” Forrest informed.

  “Do you? That’s awesome.”

  The girl smiled shyly.

  “What’s your favorite song of mine?” Claire asked with a smile.

  “Oh, there are so many. I loved your last record though. All the remakes with your own twist. Pure classic.”

  One of her favorites as well. A tribute of her love for eighties and nineties music. “Why don’t you come to Vapor Friday night? I’m performing there. We’ll sing a song together and…” The last words were lost as Claire found herself squeezed in a tight embrace.

  “I’m so sorry,” a flustered Amber apologized.

  Claire chuckled. Hell, she still got star-struck. “It’s okay.”

  “Thank you.” Amber shoved her hand in the pocket of her apron. “I don’t think I’ll sleep tonight.”

  “You’ll sleep. I’m just like you. Nothing special.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Peters.” She hesitated then gave Claire another quick hug and disappeared into the kitchen.

  “That was sweet and you’re pretty special,” Forrest said as he led her to a table. This time he slid into the seat right next to her.

  “I was her at one time.” Victoria’s words replayed in her head. Claire shoved them away. “I caught a break.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short. You’re talented and you work your butt off.” He tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. “Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?”

  Straight from doing the kick step, her heart performed a funny little beat in her chest. Claire tilted up her face to look at him. “You might have casually said something during dinner, but please don’t let me stop you from speaking your mind.”

  “You’re beautiful,” he said, voice low.

  Her breath hitched. “Be careful, Doc. The friend-zone line is getting blurry.”

  Forrest didn’t seem to mind. He stilled, lowered his head, and brushed his lips against her bare shoulder, burning as they made contact. His sandpaper-rough stubble scratched her skin, stirring the all-consuming need to be in his arms, under him, over him. Claire moaned and would have devoured her date had he not pulled away and turned his attention to the young man with their desserts in his hands.

  Picking up the freshly prepared pastry, she took a bite of the deep-fried dough sprinkled with confectioner’s sugar and moaned. “Oh, my God!”

  “Delicious,” Forrest said as he drank his coffee.

  “God, yes.”

  He laughed. “You said God twice. Sounds–”

  “Orgasmic,” she finished and enjoyed the way his jaw clenched. She licked chocolate from one finger, then another, her eyes on him the whole time. “Not quite.” She took another bite. “But I love.”

  Their gazes he
ld, his heavy-lidded with heat. “You’re tempting, Claire.” One rough thumb caressed her cheek. “Always have been.”

  Emotions swirled deep and strong inside her. “What are you going to do about it?”

  “I don’t know. For now, let’s enjoy our desserts.” Turning his attention to the plate in front of him, Forrest picked up the beignet and took a large bite. Then he closed his eyes and groaned. “You’re right, this is good,” he said, and took a sip of his coffee.

  The sight of his mouth on the cup had her mind galloping off to X-rated scenarios, because those lips looked delicious. Soft and kissable, while the rest of him looked hard and strong. A tortured man in repose.

  “Forrest,” she said after a long beat of absolute silence.

  Slowly his eyes opened and he looked at her again. “Yeah.”

  There probably would not be a goodnight kiss as she hoped, and that was okay. She wanted to claim that permanent spot in his heart again. But for now, this moment, the two of them, sitting side by side on the late winter night, drinking coffee and eating a sinful, calorie-filled dessert was more than enough. “I had fun on our non-date date.”

  “Me too.” His voice revealed nothing, but then he smiled, it spread to his eyes, and happiness filled her belly.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “The head never rules the heart but just becomes its partner in crime.”

  Michael Mclaughlin

  Forrest swore under his breath. His gut coiled into a tight knot as Claire continued to rake his brain. For starters, during their “non-date” date, as she referred to last night, he had to deal with the image of her on her back, eyes closed, and palm on her apex pleasuring herself with him in mind.

  Pure fucking torture. He let out a deep breath. He’d gladly give away all of his possessions to watch next time.

  Then there was her laughter, the kindness she’d shown to Amber. That side of her didn’t surprise him. She’d always been kind, but it was good to learn Hollywood hadn’t changed her much. Oh, the way she ate that fucking beignet. The whole time he had wanted to be the one in her mouth instead of that damn pastry. And when she was done with all the teasing, tasting, licking, and swallowing, he’d wrap his arms around her and do whatever floated his boat.