Brown-Eyed Girl Page 15

  I felt suffocated and miserable. It didn’t matter that he was right; I wasn’t ready for this. For him. “I’d like to get out now.” My voice came out thin and rickety.

  Joe began to tow me to the shallow end. “Have you ever looked yourself up online, honey?”

  Bewildered, I shook my head. “Steven handles most of the Internet stuff —”

  “I don’t mean your business. I mean your own name. The first results page is all related to your work: some blogs that mention you, a link to a Pinterest board, that kind of stuff. But on the second page, there’s a link to an older article in a New York paper… about a bride who was jilted on her wedding day.”

  I felt myself turn bleach white.

  Sometimes when I thought about that day, I could will myself into a state of detachment and view it as if it had happened to someone else. I tried to do that right now, but I couldn’t manage to put any distance between me and that memory. I couldn’t be detached about anything when Joe was holding me. And he was going to force me to explain how, on what should have been the happiest day of my life, I’d been rejected, abandoned, and humiliated in front of everyone whose opinion mattered to me. For a woman with normal self-esteem, that day would have been devastating. For a woman whose self-esteem hadn’t been all that robust to begin with, it had been annihilating.

  I closed my eyes as shame scalded every vein like poison. People who had experienced true shame didn’t fear death the way regular people did… we knew that death would be a lot easier to tolerate. “I can’t talk about it,” I whispered.

  Joe guided my wet head to his shoulder. “The groom called it off that morning,” he continued evenly. “No one would have blamed the bride for falling apart. But instead she started making calls. She changed all the plans she’d made, so she could donate the wedding reception – which she’d paid for – to a local charity. And she spent the rest of the day with two hundred homeless people, treating them to a five-course dinner with live music. She was a fine, generous woman, and well rid of the asshole.”

  It was a long time before I could speak. Joe’s fingers shaped to my skull and he kept his hand there, as if he were protecting me from something. I needed this more than I would have believed, latched so securely against him that his body formed the necessary margin, the boundary between me and the rest of the world.

  It was more intimate than sex, to have someone hold the broken pieces of you together like that.

  Gradually, I felt warmth coming back into my body, sensation returning until I was aware of his bare shoulder against my cheek, how hot and smooth the skin was. “I didn’t want it in the paper,” I said. “I asked the shelter not to say anything.”

  “It’s hard to keep a gesture like that secret.” Turning his mouth to my ear, he kissed it gently. “Can you tell me just a little, sweetheart? About what he said that morning?”

  I swallowed hard. “Brian called and told me he wouldn’t be at the ceremony. I thought he meant he was going to be late, so I asked if he was caught in traffic, and he said no, he wasn’t coming at all. I was so shocked, I couldn’t say anything. I couldn’t even ask why. He said he was sorry, but he wasn’t sure if he’d ever loved me… or maybe he’d loved me but it had just gone away.”

  “If it’s real,” Joe said quietly, “it doesn’t go away.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because that’s what real is.”

  We moved slowly through the water, turning, floating in a lazy push and pull. I had no connection to anything except Joe, no contact with solid ground. He was in absolute control, leading me in a languid glide, and I was lulled by the peculiar sensuality of it.

  “Brian didn’t cheat on me, or anything like that,” I found myself saying. “He had a terrible lifestyle – no one who works on Wall Street should even try to have a relationship until they’re at least thirty. The schedule was insane. Eighty-hour workweeks, heavy drinking, no exercise, no spare time… Brian could never stop long enough to figure out what he really wanted.”

  As Joe turned in a slow circle, I found myself wrapping around him like a mermaid. “Sometimes you think you love someone,” I said, “but it’s really just that they’ve become a habit. At the last minute, Brian realized that was how he felt about me.”

  Joe pulled my arms around his neck, locking my fingers together at his nape. I brought myself to look into his eyes, lost in the dark, steady heat. Our progress around the pool resumed, and I held on to him, drifting easily. Whatever Joe’s opinions were about Brian – and no doubt he had some strong ones – he kept to himself for now. He was quiet, waiting patiently for whatever I might want to tell him. Somehow that made it easier to confide the rest, the part that only Sofia knew.

  “I went to my father after Brian called,” I said. “I’d paid for him to fly up from Texas, so he could walk me down the aisle. My mother was livid when she found out. She and I were never all that close – I think we were both relieved when I left home to go to school. I love her, but I’ve always known that something wasn’t right between us. She got married and divorced twice after Dad left us, but of all the men in her past, he was the one she hated the most. She always said that getting involved with him was the worst mistake she ever made. I don’t think she can ever look at me without thinking of me as the daughter of the mistake.”

  We were in deep water now. I tightened my arms around Joe’s neck.

  “I’ve got you,” he said, his tone reassuring. “Go on.”

  “My mother said she wouldn’t come if Eli was there. She said I had to choose between them. And I chose him. That was pretty much the end of our relationship – she and I have hardly talked since then. I’ve invited her to come to Houston and meet Sofia, but she always refuses.” I relaxed as Joe eased us to shallower water. “I don’t know why I wanted Eli there so badly. He’d never done any of the things fathers were supposed to do. I guess I thought having him walk me down the aisle would make up for some of that. It felt like it would make everything right.”

  Joe’s face was unreadable as he looked down at me. “What happened when you told him that Brian had called off the wedding?”

  “He gave me a tissue, and hugged me, and I remember thinking, This is my dad, and he’s here for me, and I can lean on him when I’m in trouble, and it might even be worth losing Brian to find that out. But then he said…”

  “What?” Joe prompted when I fell silent.

  “He said, ‘Avery, it was never going to last anyway.’ He told me that men weren’t cut out for monogamy – you know, the biological thing – and he said most men ended up disappointed with their wives. He said he wished someone had told him a long time ago that no matter how much in love you were – no matter how convinced you were that you’d found ‘the one’ – you would always find out when it was too late that you’d been lying to yourself.” I smiled bleakly. “It was my father’s way of being kind. He was trying to help me by telling me the truth.”

  “His truth. Not everyone else’s.”

  “It’s my truth too.”

  “The hell it is.” Joe’s voice had changed, no longer quite so patient. “You spend most of your time planning one wedding after another. You started a business doing that. Some part of you believes in it.”

  “I believe in marriage for some people.”

  “But not for yourself?” When it became clear that I wasn’t going to reply, he said, “’Course you don’t. The two most important men in your life gave you a hell of a one-two punch, at a time when you couldn’t protect yourself.” Fervently he added, “I’d like to go back and kick both their asses.”

  “You can’t. My father’s gone, and Brian’s not worth it.”

  “I still might kick his ass someday.” Joe’s hold on me altered, his hands becoming bolder, more intimate. The sky had turned blood orange, the hot evening air pungent with lantana. “When do you think you’ll be ready to try another relationship?”

  In the electric silence that followed, I di
dn’t dare tell him what I really thought… that rehashing the sad, bitter memories had reminded me how much I wanted to avoid becoming involved with him. “When I find the right kind of man,” I said eventually.

  “What kind is that?”

  I tensed as I felt his fingers sliding beneath the back placket of my bra. “Independent,” I said. “Someone who agrees that we don’t have to experience everything together. A guy who doesn’t mind if we have separate interests and separate friends, and separate households. Because I like a lot of alone time —”

  “What you just described isn’t a relationship, Avery. It’s friends with benefits.”

  “No, I wouldn’t mind being part of a couple. I just don’t want a relationship to take over everything.”

  We had stopped at the side of the pool, my back to the wall. My toes wouldn’t quite touch the bottom, obliging me to cling to the hard slopes of his shoulders. I dropped my gaze and found myself staring at his chest, mesmerized by the way the water had darkened and flattened the coarse hair.

  “That sounds like the same setup you had with Brian,” I heard him say.

  “Not exactly the same,” I said defensively. “But yes, something like that. I know what’s right for me.”

  I felt a deft tug at the back of my bra, the heavy padded cups loosening. I gasped, my legs churning in a search for traction. His hands slid to my breasts, caressing me under the water, teasing the hardening tips. He pressed me back against the wall, his thigh intruding between mine. “Joe —” I protested.

  “Now it’s my turn to talk.” The sound of his voice in my ear was pure sin. “I’m the guy who’s right for you. I may not be what you’re looking for, but I’m what you want. You’ve been alone long enough, honey. It’s time for you to wake up with a man in your bed. Time for the kind of sex that lays you out, owns you, leaves you too shaky to pour your morning coffee.” He pulled me more fully against his thigh, the intimate pressure making me weak with desire. “You’re going to have it every night, any way you want it. I have the time for you, and I sure as hell have the energy. I’ll make you forget every man you ever knew before me. The catch is, you have to trust me first. That’s the hard part, isn’t it? You can’t let anyone get too close. Because someone who knows you like that, he could hurt you —”

  “That’s enough.” I floundered and pushed at him clumsily, dying to make him shut up.

  His head lowered, and he kissed the side of my neck, using his tongue, making me squirm. In the middle of the twisting and splashing, he wedged both legs between mine and slid a hand over my bottom. I whimpered as he pulled me up against him, there, making me feel how big he was, how ready, and all my senses focused on that stiff, tantalizing pressure.

  Gripping his hand in my hair, Joe brought my mouth to his and kissed me, deep and hungry. His other hand kept urging my hips closer, forcing me to ride him in an erotic protean rhythm, and I couldn’t believe how damned shameless he was, and how good he felt, his body so hot and hard against mine. He was deliberate, doing exactly as he pleased, feeding every sensation with raw lust.

  As the pleasure climbed, I couldn’t stand it anymore, I had to wrap my legs around him, my nerves screaming, yes, yes, now, and nothing mattered except his hands and mouth and body, the way he was taking me over, bringing more and more pleasure to my dazzled senses. All I wanted was to kiss him and writhe against that relentless heat. I needed this so badly, the feeling that had begun to roll up to me with visceral force —

  “Baby, no,” Joe said hoarsely, pulling away with a shiver. “Not here. Wait. This isn’t… no.”

  Clinging to the side of the pool, I stared at him with bewildered fury. I couldn’t think straight. I was throbbing in every limb. My brain was slow to process that we weren’t going to finish.

  “You… you…”

  “I know. I’m sorry. Hell.” Breathing heavily, he turned away, the muscles of his back bunched and sharply delineated. “I didn’t mean to take it that far.”

  I was temporarily incoherent with rage. Somehow this man had gotten me to confide in him until I was more vulnerable than I’d ever been with anyone, and then after driving me half-crazy with sexual frustration, he’d called a halt at the last minute. Sadist. I made my way toward the shallowest part of the pool and tried to fasten the back of my bra. But I was shaking and unsteady, and my wet shirt clung obstinately to my skin. I struggled with the sopping mess.

  Joe came up behind me and rummaged beneath the back of my shirt. “I promised we’d take it slow,” he muttered, hooking up my bra. “But I can’t seem to keep my hands off you.”

  “You don’t have to worry about that now,” I said vehemently. “Because I wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole, unless you were dangling off the edge of a cliff, and then I would use that pole to clobber you.”

  “I’m sorry —” Joe began to put his arms around me from behind, but I shrugged him off and sloshed away in high dudgeon. He followed, continuing apologetically, “After our first time turning out like it did, I couldn’t let the second time happen in a swimming pool.”

  “There’s not going to be a second time.” With effort, I hauled myself out of the pool. The wet clothes felt as heavy as chain mail. “I’m not going into the house like this. I need a towel. And my purse, which is on one of the kitchen counters.” I sat on a lounge chair, trying to look as dignified as possible while water streamed off me.

  “I’ll get it.” Joe paused. “About dinner…”

  I gave him a withering glance.

  “Forget dinner,” he said hastily. “I’ll be right back.”

  After he had brought the towels and I had dried off as much as possible, I walked to my car, with Joe at my heels. My hair was stringy and my clothes were clammy. The evening air was still warm, and I was overheated, almost steaming. As I sat in my car seat, I could feel the upholstery soaking up the water from my clothes. If my car interior turns moldy, I thought furiously, I am going to make him pay to have the seats re-covered.

  “Wait.” Joe held the edge of the car door before I could close it. To my outrage, he didn’t look at all remorseful. “Are you going to answer when I call?” he asked.

  “No.”

  That didn’t seem to surprise him. “Then I’ll show up at your place.”

  “Don’t even think about it. I’ve had enough of your manhandling.”

  I could tell from the way he chewed on his lip that he was trying to hold back a smart-ass comment. Losing the battle, he said, “If I’d manhandled you just a little longer, honey, you’d be a hell of a lot happier right now.”

  I reached for the car door and slammed it shut. Extending my middle finger, I flipped him off through the window. As I started the car, Joe turned away… but not before I saw the flash of his grin.

  Thirteen

  S

  unday night went by without a word from Joe. So did Monday night. I waited with growing impatience for him to call. I kept my cell phone with me at all times, pouncing on every call or text.

  Nothing.

  “I don’t give a damn if you call or not,” I muttered, glaring at the silent phone on its charger. “I couldn’t be less interested, as a matter of fact.”

  Which was a lie, of course, but it felt good to say it.

  The truth was, I couldn’t stop reliving those weightless floating moments with Joe in the swimming pool, the memory cringe-inducing and haunting and wildly pleasurable. The way he had talked to me… unsparing, sexual… I’d felt his words sinking inside me, right through my skin. And the promises he’d made… was any of that even possible?

  The idea of letting go, with him, was terrifying. Feeling that much. Flying that high. I didn’t know what would happen afterward, what internal mechanisms might be shattered by the altitude, how much oxygen would be robbed from my blood. Or if a safe landing was even an option.

  On Tuesday morning, I had to turn my full focus on Hollis Warner and her daughter, Bethany, who were visiting the studio for the firs
t time. Ryan had proposed over the weekend, and from what Hollis had told me on the phone, Bethany had been delighted with the sand-castle proposal. The weekend had been romantic and relaxing, and the newly engaged couple had discussed possible wedding dates.

  To my consternation – and Sofia’s – the Warners wanted the ceremony to be held in four months.

  “We’re on a time limit,” Bethany told me, her hand sliding to her flat stomach. “Four months is all we’ve got before I show too much for the kind of wedding dress I want.”

  “I understand,” I said, keeping my expression impassive. I didn’t dare look at Sofia, who was seated nearby with her sketch pad, but I knew she had to be thinking the same thing: No one could pull off a megawedding that fast. Every decent location would be booked up, and the same could be said for all the good vendors and musicians. “However,” I continued, “a time frame that narrow is going to limit our options. Have you thought about having the baby first? That way —”