His c.o.c.k slid in and then back out of me with his words. I reached between us and clasped the base of his c.o.c.k. I wanted to touch him, to feel the spot where we connected and our two separate bodies became one. I looked down and saw where he entered me and with that visual my s.e.x clenched with a tight fierceness. He pressed back into me. I was so tight and so full with him.

"f.u.c.k," Sterling said. His face tightened, his entire body hard as stone.

"Faster, Sterling, please," I begged. "f.u.c.k me faster and harder."

"Baby. Are you sure?

"G.o.d, yes, Sterling, yes." I wanted him to break free. To feel him in and out and in and out with a hard force that claimed me.

A low growl pa.s.sed his lips and with it Sterling surrendered his restraint. His thick c.o.c.k pulsed into me harder and faster with a searing heat that traveled through every fiber of my body. Again, I neared the edge.

"Sterling, I'm going to come," I wailed in a voice unknown to me.

"Come for me, baby, come for me, Rhiannon." His eyes on me, I thrust my head back against the pillow and shot over the edge and then he was with me, the heat of his come shooting through me and into me and there was nothing but me and Sterling and thousands upon thousands of brilliant fragments of pleasure.

Sterling My heart was gone. It now beat outside my body, possessed by the creature that lay beside me. Rhiannon's white-blonde hair flowed over her shoulders as she dozed. Her perfect b.r.e.a.s.t.s with tiny pink rosebud nipples lay exposed as the sheet slid over her waist. The skin of her cheekbones felt so soft as I traced the lines of her face with my fingertips. She stretched long and feline and her eyes fluttered open. A smile that shredded me. Her eyes shone with happiness.

I hoped that this time she'd be gentle with my heart. That this time she wouldn't run away.

"We have a half hour until dinner," I said. I pressed my lips to her neck. The scent of cinnamon and warmth, the scent of Rhiannon, flooded me. My c.o.c.k responded. She curled toward me.

"We could do a lot in a half hour," she said.

My fingertips glided over her side, her ribs, to the curve of her waist, her hip, and then my fingertips slid forward and brushed against her curls. Her hips tilted forward as I touched her, my fingers slipping between the lips of her s.e.x. My c.o.c.k already throbbing and insistent, wanting to enter the spot that would forever be mine.

A low moan came from Rhiannon with my touch. I pressed her c.l.i.t, my fingertips circling the tight nub. Her body responded, her hips undulating with my touch. The throbbing of my c.o.c.k grew harder and thicker and more insistent. The sheet fell away from her body. My lips found her nipple, now hard and tight. I suckled, pulling hard and nipping her. A deep sound of pleasure from Rhiannon and her hips thrust against me.

"Please, Sterling, again, please."

She rolled onto her back and her body was the most welcome of invitations. I threw the sheet back and looked at her, my eyes eating up all of her flesh. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, her eyes filled with desire, her legs spread open to me, slick and wet.

"You are perfect," I said.

Her eyes sparkled. Her hips rocked the tiniest bit as though my eyes stroked her. A small smile formed on her lips. I reached out my hand and stroked her, the gentlest of touches on her c.l.i.t, and her body responded with a near convulsion.

"Please, Sterling, I want you."

I leaned forward. The desire to take her was thick and hot within me, but there was also this deep feeling in my heart. As though each time I touched Rhiannon, each time I entered her, I did so with the reverence deserving of a sacred act. There had been so little sacred in my life. Her purity, her beauty, touched a piece of me that I believed had long ago died.

I pressed close to her entrance. Her s.e.x tightened before I entered her. I grasped her hips and pulled her to me. This roaring inside me, this deep desire that I could not quench or stop took over and I thrust into her. Her body was hot and wet and silk and softness against my thrust. She clenched around me tight and hot. Her mouth opened and her breath came in tiny bursts.

"Oh, G.o.d yes," she panted. My hand slid between us and my fingers pressed against her c.l.i.t, ma.s.saging her as I pulled back and prepared to thrust into her again. He hips arched up with my touch. She threw her head back. Her pretty b.r.e.a.s.t.s in the sunlight, her pink bud nipples hard and pert. I leaned forward and grasped her nipple between my lips.

"Sterling," she yelled out and her s.e.x tightened around my c.o.c.k. Any restraint, any possibility of delay was lost. Need pressed hard against me and swelled into an all-consuming force that wanted and needed and took. Forward and back, thrusting my body hard into her tight yielding flesh. My name on her lips, her gaze locked with mine, a hot jet came through me and poured from me. I went over the edge clasped tight to Rhiannon.

Chapter 18.

Rhiannon.

Sunlight fell through the leaves of the trees and dappled Amanda's skin. A soft wind whispered over the Malibu hills. "Daddy left," Amanda said. Her words were soft and painful, as though nearly impossible for her to utter. Forbidden words made true by speaking them.

"Mine too," I said. We both stared out over the Malibu hills, neither of us adding the why or the when, which seemed to mean nothing right now in comparison to the very fact that our fathers had each left their families.

"Your dad came to check on Mom at the house," Amanda said.

Something soured in my mouth. Bitter bile in my throat. I hadn't seen my father in close to two weeks and now Amanda had the express pleasure of having Papa being at her house and actually checking to see how she and Sterling and Joanne were doing. I had no words for that and I had nothing kind to say.

"I'm sorry," Amanda said. She tilted her head and it rested on my shoulder. My heart softened toward my best friend. She too had lost her father and understood what I felt, how alone how afraid, how unsure ... and yet ... yet I couldn't say the words. Her face turned to mine and her lips parted the tiniest bit. "There's something else," she said. Her gaze fluttered away as though this was something that she'd been told not to say to me, or anyone else. She grasped at a blade of gra.s.s. Did she already know what I suspected, that the very reason our families had shattered was because of her mother and my father?

"She has to go to the doctor," Amanda whispered.

I wasn't sure what she meant. "Everyone goes to the doctor."

Amanda shook her head and her eyes widened. "No, it's not like that," Amanda continued. "They think something is wrong."

I turned my head toward the hills and looked away from my friend. I loved her mother as though she was my own and yet, in this instant, I wished she would die. Be gone, far, far away so that Mama and Papa could once again be a family and we could be together. I wished that upon Amanda and Sterling's mother. Wished it to be true. A gasp crossed my lips and I clutched a hand to my mouth. I turned back to Amanda. How could I be so horrible, so bad, so awful to wish such a thing? I wrapped my arm around Amanda's shoulders.

"I'm sure she'll be fine," I said with hope as penance for my horrid thoughts. Thoughts that filtered through my brain floated the idea that if there was no more Joanne perhaps there would be my mother and father, together and happy in our home.

"Yeah," Amanda said. "Maybe. But that doesn't mean Daddy will come home. I heard them talking."

I stiffened. What did she know? I couldn't tell her, I didn't want to admit what I knew. I wanted to pretend none of this was happening.

"I think," Amanda shook her head, "I think maybe Daddy has another"-her gaze drifted away with her words-"I think there might be someone else."

"Amanda, you saw him with Anita."

She shook her head and closed her eyes. "Yes, but that's different. I mean, I think, somehow I think, there's more. I don't know for certain." She plucked at the gra.s.s.

According to my mother there was more. Much more. But I'd been tasked with not telling, not saying anything, not being the person who told Amanda and Sterling what my family had long known about her family. There were things we simply didn't discuss. Whispers, hints on the wind, quick conversations and looks.

"I'm sorry," I said. I squeezed her shoulders and pulled her toward me. There was no way around this, these moments, this time, and how badly this summer sucked. How we had gone from long lazy days in the pool, and horseback rides, and evenings on the back porch, and cookouts to this ... this moment when our lives were shattered beyond repair. In the distance I saw Sterling. His shirt was off and tied around his waist. His body was kissed by the sun and his hair was thick and black. The bruise along his cheek had long since healed. We both stood. A heat swirled through me with his approach.

Amanda looked from me to her brother. "I'm going back to the house," she said. She reached for Bronco's reins and walked him from the shade.

"You don't have to leave," I said.

"I know." A smile lit her face. A smile I didn't see much of anymore. "But I like that you two are in love. It makes me happy even when I'm feeling so sad." She climbed up onto the back of Bronco. "I'll take Torrence back, too." She reached for Torrence's reins. She walked the horses away and toward Sterling coming up the path. She stopped and leaned toward him. They were too far away for me to hear what was said. He looked toward me and covered his hand over his eyes. Even from a distance the heat of his gaze traveled over me. Tingles fluttered through me. Tingles I'd not known until this summer, until Sterling had first kissed me in this very spot. He nodded to Amanda and she kept on down the hill toward the house and toward the barn.

Sterling stopped by my side.

"Hey," he said. "I brought a snack." He lifted the picnic basket he held. I looked up at him. I was speechless. I couldn't form the words; I could barely talk when I was with him. His fingertips clasped mine. His head tilted and those lips, those beautiful lips were on mine.

I ripped my gaze from the ocean that beat against the sh.o.r.eline and turned to where Sterling stood beside Elizabeth. Lately, moments from the past, from that summer, flooded my mind. First in sleep and now whenever I let reality slip away. Elizabeth and Sterling were deep in conversation and I wasn't being a good guest. I'd walked away from the movie talk and stood against the balcony that ran along the back of the house.

"Miss Bliss, more wine?" Jonathan asked.

I nodded and he refilled my gla.s.s.

"How do you find your cottage? Is there anything you need?"

"I find it to be lovely," I said. "I am especially fond of the paints and canvases."

"Ah, yes," Jonathon said. "Mrs. Montgomery hoped that you might enjoy those while you're here. That cottage has served as inspiration for many of the world's most revered artists. Some of the most beautiful work comes from there. It's almost magical."

"I can see why," I said. "The light, the openness, the closeness of the ocean and yet the privacy. You could stay forever and feel as though you were in a different world, living a perfect life."

"Yes, yes," Jonathan said. "But that can be the difficult part, too. The reentry into the real world can feel a bit abrupt once you've ended your stay at the yellow house. Of course, you know that you and Mr. Legend are welcome to stay for as long as you desire."

I trailed Jonathan through the French doors and stopped beside Sterling and Elizabeth.

"Jonathan was telling me that the yellow house has quite a history," I said.

"Oh yes, my dear! It's been the inspiration for many artists, and not just painters. The work they produce at that place is beyond compare. That's why I put the paints and canvases there. I hope you didn't think I was being too forward. I simply wanted you to have them should the yellow house cast a similar spell upon you."

I nodded. Perhaps they would. The pull to the canvases had grasped me just before we left for dinner, but I'd not yet picked up a brush.

"You should look at the guest book. So amazing. Everyone who stays at the yellow house writes a little note. I hope you two will do so, too. It so pleases the guests to read the notes from the past to the guests of the future."

"Almost sounds like a film," Sterling said and tilted his whiskey to his lips.

"Perhaps once we finish The Lady's Regret," Elizabeth said and held her gla.s.s to toast Sterling.

"You two have come to terms?" I asked. My heart beat a bit faster. I felt a little like a traitor standing beside Sterling and Elizabeth celebrating the film that Papa didn't want to see made.

"I believe we have," Elizabeth said. "How can I say no to a script that was written at this very place? The very place in which you are staying."

I was momentarily confused. "What?"

"Tom wrote the script at the yellow house?" Sterling asked.

Elizabeth nodded. "I thought you knew. Yes, of course. He and Joanne came up here to write. Where it was quiet and calm and away from you four children." Elizabeth smiled a matronly smile. "Which, as the mother of seven, I completely understand. I offered and they accepted. The work they did was exceptional, wouldn't you agree?"

"When was that?" Sterling asked.

"It was the most unfortunate of times," Elizabeth said. She grasped his arm and squeezed. "The summer before Joanne's diagnosis."

Sterling's nodded and took a final sip of his whiskey. The left side of his mouth crooked upward.

"Well, I think it's time for me to get back, Rhiannon. Will you join me?"

"Of course," I said and handed my empty gla.s.s to Jonathan, who again appeared as if by magic.

We said our good-byes to Elizabeth, declined Jonathan's offer to drive us back to the cottage, and set out on foot for the magical yellow house that held more secrets than we had ever imagined.

Sterling "Cami, she said yes."

"Of course she did," Cami said. "I never would have come home again if she'd said no." I could hear Cami's smile and her teasing tone, but realized that what she said wasn't far from the truth. "What about the lead actress?"

"She'll defer to us."

"How much time before the option expires?"

"Three weeks," I said. "Not long. We have to begin the first day of shooting within twenty-one days to trigger the purchase."

"Now that we've got the budget can't we just buy it outright? Send Tom a check for the purchase price and then start when we want?"

"We could if we weren't in the last ninety days of the option. The last ninety days the only way we can buy it outright is if we show progress to production which, for Tom, means we are about to start shooting."

"Three weeks isn't long to find an actress."

"No," I said. "Not one who can support this film."

The silence was loud, nearly deafening.

"You want to make the call or shall I?" I asked.

"We might as well do it together."

Rhiannon The sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the bedroom, casting a brilliant light through the white eyelet curtains. Sterling's voice came from the other room, a low throaty hum. The scent of coffee filled my nose and an overwhelming urge to touch canvas burst through my fingertips to my brain. I threw a sundress over my bare skin still lush and filled with the warmth of Sterling's kisses. The light in the open living room was just as exquisite. Sterling's shadow was on the back deck and I heard his voice. Phone calls. One of the primary requirements of producing was hundreds and hundreds of phone calls.

I poured my coffee and my gaze traveled to the easel and the canvas on the far side of the room. The urge was undeniable-not just a want, but a need to mix paint, to feel the wood of the brush handle against the skin of my fingers. The fluttering feeling of my brushstrokes over the canvas. The release of the image that pulsed in my brain.

I settled onto the barstool in front of the easel and took a sip of my coffee. My fingertips trailed over the blank white of the canvas, leaving no marks. The tactile feeling of the cloth against my skin caused a thrill in my body. This canvas would nevermore be blank. Soon the canvas would be filled with paint and colors and the vivid picture that filled my brain. I reached for the paint and squirted some onto the palette and began to mix. My mind had floated away. I saw nothing. I heard nothing. The room around me was void. Filled only with me, and the canvas before me, and my paint and my brush, and the visions that flew from my fingertips onto the canvas over and over again.

The muscles in my shoulders tensed and I rolled my head along my neck.

"Hey," Sterling said softly. His hand settled onto my shoulder and ma.s.saged the deep hard knot. "You about ready to take a break?"

A break? I looked around the room. Darkness had fallen. The room no longer lit by the light of a day. Instead lamps that I had not turned on lit the yellow house. I looked up at Sterling and my eyes widened.

His lips pressed the top of my head. "You were deep into it, all day," he said. A smile played along the curve of his mouth. "It was beautiful to watch."

My eyelids fluttered and I was back-back here in this reality instead of being caught up in my vision and my paint and my brushes. I stretched my arms and rolled my head. "Wow," I said. I hadn't done that in a long while. I looked toward the painting and was mesmerized by the work that my hands had created.

This was not the Venice series. This was Sterling. Or a version of Sterling that only I or him or someone close to him would recognize, but the picture was Sterling. His blue eyes bit through me, as did the sharp curve of his jaw. The painting would take weeks to finish and yet there was Sterling, beginning to stare out at me from my canvas. An unsure feeling quivered along the edges of my gut as I surveyed my work. My uncertainty wasn't about my work, but about Sterling's reaction. It was uncommon for anyone to see my work before I finished. I didn't often paint people. What had compelled me to begin a portrait of Sterling Legend? My eyes glanced from the painting and I turned toward him. He stood behind me, his eyes fixed to the canvas in front of us.

"That's me," Sterling said. His voice was soft.

"It would seem so," I said. "Are you angry?"