Take Me I'm Yours (Coffee House Chronicles) (22 page)

“Devastated, Mom?”

She found that hard to believe, especially after the display of his newest squeeze in front of the coffee house. What was her name? Stacy? Stephanie? Starr…that was it. What a ridiculous name.

“That’s what Mrs. Baxter said. I really think you two should try to get back together.”

Her mother was a Southern girl, through and through. So calling Ethan’s mother Mrs. Baxter was completely normal for her. Marion, though, had never thought of Elaine that way.

“Will you at least consider it?”

As she sat holding the phone, squeezing the receiver until her hand cramped, Marion knew she’d have to appease her and lie. “Yes, Mom. I’ll consider it.”

* * * * *

Graeme flung his paint brush across the studio in a fit of rage. Nothing was coming out right. It was as though he couldn’t paint anymore.

He sank into the sofa that
not long ago Marion lay on while he sketched her beautiful body. He glanced toward that sketch book now and briefly thought of ripping all the pages out of it and burning them. She was all he could think about. She haunted his dreams and was in the back of his mind every waking moment. Working was impossible.

How could he tell her she
was
his art? How could he explain that she was all his inspiration? That every woman he ever painted
was her
in some form?

Every time he picked up his paint brush and lost himself in his art,
she was his soul, his creativity. She was the reason why he continued painting, why he continued to lose himself in his fantasy world day after day.

He had tried
updating websites for a few clients. Not even that could distract him. And when a tempting ex-girlfriend called him and offered him a night on the town, he had refused. Told her he was on a tight deadline and couldn’t take any time out. Because all he could think about was Marion.

Looking back, he
knew he shouldn’t have lost his temper and punched Ethan. Breaking the display case was a thousand dollar mistake. Though hitting him gave Graeme a sense of satisfaction. And allowing Marion to walk out of his life was stupid.

And then she had to show up at the gallery. He wondered why she was there, but he
had been too much of a coward to talk to her. He saw the emotions pass on her face—first shock and then hurt when he continued walking through the gallery, not stopping to talk to her. But what could he say to her?

Sorry, Marion, I’ve been a total asshole and haven’t had the nerve to call you.

Yeah, that’d go well.

H
aving a confrontation with her in front of a man who was interested in commissioning quite a bit of his art would look bad. If the deal went through with the man from Amsterdam, he would be able to quit his website business for good and live off his art. It was a dream come true.

Then he’d found out from
the salesgirl at the gallery, Marion had asked about the painting,
Black-Eyed Girl
. She said she had intended to buy it, but left without completing the purchase. He knew because he had been a dick, she fled the scene before she could see him again. He couldn’t blame her.

But it was a warning signal. If
she had returned to purchase that painting, then she had to know it was her.
She had to
. Why else would she want to buy it?

It gnawed at him like some blood-thir
sty creature in the night. He wanted to explain to her why he had painted it in the first place. But admitting to himself—and especially to Marion—that he was madly and undeniably in love with her would be difficult for him to do. He had buried those feelings after she and Ethan were no more, only to have them resurface again on that morning at the Bitter End.

So he did the only thing he knew to do—he shoved those feelings down once again into the dark, deep recesses of his psyche. He told himself he would never allow them to come back.

But it was no use. He knew this. She was immortalized in his sketch book, in every painting with a female in it. He would forever look at them and see Marion. And in
Black-Eyed Girl
which now resided in his studio, buried deep in the stack of canvases and hidden away from the world. Away from him.

Graeme ran his hands through his hair out of frustration. He hadn’t bothered to shave in a few days and his
cheeks were scratchy with stubble. All he could think about was seeing Marion and wanting her. One night with her was not enough. He needed more. He
wanted
more. He wanted to feel her, smell her, see her. He wanted her moaning underneath him. He wanted to feel her tight warmth wrapped around him. Hell, he just wanted
her
back in his life again, hearing her laugh and seeing her smile.

In that instant, he made a snap decision. He was going to get her if he had to crawl over shards of broken glass on his hands and knees to get her
.

But first…there was something he wanted to do. Thinking of the painting gave him an idea. He shoved the canvases out of the way until he came to
Black-Eyed Girl.
Smiling, he gently placed it on his drafting table and then dug out some brown wrapping paper. Perhaps sending Marion the painting would send the right message, once and for all. Once he’d wrapped it and addressed it, he bolted down the stairs, leaving his studio behind. He’d figure out how to ship it later. Right now, he had to get to Marion. After a hot shower and a shave, he planned to see her. Even if she didn’t want to see him.

* * * * *

She wasn’t home. He pounded on her door but it was to no avail. And like a crazy person, he intended to hunt her down. The first person he called—who he knew would know where she was—was Delilah.

“Delilah, you have to tell me where she is. I have to see her.”

“Graeme?”

She sounded confused and probably with good reason. He didn’t sound quite right
even to himself. More like a frantic person looking for a missing loved one. “Where is she?”

“I don’t think I should tell you,” she said. “I’m not sure she wants to see you.
”

“I’m not sure she
does either,” he agreed.

“In fact, I don’t think she
should
see you.”

“But I have to see her, talk to her. I’ve been an asshole.”

“Yeah, I’d say that day in the gallery you had your ass hat on,” Delilah agreed.

“I had my reasons,” he said, his voice gruff. That still pained him to think about. But he didn’t have time to explain to Delilah right now
why he did what he did.

“She knows about the painting.”

“I thought so, since she was there that day. The girl told me she had intended to buy it.” He ran his hand through his hair then clutched the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. Sitting in his car, he stared out at the balmy summer night, watching as the street lamps lit as dusk neared. “Please, Delilah. Tell me where I can find her.”

“No.”

“Don’t make me beg.”

“I really think you should. It would make me feel so much better.”

He could hear the chuckle in her voice, which infuriated him. “Delilah, I
need
to talk to Marion. Now, if not sooner. And in person.”

“I hope you’re planning to apologize for your abhorrent behavior.”

“Yes,” he snapped.

“And grovel for forgiveness.”

“Yes!”

“Because I don’t want to have to put a stiletto in your ass.”

“Delilah!” He was losing patience and quickly.

She sighed heavily. “Okay, but you’re so not going to like it.” She paused again and he waited the excruciating moments for her to spit it out. He almost lost his temper when she said, “She’s sort of at dinner with someone.”

Someone
. It sent up a big red flag. “A man?”

She
ahemed
on the other end of the phone. “Um. Yes.”

His first thought was he’d break his neck if the man laid a hand on his Marion. “Who?”

“Ethan.”

Red hell and death!
Rage flooded him. How in the hell had Ethan managed to talk her into going to dinner with him? That man must have really been smooth to get her to agree. He punched the steering wheel. He should have never let him go after her that morning.

“Dammit!”

“I knew you wouldn’t like it.”

“Where are they?”

“Oh, nu-uh. I am
not
going to tell you that. No way.”

“Delilah, maybe you’ve forgotten Marion has a GPS on her cell phone and I know my way around the inside of a computer? If
I wanted to really find her, I could. I thought it would be faster if you helped me. Clearly, I was wrong.”

A long silence stretched and for a minute, he thought the call had been dropped. “Hello?”

“Yeah, I’m still here. If I tell you, are you going to go get her?”

“Yes. Absolutely.
I love her. I want her.”

“
That’s what I needed to know. And I’m coming with you.”

* * * * *

“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” Graeme said as he pulled into the parking lot. “Don’t we need reservations for this place?”

“I know the owner,” she said, checking her lipstick in her compact. “And I dated the bartender.”

“You certainly get around,” he muttered.

“Watch it,” she warned. “I’m helping you, aren’t I? And anyway, I
have good friends in high places. Or at least the places that matter.” She winked and opened the car door. “Just remember the plan and try to stick to it.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Slamming the door, he fell in step beside her.

Delilah was a girl who knew how to dress. Wearing an electric blue dress that clung to every curve and four inch electric blue heels, she looked amazing.

“And, uh,
try
to at least look like you like me,” she said, grabbing his hand and putting it around her waist. She looked up at him and flashed a smile. “There. That’s better.”

The closer they got to Kiyoshi Steakhouse and
Sushi Bar, the more he began to think this was a horrible idea. He should have never let Delilah talk him into this crazy scheme.

At the hostess stand, Delilah slipped out of his arm and leaned casually toward the girl. “Hiya,” she greeted. “Is
Jack here?”

“Delilah Storm, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” a voice boomed before
the girl could reply.

She turned and greeted him with a hug. He kissed her loudly on the cheek. “
Jack, how
are
you?”

“Missing you, apparently. Where have you been?”

“Work has kept me busy,” she said. “This is my very good friend, Graeme Butler.”

As she introduced him, Jack stretched his ha
nd to Graeme. The two men shook.

Then she
said in a rough whisper, “He’s sort of a famous painter. I was hoping you’d have a spot for us? Even though we don’t have reservations…” She almost purred as she placed one hand on his perfectly crisp dress shirt and then ran it down his red silk tie.

“Of course I do. And the first round of drinks are on me.”

She smiled demurely. “You’re so good to me, Jack.”

Damn, she was good. Jack waved them toward the dining room.

She leaned toward Graeme, her voice low. “See? I told you. And it looks like the love birds are already here.”

To Graeme’s complete and utter horror,
Jack led them to the very same hibachi as Ethan and Marion. He grabbed Delilah by the arm and pulled her to a stop.

“
This
wasn’t the plan. We were supposed to go to the bar.”

“Relax,” she grinned. “Everything will work
out.”

But Graeme wasn’t so sure.

* * * * *

Marion couldn’t believe what she was about to do.
After her mother’s phone call, she had finally made up her mind closing the door on her past relationship with Ethan was what she needed. And dinner alone with him would be the only way she could get that.

The only person she mentioned it to was Delilah, and even then she didn’t tell her the whole story. She only said she had agreed to dinner
. Not that she was going for her own personal agenda. Marion waited until she was moments away from leaving her house to meet him so Delilah wouldn’t try and talk her out if it. Because, to Delilah, once she broke up with someone, they were dead to her.

Ethan eagerly accepted her suggestion of dinner and allowed her to pick the restaurant. Probably because he thought she had intended to entertain the idea of getting back together
.