Heartbreakers and Heroes Read online

  The honest words didn’t cost her anything, but she couldn’t read his face in the starlight to see if it mattered to him either way.

  “Have you looked up?” he asked.

  Instead of answering, she tilted her head back. His thigh was warm against hers, so for a second, she didn’t register what she saw.

  But then the almost magical glitter of a thousand diamonds thrown against the night sky took her breath away. The sky looked split—an almost perfect line of stars at the thickest point which tapered off. She wasn’t sure if she could see colors, exactly, but she wasn’t sure she couldn’t either. “Wow. What is that?”

  “You’re looking into the Milky Way. I remember when I was a little kid, growing up in Dallas, I thought the stars were all spread out, you know? Like they were no more than confetti. Some in random constellations, sure, but not really clumped so much. I got sent to a camp in Montana when I was a teen—blah, blah, blah, poor little rich kid behaved badly and was sent away from home—and one night I looked up. And I saw this. From then I have to admit I researched more, looked at it through telescopes and whatnot, but there’s something special about a really dark sky and being able to see it with your own eyes, if that makes sense.”

  His voice sounded soft, a rumbling whisper which soothed parts of her she hadn’t realized were still edgy. Without thinking about it beforehand, she leaned her head on his shoulder and kept looking skyward. “Yeah, it does. This is spectacular. This is the stuff of artist’s dreams and creator’s inspiration.”

  “Prettily said,” he answered, brushing her hair back from her face. “You should get some rest. Let’s go back to the car.”

  “Can we look at it for a while longer?” She wasn’t sure why—nothing logical lived in the question. There wasn’t a good reason for her to want to be half-embraced by a stranger and stare at the sky, yet she couldn’t resist the question or drum up the energy to take the words back.

  “Yeah.” He settled more comfortably, crossing his legs and tugging her until her back rested in the cradle of his arms. “We can.”

  ***

  He woke up because light teased his closed eyelids. Dawn broke, lighting the desert in all her brilliant colors and washing out the star show from the night before. Her even breathing attracted his attention, so he faced her. She lay on her side on the rock, her fingers splayed beneath her head and with her hair half obscuring her face just as the light of morning occluded the view of the galaxy.

  Something about her calm compared to her earlier edginess reminded him of when he was younger. He’d told her he’d been awed by the skies of Montana, but in all actuality…

  The first time he’d seen the night sky like that, he’d been scared. Before, the sky seemed a solid thing—a dome to protect the world from everything outside. But when he’d looked into the eye of their galaxy, suddenly he’d felt as if he could fall off Earth if he stepped the wrong way. Like nothing held him in place besides luck and chance.

  It was a long time before he’d been able to really look up without that stomach-flipping moment of terror taking his breath away.

  She was like that—a perfect stranger, so not something which could hurt him, but his stomach flipped around her, nonetheless.

  Which was dumb.

  But it did.

  Sitting up, he scrubbed his hand across his face and stretched, hearing her moving a bit behind him.

  “Did we ever do the formal introductions?” she asked.

  “Huh?” He needed coffee before he made nice with his little damsel in distress, he decided. Parts of him were still too raw and open, more so than he usually allowed.

  “I’m Jude. My mother is an artist, but I suck at it. I can’t even draw a good circle.” She held her hand out while the other shoved her hair back from her almost elfin shaped face.

  “Why would you need to draw a good circle?” he asked.

  “Art thing. I can’t explain it, but they all can draw marvelous circles and I only draw wobbly ovals.”

  He accepted her hand, shaking it briefly and unable to hide his own half-smile. “Al. I make videos for the internet. As often as possible, I use the words fart, dick, and boobie. Very juvenile and it all drives my wealthy and proper parents mad.”

  She laughed and the expression transformed her face from ordinary to special. His stomach flipped again, but he chalked it up to hunger pangs. Using the hand he still held, he tugged her to her feet.

  “Hi, Al.”

  “Hey, Jude,” he replied. “Today you get to meet the appalled parents.”

  Initially, he hadn’t planned to tell her their destination, but some sick part of him wanted to talk to her. Wanted to keep her talking, odd as it might seem. For a man who spent a lot of his time alone, he suddenly wanted to hear her voice…

  Shaky territory, that.

  “That’s where we’re headed? Your parents’ place?” she asked.

  “Yup,” he answered. Unlocking the car, he held her door for her. She tossed him an amused smile at the action, but got in the vehicle without commenting on it.

  “Will they have room to spare for me?” she asked.

  Chuckling to himself, he imagined their house in his head. “Yeah, I’m sure they can find a couch or something to put you up for a few days.”

  “Perfect!” she chirped. “Let’s get coffee first. We’re far enough from home, I doubt anyone would recognize me even if they saw me.”

  “As you wish,” he muttered, and pulled out of the gravel driveway and back onto the highway.

  Chapter 5

  He could have mentioned they lived in a house which could easily pass for a resort from the outside. She sat in the car, looking up the red brick offset against white pillars, she wondered briefly if his family was in politics or maybe owned their own island. They obviously were that kind of rich, a far cry from her own childhood.

  They’d been on the road most of the day, stopping a few times as they traveled. She hadn’t protested, because she figured they were far enough away. She probably was safe from being recognized… and the story of one man being shot at a gallery show likely wasn’t airing on the local news. Even with the breaks, she had a numb butt, her body was stiff, and if she never saw another car again, it would be too soon.

  When he’d turned into the stone-fenced, iron-gated driveway, she’d first assumed it was some kind of Texan gated community. Even the sign by the road—which read, ironically, EVERGREEN, in the Texas sun…where little was green so far as she could see—suggested a cul-de-sac or something. Instead? The long, twisting drive led to white steps and enormous double doors.

  Carrying her small bag of things, she followed him into an entranceway made of shining white marble with inset black stone polished to a sheen. The black swirled into a design—ha, the lone star of Texas. Black stairs with an iron railing led up to the upper floor or floors, while two rooms sprouted off from the grand entry hall. A peek into them revealed one had palm trees growing indoors and the other had what looked to be leather lined walls.

  “You mentioned they’d likely have a couch or something… I’m guessing you were being intentionally funny with that one?” She arched a brow at him and he snorted.

  “Yeah, this place has four bedroom suites and at least one is usually free, so it shouldn’t be a problem.” He dropped his bag to the floor as casually as she might have dropped hers if it was her house… but in the palatial looking room, the motion made her cringe a little.

  “Aloysius, we weren’t expecting you.” A man wearing a blue tee shirt with a tan sweater entered from the leather-lined room. He wasn’t old enough to be Al’s father, but he instantly made Jude feel smaller and shabbier by comparison. He was fresh, tanned, clean, and wore a watch that likely cost as much as her monthly rent, if not more.

  “Sorry, Pile. Was in the neighborhood and thought I’d drop by and visit my parents. Jude, this is Pile. He’s our estate manager. If you need anything while you’re here, Pile is the man to talk to. Pi
le, who all is in residence right now?” Al opened a drawer in what looked to be a priceless antique table and pulled out a plastic tub of gummy bears. He offered it to her, but she declined, so he shrugged and began munching on candy.

  Pile grinned. “I keep those in stock in case you do show up unexpectedly. Saw your latest video—and laughed myself to tears. Both your parents are here, as well as your business partner…who I think has been hanging out in hopes that you’d show up. We’re having a dinner party tomorrow night, which you’re going to be expected to attend if you’re staying for any amount of time on this visit. Your room is clean and refreshed, though.”

  “Shit,” Al grumbled. “If Carpenter is in the spare room…”

  Al considered her with a thoughtful expression. She blinked owlishly back at him, suddenly feeling wildly out of place.

  Scratching at his beard, he said, “Never mind, Pile, we’ll work it out. Can you get a meal sent to my room? We’ll eat up there.”

  “What would you like?” Pile pulled out a smartphone from his back pocket and looked ready to start writing down whatever Al said.

  “Whatever is handy is fine. You can even order us a pizza. I’m not picky. C’mon, Jude. I’ll give you the quickie tour.” Al headed for the stairs, leaving his bag lying on the floor. Once Jude began to follow him, since it wasn’t like she had better options, he glanced back at Pile to add, “Get those things washed for me?”

  “No problem, Aloysius,” Pile answered.

  “Please? Thank you? Any of those words ever enter your vocabulary?” Jude asked in a loud whisper. Her cheeks felt hot, and she wasn’t sure if it was because of the grandeur of the place, the crisp cleanness of Pile, or Al’s sudden transformation from gamer lumberjack who probably lived in his parent’s basement to actually wealthy and arrogant that made her blush.

  “Excuse me?” he asked. His tone wasn’t angry or in any way judgmental. Instead, he sounded like he actually hadn’t caught her words.

  They’d gotten to the top of the stairs, so she could see the gorgeous hallway—like a shot of a rich person home in a glossy magazine or an episode of Cribs. The floral arrangement on the black, obviously antique, table alone probably cost as much as her wardrobe. Reaching out, she fingered it to discover, yes, they were real flowers and not fabric. Of course they’re real, she thought, annoyed beyond reason at their softness.

  Crossing her arms across her chest, she glared at him as he waited for her to repeat herself. “You. You didn’t say please or thank you and treated him like…” She waved one hand as if it would help her think of an adequate word.

  “Like he’s staff? Because I mentioned he was the estate manager for Evergreen.” Al’s baffled expression didn’t help her embarrassment or alleviate her feeling of being out of place.

  She felt like a chess piece dropped on to a game of Monopoly. She didn’t fit in this world, didn’t fit in her own due to circumstances beyond her control, and maybe she never had fit in her own world. Since he was nearest, she took her frustration out on him.

  “Staff? Who says that in real life? And estate manager? You say it casually, like it is perfectly normal to have one of those, whatever the hell it means—”

  He abruptly stepped closer to her, and she took a step back in response. He didn’t look angry, particularly, but he suddenly looked very male as he loomed over her. “An estate manager manages the estate. He organizes housekeepers and whoever else works here to make our lives easier. And he’s not my estate manager, he works for my parents. I told you that. I don’t even live here. I told you, I make internet videos. And…” He’d backed her into the door. She was surprised to realize he smelled lovely. Like man. Like a very sexy, growly man.

  Her heartbeat quickened and her breath caught in her throat. She tried to remember he was a stranger and she was in danger and all of the other things she should be thinking about. Her brain wasn’t cooperating, stuck in bad seventies porno mode instead.

  If he kissed her, what would that feel like?

  But he simply reached past her to open the door. “I personally am no more likely to hire an estate manager to manage my place than you would be. This?” He waved around the hall for emphasis. “This is theirs. In here…” He gestured to a room practically wallpapered with superhero posters, the occasional picture of a large breasted woman and packed nearly wall to wall with computer flotsam, “Is my space in this mausoleum.”

  Still trying to process both her unexpected and uncalled for fury and how fast it washed away to be replaced by her moment of attraction to her hero, she wiped her hands down her legs. “Okay.” She tried not to notice how her hands shook in reaction, but trying not to notice meant she already had, which wasn’t a good sign at all.

  “Since Carpenter is around here someplace, we’re going to have to share my suite. He’d think it was fishy otherwise, for me to have brought home a woman and taken off work like I did. You can have the bed. I’ll sleep on the sofa over there. I know, close quarters, but more space than we had last night, so we can make do, right?” He gestured toward the sofa before running a hand through his hair. “Look, I don’t know why you got mad all of the sudden…”

  “Me either.” She rushed to add, “I think I feel out of place.”

  He snorted. “That I can get. I don’t ever feel comfortable here. I don’t fit here.”

  For a moment, his expression looked shockingly vulnerable. She understood not fitting in a parent’s life. She’d never fit in her mother’s—always feeling like more of an inconvenience than a beloved member of a close-knit family.

  She told him as much, saying softly, “I get that.”

  For a moment which seemed to spin on for a long time, their eyes remained locked and she would swear they connected in some non-verbal way.

  But maybe she was over-stimulated or running on sheer nerves, because he shrugged, his expression closing off as if he feared he’d revealed too much. Their moment of understanding, though, made her already budding attraction to him grow a bit. Which was a very, very bad idea. Is it called Stockholm Syndrome when you fall for the guy who is helping you hide out from the authorities? Or is that just when you’re kidnapped or something? She discarded the useless thoughts and shoved her hands in her pockets.

  “I don’t know about you,” she began then noticed her voice sounded little more than a high pitched squeak. Clearing her throat, she tried again. “I don’t know about you, but I’d kill for a shower. You want to go first? I can wander around the mausoleum, as you called it, until the food gets here.”

  His boyish smile returned and he accepted her lame offering with a laugh. “Yeah, that’d be great, but are you suggesting I stink or something?”

  No, you smell divine. I was tempted to take a bite out of you and see if you tasted as good as you smell, actually.

  Clearing her throat again, she said, “No, not at all.”

  Pointing back the way they’d come, he said, “Check out the pool. It is off the entrance way to the left, past the sitting room. I’ll be quick. Give me like fifteen, twenty minutes? You’ll love my shower. The rest of my room is a throwback to me being a teen, mostly to piss off my dad, but my shower is hedonistic.”

  She did not need to think of him naked in a shower he described as hedonistic, thank you very much. Throwing him the most awkward smile in the world, she closed his door and leaned on it.

  “Ah, hell, what have I gotten myself into?” she whispered. The live, rich people flower arrangement didn’t answer.

  ***

  Her cell phone was dead. She could’ve charged it, but it seemed like a bad idea. In some movie or another, she could’ve sworn they used a cell phone to track the location of a missing criminal. Maybe fictional worries, but probably best if she didn’t risk it. Due to that, though, and the remarkable lack of clocks in the house, she had no clue how much time had passed since she’d left Al to shower.

  Sitting down on a butter-soft leather couch, she frowned at the picture above th
e mantle. It seemed—even when on the run from the law—she couldn’t escape the power of her mother’s work. The large painting, at least six feet long and four feet tall, was from her blue period. Early work, back when she first began making her mark on the art world, so likely Al’s parents had paid dearly for the piece. She could see the beauty in it, although it meant something different to her entirely than it did to the art world or likely to Al’s parents or decorator…or whoever bought it.

  The art world called the use of color mystical, the forms almost sexualized, and the use of light to be almost spectral. She’d seen the reviews, mostly because her mother had been lost in the piece for a couple of weeks. Curiosity drove her to see what the world thought of the piece, even when she herself rather hated it.

  She’d been sixteen that year, very excited because one of the football players asked her to homecoming. She told him no the week before the dance and then got called an ice cold bitch, largely because teenagers are assholes to each other. The reason she’d told him no?

  Her mother had been lost in work and hadn’t come up for air long enough to get her a dress.

  The title of the work was technically what her mother dubbed it, ‘Serenity.’ In Jude’s mind, it was called Homecoming Dance I Missed. It was quickly followed by, Hell, There Goes Prom and Dear God, I’ve Been Eating Noodles for a Week, So Could You Finish the Damned Painting Already?

  “Do you like it?” a man asked.

  Jude jerked to her feet, shoving her hair back from her face and hoping her expression didn’t give away her true feelings. “It has lovely use of color and light,” she said.

  “It’s an early Agatha Cramer. She’s a modern artist, so not my usual style, but this piece spoke to me when I saw it in a gallery.” The man considered the work and Jude took advantage of the time to look him over. He stood about the same height as Al—clearly his father since they had some of the same features—but where the son’s face appeared expressive, his was casually detached.