Page 16

BARBARA

T he Pacific Coast Highway was a symphony of nature’s beauty, each curve revealing a new vista of majestic cliffs plunging into the azure water.

Sunlight painted golden brushstrokes across the rugged landscape, casting a warm glow over everything it touched.

As we wound westward toward Malibu, I couldn’t resist turning my face toward the heavens, letting the sun’s warm caress kiss my skin through the car’s windshield.

The drive would be spectacular in the summer with the top down.

As we rounded a bend, a striking modernist structure came into view—all clean lines and walls of glass perched on a bluff overlooking the Pacific.

Victor steered the car onto a crushed-shell driveway and killed the engine.

In the sudden hush, the mournful cries of seagulls circling overhead and the undulating crashes of waves on the beach wrapped around us as the ocean breathed.

Victor came around and opened my door, offering his hand, his touch warm and solid.

The salty tang of the ocean danced on the breeze. I shielded my eyes from the sun as I took in the magnificent structure. Bright ribbons of light reflected off the vast glass panes. “It’s stunning,” I mused. “Whose is it?”

Victor rocked back on his heels as he looked up at the house. “It’s mine.”

I blinked in surprise, my gaze darting back to Victor. “Yours? I had no idea you owned a beach house.”

He flashed me a roguish grin. “It’s not something I advertise. This is my private retreat—a place to escape the hustle of the city.” He gestured toward the front door. “Would you like the grand tour?”

Before I could respond, Victor’s hand settled at the small of my back, guiding me up the path. Even through my dress, my skin tingled at his touch. We ascended a few steps onto a spacious deck that wrapped around to the ocean-facing side of the house. Victor unlocked the door and ushered me inside.

The interior was just as striking as the exterior—wide open spaces, gleaming hardwood floors, and walls of glass framing the endless Pacific.

I stepped further into the space, my heels clicking against the polished wood.

A massive stone fireplace anchored one wall, its earthy tones echoing the natural warmth of the space.

The soaring ceilings and minimalist decor evoked a feeling of tranquility and spaciousness.

Sleek, low-slung furniture in soft neutrals complemented the million-dollar ocean view rather than competing with it.

Victor stepped beside me, his posture loose and easy, his hands tucked into his pockets. “So, what do you think?”

“It’s incredible.” Awe crept into my voice as I took it all in. “The way the light moves through the space, the airiness of it all. It feels…freeing, somehow.”

He smiled. “That’s precisely the idea. A place to shed the weight of the world and be at peace.”

I moved toward the windows, drawn to the vast Pacific stretching endlessly to the horizon. The water sparkled like a blanket of diamonds under the golden sun. Frothy white-capped waves curled and crashed rhythmically against the rocky shore.

I was keenly aware of Victor’s presence behind me. My skin prickled, every nerve ending attuned to his nearness and the heat of his body. I swallowed hard, forcing the flutter in my stomach to settle, and kept my eyes trained on the vista, though I could see his reflection in the glass.

“Is Mrs. Cardello home?” I smoothed an invisible crease from my dress.

Victor’s reflection shifted slightly, amusement flickering across his features. “No, Mrs. Cardello isn’t here. She prefers our home in Pasadena.” He paused, seeming to choose his next words carefully. “We’ve kept separate residences for some time now. It suits us both.”

Heat crept up my neck at the implication. Excitement and shame churned low in my stomach. I fixed my gaze on the ocean, watching a seabird coast on a wind current, its wings outstretched. Silence pooled between us, charged with unspoken words.

Victor cleared his throat. “Would you like to see the rest of the house?”

Relieved for the shift in conversation, I turned to face him with a smooth smile. “Please. Lead the way.”

He showed me the sleek, modern kitchen—crisp white appliances in clean, rounded lines.

From there, Victor led me down a hallway lined with framed black-and-white photographs.

I paused before a striking image—an abandoned gas station, its paint-chipped sign fading into the barren desert beneath an endless sky.

The composition was masterful, the play of light and shadow evoking a sense of lonely desolation.

“Did you take these?” I asked, moving to another—the weathered remains of a sagging, dilapidated barn, captured in exquisite detail.

“I did,” Victor confirmed, stepping beside me. “Photography is a passion of mine. Has been since I was a boy.”

I glanced at him, seeing him in a new light.

“You have a remarkable eye.” I moved to the next photo—a child with twin braids down her back, weaving a straw basket.

Her dress was ragged at the edges, patched in places, yet she looked content.

“The textures, the tones, the emotion you draw from them—it’s moving. ”

Victor dipped his head slightly in a rare show of humility. “Thank you, Barbara. It means a great deal to me to hear you say that.” He eyed me silently for a moment, then took a sharp breath and moved closer. “If you like my work, I’d like to show you something.”

We walked in silence down the hallway, stopping at the last door. Victor hesitated, resting his hand on the brass knob. “This”—he eased the door open and stood back, gesturing for me to enter—“is my sanctuary.”

The room felt worlds apart from the rest of the house—intimate, dimly lit, wrapped in rich textures and dark wood. Heavy black velvet drapes covered an entire wall. A pristine white backdrop stood against the opposite wall, flanked by tripods and lighting rigs in an organized chaos.

Victor entered the studio with quiet reverence, his fingers laced together in front of him. He moved to a table along the back wall and lifted a large leather portfolio.

“Other than what I have framed, these are some of my favorite works.” He opened the portfolio with care, turning it to face me. Inside lay a series of striking black-and-white photographs, each matted and boldly signed VC .

I drew closer, spellbound. A lonely dock reaching out into a misty harbor, an empty park bench framed by bare trees, a little girl in a window gazing out at the rain—all were imbued with a haunting beauty. Victor’s mastery of composition, light, and shadow made the ordinary hauntingly beautiful.

“What do you think?” Victor asked, his voice low.

“Victor, these are exquisite.” My fingers hovered over the photographs, instinctively careful not to touch. “I can feel your passion in every detail.” I looked up and met his gaze, my heartbeat quickening.

Victor moved closer, his eyes never leaving mine. “There is one thing missing, though.” He reached out, his fingers gently brushing back a lock of my hair. “A subject worthy of immortalizing.”

My lips parted, but no words came. His touch left a trail of fire on my skin.

Victor tilted his head, studying my features. “Let me photograph you, Barbara. Please,” he said, his voice low, his eyes burning.

My chest tightened as I stared at him. Every instinct told me to say no, to flee this room and put as much distance between us as I could. But there was something in his gaze that pinned me in place.

Slowly, I nodded.

Victor’s eyes lit up, and a smile curved his lips. He gave my hand a light squeeze and led me to a simple wooden stool in front of the backdrop. He glided around the space—flipping on lights, adjusting rigs, loading a fresh roll of film in his camera.

I perched there, frozen, heart racing. What was I doing? This was madness.

“Just be yourself,” he said gently as he adjusted the lights. “You’re no novice at this.”

I drew in a slow breath, willing myself to relax as Victor studied me through the lens with an artist’s eye, taking in every detail.

The bright lights illuminated my face, and I felt exposed, vulnerable.

Victor moved silently, angling and filtering the lights just so until the glow was soft and diffused.

“There,” he murmured, more to himself than to me.

He crouched down, eyes sharp behind the viewfinder.

I held still, watching him. His strong, elegant hands delicately manipulated the focus ring.

A stray lock of dark hair fell across his forehead, and he swept it back absently, consumed by his craft.

My pulse thrummed as his eyes met mine again over the top of the camera. “Don’t look at the lens. Look at me,” Victor commanded. His voice was low, intimate. Click. Our gazes locked, and the rest of the world fell away. Click. It was just the two of us suspended in this moment. Click.

I shifted on the stool, suddenly self-conscious under Victor’s lens. What had come over me, agreeing to this private photoshoot? I was a married woman, yet here I sat, allowing another man to photograph me.

“You’re a natural, Barbara.” Click. “Perfect,” Victor said as he changed his angle.

I swallowed hard, warring with myself. I should have cut this off, should have left. But the way Victor saw me—truly saw me—was addictive. I blossomed under his attention.

Victor lowered the camera and stepped toward me, his eyes intense. “Let me try something different,” he said quietly. Reaching out, he gently brushed my chin and tilted my face toward the light.

I shivered at his touch, my pulse racing. His fingers traced my jawline, lingering a beat too long before dropping away. He pulled a heavy black drop cloth from a table and pinned it over the white background. He picked the camera up again and adjusted the zoom and focus.

“Stunning.” Click. He stepped onto a low stool and stood over me. “Look at me.” Click, click. He stepped down and moved to my side. “Now turn your head—look at me over your shoulder.”

I followed his commands without hesitation.

“Just like that.” His voice was husky. Click. Victor let out a long—almost unsteady—breath as he set the camera on the table.

“Are we done?” I asked.

He chuckled. “For today.”

I sucked in a deep, fortifying breath through my teeth as Victor stepped closer. His eyes trailed over me, making my skin tingle.

“You have a rare beauty, Barbara,” he murmured. “Inside and out. I knew it the first moment I saw you.”

Heat bloomed on my cheeks under the weight of his gaze. “Victor, I…”

His fingers brushed my chin, lifting it gently. Our eyes locked, and an electric current passed between us. Slowly, giving me time to pull away, Victor lowered his head until his lips met mine in a soft, tentative kiss.

At his touch, a flame ignited within me.

My hands reached up of their own accord, fingers tangling in his dark hair, drawing him closer as I returned his kiss.

I stood, pushing myself up into him. Victor’s strong arms encircled me, pulling me flush against his broad chest. All thoughts of propriety vanished; there was only this man and the fire raging between us.

His kiss deepened, full of pent-up longing and desire.

I clung to him, dizzy with the taste and feel of him.

He slid his hands down my back, gripped my hips, and lifted me onto the edge of the table. He stepped between my knees, his body pinning me in place as he trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses along my throat. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him against me, arching into him.

“Barbara,” he murmured, his voice rough with want. “You are exquisite.”

His praise sent a thrill through me. I felt beautiful, desired—seen in a way I hadn’t been for so long. I threaded my fingers through his dark hair and urged his lips back to mine.

He obliged, a smile breaking through his kisses. His hands caressed my thighs, rucking up my dress. I shivered and gasped at the sensation of his palms against my bare skin.

At the sound of my sharp inhale, Victor broke the kiss and pulled his hands out from under my dress, his breathing ragged. He pressed his forehead to mine as he gripped the table’s edge.

“Tell me to stop, Barbara,” he whispered. “Tell me this is madness and you never want to see me again.”

But the words wouldn’t come. “I can’t,” I finally murmured.

Victor’s dark eyes searched mine, seeking answers I wasn’t sure I had. “You can’t do this? Or you can’t ask me to stop?”

“I can’t…ask you to stop.” My voice quivered under the weight of my confession. “I don’t want you to stop.”

He exhaled a ragged breath, knuckles white beside my hips. “Neither do I.”