EMBER - Part Three (The EMBER Series, #3) (7 page)

He starts moving. His hips pounding out a steady rhythm as his hands rest on the bed above me. With each pulsing thrust of his body against mine, a small growl flows from his lips. It's masculine. It's intoxicating and the sheer depth of him inside of me pulls my desire to the surface.

I clench myself around him, which only spurs him on more.

"Fuck," he says into the still air as he throws his head back. "Ah, fuck."

He pumps his hips into mine, each movement deeper than the last. I cling to his face, wanting to find my release so he can chase his own. I know he won't come until I do.

"Dane," I call out his name as I feel the rush approaching.

He adjusts his leg on the bed to gain leverage with his knee, curves his hand under my ass and drills his cock into me with a fierce tenderness I've never felt before.

I pull him closer as I feel the edge approaching and as I climax, I call out his name in a heated rush. He pumps one last time and through clenched teeth he lets out a low moan as he finds his own release.

"D
id you see Brighton Beck about your drawings?" He pushes my hair from my forehead.

We'd collapsed into a mess of arms and legs after we both came. He held me for a few minutes before he pulled himself up, rid himself of the condom and went to get us a glass of water.

Now, he's sitting on the edge of the bed, completely nude. I stare at his back and the definition in the muscles. "I saw him. He thinks I should move to Paris."

His shoulders stiffen almost instantaneously. I watch as his hands leap to his face. "Paris?"

I reach up to run my fingers over the back of his neck. "There's an internship program there. They're saving a spot for me if I want it. Beck thinks it would help my career."

"It would." He turns briefly and I catch a glimpse of the side of his face. It's striking. I doubt that I'll ever tire of looking at him.

I adjust my body so I'm resting against the mattress again. "I'm doing well here. I'm still selling portraits at the gallery. I'm going to see if I can find people who want more commissioned pieces."

It's something I've been thinking about since I finished the drawing I did of Leanna Henderson. She loved it and Harper, the physical therapist who had helped me after my accident, even called to ask if she could buy her portrait. She was trying again with her ex and wanted to give it as a gift to him. I had dropped it off at her office with a smile and a question about her future. She was cautiously optimistic that they could make things work this time. I'd left her office with a hug after giving her the portrait as a gift.

"You're too talented not to chase your dreams, Bridget."

"I am chasing my dreams." I glide my legs along the soft sheets. "People pay to buy my portraits at the gallery and Brighton is going to include a few of my drawings in his exhibition. I'll be a featured artist he said."

He pivots his hips, pulling his knee up and bending it so he's sitting on the bed, half facing me. "There are more people in Paris who can help you. A lot of aspiring artists who go there hit it big."

I know he's only thinking about my future, but the fact that he's on board Brighton's one way train to Paris train surprises me. I want him to support my career, but I didn't think he'd be pushing me towards moving across the world. "Paris is far away."

"You have a gift." He turns towards the portrait I'd set on the dresser earlier. It's one I started earlier today when I spotted an elderly man in Central Park. "If you don't nurture it and go after every opportunity to share it with others, you're going to regret that one day."

I pull my arm over my face, trying to mask the disappointment I feel. "I can't move to Paris right now. I have too much going on here. I'm going to start back at the pub soon. They need me."

He leans forward, his left hand darting to the mattress to support his weight. His gaze catches mine as he looks down at me. "Nothing here is as important as your talent, Bridget. Think about this long and hard before you make a decision."

I turn away from him as I bury my cheek into the softness of my pillow. I don't know what there is to think about. Maybe the one thing that I thought was keeping me in New York isn't worth staying for after all.

***

"I
think you should take that portrait you did of her to the hospital and give it to her." Zoe motions towards the portrait of Cleo that is still sitting on the easel by the window.

I glance towards it. Since I found out that it was Maisy's sister I've been able to walk past it without feeling as though my heart is dropping out of my chest. "I don't know her. I don't think going to the hospital is a good idea."

"Why not?" She pulls a portrait I did last year of a couple from the cardboard box that is now sitting atop the bed. "I think it would mean a lot to her."

I've thought that too. I've never drawn people as a means to financial gain. I've been lucky that my portraits have sold as well as they have but I've always felt it would have more meaning if I could hand some of them back to the people I captured with my pencil. Cleo is a perfect example of someone I drew at a pivotal time in her life. She was pregnant, planning her future and celebrating with the man she loved.

"I need to talk to Dane about it first." I reach past Zoe to rifle through the drawings. "Beck said I should pick portraits for the museum that would speak to a lot of people. He wants me to choose some that mean the most to me."

She nods as she begins pulling more from the box. "If you don't take Cleo's portrait to her today, she's going to be discharged and you'll lose your chance to give it to her."

I turn back towards the window and the drawing. "I'll text Dane first and if he's okay with it, I'll take it."

I'm grateful when she doesn't respond. I know she's aching to tell me that I don't need Dane's permission to do anything, but when it comes to Cleo, I don't want to get in the way of him trying to mend the friendship the two of them once had.

"V
isitors are only allowed for another hour." Vanessa glances at her watch. "My break is then, so go see her and then I'll buy you some dinner."

"Cafeteria dinner?" I joke. "I might pass on that."

She elbows me in the ribs. "It's not that bad. I eat it all the time."

"I can't tonight," I say honestly. "I'm starting back at the pub. I need to be there by nine."

"We can do dinner another night then."

I look down at my smartphone again. I had texted Dane to ask if he could call me. That was more than two hours ago. I know that he told me when his schedule changes this week, but I hadn't paid attention mainly because I was drifting into a dream at the time.

I could have waited until tomorrow to come to see Cleo to bring her the portrait, but after considering what Zoe said, I don't want to miss my window of opportunity. My plan is simple. I hand her the portrait, tell her that I saw her in the hallway and I leave with no mention of Dane.

"You remember her room number?"

"It's 2049." It became etched forever in my memory after I'd glanced at the card so many times. Cleo is my first link to Dane's life beyond his cousin, Garrett. She's his friend, or was at one time. She's also the sister of the woman he once loved. I want her to have the portrait. It belongs to her.

"If it's too hard, come find me." She wraps her arms around my shoulders so tightly that the stethoscope hanging around her neck pushes into my chest. "Send me a text and I'll come up to the second floor."

I hug her back.  This might be the biggest mistake of my life or it may be a kind gesture that Dane and I will think back on when we're reminiscing about our past. It doesn't matter at this point. I'm here now and I'm not leaving until the framed portrait in my hand is nestled securely in Cleo's grasp.

***

"E
xcuse me."

The voice is softly feminine. It's also behind me just as I'm about to walk into Cleo's room. I'd peered through the rectangular window in the door but the only thing I could see was a light blue curtain drawn around a hospital bed. There's a wheelchair near the foot of the bed so I can only assume that I'm not too late.

I ignore the voice when I realize that she's likely talking to one of the many other people who are walking through this corridor. I've passed at least two doctors and half a dozen nurses since I exited the elevator on this floor. It's the maternity wing of the hospital which means most of the people who work here are less frantic and rushed than those who work in the ER with Vanessa.

I place my fingers around the handle as I hold tightly to the portrait that I'm cradling against my chest.

"Wait." Her voice is louder now. "You're Bridget."

She's talking to me. I push through my memories for any familiarities in the voice but there's nothing. She must have seen my picture in the newspaper or online after the accident. I've learned, since that night, that some people are morbidly curious about those who are struck by bad luck.

Since I'm intent on getting into Cleo's room without this woman in tow, I need to ditch her now. I turn quickly and the moment I do I'm struck by how attractive she is. She's tall, dark haired and even though her face is bare from make-up and her eyes rimmed with glasses, her natural beauty is still there.

"I'm Bridget." I reach out my free hand towards her.

"I know." She scoops my palm into her right hand, before covering it with the left. "I'm Maisy Trimble."

"T
his is Cleo."  The frame balances on her knees as she runs her hand over the glass. "You drew this?"

I nod. Since we'd exchanged pleasantries outside of Cleo's hospital room, Maisy had asked me to join her in the family lounge. It's a quiet space, tucked into a corner beyond the patients' rooms. Her sister had fallen asleep, she told me. It wasn't a good time to visit.

"I saw her and her husband at the museum one day," I offer as I reach to touch the edge of the frame. "I didn't know who she was then."

"Was this before you met Dane?"

She says his name with such effortless ease that it catches me off guard. There's no anger or resentment woven into the question.

"It was before then," I answer quietly. "I didn't know who she was until a few days ago."

"I wasn't talking to her then." Her hand skirts across the glass. "She's beaming in this. Did she know that you drew this?"

"Yes." I work to contain my emotions. "She called me over and we talked."

Her lips curve into a bright smile as she looks up and at me. "What did you talk about?"

I pull back slightly, wanting to gain some distance. I'm still emotionally stuck back in the corridor when I realized who she was. I've been staring at her since we sat down. She looks softer in person than she does in the online profile picture Dane showed me.

"She talked about getting married, and going on a honeymoon."

She studies me. "It's ironic, isn't it?"

Lifting my head I look across the empty room. "What's ironic?"

"That we're sitting here together."

It's not so much ironic as it's wildly uncomfortable. She may not have come right out and told me directly that she knows I'm dating her ex-boyfriend, but the knowledge of it is there. I have no idea who told her. It may have been Dane. Perhaps it was his mother or his brother. It doesn't matter at this point. What does matter is that I'm sitting next to a woman that Dane loved enough to live with. There has to be something about her that struck a deep chord within him.

"The world is a small place." I reach for the edge of the portrait. "It was inevitable that we'd meet at some point."

"Inevitable?" She glides the frame back into my lap. "Why would you say that?"

"We both loved the same man," I say it quietly. "You loved him. I love him now."

The silence that fills the room is finally broken by the sound of a man's voice from the corridor. "Bridget, I need you. Come with me, now."

***

I
've never sat in a chapel in a hospital before. It's a place that I've always felt was reserved for those who lost a loved one or those who craved the comfort that they found in whispering their prayers of hoped healing to a spirit they believed in.

I'm sitting next to Dane now and as he crushes my fingers within his clasped palm, I feel the weight of a loss on his shoulders. He hasn't told me what brought us here. We didn't talk as he guided me down the corridor with his hand around my waist.

I'd left the portrait of Cleo with Maisy. Her presence outside the door of her sister's room made it clear that whatever strife may have pulled them apart was gone now. Maisy had been there for hours. I could see it in her face and by the wrinkled clothing on her back. She had come there for her sister and when I walked away, I knew that if Cleo had found it in her heart to forgive Maisy, forgiveness for Dane must be there too.

"What happened?" I pause. "Do you want to talk about it or do you just want to sit?"

He lowers his head just enough that his lips are out of my view. "People think I'm selfish."

They're not the words that any woman wants to hear when she just met the ex-girlfriend of the man she adores. I didn't consider the fact that Dane may have spent the past few hours in this hospital, engaged in a conversation with Maisy.

Maybe she stumbled on me first as she headed back to her sister's room and Dane was close behind. Perhaps that's why he pulled me from that room so he could break my heart here, where people come to seek solace in their grief.

"You're not selfish." I try to derail his train of thought. I know it's foolish and only a temporary reprieve from whatever he's about to tell me but I don't want this to end. I love him and if he walks away from me before I've had a chance to tell him, I will regret it until I take my last breath.

He swallows hard. "Maisy's mother is ill. That's why my mom is moving here temporarily."

He can't leave me because the mother of his ex has gotten sick. That's a situation that's not his to handle anymore. "I'm sorry to hear that."