Work of Art ~ the Collection (44 page)

I wait patiently for him to continue.

“When you agreed to do the book project, I already had a thing for you, but I’d promised myself to wait until it was over before I pursued you. I guess, somewhere inside, I knew I would fuck things up.”

I lean forward and try to keep my emotions in check as he finally vocalizes the feelings I’d always hoped I’d hear.

“I have a history of being too obsessive. It wasn’t fair to you if I kept distracting you when you’d invested so much into the project. Besides, what was waiting ten or twelve weeks compared to a lifetime?”

My fingers tighten on the couch cushion. His responses are overwhelming me.

“So what I meant when I said
I didn’t want this
in the heat of the moment was that I didn’t want it to happen
when
it did and
the way
it did.”

His expression changes from self-loathing to dark desire.

“But that night in the studio . . . watching you move, the way you looked . . . in my entire life I’d never wanted anyone that much. The desire just took over.”

My breath catches. “That was quite a moment.”

“Yeah.” He smiles. “And you know what? I was actually restraining myself. I only showed you half of what burned inside of me.”

Fire flares up my chest and across my face.

“So, when you rejected me, I completely collapsed inside. All of the anger, frustrations, and disappointment all rolled into one ball of fury. It got so big that I thought I was going to explode, but instead, I just shut down. Luckily, you’d left by then.”

“Sean told me about finding you.”

“Great. My humiliation knows no bounds.”

“But, Max, I wasn’t rejecting you. I can see why you would’ve thought that, but really I panicked because I thought, in your eyes, I was just another art groupie. I didn’t believe that I was anything special, and I couldn’t handle it.”

“And that’s why you pushed me away? You thought you weren’t special to me?” His eyes are wide and incredulous.

“Yes.” I curl into myself, remembering how bad that moment felt.

“Fuck, Ava, if you’d only known. If you could’ve seen inside me, you would’ve understood that you aren’t just special . . . you’re the first girl I’ve met in years that I want more from.”

“More than just sex?”

“Yes, much more.” He wraps his arms around me and pulls me closer. I want to believe him, but I have to fight my natural instincts. One misstep and Max could flatten me emotionally again.

“I can’t believe we made such a mess of things.”

He rubs my arm gently. “Oh, Ava. I know . . . but look at us now. You’re here in my arms. Maybe one day . . .”

He falls silent, as if he’s afraid to hope for too much.

I remind myself of the promise we made to take things slow.

“I’m glad I came, but now I’d better go to bed.” I smile and rub my eyes before I rise from the couch.

He stands and gives me one more hug. “Okay, get some sleep. We can talk more tomorrow.”

When I wander into the kitchen the next morning, Ann is sitting at the table drinking coffee and reading the paper. Max is nowhere in sight.

“Good morning, Ava. Did you sleep well?” She gets up and pours me a cup of coffee.

“I did after I took some aspirin for my sangria headache.”

“Yes, I think we all overdid it with the sangria. Max is out running to burn it off.” She sets the coffee in front of me, along with a mini pitcher of milk and bowl of sugar.

“You know, my dear, I have to thank you. You being here has meant the world to Max. I think he’s finally turning the corner. He still has a lot of work to do, but he’s very motivated. I feel so hopeful now.”

“I’m so glad to hear that. I really care about Max, and I want him to be happy . . . whatever form that takes,” I say, and slowly stir my coffee as I think about what she’s said.

She smiles warmly. “Lizzy would’ve just loved you. You’re the exact type of girl she always hoped Max would end up with. Before she died, she said her greatest wish was that Max would find someone very special to spend his life with. God, she loved that boy.”

Guilt swells up inside of me. She’s expecting way too much from our relationship. “You do understand that we’re going to take things slow. Just yesterday morning we weren’t even talking.”

“Yes, and I’m sorry to be so presumptuous. I have such high hopes for Max, so I can’t help myself.”

“That’s okay,” I reply with a smile. “At least now we’re making progress. Who knows what the future holds.”

She returns my smile just as Max bounds through the backdoor. He looks so happy and hopeful. His face is radiant, and I don’t think it’s from the run. I see why Ann is so optimistic.

After he downs a glass of water at the sink, he turns around. “Can I hitch a ride, Ava? I think it’s time to go home.”

Wow!

I hide my surprise behind a big smile. “Sure, Max, I’d be happy to take you home.”

After breakfast, we load up my car with the few items of clothing and art supplies he’s acquired since arriving in Ojai. I give Ann a warm hug and wait as Max says good-bye.

They’re so sweet together as she rests her hand on his cheek and talks to him softly. He nods and then takes her hand and kisses the center of her palm before wrapping his arms around her. They hug for a long time, and I can see the sadness in their eyes when they finally pull apart. Ann is such a good person for Max to have in his life. If only she lived closer.

We’re quiet for much of the drive home. At first, I think he’s still sad to part from Ann, but then I wonder if he’s apprehensive about returning to his old life. Will he make the changes he needs in order to be happy?

When we arrive in Malibu, we stop at the market at Trancas so Max can pick up some groceries. While he goes inside, I stay behind to call Jess. She’s grateful for the update and that Max has come home. She offers to spend the afternoon with him, and I promise to call her after I talk to him about it.

The tension in the car is tremendous as we finally turn down Max’s driveway. I’m relieved that the walls are repainted and the broken plants and pottery are gone, but the house holds ghosts waiting to haunt us. I take his hand as we approach the front door.

When he steps inside, he throws down his things, walks straight to the French doors in the living room, pulls them open, and walks out onto the patio. He leans over the railing and gazes at the ocean.

I select a playlist from his iPod dock and press Play before going to the kitchen to make some tea. Max is still outside on the patio when the tea is ready, so I carry our mugs outside to join him.

“You know, Max,” I finally say, as I gaze across the brilliant blue combination of sky and water, “I normally don’t like those bullshit self-help books, but sometimes they actually can make sense. I read one once that said your intentions define you. You can decide to be whoever or whatever you want. You just have to make up your mind.”

“Is that so, Oprah?” he says, teasing me.

“Yup, it is. So you better listen to Oprah. She’s actually the leader of the free world, and she’s never wrong.”

I linger for a while and finally tell Max that I have to go, but I let him know that Jess wants to visit. He begrudgingly agrees, knowing that it may be unwise to spend a lot of hours alone right off the bat.

On the way to my car, he stops me. “Ava, I need to say something.”

“Yes?”

He pauses on the walkway, looks down and kicks a pebble toward the lawn.

“I know that as much I’d like to . . . I can’t ask you not to see Jonathan . . .”

What? I glance up at him with my head tipped to the side.

He’s twisting his hands together as I wait for him to continue. He finally looks me square in the eyes.

“ . . . But, will you do me a favor? Don’t fall in love with him.”

I arch my brow. “Did you really just ask me that?” Should I tell him there’s little to no chance of my falling in love with Jonathan now?

He gets a devilish look in his eyes as he holds up his hands in surrender. “I know, I know . . . I just don’t want you to get involved with him on the rebound.”

I put my hands on my hips and arch my brow. “Max, to be on the rebound you have to have
been
in a relationship to rebound from.”

He seems to ignore my logic. “Besides, Ava, you could still be really attracted to me and not know it.”

“Really? I don’t think my attraction to you is in question.”

“Yeah, what if you’re secretly falling in love with me?”

I playfully push him on the shoulder. “You wish!” I tease.

“There’s only one way to know for sure. Don’t you think you should know before you go out with Jonathan again?”

“One way to know for sure?”

“Yes. Kiss me. I promise I won’t touch you—look, hands free!” He tucks his hands into his back pockets.

My mouth falls open as I press my thighs together. Just the idea of being kissed again by Max makes me instantly hot and bothered.

“Just one little kiss,” he says in a low voice.

I can’t believe he’s playing this game with me. But the fire in his eyes and the sweet smile on his face are more than I can bear. I take a step toward him. Two can play this game.

“So, if I feel nothing, we’ll agree to be friends—that’s it—no complications. And I can friggin’ marry Jonathan if I so choose.”

He makes a sour face, but nods anyway.

I bite my lip as I look into his eyes.
One kiss, one kiss . . .
I close my eyes as I edge closer until I can feel the heat shimmering from his skin.

“Oh, Ava,” he whispers, a deep longing in his voice.

His breath on my cheek undoes me, and when our lips meet, they meld together as if they’d just kissed a moment earlier. We kiss languidly, sensuously, our tongues meeting in an erotic dance. He gently bites my bottom lip before I press my lips even harder against his. An overwhelming current suddenly surges through me, practically knocking me over.

I’m on fire
. I run one of my hands along his shoulder and behind his neck, pulling him closer, while winding my other hand into his hair and tugging it passionately. Our bodies are pressed together so tightly I feel as if I’m one with him.

He moans my name over and over as the kiss intensifies. I’m lost in his sweet mouth, his lips turning me into a traitor to logic and reason.

When I finally pull away to gasp for air, he grins widely, and the bright-eyed expression on his face is victorious. He gambled big and won.

Like there was ever a question—he owns me.
He probably has all along; it’s just taken me all this time to figure it out.

He studies me with a spark in his eyes, and he takes a sharp breath. He takes his hands out of his pockets as if to grab me and never let me go. My heart’s so full I can’t help but shine with a smile.

I remember we’re taking things slow, so without a word, I hurry to my car before he can say something to draw me back into his arms. But even as I flee the charged atmosphere and speed down PCH, I can feel his joy follow me all the way home.

Chapter Seven / It Must Be Magic

Art is the guarantee of sanity.

~ Louise Bourgeois

B
y Monday night, the circus that is my life has rolled into town, chock-full of exciting and daring acts. Frankly, it’s exhausting.

Due to the distraction created by all my drama, I manage to make two major screw-ups at work in one day. Brian gallantly covers me for the client screw-up. Sean isn’t as accommodating as Brian is. While working on the press, I feed prints to Sean upside down and ruin fifteen images before we realize what I’ve done. He yells until I cry out of frustration, but there’s really no excuse for such stupidity.

When I get home from work, there are two-dozen lavender roses waiting for me from Jonathan, and I wonder if he’s caught a whiff of Max’s intentions and hopes to head him off at the pass. Even though Jonathan’s still in New York, I get the feeling it’s going to be an emotional roller coaster kind of week. I just need to figure out what to say to Jonathan next time I see him—a lot has happened.

I also receive a flirty text from Max, and although I’m secretly delighted, I’m not sure what the best way to respond is, since we’re supposed to be going slow. So, rather than texting Max or calling Jonathan to thank him for the roses, I decide to be immature and avoid everyone. When Riley gets home from work, she’s wound up from an impossible deadline, so we decide to be really stupid and have wine and Cheetos for dinner.

We’re both pretty loaded, our mouths and fingers covered in that sticky Cheetos orange powder, when my phone rings.

I look at the screen and sigh loudly. “Jonathan. He’s probably wondering if I got the roses.”

“Oh, answer it, you big baby,” Riley slurs.

I roll my eyes, tap my screen and launch right into the conversation. “Jonathan, thank you for the beautiful roses.”

“You’re welcome, Ava. Are you okay? You sound a little funny.”

“I’m a little tipsy. Riley and I both had shitty days, so we decided to have wine . . . with Cheetos for dinner.” I sway on the couch.

“I’m sorry you didn’t have a good day. But Cheetos aren’t food, sweet girl. If I were there, I’d take better care of you.”

I remember the fancy lunches we’ve had. “I bet you’ve never had Cheetos for dinner.”

“No, Ava, I haven’t.” His tone reminds me of my middle school math teacher.

I try to picture Jonathan eating at Phillippe’s or El Coyote, and realize how unlikely it is. He’s so serious about everything. “Do you even eat tacos?” I ask.

Maybe he’d bring me a taco? Hey, that sounds good!
I giggle.

He pauses for a moment.

“Hello?”

“I’m here. I’m just distracted, thinking of all the things I want to do with you, and it isn’t eating tacos,” he says with a husky voice.

“Like what?” The thought that I shouldn’t be talking to him while tipsy slides into my head, but then it slides right back out.

“I’ll tell you, but first I need to finish something. I’ll call you back in ten minutes. What are you wearing?”

“My work clothes, why?”