Falling in Deep Collection Box Set

by Pauline Creeden

  He threw his hands down, fighting another onslaught of desire. He adjusted his tattered blue jeans and the length of beach-found rope that held them. Bare feet made no sound as he crossed the repurposed driftwood floor.

  He stood at the window to watch the fog rolling away from the beach, retreating across the Pacific as the sun climbed higher over the Strait. It was newly replaced and opened slightly, and he thought briefly of the storm that forced the change.

  Most days, paintbrushes against his canvases mimicked the sound of gentle waves on the beach, but this morning the rhythm brought the memory of fingernails scratching against his bed sheets into his mind.

  Turning, Calder rifled through the stock of completed works until he found the one he wanted.

  Gaire.

  He leaned a large rectangular painting against the thin wall. The finished work was almost his height. The raven-haired beauty covered nearly the whole of it. Her face was round, making her seem young at first glance, but her eyes were older, knowledgeable, and caught in laughter, beckoning him with a mischievous smile. White teeth shined between full lips. Her long hair stretched across the canvas like a cloud of the night sky surrounding the moon. He glanced down.

  I need a cold shower.

  A knock interrupted his reverie. Probably Mike. I’ll put this back. Hiding the canvas behind the others, he cleared his throat, and stepped behind a tall workbench.

  “Yes?”

  “Lemme in, Lumberjack.” A happy-go-lucky voice sounded from the other side of the sliding tin door.

  Calder chuckled. “Yeah, come on.”

  “Hi, Cal.” The door creaked on rollers as it slid open. Mike Love, complete with tanned face, bright blue eyes, sun-bleached hair, and dressed only in swim trunks, stepped into the makeshift workroom.

  “Still no lumberjacks, but good to see you.”

  “Yeah, but you look like one. Man, it’s a good thing you grew out of scrawny.”

  “You were scrawnier.”

  “Hilarious.” Mike feigned a chest wound, slumping dramatically against a work table and onto the flimsy wall.

  Nonplussed, Calder eyed Mike’s outfit. “Been at the beach?”

  “Yeah, you know me, billionaire beach bum.” Straightening, he grinned. “Did you have a good time in Hawaii?”

  “I did what you said. I spent the whole time sketching on the beach, snorkeling, scuba diving, and then sketching more. Two books’ worth–it was a productive summer.” He pointed to the black leather-bound volumes resting on the table nearest Mike. Mike grunted approval as he picked up the top book. “Any women?” He flipped through the drawings of reefs, fish, and beach scenes complete with tropical fauna.

  Calder shrugged. She wasn’t there. He turned back to the tumultuous waters splashing on his current canvas.

  Mike snickered, and he let his eyes scan the haphazard paintings, focusing on a dark corner peeking out.

  “Calder.” Mike pressed his lips into a straight line. “Not this again.” He pulled the tall painting from between the others. “There were no other women, were there?”

  The insinuation in the word struck Calder, and he flinched, prepared for the litany he had heard before. “What of it?”

  “It’s always her. You’ve been painting her for ten years, and she’s always hanging around. No woman has ever measured up. You’re missing out on life, man. You should be out there. Get a real woman.”

  No kidding. Calder’s beard trembled when he clenched and unclenched his teeth.

  Mike gestured toward the painting. “Sell it already.”

  Calder watched Mike’s gaze drop to his tight fists and across Calder’s looming size. “Never mind. It’s nothing. Who knew you had to go to Hawaii to get decent sketches? Want some lunch? We can talk about your show.”

  Calder studied the choppy seascape canvas. “Yeah, I’m at a stopping place. Where you wanna go?”

  Mike grinned. “The Pier.”

  Calder only grimaced.

  * * *

  Light filled the spacious room. It poured in through the glass wall overlooking the bay. Anchors leaned in the corners beneath marine-themed artwork. A large blackboard covered the wall opposite the bank of windows and boasted the latest sketches by Kat Mason. Across the top of the blackboard on a wooden sign were the words, “The Pier Restaurant.” Written in chalk, “Supports Local Artists” glared at Calder in Kat’s calligraphy.

  He lingered over his calamari, studying the underwater scene adorning the remainder and barely listening to Mike’s ideas about the gallery opening.

  Kat is really very good.

  The white tablecloth showed the beige drips of sweetened ginger sauce. Calder reached for his water goblet. The condensation caused the cup to slip in his fingers, though he caught it before it fell.

  The movement caught Mike’s attention. He looked up from the pictures on his phone. “Did you switch to something stronger there, bud?” He lifted a beer bottle to his lips.

  Calder shook his head. “Still water. You know me.”

  “Let’s fix that.” Mike waved at a woman crossing the dining room.

  Kat.

  She approached the table. A long sleeved black shirt stretched tightly across her chest. Her cleavage peeked out above the third button. The striped cuffs fastened severely at the wrists with shirttails hanging loosely over tight black slacks. A streak of blue hair bounced in the high purple ponytail. When she stopped, she pulled one of the adjacent chairs close to Calder and sat. She leaned forward, accentuating what the shirt did not cover.

  Calder lifted his gaze from his appetizer and found hers. “Hi.”

  “Hi,” he said, distracted as Kat’s dark skin only brought Gaire’s pale skin to his mind.

  She winked, and then leaned toward Mike. “Hiya.”

  Mike flashed a roguish grin and ogled appreciatively. He said, “Lookin’ good, Kat.” He winked back. “What’s your special?”

  Kat smiled. “You know what I’m good at, Mike, but it looks like you’ve already committed to the calamari and a salad.” She turned back to Calder. “Have you sold that painting yet?” Her gaze lingered on his lips then strayed down to his beard.

  Calder shifted in his seat. “No,” he said dully, adding nothing else. She knew of his on-going affection for the portrait and wished he had never told her at the end of their one date and the second bottle of wine.

  Kat raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Well, then, I’ll double my last offer.” She winked again at Mike.

  So much winking.

  “And I’ll even throw in today’s lunch…” She paused. “…If you say yes.” Mike grabbed his beer to wash down a large bite of salad. Mike’s smug expression nettled Calder.

  Calder put his elbows on the table, trying to send the eye elusive and now salad-absorbed Mike a dirty look. “No, I don’t think so. Not ready to part with that one yet.” He smiled. “Thanks, though.”

  Her dark blue eyes twinkled. “The offer stands.” Her voice dropped to a suggestive octave. “Matter fact, so do the others. I’m here when you’re ready to move on.”

  He felt heat color his face. “Thanks. I’ll keep it in mind.” On the promise to catch up with Mike later, the restaurant owner left their table.

  “You did that on purpose.” Calder growled.

  “Yeah, no use denying it, sell the thing so we can eat here in peace.”

  Standing in the parking lot after lunch, Mike offered, “We should get you a real woman. Wanna head out tonight?” Mike waggled his eyebrows suggestively as he covered the distance to stand next to Calder under the eaves of the restaurant. “It’s Friiiiday,” sing-songing the day name. “You know these beach women don’t see many fiercely bearded artist-lumberjacks.”

  “Do you ever get tired of living for Friday nights?”

  “No, I don’t.” Mike leaned against the restaurant wall. Calder felt his scrutiny. “But, then, I’m not in love with a painting.”

  Calder winced. “I…I’m not…” The fe
eble argument faded from his lips until only the sounds of distant surf filled the air.

  “You know…” Pensive, Calder paused again, searching for words. “I didn’t always dream about her, had a sort of picture of her in my head, the dreams came later. I see her most nights now. Never seems to make much difference. And lately…” He let his words fade once more.

  Forget it. If I told him about the sand in my bed, he’d think I’ve gone off the deep end.

  He threw his friend a nonchalant grin. “Every artist has his agony. She’s my muse.” He jerked his hand through his hair, unsmoothing and undoing the morning combing. “Let’s go out. I’ll get suitable, then we’ll go stir up some trouble.”

  “You got it. I bet we can find some.” Mike turned to climb into his car, but called over his shoulder. “Hey, Calder?”

  Calder stopped. “Yeah?”

  “That white paint in your beard doesn’t really add to your lumberjack allure.”

  Was that there the whole time? Calder laughed. “Yeah, I might even shower. See you tonight.”

  Instead of beginning the two-mile walk to his apartment, he strolled toward the beach, relishing the salty breeze caressing his face. He wound his way to the edge of the Golden Gate Strait. Although Baker Beach boasted sun worshipers, young and old, Calder paid them no attention.

  He stepped into the lively brine, letting the surf soak the bottom of his jeans, throwing bits of gravel at the choppy water. He watched a piece of driftwood dance atop the water nearby. What if Mike’s right? He wondered if, indeed, he was in love with an image in a painting that was nothing more than a recurring dream borne from his love of the ocean and the empty space in his life and bed.

  I don’t know.

  He vowed to put the mer-maiden from his mind.

  At least for tonight, I need a woman that’s here…when I’m awake.

  He tried to ignore the wave of despair laced with the ache of an unfulfilled promise.

  Chapter 2

  Calder scrubbed his red hair. Gaire waited at the edge of his thoughts. Go bother someone else. Sandalwood and cinnamon scented the steam wafting through the white tiled bathroom. That woman, he thought. It’s time to try Mike’s way: a new lady every weekend, nobody leaves disappointed. Twisting the star shaped knobs, he shut off the shower.

  Finished, he combed his hair and his beard, then dressed in khaki shorts. He splashed his favorite spicy cologne across his shirt, before he slipped into his favorite board shoes. Rolling the gray sleeves up to his elbows, he studied himself in the full-length mirror.

  Anticipating the distraction the evening would provide, Calder smiled when Mike’s cheerful whistle trilled in the stairwell. Strolling out of the bathroom, he opened the door to a crack, and started tossing things in semi-organized piles.

  At least it’ll look like I tried. A little.

  Mike strolled into the one room efficiency. “I’ll never understand why your walls are so bare. You could fill them up with the artwork you keep. Except that one. Sell that one.”

  “Back to that, are we?” Calder’s voice held a hint of warning.

  “Maybe she’s your mom.” Mike plopped down on the black futon and pulled a throw pillow into his lap.

  “I don’t think so.” Flashes of the most recent late-night rendezvous crossed his mind.

  Definitely not my mom.

  Mike lifted his hands. “Fine, I’ll let the sleeping lady fishes lie – for now.” He stood, and then tugged at his partially unbuttoned shirt. “Ready to go, Paul Bunyan?”

  Calder bared his teeth at the lumberjack reference. “Ready as I’ll ever be.” Calder pushed the ethereal beauty from his mind.

  Here’s to forgetting.

  * * *

  As the evening progressed, they wandered down the beach front, visiting all Mike’s favorite haunts. Women with brightly painted fingers lounged in bikinis, stirring drinks, reminding Calder of Gaire. With two bars behind them, Calder sat on a barstool and ordered another whiskey, drinking to dull the edges of his desire.

  Waiting for the alcohol to hit him, he made small talk with a woman sitting on a nearby barstool. As the warmth crept up from his toes, his conversation dwindled to monosyllable words, soon followed by long stretches of silence. She finally gave up, moving on to a baby-faced man in uniform.

  Even after two whiskeys, Calder had only succeeded in clearing rational thought from his head, making the gnawing want more blatant. Plodding across the floor, he tripped on an outstretched foot and mumbled an apology before sliding into the safety of a booth. Mike had disappeared to woo an inviting mahogany-haired vixen who had been sending him smiles and winks since they entered the beachfront pub. Calder snorted into his snifter when they moved to their own booth and snuggled up on the same bench. Mike’s hand slipped below the table.

  White sand was strewn across the floor and footsteps made a scraping sound that mimicked the surf, pulling dreams and memories of dreams into Calder’s mind. He ordered another whiskey from a busy young strawberry blond woman in jean shorts and a tiny blush top. Gaire, get out of my head.

  He reached into his pocket and threw a crumpled ten onto her tray. “Keep the change,” he said gruffly, fighting the desire to look around. Feels like she’s watching.

  The waitress smiled, happiness glaring in the face of Calder’s dark mood. She was too pink, too giggly, and too peppy. “Sure thing, hon,” she chirped.

  In short order, she returned. Two shot glasses on her tray. Both filled with an amber liquid. “Here, hon, here’s the one you ordered and one from that pretty lady in the corner.”

  Calder craned his head around the waitress’ hips, wobbling slightly. “Where?” His thoughts slurred slowly into one another. The whiskey.

  She giggled. “Over there – real looker, dark hair. She’s been watching you since you came in.”

  He raised the glass toward the darkened corner in a gesture of thanks.

  The waitress took one step forward, nudging him with her elbow. “If you don’t go thank her in person, I’ll take her home with me, big guy.” In a cloud of over-powering vanilla fragrance, she went on her way.

  Calder lumbered to his feet, pausing just long enough to toss back the two whiskey shots. His feet felt heavy at the end of his stiff legs, and he leaned on the chairs and tables situated across the floor. He shuffled forward, still studying the shadowed corner.

  Pub lights glared in his glassy eyes. His vision did not clear until he was nearly on top of the table he now leaned heavily upon. His eyes adjusted just as she leaned toward him. A moonbeam face surrounded by midnight hair swam in front of his eyes. In a velvety voice, bright red lips formed the words, “Hello, Calder.”

  The room tilted and only one thought came forward.

  Gaire.

  Two rows of pearl white teeth caught her bottom lip and a smile danced about her mouth. He trembled as her pale hand moved slowly through the air, and then hovered a moment over Calder’s large hand gripping the table. Real. His knuckles turned white.

  “You’re here.” The breath caught in his throat, his whole body straining with anticipation for the touch he had been craving. Don’t do this to me, don’t. I came to forget you.

  Her unpolished finger traced a meandering line across the back of his hand. Sighing, she stroked the paint flecks around his fingernails. She pulled her porcelain hand back into her lap, hidden beneath the table between them.

  Calder did not move, and his clamoring thoughts blurred to one long, Aaaaaaaah. The exhale after a thirst-quenching drink. Light reflected off her hair, and Calder braced his knees when she dipped her head and her hair spilled over his hands. Desire pulled at him and his pulse throbbed in his eardrums.

  The scent of coconuts and jasmine filled his nose. Familiar. Old memories stirred…

  Two young men pedaled hard through the city streets, laughing. “Well, Cal, which girl did you like?”

  Calder shrugged. “I don’t think I care, Mike. I like them all.” Calder f
rowned. His hands flexed. With a screech of brakes on metal and rubber on concrete, the bicycle stopped abruptly in the middle of a restaurant delivery driveway.

  Mike tossed his head, halting on the other side. “What’s the matter, Cal?”

  Calder’s frown deepened. “Dunno. Smelled something…” He looked toward the ocean. “Familiar.”

  The apparition refracted, and his grip on the table loosened, trying instead to reach toward the face he recognized. His unsteady legs bent at the knees and he slipped ungracefully to the floor. Shouldn’t have had that whiskey. Through the blackened, fuzzy thoughts, a feminine voice stirred the air near his ear. “I cannot stay, beloved. She is here; she must not find me. You are in danger. Go home as quickly as you can.”

  No, no, no, Gaire, don’t leave. The thought did not make it past his lips.

  * * *

  When the blackness receded, he felt the sting of a slap on his face, heard Mike calling his name from far away. Light shined across his eyelids, it darkened, and then shined again. Smaller, softer hands blotted his face with towels, and from just under his heavy lids, Calder saw a carmine stain on a white cloth moving away from his forehead.

  When Calder’s lids peeled fully away from already gritty eyes, the fixture above the table was swinging wildly. He twisted over to his knees, ignoring the protests of Mike, the waitress, and other bar patrons. “Where did she…?” He ground out, patting his head.

  The waitress kneeled. Calder leaned away from the heavily perfumed woman. He was startled by an eyeful of her cleavage. Mike pulled Calder to his feet.

  “Still can’t hold your liquor.”

  Calder nodded as the waitress wedged her body against him. “There you go, big guy,” she soothed. The warmth from Mike’s hands fell away.

  Calder looked down into her gray eyes, mouthing the words so Mike could not hear over the resuming noise in the bar, “Where did that woman go – the woman that bought my drink?”

  She tilted her head with a thoughtful expression. “She was gone by the time we got over here. Shame you ran her off, though.” She laughed, patting Calder’s chest before picking up her tray.