All of Me (4 page)

“Good plan,” Cole confirmed. “I have to get back to work, but you guys carry on. Alec, great to see you again. How long are you in town?”

“At least until the wedding. End of August, maybe.”

Cole nodded. “We’ll be seeing plenty of you. Don’t be a stranger.”

Jake followed Lacey, Faith, and Ginny into the kitchen, leaving Mia and Alec alone. He offered to clear the table, but Mia refused.

“Listen, Alec, when Cole got back from Iraq, he was a mess. It took a long time for him to get back to where he is now. Writing helped him process the stuff in his head.”

Alec didn’t see her point.

“What I mean is, maybe you have the opposite problem. Maybe there’s too much going on in your head for you to write.”

A slow grin spread over his face. Mia had always been too kind and wise beyond her years. She’d picked the perfect profession, going into nursing. She was a natural. He didn’t have anything going on in his head, though. Nothing he hadn’t been living with for nine years, anyway. Thus, that couldn’t be his problem.

He pushed the image of Laura from his mind and rose. “I’ll think about it. Thanks for lunch.”

Alec stepped off the front porch and made his way to the mimosa grove, half expecting to see a younger Mia chasing baby Ginny through the rows. Or Cole watching from an upstairs window. Lacey would be sitting somewhere, looking coiffed and perfect, while Jake thought up countless ways to ruffle her feathers.

Alec was older than them by a few years, much closer to Cole and Lacey’s brother, Dean’s, age than theirs. At least before Dean died, anyway. The summer of the accident, the Covingtons had packed up and never returned to Wilmington, and Mia had gone off to college. Strange how vivid the memories remained, despite the passage of so much time. They weren’t close friends, any of them. Mia, Jake, and Alec were the help’s children. To be seen and not heard.

The sun beat down hard as he passed the grove and arrived at the black wrought-iron fence separating the properties. Hot, humid air made sweat trickle down his back from the mild exertion. Swinging the gate open, he bypassed the big house and walked to the guesthouse, thinking over Mia’s words.

A year ago, he’d finished final edits for the last book in his series and sat at his computer to start the new one. His fingers had frozen over the keys and his brain had shut down. Just like that. One minute he had characters screaming inside his skull and plot upon twisting plot to hammer out, the next there was nothing. Worse than nothing—the silence in his head had become its own entity.

The only time in twelve months something had started to stir was last night on the beach, with Faith. Awkward, plain Faith Armstrong.

The air-conditioning soothed his heated skin as he made his way to the bedroom. Sitting at the desk, he booted up his laptop and opened a document.

An hour later, he was still staring at it.

Faith walked the length of the beach, toes squishing in the sand. The sun felt good, warming her clear to her bones. Before arriving in Wilmington, a cold had resonated from within her body, something she wasn’t even aware of until she was standing in what she thought was the most beautiful location on earth. Granted, she hadn’t traveled anywhere else, but nothing could touch this place. It was peaceful but never quiet. Between the seagulls and the waves, there was a constant hypnotic lull.

She checked on Ginny, who was down the beach away, collecting shells for tomorrow’s art project. Lacey had given Faith some great ideas. She’d even offered to give Ginny an official art class at her home two days a week. Ginny was very excited at this prospect.

Faith closed her eyes and breathed deep, letting her body relax. Maybe if she and Hope had been able to make the drive to the beach, things could’ve gone differently. The fresh air
and warm sunshine wouldn’t have cured her sister’s disease, but it would’ve lifted her spirits. Faith firmly believed that healing wasn’t just medicinal. It involved diet and exercise and, most of all, peace of mind. Hope would’ve found peace here.

Longing and memory tightened her throat, and she wished desperately Hope were there. Even while she was sick, Hope had been a steady stream of support and love. More than sisters, they’d been friends. Faith hadn’t had a friend since her sister died. Sure, she’d been friendly with coworkers and neighbors, but it wasn’t the same.

“Alec!”

At Ginny’s excited call, Faith startled and turned. Alec slowly made his way over, barefoot and wearing board shorts. Nothing else. The skin on his chest, sun-kissed and taut over lean, lithe muscle, was lightly dusted with black hair. He moved with the grace of a predator. His body wasn’t bulging like a bodybuilder, but his abs, shoulders, and biceps were defined. She swallowed hard and forced herself to take her gaze off his chest before he noticed.

“Whatcha doing?” He crouched down next to Ginny and peeked in her bag.

“Collecting shells. We’re going to do art.”

“Fun. You have a lot there.” He looked at Faith, a slow, lazy grin quirking one side of his mouth as he stood and closed the distance between them. Definitely predatory.

She forced her gaze to focus on his face so she wouldn’t be tempted to do something else, like touch him. She hadn’t been touched in so long. “Good morning.”

“It’s afternoon, actually.”

“Right. Yes.”

He dipped his head, leveling his gray-blue eyes on her as if probing for something he couldn’t grasp. After a few moments, he straightened and nodded. “Amber,” he announced.

“What?”

“Your eyes. They’re amber. Not quite like a good whiskey, but more like organic honey. Around the edges they darken to a golden brown.”

Stunned stupid, Faith opened and closed her mouth.

“You had me in fits over that. You never quite look me in the eye and it was too dark last night to see. As someone whose vocation depends on details, madness loomed if I didn’t get an answer soon.”

She tilted her head, not quite sure if he was making fun of her or deadly serious. “You would’ve gone crazy if you didn’t know my eye color? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Something like that. Problem averted.”

She grabbed the pendant hanging from her neck and slid it back and forth on the chain. “You’re a strange man.”

He smiled openly, showing a row of straight white teeth and crinkling the skin near his eyes. Holy cow, the transformation was hypnotic.

He shrugged. “Writers are a strange lot. I’ve been called worse.”

He turned toward the water and she used the momentum of him looking away to peek at Ginny. She was sitting in the sand, lining up her shells into neat rows.

“I’ve startled you out here twice now, while you stared at the ocean. You looked lost in thought.”

She answered without her usual filter. “I’ve never seen the ocean before.”

He abruptly faced her. “You lived in Charlotte, a few hours away, but have never seen the ocean?”

As if she needed him to point out her boring life. “I never found the time, I guess.”

“Huh.” He turned to the water. “What do you think, now that you’ve seen it?”

There were no words. Besides, he was the writer. “It’s . . . vast and serene. I love the immeasurability of it.”

“‘Immeasurability,’” he repeated. “I like that word. Multiple meanings.”

“How’s the writing coming along?”

“It’s not.” He winced, and she felt for him. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

She thought about his ability to transport readers into his world. A genuine gift. He was obviously struggling without the talent. “Maybe you’re trying too hard.”

He laughed without mirth.

Her face heated. She shouldn’t have said anything.

Ginny rose and bounded over to them. “Can we make brownies now?”

Alec groaned. “Brownies. My favorite food group.”

As Ginny laughed at him, an idea floated to Faith’s mind and a desperate urge to help him rose in her heart. “Why don’t you join us?” Cole was in his home office and Mia was doing a shift at the VA hospital, so they wouldn’t disturb anyone.

“Join you in making brownies?” He crossed his arms and looked down as if realizing his lack of clothes. “I’d need to change. And I’m a terrible cook.”

“I’m teaching Ginny safety in the kitchen and the importance of following steps. You’d be supervised at all times.”

He stared at her for a beat and barked out a laugh. “How can I refuse? Let me run up to the house and change. I’ll meet you in a few.”

She watched him walk away, admiring his body and trying to come up with ways to make him laugh again. She liked the feeling it gave her, warm and full. Drawing in a breath, she looked at Ginny. “Ready?”

They made their way past the dunes and to the back porch, where they rinsed off their feet with the exterior shower before going inside.

“What do we do first?” Faith asked.

“Wash our hands.”

“Good girl. So smart.”

Ginny washed her hands in the kitchen sink and Faith did the same. She had Ginny read her the ingredients needed, helping when she had trouble, and together they gathered
what was required. They’d just preheated the oven when Alec strode in the back door.

“Are they done yet?”

Ginny laughed. “No.”

Alec took a seat at the kitchen island.

Faith held out the box to Ginny. “What do we do next?”

Ginny read the instructions out loud, stumbling a bit, but eventually getting through. Faith helped her crack the eggs and measure out the oil and water. She let Ginny whisk until her arm got tired and then Faith took over. Batter in the pan, she waited to see what Ginny would do. Faith smiled when she remembered to put on oven mitts.

“Good job, Ginny.”

While they moved around the kitchen cleaning up, she sensed Alec’s gaze on her. When the mess was put to rights, she had Ginny head to her room to read for a bit. With the teenager out of listening range, Faith pulled a notebook and pen off the table and set it in front of Alec.

“You make me nervous when you watch me like that,” she said.

He crossed his arms over the island and leaned into them. “Not my intention. I like to watch people, their mannerisms. Gives me ideas for characters.”

The last thing she wanted was to end up as one of his characters. She shivered at the thought of how he’d translate her to paper. Yet, she wondered enough to pry. “And what did you conclude by watching me?”

A trace of a smile graced his lips as his eyes looked into hers. “You’re not as shy as I thought, but I do make you nervous. I’m curious as to why. At first I thought it was that starstruck thing people always get around me, but I don’t think that’s it. And you’re very good with Ginny.”

She blinked. Her stomach fluttered at his observations and their accuracy. She focused on the Ginny comment—that was a safe topic. “It’s my job to be good with her.”

He was shaking his head before she even finished. “It’s more than that.” He pointed to the notepad in front of him and raised his brows quizzically. The light in the kitchen had made his eyes more gray than blue. A daunting shade of storm cloud.

Faith turned and grabbed the empty brownie box and set it on the island. “The notebook is for you to write down the ingredients, instructions, and nutritional content.”

His amusement turned to skepticism. “Not a lot of faith in my future as a writer? Think I need to become a baker, Faith?”

Her face flamed. “It’s transference. You’re copying something already printed to get your mind back on the act of writing itself.” Shame washed over her. What was she doing? “Will it hurt to try?”

Scratching the scruff on his jaw, he twisted his face in thought. He was so handsome it stole her breath, but he was so out of her league that she mentally slapped herself for even thinking of him that way.

After a few moments, he picked up the pen and began scribbling, gaze darting between the box and the notebook.

While he was busy, she peeked into the oven to check the brownies and hunted up some powdered sugar from the pantry. The scent of cocoa filled the kitchen and her mouth watered. She never really gave in to her sweet tooth. Her parents had instilled insanely healthy eating habits in her from birth, mostly due to Hope’s illness. Even after she’d died, the routine continued. Faith never questioned it, never tempted herself.

Suddenly, a sound she couldn’t decipher erupted from Alec, making her jump. He stood, tipping the stool backward. With rapid, jerking movements, he set the stool upright, put the pen down, and strode quickly out the door.

Faith stood, staring for several minutes after he left before picking up the notebook.

He had terrible penmanship. She scanned the page, reading
the copied instructions from the box until she arrived at the last line.

Eggs fell from the carton she held with her long, elegant fingers, landing in a splatter on the Mojave-tiled floor.

Well, well. That wasn’t in the directions.

It was a dark and stormy night. Her golden eyes reflected off the flash of lightning, and he knew he had to have her. Alive as his slave or dead so no one else could claim her. Didn’t matter. She’d be his. Tonight. She’d eluded him for too many years, trying not to dream or self-medicating in an attempt to numb her mind. Foolish. Her thin, weak frame hid beneath a black peacoat, but he knew every inch of that body. The wind caught her wavy brown hair, plastering the strands to her unremarkable pale face as she crossed the street. Closer to him.

Alec reread the paragraph for the four hundred and sixty-seventh time, but it was no use. Nothing came. That was all he’d gotten out.

Faith had done something to him earlier by making him write down those ingredients. Out of politeness, he’d complied, more amused by her tactics to help than thinking they actually would. Except they did.

For a time.

Now it was hours later, night had fallen, and all he’d jotted down was a lousy paragraph. He wondered if his editor would consider this book complete.

Scrubbing his hands over his face, he set the laptop aside and stretched his legs out in front of him. In the process, he knocked his handwritten timeline off the couch and to the floor. He bent to retrieve the pages and skimmed his notes.

The plot was to have the woman kidnapped and held throughout book one by the demon of nightmares. Her brother unearths all kinds of dark crazy while searching for her. In the rest of the trilogy, two more women are taken, one in book two and the other in book three, and the brother begins to find the childhood connection between them. Of course, he’s tortured by his own nightmares. Yada, yada.

His notes on book one’s female character didn’t match the paragraph he punched out. Not the first time, wouldn’t be the last. But he’d really veered this time around. Instead of blond locks and blue eyes with a killer figure, meant to embody innocence and desire intertwined, he’d gone and made her look just like . . .

Faith Armstrong.

He tossed the papers on the couch and laid his head back, staring at the ceiling. He’d been so intent on getting more written that he hadn’t even bothered with a lamp. The illumination from his laptop cast a bluish glow. Reaching over, he wiggled the laptop so the reflective pattern moved on the ceiling. Shifted.

Like the way his Nightmare demon was supposed to.

Sitting upright, he grabbed the computer and set it on his thighs, fingers hovering over the keys. Hovering, but not typing. Hovering.

Come on, come on . . .

Fuck. He considered throwing the laptop across the room. At least he’d have an excuse for the lack of productivity.

Writer’s block. How weak. He used to laugh when he heard the term from others in his circle. Alec never had a problem shutting his brain down, focusing on the story, even if it took three straight days and no sleep. Caffeine and sugar. Characters screaming in his ear. The only true escape from his guilt.

A quiet knock came from the front door. So quiet he chalked it up to nothing until it came again. A glance at his watch told him it was nine-twenty. Kind of late for a social call from Jake. Rising, he opened the door to . . .

“Faith?”

She held a plate in her hand and a wary expression. “Am I disturbing you?”

“No.”

Her gaze darted behind him to the laptop on the coffee table. “I interrupted. I’m sorry.” She looked at the plate in her hand and thrust it toward him. “Ginny felt bad that you didn’t get any of the brownies we made.”

He took the plate, grabbed her wrist, and tugged her inside before all the heat could crawl in. The brownies smelled good. Or was that her? “Yum.” He shoved one in his mouth and spoke around the chocolate. “Sugar. Mmm.”

“Yes, well . . .” Those golden-brown eyes of hers stared at his mouth, transfixed, before she shook her head. She glanced around, then peeked at the floor. “I should go.”

He swallowed. “Why?”

“You’re working.” She pointed to the table.

Not wanting to corner her—because she looked cornered—he walked to the couch and sat. As an afterthought, he switched on the lamp. “I’m not working.”