Ripped clothes, spilled paint, uninhibited passion--Dancing Barefoot is on Scintillating Sunday
He stalked toward her until her
back collided with her easel. His hands gripped the top of the canvas, arms
pinned her where she stood. “I haven’t wanted to remember you in a very long
time.”
“I suppose not.”
“But I have.”
“Me, too.”
“Are you happy?”
“What do you mean?” She folded her
arms across her chest.
“Did you make the right choice?
Leaving me? Leaving our life together? Tell me you’re happy and I’ll walk out
of your life forever.”
“What does it matter? I can’t undo it.”
“Why is it a difficult question for
you to answer? Why can’t you tell me that you have no regrets? I want to hear
it.”
“Of course I have regrets, but so
what? What good does that do us?”
“That’s why I came here tonight, to
see…”
“See what? I’ve done what I said I
would do.” Pride forced her head high. “I’m up for associate partner at my
firm. I’m a good—no, great—architect. We both succeeded without each other. Good
for us.”
“You’re lying. You’re not happy.” His
hand framed the side of her face, forcing her to look at him. “I see it in your
face. It’s like you’ve died. You're living in the past, which tells me you're
not that thrilled with the present.”
“When did you get so mean?” Too
tired to fight, tears blurred her eyes. “Get out. Enough insults for one night.
Just go.”
“Why are you still wearing my
ring?” His voice was low and powerful in the small room.
“Why do you?”
“My ring.” Dark blond hair covered
his left eye when he bent forward, only a breath away from her face. “Why are
you wearing it? Does it mean anything to you or do you simply think it’s
pretty?”
“Please go.” She flattened her
hands against his chest, but wished she hadn’t.
The feel of his hard body beneath her hands liquefied her bones.
He slammed his hand against the
canvas, knocking it to the floor behind her.
“You just left. One day we’re living together, talking about creating a
future, and then you walked away without ever looking back.”
“I look back in my own way. Often,
too often, I need to grow up like you said.” Her lungs deflated like air from a
balloon. Breathing ceased. I needed to
come back here to—”
“To be safe? To do the right
thing?” He had her backed against the easel. “I thought you would at least stay
in touch with me, the man you supposedly loved, the man you said you wanted to
marry, the man you said you needed…but you disappeared.”
“You had my address. I didn’t
disappear.”
“You let me go without a word. Until
today, I hadn’t heard from you in years, yet here you are wearing my ring.”
“I said I was sorry.” Every inch of
her quaked with restrained emotion.
“Leave now. Go. Good luck with your exhibit, with your life, all of
it. Just get the hell out of my house.”
“Do you know why I brought your
address with me? Do you?”
“You wanted to tell me off, right? That’s
why you came here, to hurt me.”
“I wanted to show you how much I
don’t care.”
“Doesn’t that show me how much you
really do care?” She lifted her chin,
determined not to cry.
A fraction of an inch separated
their bodies. She dragged her gaze over the opened buttons of his shirt, over
his neck, over his lips until resting on the deep green of his eyes. Damn, the
man rocked the word 'sexy'.
Boldness replaced caution.
Standing on tiptoes, she smoothed
her hands along the front of his chest.
Touching him again was like coming home from a long, exhausting journey.
He shook his head once as if trying
to clear his mind. Only once. He stared at her lips. His hands curled around her forearms, but he
didn’t push her away.
“Kiss me,” she whispered against
his mouth.
“No." His hands slid up her arms before cupping the
back of her head.
"I dare you."
"Never."
"I know you want to."
"I don't."
"Now who's the liar?" she
asked, her teeth tugging at his lower lip.
Their mouths met in a kiss that
melted her skin like candle wax, turning them into one being, one entity
consumed by desire. To hell with restraint and regret. She needed this, needed
him, here and now.
Passion overrode all other thought
or senses. Her hands stroked his back, kneading and searching. Every sense was
alive with his touch, with his kiss. The need for him was an ache that burned
deep. Hot. Necessary. Urgent. Primal.
God, she had missed this, missed
him.
He ripped her tank top in two and
tossed the material aside. His hands squeezed her breasts while his mouth
devoured her lips.
She yanked his shirt free from his
jeans and shoved it high on his chest, needing his skin against hers more than
she'd ever needed anything in life.
Clothes fell away, bread crushed beneath their bodies, wine spilled from
an overturned bottle at their feet.
They fell against the easel, knocking the canvas and paint in every
direction. A tangle of limbs, they made eye contact for a moment, chests
heaving, breathing labored.
"This is wrong," he
muttered against her skin.
"Right. Always right with
us." She sank her fingernails into his shoulders.
"What the lady wants, the lady
gets," he said, a predatory gleam in his eyes.
His hands worked at pushing her
yoga pants over her hips while his mouth claimed her breast.
She looped her toes in the
waistband of his underwear and yanked them over his thighs. Her hands sought his erection while her back
arched with every stroke of his hands and every lick of his tongue.
He ground himself inside her with
the intensity of repressed rage. Her legs wrapped around his hips, holding him
as close as possible as he plunged deep inside her.
Sex had never been tame with him,
but this was animalistic. This was raw.
Teeth sank into skin. Nails scraped against each other's bodies. They
rolled together, locked as one being. Streaks of yellow and red paint lined
their faces, stuck in their hair, no one cared.
Waves of pleasure rolled through
her veins like a tsunami until all strength left her body. She laughed,
breathless, as her mouth sought his again in a kiss filled with satisfaction
and surprise.
"Is this what you meant by a
do-over?" He shoved his hands through her hair, palms framing her face,
and stared into her eyes. His chest rose and fell against hers.
"Not exactly, but it'll
do," she whispered, still out of breath, heartbeat slamming like a caged
bird's wings inside her chest.
His mouth sucked on her lower lip,
tongue teased hers. "I don't know what to do with you, Jessica Moriarty."
"You've always known exactly
what to do with me, Jacques Sinclair." She repeated the words they'd
always said to one another. She dipped her finger into the wet yellow paint on
the canvas beneath his head before smearing it across his chin and over his
mouth.
He grabbed her hand, linked his
fingers with hers and stared into her eyes. Laughter faded. “This shouldn't
have happened. I lost control, I always lose control around you.”
He rolled away and stared at the
ceiling. Then he stood and pulled a piece of cheese from where it had stuck to
his shoulder. Without looking at her, he dressed.
Rattled from the sex and his reaction,
she stumbled to standing, grabbed the blanket from the sofa and wrapped it
around herself. Man, she was on a roll today with fucking up her life.
He walked down the stairs without
saying a word.
She returned to the kitchen to find
him still waiting. She'd hoped he'd gone.
Back against the wall, he finished
buttoning his shirt. He hadn't bothered to wipe the streaks of paint from his
face and hair; then again, neither had she. When he lifted his gaze to hers, he
looked agonized.
"I didn't intend on that. I
should go," he said.
“Stay. Don't go. Maybe we should
talk or something.”
She wanted to scream, stomp her
foot like a child, fall to her knees …anything to make him stay.
“There is someone else, Jess. Life
moved on without you.” His quiet words sliced her heart into a million pieces. “I
came here for answers, to understand. I didn't intend to rip your clothes off. I
only wanted to understand why you left me. That’s all.”
“And now you understand?”
“No.” He shook his head, a slight
grin curving his lips. “But I accept that I will never understand.”
She rubbed the palm of her hand
over her face. Of course he had someone else. She had discarded him like a used
napkin.
“You're serious with this woman? What
you said about the different women all the time was just to hurt me, right?”
“Yes to both questions.”
A chasm ripped through the room,
creating a space larger than the ocean that had once separated them. She felt
the loss of him again, more powerful, more poignant than before.
“I wish it wasn’t like this between
us…”
“I’m still the same man you left in
Italy. The reasons you left haven’t changed.
I’m a gypsy at heart, never in one place longer than six months or so.” He
looked at the matching ring on his finger and blew out a long breath.
“Please leave. Your girlfriend must
be wondering what the hell you’re doing.”
She hugged her arms across her chest and tapped her foot against the
floor. “Please leave, Jacques.”
“Am I wrong? Are you happy? Tell me
I’m wrong about you. Tell me that you love being an architect. Tell me that you
honestly don’t regret leaving me.” With every word, his face mirrored the agony
she felt. “Tell me that you have no regrets, that you are happy with your life
as it is now.”
“My life is damn near perfect.” She
forced a smile. “Partnership is in sight, remember? Corner office here I come.
I have everything I’ve ever wanted. It’s a fucking love fest.”
“It is time I let this go then.” With a quick
movement, he pulled the ring from his finger and laid it on the back of the red
chair.
She stared at the ring against the
faded fabric. “Please don’t leave it. Like you said, it’s yours.”
“Keep it, throw it away, it no
longer matters to me. Be well, bella.”
Door open, he hesitated at the threshold and looked around the room before
meeting her gaze again.
Bella. The word hung in the air as they stared at
one another, the language of Italy dancing in her memory and tugging at her
heart.
“Caro…” she whispered.
Without another look back, he
closed the door behind him.
She listened to the fall of his
footsteps on the stairs, the outside door opening and closing, and folded his
ring into her palm. She pressed the closed fist against lips still swollen from
his kiss. Silent tears streaked her face.
"What have I done?" Back
against the door, she slid to the floor. The question she asked had no answer.
Even she didn't know if she meant the past or the present; conflicting emotions
meshed together in her brain like the various paint streaks staining her skin.
Blurb....
Success means different things to everyone. On
the surface, Jessica Moriarty appears to have the world at her feet. An
architect on the fast-track to a partnership and moving in all the right social
circles, she's checking off the boxes on her to-do list. But she's living a
lie. The 'perfect life' facade hides a heart filled with regret and a longing
for a love she abandoned.
World-renowned photographer, Jacques Sinclair,
doesn't need much to be happy. As long as he has his cameras, a backpack, and a
good pair of walking shoes, he's content. No matter how far he travels, though,
he can't escape the heartbreak of the one woman who'd been able to bring him to
his knees.
A chance meeting brings Jacques and Jessica
back together. Reunions aren't always happy—sometimes they stir up unwanted
pain and forgotten passion. As they stumble their way back to one another,
they're ensnared in a web of conspiracy, manipulation, and sabotage designed to
keep them apart. Will they be able to break free of the ties that bind them to
seize the love of a lifetime? Or will the pressure to conform rip them apart
forever?
