Chapter Seventeen Elliott
Chapter Seventeen
Elliott
The book actually worked. Whether it was the dull, never-ending descriptions or the sheer physical and emotional exhaustion of the day, she’d never know, but either way, she was asleep ten minutes after climbing into bed.
It backfired, though, in spectacular fashion. Because even though she drifted into blessed slumber, she also dreamed about Jamie.
It was inevitable, really, that she’d fall asleep to the mental image of his shirtless torso composed of muscles stacked in perfect rows. As she drifted off, her memory took her back to the night they met, the meddling bitch.
Of course, things went very differently this time. Better, as dreams usually went, and she went straight to the moment when he’d rasped those desperate, desire-tinged words into her mouth.
“ Come home with me. ”
She sucked in a breath at the feel of his tongue tracing her bottom lip. “Okay.”
He stilled. Lifted his head a few inches.
Their gazes collided. “Okay?”
She nodded, and in the next second was being pulled along the sidewalk behind a huge, sexy man, power walking as if he were in some sort of competition. His hand was warm and large, his fingers threaded between each of hers.
He led her to a black truck in a nearby parking lot. The lights flickered when he unlocked it. She thought he might open the door for her, but instead he grabbed her face between his palms and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her lips.
Elliott fell back against the door with a moan, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. He pressed into her and gripped her thigh just above her knee, pulling her leg up and around his waist. Fire exploded in her belly, and she tangled shaky hands in his hair, pulling and tugging like a crazed, horny teenager.
“I need—” he started, but she captured his lips again, swallowing the words.
“I know,” she murmured, shifting her pelvis.
He groaned and lowered his head to her neck. His facial hair grazed the tender skin of her neck. “I need to get you out of here.”
Somehow he slid their single, entangled unit of bodies far enough to the side to get the door open. She fell into the seat and cupped her hand around his neck, pulling him halfway into the truck. They were nothing but tongues and lips and teeth.
And hands. Good God, his hands.
“I can’t drive like this,” he choked out. He pulled away, his eyes twinkling when she let out a squeak of protest.
He was in the driver’s seat so fast he must have jogged around the truck. He took one look at her, and at the fire burning in his hazel eyes, Elliott snapped.
She jumped on him. Literally. Twisted around, hurdled over the console, and straddled him.
“Fuck,” he said in the best way. His hands went straight to her hips, pulling her as close as they could get in this position, and sucked her lower lip into his warm mouth.
Her hands slid under his shirt, tickling up his ridged abs and to his chest. He shuddered, kissing her harder for a beat before dropping his head back. “Elliott.”
She traced his earlobe with her teeth. “Hmm?”
“ Let me get you home first. Please. ”
“ No. Figure something else out.” She glanced in the back seat. “Looks roomy enough. ”
“ I’m six-three. ”
She straightened and rolled her eyes. “Show off.”
He laughed, his bright eyes taking in every inch of her flushed face. “You’re so damn beautiful.”
Her chest ached. “Yeah, this needs to happen now.” She tried to pull her legs out to climb into the second row, and her back hit the steering wheel, sending the blare of his horn into the parking lot. They both froze.
“ Oops. ”
Jamie’s eyes darted through the windows. When he seemed convinced no one was around, he gripped her hips in his palms. “I can’t have sex with you in the back seat of my truck.”
“ Why not? ”
“ It doesn’t feel right. ”
“ I want you to. ”
He closed his eyes and inhaled a shaky breath. “If someone saw us ... we could get arrested.”
“ Why, are you loud? ”
“ Shit,” he muttered, a sexy smile tilting his lips. “What am I going to do with you? ”
“ Take me in your back seat, I hope. ”
His fingers flexed, his thumbs pressing against her hip bone just shy of the point of pain. He studied her, as if trying to read her face.
She’d already said it out loud. Twice. It was his call now.
He nodded quickly. “Okay. Just let me ...” He reached around her to turn on the ignition. With Elliott still straddling his lap, he leaned to the right and slowly moved to the back of the lot to a darkened corner, away from other cars.
When he flipped the engine off, she grinned and traded his lap for the bench seat in the back. He reached into his console and held up a condom with a cock of his eyebrow and somehow maneuvered his large body to join her.
His fingers slid through her hair, sending tiny shivers of sensation down her spine. He pressed his forehead against hers. “Sure about this?”
“Yes,” she whispered, and sealed her lips to his.
Today wasn’t a good day.
She’d had good days and bad days since moving to Omaha. On good ones, Elliott felt confident, fulfilled, and energetic. Usually, those were days she met with a client (which, thankfully, had become a more frequent occurrence), worked at Starbucks, or when she holed up at a local café or coffee shop to work on a design project she was excited about.
On bad days, loneliness crept in. She missed her parents, missed Yuka, and got inside her head. She questioned if coming here had been the right choice, stressed over the next lab draw and oncologist visit, and wondered if the cancer would come back and she’d just die of leukemia anyway.
What if all this progress was pointless in the end?
She’d promised herself she wouldn’t run back home to Lincoln all the time, because that defeated the purpose of trying to do life without the constant support system she’d depended on for so long. Even if they vehemently denied it, they needed a break from constantly watching over her, too.
But for some reason, the absence of those she loved the most hit hard today. She wasn’t sure why, but the fact she’d had dreams of Jamie almost nightly the entire week since she first went running with Hank probably didn’t help matters.
Reminders of how things could have been if she’d made a different choice that night had been relentless.
Stephen had texted her a few times, too, which probably should have made her feel better. A nice, attractive guy who’d taken her out wanted to keep talking and see her again. But instead of agreeing to a second date, she’d stalled with an excuse about a deadline for a new client.
She spent the morning texting with Yuka over breakfast, then decided to finally go look for art for her apartment. Her parents’ house was full of paintings they’d collected from all over, and one in particular hung in her old bedroom. She’d spent countless days in bed, too tired and sick to get up for anything except to pee, and the bright colors in that painting had always been a source of comfort. Maybe having some color on her walls here was what she needed to feel more at home.
She got dressed and drove to Dundee, the historic neighborhood Jamie had told her about. Her budget was limited, and she figured she was more likely to find something she could afford there than at the fancy galleries in Old Market.
The artist co-op opened at ten, and she must have been one of the first people in the door because the large room she entered was completely empty. Paintings hung on every wall, with even more propped on tables or along the floor. A few sculptures dotted the space, and the middle of the room was filled with tables of jewelry, soaps, and other handmade goods. Elliott slowly made her way around the room, reading the little cards next to the paintings to learn about the artist and their piece, and to take note of the price. Some were completely out of her range, while others seemed to be priced well below what they were probably worth.
She kept going back to one of a mountain range, hanging next to the window. At least, she was 99 percent sure that’s what it was. The shapes were fairly distinguishable with a flat foreground and triangular, jagged structures jutting into the sky, but the use of color stood out in its nonconformity. Instead of green, brown, and blue, the canvas was awash with pinks, oranges, purples, as if the pine trees were peach and the rock faces a bright magenta. Occasional golds and charcoal-gray imitated shadows, with a few strokes of emerald green and white here and there, but not where you’d expect.
Nothing about the images were typical, yet she knew exactly what she was looking at.
“What do you think?”
Elliott jumped at the voice and spun around. A woman sat in a dark-green chair near the back, smiling and waving.
Elliott pressed her hand to her racing heart. She crossed the space. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you when I came in.”
“Don’t worry about it. I kind of blend in back here.” The woman, who wore a long, colorful skirt and her salt-and-pepper hair in a braid down her back, gestured to her wrapped foot. “I had a little accident and can’t get around well right now, so I’m sort of stuck.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“I’m fine. Even if my husband disagrees. He made me stay home the first week, but I told him I’d divorce him if he tried to stop me today. He’s already called me twice.” She rolled her eyes. “Men.”
Elliott laughed, liking this woman already.
“But I can still tell you anything you want to know about the art or the artists who show here. Did you have any questions?”
“Actually, I’m interested in that mountain painting at the front. Do you know if the artist has any more like that? I was hoping to buy a few.”
The woman smiled. “As a matter of fact, that one’s mine. I have more, but they’re at my studio. I’m here most of the day, but if you had time tomorrow I’d be happy to meet you there and show you what I have.”
“Really?”
“Of course.” She handed Elliott a business card that said, Maureen Miller, Painter with Heart . “The address is on there. How’s two?”
Elliott grinned, her mood lifting. “Two would be perfect.”