“Painting and art ed.” It felt so good to answer a normal question, without any hesitation.
“Someone should’ve warned you there is no guaranteed weekly paycheck with benefits if you major in that.”
No kidding. “In retrospect, I agree with you. Not sure I would’ve listened, though. I loved painting, and this college was literally paying me to show up every day and learn how to do that better. What was your major in college?”
After a weirdly long pause, Flynn said, “Business.”
Smart guy. Although now they were both working in the same bar, so what did it truly matter? “Well, a teacher with only a bachelor’s can’t get hired. I earned a scholarship to grad school. Got my own room in the dorm as an RA and still worked at a diner, too. It was enough to live on. It wasn’t enough to sock money away for the down payment on an apartment, for after graduation.”
“Even if you got hired as a teacher right away, school wouldn’t start for three months. You’d have to save up a ton to cover that gap.”
Exactly what had kept her awake and worried the whole summer before starting grad school. It kept her working double shifts whenever she could grab them, too. “Out of the blue, one of my regulars at the diner asked me if I’d paint a birthday present for his mom. A replica of a Maxfield Parrish landscape that was her favorite. We’d gotten friendly. I’d told him how I taught myself to paint by copying famous works, over and over again.”
“That’s the trick? I spent at least a month when I was ten trying to draw the frog on the Honey Smacks box. How come I could never get it down?”
Sierra loved that Flynn kept trying to lighten the mood. It showed that he realized how hard this was for her. Even though he had no idea what was coming. “Copying isn’t a magic shortcut. It was just the path that worked for me. I’ve got a knack for it. Better than doing my own original stuff.”
“Did you make a replica?”
“Yes. Rick paid me a hundred dollars, plus supplies. He paid me a lot of compliments, too, and we started going out. Then he said his grandma was jealous of his mom’s present, and wanted one of her own. Of course I whipped out another.”
“I feel like we can skip ahead to where obviously Rick is the biggest schmuck in the universe. He’s gotta be, to not move heaven and earth to make you happy and keep you next to him.”
Sierra clasped her hands so tightly that her fingers turned chalk-white. “Rick conned me into doing a lot of replicas. Not just the Parrish landscape, but others, too. I was desperate for the cash. Desperate to please him. Then I discovered that he actually sold them to a man who ran a huge counterfeiting ring. Wayne Kornieck.”
“Wait. Hang on. What?” Flynn’s body went absolutely rigid behind her.
This is the part where Sierra felt utterly stupid. Stupid that she’d ever believed Rick liked her. Stupid that she hadn’t wondered what he was doing with all the paintings.
So her words came out in a rush. “He took me along to meet a business associate. I was thrilled, because Rick never talked about his work. All he said was that he was in acquisitions. That it was business that’d be over my head. It’d bore me. Finally including me felt special. Instead, it turned out he was just tired of pretending to be my boyfriend.”
“God damn, Sierra. I can’t believe it.” Flynn’s voice held shock, but not judgment.
Not yet, anyway.
“It gets worse.” She turned her cheek to press against the rock-solid warmth of his shoulder. His strength would help her get through this. “The meeting was so that Wayne could lay out exactly what he expected me to do going forward. I refused, of course. I was horrified when I found out that Rick and Wayne had been selling my knockoffs as the real thing.”
“Did you tell anyone? Try to get help?”
“Wayne said that if I told anyone, he’d tip off the police that I was selling counterfeits. That he’d put the blame on me. Since it truly was my work, that’d be easy to prove. They’d send me to jail for something I both did and didn’t do.”
“Not the worst threat ever. Impossible to prove, though. I think if the police looked at the head of a counterfeit ring and you, they’d figure out pretty quick who to believe.” Flynn stroked his hands up and down her arms. “But that’s hindsight. Makes sense that at the time, his threat threw you for a loop.”
At the time? How about every time nightmares woke her up in the middle of the night? “I drove myself crazy trying to figure out the next step. I didn’t have the money to hire a lawyer. If I got arrested, my life would be over. No way out. For a solid week, I skipped classes and tried to come up with a solution.”
“You’re here now, so you must’ve come up with something.”
Sierra licked her dry lips. Wished violently for a glass of water, but she refused to stop until it was all out in the open between them. “Rick called me up, said he felt bad about how upset I was, and asked me to meet him to talk. Except we didn’t. He drove me to a mansion. His plan was to steal the original that I’d copied already. Replace it with my copy and sell the original himself. He’d been scheming for it since he saw a story about this woman with crazy famous works of art just hanging in her house. ‘Easy pickings,’ he said. It was his big plan to retire to a Caribbean island by thirty.”
“There are so many things wrong with that as a retirement plan, I don’t even know where to start.”
“The painting was hanging in the hall. It had already been authenticated. Nobody would inspect it again until the owner died. The theft part he’d thought through pretty well. What came after . . .”
Sierra’s voice trembled as she broke off. She’d never told anyone this story. Never shared the details of what transpired that night. Reliving it in her mind was hard enough but saying it out loud was ten times worse.
Flynn moved her into the crook of his arm, looking at her with eyes darkening to indigo. “You don’t have to keep going. Not now, not ever. I can’t stand how torn up you look.”
“No, I do. I have to tell you everything.” She stood, taking the steps down to the ground. Shook out her trembling hands as she walked in a circle. Stomped her feet hard against the packed dirt to feel the zing of pain through her sneakers. “He made me go with him, to be the lookout. Rick picked the lock like a pro.”
“He probably was.”
“Well, he got us in, and up the stairs. But when he tried to lift the painting down, the screws came right out of the wall.” Sierra closed her eyes, playing it back like a movie. “It threw off his balance, and he banged against the balcony rail. The owner, Mrs. Newberry, came out to see what was going on. She had a big old rotary phone in her hand, and she tried to hit Rick in the head with it.”
“Where were you?”
“Behind her. Watching. Frozen. Rick had sworn nobody was home, not even the live-in servants. He grabbed the phone and bashed her skull. Then she fell down the stairs. She just lay there, crumpled, in a pool of blood growing across the parquet floor.”
Sierra opened her eyes, drinking in the sight of the sun-dappled grass and the sparrow chirping by the poppies around the mailbox. It grounded her here, in this place, today. Far from violence and criminals and fear.
Flynn leapt to his feet. Then he took her in his arms and just held her. “Breathe. You’re safe here. Just breathe.”
Huh. She had forgotten to breathe. That explained the burning tightness in her chest. Sierra pulled in one long, deep, shuddering breath. Then another. But the oxygen didn’t fix her nearly as much as Flynn’s steadiness did. Being enveloped in his arms pushed everything away so that she could breathe.
Cheek nestled below his collarbone, Sierra said, “I ran. Not that very moment. I didn’t want to make Rick suspicious. He freaked out. Wouldn’t let me call an ambulance, not even from a pay phone. He took me back to his place, hid my cell and his keys, then slammed five shots of tequila and passed out. I didn’t sleep all night. Was she dead? Would she have lived if we’d called for help? I was sick to my stomach.”
Hands moving to her shoulders, Flynn pushed her away so that he could meet her eyes. “Sierra, the man basically kidnapped you.” His tone was firm, allowing for zero wiggle room. Like a teacher reminding you that homework was mandatory to your grade. “There was nothing you could’ve done. He didn’t get the painting?”
“No. There was no time to go back for it. Rick was worried that she’d hit a panic button on an alarm system or called 911.”
“What happened next?” Flynn led her back to the porch. He sat, then pulled her onto his lap.
All the touching helped steady her. A lot. Enough.
“The next morning he dropped me off at class, and said he’d pick me up after to go over our story. I went back to the dorm, packed my bag full of art supplies and my backpack with clothes. Then I hitched a ride to the place where all the undergrads went to get fake IDs to hit the bars.”
“It takes time to make a fake ID. They don’t spit them out of a computer.”
Spoken like a man who must’ve gotten his own for some freshman year beer runs. “True. They said it’d take a day. So I went to a casino.”
Flynn burst out laughing. So loudly that three birds erupted out of the treetops, squawking their displeasure at the interruption of their night. “That’s a fucking brilliant place to hide.”
Since she’d never told this story before, she had no idea if her choices had been stupid, desperate, or smart. His praise meant the world to Sierra. “I’d never been to the Potawatomi Casino. Rick wouldn’t have thought to look for me there. They’ve got a huge bingo hall, with yellow and green chairs, filled with senior citizens. It felt almost safe.”
“Did you win?”
He was making this as easy as possible on her. “A couple of times. Which just made me feel guiltier. I gave everything I won to the grandmother sitting next to me. The next day, I got my new ID and got on a bus out of town.”
“Where did you go?” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Hell, where did you start from? When did this all go down?”
“I was in my final year of the graduate program at the Milwaukee Institute of Art & Design. I went on the run in October of last year. Switched directions a few times in case Rick was looking for me. Chicago for a week, then down to Tennessee. Stayed there a month before going over to Lawton, Oklahoma. I figured if I went any more south, my lack of an accent would make me stick out.”
“Where’d you get the money to do that? You spent all your savings?”
It felt that way. Untouchable was just as bad as spent, in her case. “It’s mostly in the bank still. I couldn’t get much of it from the ATM, and I couldn’t risk withdrawing it at all once I left Milwaukee. But after Rick passed out that night, I took his money. Well, my money, really. After talking to Wayne when he laid out what he expected of me, I realized he paid Rick lots more than I ever saw for my paintings. So I searched his apartment and found a stack of cash in a cereal box.” Sierra bit her lip, still ashamed of her middle-of-the-night skulduggery.
Flynn used the side of his broad thumb to tease her lip back out. “For Christ’s sake, the man was an attempted murderer who fleeced you for the work you did. Don’t you dare feel bad about that for a second. You were in survival mode.” He switched to brushing the back of his knuckle along the outline of both lips. “I’m so damn glad that you got out of there.”
“Bandon’s the end of the road for me. I have to stop running eventually. I like it here. And I can’t keep being the scared, cowardly girl, always looking over her shoulder waiting for the bad man to grab her.”
“You’re not a coward. You’re beyond strong. Brave. People who aren’t running for their lives have trouble moving two towns over. Someone should turn you into a movie of the week.”
“Oh, no. I truly just want peace and quiet. After I make things right with Mrs. Newberry.”
“She’s alive?”
“Yes, thank goodness. Lots of broken bones and some internal damage, but from the news reports I could find online, she’s out of rehab and back home.” Sierra scooted off his lap to go and turn the easel toward Flynn. To show him her version of the yellow and purple orchids that Miriam Newberry placed with in flower shows all across the country. She’d scoured the web compulsively for info on the woman. “This painting? I’ve started and restarted it for months. It’s a gift for her. It isn’t enough of an apology, but it’s all I can do right now. I just need it to be perfect before I figure out how to get it to her.”
“You don’t have to apologize. You didn’t do anything.”
The tender reassurance in Flynn’s voice—for once—did not help at all. “That’s just it. I didn’t do anything. Don’t you see? I didn’t stop Rick. I didn’t call an ambulance. I might not have technically done anything wrong, but I sure didn’t do anything right.”
Flynn just stared at her for a minute, his face hardened into an unreadable mask. The silence lasted so long that Sierra noticed her fast, almost pants of breath. She noticed the early screech of an owl.
Most of all, she noticed that now that she’d admitted the very worst, most shameful part of her story, Flynn had stopped reassuring her. Stopped praising her. Stopped . . . everything.
Abruptly, he got up. Crossed to her in two long steps and gripped her biceps tightly.
“Don’t. You hear me, Sierra? Just don’t. Don’t value your very survival as any less important than someone else’s. What happened was fucking awful. To her—and to you. This Rick dipshit may have ruined your old life, but don’t let him taint your new one.”
Relief turned her knees to jelly. Good thing this amazing, understanding man had a hold of her. “Okay.”
“Focus on the good. Here and now. What do you like about Bandon?”
As a kid from the Midwest, it was easy to pop out the first answer. “The ocean. I don’t think I’ll ever stop being in awe of it. I like working with the kids on the float. I like how our regulars at the Gorse tell me about their lives. I like the friends I’m making.”
“Anything else?”
The intensity of his gaze pulled the words out of her. Ones Sierra hadn’t known she was ready to say out loud.
“I like you, Flynn. I didn’t want to drag you into my messed-up life. But you’re irresistible. You’re incredible. You make me feel more myself than I ever have before. You’re the best thing about Bandon.”
Then Sierra held her breath. Hadn’t she dumped enough on him already for one night? Why, why had she gone and dumped her feelings onto him, too?
What would he think?
Would the truth of her heart be more upsetting to him than the truth of her accidental criminal past? And if it was, if he shied away from what she felt, it would prove Sierra to be, officially, the worst judge of boyfriends ever.
Chapter Thirteen
Flynn didn’t talk about his feelings. Losing both your parents before you could shave made a guy shut down. Working for the mob and having to hide it from everyone at college? Running a real company, interacting with the real world while hiding his true ties to the seedy underbelly of Chicago? Those things gave him plenty of reasons to keep his lips zipped.
It also added up to years of casually dating. Of never letting anyone get too close.
Until Sierra.
He’d tried not to let her get to him. But her big eyes and even bigger heart were exactly what she’d just said—impossible to resist. Sierra made him want to tell her how she made him feel.
She made him want to tell her everything.
Which was dangerous as fuck.
But . . . he could still show her how he felt. Show her, no, lavish her with feelings. Turn Sierra into a quivering, satisfied mass of feeling. Then she’d know what was in his head and his heart without him using any words at all.
It was a solid plan.
Flynn pulled her in to him, latching on to her mouth like it was the last kiss two people on earth would ever share. This kiss would let Sierra know his intent for the next, oh, six to eight
hours.
Pleasuring her.
Making her scream his name.
Making her beg him to keep going.
Giving her literally everything she could take.
Flynn devoured her mouth. He poured his heart into it, pulling breathy little moans out of her. His tongue circled. Teeth nipped and bit. Sucked and licked. Treasured and claimed. It was an unending stream of every kind of kiss he’d ever given. All completely different here, now, as he gave them to Sierra.
As he gave himself to Sierra.
Whether she fully realized it or not.
Now that she had his shirt clutched in her fists, Flynn let go of her arms. Instead, he moved to cup her face with his palms. Slid her ears in between his fingers. From the gasp that pulsed out of her mouth, he could tell they were sensitive. Flynn filed that under get to later. Sex would come, but now was about this kiss. It was his promise, his vow, his heart, all poured into her.
So he gentled his approach, turning from lustful to tender. He gave her tongue long, slow strokes exactly like he’d do between her legs later. Tickled his pinkie along her neck that immediately brought up goose bumps beneath his touch.
But mostly he drank in her moans, her gasps, the heat she gave back to him by meeting his every kiss with an urgent need of her own. All the outward proof of her lust fueled his. Every response from her, every sigh and sound and flutter of her lashes sizzled just beneath his skin like a hot wire.
Sierra matched him, stroke for lick for bite. Her hips swung back and forth, grinding her belly against his dick. The shyness, the hesitancy from the first time he’d kissed her was gone. There was just a woman, no, his woman, who showed him right back how badly she wanted this.
Flynn’s eyes popped open. Maybe it was stupid. Maybe it was over-the-top mushy. But he wanted to look at everything around him. Take a mental picture of it to always remember this exact moment.
Because there was no guarantee he’d make it back from the trial in Chicago to have lots more of these moments.
Life didn’t care if you lubed up before it fucked you. He’d learned that the hard way.
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