by Lea Santos
“No.” She wrapped her arms around her middle and absorbed the scents. The smell of early summer had always reminded her of biting into a fresh peach, and she loved the juicy trickle of it. Here in Torien’s neighborhood, that aroma mingled with the familiar tang of steaming tamales wafting from one of the neighbors’ kitchens. “I just wanted a bigger view of the garden.”
The screen door creaked open and banged shut, and just like that, Torien stood next to her, shoulder to shoulder. Iris grew aware of Tori’s warm hand at the small of her back just as she murmured, “It’s beautiful, no?”
“Mmm.” Iris’s awareness shifted from the worksite to the dewy heat of the woman at her side. Tori looked different from how Iris was used to seeing her. Dampness clung to the edges of the clean hair at her neck. Torien had changed into a long-sleeved, faded Life is Good shirt with the sleeves shoved up to her elbows. Fitted, but not tight, dark wash Levi’s and low-heeled black boots completed the casually alluring outfit. Torien’s clothing carried that familiar sandalwood and bleach scent Iris had begun to associate with her, and she longed to bury her face in the soft folds of that shirt, the comfort of Tori’s chest.
God, Torien was a devastatingly sexy woman, and she didn’t even know it. The dark wolf. Smiling at that image, Iris faced her. “Thank you, Tori. For letting me work with you.”
“De nada,” Torien said, her tone a verbal caress. “You do good work.” Her eyes traveled the curves of Iris’s face, lingering on her eyes…and her lips. She reached out and smoothed a thumb along Iris’s jawline. “I regret that I argued about you joining us in the first place.”
“As well you should.” Iris tugged the sleeve of Torien’s shirt. Playfully at first, but the moment sobered, and, God help her, she couldn’t let go. Didn’t want to let go.
Ever.
As her pulse pounded in her ears, she stared at her fingers clutching Torien’s sleeve until the image blurred before her eyes. Wanting her…wanting her…so badly she could cry. Slowly, Iris raised her face, aware of the quiver in her body. The ache that blinded her, that both weakened and strengthened her.
Torien noticed, too. That look, that deepening, that promise.
So quintessentially Tori.
Iris sensed the movement before it happened, or perhaps her soul’s vehement wish manifested the entire moment. Regardless, Iris moved closer at the same time Tori slipped two fingers inside the waistband of Iris’s denim shorts and closed the space between them. The lower halves of their bodies melded with an explosion of white-hot desire.
All at once, Torien’s hands urgently cradled Iris’s rib cage as their mouths met.
Iris sank into the kiss, as if pulling Torien’s very essence inside was all she lived for, all she needed. Tori’s face smelled of Caress soap and her tongue held a hint of mint toothpaste as it touched, pulled back, touched again. Nibbling, gently sucking. Warmth and heat and angel-wing sighs.
Hot, moist desire raged through Iris’s body and a groan rumbled deep in her throat. She arched against Tori, the tips of her breasts hard and tingling beneath the tank top she wore. One of Tori’s hands slid around to wind Iris’s hair into a soft fist, the other splayed just below the small of her back. Tori braced her legs wide and pulled Iris into the welcoming circle of her body. Tugging her hair gently, Tori exposed Iris’s neck to her mouth, raining kisses and nips until her lips met the strong beat of Iris’s pulse. Tori moaned into the connection for a moment before flicking her tongue gently against the spot.
Giving in to the deep, rhythmic throb low in her body, Iris smoothed her fingers up Tori’s sleeve and molded her hand around Tori’s upper arm, caressing the bottom bulge of her toned biceps with her thumb. “Tori, I haven’t showered,” she whispered, her words slurred with desire. “I’m sweaty.”
“I don’t care, mi ángel,” came the answer against her neck before Tori’s lips traveled an urgent path to her jawline. “You taste like sunshine and heaven.”
“The workers,” Iris reminded her.
Tori stilled briefly, then without releasing Iris, without lifting her lips from Iris’s skin, she fumbled behind her for the screen door handle, opening the door awkwardly and pulling Iris over the threshold. Their stumbling footsteps rang loudly against the tile entryway, but at last they were alone.
In the privacy of the house, Tori pushed Iris against the wall, arms above her head, their fingers intertwined. Tori slipped one hard thigh between Iris’s. Urgent breaths heaved their breasts together, both soft and hard, tight and aching.
“Irisíta—”
“No.” She shook her head. “Don’t talk. Not now.”
“I want—”
“I know,” Iris whispered. “I want it, too, Tori. So much.”
Passion-dark eyes traced Iris’s face before Tori’s taut, lean body moved against Iris’s in a rhythm that could only be called a prelude of lovemaking. Tori’s mouth captured Iris’s once again, one deep kiss before she bent to kiss her way down Iris’s trembling body. Tori’s fingers slipped from Iris’s grasp, palms smoothing down the insides of her arms, over the curves and hollows to the sides of her breasts. Tori’s thumbs brushed over her nipples once. Again.
Iris groaned.
They brushed again, more urgently, and Iris arched into the caress. Wanting more, her fingers, her mouth, everything Tori had to give. Iris’s nerves were so shot with desire, her skin hummed. Tori reached one hand up and under Iris’s tank top, shoving it aside, and then her teeth sank gently into the flat softness of Iris’s stomach. Iris moaned, wanting to die from the pleasure, from the visceral gush of need, the deep, aching throb at her center. Tori had to touch her, taste her, be inside her or she would die.
Right here. Right now.
Skin on skin, closer than close. Iris clutched Torien’s shoulder, pulling her up. “Tori, please—”
Tori stood, body covering Iris’s again, melding, moving, rocking to the rhythm of that hot, moist throb. She pressed kisses against Iris’s face, nose, eyelids, all the while crooning, “Quiero estar contigo, Irisíta. I need to be inside you.”
“Yes.”
“Deep inside.”
“Please…”
“You want that?”
“God…yes.”
“So sweet, baby. So hot,” Tori murmured against her skin. Her hand slid down to cup the heat between Iris’s legs, moving the heel of her hand in slow, agonizing circles. “Are you wet for me, querida? Do you want me here?”
“Please, yes. Tori—”
“Quiero hacerte el amor.”
“Yes,” Iris whispered, what had to be a thousand times or more, gasping for air in between the gentle dominance of Tori’s mouth, the vibrating caress of love words against her heated skin, the promising pressure of her palm.
Just when Iris thought she would go crazy from the ardent demands of Tori’s hand, the screen door creaked. Loud, rapid Spanish froze the moment with all the grace of a bucket of slush being dumped over their heads.
They wrenched apart just as Madeira burst in with all the grace of a teenager, slamming the door back against the wall and calling, “Tor—” Her eyes widened, moving from Torien to Iris and back. “Ohh,” she finished lamely. “Whoops.”
Embarrassed, Iris lowered her head, the back of her hand lifting to her lips, smoothing away the passion that lingered there. Anxious hands, straightening clothes, clasping behind her back. She adored Madeira, but damn if her timing wasn’t the absolute worst.
“I…I’m sorry,” Madeira said. “I didn’t know—”
“It’s okay,” both Iris and Torien said.
Torien shoved her hands through her hair and released a frustrated sigh. “What do you need, Mosquito?” she asked, her tone low.
Madeira looked as though she were trying her best to pretend she had no clue what she’d interrupted, but the raging pheromones in the entryway told a different story. “Ah…yeah. So, the rest of us are going down to El Tío Feo for a beer to celebrate finishing the garden.�
�� Madeira aimed a thumb over her shoulder. “Are…you two planning to join us, or…?”
Torien glanced at Iris, her eyes dark and wanting and intimate. The unspoken message conveyed that one word from Iris, and Madeira would be gone. She and Tori would be making love…mind, body, soul…in a matter of minutes. “It’s up to you, Irisíta.”
Iris blinked several times, wanting Tori so badly but knowing they must do the right thing. Hadn’t she learned that from Torien herself? She pulled the corner of her mouth in between her teeth and swallowed back bitter regret. “We should go, Tori. Celebrate with the others.”
Torien’s lips, still moist and swollen with passion, pressed into a flat line. She jerked a single nod, her eyes never leaving Iris’s face as she told Madeira, “We’ll go.” She scrubbed the palm of her hand over her eyes. “Just—”
“Give us a minute, Madi,” Iris finished, with a smile.
“No. I-I understand. Take your time. See you there.” And Madeira was gone.
Iris sagged against the wall. “Damnit.”
“Yeah.” Torien braced one arm above Iris, face mere inches from hers. With a groan, Torien rested her forehead against Iris’s. The ticking clock in the kitchen was the first thing Iris noticed as her body returned to normal. After that, the sounds of children playing outside, the laughter of the workers, the pounding, pounding, pounding of her heart. She licked her lips, and Torien’s head lifted, gaze dropping to drink in the motion.
Tori reached out and trailed one finger from Iris’s throat, down her chest to her waistband and back up.
“I have to go home and shower,” Iris whispered.
“You can shower here.”
“I don’t have a change of clothes.”
“Okay.”
“I won’t be long.”
“Take your time.”
A pause, thick with regret, ensued. Iris swallowed, watching a newly tormented Torien suck in one side of her cheek. Those eyes looked so intense, so focused, so…unreadable.
“C-can you pick me up? I don’t know where the bar is.”
“Of course.”
“Tori?” Another pause.
“Yes?”
“I know that was bad timing and all, but…this…isn’t over, is it?”
A huff of soft laughter. “Ah, sweet Irisíta.” Torien touched Iris’s chin, her bottom lip, the line of her collarbone. Her eyes flamed with a richness of feeling Iris had never before experienced outside of her dreams. “Mi amor,” Torien murmured, moving her body against Iris’s once more, “this hasn’t even begun.”
*
The drive from Circle of Hope to Geraline’s mansion in the exclusive Denver Country Club area was deceptively short, though the drastic contrast between the two areas could not be ignored. Where Torien’s community fairly undulated with life and music and people, Gerri’s was closed up, fenced off, gated, and austere.
One said, Look at what I own.
The other said, This is who we are.
They didn’t talk much on the drive. Iris spent the time reliving the silken beauty of Torien’s mouth and hands on her body. If the look on Torien’s face was any indication, she was thinking the same. They made plans to meet in the gazebo and go from there. Iris ran through the gardens and bustled into the house, in a rush to get ready for the evening out with the workers. To get through the evening and back into Torien’s arms was closer to the truth. She kicked off her mud-encrusted shoes in the foyer and started up the stairs, but something stopped her.
On impulse, she hurried through the house to the stone terrace, throwing open the French doors and smiling when the rain-heavy breeze lifted her hair away from her face. She padded to the railing and leaned over, scouting the gardens for Torien, and caught sight of her rounding the potter’s cottage with a cutting of roses, same as the first day she had seen her. Iris’s tummy clenched with an odd sort of déjà vu. She straightened, the image blurring before her.
Not so long ago, she had no idea what she wanted to do with the rest of her life. Helping to create the beautiful little garden in Círculo de Esperanza was the first thing she’d done in a long time that left her flush with the pleasure of accomplishment. Now, with her muscles sore from honest work and her heart filled with the easy love and simplicity rife in Torien’s world, she knew exactly what she wanted from her own life.
A real home.
A woman who loved her.
Fresh vegetables she had grown herself in her own private garden.
The time and space to build a future.
Waking up early just to make love. Again.
Obscurity, normalcy.
Torien.
She wanted…Torien.
The pure truth of it staggered her. Iris’s heart simply wasn’t in Paris anymore, and it never would be. The truth was so clear now, she could hardly believe she hadn’t seen it weeks ago. Feeling wobbly and nervous inside, she knew what she had to do, and soon. It would likely damage her career forever—or end it—but she didn’t care.
She had to break the contract with Jolie.
In the grander scheme of things, the career fallout wouldn’t matter much because, frankly, she didn’t want to model anymore. She was thirty. Wealthy. Ready to move on to something else in life, something far more fulfilling. Iris knew she wouldn’t be missed for long. There would always be another pouty-lipped teen sensation to take her place.
A sense of peace cooled her body and soothed her soul. This was right. She felt it in her solar plexus—heart center. Of course, she wouldn’t dump the entire story on Torien until things settled between them. She frankly didn’t know if Torien shared her dream of a future together, and more than anything, Iris didn’t want to spook her. If things worked out as planned, Torien would find out about her career change soon enough.
Filled with glee and a buoying sense of freedom, Iris waved her arms to get Torien’s attention. “Tori!” she called out, smiling when the great love of her life glanced up.
She waved—cool, casual—then blew Iris a kiss.
“Forty minutes,” Iris said, flashing ten fingers, four times.
“I will be waiting,” Torien replied.
Her stomach in a swirl of anticipation, she turned from the railing and came face-to-face with Antoine…and Geraline. Iris gasped, splaying her hand on her chest. Time slowed and warped, as it often does when two worlds collide. Bad special effects in an even worse movie. Antoine she’d sort of expected. But what in the hell was Geraline doing there? Iris managed to clear her throat enough to speak. “God, you guys scared me.”
Antoine smirked, but she ignored him, turning her attention instead to her business manager. A caged bird of panic beat wings inside her stomach. She felt like a teenager who got busted doing something wrong…even though it wasn’t wrong at all.
The shrapnel, though…
Had Gerri witnessed her exchange with Torien? Though Iris wanted to take out a full-page ad in the New York Times proclaiming her love for Torien, she knew how Gerri felt about “the help” mingling with her houseguests. Iris might be bursting with the news, with the sheer, aching beauty of it all, but what would it all mean for Torien? She went for a casual slant. “Ger, I-I didn’t know you were coming.”
“Yes, well. I decided it would be in my best interests to come home and escort you to Paris myself.” Her eyes narrowed, but she feigned a casualness Iris knew in the pit of her stomach Gerri didn’t feel. “You didn’t seem exactly eager to go.”
Antoine stretched his neck to see around her. “Who’s Tori?”
Iris’s heart revved, and she flipped her hand like it couldn’t have mattered less. “Huh? Oh, no one. Geraline’s gardener.” Then, to Geraline, “I told you. I was working on the volunteer project—”
“But you conveniently forgot to tell me you were working with my employee.” A pointed pause. “Didn’t you?”
Iris’s throat went dry.
“It took me a while to make the connection, but you see, I trusted Pa
cias enough to loan her some gardening equipment for her little project. I didn’t think she’d consider you part of that bargain.”
Desperation clawed wildly at Iris.
No. No, no, no!
She couldn’t bear to see something as pure and positive as her relationship with Tori tainted by ugly innuendo, by Torien possibly losing her job. Not now. “It’s not like that, Gerri. Besides, what does it matter how I found out about the project?”
“It probably wouldn’t, if that was all it was. But we just saw the woman blowing you a kiss, Iris, and I’m no idiot.” Geraline tossed her silver sweep of hair, shook her head, and expelled a sigh of disappointment. “What were you thinking? Pacias is a common laborer, for God’s sake. She barely speaks English.”
Rage exploded in Iris’s chest. “Her English is perfect.”
Gerri ignored that. “You’re a supermodel, Iris. A celebrity, with an image to maintain. If you insist on this whole lesbian thing, you could have any woman you want.”
And I want Torien, Iris thought.
“The gardener. Dude, way to slum. Sounds like one of those books I wouldn’t read—”
“As if you can read,” Iris snapped.
“Interesting, though,” Antoine drew out. “You two got some kind of a Cinderella thing going on?”
Iris rolled her eyes as best she could. “Don’t be an asshole, Antoine. Torien helped me get my car to the dealership for service and I…I was showing my gratitude.”
“Kids! No fighting.” Gerri paused until the two of them had retreated into separate corners, metaphorically speaking. “Iris, Iris, Iris,” Geraline intoned, pacing slowly to the opposite end of the terrace. She braced her bejeweled fingers on the railing for a moment, then turned. “I’m shocked you’d think I’m so obtuse. Truly. Shocked.”
“Listen,” Iris implored, moving toward Geraline. “Don’t take this out on Torien. She didn’t do anything wrong. She didn’t even want me to work on the project, but I forced it. I forced her to let me hang around, and because she respects you, respects how you want her to treat your guests, she acquiesced. Plus, the project is done now.”