This Heart of Mine (35 page)

"I'm sure there is. He hired someone to take over."

"They didn't seem to work out."

Molly wasn't a swearing person, but she could barely hold back a big one. She'd had only forty-eight hours to get used to being a successful children's book author, and now this.

As soon as the attorney left, she crawled over the couch to retrieve her phone and call her new agent, the best contract negotiator in town. "Phoeb, it's me."

"Hey, big-time author! Talks are going well, but I'm still not satisfied with the up-front money they're offering."

She heard the relish in her sister's voice. "Just don't bankrupt them."

"It's so tempting."

They chatted about the negotiations for a few minutes before Molly got to the point, doing her best to say it without choking. "Kevin's just done the sweetest thing."

"Walked blindfolded in front of speeding traffic?"

"Don't be like that, Phoebe." She was definitely going to strangle on this. "He's a great guy. As a matter of fact, he's given me the campground as a surprise."

"You're kidding."

Molly gripped the receiver tighter. "He knows how much I love it there."

"I understand that, but…"

"I'm going to drive up tomorrow. I'm not sure how long I'll stay."

"At least this will get you out of that fleabag apartment until we finish negotiating your contract. I suppose I should be grateful."

It had been humiliating telling Phoebe that she'd been forced to sell her condo. To her sister's credit, she hadn't offered to bail Molly out, but that didn't mean she'd kept quiet.

Molly got off the phone as soon as she could and glanced over at Roo, who was trying to keep cool under the kitchen table. "Go ahead and say it. My timing sucks. If I'd waited two weeks, we'd still be in our old place basking in air-conditioning."

It might have been her imagination but Roo looked censorious. The traitor missed Kevin.

"Let's get our chores done, pal. First thing tomorrow we're taking off for the North Woods."

Roo perked up.

"Don't get too excited, because we're not staying. I meant it, Roo, I'm giving the place away!"

Except she wouldn't. She kicked a dish box aside, wishing it were Kevin's head. He'd done this out of guilt. This was his way of trying to make it up to her because she'd fallen in love with him and he didn't love her back.

A great big pity present.

Daphne wasn't speaking to Benny, and Benny didn't care, and Melissa couldn't find her movie-star sunglasses, and it had started to rain. Everything was a big mess!

Daphne Goes to Summer Camp

Lilly stopped just inside the B&B's kitchen door. Molly had fallen asleep at the table. Her head rested on her arm, her hand lay by her sketch pad, and her hair spilled across the old oak tabletop like overturned syrup. How could Lilly ever have believed she was a dilettante?

Since Molly had returned to the campground ten days ago, she'd finished the illustrations for
Daphne Goes to Summer Camp
, started a new book, and written an article for
Chik
, all that in addition to cooking and tending to guests. She couldn't relax, even though she'd told Lilly her new contract had finally given her financial stability. Lilly knew she was trying not to dwell on Kevin and understood her quiet suffering. She could have strangled her son.

Molly stirred and blinked, then looked up and smiled. There were shadows under her eyes. They probably matched the shadows under Lilly's own. "Have a nice walk?"

"I did."

She sat up and tucked her hair behind her ears. "Liam was here."

Lilly's heart skipped a beat. Other than catching a glimpse of him in town a few days after he'd issued his ultimatum, she hadn't seen him in weeks. Instead of growing easier, their separation had become more painful.

"He brought something for you," Molly said. "I had him put it in your room."

"What is it?"

"You probably should see for yourself." She picked up a pen that had fallen to the floor, then began to fiddle with it. "He asked me to tell you good-bye."

Lilly felt chilled, even though the kitchen was warm. "He's leaving?"

"Today. He's going to live in Mexico for a while. He wants to experiment with the light."

She shouldn't be shocked. Had she expected him to sit around waiting for her to change her mind? Anyone who understood Liam Jenner's art knew he was fundamentally a man of action. "I see."

Molly rose and gave her a sympathetic look. "You've screwed up so bad."

"So badly," she retorted, in one of those leftover reflexes from life with Craig.

"Not that I could survive without you, but, with Kevin gone, why are you still here?"

Lilly had made plans to meet Kevin in Chicago soon. Neither of them wanted to keep their relationship a secret, and Kevin had already flown to North Carolina to share the news with his friends, the Bonners. He'd also told Cal's brothers, their wives, and the guy sitting next to him on the plane, according to their last phone call.

Lilly yearned to see him again, but she couldn't bring herself to leave the campground yet. She told herself she was staying because of Molly. "I'm hanging around to help you out, you ungrateful little twit."

Molly carried her water glass to the sink. "Other than that."

"Because it's peaceful here, and I hate LA."

"Or maybe because you can't make yourself walk away from Liam, even though you've treated him like crap and you don't deserve him."

"If you think he's so wonderful, take him yourself. You have no idea what it's like being married to a controlling man."

"Like you couldn't have him eating out of your hand if you wanted."

"Don't you take that tone of voice with me, young lady."

"You're such a dork." Molly smiled. "Go upstairs and see what he left you."

Lilly tried to sweep from the kitchen in a diva's huff, but she knew that Molly wasn't buying it. Her son's wife had the same kind of open, honest charm as Mallory. Why couldn't Kevin see what he'd turned his back on?

And what about the man she'd turned her back on? She still couldn't work on her quilt. All she could see now when she looked at it were scraps of fabric. There were no more surges of creative energy, no more glimpses of the answers to life's mysteries.

She made her way past the second-floor landing to the narrower flight of stairs that led to the attic. Kevin had tried to get her to move into one of the larger rooms, but Lilly liked it up here.

As she slipped inside, she saw a large canvas, taller than it was wide, leaning against the end of her bed. Even though it was wrapped in brown paper, she knew exactly what it was. The Madonna she'd admired so much that afternoon in his studio. She fell to her knees on the braided rug and, holding her breath, pulled away the paper.

But it wasn't the Madonna at all. It was the painting Liam had done of her.

A sob rose in her chest. She pressed her fingers to her mouth and scrambled back. He'd been brutal in his depiction of her body. He'd shown every sag, every wrinkle, every bulge that should have been flat. The flesh of one thigh lapped the edge of the chair where she was seated; her breasts hung heavy.

And yet she was glorious. Her skin was luminous with a glow that seemed to come from deep inside, her curves strong and fluid, her face majestically beautiful. She was both herself and Everywoman, wise in her age.

This was Liam Jenner's final love letter to her. An uncompromising statement of feelings that were clear-sighted and fearless. This was her soul exposed by the brilliant man she hadn't been courageous enough to claim as her own. And now it might be too late.

She grabbed her keys, flew down the stairs, and ran outside to her car. One of the children had drawn an elaborate rabbit in the dust on the trunk. Then she realized that the drawing was too sophisticated. More of Molly and her mischief.

Too late, too late, too late
… The tires hissed as she sped from the campground toward his glass house. While she'd been putting up barriers against a dead husband she hadn't loved in years, he'd gone after what he wanted.

Too late, too late, too late
… The car jolted over the ruts at the top of the lane, then steadied as the house came into view. It looked empty and deserted.

She jumped out, rushed to the door, and leaned on the bell. There was no answer. She banged it with her fists, then raced to the back.
He's going to Mexico
…

The glass-enclosed studio rose above her, a tree house for a genius. She could see no signs of life inside, none in the rest of the house either.

Behind her the lake sparkled in the sunlight, and the sky floated blue and cloudless above, the perfect day mocking her. She spotted a door off to the side and rushed toward it, not expecting it to be open, but the heavy knob turned in her hand.

Everything was quiet inside. She moved through the back of the house into the kitchen, then made her way to the living room. From there she mounted the catwalk.

The arch at the end beckoned her toward his sacred space. She had no right to enter, but she did.

He was standing with his back to the door packing tubes of acrylics into a carrying case. Like the other time she'd been here, he was dressed in black—tailored slacks and a long-sleeved shirt. Dressed for traveling.

"Do you want something?" he growled without looking up.

"Oh, yes," she said breathlessly.

He finally turned, but she saw by the stubborn set of his jaw that he wouldn't make it easy.

"I want you," she said.

If anything, his expression grew more arrogant. She'd badly dented his pride, and he needed much more.

She reached for the hem of her linen sundress, pulled it over her head, and tossed it aside. She unsnapped her bra and discarded it, slipped her thumbs beneath the waistband of her panties, pushed them down, and stepped out of them.

He watched her silently, his face revealing nothing.

She raised her arms and slid her hands into her hair, lifting it from the nape of her neck. She crooked one knee, turned slightly from the waist, and eased into the pose that had sold a million posters.

With her age and her weight, standing before him like this should have been a travesty. Instead, she felt powerful and fiercely sexual, just as he'd painted her.

"You think that's all you have to do to get me back?" he scoffed.

"Yes. I do."

He jerked his head toward an old velvet couch that hadn't been here last time. "Lie down."

She wondered if he'd posed another model on it, but instead of feeling jealous, she felt a stir of pity. Whoever the woman might have been, she hadn't possessed Lilly's powers.

With a slow, certain smile, she made her way to the couch. It sat beneath one of the studio's skylights, and light showered her skin as she lay upon it.

She wasn't surprised to see him grab a palette and tubes from the case. How could he resist painting her? Resting her head against one of the rolled arms, she settled with perfect contentment into the soft velvet while he worked, squeezing out the paint. Finally he gathered brushes and came toward her.

She'd already noted his quickened breath. Now she saw the fire of desire burning behind the genius in his eyes. He knelt before her. She waited. Content.

He began to paint her. Not an image on canvas. He painted her flesh.

He drew a soft brush fat with cadmium red across her ribs, then added Mars violet and Prussian blue at her hip. He dappled her shoulder and belly with orange, cobalt, and emerald, clamped a discarded brush between his teeth like a pirate's dagger and stippled her breast in ultramarine and lime. Her nipple beaded as he swirled it with turquoise and magenta. He pushed open her thighs and adorned them with aggressive patterns of viridian and blue-violet.

She felt his frustration growing along with his desire and wasn't surprised when he tossed the brushes aside and began to use his hands on her, whorling the colors, claiming her flesh until she could no longer bear it.

She sprang to her feet and pulled at the buttons on his shirt, smearing it with the stigmata of Renaissance gold he'd dabbed in her palms. No longer content to be his creation, she needed to re-create him in her image, and when he was naked, she pressed against his flesh.

The hot pigments blended and fused as she imprinted herself upon him. Once again there was no bed, so she pulled the cushions from the couch and kissed him until they were both breathless. Finally he drew back far enough so she could open herself to him. "Lilly, my love…" He entered her as fiercely as he created.

The paint made her inner thighs slip against his hips, so she gripped tighter. He plunged harder and faster. Their mouths melded with their bodies until they stopped being two people. Together they tumbled off the edge of the world.

Afterward they played with the paint and exchanged deep kisses along with all the love words they needed to say. Only when they were in the shower did Lilly tell him she wouldn't marry him.

"Who asked you?"

"Not right away," she added, ignoring his bluster. "I want to live together for a while first. In perfect bohemian sin."

"Just tell me I don't have to rent a cold-water flat somewhere in lower Manhattan."

"No. And not Mexico either. In Paris. Wouldn't that be lovely? I could be your muse."

"My darling Lilly, don't you know you already are?"

"Oh, Liam, I love you so. The two of us… an atelier in the Sixth Arrondissement owned by an old lady in ancient Chanel suits. You and your genius and your wonderful, wonderful body. And me and my quilts. And wine and paint and Paris."

"They're yours." He laughed his great lusty laugh and soaped her breasts. "Did I remember to say that I love you?"

"You did." She smiled the depth of her feelings into those dark, intense eyes. "I'll hang a set of wind chimes under the eaves."

"Which will keep me awake, so I'll have to make love to you all night."

"I do love wind chimes."

"And I do love you."

With a sense of detachment Kevin watched the indicator on the Ferrari's speedometer climb.
Eighty-seven… eighty-eight
. He shot west on the tollway past the last of Chicago's suburbs. He'd drive all the way to Iowa if he had to, anything to make this restlessness go away so he could concentrate on what was important.

Training camp started tomorrow morning. He'd drive until then.

He needed to feel the speed. The sizzle of danger.
Ninety
...
ninety-one
.

Next to him the divorce papers that had arrived that morning from Molly's lawyer slid off the seat. Why hadn't she talked to him before she'd done this? He tried to steady himself by remembering what was important.

He had only five or six good years left…

Playing for the Stars was all that counted…

He couldn't afford the distraction of a high-maintenance woman…

On and on he went, until he was so tired of listening to himself that he pressed the accelerator harder.

It had been one month and four days since he'd seen Molly, so he couldn't blame her for the fact that he hadn't stepped up his workouts as he'd planned or watched all the game film he'd intended to. Instead, he'd gone rock climbing, run some white water, done a little paragliding. But none of it satisfied him.

The only time he'd felt remotely content was when he'd talked to Lilly and Liam a few days ago. They'd both sounded so happy.

The wheel vibrated beneath his hand, but he'd felt a bigger rush going cliff diving with Molly.