Work of Art ~ the Collection (66 page)

“Just tell me what happened.”

This is bad . . . he’s worse than I feared.
“Nothing happened, Max.”

“Please, Ava, please don’t do this. Just tell me what happened.”

I hold my hands open as I fight back tears. “I promise. Nothing happened.”

His anguish surprises me, and I wonder what it’ll take to convince him.

“I’m trying . . . I want to trust you,” he whispers. “But Dylan said—”

“Fuck Dylan!” I yell. “What is wrong with him? That network guy walked me to the valet stand to finish our conversation. That’s all.”

He closes his eyes, runs his hands through his hair, and groans. “He said that guy has been asking about you. Brian told him that this guy even went to your work. What the fuck is that about?”

“He’s probably doing due diligence or something like that since we’re doing PR for the interview and the book. I’m not worried about it, and you shouldn’t either.”

“You don’t know that for sure. And then you expect me not to worry?”

“I texted you right when I got home, Max. Why didn’t you call me? I asked you to. I had my phone turned all the way up and next to me in bed.”

“You did?” he asks, with a glimmer of hope in his expression.

“Yes, check your phone. I tried to call you too.”

“My phone died.”

I rest my fists on my hips and arch my brow. “Your phone died? Should I get mad about that?”

He gives me a soft smile. “I suppose you could.”

“When you charge your phone, you’ll see how much I wanted to talk to you. No one else—only you.” I step closer and look up as I gently place my hands on his chest.

“Max,” I whisper tenderly . . . lovingly.

His eyes search mine, wanting more.

“I love you with all my heart. Why isn’t that enough?”

He gasps as he places his hands over mine. “Enough? Oh my God, Ava, it’s everything . . . Maybe that’s the fucking problem. As much as I try to fight my crazy thoughts, sometimes it’s too much—more than I can handle.”

“But look at us right now . . . We’re working this out.”

“I can’t lie, this was a tough night.” He looks down, shoves his hands in his pockets, and takes a step back. “I’m kind of broken here, baby, can you kiss me or something?”

I smile unexpectedly and shake my head. “Max, being in love with you is like being on a theme park ride. Thrilling and harrowing . . . and I had to wait in line so damn long to get on.”

“And now you can’t get off?” He gives me a weak, but hopeful, smile.

“Who says I want to?”

I can no longer resist him. I close the gap and kiss him with everything I have.

He almost buckles in relief and then wraps me into his arms. His mouth is warm and loving . . . but there’s also an anxious hunger in his kiss, and I kiss him back just as fervently, hoping that he’ll feel all the love I have for him.

“Oh, this is what I need,” he moans, kissing me again and again. He slides his hands down my back until they’re cupping my ass and pulling me closer so he can push his erection against me. “This is all I need.”

He lifts me up, and I wrap my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist. I cling to him as he kicks the front door closed and carries me upstairs to his bed.

Every part of our lovemaking is desperate, from the way we tear off each other’s clothes, to the wild look in his eyes when he pushes into me. We cover every square inch of the bed as we move over each other—grabbing, pulling, and fucking hard.

At one point, I’m on top of him, and he lifts me off and pulls me forward until my sex is perched right over his face. He has a fire in his eyes and pulls me closer, devouring me with his tongue—tasting and taunting until I scream his name and pull his hair. I almost black out from the sheer force of the orgasm.

He finishes on top with my arms and legs wrapped around him and clinging on for dear life. A primal moan escapes his lips with his final thrusts.

We collapse together, sweaty and raw, covered in each other’s arousal, burning eyes and wild hair. This is the hunger. This is who we are and who we’re meant to be.

The wild rush is quiet now. In our nest of sheets, I curl against him and try to find our peaceful place. He wraps his arms around me as we surrender to the moonless night.

Right before we drift to sleep, he kisses my cheek and whispers in my ear. “No one will ever touch what we have, angel . . . no one.”

I think about Travis’s vague comments and Zach’s ominous warning about how fast things can change, and realize how easily couples can be pulled apart.

“You promise, Max?” I nestle even closer as if I can permanently bond us together until we’re completely connected.

“I do, my love.” His hand settles on my chest and it calms my pounding heart as his promise settles through me.

I am just on the edge of sleep when my phone’s text prompt goes off.

“What the hell?” Max curses as he reaches over me for my phone on the nightstand.

He takes it upon himself to swipe the screen as I try to get the phone away from him.

I can’t believe he’s being such an ass. “Max, give me my phone!”

He extends his free arm to block my efforts.

“Who is it?” I ask, suddenly feeling completely awake. My mind reels to imagine who would text me this late. What other drama can be stirred up tonight?

His arm continues to hold me back as he reads the screen. His head snaps toward me and even in the dim moonlight I can see the rage in his eyes. “You lied to me,” he growls in a voice I don’t recognize.

My heart freezes like it’s stopped beating.

His arm jerks back and propels the phone through the air, a silver blur until I hear the smack of it bouncing off the adobe wall. He rips the sheets back and storms out of bed, taking a second to grab his jeans off the floor before exploding out the bedroom door.

What the hell?

I turn on the bedside light and scurry out of bed to find my phone. I kneel down and with trembling fingers pick it up off the floor. When I turn it right side up the screen is shattered, a web of cracks across its surface and dull grey light is the only indication that it once functioned.

As I rise up on unsteady legs I blink back a tear. We had made it through a rough night and whoever just texted me took us back to square one or worse. I’ve never seen that much rage in Max’s eyes. It feels like the rope that ties our hearts together is unraveling. I grab his shirt off the floor and pull it on so I can go find him. His word’s before I dozed off echo in my ears.

No one ever will touch what we have.

I hope to God he’s right.

Chapter One / Spread Your Wings

Art must be an expression of love or it is nothing.

~Marc Chagall

T
he way I see it, I have two options. I can take Max’s phone out to the balcony and hurl it into the ocean, just to even the score. Or I can find him downstairs and throw my shattered phone at him. If my aim is good, nailing him in the head could be far more satisfying than the splash before the phone sinks to the bottom of the ocean. My initial devastation over my boyfriend’s outburst has flourished into a fiery rage.

As my fury simmers, I can’t focus on any reasonable options for dealing with Max since he intercepted a text of mine and then destroyed my phone in a fit of anger. I look down at my screen and my hand tightens around the edges. I drag my fingernail across its surface, feeling the crackle of every break in the glass. My nerves are equally shattered.

I perch on the edge of the bed and dig my fingers into the bedspread. I seriously doubt I have the patience tonight to go another round with my dramatic boyfriend. I take several deep calming breaths before forcing myself to face him. After searching the first floor, I find him leaning over the patio railing that faces the ocean. His shoulder and back muscles tense when I approach, and his grip on the wood looks as if he’s going to tear the top rail off its posts.

I let out a long sigh and he flinches, then scowls and grits his teeth. The edges of his jawline are sharply rendered, despite the faint light.

Something about his barely contained aggression changes the tone of my approach. I step toward him and hold up the phone.

“Hey, Max. I got a text a few minutes ago, and I’m having trouble reading it. Perhaps you can tell me what it says.”

His steely glare moves over me before dropping down to my phone’s screen. It shines its useless gray light on his face.

“Don’t play with me, Ava. I’m not in the mood.” He turns back to the ocean.

“Really? Not in the mood, huh? Imagine that.” My voice is laced with sarcasm as I set the phone down on the railing. “Are you at least going to tell me who the text was from?”

“You know who.”

“Actually, no, I don’t.”

He glances down at the phone and then back at me with narrowed eyes. “I’m not up for this; you need to back off,” he says in a dark voice.

“Oh, I will. Believe me, I don’t even want to be here having this ridiculous argument, but first I need to know if you’re sorry for being such an ass.”

He kicks the rail. “I’ll tell you what . . . I’m sorry for leaving you alone at that party.”

Ah, so Travis must be the one who texted and blew our happy, calm mood.

“So, you’re not sorry for busting my phone
and
being such an ass?”

“Are you sorry?” Max growls.

I throw my hands in the air. “I have nothing to be sorry about!”

“Well, we’ll just have to see about that, won’t we?”

His hands grip the railing even tighter. This is going nowhere fast. I pull my shirt tighter around me and go back in the house. As much as I want to get in my car and leave, I know that isn’t the best choice.

I also know I’m wound up and can’t just sit around and wait for him to cool off so we can talk. I pace the hallway a few times before I get the urge to take a walk on the beach. Who cares that it’s past midnight? The moon is almost full, so I won’t be stumbling blindly.

I slip out the front door, march down the drive, and finish buttoning up Max’s shirt that I’d thrown on. I’m almost at the gate to the beach when his voice thunders from up above.

“What in the hell are you doing?”

“Taking a walk!” I yell.

“Are you crazy? Come back here!”

I ignore him, swiftly punch in the security code, and swing the gate open wide.
To hell with him!
I march along the shore and when the tide rises up and laps against my feet, I pause and take a deep breath. I’m glad to be away from the explosive tension back at the house, and my fury starts to calm.

From this viewpoint, the world looks black and white with hints of the silver moonlight outlining the bumps in the sand and the silhouette of houses beyond the Malibu shoreline. I walk a little further to the section of the private beach where houses are spread farther apart, so there are dark patches across the sand with no ambient light.

The stark silence echoes in my mind. Even the ocean seems quiet. I pull Max’s shirt lower on my thighs and wonder why a midnight walk on a deserted beach seemed like a good idea. Everything is starting to look a little creepy.

I hear something behind me and my stomach lurches. I jump back when I see a figure approaching. As I try to decide whether to scream, run toward the house, or both, he steps into a patch of light from a neighboring house. It’s Max, his gaze piercing and wild.

“Where the fuck are you going?” he yells.

“I refuse to be treated like this!” I fire back before I continue along the shore.

With his long gait, he catches up with me a moment later and grabs me by the arm. “Where, Ava?”

“Quit being a bully and let go of me!” I insist, while trying to shake my arm free of his grasp. “I’m taking a walk.”

“In the middle of the night, half naked? Are you nuts?”

I look down at my shirt and realize that even though I’m covered, I don’t have panties on. The length of beach in the distance now feels black and looming. But my pride overrides my logic.

“With the way you’re acting, it’s safer out here than back at your place.”

“Ava,” he groans, as he lets go of my arm and turns his attention back to the house. He lets out a loud sigh, and before I realize what’s happening, he sweeps me up in his arms.