Love Through LimeLight (11 page)

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Authors: Farrah Abraham

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Before I can figure out a way to erase the impact of those
words, he cuts me off. “But I already do. Don’t you know that?”

He sounds honestly confused and I lift my head to stare at
him. He’s a hundred percent serious and all I can do is lie there with my mouth
gaping. “…no. I didn’t know that.”

“Oh.” Harper flashes me that devastating grin again. “Well
now you do. I love you so much it hurts, Fallon. I always have and I always
will.”

He bends over, scooping up both our piles of shells. I stare
at him stupidly, not knowing what to say but he doesn’t seem to mind at all. “Hurry
up and catch your breath. I’m going to see about putting more of that fruit in
my face, now that you’ve completely worn me out.”

He leaves my field of vision with a jaunty bob in his step
and I still haven’t said anything in return. But Harper isn’t worried about
that. Of course he’s not. He never pushes me into anything and he didn’t seem
upset by the fact that I didn’t say it back. I shift my gaze back up to the
blue, blue sky and tears of gratitude fill my eyes. I don’t know what I did to
deserve a man like this. One who accepts my flaws and never tries to make me
give more than I’m able. I don’t know what I did to deserve him but I swear, I’m
going to do all in my power to keep him happy.

“I love you too!” I scream it at the top of my lungs, not
caring who hears me. Not caring that it opens me up in ways I’ve never been
opened up. All I want is to let him know how much he means to me in that moment
and the consequences be damned.

A soft silence comes from Harper for several minutes. I
listen to the sound of the waves and the call of distant birds. Somewhere in
the back of my head, I imagine that I should be embarrassed by the weight of
the silence. But I just feel…comforted. There is no expectation in this lack of
sound. No judgment. Just gentle acceptance for what I said and what it means.

“Hurry up and come eat before I steal all the strawberries.”

I burst upward with a laugh and turn my vision back to
Harper. He’s standing in front of the table, his bright eyes shining with what
I think are unshed tears. The look on his face only cements everything I’ve
ever thought about him. This is a man who knows how deeply I feel. Who
understands the breadth of my emotions and how much it has taken out of me to
admit to what I feel for him.

He is deeply touched in the way he should be.

I run to him and fling my arms around his neck. He doesn’t
even stumble, just catches me as I move, wrapping his arms around my back. “You
are a treasure, my opal.” He whispers it against my head and I can feel the way
he trembles as the words leave his mouth.

He means it.

As much as I mean that I love him. That I am willing to be
open to him. That I am willing to give him power over me that no man has ever
had before. This is something new. Something scary and powerful.

Us.

Harper and I.

Me and Harper.

I take in a deep breath, astonished that tears are leaking
down my face. But this is different from any other time I’ve cried. These are
tears of happiness. Of joy.

He brushes one tear away with a gentle knuckle and kisses my
nose. “You win. I’ll sleep in the same bed with you tonight.”

I choke with surprised laughter when he adds his last
sentence.

“Under the covers.”

My Harper.

Chapter Fifteen

 

I know I’m gawking. My jaw is slack, my eyes are wide, and I’m
not even the smallest amount of embarrassed. For just a few moments, I decide
to ignore my usual grace and simply bask in the amazing nature of what I’m
seeing.

I don’t know what I expected when Harper made me promise to
come out with him, but it wasn’t this. I’ve been to parties all around the
world. I have seen things most people could never dream of.

But it’s nothing like this.

The museum is not the stuffy set of white rooms that I
expected. Apparently, an art gallery is much more than that. It’s like a show.
Plush, red carpet stretches out in front of me and impossibly high ceilings
soar above my head. They’re decorated in such lavish colors that I hold my
breath for a moment, reminded of a beautiful Roman church.

It should be out of place on the islands but instead, it
seems luxurious and fresh. The rooms are spacious and display the art in
tactful, sensual ways. There were paintings and sculptures—a newfound passion
of mine, apparently—as well as living art acted out by beautiful, decorated
young men and women.

The individuals enjoying the art are cut from the same cloth
as me but from a different side of the coin. I’ve dabbled heavily in the real
estate and commercial markets but these people are the upper echelons of money.
The kind of money that can’t be earned but must be inherited.

Harper presses his hand to my lower back and gently moves me
along from room to room. “You usually need a special invitation to visit this
art library.”

His voice is low and it caresses my ears as we move past a
glass case housing a set of jewels that make my heart race. The rich blue color
of the stones sparkles in the low light and it’s all I can do to keep from
bouncing as we walk. I hesitate, wanting to look for a little longer but
something else immediately catches my eye and I move in the opposite direction.

It takes a moment before I can even register what Harper
said. “How did we get in, then?”

“I think I would be the reason for that.” A young woman with
dark hair and light brown eyes steps up behind me. She glances at Harper and it
only lasts for a moment but the warning bells in my mind immediately go off.

I look closer and note that she would be passingly pretty if
not for the cold gleam in her eye I had noticed. She’s taller than me by a few
inches, fit, and soft in all of the right places. Before I can comment on the
way she’s looking at my boyfriend, the woman turns and smiles at me.

Faker.

In my line of work, I have to be able to spot someone who is
fake a mile away. It’s a lesson I’ve learned through trial and error and I am
proud of my ability to do so with such ease now.

She holds her hand out to me and I take it without
hesitation. Fakers pounce on any chink they think they see in your armor. The
trick is to make sure you never show them any. “Well, I appreciate the
invitation.”

Her hand feels clammy against mine but she shakes as if she
doesn’t notice. “Any friend of Harper’s is a friend of mine.”

Harper makes a disapproving noise. “You know Fallon is more
than a friend, Angelica. Don’t be rude.”

The woman looks as if he slapped her and I’m secretly glad
that Harper hasn’t bought into her fake charm. I want to hug him but I keep
myself still and classy.

A delicate pout paints her face. “I’m sorry, Harp. You know
I would never be rude on purpose. It simply slipped my mind.”

He cuts into her with another look and I shiver with the
force of his displeasure. Harper is always so sweet and thoughtful with me, I
forget that he is a powerful person in his own right.

She seems to get that she has royally screwed up and
inclines her head politely to me. “I’m sorry, Fallon. I meant no disrespect. I’ve
known Harper for a long time and I suppose I’m a bit overprotective of him. He’s
like a big brother to me.”

I’m not buying that for a second. I know lust when I see it
and she is stamped with a dangerous longing for my man. Still, I keep my face
purposefully blank, not wanting her to catch on that I know about her schemes. “Don’t
worry about it.”

She nods and turns back to Harper, who looks blessedly wary.
“I actually needed to borrow you for a few minutes. Father wants to go over a
few numbers with you and I told him I’d bring you along.”

Harper starts to shake his head but I touch his shoulder lightly.
“Angelica, was it? May we have a few moments? Harper will be along shortly.”

I’m proud of the even tone in my voice and so is Harper, if
the look on his face is any indication. Angelica excuses herself and I turn
back to my boyfriend.

He drops his voice. “What was that about?”

“I could ask you the same thing. She’s looking at you like
you’re about to be lunch.”

He blows out an aggravated breath. “She does that. It’s
nothing to be concerned with it, she never means it.”

“I’m not so sure about that.”

Harper raises an eyebrow but he doesn’t question my
observation. I know he trusts me and I trust him completely. That extends to
moments like these. Even though he has convinced himself that Angelica is
harmless, the moment I told him otherwise, his way of thinking shifted. He has
faith in me.

“All right, so what do you want me to do? We can leave.”

I shake my head, loving the way my curls brush against my
face. “No, that’s okay. Go ahead and go with her. This is work, right?”

Harper hesitates. “Yes, but…I don’t want to do anything that
will make you uncomfortable.”

This time I laugh. “She’s no threat to me.”

Harper laughs with me. “No, she’s not and she never will be.”

I pat him on the shoulder and shoo him in the direction that
Angelica went. “Go on, I’ll wait for you here. I want to look around a little
more.”

I turn away, not wanting him to see the look of yearning on
my face as he walks away. I trust Harper, I do. I trust him more than I’ve ever
trust another man maybe even another human being. But the look on Angelica’s
face—the look of possession and lust—remind me too much of the way he looks at
me.

Trying to clear my head and silence my warning bells, I turn
my attention back to the works of art in front of me. A particularly colorful piece
catches my attention and I smile. I recognize this work from the time I spent
in art therapy.

“…and it’s the original,” A gruff voice says beside me.

I shift my focus and realize the man speaking isn’t actually
talking to me. Before I can sigh with relief, the younger man he is talking to
pipes up. “Are you sure? I can’t quite put my finger on it but something
seems…off.”

Without thinking, I inject myself into the conversation. “Actually,
you see this little rose right here? It should be blue. The name of the painting
is frequently confused with its sister painting where the rose is red. However,
because he is wearing this tiny little bell here? It means that the rose is
meant to be blue.”

The men look at me with what may be confusion, but I don’t
give them a chance to voice it. I flash my thousand-watt smile and continue
moving through the various rooms.

After a few minutes, I find myself standing in front of a
beautiful metal sculpture. The creation is all jagged lines and rough edges.

It’s raw…more unrestrained than anything I’ve seen in my own
sculptures. For some reason I want to reach out and touch it, to stroke those
unfinished edges as if I could absorb the creativity that I find there.

I reach out, my fingertips tingling, itching for just a
little contact.

“Miss, do you see anything that you like?”

I pull my hand back so fast that my elbow pops. Next to me,
a passerby chuckles under his breath and I blush, turning to face the older
woman who was speaking.

Just being close to her makes me smile. She smells like warm
cookies and looks like Mrs. Claus. If Santa were a plastic surgeon who used his
tools liberally. She is fit and tight. Her thick, silvery hair is pulled back in
a neat bun and her make-up is immaculate. Every stitch on her body is in place.
Even without looking down, I know her shoes have red soles. They are black
heels almost as high as mine.

“Sorry, you probably aren’t allowed to touch, right?” I’m
blushing lightly but I keep my chin level, refusing to hide my face.

“That’s not it at all. You are perfectly free to touch.”
Mrs. Claus grins and leans in with a wink. “Especially some of our live pieces.”

I blink, stunned. Did she say what I think she did? The
thought that this high-class, older woman might have a bit of inner kink makes
me feel strangely comfortable. As if I didn’t realize it but, I was worried
about the amount of fun I could have when I got to be her age. Right now,
something inside me relaxes and I offer her a genuine smile. “I’ll keep that in
mind.”

She laughs and I relax further. “I’m sure they would be
happy to be touched by the famous Fallon Opal. Oh, did you think I didn’t know
who you are? You’re a celebrity, honey. People know who you are all over the
world.”

She winks at my surprise and I can’t help but giggle. “Well,
I think that’s a good thing.”

“I have no doubt that it can also be a bad thing.”

She says it with such a sad tone that I reach out and touch
her shoulder without thinking. She brightens immediately and for a minute I’m
no longer worried that Harper and I got separated.

This is a safe place, I tell myself, pushing the inkling of
concern I feel deep into the back of my mind. No need to freak out.

“I’m Jayme, by the way. Jayme Rockbell. My sister and I own
this little establishment.”

“You have a lovely gallery, Jayme. I never knew art could be
so…”

“Primal?”

I nod, amazed that she seems to have read my mind. “Exactly.
It’s much different than what I expected.”

Jayme puts her hand on my shoulder and I force myself to
relax. She is doing the same thing that I did, and the harmless gesture shouldn’t
make me nervous. “I’m so glad that you feel that way, Fallon. I think art gets
a bad rep sometimes. People think it’s boring and stuffy.”

I feel my face heat, since that is exactly what I had been
thinking. Jayme gently ushers me through several corridors and finally we enter
a side room. It’s not very large but the walls are covered with great, large
pieces of art. We stop in front of a glass box with a bottle nestled against a
soft-looking material.

“What is this?” I hate the way my voice trembles. I hope it’s
from the awe of being around so much priceless art, as opposed to my being
uncomfortable.

Jayme takes a step away from me and turns to a line of oak
cabinets on the other side of the room. Her movements are easy and casual in a
way that speaks of a certain level of comfort that only heightens my unease. I
shake my head.

What is wrong with me?

My warning bells are screeching now but I have no idea why.
The room she led me to is maybe ten by ten. We hadn’t shut the door and no more
than ten feet away there are at least a dozen people who would hear a struggle.
Not to mention the fact that I am pretty sure I could take Jayme. People
underestimate me because of my petite body. They frequently regret it.

Jayme comes back with a pair of white gloves. Even before
touching them, I can tell they’re silk. And not a cheap blend, these are the
real deal.

She hands me the pair and gestures to the case. “Go ahead.”

My hands are shaking when I put them on. Even though I keep
trying to tell myself otherwise, something is wrong here. Something is horribly
wrong.

I turn back to the case and try to keep my breath from
sawing out of my chest. Jayme smiles politely as if she doesn’t notice but she
must have noted my distress. In my mind, her easy grin takes on a wicked gleam
but I try my best to keep my head on straight. My instincts have never been so
off the charts but I am even more afraid that I might embarrass Harper.

These people are important to him. They are rich and powerful
in his world and I want to belong.

I slide my hands over the glass case, freeing the heavy
latch that holds it still. Once the top is opened, I realize why she has given
me the gloves. The bottle in the center of the box is old. I have no idea how
to tell how old it is but I get the feeling that it might fall apart if I touch
it with my fingertips.

I lean down to pick it up but my head swims. The breath I
suck in this time is thick and I breathe sluggishly. Finally, I can’t take it
anymore. “I need to go find Harper.”

Jayme’s grin widens and I shift, trying to drop the bottle
and face her. Only, my body doesn’t want to cooperate with me. The bottle falls
back against the case and I’m vaguely concerned as I hear glass crack as if
from a distance.

Jayme tsks. “That’s a damn good forgery, Fallon. You just
cost me a pretty penny.”

I part my lips, trying to force sound out but nothing comes.
When I try to take a step forward, it’s all I can do to keep from falling flat
on my face. “What did you…” I bring my hands up, trying to smooth the hair from
my face. The gloves.

I reach up, trying to pull the gloves off my hands but Jayme
stops me. “We can’t have that happening. I don’t think you’ve absorbed enough
of the poison yet.”

The word “poison” makes my entire body jerk. This is insane.
I just met this woman, less than an hour ago. Why would she want to kill me? I
don’t realize I’m shaking my head until she catches my chin with her fingers.

“I’m sorry. I really was excited to meet you. But you had to
open your mouth about that damn painting. You made a very wealthy buyer
question my authentication.”

My mouth opens and closes uselessly. It was a casual
comment. Something I thought little of. How is that going to get me killed?

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