by Kallysten
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Alinar Publishing
www.alinarpublishing.com
Copyright ©2006 by Kallysten
First published in 2006, 2006
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NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
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In This Life or the Next
Kallysten
Copyright © 2006 Kallysten
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior written consent of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
The right of Kallysten to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
First published October 2006
First Edition
All characters in this publication are purely fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Edited by Zoe G.
Cover by Kallysten and Margaret Cates
ISBN (PDF version only)
1-90623-10-7
978-906023-10-2
The cool night air raised goose bumps on her skin, and Tania was grateful that the walk from the car to the gallery was a short one. It was just another reason why, unlike her husband, she didn't like this kind of event. Going to an art exhibition's opening night meant that she had to dress up, and formal attire definitely wasn't something she liked. At least, she felt confident that the midnight blue cocktail dress she wore looked striking on her; Alex's eyes when he had first seen her in the dress had made it clear that the spaghetti straps, plunging neckline, and short length were a hit, all of them accentuating her shapely figure. Sadly though, her plan to make him forget about the soiree and stay home hadn't worked.
The only redeeming aspect of the evening in her eyes was that, at least, she was able to see Alex in formal attire too. It had been almost a year since she had last enjoyed that delightful sight, on their wedding day. Not that she needed him to dress up to think he was eye-candy; tall and slim but broad of shoulders, he had light brown hair that resisted all attempts at discipline and that, combined with his smile and sparkly brown eyes, gave him a permanent mischievous look.
"Think you'll survive?” he whispered in her ear right after they had stepped inside the gallery.
She took in the scene; it was still early but the place was already crowded and the chatter almost completely covered the music playing in the background. The guests seemed more intent in appraising each other's garments, jewelry, prized wives and husbands than in discovering the paintings from five debuting artists of the area and two established ones. One more checkmark in the negative column. On the bright side, she wouldn't have to step on anyone's toes to look at the art.
"Just remember your promise,” she breathed with a smile, and he chuckled.
"Yes, Cinderella. You'll be home by midnight."
Taking her arm, he led her to a first row of paintings, and they spent a few moments in front of each one, exchanging their thoughts about the abstract art. Alex liked it; Tania couldn't have cared less. Thankfully, he was only joking when he suggested that they acquire one of the overpriced works.
They continued to a second row of paintings, stopping for a second to say hello to some colleagues from Alex's office. This second artist, they decided, didn't have a style yet. From one painting to the next, he seemed to be hesitating between methods and subjects, and the result was that none of the ten paintings appeared to be finished.
"I'll get us drinks,” Alex suggested as they neared the next artist's collection. “Be right back."
Tania smiled as his lips briefly touched her cheek, his hand the back of hers, and she watched him walk away until he had disappeared into the crowded refreshment area. Even now, after knowing him for seven years, and being his wife for eleven months, she still sometimes couldn't take her eyes off him, couldn't believe her chance at having found someone who matched her so well in the passionate and mundane. She had never really believed in love at first sight, soul mates and all the pretty stories fed to little girls to make them dream of Prince Charming; it made the fact that she had found just that in him all the more breathtaking.
Shaking herself from her thoughts, she stepped toward the next aisle of paintings and paused by the panel that described the artist's work just long enough to catch his name. A large landscape scene immediately grabbed her attention; at more than five feet wide and almost as tall, it would have been impossible to miss it, even with the small cluster of people standing in front of it. She usually didn't care much for landscapes, she preferred portraits or lively scenes, but there was something in what she could see of the painting that made it appear ... different.
For a few seconds, she wondered whether she had seen a picture of this particular work before, in a magazine or newspaper maybe. When the other guests moved on, she could finally see all of it and noticed the date on the small information panel by the side. The painting was only a few weeks old; she clearly couldn't have seen it before. Underneath the date, the title was printed in bold letters, and she frowned slightly as she read it, before returning to her study of the elaborate oil work.
It was called ‘Running through the fields', but there was no figure painted that she could see. At the forefront, bright yellows along with warm browns gave life to a wheat field so realistic that she almost expected it to ripple in front of her under the caress of the wind. On the right hand side, a cluster of trees marked the limit of the field, fruits hanging heavy and ripe from the branches. In the background, far in the distance, a house stood on top of a small hill, so white in the blinding midday light that Tania squinted for an instant, barely repressing the urge to shield her eyes from the sun.
"There you go. Champagne for my lady."
Tania started as Alex's words pulled her out of the quiet world she had stepped into through the details of the painted landscape. Forcing herself to look away, she gave Alex a smile of thanks when she took the flute he was offering her; yet she barely touched her lips to the drink. At her side, he was looking at the painting and she observed him to see what he thought of it.
"Nice work,” he commented, raising his glass toward the golden field for emphasis. “The play of the light is really well done."
Glancing back to the painting, she tried to see it through Alex's eyes, as the work of art that it was and nothing more. She wasn't an expert, far from it, but she could see the technical qualities of the piece. It was hard however not to let herself be captured by the unspoken emotions of scene again.
"You want to move on?"
Alex took her arm and she nodded before following his lead. He stopped by the next painting, and read its title aloud.
"'Goodbyes'. Who do you think she's saying goodbye to?"
Tania heard the question, but she couldn't have begun to form an answer. Unerringly as the first painting had, this second one tugged at something in her heart and captivated her.
Standing in front of a window barely open onto the night, a woman was painted in chiaroscuro, her nude figure hinted at rather than clearly shown by the light coming from behind her. There was the shadow of a shape on the window, almo
st indiscernible, and Tania knew, with the same certainty that she knew her own name, that the white stain against the window was the reflection of the lamp that cast light upon the woman, and that the form laid out next to it was a man reclining on a bed. He was watching the woman at the window, and although she had her back to him, she was watching him too thanks to the reflection on the glass.
"Tania? You okay, sweetheart?"
Again, Alex's voice intruded on her contemplation, and with some difficulty, Tania came back to the present. For a second, everything had ceased to exist; the well-lit gallery had become a bedroom at night, the muted music in the background had faded along with the chatter around her, and she could almost have sworn the man in the reflection had moved, just a little.
"I'm ... fine."
She shook her head to chase away the illusion before taking a sip of champagne.
"What do you think of it?” he asked, his hand sliding around her waist and holding her close. Relaxing slightly, she leaned against him, enjoying the sheer reality of him after the way her mind had played tricks on her. “She's pretty,” he continued after a second, “but she's got nothing on you."
She looked at him, and his usual devious smile punctuated his words as she had guessed it would. She batted at his chest lightly, letting out a small playful hiss of air. Laughing lightly, he pulled her to the next painting; she followed along, throwing a last, almost regretful glance to the woman and her almost unseen lover.
There were eight more paintings in the row, all by the same artist. Several depicted women at various stages of their lives, and at least one of them showed the woman from the second painting again, although maybe at a younger age. Another represented children at play, and like the women, they were portrayed in such a way that love and affection seemed to radiate from the paintings. In the midst of the portraits, a couple of landscapes, void of any human life but just as vibrant as the first one Tania had seen, showed in turn a wooden house in the clearing of a forest, and a street from what looked like an old quarter in a centuries-old European town.
Apart from the woman present several times and the style common to all the works, there was no discernable link between the paintings, as though the artist had chosen his subjects completely at random. It gave the paintings, grouped together but completely independent from each other, an impression of detachment. However, it was the opposite that was happening for Tania, and each of them grabbed her, pulled her into the scenes they represented, although not as strongly as she had been for the first two.
"One of my clients is over there,” Alex said suddenly, sotto voce. “Do you mind if I go speak to him for a couple of minutes? I'll be right back."
With a shake of her head and a smile, Tania waved him away. She had had the indescribable pleasure of being introduced to one of Alex's clients before and to hear them talk at length of things she had no interest in; consequently, she was more than glad that he hadn't suggested that she accompany him. Not only that, but being alone would allow her to look at this aisle of paintings a little longer, and try to decide what it was that attracted her so much to them.
Sipping absently on her champagne, she detailed once more each of them, stopping for a minute or two in front of each framed work. Like her first walk through, the two portraits of the woman and the landscape of the wheat fields touched her the deepest, awakening a sense of memory when she knew that she had never seen either the woman or the depicted place.
She had brought the glass to her lips again when something on the oversized painting in front of her caught her attention and made her blink. For a second, she had almost thought ... She squinted; the painting was as it had been before, field, trees, house and sky, nothing more, especially not silhouettes running through the field.
Except that there they were again.
Wondering if it was the champagne playing tricks on her mind, Tania looked at her glass. She had barely drunk half of the slim flute and that couldn't possibly be enough for her to be intoxicated and hallucinating. Yet, when she looked at the painting again, the two figures were there, seen from the back, a man pursuing a woman, both of them, she knew without understanding how she did, laughing as they ran.
She blinked again, and the painting returned to how it had been earlier again, devoid of human figures if not of life. Still puzzled but already thinking she had to be more tired than she thought, Tania stepped a little closer, until all she could see was the painting in front of her. By some trick of the light, the golden field seemed to undulate as though a soft summer wind stroked the golden stalks. But that wasn't all; she could almost feel the warm air on her face, could almost breathe in the deep scent of the coming harvest. City girl that she was, she had never even seen a field in person, but the rough warmth of the wheat was right there, under her fingertips, a tactile memory as clear as any she had ever had.
Suddenly, it wasn't just a memory. Feeling lightheaded, she closed her eyes, and in her mind, she wasn't simply in front of a beautiful painting anymore. Instead, she was in the field, running and laughing.
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Laughing, Lauren ran through the field, careful to follow the furrow and not bend or snap the wheat. Tomorrow, they would work hard to gather it, but today was theirs. She could hear him behind her, quickly overtaking her as her long skirts prevented her from running as fast as she could have. It didn't matter; she didn't really want to escape anyway.
His hand caught her wrist and stopped her, pulling her to him. She allowed herself to be drawn into his arms, allowed his lips to cover hers, so gentle yet trembling from his repressed desire. If it had been anyone but him, she would have been scared when she saw how wide, how dark his pupils were, swallowing almost all the brown of his eyes until she thought she was looking into two pools of darkness. But she knew that look, she knew it was nothing but a testament to how much he loved her, how much he wanted her, and she started pulling him wordlessly toward their island.
It wasn't really an island, just a small nook carved in its bank by the streaming water that ran along the edge of their property, separating their field from their neighbor's. The water almost completely surrounded a carpet of soft grass and wildflowers, and made it a delightful place to be. They had picnics there, sometimes, on lazy Sunday afternoons. A few times over the summer, when the nights had been too hot, they had walked out here together and spent the evening lying on a blanket side by side, watching the stars and quietly talking. But mostly, they came here to make love.
Letting go of his hand, she took the last few steps by herself, taking her ankle boots and stockings off and putting them neatly to the side. The grass was fresh and soft under her feet, the murmur of the water a quiet melody, and she suddenly felt like dancing. She raised her hands to the sky, threw her head back and laughed as she twirled, her skirt billowing around her legs. When she looked at him again, he was just on the edge of their island, and his eyes burned even brighter with desire.
"Show me how beautiful you are,” he requested, his voice a quiet but sure caress.
She started unfastening her blouse with trembling fingers. They had been married for more than a year now, but she still felt some embarrassment as she slowly exposed herself to him, and by the time she stood naked in front of him, so close now as he had stepped to her while she undressed, her cheeks were burning even hotter than the sun was.
"I'll never have enough of you,” he murmured, his hands hovering over her body, not touching yet but making her shiver in anticipation. “Even in a thousand years, I'd still want you a little more every day."
His hands had reached her face and he cupped her cheek as he leaned in for a soft kiss. His clothes felt rough against her bare skin and, her hands still trembling a little, she reached for the buttons of his shirt. While she struggled to divest him, his fingers slid to her hair and the pins that held it in a bun. Before she could protest, he had pulled the hairpins away, and her hair was cascading down her back. Somehow, she felt even more exposed now and
almost wanted to hide, but he seemed to understand what was going through her mind and kissed her again, trapping her hands between them. The unreasonable fear passed, soon replaced by want, pure and simple.
"Lie down,” he murmured as he let go of her, and she settled on grass as soft as the silk ribbons she had worn on her wedding day.
She watched him through heavy lids as he hurriedly rid himself of his clothes. She could remember the frail little boy he had once been, and later the lanky adolescent, but her husband, now standing naked and proud over her, was beautiful, even if he would have protested at the word. Tall and strong, his chest muscled from hard word but still so soft under her fingers when he knelt between her legs...
"God, Lauren, I love you so much..."
He always had that slightly awed look when he told her he loved her, as though he couldn't really believe that she had agreed to be his wife, and that she loved him just as much as he did her. She knew how to prove it to him, though, and leave no doubt whatsoever in his mind. Sliding a hand down his chest, she took hold of his cock, her touch a little unsure but it was worth it just to see the pleasure contort his face. Leaning down on his elbow, he pressed open mouth kisses to her neck and shoulder, murmuring her name like a prayer. She answered his plea by guiding him to her folds, and he accompanied her movement, pushing in slowly when she let go of him. With slow, careful thrusts that pulled quiet moans from both of them, he gradually slid deeper into her, until he could go no farther and Lauren felt wonderfully complete.
For a few, glorious seconds, they remained immobile, his face pressed to the crook of her neck as he breathed hard against her skin. She was the first to move, bringing both her arms to his back to hold him tighter. He responded by pulling back, just a little, then thrusting in her again when she protested. Gradually, he plunged into her harder, forgetting his earlier restraint as he always did, and Lauren ceased to try to remain quiet. Each inch of her where he touched her, be it with his cock, hands, chest, legs, mouth, seemed to be on fire and demanded more, demanded him, always. She didn't know how to express that growing tightness in her chest, or couldn't have formed the words to ask him never to stop, but of her own accord, her mouth formed his name. And when she stopped seeing the bright blue sky above her to see only him behind her closed eyelids, when the world exploded their combined pleasure, it was his name, still that she cried out to the heavens.