Beginning Again: Book 1 in the Second Chances series (Crimson Romance) Read online

  She went back to the living room, trying not to cry. That’s all she’d done for two days, that and try to get some sleep. It had worked in reverse. She couldn’t stop crying and she hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep since Thursday. This morning she thought she’d gotten the tears under control, but now Mason had started them up again. Damn it.

  Damn his interfering, too. He simply wasn’t right. Couldn’t be right. After fifteen years, you’d think he would know her, but apparently he didn’t. This wasn’t because she loved Collins so much. She hated him. Didn’t she? He’d done nothing but hurt her. Hadn’t he?

  Of course she’d made mistakes. But never ones that caused other people pain like this. Well, maybe leaving college and running off with Roger had hurt her parents. And his children. But weren’t they all okay with it after? Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. This wasn’t about her and Mason couldn’t turn it into that.

  He was wrong about another thing, too. She could forgive. She’d done it a lot. As he bloody well knew. This wasn’t her fault. Collins had been the one who lied. Okay, maybe he hadn’t lied. Maybe he had just kept it from her. Right. Kept from her the fact that he only came to her gallery so he could weasel information out of her about her ex-husband.

  Actually, he’d never asked her anything about Mason. Even when she’d talked about their marriage. Still, that was also the same night he …

  Enough. The pity party had to end. Collins wasn’t worth it.

  An image skittered through her brain of him feeding her grapes that day on the beach, in the perfect romantic spot for a picnic. That was quickly followed by the memory of his face in the back of the limo as he toasted their mutual success. She could hear his laugh, smell his aftershave. Her memory was as treacherous as her body. He was imprinted there, too.

  Remembering only brought on more self-pity. She needed something to get her mind off him. Some fresh air. A walk. Maybe coffee. She’d start with the pot Mason had made.

  After a cup of coffee and an attempt to tame the rat’s nest in her hair, she started toward the stairs to go out for a long walk. The metal orb Collins had made for her caught her eye. That had to go. She’d put it away in her desk downstairs and make sure Jamie gave it back to Collins when he came to pick up his work.

  As soon as she walked into her gallery she realized her mistake. Everywhere she looked she saw Collins’s work, saw how he understood the world and expressed what he felt. His compassion for the crew in the fishing boat, tossed in the storm-racked sea as they fought the implacable ocean, was evident. In the two pieces in her windows she saw his sensitive depiction of the life hidden in the prairie and she knew he understood the high plains were more than just a lot of tumbleweed and dried grass. And the Sinatra pieces. Oh, God, the Sinatra pieces. She’d never thought to ask him how he came to be such a fan of Old Blue Eyes, but she loved the work he’d done to honor the late singer.

  He hadn’t done the easy ones — not “New York, New York” or “Chicago.” No “High Hopes” with the images of the ant and the rubber tree plant. He’d picked love songs. “How Deep Is the Ocean?” combined the seas from the fishing boats with heart-shaped sea creatures yearning for the sky. “Strangers in the Night” had twisted, elongated figures of a man and woman whirling in their first dance. “Put Your Dreams Away” combined a box of clouds, hearts, and a figure closing the lid. Her favorite, “Fly Me to the Moon,” depicted a couple climbing through a whirling coil of star-studded metal to reach the moon.

  How could someone who created those pieces be so insensitive?

  She answered her own question. He couldn’t be. He wasn’t. Collins was not the kind of man who would set out to hurt her. He’d done a favor for a friend that had gone wrong.

  Just like Mason said.

  She looked at the metal ball in her hand. He’d known her less than a month, yet he understood her inside and out. Knew what made her tick. Understood how to woo her, how to win her, how to love her. Where would she ever find that again?

  What the hell was she going to do about this?

  The sound of the back door to the gallery opening interrupted her thoughts. She must have left it unlocked when she came downstairs. Without looking around she said, “Back already, Mason? If you’re here because you forgot to mention one of my shortcomings or remembered something else to say about how awful I look, I’m not sure I’m up for it.”

  “It’s not Mason, sweetheart. It’s me.”

  The Collins who stood there was not the cocky, self-assured man she’d known. Lines she’d never noticed before etched worry across his forehead. His eyes were smudged with dark circles, as if he hadn’t been sleeping either. His shoulders slumped in defeat before she even spoke.

  “What are you doing here? How did you get in?”

  “The back door was open. I’d just pulled into the parking lot when I saw you come downstairs. I’ve been here every day hoping to see you.” He put out his hand to her. “Please, Liz. Can’t we talk about this?”

  “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  “Yes, there is. I hurt you, I know, but I love you. Please.” He walked toward her, his hand still out. “I’ve never begged for anything in my life but I’m begging you — let me show you I can make this right.”

  She covered her face with her hands as fresh tears fell. When he closed the remaining space between them she didn’t have the energy to back away. He tentatively put his arm around her and, when she didn’t resist, he pulled her close, kissing her hair.

  “I only ever wanted to make you smile. You’ve had enough tears in your life. And now I’ve gone and done this by messing up like I did.” His hand gently massaging her back felt so soothing, so consoling.

  “If you’ll give me another chance, I swear I’ll spend the rest of my life making this up to you.” He studied her face, frowned as if what he saw wasn’t what he wanted to see. “If you tell me to go, I’ll leave. But I’ll be back. And I’ll keep coming back until you say you’ll give me another chance — if it takes me a hundred trips.”

  She hiccoughed a laugh between sobs in spite of herself. “That’s how you operate, isn’t it? You keep coming at me until I finally give in and do what you want.” Slowly she pulled away from his embrace. “But not this time. I’m not … I can’t … it hurt too much. I trusted you and you … “ She shook off the hand he tried to put on her shoulder. “I have to think about this, about what Mason said … ”

  “Mason? What’d he say? Maybe he was right, maybe — ”

  “Stop. Just stop. I need time. I need … I don’t know what I need other than for you to go now. Please, just go.” She disengaged from him, trying to keep the tears from sliding down her face.

  “I said I would go if you asked me to, so I will. But I’m not leaving Portland until we talk. You know how to reach me. And if you don’t call, I’ll be back.” He took her hand and pressed a kiss into the palm. “I love you, Liz. That isn’t going to change. Ever.”

  When she heard the back door to the gallery close, she ran up the steps to her apartment, still crying. Why the hell couldn’t she stop? It must be because he made her mad. But he looked so sad and unhappy just now, not like the confident Collins she knew. This Collins looked like he needed someone to hold him and tell him it was going to be all right. If he hadn’t hurt her, she’d be the one doing it. Putting her arms around him. Kissing his sweet mouth. Letting him kiss her back. Listening to him tell her he loved her. Telling him she loved …

  Oh, God, telling him she loved him. All the tears in her body couldn’t wash away the simple fact that she loved him. Probably always would.

  This was a hell of a time for her ability to face the truth to return.

  She stood inside the door at the top of the steps to her apartment, realizing what she’d just done. He said he loved her. But did she really think he’d keep trying when she’d s
o adamantly pushed him away, not once but twice? She loved him, but she’d never told him so. Was it too late? She had to go after him, to find out.

  Throwing open the door, she barged through, almost pushing him backwards. They would both have tumbled down the stairs if he hadn’t grabbed her arm and then the handrail.

  “Whoa, where are you — where did we both almost go — in such a hurry?”

  “What the … ? I heard the back door close.” She rubbed her eyes like a child to clear away the few remaining tears.

  “It broke my heart to see you crying like that. I couldn’t leave. The gallery door was still open so I came up the steps from there. I was just about to knock on the door.” He bracketed her face with his hands. “That’s what I was doing. What are you doing?”

  She sniffed back the last tear. “I decided I might as well avoid the hassle of throwing you out a few dozen times and give in to the inevitable. Save myself some emotional turmoil.”

  He enveloped her in his arms and breathed out a huge sigh. “Thank God. You know I would never give up. Not when it comes to you.” He pulled back, then lowered his head and gently, very gently, kissed her. Without lifting his mouth completely from hers, he said, “I love you. I’m sorry I hurt you like this. But I never will again. I promise.”

  She grabbed his arms and dug her nails in. “You’re damn right you never will. I’ll never let anyone use me again. Ever. Not you or anyone else. Do you understand?”

  “I understand, sweetheart. If I ever do anything that feels like I’m using you — other than maybe for great sex — you have my permission to remind me of this conversation.” He winced as she gripped his arms tighter. “Although the scars on my arms from your nails will probably do the job.”

  “We have not yet reached the point in this apology where you can joke about it.” She released her grip on his arms, but wasn’t sure what to do with her hands.

  “Tell me when we get there, will you? I love to hear you laugh.” He tried to guide her arms around his waist, but she still stood stiff and unyielding.

  Closing her eyes and dropping her forehead to his chest, she said, “You drive me crazy, you know that.”

  “In only the best ways, I hope.” He lifted her chin and kissed her again, this time not so gently.

  Giving up all pretense of resisting, she relaxed into his arms, where she realized she’d wanted to be all along. “Mason said you did something that might get you disbarred. Is that true?”

  “He’s exaggerating. I didn’t betray any lawyer/client confidence. Just brokered a settlement between the two parties. No big deal. I thought if I got it cleared up, you might look kindly on me and forgive what I’d done.”

  “Mason was pretty impressed by it.”

  “Then he’s easily impressed.” He brushed his mouth across hers again. “Can we go into the living room? The stairwell’s a little cramped.”

  When they got to the couch, he held her for a long moment. “So, we okay here?”

  “We’re getting there.”

  “What can I do to get us closer?”

  “I need to take a shower and wash my hair. And I need some sleep, maybe something to eat. Then we can talk about it.”

  “How ’bout I take care of you for the afternoon? Let me wash your hair, get you some food, and rub your back so you can sleep.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “But I want to. Let me.”

  She did. He ran a tub full of hot water, knelt by the side, and washed her hair. Then he dried her with one of her thick, luxurious towels and wrapped her in a cashmere robe. After she eaten the grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup he fixed for her, he coaxed her to the bedroom and tucked her under the covers. He lay down beside her and rubbed her back until she was on the edge of sleep.

  Drowsy, curled up on her side, she asked, “Will you be here when I wake up?”

  “Where else would I be?”

  “Getting your things from the hotel.”

  “They’re in the car. I’ve brought them with me every day. I’m an optimist.”

  Her laugh was soft and sleepy. “You’re the most maddening man, Collins.”

  “It’s Michael.”

  That brought her back from the edge of sleep. “What’s Michael?”

  “My name. It’s Michael Collins Thompson. I avoided Wolf Tone Thompson, which is what my brother’s saddled with. Our parents admired Irish patriots.”

  She smiled. “You didn’t have to … ”

  “It’s my last secret. And yes, I did. If I can’t trust you with that, how can I expect you to trust me?” He kissed her. “I love you, Liz.”

  Reaching up to touch his face, she whispered, “Thank you. And I love you, too — Collins.”

  In the mood for more Crimson Romance?

  Check out Infamous

  by Irene Preston

  at CrimsonRomance.com.