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His dark hair was slightly longer, reminding her of how he’d looked when they’d first met. His eyes were still as serious as they’d always been, but something was different about them—the longer he looked over the painting, the more they softened. And—holy cow—how had she not noticed until now that he was bare-chested? He was broader, thicker, more manly than he’d been when they’d shared a bed. A deliciously wild and sexy bed.
Breathe, Reese. Breathe.
He lifted his eyes from the driftwood she’d painted and his lips tipped up in a smile. “This is beautiful, Reese. The detail in the waterwheel really brings it to life, and the brook is so well done that the water practically flows off the wood.”
Hearing Trent’s praise brought back such good memories. Trent had not only been the first person to support her artwork outside of her family, but he’d also understood in a way no one else had how it fulfilled her and set her free at the same time.
She opened her mouth to respond with a thank you, but the urge to kiss him—to thread her fingers into his hair and pull his mouth down over hers so that she could see if he still tasted as good as he used to—was so strong it stunned her.
Reese snapped her mouth closed, more than a little surprised by the desires that her ex-husband had so quickly reawakened. Trent set the wood in the basket, and their fingers brushed, sending a shiver of heat up her arm, before he rose to his feet and reached for her hand.
Oh no. If I take your hand, I’ll want to be in your arms, and I can’t get hurt again.
She had to get out of there. Now.
She pushed to her feet and managed to find her voice. “Can you be sure Shelley gets the basket?” She took a step backward. “I’ve got to run.”
“But you just got here,” he said as she headed for the sidewalk.
She stumbled over her own feet as she hurried away, afraid that if she looked back at him again, her resolve to keep her distance until she could handle seeing him without going all squishy inside would simply dissolve.
She needed a few days.
Or months.
Or a year.
Or maybe it was going to take a lifetime to figure out how to get over Trent Rockwell.
Chapter Two
THERE WEREN’T MANY things that made Reese happier than sitting atop her favorite spot on the dunes and painting in the early hours of the morning, when the sun spread its beauty over the bay. Hues ranging from peach to vibrant orange melted into the fray of the blue-gray sky. Reflections of clouds danced off the water, broken only by boats and buoys and their liquefied shadows.
It was also where she and Trent had first met.
She’d spent years avoiding this very spot after their divorce, and hadn’t set out this morning with the intention of ending up here. But as if her legs had a mind of their own, it was where she’d ended up. And now she remembered just how spectacular this view of the beach and the bay was. She could even see the tips of the resort’s roofs off to her right. She’d always thought that this was the most beautiful location on the whole island.
Reese tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and inhaled the salty sea air, trying not to think about last night and how good it had felt to be back in Trent’s arms. But being here, in the very spot where she’d first set eyes on him, it was impossible not to think about him.
She’d spent ten years moving past their marriage. Ten years trying to forget the summer they’d fallen in love, when every day had held such wonderful promise and every night had sparked with the flames of their insatiable passion. She’d even stopped drinking her favorite smoothie, which she’d concocted out of fruits and yogurt the first night she and Trent had made love. They’d both been ravenous after hours of lovemaking but too revved up to eat. Trent had made a joke about surviving on the glory of passion, and their Passion and Glory smoothie was born.
She’d been so naive, thinking that an island girl like her could ever be happy in a big city like New York. They’d had such big hopes and dreams, and they hadn’t been worried about making things work—not when they’d been sure that true love would trump any obstacles in their path.
But while it turned out that true love hadn’t actually been able to make their marriage or life in New York work, Trent’s love had inspired Reese so deeply that her artistic abilities had surged while they were together. She’d been inspired by him in a way that she’d never been again—not until today, when her painting of the sunrise over the bay seemed almost effortless. Her brush had taken on a mind of its own this morning, moving over the canvas in long, quick swipes, creating arcs and mixing colors in new and beautiful ways. All because of how thrilling it had been to be in his arms again and to look into his deep blue eyes. Reese set her paintbrush down on the tray of her wooden easel with a sigh. No matter how much she wanted to deny it, she knew exactly why she’d gotten up before dawn and come to her old favorite spot; she had been hoping to catch a glimpse of Trent running, just like she used to so long ago. She’d dated a few guys since their divorce, but not once had she felt the explosive creativity—or soul-deep passion—that Trent stirred in her with just the whisper of her name.
