Rockies Retreat: Destination: Desire, Book 5 Read online

  He chuckled, slipping his fingers into her hair. “You’re welcome.”

  When no further details were forthcoming, she prodded, “So, you didn’t hook up with the starlet?”

  “No,” he growled. “I never cheated on my wife. Our marriage was on the rocks well before any media-created scandals.”

  “Why?”

  A huge rush of air escaped his lungs, the sound both tired and sad. “I’d like to say we just grew apart. We were college sweethearts, pregnant with a kid before we’d even graduated, and the book business isn’t exactly low pressure.”

  “Right, you both sold your first novels right out of college.” Violet had filled Laurel in on that little tidbit.

  “We both got three-book deals within a month of each other. We’d both majored in creative writing, so it was what we’d gone to school for, and it was better than flipping burgers.” He shrugged, his gaze focusing on the ceiling. “We had to find a way to pay the bills. Kids aren’t cheap.”

  “So I’ve heard.” This time, she waited him out. She was immune to the silent treatment—her mother was a master at it. Neil was a rank amateur in comparison. A few minutes passed, but he grunted and finally gave in.

  “Cara and I were both only children, and we’d always wished we had siblings. Neither of us wanted just one kid.” A smile twitched on and off his face. “We’d worked hard to build our careers. Cara racked up two more book deals with other publishers, and I made the New York Times bestseller list. Things were right on track and our lives were…perfect. So, when Vi was maybe four or five we decided it was time to have another baby.”

  “Did you have fertility issues?” Laurel had known more than her fair share of couples who’d hit rocky patches because of infertility.

  “No, Cara got pregnant within six months of stopping birth control.”

  The raw pain in his voice told her what was coming, and hot sympathy squeezed her chest.

  “She was in her third trimester, and we were ready for the baby to come. The nursery was decorated, I had the bag packed for the hospital…we were so damn excited.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. “She was a little worried because she hadn’t felt the baby move in a while, so we went in to see the doctor. We found out our son was stillborn.”

  “Oh my God.” She wrapped an arm around his waist, hugging him close. This was why he’d tensed up when Vi had mentioned siblings, because they’d lost a child. “Neil.”

  “She still had to go through full childbirth. They induced labor, and even though we knew she’d deliver a dead baby, somehow going through the motions made the whole thing so much worse.” His voice cracked with emotion, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. Laurel just held him while he struggled to regain his composure. “She sank into postpartum depression and just…shut me out. At first, I tried to give her space. I was going through some heavy shit too and I didn’t know how to deal with any of it. Both of us focused on Violet and buried ourselves in work. Cara slowly pulled out of the depression, but somehow she and I never really reconnected. It was like she couldn’t even look at me without thinking about the son we lost. I tried everything I could think of…counseling, romantic getaways, anything to save our marriage.” A muscle twitched in his cheek, and he looked for all the world as if he were going to cry. “Nothing really worked. She was just done with me, with us.”

  Tears burned the back of Laurel’s eyes. “I’m so sorry, Neil.”

  He pushed himself upright and continued talking. The floodgates had opened and he seemed compelled to get it all out. “I started commuting back and forth to LA to work on the zombie movies, got tired of dealing with hotels so I bought a condo to use whenever I was there, and Cara was more than happy for me to stay away as long as I wanted. She didn’t want me to come home, and if it weren’t for Violet, I probably wouldn’t have. Finally, she suggested we call it quits.” He glanced at Laurel when she sat up and scooted next to him. He shook his head. “I hate to admit how huge a relief that was, like we’d been trapped in this hellish limbo since the baby, and even though the outcome was awful, at least it was done and I could move on.”

  She looped her arm through his, craving the contact, and not wanting him to withdraw. “So how did the starlet come into it?”

  “Hell, I don’t even know.” He forked his fingers through his hair, leaving it in furrows. “She’d thrown herself at me at every script reading we did, but it was clear she saw me as some kind of trophy, and I didn’t have a single ounce of energy left to deal with her ego. I turned her down and I wasn’t nice about it. Shit, I was married, you know? What the fuck?”

  Considering her parents didn’t believe in fidelity, his answer was more than a little heartening. She squeezed his biceps. “With your relationship crumbling, I’m guessing most people would have understood you turning to someone else for comfort.”

  One hand made a slicing motion through the air. “Good for them, I wouldn’t have understood. I took vows, damn it, and I meant them. Until the judge signed off on the divorce, I was still married.”

  “But the actress was pissed about your rejection and told the media you fucked her anyway.” Her voice hardened, angry on his behalf. What a nightmare, and some woman’s bruised pride had made a terrible time in his life so much worse.

  “That sums it up, yeah. Cara and I had already filed for the divorce by the time the fabricated story broke, but the press decided I was a cheating sleaze and my wife had left me for it.” He drew up a knee and propped his elbow on it. “No one gave a damn that it wasn’t true, even though Cara and I released a joint statement that contradicted what was being reported.”

  Because news ran on sex and violence, and some guy’s innocence wasn’t sexy enough to merit mention. He was guilty, end of story. He tugged his arm away, and slipped it around her waist. She laid her head against his shoulder. “So…shittiest year of your life?”

  “I might have to slit my wrists if I ever have a worse one.” His tone was so matter-of-fact, it took her a moment to process what he’d said.

  “Wow.”

  He dragged a palm down his face. “So…that’s why I’m blocked. I had a character get pregnant at the end of the last book.”

  She bludgeoned her mind to remember which one was his last book. She liked his work, but wasn’t so big a fan that she read every novel the second it came out, and didn’t always read them in the order they were released. A pregnant character…then it clicked. “Right, the school teacher turned serial killer’s girlfriend.”

  “Yep. My editor wants her to have a miscarriage.” The words were utterly bleak. “She thinks it will up the emotional stakes and make the serial killer’s spiral out of control more relatable to the reader.”

  “Oh fuck me.” That was all she could think to say.

  He huffed out a laugh, squeezed her tight and kissed her forehead. “Yeah. That.”

  They remained there in silence for a few minutes, and she tried to think of what she could say or do that might help. All she had was tough practicality to offer, and she hoped it wouldn’t annoy him. Scooting around meant she could face him, but she stayed close enough that her knees touched his legs.

  “Okay, I want you to think about what your editor suggested.” She held up her hand when he opened his mouth to reply. “Not about the inner freak out you’d have over dredging up those emotions. I want the opinion of the seasoned writer who has skin thicker than a rhinoceros when it comes to taking criticism about his work. Would what your editor suggested really make the story better? If not, see if you can talk her out of it.”

  He nodded, his mouth tight. “I think…that’s part of the problem. As soon as I read it, I knew she was right. Then the reality of what it would take to write it hit hard, the personal cost to the man, not the author. And I know the author side of me needs to win this one, but…Jesus. How?”

  The torment i
n his gaze made her heart break, but if she was going to really help him through this, she had to get him to keep it in perspective. “I had this class in college where the professor made people draw a slip of paper from a basket on his desk. Each slip had an emotion on it, and we had to paint that emotion in any way we saw fit. That was our final project. Of course, I got inadequacy.”

  “You’re amazing. I can’t imagine you ever being inadequate.” He paused and she saw the moment the lightbulb went on. “Ah. Your parents.”

  “Yeah, good old Mommy and Daddy who hated that they ended up with an artist in their lawyerly midst, and never failed to make sure I knew it.” She loved the anger that fired in his gaze, pissed that her parents could be so unwilling to accept her. She appreciated the sentiment. “I’ve gotten over it when it comes to my work, but when my heart is involved, when I’m vulnerable to a person, there’s still that little voice in the back of my head telling me I’m not good enough, that something is wrong with me because I’m so different from my entire family, that I’ll never belong anywhere, that I don’t deserve to because I couldn’t conform, because I’m a square peg who wouldn’t trim herself down to fit in that round hole. Every other Patton managed to, so why couldn’t I?”

  The anger burned even brighter, and he linked his fingers with hers. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

  “Me too.” She patted his thigh. “But I had to rip open all those old wounds and pour what I felt into that painting.”

  He cringed a bit. “Let me guess—it’s one of your best pieces?”

  “I have no idea. As soon as I got my passing grade for the class, I burned the canvas.” She shrugged at his shocked look. “Sorry, honey, I’m not here to moralize. The bottom line is I never, ever wanted to see that piece again and be reminded of all the things I’d never be, of all the memories I’d never really get rid of or bury deep enough I’d forget them. I imagine once you’ve made it through all the revisions and edits, you’ll probably feel the same and never read that particular book again.”

  “Yeah.” Pained resignation settled over his face. “Vi’s not going to be doing the copy edits on that one. She knows what happened, and she’d have no problem figuring out that was an accounting of what I went through. Minus the killing spree.”

  “Good thing too.” She rubbed her thumb over his palm, trying to give him comfort where there really was none. “Some things just suck and are always going to suck. But you do get through them.”

  His mouth opened, but nothing came out. He clamped it shut and swallowed. “Will…will you stay with me while I do the revisions?”

  “If you need me to, yes.” She recognized what it would have taken a workaholic like him to admit he needed help to get his work done. Keeping her voice as casual as possible, she added, “You can bring your laptop over to my cabin when I’m painting, and I can come here if I’m just visualizing or sketching.”

  “Thank you,” he croaked. “I think it would help to have someone nearby who understands how hard this is and why.”

  “I’ll be here if you need a sanity check, Graves.”

  Something shifted in his expression, but she couldn’t quite pinpoint what. He tugged her forward and kissed her. The brush of his lips was lighter than a butterfly’s wing, and yet made her heart clench. He pressed her back on the bed, insinuating his big body between her thighs. He didn’t enter her immediately, just mated his mouth with hers.

  Their lovemaking was unhurried and very, very thorough. Time stretched and became elastic, the only thing that mattered in the world was Neil and the ecstasy he brought her. She climaxed so many times, she lost count. He seemed intent on touching, stroking, and kissing every single inch of her body. It was one of the few times their joining hadn’t been rushed or desperate. This was a slow worship. Sweat slipped in slow beads down their skin, their limbs tangled, sensation piled on top of sensation, every moment bringing more pleasure.

  As a thank you present for being a decent human being, she couldn’t complain.

  Chapter Eight

  Laurel’s feet were cold.

  She could find socks, but then she’d have to get up from her comfortable spot on Neil’s couch. By straightening her legs, she could tuck her feet under his thigh. Lovely. She wiggled her toes, and grinned when he cast her glance. He winked and refocused on his laptop. He’d finished everything except his screenplay, so his stress level had come down a bit in the last couple of weeks. It had been really nice to see.

  With her feet warming up, she could concentrate on the sketchbook propped on her bent knees. She was finishing up a drawing of a lark. It was a plain, rather ugly little bird, but she’d liked its song and one had hopped around through tree branches looking at her curiously that morning. So, by the time she was done with it, using her signature Laurel Patton color magic, it was going to be a gorgeous sight to behold. The way its song made her feel was going to end up on the canvas, and translate those drab feathers into brilliant plumage.

  “Hey, Laurel, you said your nephew’s birthday is in August. Are his parents having a party?” Violet perched at the small desk in the corner of the living room—her usual spot every evening when they got in a last bit of work after dinner. Tonight, she was editing a chapter of her novel based on some of Laurel’s feedback.

  “Of course.” She arched her eyebrows. “We need pictures of him smeared in cake to appropriately humiliate him when he goes on his first date.”

  “Oh, is that what we’re supposed to do when our children go on their first date?” Neil looked up, a truly maniacal smile on his face.

  “Don’t you dare!” Vi launched a pen across the room at him, hitting him in the knee. Neil looked like he was going to throw the pen back, but Laurel grabbed it from him.

  “So…why the questions about my nephew?”

  “Well, August isn’t that far away.” The teen shrugged. “If his birthday is early in the month, you’re going to miss his party.”

  “No, he was born toward the end of August. I’m headed to my brother’s place for the party right after the program ends.”

  Neil let out a breath. “Wow, we’re at the halfway mark.”

  A pool of silence engulfed the room, and Laurel was sure she wasn’t the only one not looking forward to the end of summer. Her reasons might be different from theirs, but this program had been Halcyon days for almost everyone here. Mimi had mentioned that the dynamic of the group for this round of the program was the best she’d ever seen, and she was going to be sad when everybody left. Laurel suspected the younger woman would most miss having her favorite famous horror writer in residence, but she had no doubt Mimi was right about this group. Some great projects were going to come out of this summer from both the mentors and apprentices. There was just that kind of magic in the air. Like everyone was at the top of their game, and the energy here fed the creativity.

  At first, Laurel had assumed it was just how all programs at The Enclave started, then people settled in for the long haul. But it had never worn off. She was going to have five new canvases either complete or mostly done by the time the summer ended. That never happened because she always wanted to keep tweaking her work, never quite satisfied with the results. This time? She was pretty damn happy with the final products. She couldn’t even remember the last time she was so pleased with what she’d accomplished.

  “Halfway.” Violet looked stricken, and for a moment, Laurel thought the girl might cry. She whipped around to face the desk, tension vibrating from her.

  The intense reaction made Laurel frown. “You okay, sweetie?”

  After a few deep breaths that made her thin shoulders rise and fall, the teen turned back and smiled. “Fine. It’s just going to suck to go back to LA. I like it here.”

  Her face was too pale and that grin was faked, Laurel was sure of it. But since she choked up a little whenever she thought about leaving, she couldn’t blame th
e girl.

  “I like it here too,” Neil said quietly. “I’m going to miss everyone.”

  “Do you think we’ll see any of them again?” Violet’s eyes were wide and pleading. “Can we have a reunion here next summer?”

  “I don’t think The Enclave works that way,” Laurel replied as gently as she could. “Though there’s no reason we can’t all keep in touch and try to visit when we can. Ruth and her parents are in Seattle, Helen and Pedro are in Austin. It wouldn’t be that hard to get to those places, especially if your dad’s going on a book tour.”

  He nodded. “Next year, for the book I just finished revisions on.”

  Right. The novel of pain and suffering. Then again, he was a horror writer, so technically all of his novels featured suffering of one kind or another, but this had been a much more personal kind of pain. She’d been with him for every moment of those revisions, had rubbed his back and held his shirt out of the way the time he’d gone into the bathroom to heave his guts up.

  As not-fun as that had been, it was good to feel needed. She hadn’t experienced that much in her life, especially with family. Tate had been the golden boy until long after he’d moved out of the house, so she’d always needed him far more than he’d needed her. She was used to being superfluous. Sure, she had friends scattered across the globe from all her travels, but she wasn’t essential to their lives. With Neil and Violet, she felt like she offered something they didn’t have. And not just because Cara wasn’t around—Laurel would have befriended the Graveses no matter what. She would have cared about them no matter who else was part of their lives.

  She doubted anything would have stopped her from loving them.

  The truth of that hit her hard.

  She loved them. Individually and together as a family. But what could she do about it? This summer was an ephemeral thing. She’d remain friends with Violet, but Neil? He could cut her off and that would be that. They’d agreed from the beginning that this affair/mini-relationship was only for the length of the program. A knot formed in her belly at the thought, but it was all too true. He hadn’t mentioned anything about a future together, and she didn’t know if she could be the one to reach out. That old, ugly sense of inadequacy still plagued her.