Levi's Blue: A Sexy Southern Romance

by M. Leighton

  My heart is racing, and moisture has begun to accumulate on my upper lip.

  “Evie? What’s wrong?”

  There is concern in his voice. It’s there, plain as the hand gripping mine, and somehow, it puts my mind at ease.

  Well, some.

  “It’s just…it’s a little scary. The bayou.”

  “A little scary,” he repeats.

  “Actually, it’s a little terrifying.”

  “A little terrifying.”

  “Yeah. To be out there, in the wild, on the water, when you can’t see.”

  “On the water, when you can’t see.”

  “Would you stop repeating what I say?” I half-bark, half-laugh.

  “Sorry. I’m just…thinking.”

  “We can still go. I want to go. You just have to understand that it…it…it scares the shit out of me.”

  He’s quiet for what seems like forever before he speaks, and when he does, his voice is close and quiet and soothing.

  “Evie, I’ve got you. I promise. I won’t let anything happen to you. I swear it.”

  The words are gently spoken, but as hard as steel. In them, I feel the strength of his determination, the sturdiness of his pledge. I feel certainty and comfort.

  But it’s his next words that seal the deal.

  “You can do this.”

  What he doesn’t say is that it only takes courage. And that’s right. It only takes courage. But courage is the hardest thing in the world sometimes. When playing it safe is so much easier, when taking the path of least resistance is so much more pleasant, courage is even harder.

  But he’s right.

  I can do this.

  And I will do this.

  I nod, first a small dip of my head, but then it grows into a steady bob of assurance.

  “You’re right. I can.”

  “That’s my girl,” he says, pressing his lips to my cheek and then bringing my shaking hands to his mouth. “And when we get back—”

  “Levi, I don’t mean to be rude, but shut the hell up and drive before I change my mind.”

  “Got it,” he says, dropping my hands and starting the engine.

  I breathe a laugh. He pats my knee. Then we dart off down the street. Destination bayou.

  ********

  Aside from the fact that Levi had to pick me up and bodily deposit me into the two-person kayak, I think the whole trip went pretty well.

  It took about fifteen minutes on the water for me to relax, but when I did, we slipped into an easy rhythm that made the entire journey a lush experience for all of my senses.

  The bright sun was filtered through the cypress groves, shining intermittently on my face. The humid air clung to my skin and hair, but served to keep me cool during our two-hour trip.

  The sounds and smells, and Levi’s descriptions of the scenery made the outing the exquisite encounter that it was. The croak of frogs, the chirp of crickets, and the trill of various birds coupled with the lap of water and Levi’s rhythmic paddling gave the afternoon a serene, idyllic quality I wasn’t expecting.

  The smells weren’t always spectacular, but they did serve to paint a vivid mental picture of the terrain. Moist vegetation, some of it rotting away beneath the muddled surface of the water, damp earth, and a highly functional ecosystem gave the air a distinct aroma that I will forever associate with the bayous.

  But more than any of that was the absolute pleasure of Levi—his presence, his voice, his heart. His attempts to help me “see” what he saw stole the show for me in a way I never would’ve anticipated.

  “It’s like we’re alone in the world out here. All I see are blue skies and brown trees draped with every different shade of green imaginable. Everything else is…water. And it’s the color of pale mud. Sort of like café au lait. Do you know it?” he’d asked.

  “I do,” I’d said.

  “Part of it is covered with such a thick layer of bright green algae, the kayak is leaving a path in it. It moves like an oil slick when we pass, but it’s the color of an exotic tree frog.”

  I knew the color of that, too. I could picture it with perfect clarity.

  “And the trees?”

  “Some are covered in dark green kudzu from the surface of the water all the way to the tip. Others are dirt brown and have multiple trunks that just disappear into the deep. Those are a little more…artistic. Their limbs are sparse and start high on the tree, and they’re decorated with wispy clumps of grayish green Spanish moss. It hangs from the branches like jewels from a queen’s ears.”

  “I wonder what it feels like, the moss.”

  “I bet it’s soft.”

  “And dry.”

  “Yeah, soft and dry. But I much prefer soft and wet.”

  I could almost hear the leer in his voice, almost imagine the waggle of his brows, and I laughed and shook my head. “Incorrigible.”

  He described everything for me, did all that he could to make the ride as richly detailed as possible. And for as long as I live, when I look back on today, I’ll remember him most of all, and how hard he tried to give me the bayou.

  Really give me the bayou.

  It isn’t until we are back at the hotel that the emotion of it all, the enormity of what he’s done, settles in and wraps its warm arms around me. Suddenly, I need to be close to him. As close as I can get, like if my skin is touching his, I’ll be able to make him understand, make him feel what I’m feeling.

  The moment the elevator doors close, I reach for Levi, gripping his face in my hands and stretching up to press my mouth to his. Gratitude flows from me so purely, I don’t even realize I’m crying until Levi stills.

  I lean back, but only so far because his arm is locked around my waist, holding me to him.

  “What’s wrong?” His voice is quiet, worried.

  “Nothing. Not one damn thing. This day has just been so…so… perfect and I wanted to thank you.”

  I lower my face. Now I’m embarrassed. What an emotional wreck he must think I am. Oh God!

  I want to slink back to one corner of the elevator, but he won’t let me go.

  “Then why the tears?” As he asks, he uses his free hand to wipe one droplet from my cheek, retracing it with the back of his finger up to the outer corner of my eye.

  “I don’t know. I just… It’s just that I’ve wanted to do this for so long, and I really didn’t think I’d ever be able to. And then, once I had the chance, I was almost too afraid to go. But you wouldn’t let me give up. Because of you, one of my dreams came true today. I know it seems silly, but it’s just a big day for me. And all of it thanks to you. I just wanted…I just wanted you to know how much it meant to me.”

  Moving his fingers down until my chin is caught between them, Levi lowers his head and kisses me again. He smells of pine and musk and the woods, and he feels like a sculpture in limestone pressed up against me.

  This kiss is nothing like my kiss, though. This kiss is a slow, sensual assault on my mouth, a decadent symphony of taste and texture played out by the orchestra of his lips and tongue.

  He licks at me in long, curling sweeps that hint at something else entirely. Something lower. Something sexual. Something erotic. He sips me, savors me, takes me out of my world, and plunges me deeply into his. He sucks at my bottom lip, tugging gently, nipping lightly, and a throb develops low in my belly. My muscles squeeze with heat and need and want.

  When he finally lifts his head, I’m panting and my every nerve is alive and tingling, focused squarely on him.

  “What are you thinking?” His words are a breath in the silence, a soft wind whistling between the erratic beats of my heart.

  “That you are perfection. Everything about you,” I admit candidly. I’m too happy to pretend, too content to lie.

  Another woman likely wouldn’t have felt the change, wouldn’t have noticed the subtle stiffening. But I do. I feel it like ice down my back.

  “I’m not perfect. Not by a long shot.”

 
; “Maybe you are to me.”

  Before he can argue any further, before he can pull away any more, the elevator door opens with a hushed swish and Levi releases me, taking my hand to lead me out.

  We enter the suite in silence until he asks me, “Do you need help with anything in your room?”

  “No, I… No.”

  “Okay. I’m gonna grab a quick shower.” He gives my hand a squeeze and then disappears.

  I’m left wondering what just happened and exactly what it is that I don’t know about this man.

  ********

  I’m just getting out of the shower when my phone rings, the audible caller ID telling me that it’s Cherelyn.

  Before I can even greet her with a proper hello, she’s preempting me. “Evie, are you sitting down?”

  “Uh, no. I just got out of the shower.”

  “Find a safe place to lean then.”

  “Why? What is it?”

  “Someone just bought seven more of your paintings. Seven!”

  “Ho-holy shit!”

  “Seven more, Evie. Seven!”

  “Seven. I can still hear, crazy woman,” I assure her teasingly. “But are you sure? Are you sure there hasn’t been some kind of mistake? Maybe the gallery made a mistake.”

  “There was no mistake, Evie. I double-checked, and it’s right.”

  I sold seven paintings? Seven more paintings?

  “You’re absolutely certain?”

  “Yes! Yes, yes, yes!”

  “Holy shit,” I repeat, feeling a little bowled-over.

  “Evie, do you even get what this means? I mean, for God’s sake, you sold—”

  “Seven paintings,” I finish for her, a bit awestruck. My emotions are a chaotic mixture of confusion, elation, and disbelief. “Seven paintings. I don’t…I don’t even know what to say.”

  “Laugh. Scream. Howl at the moon. Do a cartwheel. Wait, no, don’t do a cartwheel, but do something, Evie. This is huuuuge!”

  “Seven paintings,” I exhale, for the umpteenth time, making it sound, I’m sure, like Cherelyn and I are both closely related to Rain Man. “Seven paintings. Ohmygod, I sold seven paintings!”

  Seconds tick by.

  Words settle into place.

  Comprehension takes hold.

  Finally, the realization of what she’s saying, the truth of it and of what it means, sinks in and my chest begins to grow tight with exuberance.

  Seven paintings.

  I sold seven paintings.

  Holy Mary, Mother of God, I. Sold. Seven. Paintings.

  Suddenly, the dam breaks. I can’t hold it in and all of it—the jubilation, the thrill, the pure joy of having someone else see the different pieces of my soul and find them worthy of purchase—bursts out.

  My squeal of delight is mirrored on the other end of the phone. Cherelyn knows what this means for me. As an artist, as a business woman, but more importantly, as a blind person. The achievement is significant, but what this money could do for me… It’s mindboggling.

  I feel validated and humbled and accomplished. I’m so overcome with joy and pride and pure happiness that I’m not sure my feet are touching the ground. But more than any of that, I feel encouraged. Optimistic.

  Hopeful for my future.

  This money…it might be enough for my portion of the surgery.

  It might be enough to help me see again. At least a little bit.

  Breaking through the sounds of glee both Cherelyn and I are making comes the deep black velvet of another voice from the other side of the door. “Evie, are you all right?”

  Without thinking it through, I end the call, drop the phone, and fling open the door. I’m still laughing, and my insides feel like they’re spinning, spinning, spinning.

  I reach out until my hand comes into contact with Levi’s hard chest, and then I launch myself at it, throwing my arms around his neck and screaming right into his ear.

  Without asking questions, his arms come around me, holding me tight to his length. When I lean back enough that we are nose to nose, he finally says, “Whatever it is, I’m thrilled. Let’s get naked.”

  I laugh again, letting my head fall back and giving myself over to the exultation flowing through my veins.

  “I sold seven paintings. Seven. Paintings.”

  “Why are you surprised? You’re the most talented woman I’ve ever met.”

  That brings me up short, and I wish for the thousandth time that I could see his face, look into his eyes, see what they hold. “Really?”

  “Yes, really. You’re like a brilliant flash of lightning. Brilliant. You set everything you touch on fire. You make it beautiful. You give it color, make it feel alive. You make me feel alive.”

  The staccato thump of his heart is an exact reflection of mine. I can feel the pound of it meeting the thud of mine in perfect harmony, like we’re moving, beating, breathing as one.

  “Levi?”

  “Evie?”

  “What would you say if I asked you to make love to me?”

  His voice is coarse with need. I feel it, too. “I’d ask you what took so long.”

  I pause only briefly.

  I’ve fought this. As much as I could for as long as I could, I’ve fought this. But my fight is over. This is what I’ve been racing toward and running from. This is what I’ve craved and resisted. What I’ve needed and feared. This was…we were meant to be all along, right from the beginning.

  “Then ask me.”

  “What took you so long?”

  His words touch my lips, a caress of warning before he takes them. And when he does, I don’t ever want him to give them back. They are his. I am his. In ways that terrify me and exhilarate me, I am his.

  Without breaking the kiss that’s threatening to be my undoing, Levi carries me across the room. When he stops, he slowly lets me slide down his body until my feet touch the floor. Only then does he lift his head.

  He says nothing and neither do I as his fingers brush my chest, loosening the fold that holds my towel over my body. Before it falls away, however, a hair-raising shriek splits the air and sends a knife of sound tearing through my head.

  CHAPTER 16

  LEVI

  EVIE SCREAMS like she’s been shot and doubles over, her hands clamped over her ears. The sound was startling and unexpected yes, but I realize my hearing isn’t as sensitive as hers, and it’s probably excruciating to her.

  “It’s the fire alarm,” I explain in a voice loud enough that she can hear me over the siren and through her hands. “Do you smell smoke?”

  She shakes her head and straightens hesitantly.

  “Stay here,” I tell her, waiting for her nod of assent before I move.

  I run back into the bathroom and grab a robe from the padded hangers on the wall and go back in to throw it over Evie’s shoulders. I just need to get her decent enough to get her out of here.

  I grab her hand and guide it to one of the arm holes, and she takes it from there, slipping into the thick white robe then covering her ears again. When it’s belted around her waist, I sweep Evie into my arms. It’ll take too long to guide her and there might be chaos out in the hall if this is real. I can’t risk it. I can’t risk her.

  Outside our door, there are dozens of others fleeing their rooms to find out what all the commotion is about. Looking at their faces, though, I can see that no one knows.

  I err on the side of caution, walking swiftly to the stairwell and kicking at the bar to open it. I rush through it and start down the stairs. Evie is quiet, hands over her ears, face tucked into the curve of my neck, as I hurry to ground level.

  In the lobby, I take a quick assessment. The harried look on the faces of the staff tells me this isn’t a drill. They’re herding people out the manual doors on either side of the lobby area, their movements jerky with panic and uncertainty.

  “Levi, what’s going on?” Evie finally asks when we are safe outside in the cool night air.

  “Must be a legit fire ala
rm. They’re getting people out fast.”

  Other patrons start pouring out of the lobby, some women talking in shrill voices, some men shouting in gruff grunts. Several are telling about the smoke they smelled or the fire they saw.

  “Where are we?” There’s a frantic quality to her voice that tells me she’s about to freak out, too.

  As if punctuating the increasing anxiety, glass shatters somewhere above our heads. We all look up just as a burst of flame comes shooting out of a window four stories up. I take a few steps back so we don’t get peppered with shards.

  That’s when the real hysteria begins.

  The weak sound of sirens down the street pierces the night, women are screaming, children are crying, hotel staff members are trying to be heard above the fray.

  People are being shuffled this way and that, and Evie clings to me tighter and tighter, no longer holding her ears.

  “Sir, you need to move over here. Can she walk?” an older guy asks, frowning at Evie.

  “She’s blind,” I explain.

  “Okay, okay. Over here,” he orders abruptly, pushing at my shoulder.

  I feel Evie’s breathing speed up, her ribs tapping erratically against mine where I’m holding her.

  “We’re okay,” I assure her. “I’m gonna try to get us out of here.”

  “Don’t leave me!” she pleads, terror darkening her wide eyes to pitch-black in the night. “I don’t…I don’t have my cane. Or my phone. I’m not wearing shoes. I don’t…I can’t… Just don’t leave me, Levi.”

  “I won’t,” I promise, pressing my lips to her forehead. “I just need to figure out where we can go.”

  “No one is leaving, sir,” a woman shouts sternly from behind me. I look over my shoulder at her. She’s wearing a pant suit and a name tag. Maybe the night manager. “Emergency services are on their way, as are the police.”

  “I don’t give a damn! It’s cold and she’s wearing a robe with no shoes. And she can’t see. We will not be standing out here half the night.” I glance around, spotting some café tables set out in the courtyard of a neighboring hotel. “We’ll be over there. You can tell the cops where to find us.”

  I don’t give her a chance to answer or argue. I simply bark my name and room number then turn, with Evie still tucked tight against my chest, and start off to the place next door.