Chapter 26

She glanced up for a moment, her hand moving to shade her eyes as she watched him steer the fast little boat. Of course it would be a fast one; she doubted he knew the meaning of the word slow. Of all the things he’d wanted to do today he wanted to take her out on the water, where she couldn’t get away by vanishing into a room.

Life wasn’t fuckin’ fair, that was for sure. She’d given in to his hooky demands and now? Hell just looking at him was torture, she could all too easily remember what lay underneath those cargo shorts and shirt, and she still WANTED it way too much. Ok Alex, get your mind outta the gutter. Sketch or go to sleep, don’t let him see you watching.


She pulled the sketch pad onto her lap and opened it to an empty sheet of paper, her fingers smoothing over the thin parchment like paper as her eyes turned away from Richie. She’d sketch the ocean; get involved in the sounds of the gulls, the way the water looked as he ran over the swells. As her fingers started moving over the page she smiled to the sound of the gulls. Wonder if Beez is up there, or Al? Wish we had bread for them.


Thinking of the gulls circled into thoughts of him that day on the beach. It had been a little tense, but they’d worked through it. They worked well together, well as long as she kept her wits about her, which was nearly impossible the way he dressed. Barely buttoned shirts should be illegal. She smiled, her thoughts wandering from his clothing choices to how he looked as those clothes came off the night before, the way his skin nearly burned her as he slid over her. ALEX STOP! Go back to the gulls.


She grunted softly and forced her thoughts away from the yummy memories, glancing down only to see her hand had stilled on the page. Taking a deep breath she started moving the charcoal over the page, her eyes on the horizon.


Richie throttled back as the cove came into range. She'd hardly said a word since she'd boarded The Princess. As usual, her head was in her sketchpad, and her eyes on anything but him.


He had to admit that the way her blonde hair floated around when he hit the throttle made him drive a bit more recklessly, but the way she gripped the sides of the seat was just a bonus. Of course the grip reminded him of her fingers on his back and then it all went downhill. He was a masochist--he was convinced of it. He fishtailed the boat, watching her hair float over her shoulders as he idled down to no motor. "We'll float in from here."


Her fingers stilled as his voice washed over her senses, her eyes glancing up for a moment. "Ok... Mr..." Shit Alex Don't, he'll bring up the secretary thing again. "err, Richie, sure, floating sounds nice."


She glanced out at the cove, her eyes widening as she took in its beachy appeal. How did he find such cozy private spots? She'd never have guessed this little out of the way cove was this close to where he stayed.


He spotted the small makeshift pier and hit the jets enough to get them there, jumping off the boat to tie off. His shirt fluttered in the breezy warm day, so he shrugged it off and stuffed it in his bag, unloading. "Ready?" He held out his hand.


She placed the charcoal back into her sketch case before glancing up, her body going tense as she noticed the lack of shirt. Dammit man, that’s just not fair!


She slammed her eyes shut a moment and took a breath as her hand reached up to take his, her wayward thoughts warring with her calm cool persona. "As ready as I'm gonna get."

"Here, give me the sketch pad so it doesn't get wet." He snagged it with his other hand and put it down before helping her over the lip of the boat.

She lost her footing and her cheek glanced off his shoulder. All that cornsilk hair fluttered in the breeze off the water and tickled his chest. Steadying her, he slid the flat of his hand over her back. "Okay?"

She stopped herself from flinching away, only to side step quickly and nearly go over the side of the pier. Righting herself, a slight flush crept onto her cheeks. "Yeah, I'm fine."

She stepped away, her hands rubbing up along her arms as a shiver raced over her. Shit it was almost like his hands were still there, like a phantom pain when you lost a limb. She could still feel his hands on her and that so wasn't good.


"So, exactly what's the plan for this cove?"


He grabbed his guitar case and his bag. Her sketch pad flipped over. "Shit," he picked it up. "Sorry about that." He started to put the cover down and saw his shoulders at the front of the boat. The skyline was rocky and desolate. A few gulls overhead. The whispy tails of his shirt looked like they were actually flowing in the wind. The curve of his shoulder was shaded and freckled. "This is amazing," he said absently.


He looked up at her. "You drew this in the boat?"


She glanced at the pad a moment before shaking her head, "Ahh, no, that was from the day we fed the gulls." She managed to smile, a slight shrug to her shoulders, "with a little artistic license included."


He flipped to the next page, pulling it out of the way when she grabbed for it. "Hey now," he said and turned around. A few artistic sketches of the house and the beach and then--he hardened instantly.


It was the open water. A three quarter view of him. He could see her finger smudges where she'd worked the charcoal with shading and a heavier hand. His chest, his belly and the low slung pair of cargos he wore without a belt. She'd shaded it and exhaustively traced over the dents and hollows of his skin and the shaded V where his pants tugged low on his hips. Even so much as to have a crinkle of hair that flowed from his belly button down.


He turned to her. "Is this what you see?"


She studied him quietly for a moment. His dark eyes were so inquisitive, and yet beyond that she saw need. [He thinks he's old, not as good as he was? She nodded, "I only sketch what I see, what's really there. It's you in all," she paused a moment, her teeth worrying her lower lip a second, "you in all your glory I suppose, vital, alive, real."


Instinct warred with his rational mind. Guitar slung over his shoulder, bag tipping him to the side, sketch pad in hand, he hauled her in by the back of her head. His fingers fisted into her hair, drawing that slack-surprised mouth to his. She nearly matched him in height. The quick intake of breath as she went stone still didn't bother him.


He knew she was afraid to get involved with him--with anyone. But damn if the woman didn't get under his skin. Using the hint of surprise, he moaned when her mouth opened for him. His fingers twisted in her hair, the breeze and the silk of her hair, the heat of her mouth and the richness of the day blended into a perfect kiss. She tasted like the sea, like the wind and like everything he'd ever wanted.


When she pulled back, they stood staring at each other, breaths hitched and eyes wide. "I haven't felt alive in a very long time," he said softly and turned away. Her gold eyes saw too much. Made him long for the truth she had instead of the one he carried.


She reached out before she could stop herself, her hand wrapping around his arm tightly. And when he stopped to glance back at her she offered a gentle smile.

"Hey now, just because you've had a bad year or so, and made mistakes, well heck don't that mean you're living? Only the dead get by without mistakes. Making them, recovering from them, that’s what makes life."


She stepped in, her head tilting, "seems to me your music is alive, and that can't come from someone whose not right? Just you think about that."

She turned his arm loose then stepped around him on the way to the white sand of the beach, "Just some folks are too stubborn to see the truth in things, they like getting all caught up in the spanking themselves theory. Easier than really living."


He walked after her, his gait slow as her words sunk in. Part of him wanted to believe her--the other part--he knew there wasn't a person in his circle of people that he hadn't hurt. How did you come back from that?


She made a bee line for his spot--as if she'd known where it was all along. The curve of rocks and beach made a pretty shelter. Clingy vines grew out of the rocks and the spill of the tide pool that lapped at the beach.


He dropped his guitar and bag turning to the sky that filtered through the eroded stone making a small, sheltered pool. He grinned to himself when she dropped and instantly started to sketch. Leaving her to it, he lowered himself to his 'seat' and unlocked his guitar case. He'd needed this--and so did she.


Her hand stalled as the music started teasing her ears. It was a lovely song, something almost mystical and as she listened more intently she could even hear the ebb and flow of the oceans waves within the riffs. She wondered for a minute if it was something he'd been working on, or if he was making it up as he went. Either way it was awe inspiring.

Flipping the page to a clean one her head tilted as she studied him, lost in the music, eyes closed, body relaxed and she began to let the charcoal flow over the page. She wished for an instant as she drew, that he could see what she saw, a man not destroyed by all he'd done, but refined and new.


The water and the peace settled over him like a familiar blanket. He knew the guitar piece was far too complicated to be remembered after this, but he let the song drift on the air.


The little cove made the best natural acoustics as the notes bounced off the rocks and rose up to greet the sunshine. His head tipped back as his fingers flew over the strings.


There was no holding back the song at that moment. He rode it hard, his fingers cramping to catch up with notes that wouldn't stop.


She stopped sketching and simply watched him play. If this was dead, she wouldn't mind having more of it at times. She began to smile as he got lost deeper in the melody and wished she'd brought something to record the magic he was making.

As the song faded off and his hands went still she clapped softly. "Nothing dead inside could create that sort of beauty out of nothing. You know that right?"


He draped his arm over his guitar and let his heart rate return to normal. It wasn't often that he found that little zone these days. "Music is all I have besides my daughter. It's my one constant."


Her brow arched slightly as her head shook, "Naah, you have no friends, no family, and you surely don't have a lot of people who admire you for all you've accomplished. Wasn't you who overcame that mistake and went on to finish the highest ranking tour of the year with those non friends. Wasn’t you last night either huh? That vital alive man that showed me what lovemaking was. Silly me, must have been some OTHER Richie Sambora."

She dropped her sketch pad onto a rock and stood, turning away from him to wander off along a path she'd noticed. "I think I'll go see if he's wandering the beach, because Damn sure I thought I’d ridden here with that guy."