I couldn't see how any of this was a game, but I gave her what she wanted. That was when I knew I wasn't backing off, wasn't giving her an inch of space. No, this woman had me and now she was damn well going to keep me.
We landed at a private airstrip that was little more than a paved road in the middle of a forest and Neera was quick to inform me this was one of her boss's many passion projects. Since I didn't know what that meant and couldn't imagine wanting to know, I shrugged it off.
When we climbed down the jet's stairs into the warm evening air, a battered SUV drove across the tarmac. "That's Cole," Neera said over her shoulder. "Owen's probably back at the house."
Leaving the lights on and the engine running, Cole stepped out of the SUV, arms wide in welcome. A dog poked its head out the front passenger side window and barked its greeting. Cole's shirt was on inside-out and he had smudged Sharpie scribbles all over his forearm.
I held out my hand but he backed toward the vehicle.
"Come on, we'll talk in the car," Cole urged, waving us toward the SUV. "My husband will flay me if we're not on time to supper and it's possible we're already late."
I liked Cole immediately.
After we'd settled into the backseat, Neera said, "Cole McClish, Gus Guillmand. Consider yourselves formally introduced." She gestured to the dog smiling at us from the front seat. "And that's Sasha."
"Thank you for having me," I called to Cole. I reached forward and scratched between the dog's ears.
"Careful," Cole warned. "She'll be your best friend if she knows you'll give her the kind of attention she wants."
I was only partially certain we were talking about the dog with the hot pink lobster-printed collar and not the woman to my left, the one who'd nearly decimated me with her all-business demeanor this morning. I hadn't fortified myself for that, not at all.
"I told you when to expect us," Neera said to Cole as he drove across the tarmac. "How is it that we're late when we landed as scheduled?"
"Not sure," he replied. "There are a number of plausible explanations. There are some fascinating theories about wormholes and rips in the space/time continuum. All valid considerations."
"Would a valid consideration be that you told Owen we were arriving at a different time altogether?"
He bobbed his head as he drove straight toward the forest. "Also possible."
"Cole." Neera sighed and shifted toward me with a conspiratorial eyeroll. As if we shared eyerolls over her boss and his complete shortage of with-it-ness. As if she allowed me to possess enough of her to know her sighs, her glances, her moods.
I didn't. I knew that with crystal clarity. It didn't stop me from taking her hand and grinning in response. Because I wanted to. She drove me fucking crazy and I wanted to throttle her, but I also wanted to keep her as my one and only.
"I know, I know," he replied. He took a hard right turn onto a bumpy dirt road that sent Neera and I colliding on the bench seat. "I won't let it happen again."
"I'll copy Owen on my itinerary going forward," she said, steadying herself with a hand on my leg. I layered my hand over hers and slid it higher. Her brows arched up and her fingers rubbed the soft, worn denim between my thighs.
"That's nice but you know he doesn't believe in email," Cole replied. "Even though you're late"—this time, I was here for the shared eyeroll—"you've come at the perfect time. We're having the best summer weather right now."
He rambled on about the weather and the work project he didn't want to discuss while driving through the woods like he'd stolen this SUV. If he'd noticed that Neera and I had gone silent, he didn't mention it. I liked him even more.
I gestured to Neera, to my lap, and the swelling behind my button-fly. "Can you be quiet?" I mouthed.
She bit back a smile. Blushed hard enough for me to see it in the evening darkness. And then, shook her head. No.
"Not right now," she whispered back, a devious gleam in her eyes.
That's right, sparrow. Come back to me. Come back.
She never stopped stroking my inner thigh. My cock didn't get the attention it wanted, but there were days ahead of us before we were due to board that jet again. I'd get mine. I was sure of it.
"It might be fun," I whispered. Cole didn't notice us. He was going on about the market prices for different types of fish, of all things. "I don't imagine he'll notice."
"He won't," Neera replied, glancing toward the front seat. "But Sasha will."
Sure enough, the dog was staring at us over the seatback, her ears perked up and her tongue hanging out. "You never know, sparrow. You might like it. I know how you feel about back seats."
Neera pressed her face to my chest, smothering a laugh. I stole that moment to drag my fingers through her hair and suck in a lungful of her delicious scent. I'd missed this. Even after a day—but it wasn't a single day. It was a day plus every day since I'd arrived in California. Every minute, even the ones when she wasn't around and I couldn't resent her for claiming my attention and branding my dreams as her own.
No, this hadn't started yesterday. Not by a long shot.
If my last-minute addition to this visit came as a shock to Cole or his husband Owen, they didn't let on about it. Instead, they welcomed me into their home and promptly put me to work carrying dishes to the table like I was an old friend.
I wanted to believe it was a product of their hospitality rather than experience with hosting a lengthy roster of Neera's suitors.
They made it easy for me to believe the former.
That was good news because any hint of previous men would've driven me to fuck the memory of them out of her on the kitchen table. Whether or not we allowed Cole and Owen to watch was an issue separate from the batch of jealousy I was brewing.
It was new to me, the jealousy. I had few experiences of this sort and couldn't decide whether my reaction was healthy and normal or proof I hadn't completely evolved from the cavemen. It was probably healthy. Completely normal.
Just like carving a flock of fucking birds.
Conversation hummed around me while I studied Neera from across the table. I didn't know how she did it, but she managed to slide between a friendly, almost sibling-like relationship with these men and full-on Miz Malik in all her strict, structured glory. It was strange to watch because I could almost see her settling the chief of staff hat on her head as she responded to certain questions from Cole.
It was strange and I adored that strangeness because I was wrong about Neera. She wasn't a taskmaster boss. She wasn't cold or detached. She wasn't any of the one-dimensional labels I'd slapped on her at the outset. She was everything, all at once, and the only label I wanted to slap on her now was mine.
"Does that work for you, Gus?"
I snapped out of my possessive thoughts and discovered Cole, Owen, and Neera staring at me expectantly. "I'm sorry. I didn't catch that," I said, glancing at each of them. I wasn't certain who'd asked the question.
"I believe this lad has a touch of jetlag," Cole announced.
"Jesus Christ, Cole. Enough with the lads, babe," Owen muttered, rubbing a hand over his brow. "We read one American Revolution book and look what happens."
"You're saying I should cancel the waistcoat and breeches order I placed?" he asked.
Still massaging his forehead, Owen asked, "It's a little early to be planning for Halloween, isn't it?"
"Sure," Cole replied. "If Halloween was the intended purpose. I just thought it would be fun to dress up and we could—"
"No," Owen interrupted. "Whatever the rest of that sentence is, no."
Stifling a laugh, Neera said, "Cole wants to get started on our agenda early tomorrow morning. Would that be all right? We're known to take over the table and have some spirited conversations."
"I have a whiteboard on wheels," Cole added.
"And it's hideous," Owen murmured.
"Sometimes, I drag out it out here and move the spirited conversation to the board," Cole continued. "It's better than
paper or screens. Easier to scribble ideas and wipe them away when they're shit. D'you get that? You know, as an artist?"
I glanced at the Sharpie on his arm. "Yeah," I replied, nodding. "Yeah, I get that."
Owen shot me a pointed look. "My advice is to make yourself scarce. There's room on the boat if that's something you want to do."
"Allow me to translate my husband for you," Cole said. "The physical capacity of my lad's sailing vessel will accommodate another adult, however, the social-emotional capacity of the vessel is limited to one adult. If you choose to go along with him, please do not expect him to speak to you. Oh, and don't fall overboard. It's only adorable when I do it."
"It's a damn good thing you're adorable," Owen muttered. "And a damn good swimmer."
"Thank you for offering," I said. "We drove through a stretch of forest on the way, right? Are there any trails to hike as an introduction to the area?"
"Trails? Why ever would you need a trail when you enjoy getting lost?" Neera asked, a tease woven through her words.
"You know I enjoy getting lost," I teased back. "But only when I have a sense of the land." I glanced at the windows facing the water. Still darkness glinted back at me. "I'm not positive I could find my current location on a map and I definitely don't know what kind of wildlife I'll encounter in that forest. On this occasion, a trail is preferable."
"Whatever you do, don't eat any wild berries," Cole said.
Owen snort-laughed at that and said, "There are miles of trails right out the back door. You can't miss them." He ran his knuckles over his bearded jaw. "There's not much by way of wildlife in these parts around this time of year. A few woodchucks, a couple of foxes, some beavers, maybe a possum or two. Badgers. That's about it. Nothing noteworthy. It's a good time for hiking."
"You might even find a tree or two to climb," Neera added.
Owen nodded, saying, "Certain paths are better than others. I might have a trail map around. Stay here. I'll go look."
Cole tipped his glass toward Neera. "That means we're on dish duty. Wash or dry?"
"You use an unfathomable amount of soap. I can't stand by and allow that to happen," she said.
"Right, so, I'll dry," he replied.
Neera rounded the table, gathering plates as she went. She stopped beside me, leaned in close, and said, "You'll have a whole forest to roam. How's that?"
"You could roam with me," I said, resting my hand low on her back.
She shook her head. "Not tomorrow. Cole has a list. He grows anxious if we don't address his lists with expediency."
"But some other day?" I asked, hopelessly hungry for her attention.
She stretched to collect a plate from the other side of the table, the movement pressing her breasts against my face. I groaned into the glory of her body.
"Yes," she murmured. "Some other day."
"I'm holding you to that," I said.
She straightened, her arms loaded with dishes and utensils, and stared at me for a moment. Then, she said, "I hope you do."
After the dishes were washed and dried, and I'd received an extensive explanation of the local terrain from Owen, Neera and I found ourselves closed up in a guest room. We were frozen in place, the bed between us and our feet rooted on the creaky hardwood floor as we gazed at each other.
I was gradually coming to grips with the fact we didn't always know what to do with each other. It was particularly obvious that we didn't slide between the assorted segments of our relationship with ease, not yet anyway.
Eventually, I asked, "What happens now?"
She studied the quilt on the bed. "To what are you referring, Mr. Guillmand?"
"You, Miz Malik, and me, in this room together tonight." I dropped my knee on the edge of the bed. "If you need an out or an opening, I'll give you one. I'll give you anything you want."
She glanced up at me, her lips pressed together in a sharp line. She was looking for the trap. "You'd do that?"
"This house is small, the floors are loud, and the walls are thin. I can't corner you the way I did at the spice market, not unless you want those two listening in." I tapped my fingertips on my leg as my words simmered between us. "I'm following your lead here, sparrow. You tell me what happens now and how you want it to go."
Her gaze on the quilt once again, Neera said, "I don't want Cole or Owen hearing—or seeing—anything. I know we played a bit on the ride here from the airstrip and after dinner but—but I don't want that right now. Not all of it, like yesterday." Shrugging, she continued, "It's not completely clear to me what I do want."
"You want to be exposed when it's anonymous," I supplied. "And when it's somewhat distant."
She nodded. That quilt must've been damn fascinating for the attention she paid it. Through the open window, I heard crickets and cicadas, water lapping the shore, wind rustling the trees. It was a calm, cool night and the sky was a dark velvet cloak studded with millions of jewels, just the way I liked it. And this woman, the one who had the world on a string and knew everything about everything, couldn't make sense of her needs.
I liked her most of all.
"Is that what you're craving?" I asked. "Some anonymity?"
"No," she replied. "That's not—no. That's not it." She started to shake her head but stopped herself. She lifted her chin, met my gaze. "Maybe it is. Maybe I don't want to be accountable. Even if it's dangerous. Even if it's reckless exhibitionist sex in a car. And maybe…maybe I don't know what it is."
"Then, let me help you find it."
She studied me as if she had to press my words through a sieve to understand them. Then, she held out her hand to me and said, "I'd like that."
I took her hand as she climbed onto the bed. We met in the middle. I shoved my fingers through her silky hair and tasted her lips for the first time in too long.
There wasn't going to be any headboard banging tonight. No sex toys, no up-market lube. No claw marks on my back, no hair pulling. Despite the possessive caveman in my head who'd wanted to sit Neera on my cock no fewer than ninety-six times today and even contemplated defiling the kitchen table, sharing a bed without the possibility of sex excited me more than anything we'd shared last night.
"Me too," I said.
This time, the jetlag was to blame.
I woke up much later than I'd intended and found the sun high in the sky and the waters of Talbott's Cove shimmering through the lace-curtained window. True to form, Neera had smoothed the sheets on her side, tugged her half of the quilt up, and nestled her pillows against the pine headboard exactly as we'd found them yesterday.
Once I'd checked the time—good fuck, it was almost noon—and posted a sleepy-face selfie to Instagram—that shit was follower wildfire—I made the bed and stumbled across the hall to the shower.
Cole and Neera were in the kitchen as promised. I didn't see them, but there was no missing the debate in progress. I spoke enough languages to get around this planet, but I couldn't make sense of a word they were saying.
While I waited for the shower to warm up, I studied the cramped bathroom with its vintage tiles and porthole window. Neera lived in a small, bland apartment and Cole and his husband had a bathroom straight out of the seventies. The better part of me admired the fact these people lived simply despite their staggering wealth. The smaller, grouchier part of me wondered how anyone with their money—not to mention a private airstrip for their private jet—could put up with a sluggish water heater.
My family didn't know the first thing about living simply. Though I'd never analyzed it deeply, I knew my desire to stay close to nature and make my own way was a reaction to them. They knew it too. Thankfully for all involved, my work earned me enough acclaim for them to regard me as an eccentric artist rather than a finger-painting nomad. Eccentric was fashionable; finger-painters and nomads were not. They weren't going to disown me or force me to eat my Christmas Eve meal in the potting shed, but me finding moderate success as an artist made it easier on them.
I washed and dressed as I knocked around the idea of Neera meeting my family. Traveling with me to Brazil, back home to the Morumbi district of São Paulo. Introducing her as my…as mine. They'd embrace her, I was sure of it. They'd see smart, savvy Miz Malik and they'd think she kept my ass in order.
I wasn't certain either of us were anywhere close to orderly.
I spotted Owen entering the kitchen from the back deck at the same time I came around the corner from the hall. A worn ballcap hid his eyes and the print on his t-shirt was long since sun-bleached away. He gestured for me to follow him around the island. Cole and Neera stood shoulder to shoulder at the far end of the table, bent over two iPads. They were deep in discussion, cutting each other off and jabbing fingers at the devices without noticing either of us.
"Heading out now?" I asked him.
"Been out, up the coast, off to the fish market, and back again," he replied. "My day's half over but I wanted to stop in and feed these two. If I didn't, they'd forget and then we'd have real problems on our hands. My husband is irrational when he's hungry." He pushed a glass of iced coffee in my direction. "I'm going to check a couple of traps soon, if you want to come along."
While I was interested in getting a view of the landscape from the sea and I knew Owen required no conversation, I needed to wander. A boat wasn't room enough to wander. "I want to take you up on that offer," I started, "but I think I'll stay on land today."
He nodded toward Neera and Cole on the other side of the room. "They'll be tied up for the next four or five hours. Go. I'll tell her you're settled."
I set off from the house with a backpack stocked with water, snacks, and enough sketch paper, pencils, and charcoal to occupy me for a month. Due to recent developments with a certain lady, I kept a small sculpting kit tucked into the front pocket. Couldn't risk encountering the urge to carve another bird without having the right tools on hand.
Rough Sketch Page 6