Chapter 11
11
Zara sat at the easel in the loft and painted. She’d gotten the idea after leaving the Witherspoon Café that morning and walking to the shipping district to watch the boats come and go.
She’d always enjoyed walking along the pier and when she saw the arts-and-crafts store, the only one in the cove, she decided to do something she hadn’t done in a long time. That meant she would need paints and brushes. She was glad to see Ms. Fanny, who’d owned the place for years. The older woman said she could recall when Zara would come in as a little girl with her mother to get her art supplies. Zara remembered those days as well.
When she returned to the cottage, she’d taken a leisurely swim in the bay. Once she began painting, she hadn’t known where her creative thoughts would lead her, until her paintbrush began moving across the canvas. A short while later she wondered what had possessed her to paint the vacant storefront she’d seen earlier that day. She hadn’t reproduced just an empty building; she had worked with different colors and painted what she visualized as another one of her boutiques.
She paused to study the image and saw how this one was different. The storefront was classier than the others, chic while still maintaining that classic Catalina Cove look. It had a French flair with flower planters, triple awnings and a huge sign that read, Zara la Vogue, the French translation of Zara Fashions—which was different from the other stores she owned, all named Zara’s Fashion Boutique.
She decided there wasn’t anything wrong with a little daydreaming and over-the-top thinking. That was what it would be for her to even consider opening one of her boutiques in this town. The space was way larger than all her other shops, which meant she would consider it as the main store. But she didn’t want to move back to the cove. It had been easy for Vaughn to come back here to live, but it wasn’t that easy for her, especially after living in Boston.
It wasn’t that she absolutely loved Boston, because she didn’t. She detested the cold winter, and then there was the traffic that seemed to be more horrendous each day. So was the cost of living. Although she and Vaughn would be considered wealthy by most people’s standards—considering the proceeds from the oil business her parents sold when her father retired, the trust funds, as well as extensive properties she and Vaughn jointly owned in Paris—they’d decided to work and not to live extravagantly just because they could afford to. Between the two of them, they had established several foundations for their charitable work.
That was one of the things she and Maurice had disagreed on. He was the grandson of a wealthy businessman and could be just as snobbish as her parents had been when it came to social classes. Now that she could reflect on her two years of exclusiveness with him, she could see the old Zara had tolerated a lot of things that the new Zara wouldn’t.
That included her bedroom experience, which she’d assumed was okay and acceptable. Not anymore. The three hookups with Saint had satisfied her more than her sexual encounters with Maurice. That night spent in Saint’s hotel room had been the hottest sexual experience of her life. She had been left thinking nothing could be better than that.
She was proved wrong when she’d seen him at Vaughn and Sierra’s celebration cookout, and then again on the night of their wedding. Each time was better than the last. That was probably why she was feeling antsy now, and the reason a spike of heat had settled right between her legs.
Since she didn’t have Saint’s cell number and he didn’t have hers, there was no way to know if the hookup would be tonight or even if it would happen this week. She’d basically let him know at breakfast that he was welcome at any time.
Since meeting him, other men had tried capturing her interest. So far, none had done so. She hadn’t met another guy with such a deep and strong attraction like she felt with Saint. Her attraction to him was even stronger than what she’d felt for Maurice. And in the bedroom...well, although she tried not to compare, in all honesty there was no comparison. It was Team Saint hands down, or bodies down. Each and every time.
She also enjoyed the times they spent just talking, over wine or cuddling in bed. Like Vaughn, Saint had a strong background in finance. She’d also discovered he was good when it came to problem-solving. The last time they were together she told him about the issue she was having with the landlord of one of her shops. The man was refusing to make necessary changes to the building that he had agreed to do.
Saint suggested since the landlord was being difficult to call his bluff and tell him she would not be renewing her lease. If that didn’t work, and if she really liked the location of that shop, she should buy it. Owning the property would be a better deal since it would be a valuable long-term investment.
She had followed Saint’s suggestion and called the landlord’s bluff. It worked. However, the idea of owning the buildings of all four of her shops was appealing. Already her attorney was looking into making that happen. More than anything she would love to own her shop in Boston on Newberry Street, a popular shopping, dining and entertainment district. She’d made offers to buy it twice and had been turned down both times.
She could have easily gone to Vaughn for his advice, but she knew her brother. Whereas Saint was a problem solver, Vaughn was a fixer. He would have wanted to handle it for her instead of letting her handle it for herself. For the most part, Vaughn accepted her as the independent woman that she was. However, he clung to this belief that when it came to the women he loved, a man had to handle business for them even if they were capable of handling it for themselves.
Three hours later, Zara stood and stretched her body. She decided to stop painting for a while. Sierra had dropped by earlier with her favorite soup and turkey sandwich. It had been too much to eat for lunch and she’d saved the rest for dinner. Moving over to the window she looked out at the bay. It was such a spectacular sight. Simply awe-inspiring. Peaceful. Now more than ever she understood why her mother found it easy to paint here. It was the perfect getaway. And... she thought as a feeling of intense longing flowed through her, it was also the best lovers’ hideaway.
She’d been with Saint two other times at this cottage and was definitely looking forward to a third.
Saint parked his car beside Zara’s rental and got out. While having dinner with his parents he had spoken with his mother about staying out of his love life—or trying to remedy his lack of one.
She had again expressed to him how much she wanted grandkids. However, as he’d already told her, he wouldn’t get into a loveless marriage to have them. There had to be love, and presently, he had no intention of falling in love again.
Saint looked around and took note on how secured the property was. He figured Mr. Miller had made doubly sure of it since his wife and daughter had spent so much time on Pelican Bay. The property was resplendently landscaped and the brick walkway that led to the pier was adorned with all kinds of impressive rosebushes that were native to the area. He immediately recognized the noisette roses, tea roses and Bourbon roses, mainly because his mother grew the same kind in her rose garden.
The pier was wide enough for two couples to walk side by side. The floor was made of redwood cedar, which was the best type of wood to prevent decaying due to moisture. Decorative ornamental iron railings lined both sides, which gave the pier a very distinctive look. Zara had told him the first night he’d visited the cottage that the pier was a mile long and you could barely see the roofline of the cottage at the halfway mark. And speaking of the halfway mark, that was where the main pier jutted out to narrower piers on both sides. Wooden chairs were in place so you could sit and enjoy a spectacular view of the bay.
He paused when he saw that one of the chairs had a blue towel draped across it. That made him wonder if Zara had gone swimming from the pier earlier that day. He’d never seen her in a swimsuit and the thought of her in one had sexual energy pulsing through his body. He resumed walking, knowing every step he took brought him closer to the cottage and to her.
Saint didn’t have to figure out what was going on between him and Zara. They both were satisfied with the arrangement they’d agreed on. He didn’t worry about who she was with when they weren’t together and vice versa with her regarding him. They didn’t have an exclusive relationship. They’d each had that before and it hadn’t worked out.
Why was he constantly reminding himself of that lately?
He pushed that question to the back of his mind when he saw the cottage. Although she’d said her father had had it built for her mother as a wedding gift, Saint thought it was a perfect reflection of Zara. It was impressive, stylish and captivating, with its pitched roof, wraparound porch, adilynn arch windows and landscaped yard. A varied mixture of flowers surrounded the cottage and made it look like the perfect retreat.
Or as it was sometimes being used...a lovers’ hideaway.
Once his feet touched the brick walkway leading to the porch, he recalled the last time he’d come here, the night of Vaughn and Sierra’s wedding. Zara had given him the key to let himself inside, and he’d arrived before her. Within minutes of her opening the door and walking in, he had her naked, sprawled across the bed and that gorgeous mane of brown hair spread across the pillow.
He wasn’t sure if she was expecting him tonight or not. No plans had been made. However, she had made it pretty clear he was welcome, and he felt damn good about that. Since he didn’t have her phone number there was no way to let her know he was coming. He would talk to her about that. He felt it was time for them to at least exchange numbers.
When he reached her door, he could hear music from inside—namely, the soulful sound of Aretha. He lifted his hand to knock. Once. Then again. The door opened and there she stood, wearing an oversize T-shirt, shoeless with her toes painted a bright coral that matched her fingernails. Her hair was tied back from her face, and he was tempted to reach out and set it free to see it flow around her shoulders.
Standing before him was the epitome of his fantasy woman. He suddenly felt a surge of emotions that made his entire body ache. But then he quickly recalled their agreement.
No emotional attachment. No commitment. No expectation of anything other than the moment.
“You came.”
Did she think he wouldn’t? “Yes, I came,” he said, as his gaze raked over her.
His strong desire for her should be unnerving. However, it was the only thing that did make sense right now. The sexual chemistry between them seemed stronger than ever. They failed miserably each time they tried working each other out of their systems.
His chest expanded when he recognized the T-shirt she was wearing. His. The New Orleans Saints shirt he’d given her that first night in the hotel room. It hit her midthigh and she looked so damn sexy in it. He could clearly see the outlines of her nipples and they were hard, pressing against the cotton fabric. And he had a feeling her bra wasn’t the only thing missing underneath that T-shirt. Not that he had any complaints.
She stood aside for him to enter and he got a whiff of her scent. When she closed the door, he turned to her, opened his arms, and she walked right into them.