Jayden’s Hope: MacKenzies of Montana Page 8

  “I’ve seen how much your paintings sell for,” she said. “It’s not in my price range.”

  “Consider it payment for being my muse for the next few weeks. I can be bossy and demanding when I’m working.”

  “No,” she gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. “Surely, you jest.”

  “I knew I’d missed something over the past couple of weeks. That smart mouth haunts me.”

  She couldn’t help but grin. “My dad always said if something is worth doing, it’s worth doing right.”

  She had such fun with him. The little time they’d spent together had never been dull. It had been filled with conversation and playfulness. They’d listened and learned about each other. He was interesting. How many people could she say that about from her life in New York. They’d all been drones, kowtowing to Derek’s every whim. None them had an original thought, and most of their wives had been chosen for their fortunes or their looks instead of their brains.

  “I want to start on the back porch. That porch swing is perfect, and the light is hitting just right.”

  “And you’re just going to…paint?” she asked.

  “No painting today,” he said. “I’ll do a series of sketches at first to see what clicks for me. And then I’ll do a more detailed drawing. Once I have that I’ll start painting.”

  “You know I have to go to work at some point. I can’t just dedicate my life to sitting for you.”

  He smiled and pushed the sliding doors into the walls so the area was open from inside to outside. The weather was perfect and cool, just a hint of fall in the air.

  “Pity,” he said. “I guess I’ll just have to come over every day when you get home from work. I’ll bring dinner, and then you can kill two birds with one stone.”

  “You’re going to make me dinner?” she asked.

  “Absolutely not,” he said. “I unfortunately inherited my mother’s cooking talents. But my Aunt Cat owns and restaurant and catering business. She’s an excellent chef. All I’ve got to do is stick it in the oven.”

  She was feeling self-conscious. She was wearing gray lounge pants and a matching button down top in the same color. Her hair wasn’t fixed and she wasn’t wearing any makeup. There was nothing about her that was worth all this time and trouble.

  “The air is a little cool, so you might want to grab a blanket,” he said, handing her the cerulean afghan that was laying across the back of the couch. “And maybe a book to use as a prop.”

  It was fascinating to watch, the transition as he changed from a regular person to an artist. His eyes sharpened, and there was an intense focus behind them, telling her he already saw everything clearly in his head.

  “But my clothes,” she said.

  “No, they’re perfect. Nice and casual and relaxed. That’s the real you. Just be comfortable.”

  He told her where and how to sit on the porch swing, and he brought her a couple of pillows to make her more comfortable. He was fast and efficient setting out his supplies, and she was curious to know what he was using. He had a black box filled with various kinds of pencils and charcoal.

  He moved the lounge chair across from her to the angle he wanted, and then he looked at Winston. “Go find something to do? When we’re finished you can have an extra piece of meat for dinner.”

  Winston licked his lips and then went inside to lay on the rug.

  “That dog understands way too much,” she said.

  “Shhh,” Jayden said. “He doesn’t know he’s a dog.”

  He’d been drawing her from memory the past weeks, so the angles of her face and curves of her body were familiar.

  He worked quickly, doing loose sketches until she became more comfortable. She didn’t consider herself worthy enough to be captured like this. It was easy to see that she didn’t recognize her beauty. If anything, she only recognized her flaws.

  In her mind, her looks were what they were. She had a sharp wit and quick mind, and that more than made up for anything she lacked in her appearance. But it was that uncharted knowledge, that humbleness that was so appealing. There was a naivety about her.

  “Tell me about your dad,” he said. “You were very close?”

  “Very,” she said. “He was tall. Like me. I’ve always been told I favored him, and I’m glad. It’s nice to look in the mirror and see his eyes.”

  “It’s one of the first things I noticed about you,” he said. “You have those beautiful dark eyes. They’re a touch heavy lidded and your lashes are lush. Bedroom eyes.”

  He glanced up in time to see her blush and look off into the distance. She’d not gotten enough compliments in her life, and he made a vow to change that.

  “The dark eyes and hair as light as yours is an unusual combination.”

  “The hair comes from my mother,” she said. “She’s Swiss. Very pale and delicate looking. My father was the complete opposite. Dark and swarthy. So handsome. They were a beautiful couple.”

  “But not happy,” he said, knowing it intuitively.

  “No, but I don’t think that was ever their goal. They both came from prominent families and it was a good match.”

  “You make it sound like feudal England,” he said.

  “Things haven’t changed that much between the wealthiest families.”

  Jayden tucked the comment away for later.

  “Dad wasn’t like anyone else,” she said thoughtfully. “He never cared about the money. They called him a black sheep, and his father even disowned him. But my dad was a man of integrity. He wanted to make a difference, so he joined the secret service out of college and worked his way up. He protected two presidents,” she said with pride.

  “But he was gone a lot, and my mother was embarrassed by what he did, so I got stuck with a nanny and she went back to Switzerland for a time to be with her family. When he came back he had no clue where she was, or who the woman watching me was. I was six years old, and he turned in his resignation on the spot. That’s when Declan MacKenzie hired him.”

  “He sounds like a great man,” Jayden said, shading in around her mouth. Her smile had softened as she was talking about her father, and he wanted to capture the sweetness.

  “He was,” she agreed.

  “Did your mother ever come back?” he asked.

  The smile disappeared and frown lines marred her face. “Eventually,” she said, and left it at that. “She’s never been part of my life. Not unless she had an agenda.”

  “You’re angry at her,” he said.

  “Oh, yes,” she told him. “Very. And I’m thankful every day she’s out of my life.”

  He turned to a new page in his sketchbook. The light had changed and a soft afternoon drizzle had started to fall. It wouldn’t last long. It never did. But he changed the focus of his new drawing to her face—from those bedroom eyes to the sexy mole at the corner of her mouth.

  “How’d you break your nose?” he asked, rubbing the tip of his finger on the crooked line he’d just drawn.

  “Car wreck,” she said automatically, but her voice had gone flat. She didn’t volunteer the fact that Derek had been driving them home from a party, far too drunk to be behind the wheel of a car. He’d been in a mood and wouldn’t let anyone talk him out of driving, and none of the crowd he ran with tried very hard anyway.

  He’d been angry and belligerent because he’d seen a man talking to her at the party, and he was sure she was having an affair with him. It hadn’t seemed to matter that Derek was making the accusation with another woman’s lipstick on his collar from a quick tryst he’d had in the bathroom. And it didn’t matter that the man he accused had only been asking if she wanted a refill on her drink.

  Derek had railed at her the entire way home, his anger growing until she saw stars from the backhand he gave her. That was what broke her nose, but it had only been seconds later that he’d smashed the car into a light pole. It had been easy enough to blame the broken nose on the car wreck.

  “I didn’t mean
to make you sad,” he said, noting the change in her expression.

  “It’s in the past,” she said. “What about your parents? You’re close?”

  “Oh, sure,” he said. “My mom’s family owned the land on the far side of the original MacKenzie land, so she and my dad had always kind of known each other. He was a couple of years older than her and she was a senior in high school when things got serious between them, but then my grandma died, and dad didn’t handle it so well. My grandpa had died when they were younger, so it was up to the five boys to keep the farm going.

  “My Uncle Cooper is the oldest, then my dad, then Grant, Riley, and Thomas. I guess things got pretty tense because my dad decided Surrender was suffocating him and he had to leave. I guess I can understand it.”

  “Everyone deals with grief differently,” she said.

  “Yeah, but he left my mom without knowing she was pregnant. All she had was a brand new diploma and me on the way, and she packed up and moved to Chicago to look for work. She’d always been good at fixing stuff. Her dad had taught her a lot growing up, so she’d been able to find a job at a mechanic shop until I was born.”

  “That’s incredibly brave,” she said. “And she never told your father?”

  “No,” he said, grinning. “They’ve got the two hardest heads in the universe. But she eventually moved back to Surrender when I was just a couple of years old. Her dad had gotten sick, and she wasn’t interested in owning or running a ranch, so she opened up her mechanic shop and let the foreman take care of the ranch. I was ten years old when my dad came back home for the first time and found out about me.”

  “I bet that was a surprise,” she said.

  “For everyone,” he said. “The thing about MacKenzies is if they disagree with you about something then you’re going to hear about it. They’re not shy. Mom and dad eventually patched things up and got back together, and then married not long after that. But it was a process. I’d never had anyone but my mom before, so coming into a huge, loud and boisterous family was kind of a shock.”

  “They say you’re a hermit,” she said. “They miss you when you’re not around.”

  “I know,” he said. “But it’s hard to explain. I love them. And I can’t imagine not having them within easy reach. But I like being on my own.”

  “You still feel like an outsider,” she said. “Since you were brought in after the fact.”

  “They never made me feel less, and they always loved me. So it’s my hang up instead of theirs. I’m close with my parents and brother and sisters, but the oldest is eleven years younger than me. None of my uncles were married at the time either, so I didn’t even have cousins my age. I’ve just always grown up in some sort of…limbo.”

  “You could have married, had a family of your own,” she said. “What are you, in your early thirties?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I could have. And I want it still. But when you see the relationship that my parents have, and the relationships my aunts and uncles and cousins have, it sets a pretty high standard. It’s not worth settling for anything less.”

  Her breathing had become shallow, and he saw the delicate flush of pink on her face. She was his. It was everything he could do to fight his nature and claim her like some wild animal. He felt desire gather in the pit of his stomach, and the space between them was electric.

  “It’s raining,” she said, never breaking eye contact.

  He put the sketch pad and pencils aside and slowly got to his feet, making his moves deliberate so she had plenty of time to tell him to stay where she was. But she didn’t. She just stared at him with those slumberous eyes, her pulse hammering in her neck.

  His body vibrated with energy, and he held his hand out to her, waiting for her to take it. And when she did, he pulled her to her feet, so their bodies barely brushed. They were almost eye to eye, and her lids fluttered closed as he moved closer, so close he could feel her breath across his lips.

  Her hands came up and rested on his chest, and her head dropped back the slightest bit. That was all the invitation he needed. His mouth pressed against hers with a gentleness that surprised him, considering the fierce throbbing in his body. He wanted to breathe her, taste her, become one with her. But he sensed the timidness in her own kiss and knew she needed something softer, sweeter.

  He danced with her, holding her flush against his body as the rain fell softly around them, and he held back a moan as her hands began to explore the contours of his muscles. He took the kiss deeper, swallowing her gasp of surprise, and he wound his fingers through the thick length of her hair.

  “I need you,” he said. “I’ve never needed anything so much.”

  Her hands slipped beneath his shirt, her fingers soft as a butterfly touch against his abdomen. He broke the kiss, wanting to hear her say it. That she needed him too.

  “Don’t stop,” she said, the plea in her voice desperate.

  “Never,” he said, taking her mouth again. His fingers tugged at the buttons of her shirt until it draped open, and he pushed it from her shoulders so it floated to the ground.

  “Jayden,” she whispered. “Please.”

  He couldn’t wait any longer. He scooped her up in his arms and carried her inside.

  Chapter 11

  Holly couldn’t remember a time in her life where she’d felt so content.

  She’d never felt such joy. Such love. And she hadn’t understood what it meant to make love—not until Jayden.

  Derek had been her first, and she’d never known that it could be something beautiful and special. That when two people joined if could feel as if you’d lost a part of yourself inside them.

  They fell into a comfortable pattern after that first afternoon of lovemaking. Their days were spent working, their evenings were spent talking or hiking or eating out with friends or family, and then their nights—the nights were her favorite part. She was insatiable. She couldn’t get enough of him.

  And the longer they went, the more she felt the dread in her stomach as she waited for the other shoe to drop. He’d not brought marriage up again after that initial mention of it that day in the diner. But she knew it wasn’t far from his mind. He’d mention things casually—about adding on to the house or where she saw herself in the future. What her goals and dreams were. How many children she wanted.

  She loved him. There was no doubt about that. But as things stood, she couldn’t give him what he wanted. There were times she caught him looking at her, and she could tell he was still waiting for her to tell him the truth about her past. But she hadn’t been able to do it. And she was afraid he’d only be so patient so long.

  She needed to talk to Declan, to see what could be done. She’d gotten to know all the MacKenzies during the months she’d spent in Surrender. She’d met Jayden’s youngers brother and sister who’d been away at college. Jayden’s mom had even found her a reliable used SUV for the winter and showed her how to put chains on the tires.

  And to Jayden’s surprised, her first winter in Montana had deterred her. She loved the snow. Loved watching it fall from her second story office at the sporting goods store, and she loved sitting on her or Jayden’s back porch with the fire pit lit and wrapped in a blanket as it fell onto the lake.

  This was her home. And she never wanted to be anywhere else.

  But she really needed to talk to Declan. Jayden wasn’t being as subtle about their future together as he’d once been, and she wasn’t prepared how to answer him if he asked her specific questions. She couldn’t lie to him, and he rarely asked anything too pointed, but she’d gotten good at diverting the conversation so she didn’t have to answer at all.

  Declan and Sophia traveled frequently, making stops at the MacKenzie Security offices in Dallas, Washington, New York, Chicago, Los Angeles, London and Rome. And they’d missed Christmas with the family because they’d been launching the new office in Paris.

  But the network had been put on full alert that Declan and Sophia were back home, a
nd there was going to be a big family dinner that night at the barn inside the compound. Apparently, the barn was more of a restaurant they’d built with lots of seating, a bar, a stage and dance floor, and a gourmet kitchen so the entire family could gather in one place.

  Jayden was still painting up in his studio, and she looked at the clock on the wall. They were supposed to be there at six, and it was already twenty till. It was hard to break him away when he was in that zone, and she’d always made sure to give him his space when he was working. But he’d promised they’d be there, so she thought it best to give him a reminder.

  MacKenzie dinners were a casual affair, so she wore leggings and a thick sweater the color of plums. Her waterproof boots were laced up to the middle of her sins and lined with soft fur.

  She crept up the stairs, peaking around the landing to observe before she entered his domain. He stood in front of his canvas, his back rigid to her, and he moved the brush with such delicate strokes she felt the heat rise in her body. He’d touched her with that same gentleness.

  She didn’t call out. His concentration was so fierce he wouldn’t have heard her anyway. Instead, she crept the rest of the way up and waited for the chance to break in. But there was a long table pushed in the corner that caught her eye. Several of his drawings had been laid out, but they were all of her.

  It amazed her how he saw her. She didn’t look like that, not really, but he made her so much more when he put her on paper. There were hundreds of drawings with a myriad of expressions on her face. And one of her completely nude that made her gasp. She was asleep, her legs tangled in the covers, and her hand resting across her stomach. Her breasts were full and her curves lush, her mouth swollen from kisses. She looked like a woman who’d been well and thoroughly loved, and who was exhausted by it.

  Stacked around the table were canvases of every shape and size. Again, her face and body were the subject. But where the drawings were literal interpretations, he’d used the paintings to create his own visions. There were several of her wearing armor and holding a sword, covered in battle scars and someone else’s blood. And there were others painted in watercolor that were so ethereal it looked like she could put her hand to it.