Authors: Julie Ortolon
“Explain what?” she asked, flipping through the sketches. “Oh, dear God!”
He cringed, knowing what she’d found. The images he’d drawn of her once he’d started scripting Vortal, when his artwork had morphed from straightforward realism to stylized gaming art. Those drawings showed Chloe wielding swords, spears, or a bow and arrow while wearing a variety of skimpy costumes. Some barely hid the nipples of her exaggerated boobs, bared an impossibly small waist, or fell just to the top of her mile-long legs.
“You put me in your game?” she shouted in accusation.
“No!” he insisted. “I never used your face in the version we released.”
“But you used my body.”
“That’s not
your
body.”
“It was in your mind.” The blatant sexuality of the images had her flipping pages in jerky moves.
“Chloe, stop!” He tried again to grab the sketchpad before she reached the worst one.
When she twisted away and gasped, he knew she’d found it.
Shit!
He should have torn it from the sketchpad that morning. Or years ago. Better yet, he never should have drawn the damned thing.
“What the hell is
this
!” She whirled to face him, holding the sketchpad open.
He covered his eyes in mortification. He didn’t have to look to see the image in his head, a drawing of Blade, a younger version of Blade, having sex with stylized Chloe. The drawing showed Blade as he lay on top of Chloe’s body, bracing his weight on his arm. He had his mouth against her neck. Her head was thrown back with her lips forming an O of orgasmic pleasure. Her legs were wrapped about his naked body, pulling him tighter between her thighs.
“You bastard!” Chloe growled, as thunder boomed overhead. He felt the sketchpad hit him in the chest, startling his eyes open. Fury blazed back at him. “This is a lot more than a ‘little crush, no big deal.’ You came here intentionally hoping you could bang the chick you used to fantasize about.”
“No!” He stiffened in shock at her conclusion. “It wasn’t like that.”
“What a great score for a former school geek, to bag one of the popular babes,” she accused, visibly shaking. The wind picked up, whipping her hair about her face. “You wanted to see if you could do it, now that you’re a rich stud with a hot car.”
“I didn’t—” he started, but she was right. He
had
wanted to see if she would find the new him attractive. “It’s not like that. I’d never treat you that way.”
“But you did!” she shouted. “How dare you pretend you’re different when the only things you care about are getting laid and getting your necklace back. You may have gotten the first, but you’ll get the necklace over my dead body.” Turning away, she raised the sketchpad over her head.
“No!” He lunged for it, his body colliding with hers just as her arm started to move. She stumbled as the sketchpad left her hand, its pages fluttering as it flew through the air. He rushed past her, trying to grab it. A gust of wind caught it, propelling it farther out into the cove than it could have gone on its own. He lunged in desperation to save that piece of his life’s work.
The pier suddenly vanished under his feet. He felt himself falling as a wave surged up, snatching the sketch pad from the air. Terror seized him as he hit the water and sank.
Chapter 13
Chloe stared in shock as Luc’s body, fully clothed, vanished into the churning water. Lightning cracked through the air as the first fat drops of rain reached the island. Luc’s head popped back up, his hands pawing frantically as he sucked in air and slipped back under.
Oh, dear God. He couldn’t swim!
Kicking off her shoes and ripping off her shirt, she dove in after him. Aiming straight for the spot where he’d gone under, she collided with him on entry, sparing her from having to search. Going by feel, she tried to get a hold on the collar of his shirt. Before she could, his arms closed about her, clamping her arms to her sides.
She wiggled to break his hold, but couldn’t. In the struggle, she lost her sense of direction. Opening her eyes stung like hell, but she got her bearings and kicked in an effort to propel them upward. Try as she might, they made no progress.
She twisted and turned, but couldn’t get free. Her lungs started to burn for air. Frantic, she worked her knees up between them and pushed until she broke his hold.
Kicking at him, she managed to avoid his grasping hands long enough to get behind him and grab his shirt collar. Swimming harder than she’d ever swam in her life, she dragged him upward. They broke the surface, both of them gasping for air. Waves and rain slapped her face, nearly blinding her. Choking, Luc twisted, reaching for her.
To keep from getting trapped in his grip a second time, she wrapped an arm around his neck, bringing his back against the front of her. He thrashed, clawing at her arm.
“Stop fighting me,” she shouted near his ear. “I’ve got you.”
He continued to thrash and choke as she swam, one-armed and backward, in the direction of the pier. When she didn’t reach it in a few strokes, she glanced behind her and wanted to curse. She’d mistakenly aimed for the beach, a much longer distance and far more dangerous with the storm tide, but she’d already taken them too far to change course now.
With his legs hampering her kicks, and her one free arm already burning, she felt a stab of fear. A few more hard strokes had her muscles screaming as she battled both the waves and Luc.
“Luc, relax!” she pleaded desperately. “Let me do the swimming.”
Thankfully, his struggles slowed. He didn’t relax, but at least he stopped fighting her. One stroke at a time, she got them close enough to the shore to be almost free of the undertow.
“We made it,” she told him, panting in relief. “You can stand.”
They stood in water that came to her waist and his hips. The tide tried to pull them back out. With Luc struggling to breathe, she wrapped her arms around him to help him. Together, they slogged their way through the surging current and crashing waves until they reached the rain-soaked beach.
He dropped to his hands and knees, coughing hard.
The rain pounded down on both of them as she knelt beside him, her hand on his heaving back. “Relax. Try to breathe slowly.”
“My sketchpad,” he gasped. “Save my sketchpad.”
Glancing over her shoulder at the waves crashing against the shore beneath a stormy sky, she saw no sign of it. A strange grief welled up inside her, despite her earlier fury. “I’m so sorry,” she told him. “It’s gone.”
“Damn you,” he ground out. Turning his head sideways, he glared at her as if he hated her. “You destroyed my sketchpad.”
“I didn’t,” she insisted.
“You threw it in the water!”
“No,” she told him, conflicting emotions gripping her chest. “I didn’t.”
“I saw you throw it!” He turned so he sat in the sand facing her, soaked with seawater and rain. “How can you say you didn’t?”
“I was only going to throw it down.”
“Then how the hell do you explain that?” He flung an arm toward the cove.
“You ran into me,” she insisted, anger returning as she remembered why she’d wanted to throw it.
“You’re saying it’s my fault?” He rose to his feet, took a few stumbling steps toward the water, then stopped. His body shivered as if from cold. Far more cold than a spring storm warranted. “God damn it!” He kicked at the hard-packed sand near the water’s edge. Another shiver racked his body. His eyes as furious as the storm, he whirled back to her. “I will never forgive you for this. Ever!”
“For saving your life?” That drew him up short and he had the grace to look shamed. Scrambling to her feet, she clenched her fists. “I don’t need your forgiveness. You used me!”
“Believe whatever you like.” Shivering more violently, he wrapped his arms about himself. “I hope I never see you again.”
The words stunned her as much as the pain they caused, like a hit to her heart. She had more cause for affront than he did. “I wish you’d never come here!”
“This isn’t over,” he snarled. “You may have destroyed my sketchpad, but I won’t let you keep my grandmother’s necklace.”
“You think I care about the necklace?” she shouted. Hadn’t he heard her that morning? She cared about what the necklace represented. What she’d thought it represented. Anguish tore through her as she realized he’d ripped that away from her, right after he’d used her, and nothing was going to bring back that feeling of belonging. “I don’t even want it anymore. But I refuse to help you get it.”
“I’ll get it without your help.”
“I don’t care!” She struggled not to cry. “Just get away from me!”
Somehow she managed to stand there, fists clenched as he turned and marched up the trail. She waited until he disappeared around the corner of the inn before she dropped to the beach, rocking back and forth with her face buried against her knees.
A sob racked her body as she realized she’d lost everything. The necklace. Her sense of acceptance. Her hope for a future with a man she’d thought she could trust.
Tipping her head toward the sky, she welcomed the rain. It let her cry as hard as she wanted without anyone seeing her tears.
~ ~ ~
The scene on the pier played through Chloe’s mind for days. Once the shock of seeing those drawings subsided, she had time to wonder over her reaction to them. Questions started to surface, leaving her caught in a tug-of-war between anger and regret.
She remembered the accusations she’d hurled at him, and the way he’d insisted it hadn’t happened the way she thought.
Typical defense of a guilty man,
she silently scoffed.
Baby, it’s not what you think.
Gradually, though, some small voice started to ask,
what if it wasn’t?
What if Luc hadn’t come to Pearl Island with premeditated seduction in mind?
Okay, yes, he’d fantasized about her when he was a boy. And yes, he’d probably been pretty jazzed about the idea that he could fulfill that fantasy, but was that so awful? Wasn’t physical attraction part of dating? Weren’t people supposed to be excited at the idea of getting naked together? She’d certainly been excited about the thought of being with him.
What made his actions wrong was motive and deception.
But what if all those things she thought she’d seen in his eyes had been real? Her stomach trembled when she remembered how he’d looked at her, as if he was awestruck. As if he was falling in love with her.
If those looks had been real, then she’d seriously overreacted to the drawings. They’d been done by an adolescent boy exploring sexuality the way all teenagers did when hormones started kicking in. The adult Luc had been nothing but respectful, listening intently and getting to know her as a person before they’d made love. If he still saw her as a sex object, the way she’d appeared in those drawings, would he have bothered to share so much about his past? So much of himself?
Maybe honest attraction really was why Luc hadn’t told her about the necklace.
Well, if that was the case, her chances at a relationship with him had gone flying into the cove right along with the sketchpad. Remorse filled her at the thought.
Until she remembered those drawings. He’d turned her into a sex object, and he’d profited from those sketches. He could go blue in the face telling her “that’s not how it was,” but men lied all the time. What was she supposed to believe?
By the time she was packing for the trip to New Orleans, she’d fluctuated between remorseful and livid more times than she could count. Knowing what lay ahead added extra fuel to her anxiety as she went through her closet and debated what to pack.
A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. Answering it, she found Allison on the front porch. Surprise came first at her aunt’s unexpected appearance, then worry. “Is everything all right?”
“Everything’s fine,” Allison assured, smiling. “Can I come in?”
“Of course.” Chloe stepped back.
“I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”
“No, I’m just packing. If you don’t mind, I need to keep at it.”
“Not at all.” Allison followed her into the bedroom, then glanced at the empty suitcase lying on the bed. “How are you feeling about the trip?”
“Resigned,” Chloe sighed, going back to the closet. She’d already considered and rejected several outfits. “I’ve come up with a mantra, though, and I plan to repeat it whenever I feel like screaming.” She touched her thumbs and middle fingers together and closed her eyes. “‘Stay calm and this will all be over soon.’”
“Well, I’m glad I’m catching you in a Zen mood.”
“I didn’t say it was working,” Chloe countered. “Just that it’s my game plan.” Seeing Allison’s worried expression, she tipped her head. “What’s up?”
“Mr. Hendricks from the museum called.”
“Oh?” Chloe’s senses went instantly on guard, knowing this would be about the necklace.
“Apparently,” Allison said carefully, “Luc filed his claim with the Texas Historical Commission.”