Chasing Stars (14 page)

Breathless, I pull back. My lips curve up. I hold her face. Her eyes are glimmering and her cheeks are flushed. She looks stunning and all I can think of is my desire to consume her.

“And I can’t have enough of those lips.”

“Hmmm…I can live with that.” She smiles.

I compose myself, and adjust that shirt of mine that she’s wearing on her slender body. I search for her eyes and feel confident for a minute.

“So, I take it that you aren’t upset that I brought you to a church?” I drape my arm across her shoulders.

“Nah, this is different than what I am used to, and I like different.” She hooks a finger on a belt loop on my jeans, and we stroll up the grassy hill.

“We live behind the church,” I explain and point to the ranch house tucked in the woods.

“Oh, so, this is home.” She smiles. “The first day we met, you told me your Manhattan place is where you slept.”

I swing the door open. “Yeah, this has been home for me, since I was sixteen.”

“Nice place.” Her eyes scan through the tasteful, yet simple decoration of the house.

“Let’s go to the basement, I want to show you my room.”

We walk down the stairs. I watch her as she examines my room. She approaches the bookshelf, where I have stowed a collection of every movie she has been in.

“Interesting movie collection.” She nudges me and points to it.

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself. It is homework. Watching you and getting your vibe before sketching the tattoo.”

She holds one of the movies.

“I think you should have gotten an Oscar for that role.” I hug her from behind. “And that’s not a biased opinion, you know.” I nuzzle her neck.

She reaches back, her fingers run through my hair. “God, I am so happy you aren’t married.” She spins to face me, her eyes flash all kinds of flames.

I pull her to me and her feet leave the floor. Her face levels with mine, my lips seal hers. I walk backward until I stumble on the bed. I recline on the mattress, pulling her with me. She straddles me and her soft tongue enters my mouth while her hands skim under my shirt. She grinds on me, and I tighten my hold. I feel consumed by her heat and her curves.

I hear voices upstairs in the kitchen. I sit up with a jolt, Portia on my lap. She leans on my shoulder, her hands flattened on my chest. Our breaths are intertwined, but irregular.

“Your heart is beating so fast,” she whispers.

“It’s been like this since I met you.” Wow, too much, too soon. “Let’s go upstairs.” I jump up with her in my arms, and then place her down.

We climb the stairs and she’s in front of me leaving me to check out her ass. Wow, I have to learn to control my hormones around this woman. Holding hands, I drag Portia to the living room.

Dan, Maritza and my cousin Lucas wait for us.

“Will, I heard you brought a girl home.” Maritza embraces me and kisses my cheeks.

“This is Portia.”

Of course, Maritza squeezes and kisses Portia. I chuckle because Maritza is overly affectionate and very touchy.

“Portia this is Dan,”

“What a pleasure to meet you Portia. Will said great things about you.” Dan embraces her.

“Now that’s an understatement. Portia is
all
Will talks about lately.” Lucas says pulling her to a bear hug. I could punch him for the embarrassing comment and for embracing her so tightly. Damn this thing called jealousy.

“It’s a pleasure meeting you all.” Portia says with a broad smile.

“So you are the famous actress Will tattooed, huh?” She ushers Portia to the kitchen, which I take as a cue to go talk to Dan. Maritza will inquire the hell out of Portia.

“What a lovely young lady.” Dan says.

“She is gorgeous. How did you score her Will?” Lucas asks.

“My good looks.” I say with a smile.

“Yeah, right.” Lucas chuckles and sits on the couch.

“Sorry for being late this morning.”

“No problem, you have a good reason, I see.” Dan grins and points toward Portia.

I sink on the couch and Dan turns on the TV. A sports reporter talks about the approaching football season. Although my eyes are on the screen, my ears follow the conversation in the kitchen. Stunned, I hear Spanish words rolling out of Portia’s lips. What the hell? She is fluent in Spanish. That alone will be enough for brownie points with Maritza. I have no idea what they are saying, but I hear Maritza laughing. She is amused at whatever Portia is telling her.

Mel walks into the kitchen. I see her as she stops and glares at the two of them, before joining us in the living room.

“Hey,” I greet her as she sinks on the couch next to me.

“What’s up with that?” She raises a brow to the kitchen.

I shrug.

“Will, do you know how Portia learned Spanish?” Maritza and Portia walk into the living room.

“My nannies in LA were mostly from Mexico,” Portia explains. “One of them often took me to Guadalajara when she visited her boyfriend, which afforded me the opportunity to become fluent in Spanish.”

“She pretended to be the daughter of her Mexican nanny, so she could play with the local kids on the streets of Guadalajara.” Maritza sets a tray with ice tea on the coffee table.

I gesture to the empty side of the sofa. “Come here.”

“Portia, your mother, she didn’t mind?” Maritza sits next to Dan on the loveseat.

“No, uh, Mom was usually on location filming. She never found out, or never cared. I am not sure which.” Portia shrugs and flashes a tentative smile. Her words are nonchalant, but for a second I see a storm of emotions cross her eyes. It seems to go unnoticed by the others.

After pouring ice tea for Mel and Portia, I lean back and my arm finds its way around Portia’s waist.

“Did Tim call, Mel?” I inquire. “Mel’s husband is in the army and he has been deployed to Afghanistan,” I explain to Portia.

“Yeah, he says hello to you all.” She drinks her ice tea.

We spend the remainder of the day talking and laughing. Maritza did nothing to conceal her approval of Portia, while Mel shot her a menacing stare at every opportunity. Dan did what he does best. He charmed Portia with “Yes, sweetheart,” followed by his genuine grin.

After the drive back to the city, we walk back to the shop with our fingers woven together. I bring her hand to my lips and kiss it. It is surreal, to me, how Portia is down to earth and ordinary.

I don’t fool myself. I know she is like a shooting star. But today, I won’t dwell on that. I will just enjoy the time I get to spend on this ride with her.

“God, I haven’t had good authentic Latin food in a while. I will have to double my workout session tomorrow.” She bumps into my shoulder.

I open the back door of my studio and usher her inside. Earlier I offered to drive her home, but she declined and asked if she could hang out for a while longer.

I suspect her family is not in New York and she is lonely.

“So, your father lives in the city, right?” I latch the bolt. “Do you want some coffee?”

She smiles. “Yes, coffee sounds good.” I prepare a pot as she strolls toward my canvases.

“Dad remarried and has three daughters from his current marriage.” She puts her hands on her jeans. “They are in The Hamptons.” Her lips twitch slightly; she does that when she is nervous, or uncomfortable. I assume her relationship with her family is strained.

She points to the unfinished painting of Mel. “Amazing the way you captured her soul through her eyes.”

“Mel is transparent.” I smile, standing next to her.

“Can I sketch you one of these days?” I tuck her hair behind her ear, my fingers skimming along her cheekbone.

“Really? Heck yeah.” She blinks twice, her expression full of excitement.

I give her cheek a gentle kiss and chuckle at her eager eyes. I spin on my heels and go to fetch the coffee. If I start kissing her now, I won’t be able to stop.

From the kitchen, I see her forehead crease as she examines my paintings. I swear that throughout my life I have never felt so insecure about my artwork until this moment. She pauses, and stares on a painting I named “Winter Loneliness.” The picture is of a blurry gray night with a single barren tree next to a brick bridge under a disturbing sky. The picture is a major piece within my collection.

When I paint, emotions urge my brush as my fingers move across a blank canvas. Many artists can be more objective about their work. But me? I am just a bundle of emotions, subjected to the speed of the sentiment dictating to me.

“Your work is unbelievable,” she says and her voice is full of wonder.

I hand her the coffee. “Thank you.”

“Longing? Is that what I see in your work?” She approaches the canvas of a ruin built from bones. Bright blood drips from a few of the brittle bones. Her eyes wander through the canvas on an extensive examination.

“Huh, is that what you see? Critics have used many adjectives, but I don’t recall the use of that particular word.”

“There is defiance and despair, but a sense of hope ever so small that it clings to the fabric of the canvas. I don’t know, but there is something beyond the visible, a melancholic yearning, I guess.” Her insight and perception of art surprises me.

She analyzes the picture of winding and thorny bloody roses that spill from graves. I bite the inside of my cheek and watch her closely. Tucked at the far end is the canvas I have worked on for the last few weeks. Her eyes flick back to me for a moment.

“Will, is that…?” she says.

I stand next to her. “I named this piece ‘asteroid of hope,’ I haven’t it finished yet.” The canvas presents the image of a girl lying on a field under a black sky. Her blonde hair spills on the grass and her fingers reach for a star. It conveys the brokenness of a human daring to reach up.

“Will?” she whispers after a long silence.

“Yeah?” I freak out. I'm afraid she will think of me as a creep who is prying into the tidbit of personal stuff she entrusted to me.

“Can I spend the night?” She looks up at me.

Taken by surprise, I inhale deeply. How to explain to this beautiful woman, that it is not as simple for me as it is for her and that I won’t violate my vow.

“Portia, I don’t think—”

“I am not trying to seduce you, Will. I promise. If that’s your concern.” She faces me and her eyes are sad.

What do I say to that? With every blink, she changes and this vulnerable side of her is appealing. My hands settle around her hips and my forehead rests on hers. “Portia, don’t think that I don’t want to be with you. You know…I do. But it is just more complicated for me.” I can’t have her sleeping with me.

“I am not looking for sex, Will. I just don’t want to be alone,” she whispers.

The rooted desperation of her voice unravels me. “Oh, woman, I’d love to spend the night with you in my arms.” I exhale. “Even if it kills me.”

I seek her mouth. Her lips tremble under mine and, in response, my body stirs to life. I interrupt the kiss and smile, “You can shower and use my shampoo. Hopefully, there won’t be a smell patrol tomorrow.” Portia giggles and I bite her lower lip.

She sways her hips to the bathroom and I follow her. Opening the cabinet, I hand her a towel.

“Will, I don’t want you to do anything to break your vows or whatever it is you call it.”

“I know, baby.” I kiss her, and shuffle out of the bathroom.

The irony is, the snippet of information sends a wave of relief through me, but also, makes me very, very disappointed. Go figure.

I shower, brush my teeth and hair, and get dressed using all of Will’s things. Stunned by a surge of new emotions, I inhale and stride out of the bathroom. Will is shirtless. Wow. My heart ceases to beat for a split second, only to start thudding again faster and louder than before.

This man will be mine. Can’t he sense the electricity pulling us toward each other? I smile at him. Time is all I need before he yields to the obvious magnetic force uniting us. I can play his game. And, the best part is, I know who the winner will be.

“I am going to shower too.” He tilts his head, clenching and unclenching his fist. He is checking me out. Well, well, Mr. Will, this should be an interesting night.