Dane's Storm

She squeezed his hand. Her gaze held so much respect that for a moment, he felt he could do anything on earth—anything at all—if she kept looking at him that way. Believing in him. “Be mine, Audra,” he whispered, moving closer, taking her face in his hands again and kissing her lips softly.

He felt her smile against his mouth as she breathed, “Yes.”

CHAPTER SIX

Audra

Now . . .

The rain beat against my windows and for a moment I didn’t realize there was a separate banging sound coming from the front door. I got up from the couch, throwing the blanket I’d been under aside and walking quickly to answer the door. Who the hell would be visiting me?

I pulled the door open to see Jay, standing on the porch, his blond hair slicked back as if he’d pushed his hand through the rain-drenched strands. For a moment my brain couldn’t compute the sight of him here, as if it wasn’t possible for him to belong anywhere other than my studio.

My studio. My gut clenched.

“What are you doing here?”

“I was worried about you.”

“Because I called in sick?”

“Well, that—you’ve never called in sick once in three years. But also because you sounded dead inside, even over voicemail. I figured either things didn’t go well with the evil grandmother you ran out to confront yesterday, or someone might have a knife to your throat. “

My shoulders slumped. That felt accurate, figuratively anyway. And I did feel dead inside. I felt desperate and miserable and without hope. I held the door open wider indicating he should come in. He did, wiping his feet on the mat, and then taking off his coat and hanging it on the coat tree.

He followed me into my living room, and I noticed the small, confused frown on his face. “Not what you pictured?” I asked.

“No, not even close. I didn’t realize you had this . . . uh, side to you.”

I sat on the worn couch, not able to help the small laugh that bubbled up my throat. “There are lots of sides to me, Jay.”

“Hmm,” he said, giving what I knew was an ugly, mostly depressing room one more glance.

I brought my legs under me. “I grew up here. It was my grandparents’ home, and when my mom left, my dad and I moved in with them. My grandfather died when I was nine, and my grandmother passed away when I was twelve. After that, it was just me and my dad. The place hasn’t been redecorated since the nineties, but my dad was disabled and there wasn’t a lot of money, and recently, I’ve been putting every dime I have into the business. So”—I waved my hand around—“this is where I live. Home sweet home.”

Jay regarded me, a slight look of surprise on his face. “Do you mind me asking how your dad was disabled?” He posed the question softly, the look on his face hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure if he was overstepping a boundary.

I sighed, feeling a brief stab of guilt that I’d been such a standoffish friend in many ways, while Jay had always been an open book. “My mom and dad married young and had me right before my dad shipped off to the Gulf War. He suffered a traumatic brain injury and lost one of his legs. I don’t remember him before, b

ut according to my grandmother, when he came back he was . . . very different, a shell of himself, really.” I sighed again. “My mom couldn’t handle it and just . . . left. Left us here. After my grandparents died, I was all he had.” I lapsed into silence and Jay stared at me for several beats.

“That’s the most information you’ve given me about your background since we met.”

I breathed out a humorless laugh. “I know I’m not the most forthcoming person. My past is . . . difficult for me to talk about.” Difficult for me to think about.

He nodded. “And it’s your past that’s back to haunt you.”

“Yes,” I sighed. “It seems my past has collided with what I hoped was my future,” I said in a whispery rush of words, misery overcoming me once again. Jay tilted his head, waiting for me to continue. “As you read in the letter from her attorneys, my ex-husband’s grandmother is trying to take the building from me, and it looks like she might succeed.”

Jay’s brows furrowed as he sat back, bringing one ankle up on his opposite knee. “How long have you been divorced?”

I shook my head, glancing away for a moment. “Seven years. I was eighteen when we married, and barely twenty when we divorced. It was practically over before it began. I was a stupid kid who didn’t understand how life really worked.”

“Okay. So how exactly is your ex-grandmother trying to take the building?”

“My ex-husband comes from an extremely wealthy family. Old money, but new money too. Each generation has figured out how to contribute in some meaningful way and expand the family fortune. Before we married, his grandmother talked me into signing a prenup. I was young, naïve. I thought we’d last forever so what did it matter what I signed?” I took a deep breath, attempting to push back the emotions that talking of that time brought up for me. “Dane purchased the building on Providence Parkway right before we were married, with the intention of gifting it to me so I could start the business I’d always dreamed of running. It was his wedding gift to me, and we put my name on it, but not until after we were married.”

I glanced at Jay, and he had put his foot on the floor and was leaning forward, his elbows on his knees as he listened attentively.