Releasing my hand, he grins from ear-to-ear, green eyes full of excitement. “I can’t believe you guessed that Hank and I are brothers. No one ever guesses that!”
I smile back. “Can you please ask your brother to come talk to us? He’s not in trouble or anything. I just need to ask him something. In exchange, I’ll be happy to pose for one of his drawings and sign it. Then he can auction it off however he wants.”
The big guy’s eyes widen. “Are you famous?”
I hold my pointer finger and thumb close together. “Just a little popular, but one day, I hope to be a huge bestseller. I’m an author and I’d really like Hank to draw me. I’d love to use his drawing as my online avatar. Can you please tell him for me?”
I barely finish my sentence before Howie runs off into the crowd and disappears behind the Ferris wheel.
“How’d you know?” Bash asks, appreciation in his voice.
I turn to him. “Know what?”
“That they’re family.”
I nod toward the artists who’ve resumed their work now that the excitement has died down. “I think this whole artistic group considers each other family. I saw a couple of them send signals, I think to tell others to warn Hank. But the way Howie came barreling over here…well, only a very close relative does that.”
“Or those who’ve become like brothers during extreme circumstances,” Bash says, sounding a bit nostalgic with an edge of sadness.
He didn’t mention any brothers earlier. Is he talking about close friends? Did he lose some friendships? He must still be close to Trevor. I don’t know anyone else who works another guy’s job just so he can take a vacation. The sun shines through Bash’s aviators, allowing me to hold his gaze. I smile. “That too, I’m sure.”
While we wait for Howie to find his brother, Bash lets a boy, who’s walking around juggling three throwing balls, rope him into playing a knock-the-milk-bottles-off-the-stand game. Twenty-five dollars later, Bash hands me his prize with a wry smile: a black beaded necklace worth about two bucks.
“You do realize you just got taken, right?” I tease, putting the necklace on as we walk away.
He lets out a manly grunt. “It’s a matter of pride.”
“Can I really draw you and you’ll sign it?” A teen boy says off to my left, snagging my attention. He’s a couple inches shorter than me, but judging by his deeper voice, he’s at least fifteen.
I smile and walk over to sit in the chair next to his easel. “Will this be all right?”
Nodding, he sets a narrow wooden box on the edge of his easel and pulls out a couple of charcoal pencils, his dark blue eyes already assessing my face. “What did you want to ask me?”
I watch Bash take up residence behind me and fold his arms, leaning against the festival’s gate, then I turn back to wait until Hank begins sketching to speak. “A few months ago you purchased a voucher from the Hawthorne hotel.”
When Hank starts to deny my statement, I raise my hand. “You’re not in trouble. I just want to know who sent you to the hotel to buy it for Mr. Sheehan?”
Hank’s attention strays to Bash as if he doesn’t quite trust him. I get it. Bash can be intimidating when he wants to be. “He’s okay, Hank. I promise.”
Hank shrugs, then resumes his drawing. “A woman just showed up at my easel one day. She asked me to go to Hawthorne and purchase the voucher in that man’s name. She gave me a piece of paper with typed out instructions.”
“A woman?” I say, cutting a surprised look to Bash. “Did the paper have a hotel crest or special markings on it in any way? Do you still have those instructions?”
“No crest, just plain paper. And no, I tossed it,” he says right before he begins to speed through the drawing, a talent that only comes from years of practice. Pausing, he gestures to my hair with his pencil. “She had red hair like you. Though hers was darker, more brownish red. And she was a bit taller.”
Anxious, I lean forward in my seat. “Did you know her? Or recognize her from somewhere around Edgartown or here in West Tisbury before?”
He shakes his head. “No. I’ve never seen her before. She came to my easel late in the day when the sun was almost down and asked me to buy the voucher at Hawthorne. She gave me cash to pay for the voucher and promised a couple hundred bucks.” Rubbing his nose with the back of his charcoal-covered hand, he continues, “I got the first hundred for buying the voucher and the second hundred when I delivered it to her.”
“Where did you meet her to deliver it?” I ask, hoping that location might narrow down the pool of candidates some.
He swipes his pencil across the page a couple of times as if putting finishing touches on it. “She came back here a few days later to pick it up. I’ve never seen her here before or after that. Honest, I promise.”
A couple minutes later, he says, “I’m done,” then steps back from his drawing. “I um, kind of switched it up a bit.”
He didn’t draw me in caricature like I expected. Instead, he’d drawn a lifelike picture of me. Actually, he’d made me far prettier than I really am, but hey, if I’m going to have this as my avatar, it may as well be a supermodel-worthy rendition.
I take the pencil he offers and scrawl out my fancy T.A. Lone author signature in the corner of his masterpiece. “This is fantastic, Hank. You really are very talented.” Handing him the pencil back, I take a picture with my phone so I can create an avatar later.
Once I put my phone away, Hank says, “Can I ask you why you’re asking about a voucher I bought for some guy?”
I nod. “I asked because this mystery woman who came to you sent that man the voucher inside an invitation as if it were from me.”
His eyes widen and his face pales slightly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know she was going to do that.”
Bash steps into place beside me, his stance more relaxed. “If someone offers you too-good-to-pass-up money to do something for them, I guarantee you, it’s not for anything good.”
When Hank grimaces in guilt, I pat his shoulder. “You didn’t know. So what are you going to do with your drawing?”
“What kind of books do you write?” he asks, eyes lighting up.
I smile. “I write mystery.”
A wide grin spreads across his face. “I’m going to hold onto it. I just know you’re going to be a big name one day.”
Laughing, I shake my head. “I don’t know about that.”
He rocks on his heels, his eyes sparkling with confidence. “Yeah, you will. The way you found me. All this investigating you’re doing. I just know it.”
“Well, thank you for the vote of confidence, Hank. And for the cool new avatar. If you keep drawing like this, I think you’re well on your way to becoming famous yourself one day.”
When Hank gets all choked up and turns to rub his eye, mumbling about dust, I step up and grab the pencil again, saying, “And since you’re keeping it…” I add a note above my signature, then hand Hank the pencil.
“To Hank, the best artist in Martha’s Vineyard,” Howie reads my note out loud, pride in his booming voice. “Told you she was smart and pretty.” Grinning, he slaps his brother on the back, sending Hank stumbling forward a couple of steps.
Once Hank recovers and turns to high-five his brother in agreement, Bash says in a bone-meltingly low voice meant just for my ears, “I couldn’t agree more.”
“What are you going to do with the information you learned from Hank?” Bash asks as he pulls into a shaded parking spot at the Hawthorne resort.
I glance his way as he cuts the engine and sets his glasses on the dashboard. He appears relaxed, but my gut tells me he’s far from it. “Since all I have is Hank’s description of a tall redhead and no name to go on, the best thing to do is follow the lead I do have. Once I get a hold of Mr. Sheehan’s contact information, I’ll ask him how he got the invitation.”
Resting his wrist on the steering wheel, he turns to me. “Can’t you just get that information from the front desk?”
Bash frowns slightly. “Do you think it’s possible Mr. Sheehan met with this woman who bought him the voucher? That she actually pretended to be you?”
I mull his question for a couple of seconds, my stomach twisting at the idea. “I hadn’t thought about the fact she might’ve actually impersonated me in the flesh, but now that you mention it, it’s oddly coincidental that she resembled me so much.”
He thrums his fingers on the dashboard as the wind starts kicking up, blowing his hair away from his face. “If he rented a car while he was here, I should be able to get his information. I know the people who run the rental car companies. What’s his full name?”
“That would be great.” Opening my purse, I jot down Bradley Sheehan on a piece of paper. “Hopefully I can get to the bottom of this before I leave in a couple of days. I really don’t like the idea that someone might be going around impersonating me.”
When I hold the paper out to him, he clasps my hand along with the paper. “Have dinner with me tonight.”
My gaze snaps to his. We’d worked well together to get the information I needed. He didn’t have to help me, but he did. Would it be such a bad thing to have dinner with him?
“Hey, Bash!” Two California bleach blondes wearing short tennis skirts walk behind his car, rackets resting on their shoulders. The shorter one arches a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “Care to give us some pointers?”
He glances up at the darkening sky, then smiles at them. “Better make it a quick game, ladies.”
“Aw, you can do better than that,” the tall, thin one says suggestively before they both laugh and turn down the path that leads to the tennis courts.
When his gaze swings back to me, my pulse jumps and surprise shoots through me. Bash has a dark brown spot in the upper curve of his left iris. I’d never noticed it before, since we’ve mostly been indoors and whenever we’ve been outside, he’d worn shades. Until now.
Shoving the paper into his palm, I pull my suddenly shaky hand away from his hold. “I have work to do,” I say, and quickly grab the door handle.
Just as I push open the door, he grips my hand once more. “I’d like to spend more time with you.”
All I can think about is Sebastian. How he’d ruined me for all men. Nathan had been a bandage. One I thought I could slap on, and with enough time, he would heal the gaping hole Sebastian left behind after our one mind-blowing night together.
I shake my head and pull free once more. “I’m sorry, Bash. I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”
His brow furrows, frustration evident. “It’s a fucking perfect idea and you know it.”
I step out of his car and shut the door, feeling as if I owe him some kind of explanation. Yes, the chemistry is there “in spades” as he put it. He doesn’t deserve this. “You remind me too much of someone from my past.”
When I start to turn away, he demands in a low tone, “Was it that good? Or that bad?”
“Both,” I answer honestly, then walk away as thunder booms overhead.
On my way to my room, I get a text from Nathan.
Nathan: I want to talk to you. It’s important.
Me: Talk later.
Nathan: Need to talk now, but you’re not here.
Ugh. He must be at my apartment. What could be so important?
Me: I’m out of town. Will call when I return.
Once I get back to my room, I don’t even turn on the lights. Instead, I instantly strip and head for the shower. Miraculously I manage not to cry while I let the hot water wash away the festival’s dust clinging to my sun-kissed skin.
I automatically pick up the bar of soap, but then put it back. The same with the shampoo. By the time I’ve towel-dried my hair, the storm is raging outside. Thunder rocks the floor and lightning illuminates the room in a strobe-light effect. A heavy wall of rain rushes against the window, its fury thrashing against the glass.
I walk over to my suitcase in the darkened room and slip on a pair of clean underwear, then I unzip the extra compartment in the suitcase and pull out a folded jacket.
My fingers trace over the supple expensive leather before I slide my arms inside and sigh at the brief arousing feel of the coat’s lining rubbing against my bare nipples. I tug the cushioned high-back chair over to the window and sit, glad the sheer curtains give me privacy but allow some light in the otherwise dim room.
Leaning against the chair’s side arm, I tuck my knees against my chest and push my nose into the jacket’s leather collar. Inhaling deeply, I exhale a sigh of relief that it still smells like Sebastian. Well, the seventeen-year-old boy he was when he gave it to me that night in the pouring rain eleven years ago. I’ve always been careful not to use perfumed products right before I slip into his coat. His smell has faded over time, but I would hate for the leather to lose the unique masculine scent completely.
I’ve taken Sebastian’s jacket with me wherever I go, but it’s only when I’m feeling particularly alone that I pull it out. Today definitely qualifies.
“Why can’t I let you go?” I whisper as silent tears fall. I know fundamentally why, but it has been three years since I felt his touch. One would think I would’ve moved past the pining stage by now, that I shouldn’t let one person occupy so much space in my head.
Protector, benefactor, lover…my obsession. That is what Sebastian has become.
And now that I’ve met a man who could possibly push him to the back of my mind and make him a distant memory, I’m sitting here alone in the dark, wearing his jacket. How fucked up is that?
I sigh toward the ceiling and clasp the coat tighter around me, letting the constant rush of the rain outside work its magic on my mind that doesn’t want to settle.
Closing my eyes, I listen to the steady beat against the glass and allow myself to embrace the memory of the night I lost my virginity to the only man I’ve ever fully trusted. The only man I completely submitted to in heart, body, and mind. My skin flushes as I mentally summon the feel of his hands on my skin, the intensity of his gaze and strength in his possessive hold.
During that masked party, I’d given him the name Mister Black before I learned his real name was Sebastian. I rub away my tears and soak in the deep resonance of his voice calling me “Miss Scarlett”. Telling him to call me Red later that night in his bed had been my way of revealing that he’d already met me eight years before as a young troubled teen. He’d called me Red back then after he’d given me his coat to keep me warm. Scarlett and Red are the only two names he knows me by.
I never told him my real name, but I’m not sure how long I could’ve held out if we’d continued our passionate encounter beyond that one night. He’d been too damn good at making me submit to him in ways that should embarrass me, but with Sebastian, they just felt intensely natural. A man with that much power over my body and mind is beyond dangerous to someone with dark secrets. I’ve stayed away from him physically since then, but now, for my own future happiness, I have to mentally distance myself as well.
“One last time, Mister Black…” I whisper into the storm-darkened room. Settling farther into the chair’s deep cushions, I slide my hand up my thigh and fully indulge in every single Sebastian memory and fantasy before I have to let him go once and for all.
“Fuck!” I slam the heel of my hand against the steering wheel after she walks away, her gorgeous red hair swaying against her back. Thunder rumbles overhead, and as I push the button to close the convertible’s roof, I can’t believe how she can continue to deny the connection between us.
It was good and bad.
What kind of bullshit answer is that? What happened to make her so afraid to acknowledge what we both know is true. Our chemistry is off the charts. It’s so intense, I had to keep gripping the damn steering wheel so I wouldn’t reach over and touch her the way I want to. The way I know she wants me to.
I lean
my head back against the seat and run through our day.
I knew she was smart, but I had no idea just how intuitive she is. Watching her at the festival had been both awe-inspiring and arousing at once. Her compassion is heartening, but her obvious intelligence only makes me want her more. I lost count of the number of times I got hard.
A mystery writer. Who fucking knew? But after today, I can see where her passion for chasing down a story comes from.
I don’t like discovering that someone might’ve been impersonating her, and it bothers me that I don’t have a clue who this mysterious redhead is. At least we have this Sheehan guy’s name to check on. Not only will finding out his contact information help her investigation, but it’ll be another excuse for me to seek her out again.
Damn, I enjoyed our banter, and though I can tell she still holds a lot back, we’re not that different. But it’s like she has blinders on. Why doesn’t she look closer? Is she really that afraid of what she’ll discover?
I pull the keys out of the ignition and fist them in my hand. One thing she’ll quickly learn is that I don’t give up whenever I go after what I want. And I want her so much I can taste the passion between us already.
I got to truly see her today, and now I’m done letting her refuse to see me.
I jerk awake at the sound of my phone ringing. Groggily, I stumble in the dark toward my purse on the console table by the door. Flipping on the light switch, I grimace at my rumpled appearance in the decorative wall mirror as I grab my phone.
“Hello?” I say, while finger combing my hair that the chair had completely rat-nested.
“There you are!” Cynthia says, her voice oozing with excitement. “I texted you three times! I wanted to pop by and tell you all about the guy I met earlier today. He’s taking me to dinner in a half hour.”
I give up attempting to fix my hair and move over to my closet to pull out my dress. “I thought you had a business meeting tonight.”
Scarlett Red: A Billionaire SEAL Story, Part 2 (In the Shadows) Page 7
