Beyond Me Read online

  Until she left me behind and returned to her life in Chicago.

  I took another sip and leaned against the granite island. She'd go back to her real life and forget about me. Maybe share a few stories with her friends, laugh about the great time she had, and concentrate on finding a guy more like herself. Someone with morals, and a real job, and a family. Not a whiny, isolated rich kid who did nothing with his life.

  She'd find someone she deserved.

  Misery festered like a blister. What did I want out of my life? I hated banking, the law, and medicine. I hated the crap involved in the upper crust society circles I ran with, because I'd never known anything else. Sure, I travelled, but even then I felt as if I was playing at something, trying to show my parents SEE ME! LOVE ME! They never did, and I needed to let it go. But if I was going to try and be more, I had to start somewhere.

  My fingers itched for a paintbrush or charcoal pencil. Whenever my thoughts skidded out of control, I found my peace in elegant lines, brilliant color, sharp edges. The play of light fascinated me, allowing me to study it for hours and try to reflect it in my work. It was one of the only times I reached peace, allowing another self to surface, one I actually felt proud of.

  But what could I do with it? I'd never be good enough for art school. I had no formal training, and all the years of hiding my work from my dad's skeptical opinion and my friends' humoring of my hobby had taken its toll.

  I was a pussy. Afraid to go for anything that may be worthwhile. Afraid of...everything.

  "Morning."

  I jerked and some coffee sloshed over the rim. She stood in the archway, wearing one of my shirts that hung just past her knees. Bare legs and feet, hair messed and tangled, head ducked a bit in a gesture of shyness, my throat closed up and I could only stare. She was so fucking sweet and beautiful. My dick jumped to attention and I fought the urge to drag her onto the table and shove myself between her legs. The other part wanted to pick her up, kiss her tenderly, and protect her forever. I ended up staying put so I didn't freak her out.

  "Did I wake you up? I wanted you to sleep in today."

  She shook her head and shifted her weight. Those pink toenails jumped out at me. She had such a naughty, dark side mixed with the good girl image I was crazy about. How had the guys ever pegged her a snob or cold fish? "No. I looked for you and you weren't there. And I smelled coffee."

  I smiled. "I'll get you a cup. Take a seat." I motioned to the stool and she slid into the high red leather, hooking her feet over the rung. "Milk? Sugar?"

  "Just milk, please."

  I fixed her coffee and watched her drink it. Her face softened into pleasure, almost the same expression when she began to relax under my touch. I gripped the counter and wondered how every move she made both fascinated me and turned me on. "Good?"

  "Yes. I like it strong."

  We drank our coffee in companionable silence. I waited for questions about last night, or a long conversation regarding emotions, expectations, or fears, but she never said a word. "Are you hungry?"

  She scrunched up her nose. "Can you cook?"

  I laughed. "A little. I have a housekeeper for this place 'cause I hate cleaning, but I don't mind fooling around in the kitchen. How about an omelet?"

  "Sounds good. Thanks."

  I began preparing, grabbing some ham, cheese, milk, and eggs. I couldn't remember the last time I cooked for a woman staying over. It was intimate, and I liked serving her. "Are your friends good with us spending the day together again?"

  "Yeah, I'll check in with them later to make sure they're okay, but we kind of planned to be separate for this trip."

  "How come? Usually girls flock together and stay that way."

  Uneasiness flickered over her face. I paused in the act of mixing the ingredients and waited for her answer. "Umm, well, Mackenzie proclaimed we all needed to hook up this week, so we weren't allowed to see each other."

  I arched my brow. I was half annoyed at her plan to find some guy to sleep with, but hadn't I done the same exact thing? I tried not to laugh as she shoved her face in her mug in an attempt to hide. This was too much fun to pass up. "So I was just part of this master plan to be used?" I asked.

  "N-No! I mean, not really, I didn't plan on sleeping with you. I didn't like you!"

  "You didn't even like me? Hell, now I really feel used. You just wanted my body."

  "No! Crap, you're twisting my words. Besides, you came after me, remember?"

  "Forget it. Let me just take off my clothes so you can fuck me. I never thought I could feel so cheap."

  "James! I--" She broke off, catching the huge grin threatening to split my face. She gasped and pointed. "You're teasing me! You suck!"

  I laughed in delight at the red spots on her cheeks. "Baby, let's just say you can use me anytime you want," I drawled. "In any way, even."

  She glowered, those plump lips pursed in a cute pout. "I can't believe I fell for that," she grumbled. "I was afraid to hurt your feelings."

  "Using a guy for his body isn't a problem, Quinn," I told her, dropping the mixture into a hot pan.

  "I'm not," she said softly. "Are you?"

  I spun around. Her serious dark eyes stared back. The question exploded around me, and I realized we'd reached a turning point. Had she heard my plea last night before she fell asleep? Did she know how much she meant to me even after this short period of time? I watched her carefully, wondering what she wanted from me. "Am I what?"

  She swallowed and lifted her chin in that movement of pure bravery that almost broke my heart. "Using me for my body? Or am I more?"

  The sizzle in the pan drifted to my ears, but I stood still, frozen to the spot. What type of answer did she want? The truth? That I was falling in love with my spring break fling and she was going to leave me without another thought? Or was this an opportunity to take a leap and find what I needed to know? If she needed me as much as I did her?

  My silence must have been too long, because she forced a laugh and shook her head. "Forget it, I'm so lame. Let's just enjoy what we have and not analyze it. Wow, that smells good."

  It would be easy to accept her fake words. Move on without dissecting some scary-ass feelings that could end up breaking both of our hearts. But I couldn't leave her hanging. I wasn't that much of an asshole--not when it came to Quinn.

  "You are."

  "What?"

  I leaned over and pinned her with my gaze. Showing her everything I was feeling and fighting in that brief moment. "I wanted it to be just sex. It would be easier. But you're more, Quinn, much more. Do you understand?"

  She quivered, nodding her head. I wanted to go to her, but it was too much, and I had already sacrificed more than I thought I could this morning.

  Then she smiled. A beautiful, giving, joyous smile that splintered my reality and left it broken behind me. "I understand."

  My heart hurt, so I turned back to the eggs for something to do. I grabbed a plate, slid the omelet on, and served her at the counter. "Eat up. You'll need your energy."

  She was still smiling when she took the first bite.

  The blare of my phone cut through the air halfway through our breakfast. I got up and checked the screen. Adam. I'd already texted him back to cancel the party, and his continuous texts were getting more and more crazed. Better take it or the guy may show up at my door. "Be right back, I gotta take this," I said.

  "Okay."

  I walked into the living room and hit the button. "What's up?"

  My friend's voice was high-pitched. "What the hell are you doing, man? Are you fucking crazy? We had these parties planned for months--hell, it's a tradition in Key West. You can't cancel on me. I got a ton of people freaking out."

  My temper reared, but I kept calm. "Adam, if you want to have a party, you host it. I'm done. I got shit I need to do this week, and I'm not up for hosting more of Girls Gone Wild at my house."

  A long groan. "I can't have it at my house! I don't have the space, and it's too
damn late to rent a hotel. Hey, I got a great idea. I'll host the party over there. I'll take care of everything, make sure we clean up. What do you say?"

  Why did I suddenly feel like I was eighteen again? Rich and Adam were always pushing me to take the lead because my parents didn't give a shit. They were both stuck in their fathers' firms, living the dutiful life I'd always hated, so they looked to me to be the wild one. The one who bucked the system, took no prisoners, and broke all the rules.

  I was fucking sick of it.

  "No. Just tell everyone it was canceled. There are plenty of bars and booze cruises to do instead. And Friday's party is also canceled."

  "Fuck!" Adam's screech echoed, but I didn't care. Time to make myself happy. "Why? Is it that girl you're trying to score with to win our bet?"

  I stiffened. I didn't want Adam or Rich to know anything about her. "No. I haven't slept with her yet."

  "And you won't. But if you get her drunk at the party, you may have a better shot at getting in her pants. How about that scenario for you?"

  I pictured putting a fist through my friend's mouth instead. "The bet's off. I don't care about meeting Whit Bennigan."

  "Sorry, bro, you can't call off a bet midweek just because you're losing. It's still on, and if you don't get us proof, say goodbye to your bike."

  I rubbed my forehead. I couldn't think about this shit now, I'd worry about it later. I needed to get Adam off my ass. "The parties are canceled Adam. Tell Rich I'm not changing my mind, and if the bet's still on, leave me the hell alone until Friday."

  Silence settled over the line. "Fine. This is fucked up, James. But whatever."

  He hung up.

  I hit the button. What a mess. I had a bet about Quinn I couldn't stop and a bunch of pissed off friends. Still, I felt good about my decision. I'd figure the rest out, even if I had to lie and give up my bike. Nothing really mattered now except spending as much time with the woman half naked in my kitchen.

  I threw my phone on the table and went to her.

  I WIGGLED my toes and relaxed back on the lounge chair. A warm breeze brushed my body, and the sun burned hot on my skin, melting my already limp muscles to wet noodles. The pool glistened in a gorgeous blue that reminded me of James' eyes, and I smiled, shutting out the world, remembering our last heated lovemaking session that blew my mind. We couldn't keep our hands off each other. After breakfast, we spent a few hours in bed, then hit my hotel so I could pack another bag to stay over again tonight. I changed into my red bikini and we relaxed by the pool, until he decided to order some food from the local clam bar and bring it back to the house. I sipped my Sex on the Beach he'd concocted, and enjoyed the absolute decadence of the day. Sex, alcohol, fried food, and rest. I'd reached nirvana.

  After about fifteen minutes, I noticed my skin was beginning to burn again, so I grabbed my drink and went back inside. Maybe I'd explore. I was sure James wouldn't mind, and the house was so gorgeous, I was dying to see the rest of the furnishings and setup. I started on the ground level, peeking into an array of guest rooms, and a sunroom with comfy chairs and bookcases stocked with goodies. I browsed through the shelves, making note of the eclectic collection of art, classic literature, and philosophy, then strolled upstairs. Another bathroom with a spa shower, and what looked to be a media room, filled with high-tech gadgets, a big screen TV, and various speakers. Hmm, maybe we could do a movie night and snuggle up. The idea intrigued me. I kept poking around until I reached the last door at the end of the hall. The knob easily turned under my fingers. I stepped in and caught my breath.

  It was more than a room. It was a studio filled with blank canvases, paints, brushes, and different-sized tables. The light poured in from the ceiling-to-floor windows, and the floors were some type of wood, covered with drops of paint in various colors. Fascinated, I walked to the row of paintings and studied the bold lines and colors attacking the white background. It was as if something shimmered beneath, dying to get out, and I narrowed my gaze, trying to look deeper. I wasn't an art major or anything, but had taken a class in college where we went over the basics and famous art. This was unlike any style I'd seen. Who was the artist James collected?

  "They're mine."

  I spun around and almost spilled my drink. He stood behind me, watching me with a curious expression. His words took a while for me to process. "You did these?"

  James nodded. They were mostly portraits, sketched out in bold lines with an array of backgrounds in shocking color. The mingling of charcoal with watercolors was new to me. I flipped through a few more, and began to recognize a pattern emerging. As I made my way through his work, I recognized the development from earlier years to later. There was a growing confidence and better technique. The last one took my breath away.

  An old man sat by the dock, his withered hand holding a tattered newspaper, looking out over the water as if a memory had broken his concentration. His face held the lines of one who had loved hard and lost much. The gorgeous symmetry of old and young jumped out at me. Usually, portraits bored me--a line of people I'd never met and didn't know--but James captured an element that made me want to know the subjects. As if I had already met them.

  "These are amazing," I said, shaking my head. "They remind me of something that should be in a gallery, not locked up. Have you ever tried to sell any?"

  He walked over and stood beside me. "No. Don't think I'm good enough. I never trained."

  "Crap, James, can you imagine what you could do with some formal schooling?" My eyes widened when I spotted another small stack of charcoal drawings in a variety of poses. "These too?" I asked.

  "Yeah. That's how I started. I was always sketching, doodling. I used to make comics for my friends in school. I spent a lot of time alone in my room, drawing to keep from getting bored."

  These sketches were simpler, as if he was building the basics of delving behind the surface of people. He had taken something definable in each of them, whether it was a soft look in their eyes, the clenching of fingers, the tilt of the chin. Each one spoke to me on a different level. I put my drink down on the floor and immersed myself for a while.

  When I was finally done, I looked up. "You said you weren't an artist," I said quietly.

  He jerked back. "I'm not. I like to draw and paint. I never sold anything. I never trained."

  "Why not?"

  He let out a breath. "Because it's a hobby. Because it's ridiculous to think you can make a career out of something like this. Everyone has a crafty sort of thing they do in their spare time. Just because I'm rich, I'm not about to force someone to show my stuff."

  Bingo. The truth slammed through me. He was born to do this, but had gotten caught up in too many voices telling him he couldn't. Not that I blamed him. After a while, when everyone tells you you'll fail, you begin to believe it. Anger coursed through me at the total waste of his talent and his belief in everyone but himself. "James, you're good. Really good. This is what you're meant to do. No wonder you were strangled at your dad's bank and Ivy League schools. You need to follow this."

  "Whatever. Let's go eat."

  He turned, but I jumped in front of him. His pretended ignorance was a big fat lie, and I couldn't take it. Not from him. "Don't pull that bullshit with me," I said. "Why can't you admit this is what you want? You have the money to go to art school and study. You have no excuses."

  His jaw clenched and his blue eyes sparked. "Exactly! Do you think I want the world believing I bought my way into galleries or school because of my money? I could make a call and get connected with something just from my family name. I don't want anyone's charity, goddammit. I'm not good enough."

  I practically spit with frustration. "Did you ever even try?" His stubborn expression told me no. "Maybe you'd find out if you submit your work to them and see? Fuck the family name. Just don't use it--make one up and satisfy yourself it's on your terms. You never gave it a shot, because that way you'll be safe. But you're not safe, James, you're just alone. Throwing partie
s and wasting time and looking for something that's already here. You're a fucking artist! Just be one!"

  He fisted his hands and stepped back. I watched the conflicting expressions war for dominance, and suddenly, all that energy hit me like a sucker punch. "It's not that easy."

  "It's not that hard."

  "I don't know if I'm good! Jesus, don't you get it?"

  I got closer to his breaking point, almost scenting his rawness beneath the surface he gave me glimpses of. But I wanted more from him, dammit, I wanted everything he had, whether or not I had the right. "No, explain it to me."

  "It doesn't matter."

  I let out a strangled cry in pure frustration. "Bullshit! It does matter, it all matters, but you're being a coward by not admitting it. Just fucking tell me what your problem is!"

  He gave a vicious curse. He seemed to struggle with temper that was more directed toward himself than with me, but it swirled with a raw emotion that turned me on. This was the James I ached for--his feelings and soul as naked to me as his body. The combination screamed sexual power. "What do you want from me?" he ground out. "Why are you pushing?"

  I was breathing hard, aroused, and pissed off at his stubbornness. "What do I want? Oh, that's right. Let me make sure not to demand too much emotion here. Let's just keep it to fucking each other's brains out, okay? Better now?" I knew I was taunting him, but I ached to push past his barriers, and when our bodies connected, all walls came crashing down.

  His control teetered, paused, and crashed. "You want to know everything? All the touchy-feely bullshit? Fine--my whole life I had one fucking thing I dreamed of: making it in the art world, on my own. But if I don't have it, and I fail, there's nothing left. I shot my load and I got no backup. And won't my fucking parents and friends laugh their asses off? You get it now? You happy?" His voice rose and crashed around me, full of naked and swirling emotions I never glimpsed before.

  "Yes, I'm happy now. Now do something about it."

  He stared at me, poised on the brink, and then he closed the distance and hauled me into his arms. Blazing blue eyes locked with mine. My nipples hardened and I grew wet.

  "Fuck this," he muttered. Slamming his mouth over mine, he kissed me, his tongue thrusting into my mouth and taking what he wanted. I gave it back, pressing myself against him, digging my fingers into his hair and holding on tight. He bent me backward and swallowed me whole, until there was nothing left except what he gave me. My bare thighs scraped his belt buckle, and he ripped off his shorts, shoving down my bikini bottoms, and lowering himself to the floor. Our mouths never broke away, and I whimpered as I grew wetter, wiggling on top of him so I could get his cock deep inside me where he belonged.