“Yes, sorry.” Lorna shook her head as if annoyed with herself, all the while rubbing her foot along Baxter’s back. The dog loved it. “I forgot to charge my phone again and the battery went dead, and then I couldn’t find it. So, you’ve sold some more of my paintings?”
Billie nodded. “They’re selling like hotcakes. Tourists can’t get enough of them, so I hope you’ve got some more for me.”
“Sure have. There’s another ten or so in the van. I’ll go get them.”
“Fabulous. Can I help?”
Lorna shook her head. “No. They’re small ones, so I can manage.”
“Okay. I’ll go get your money.” As Lorna walked back out of the gallery, Billie shoved her sketchbook in the bottom drawer of her desk and turned to head inside, only to see Travis emerging into the courtyard.
Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of him in jeans and a black T-shirt, his hair all ruffled as if he’d just rolled out of bed. As he closed the distance between them, she forgot why she was going inside as anticipation thrummed within her. He had that determined look in his eyes, and after what they’d done last night, she thought she had an idea of what was on his mind.
Sure enough, the moment he stopped in front of her, he swept her into his arms and covered her mouth with his, then kissed her as if he hadn’t just spent most of the night ravishing her body. As if his desire for her was as strong as ever. Wanton heat flooded her body, happiness bursting within her at the confirmation that maybe last night hadn’t been a one-off.
“Good morning,” he said, finally pulling back, his hands still firmly holding her hips, the pressure igniting a yearning need within her.
“Yep.” She smiled up at him, fighting the urge to close up shop and lure him back into her bedroom. Probably there wouldn’t be much luring needed. “Sleep well?”
He nodded. “I have some things I’ve gotta go do, but how about we have that dinner later?”
She was about to reply that she liked that idea a whole lot, when Travis looked past her and his expression turned dark. He dropped his hands to his sides as if her skin were suddenly boiling and then all but pushed past her.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” he roared as Lorna came back into the gallery.
—
This was not happening. No fucking way. A ghost had just walked into Billie’s gallery, because the woman carrying an armload of canvases was as good as dead to him. She had been for almost fifteen years, and he’d hoped never to lay eyes on her again.
Forgetting Billie, he stormed toward his mother, his fists clenched tightly at his side. “Get the fuck out of my building!” He pointed toward the gate, fighting the urge to physically throw her out. Although he normally wouldn’t hurt a woman, he didn’t rate this one any higher than the algae that lived in the swamps and if she didn’t get the message, he’d not be responsible for his actions.
“Travis.” He heard Billie rushing at him from behind. “What the hell are you doing? Leave Lorna alone.”
Lorna? So Billie knew her. It wasn’t simply a fucked-up coincidence that she’d chosen today to stroll into the gallery.
“Stay out of this!” he ordered, holding his hand up to keep Billie back, all the while his eyes never leaving the woman who’d given him life—hah, what a joke! “I said get the fuck out. You’re not welcome here and if you don’t fuck off, I swear I’ll make you.”
His mom—not that she had any right to that title—simply stood on the spot, her mouth wide open, as if she were frozen. It looked like she was just as surprised to see him as he was to see her, which figured. For one split second he’d wondered if she’d come looking for him, but of course that idea was ludicrous. She’d never bothered about him before, so why the hell would he imagine she might now?
“Travis. You’re alive.” She almost breathed the words as she hugged the paintings to her chest.
“Do I have to count to fucking three?”
“Travis, please,” Billie pleaded from behind, her voice shaky. “What’s gotten into you?”
He didn’t respond. This had nothing to do with her.
Lorna slowly raised her chin. “I’m not here to cause trouble; I simply came to give Billie my paintings.” She took a step toward him as if he were a wild beast and she was treading carefully, then she laid the bundle in her arms on the cobbled courtyard floor and took a step back. “I’ll come collect my money later, Billie. Thanks.”
But as Lorna started toward the door, Travis glanced down at the top painting. She was the mermaid artist? Fuck! That’s why the painting had seemed familiar when he’d looked at it the other day, why something inside him had squeezed at the memory. It suddenly sprang to life, every little bit coming back in full. When he was little, before he realized what his mom was, before she’d gotten bored with being a mom, she’d drawn him mermaids every day. Sometimes with paper, sometimes with pen on his skin—his first tattoos. He’d loved them.
Something inside him snapped. He didn’t want this memory. Didn’t want Lorna or anything to do with her to be anywhere near him ever again. He bent over and grabbed the canvases off the ground and then hurled them after her, not caring as they collided with one of Rolley’s sculptures and scattered on the floor.
“You could have hit her.” Billie glared at him as she shot past him and over to Lorna at the entrance. “Are you okay?” she asked, placing a caring arm around his mother.
“I’m fine,” he heard Lorna reply, her voice sounding as feeble as she looked. Granted she hadn’t seemed high, but looks could be deceiving, and what the fuck did he care anyway? Even if she had cleaned up her act, it was too damn late. Some things were un-fucking-forgivable. Some people should never be parents. Some women should have their tubes tied at birth.
She looked back at him again and although there was a good distance between them, he saw her blink as if fighting tears. “I’m sorry, Travis. I know nothing I could ever say will make up for the past, but please know that there’s not a day that goes by when I don’t think of you and wish things had been different. Wish I’d been different. I hope—”
Travis held up a hand. He’d heard enough. “I don’t fucking care what you hope. All I want is to never see you again. Now get the fuck out before I throw you out.”
“Travis!” Billie glared at him again. “Lorna is one of my exhibitors and therefore she’s always welcome here. You have no right to come in here and—”
He’d had enough. His fists still clenched, he stormed toward the women. “I have every fucking right!” he shouted, getting up in Billie’s face. Just because they’d fucked didn’t give her the right to butt into his business. “I own this building, remember. And you don’t know shit about this situation, about me or about what this woman really is. So back the fuck off and let me deal with her.”
Billie stepped in front of Lorna and crossed her arms over her pretty chest. “No. I’m not going to stand by while you abuse one of my artists. You might own this building, but I’m legally still renting it and I won’t have you acting like this and making a scene. You’ll scare off my customers.”
“It’s okay,” Lorna said softly from behind them. “Billie, Travis is right. This situation is more complicated than you can imagine. But it’s okay, I’m going. And Travis…” She looked up and met his gaze and despite himself, he couldn’t look away. She did look different, more put together, less feral. She even sounded different—as if someone half-decent now inhabited his mother’s body. “I won’t come back. But if you ever want to find me, my door is open.”