Tattooed Hearts (21 page)

Well, that didn’t help one
bit. The idea of Forrest stroking the hardness of his arousal while thinking ab
out her sent a shot of heat to the tip of her breasts,
causing Claire to squirm in her seat. She was relieved when the waiter brought
their wine and took their order.

The rest of the night flew
by faster than a fighter jet. Time was a thief. They shared a
basket of fries, drank too much wine and managed to catch
up on ten years within a couple of hours. Laughter was shared. Here and there
between the calm
space
of an old friendship
rekindled, a touch of melancholy rested on them, but overall they stayed con
nected, in a trance. So much so they failed to notice the
onlookers who glanced at them, or the sun dipping lower on the horizon as
stygian darkness took over the sky
,
or when the street lights clicked on.
When Forrest proposed they walk down two blocks to
a
nearby bakery for dessert, already half-delirious with pleasure and not wanting
the night to end, Claire held on to him again and moved at a relaxed pace about
the village the short distance down to the bakery.

A bell on the door rang
when they entered
the cozy gourmet boutique. The
place was simple, high ceilings, wide plank floors, and wooden walls. Inside
smelled of rising yeast, fresh cinnamon, and rich brewed coffee creating the
feeling of a never ending warm embrace. Although she was full from the
dinner and perhaps just a little tipsy from the wine, the
delicious display of treats was too tempting to pass up. A staff member greeted
them and exchanged a few friendly words with Forrest.

“What can I get for you,
Doc?” a young man with shaggy blond hai
r asked.

“Hey, Tim,” Forrest
greeted warmly.
“Two of your
c
afé
au
lait
and one beignet.”

“Make that two.
Mine with chocolate filling.”
She elbowed Forrest’s
hip. “I don’t share my sweets.”

“Two chocolate beignets
then,” Forrest said, rubbing his hip with
feigned
pain. “We’ll be by the fireplace.”

“Excuse me.” A girl with a
blunt bob cut and pierced eyebrow
appeared from the kitchen. Claire
guessed she had to be in her late teens or early twenties. The girl looked at
Forrest, but her eyes lingered on
Claire. “You’re
Claire Peters.”

Claire smiled.
“Yes, I am.”

The girl paled and for a
second Claire thought she was going to pass out. Good thing her date was a
doctor.

“I have all your records.”
She played with her apron pocket. “I just wanted to tell you
that I think you’re so talented and we’re very proud you’re
one of our own.” She smiled shyly. “I sing and one day would love to be like
you.”

Maybe it was the fact that
she was sharing this magical night with the man she loved, or the fact she'd
never los
t sight of how much she had managed to
achieve in the last ten years, but her heart softened to the girl. She’d always
known part of it was due to a little bit of luck. Sure she worked her ass off
and knew how to sing, but had James not discovered her that
night, who knew where she’d be right now.

Her heart squeezed at the
girl’s nervous jabber. Once upon a time she’d been the somewhat timid girl with
dreams to make it big. “What’s your name?”

“Amber.”

She shook the girl’s hand.
“Do you have anything recor
ded?”

“Um... No.”

“Amber performs with a
local band on the island sometimes,” Forrest informed.

“Do you? That’s awesome.”

The girl
smiled shyly
.

“What’s your favorite song
of mine?” Claire asked with a smile.

“Oh, there are so many. I
loved your last recor
d though.
All the remakes with your own twist.
Pure classic.”

One of
her favorites as well.
A tribute of her love for eighties and nineties music.
“Why don’t you come to
Vapor Friday night? I’m performing there. We’ll sing a song together and…” The
last wo
rds were lost as Claire found herself squeezed
in a tight embrace.

“I’m so sorry,”
a flustered
Amber apologized.

Claire chuckled. Hell, she
still got star-struck. “It’s okay.”

“Thank you.” Amber shoved
her hand in the pocket of her apron. “I don’t think I’
ll
sleep tonight.”

“You’ll sleep. I’m just
like you.
Nothing special.”

“Thank you, Ms. Peters.”
She hesitated then gave Claire a
nother
quick
hug and disappeared into
the kitchen. 

“That was sweet and you’re
pretty special,” Forrest said as he led her to a
table. This time he slid into the seat right next to her.

“I was her at one time.”
Victoria’s words replayed in her
head
.
Claire shoved them away.
“I caught a break.”

“Don’t sell yourself
short. You’re talented and you work your butt off.” He tucked a
wayward strand of hair behind her ear. “Did I tell you how
beautiful you look tonight?”

Straight from doing the
kick step, her heart performed a funny little beat in her chest. Claire tilted
up her face to look at him. “You might have casually said somethi
ng during dinner, but please don’t let me stop you from
speaking your mind.”

“You’re beautiful,” he
said, voice low.

Her breath hitched. “Be
careful, Doc. The friend-zone line is getting blurry.”

Forrest didn’t seem to
mind. He stilled, lowered his head,
and brushed his
lips against her bare shoulder, burning as they made contact. His
sandpaper-rough stubble scratched her skin, stirring the all-consuming need to
be in his arms, under him, over him. Claire moaned and would have devoured her
date had he not
pulled away and turned his attention
to the young man with their desserts in his hands.

Picking up the freshly
prepared pastry, she took a bite of the deep-fried dough sprinkled with
confectioner’s sugar and moaned.
“Oh,
my God!”

“Delicious,”
Forrest said
as he drank his coffee.

“God,
yes.”

He laughed. “You said God
twice. Sounds–”

“Orgasmic,” she finished
and enjoyed the way his jaw clenched. She licked chocolate from one finger,
then another, her eyes on him the whole time. “Not quite.” She took
another b
ite. “But I love.”

Their gazes
held,
his heavy-lidded with
heat. “You’re tempting, Claire.” One rough thumb caressed her cheek.
“Always have been.”

Emotions swirled deep and
strong inside her. “What are you going to do about it?”

“I don’t know. For now, le
t’s enjoy our desserts.” Turning his attention to the plate
in front of him, Forrest picked up the beignet and took a large bite. Then he
closed his eyes and groaned. “You’re right, this is good,” he said, and
took a sip of his coffee.

The sight of his mou
th on the cup had her mind galloping off to X-rated
scenarios, because those lips looked delicious.
Soft and kissable, while the rest of him looked hard and
strong.
A tortured man in repose.

“Forrest,” she said after
a long beat of absolute silence.

Slowly
his eyes opened and he looked at her again.
“Yeah.”

There probably would not
be a goodnight kiss as she hoped, and that was okay. She wanted to claim that
permanent spot in his heart again. But for now, this moment, the two of them,
sitting side by side o
n the late winter night,
drinking coffee and eating a sinful, calorie-filled dessert was more than
enough. “I had fun on our non-date date.”

“Me
too.”
His voice revealed nothing, but then he smiled, it spread
to his eyes, and happiness filled her belly.

Chapter Seventeen

“The head never rules the heart but just becomes its partner in
crime.”

Michael Mclaughlin

Forrest swore under his
breath. His gut coiled into a
tight
knot as Claire continued
to rake his brain. For starters, during their “non-date” date, as she referred
to last night, he had to deal with the image of her on her
back,
eyes closed, and palm on her apex
pleasuring herself with him in mind.

Pure
fucking tor
ture.
He let out a deep breath.
He’d gladly give away all of his possessions to watch next time.

Then there was her
laughter, the kindness she’d shown to Amber. That side of her didn’t surprise
him
. S
he’d always been kind, but it was good to learn Hollywoo
d hadn’t changed her much. Oh, the way she ate that fucking
beignet. The whole time he had wanted to be the one in her mouth instead of
that damn pastry. And when she was done with all the teasing, tasting, licking,
and swallowing, he’d wrap his arms aroun
d her and do
whatever floated his boat.

Fuck!

Yeah, he needed one of
those. Only he’d sworn off the only person his body craved. Grabbing his coat,
he stepped into the crisp cold air. Snow fell gently from the dark, cloudy sky.
He drew a deep breath and ex
haled, a frosty mist
flowing from his mouth like smoke. But his body seemed impervious to the frigid
weather. Ah hell, every inch of him simmered for Claire.

He should have kissed her.
A month ago, their kiss, the sex, had been full of urgency, now he year
ned for slow and deep, the feel of her mouth against his.
Skin on skin.
Maybe one more time to get her out of his system.

But he’d want more.

Nope. Not gonna happen. Foolish desire would not sweep him
down that icy river to who knows where again.

Ever.

Som
ething squeezed his gut and
hit his heart. He’d always want her. He ached for her, probably would always
ache for her.

Shit!
Where Claire was concerned, maybe he needed to wave the
white flag and accept he was an inmate for life. No chance for parole. His
emotions forever fucked up.

He glanced at the clock in
his Jeep. Six o’clock. Unlike him, she was probably still sleeping. He picked
up the phone anyway,
keyed in
her name and stopped. He shouldn’t.
They had fun last night, but that’s all it was. Claire wa
s a runner. He’d been there, done that, even bought the
T-shirt. He wasn’t interested in a repeat performance, best to leave things as
they were. Sure he understood why she reacted the way she did that night.

Kind of.

Not entirely.

If she trusted what they
had, she would have come to him and let his love be her
sanctuary.
She was eighteen.
Impressionable,
easily bended.
Still, ten years to finally come forward—and let’s not
forget she had a life in Los Angeles. Sooner or later, she’d leave again. Then
what?

Always running
.
Just because she finally
told him what drove her to bail on him didn’t mean she was ready to stop. From
the night she left, she’d rarely looked back.
A day or two here and there for a wedding, Christmas–if her
schedule allowed it, but her
visits were always
quick.
In and out.

Until now.
A month later, she was still here. But it was temporary.
Just like she’d become.

Forrest massaged his
temples to suppress the bitch of a headache he felt coming.

Besides, they were in the
F
-zone, well, maybe not quite the friend zone. Amiable was
better suited–friendly, pleasant. In either case, friends didn’t do lust. More
importantly, he knew better than to act upon it. He was logical, balanced, and
his heart wasn’t going there again. At t
his point,
he’d lost track of how many times he’d reminded his heart it wasn’t up for
grabs.

He sounded like a broken
record.

Still, he wished he’d
kissed her. The brush of his mouth on her shoulder didn’t count, and definitely
wasn’t enough. Hell, he pro
bably shouldn’t have done
that either, but the temptation had overwhelmed him. Her skin,
smooth
brown and glowing by the
fire, had begged for him to touch, to feel. Claire continued to squeeze at his
brain, obliterating the thinking he needed to wheel-and-
deal and shut her out. This middle ground between lust and logic was not
good for his sanity. Neither was the semi-hard-on he was sporting.

Forrest stirred, aching.
“Fuck, Claire,” he swore and pressed the
TALK
button. Her name glowed
on his smartphone. He
was screwed.

“Hey,” she greeted him in
a melodious voice still heavy with sleep. “Why are you up so early?”

His mind shifted gears and
accelerated to what she might look like right now. He knew she liked to sleep
in those little short shorts and a tank, h
air pulled
in her usual ponytail. Her nipples were probably hard under the soft material.
Removing his glasses, he scrubbed a hand over his face instead of banging his
head on the steering wheel like he really wanted. “Heading to the farm,” he
answered, ho
ping that his tone didn't show how
sexually wound up he was.

“Oh. Need help?”

“Aren’t you in Chappy?”

“No. I stayed in town last
night.”

She was in Edgartown. Way
too close. Within fifteen, twenty minutes tops, he could be at her door, get
that kiss and be on his merry way back to Vineyard Haven. But he’d want more.
A quickie would do too, up
against the wall, on the sofa.
Whatever,
as long
as he was buried in her.
He groaned.
His only savior was the
fact she was staying at Charles’ house and he had no desire to set foot there.

“Jason texted last night
to let me know the boat couldn’t cross over,” she continued.

After they took the ferry
bac
k, he had driven off as soon as she entered her
car. Leaving no crack in the window of opportunity for him to change his mind
and drag her to his house. But he should have known she wouldn’t be able to
cross Norton Beach. Due to the crazy winter, it tended
to freeze at night. She was so close.

“We stayed out too late, I
should have thought of that.” But everything about Claire, the evening, had
been spellbinding.

“Not too late at all. I
was having a ball.” She let out a short laugh,
then
said, “I didn’t wan
t the night to end.”

“Me neither.” His balls
just left the building. He was officially a sap. “Listen,” he said, snapping
the short silence between them. “I have to go.” Better to end the call now. Who
knew what he’d say next. Maybe,
I’ve
been sporting a boner since you told me you were going to touch yourself and
think of me.

“Want me to meet you?” she
asked quietly.

His heart stopped for a
moment. He needed to get that annoying organ fixed. He blamed it on the
unexpected offer.
It
was tempting and
threw h
im off
his axis a bit. “You’re terrible at farming.”

“Not true.”

The stubbornness in her
voice only made him want her more. “You can’t even milk a cow.”

“I don’t like touching any
other nipple but mine, and that’s only when necessary.”

He could almost see
the teasing glint in her eyes and that made him laugh.

“And yours
. Possibly between my
teeth,
”
she added in a soft, warm voice.

The semi-hard-on he’d been
suppressing officially went into a full, massive erection.

“You taught me how to
harvest beets. Do yo
u remember that?” she continued,
as if she hadn’t intentionally put that image of his nipple between her teeth
in his brain.

“I remember.” He shifted
slightly, adjusting himself.

“How old was I at that
time, nine, ten?” she asked, laughter in her voice. Th
e
sound warmed his blood.

“Ten.” He’d been thirteen
and thought she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. Almost two decades
later, he still felt that way.

A short silence fell
between them. Each lost in the time capsule of their youth to the day whe
n he had found a clueless ten-year-old Claire practically
covered under a large straw hat kneeling by the line of beets ready for
harvest. Lowering next to her, he had removed the hat and shiny black hair fell
to her waist. Her face scrunched into a scowl.

“Have you ever picked any vegetables or fruits?” he had asked.

She shot him a look as if he was a thirteen-year-old idiot.
“Of course.”

“On a tree?”

She looked blankly at him.

“You know, on a ladder?” he continued.

“Well, no. They were low so I just picked them.”

Forrest nodded and chose not to go into details of what lay ahead
for her. “You can pull the whole thing out like this.” He demonstrated. “Don’t
remove the top. Beet greens have a delicious and distinctive flavor.”

She giggled. “You’re such a nerd.”

“They also hold more nutrients than the roots,” he continued,
ignoring her comment.
Most of the time he paid her very
little attention anyway.
They were only talking now because Jason had
asked that he help her out. Wherever his best friend was, she was never too far
behind. He long ago accepted hanging with Jason meant having Claire around. “At
least that’s what my parents tell me.”

“I knew that,” she responded, but the smile on her lips told him
she was thankful for the explanation.

He returned the smile and placed the beet in the nearby basket.

“I fell in love with you
that
day
,” Claire said over the
line, pulling Forrest away from the snapshot of something that happened almost
twenty years ago, yet managed to stay so vivid in his mind.

“You were too young.
Maybe a crush.”
At least that’s what he
and Jason had decided to call it after he’d confided in his friend and told him
how his breath had caught at the sight of her like that. Of course he also
promised to kill his best bud if he so m
uch as
breathed a word to Claire. Up until that moment in the garden, she had been a
nuisance.

“No, it was love,” she
said firmly. “Just like when I was fifteen, seventeen, eighteen, all the years
in between, after, and now.”

Forrest’s head fell back
and h
e closed his eyes. After a second or two, he
focused his gaze on the fallen snow. Everything around him was calm and quiet,
nothing like the turmoil inside him.

“Claire, when you love
someone, you don’t run.” His parents taught him that. Now he wondered ho
w much of that pertained to their relationship. Had his
father known about his mother’s affair with Charles?

If so, when had he found
out?

His gut clenched.

“I know,” she said after a
heavy sigh. “Back then, I was...”