Broken (4 page)

“How long were you married?” he finally asked quietly.

“Seven years.”

“Was the guy a fucking monk? What…he never…” He ran his hand through his hair in disbelief.

My brow furrowed with embarrassment. “Close. He was a preacher. Comes from a long line of preachers who believe sex is for procreation and not pleasure.”

“Fuck me, what a tosser,” he declared, then raised his hand apologetically. “Sorry, you don't mind me swearing, do you?”

Giggling, I replied, “No, I don't mind. I ain't the preacher.”

Max finally stirred and headed toward the door, needing to go outside. Adam jumped up to let him out, then gazed out the back window at the lighthouse in the distance.

“Would you mind if I brought my easel over to paint from your back porch? It really is a magnificent view.”

“Sure. I don't think the owners would mind, as long as you don't get paint everywhere.”

He paused, processing what I'd just said. “So this isn't your house? I don't know why, I thought you lived here.”

I shook my head. “No, my agent leased the place for the winter. I have eight weeks to write a masterpiece.” I rolled my eyes at the impossible task.

Leaning up against the doorjamb, he nodded as I spoke. “I'm in the Hamptons for eight weeks, too, then back to Philadelphia. It was on my bucket list to come here to paint.” He dropped his eyes. “It was now or never, so I thought what the hell.”

His eyes rose to meet mine and I saw a sadness behind them, the sadness from the night before perhaps, creeping in. It was gone in a split second and his expression was back to the easy smile he seemed to wear so comfortably, but I swear there was something more lurking beneath the rugged good looks that he was struggling to hide.

“By all means, bring your stuff over. I'd love the company.”

The beaming smile returned, making me forget he was anything other than a confident, sexy man…who wanted to spend time with me. Well, wanted to spend time on my back porch, at least.

He checked his watch, then scratched his beard, hesitating for a moment. “Are you hungry? Do you fancy some lunch yet?”

Looking at the time on my laptop, I couldn't believe it was after one in the afternoon. We'd been talking for hours and it had only seemed like minutes. “Thanks, Sugar. That'd be great.”

Mischief crossed his face, his eyes dancing. “I'll go grab something to eat, and my easel. Your homework while I'm gone is to write a list of ten words you can use in your book for a penis.” He grinned at me, chuckling as my face dropped at the thought. “No swords or daggers or any other lethal objects. I want good, strong masculine words that a guy would use every day of the week.”

Pushing the door open, he took a step through and turned. “I'll give you the first word to get you started. It's cock.”

I sat dumbfounded for what felt like ten minutes, my mind totally blank. The only thing that I could think of was cock and the way the word had rolled from his lips like a sensual promise.

Trying too hard never worked for me. Thoughts and ideas needed to flow naturally in their own time, so I decided to put on some music as a distraction. I'd brought my iPod with me, so I plugged it into the sound system and cranked up the volume. A bit of Taylor Swift was in order, and my favorite song at the moment was “Shake It Off.” As I danced around the living room, I let the music take hold, shaking my booty and singing along at the top of my lungs.

It was working. Words were coming to me as I wiggled around the sofa, and to help them stick in my mind, I called them out in time with the music to the empty room.

Shake it off, shake it off
…dick!
Shake it off, shake it off
…pecker!

By the time the song was finished, I was energized and had a list of eight words I was confident Adam would approve of, including
junk
,
member
,
shaft
,
prick
,
manhood
, and of course,
cock
. Did I really need ten? I went back to the laptop and jotted down the eight words, then wrote a list of lady parts to coincide.

After coming up with my lists, I felt inspired to commence writing the actual book. Now a few pages in, the clicking of Max's claws on the wooden deck alerted me to their return. Adam followed behind, carrying a drop cloth under his arm, his easel in one hand, and a plate of bagels in the other.

He dropped the cloth to the deck, then carefully placed the easel against the railing outside and brought the plate in, leaving it on the coffee table. “Lunch is served, ma'am,” he announced.

I was starving and couldn't wait to eat, having realized in all the excitement of seeing Adam naked that I'd skipped breakfast.

“How did you go?” he asked, taking a big bite of his BLT.

I showed him both lists, then sat back, wringing my hands as he read them, commenting approvingly as he went.

“I know I gave you a hard time earlier about your writing. That was wrong of me. I'm sorry.”

My gaze dropped as I nibbled on my lunch. I wasn't used to having someone admit they were wrong and apologizing. Everything that Charles ever said that was hurtful he would blame God for. It was God's will that he should be an ass and talk down to me, because in his mind it was a teaching that he needed to administer. It was God's doing that he would blame me for not being able to bear his children, even though he refused to let me have tests or explore IVF.

Now here sat a man who hardly knew me, but who was showing more compassion than someone who was supposed to have loved me.

I shook my head. “It's fine, really. I know the stories were pretty lame.” I shrugged. “It's no big deal.”

“But it is a big deal.” He reclined farther into the sofa. “Truth is, I think what you do is pretty amazing. You're leaving a legacy for people to read and remember you by long after you're gone.” His brow furrowed. “I don't have or do anything that people will remember me for.”

I hadn't thought of it in that way. I'd always thought of my stories as being around in the present, not really considering that once they were published, they could be read in years to come.

“You said when we met that you were changing your name.”

I nodded as I took another bite.

“So using my limited male intuition, I worked out that you're getting divorced, right?”

“Yep, divorced,” I mumbled, my mouth still half full.

“Do you have kids?”

So many personal questions that I wasn't sure I felt comfortable answering. But then, I'd asked him everything that had come to mind earlier, and he hadn't declined to answer.

I placed my bagel back down on the plate, the action giving me time to gather my thoughts. “No kids. That was one of many reasons why we separated. It was important to him to have a football team, and I couldn't give it to him. That was the legacy that was most essential in his mind, and I was tired of being the constant source of disappointment to him and his family.”

“I never wanted kids until recently,” he offered. “Now I'd kill to be able to find the right girl and settle down. I would love to grow old with someone beside me.”

“You have plenty of time to find ‘the one.' Men can still father children well into their seventies and eighties. It's the girls who have a limited amount of time.”

“I thought I'd found someone once. Her name was Annabel.” He shook his head. “Seems I was sorely mistaken, according to her.”

“What happened?” I asked, softly.

He ran his hands into his hair, leaving them laced at the back of his head while he leaned back. “Well, let me think. We met in England close on five years ago, while she was there traveling with a friend. The attraction was instant and we couldn't keep our hands off each other.” He smiled at the memory while I felt like a Peeping Tom. “She stayed with me for a while after her friend came back to the States, but eventually she had to return. So I packed up my life and moved over here to be with her.” He said it so matter-of-factly, as if it was the expected thing to do. “I went through the visa process and found a job in Philadelphia and life was good. In fact, life was great. Perfect.”

“So what happened?” I asked again, now perched on the edge of my seat.

“Seems it was okay for her to spend every night in my bed, but when I wanted to make it official, she laughed in my face. Told me I couldn't provide the lifestyle she thought she deserved.”

My jaw dropped open. I couldn't imagine anyone turning Adam down. He seemed so genuine, so considerate, and not to mention damn fine to look at.

“Whatcha do for a livin'?” I was completely enthralled by this endearing man's story. He had been so in love that he had uprooted his life to be with the woman of his dreams. It was romantic and showed a passion that I had only fantasized about, and that I wanted to write about.

“I'm an English teacher. I paint for pleasure.” He indicated the easel on the back porch. “But teaching is my passion, all that shaping of young minds.”

I smiled to myself. If I'd had a teacher who looked like Adam, I would have deliberately failed just to qualify for extra tutoring. “I bet half the female students are crushin' on you,” I said teasingly.

He grinned. “Yeah, those seven and eight-year-olds love me.” He paused, watching my face as I processed his last comment. “I teach elementary school, so I guess in a way I have twenty kids to care for.”

Something didn't quite gel. “I thought you were here for eight weeks. Won't you miss part of the school year?”

“I'm…a…I'm taking a break. Got a few things to sort out.” A half-smile fleetingly crossed his face, but soon disappeared.

“I hope you're not reconsiderin' teachin' because of one girl. Are you over Annabel?”

“What we once had, or at least what I
thought
we had, doesn't even cross my mind anymore, but I don't think you can ever forget what's happened and how it made you feel.”

“No, you can never forget, but you don't have to visit the hurt. I've put Charles and that part of my life in a little compartment in my mind, and on an island in my heart.”

Adam's brow rose but he kept listening.

“Mimi once told me that the sayin' ‘a piece of my heart' came about because when you love someone, you give 'em a piece of the whole and it becomes like an island that's just for them. They fill that piece, and all the memories and all the feelin's that they invoke are etched there. After they're gone, it's a place that you can sail to any time to relive memories, or you can choose to abandon it if it becomes too painful.”

“So when you're in love, you live on the island surrounded by that love?”

I nodded.

He smiled, his eyes lighting up. “That's a really beautiful way to deal with pain or hold on to loved ones.”

“Well, I'm glad I could teach ya somethin', Mr. Walker, sir.”

I didn't know this man, not really, but from what I had seen today, I thought he was probably an amazing teacher. “I should've known you were a teacher when you gave me homework earlier.” I chuckled. “Are you gonna grade my assignment?”

“Well, let me see.” He smoothed the whiskers on his chin. “You did only come up with eight words when I asked for ten, so that's a deduction.”

I pouted playfully, making him laugh.

“But you did compile a second list that I didn't even ask for, so that shows initiative, and it was pretty hot.” Pausing, he studied my face with an easy grin. “So I'd have to give you an A. Besides, you did let Max hog the fireplace and you got changed into a very sexy top.” He winked playfully.

Wait, what? Was he flirtin'? Was that a flirt?

Heat flared in my cheeks and I jumped up, going to the kitchen under the pretense of searching the fridge for something to drink. I knew there wasn't anything in there because I hadn't shopped yet, but sticking my head in the cold air helped cool the burning of my face.

“There's nothin' to drink, sorry,” I called over my shoulder. “I haven't been to the store yet.”

Adam stood and turned to face me, the band of his boxers just visible above his jeans before he straightened his sweater and covered it. “Why don't I go get some groceries while you get back to writing? The last thing I want to do is stop your creative juices flowing.”

He was through the door and gone before I had a chance to answer, and I think it would have taken me at least a couple of minutes to formulate a response anyway. I'd never met anyone like him. Nothing was too much trouble, and he seemed to enjoy doing little things to take care of me. This was a main character I could work with—I just hoped Adam wouldn't mind being immortalized in print.

By the time he returned, I'd churned out the first chapter and was deep into the story line. He quietly put the groceries away, then went to leave.

“Are you goin'?” I asked, peering over the top of my glasses as he made his way to the door.

He grinned. “I could sit here and watch you work all afternoon, but I'd feel like a total creeper doing it. Will I see you in the morning? I'll be going for another swim at sunrise. You should join me.”

Images of Adam's firm naked ass flashed to mind. “I don't think I'll be up at sunrise.”

With a hand at the nape of my neck, he leaned in and softly kissed my forehead, his whiskers tickling my sensitive skin. “Just a little tip in case you change your mind—if you're going to hide and watch someone skinny-dip, don't wear a buttercup-yellow jumper.”

I was up at sunrise—of course I was. How could I miss the chance to gawk at a gorgeous naked man splashing through the waves as his dog ran beside him, yelping excitedly?

Adam looked in the direction of the house as he undressed a little closer to my cottage than he had been yesterday, and like a coward I hid, peeking from behind the curtains until I was confident he had looked away. I'm sure he knew I was there—the big grin on his face confirmed it—but I wasn't ready yet to be so blatantly interested in the man I had only really known a day.