Villa Blue (12 page)

Only, his presence did mean something, just as the comfort she felt in that presence did.

Her mind was a jumble—it’d gone from being blank to being fogged over with desire, to being overwhelmed by Chanel No 5 and the mannered manipulation she’d forever associate with that scent, the scent of her mother. As she churned over old conversations, old arguments about her duty to be a good wife, to overlook her husband’s—ex-husband’s—indiscretions, that being an artist wasn’t really a career, she stomped upward.

“You’ve been great,” she told Aiden when she finally felt like speaking again. “Really, you have. And thank you so much for the night zip lining. It was amazing of you to arrange.” There was a hint of sadness in her words that she hadn’t meant to share, so she kept quiet the rest of the way up.

They reached her studio that was black except for a pearly reflection of the crescent moon on the glass.

This time it was Aiden’s voice that broke the silence. “My father is a mean son of a bitch a lot of the time.”

Ivy looked up to Aiden’s eyes that were dark from the night. He was providing comfort through camaraderie, that much she saw clearly on a day when everything else had been murky. “Is he?”

“He’s successful and has built his life from nothing. But when he’s not busy making money, he’s busy being a tyrant. It’s who he is,” Aiden told her. “We do our best to be whoever we are despite, and maybe a little because of, who our parents are.”

It just wasn’t fair that the man was confident, genuinely sexy, and found a way to understand what hurt her most. It wasn’t fair that a man could be all of those things because it was making her want for things she’d long since let go of. “You’re right. That’s a good way of putting it. I really am sorry about tonight.”

“The only thing I’m sorry about is that we didn’t get that champagne.”

“We didn’t, did we? I’m sorry,” she said then let out an exhausted, breathy laugh. “That was the last apology. And thank you for sharing about your father.”

“Sweet dreams, Ivy.” His hands skimmed up her waist and his head dipped down, meeting her lips with his. The kiss was slow at first, lingering, gentle, then when the kiss deepened, he felt her surrender to it.

Swallowed by the shadowed night, two people on the top of a hill shared a breath, a kiss. Tongues tasted, mouths moving together in a moment that lit them from the inside, lit them with life and desire, forgetting all else.

When he pulled back—and God, did that take effort—he laid one more kiss on her lips then looked at her, into her, waiting for even the slightest hint of a smile.

When it came, he returned the smile, nodded once then walked off through the darkness toward Villa Blue.

With the frayed edges of her mind soothed by Aiden, Ivy felt somewhat bad about the less than stellar reaction to her mother and sister’s presence on Parpadeo.

So she waited in the dark for them at the main entrance of Villa Blue and while she did, she felt the buzzing memory of Aiden’s lips on hers, tasted him, still, on her tongue, and again imagined what it would feel like to be with him. Would it be a wild rush? A steady roll of thunder? A hot and sweaty ride?

Admittedly, she was intrigued. He’d left her intrigued, she realized, appreciating that she understood, not bothering to hide her enjoyment of that fact.

Helen and Iris appeared hours later and a little bit toasted from a lot of wine. When they arrived, her mother barely uttered more than snide pleasantries, and her sister trotted toward their mother through the villa that was quiet with sleep.

Iris’s loyalty had always been with Helen—they’d been inseparable since Iris’s birth. Ivy, on the other hand, had always flittered between being who she is on the inside, and who her family wanted her to be, then later, who her husband wanted her to be, on the outside.

But that wasn’t entirely true, Ivy knew. She wasn’t a puppet. She was an adult who’d understood what people she cared for wanted from her, and she’d given it to them for many years. Her choice, she reminded herself.

But something had happened after she’d found the crack in the façade, the affair her husband was having. She’d become a brand new version of herself through that chasm and it was uncomfortable for those around her.

She no longer needed to sacrifice who she was in order to console others. They were all adults now too and could take responsibility for their own comfort and perspective. And if they didn’t appreciate her for who she was, that had to be okay too. She was making the choice to simply be herself regardless of whether or not it was understood.

And knowing that, she felt better, less weighted by expectations she could never live up to, and more importantly, had never really wanted to live up to.

She strode through the courtyard, breathing in the quiet scents of sleeping flowers that blossomed covertly through the dark like a pretty array of little secrets.

And she bloomed to life with an idea.

Instead of returning to her studio, she strolled back into the villa’s kitchen that was lit only by the cool LED nightlight, pulled a bottle of champagne from the wine fridge, then scribbled a note that she’d taken it and would replace it. After a quick check of the guest log for Aiden’s room number, she floated up the stairs and down the length of the hallway.

When she reached his door, she knocked calmly and with clear intention, followed by a fast flutter in her belly.

And there stood a man—bare chest, easy eyes, and raw strength.

“Grab a blanket and let’s go outside and drink this? I know a perfect spot.”

Aiden needed no more an invitation. He tugged blankets off the bed, slipped on a pair of shoes, and followed Ivy through the quiet villa, out into the serenity of night.

Chapter Eight

In that small slice of life between what was and what would be, between the years up until that moment and the years that would follow, Ivy settled onto the square of soft fleece that Aiden brought from his room. Together they sat beneath the stars, the open sky, still hearing the songs of crickets in the distance.

Soon Aiden would leave for wherever his travels took him, as Donatella had reminded her, and soon she would have her first major gallery show in San Francisco. They both had their own lives, their own directions.

And knowing that there were no expectations beyond the moment, she let go of any shreds of fear that her life could change. She liked it just the way it was—living at Villa Blue, painting, eating ice cream whenever she felt like it, not leaving her studio if she didn’t feel like it. She was free to be herself, which she hadn’t truly felt before moving to Parpadeo.

And wasn’t it fascinating that, while she’d been afraid of losing that freedom, Aiden really had only ever been beside her—interested and interesting, kind and guiding, confident and very, very talented with his mouth. Around him, she felt like a sensual woman who was liable to purr whenever he touched her.

And she was damn well free to do so.

He poured champagne into the paper cups she’d thought to grab as they’d strolled through the sleeping villa. The bachelorette party girls, the couples, her mother and sister, Donatella, all had been asleep, or at least they’d dimmed their volume for the evening.

And in the dark, underneath the textured white of the moon, she smiled.

“Cold?” Aiden asked, handing her both of their now full cups so he could toss the other blanket he’d grabbed over their legs.

She’d shivered, but less because of the chill in the air, and more because of the unexpected thrill that pulsed through her. She handed one of the cups back to him and pulled up the blanket he offered. “Better, thanks.”

She sipped champagne, feeling the bubbles play in her mouth as she let her mind play with the idea that she was under a domed and starry sky, in between blankets with a half-naked man she barely knew. “I think I’m a late bloomer,” she announced, continuing on the streak of sharing her inner world.

His laugh was subtle but quick. “Yeah?”

“I guess you weren’t in my mind so there wasn’t much of a segue, was there?”

“I’ll keep up.”

“I was just thinking that I got married when I was barely twenty, married five years, now I’m divorced. But it’s funny because I kind of feel like a kid again, like I’m figuring things out from a new perspective. Or maybe I’m just having a midlife crisis. Well, not a crisis, a good crisis. A midlife awakening.”

“You’re hardly midlife,” he pointed out.

“If it were an image, it would be two worlds that bleed together—like a cityscape and a field of flowers—and I’d be that line in the middle that is both the tops of buildings and the roots of flowers. Or maybe I’m just being dramatic.”

“Who’s to judge?”

A full smile filled her face. “Who’s to judge, I like that.”

When a lazy call of an island bird crooned in the distance, it caught their quiet attention.

Time moved to a different rhythm in the dark, she decided. Like a different drummer took over the beat of things. Usually she loved losing track of time, as it was a sign that she was lost in a creative zone, lost in her passion. But now, somehow, time mattered. “How much longer are you on the island for?”

“Couple days,” he told her, taking a drink. “Then back to New York, then on to somewhere else.”

“You don’t know where?”

Something in his face changed. Even as the moon dipped behind a drifting cloud that mellowed the light, she saw it.

“Maybe London. Not sure. My father’s been looking at a property in London so that’s my guess.”

“Do you like working with your father?”

He scratched at the stubble that covered his face like a shadow. “I get paid well to travel around and pretty much do what I want, what I’m good at.”

“But it’s complicated?” she added, wondering.

He made a noncommittal sound, set down the paper cup he’d drained of champagne. “I’m not much for complicated. I just leave and do my own thing when things with him get complicated.”

“And with women? Same thing?”

Dead center, he thought. “You’re an insightful woman, Ivy Van Noten. Insightful and brave.”

“Brave?”

“Not very many people have the fortitude to start over, to do it with so much grace. And to do it in a place like this, away from where most people live.”

Now her head leaned back as she laughed, the blond waves of her hair swaying with the movement. “I get your company, a cup of champagne,
and
your compliments? If you’re trying to feed me charm, you don’t need to bother.”

“I’m not feeding you anything. You have a full life here, Ivy. It’s oddly appealing.”

“Oddly?”

“Odd for me to think so,” he corrected. “You have a good thing going here.”

“I do.” She scanned the island that slept around her, the sea that shimmered silver. “I’d never felt a true sense of
home
before I moved here.”

“Home,” he repeated. “Yeah, that’s a good way of putting it. You seem very at home here.”

“Your face keeps changing. Even in the dark I can see it but it’s hard to describe. Why is that?”

“Why is it hard to describe?”

“Why does it keep changing?” she asked again. “But you knew that’s what I was asking.”

“I did.”

She set her cup down then laid back, pulled the covers up to her chest, waited for his response while she sniffed at the ocean breeze and studied the sweet scattering of stars.

He scooted down as well, took in the same view. “I guess I’m wondering what it’s like to feel a strong sense of home. I’ve never really craved that, or, hell, never even wondered about it.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. And I guess I’m asking myself that question too.”

She maneuvered onto her side, propped up to face him.

He hadn’t considered those questions, maybe ever. He’d only ever been one to go, to get out, to get away. He was the oldest brother and the most adventurous, maybe because he’d also been the one most likely to bear the brunt of their father’s tirades. “I’m kind of the nomad of the family.”

She yawned, smiled sleepily. “We’ve both gone rogue from our families.”

He looked over to her, watched her eyes struggle to stay open, then pulled her close. Her body tucked perfectly into his, like two pieces of a complicated puzzle coming together. “I guess we have.”

One hand around a woman who had somehow managed to inspire questions he’d never thought to ask or answer, and one hand behind his head as he watched occasional stars shoot through the sky, Aiden James wondered what the hell had changed.

Something had, he thought, as his eyes closed to the world and he fell into sleep.

Just as dawn cracked through the chilled darkness with a quiet call to awaken, Aiden cupped Ivy’s face that was inches from his. He’d watched her sleep for those few moments, then watched her stir and slowly slide her eyes open.

And when her ripe, unpainted mouth curved into a sleepy smile, his body responded.

“Morning,” she said, her voice as gentle as the wisps of clouds that gathered above them.

“Morning.”

His lips met hers, sampling, teasing. And when her mouth opened, his body tightened and he reached his strong arms around her, scooted her closer.

Their movements mingled, mouths touching simply, sweetly, then as if overcome by curiosity, by desire, they moved beyond what was simple into straight need for the other.

Beneath the blanket that kept their warmth between them, he reached down and felt his way up her body, lifting her shirt, unhooking her bra, and finally, finally feeling her skin naked against his.

Cool air, brought on by the morning that hinted around them, caressed their faces as their heated bodies touched. Her mouth was supple, silky, and when he reached down to tug off her pants, to reach her, he heard her whispered breath utter his name.

She reached down for him, feeling her way along his stomach, around the waistband of his jeans. Heat rose and his muscles hardened as her fingers worked to unfasten buttons and push away material until clothes were removed and only the softness of woman and blanket remained.

Her hands, her capable hands, skimmed along his body and when he saw a spark in her eye, that spark of wanting, he decided that instead of devouring her, instead of bodies pulling and pushing one another in a race forward, he would take his time with her. He would do as he desired, feeling his way around her body and finding what delighted her, what excited her.

He rolled her onto her back and started with her alluring face, trailing a thumb along her jaw line, then over her lips where he watched intently as they parted, imagining them on his skin. A rush hammered through him, storming his system.

He dipped down further to her neck, ordering himself to go slow, sampling with his lips along the way. He traced the soft lines that led to the swell of her firm breasts, hearing her breath catch as he paused to play with her nipples. He lingered, listening to her subtle sounds of pleasure.

Aiden kept going, trailing down between her breasts, over her belly button, then down lower until he reached the heat that he craved. Her hands pulled through his hair, gripping, as he laid gentle kisses, surrounding, teasing, then plundering and playing with mouth and tongue.

She arched and he heard his name again—gently, desperately—as he felt her body shudder, tense, then release on a gasp for air, for more.

Unable to wait, to wonder any longer, he rose to face her then drove into the liquid heat. She’d gone molten beneath him but had come alive again in a combustion of smooth, silky flames. He watched the way light and pleasure, torment and demand played on her face, in her eyes.

Her legs wrapped around him, drawing him closer, and he tossed off the blanket—too damn hot—and their sweaty bodies slid together. Senses collided—cool air, the velvety warmth of her surrounding him—as her hips raced with his.

In a rush that pounded through him, he felt her once again soar over the edge with a shudder and gasp, and he followed, emptying into the heat and flying right along with her.

“Water,” she breathed out.

“Champagne’s all we got.” He handed her the bottle and with eyes unable to focus yet, he watched the blur of her maneuver to sit up and drink from it.

“I think I just swallowed a bug that slept in our champagne.”

“Protein.” He took the bottle she offered and drank generously.

He set it aside and lay back under the drifting clouds. She followed suit and, next to each other, naked body to naked body, they watched the sky turn purple then pink, the golden sun sneaking above the horizon, sending soft splashes of color onto all it touched.

She really was swimming, she thought. Swimming like a mermaid through a sea of color. She felt weightless and more open than she’d ever felt. “Two. Two orgasms. That’s what I had.” Her relaxed laugh drifted with the faint sound of waves that crashed below. “I can’t talk yet.”

“We’ll go for that five you mentioned next time.” He’d finally begun to focus and he slid a look toward her, finagled limbs and blanket to keep her close and warm.

“I’ve never even had two before.”

“You’re kidding,”

“Not kidding. That was… Aiden James, you’ve got moves.”

Now it was his turn to laugh. “Feel good?”

“Feel great. Amazing. I’ve never had sex outside before either.”

“Okay, now I know you’re kidding.”

She propped up on her elbow, looked at his face, and felt twinges of satisfaction that he’d just been inside of her. The idea of it vibrated through her already buzzing body. “Never before.”

“Ivy Van Noten, you’ve got some living to do.”

Her sparkling blue eyes turned sultry. “How many more days are you here?”

He gave her a little tug so she fell against him.

Smiling, she kissed his mouth, then kissed it again, then gasped as she pushed back. “Oh my God, I almost forgot. I have to get paintings to the gallery this morning. Oh my God.”

Ivy pushed to standing with a look of pure panic on her face. “I can’t believe this. I have to go. I have to… I have to make sure the frames all look okay, that the matting is all still intact. Oh God.” Her fingers pressed against her eyes as her mind spun, attempting to gain traction.

Aiden rose, wrapped the top blanket around her body, though he was sad to cover it, as the view of her was infinitely more fun to look at than the view of the harbor. “I’ll help. It’ll be fine.”

He tugged on his jeans, leaving the top button undone, then grabbed the heap of her clothes.

“I can’t ask you to help, Aiden.” She began walking toward her studio, her mind already thrusting ahead.

“You don’t have to ask. And it’s done. Tell me what you need.”