by Barefoot, LW
I shake my head and deny it. The woman looks disappointed and steps away from the table. I can’t help but ask what’s been bothering me.
“Who is he exactly?”
“You’re kidding, right?” she looks astonished.
I shake my head and apologize. With a short explanation about how I just met his acquaintance.
“His family practically owns this city and he’s the most eligible bachelor in New Orleans.”
She smiles before walking away.
As soon as I get back home, I check the missed calls. Several different numbers are displayed and I have too much work to do to figure out how to get in touch with Evan to cancel. I send Jamie a text for him to send me Evan’s cell number.
I busy myself with the work I have to get done for my upcoming show. I get lost in the process. The familiar routine settles me and keeps me grounded.
I lose track of time. With the help of music and the grey afternoon, I get swept away and time has no meaning. I have paint everywhere. All over myself, all over Rufus. Those stubborn bulldogs have to be right next to you and in everything. He should have learned by now, but at least he’s still cute with paint splatter all over his fat, wrinkled face.
Jamie and I joke about he used to be solid brindle and has evolved into my own personal drop cloth.
I mark the places I need to focus on and come back to. Too much time has been spent on this particular piece.
The balcony doors have been open since we got back from the coffee shop. It’s cooled off and night’s creeping in.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end in an instant. Evan stands in the door and Ru’ notices him when I do. I watch as Evan takes in my state of appearance.
“I thought it would be wise to show up early to make sure you were ready on time,” he says as he approaches me. “Jamie let me in.”
Since that time five years ago, I’ve avoided the temptation of being with another man no matter how much my body craves it. At times begging to be with someone other than the monster who ruined me. But I don’t want anyone to look at me the way Evan looks at me. As if I’m someone who could hold his interest. If he only knew about the scars hidden under these clothes he wouldn’t be so fooled by my face.
‘Your beauty is as big of a curse as it is a blessing, it pulled me to you.’
Evan invades my space and pushes thoughts of the devil out of my mind.
“We could always stay in tonight if that’s what you prefer?” he asks.
He grazes his knuckles over one of my nipples, straining against the white, paint splattered top. Warmth radiates from his skin and sinks past the cotton, I gasp and take a step back. Black paint coats the back of several of his fingers where he touched me.
“I didn’t think you were serious about tonight,” I mumble. The words come out hushed to my annoyance.
“Harper, trust me, when I tell you something I follow through with it. And where you’re concerned, I’m very serious,” his tone commanding.
“There are things I need to tell you about myself,” I say.
I won’t tell him the truth, but I’ll make something up.
“Please quit trying to come up with ideas to push me away, because it won’t work. You’re attracted to me, Harper, no matter how much you try to deny it. I’ve made it more than clear I feel the same.”
There’s nothing nice about his statement. Nothing but serious intent.
“Take all the time you need, I’ll be downstairs with Jamie.”
The black smudges are still on his fingers as they wrap around the door handle and he pulls the door closed.
Harper
I don’t want to test Evan’s theory about taking all the time I need. I start the bath and move to my closet.
My heart’s racing at the tone of his words and the caress of his fingers. From the moment our eyes met, madness unfolded and it’s breaking down all those barriers I’ve carefully erected and kept in place.
Fear mixed with the heat in his eyes set something off in me. Something that isn’t at all a good thing.
I stand in front of the full length mirror next to my bed. I usually avoid it unless I’m fully dressed. I force myself to pull the tank top over my head. My attention zeros in on my ruined skin. My hand grazes over the twin stab wounds on my torso. Keep going, I tell myself, as I untie the pants and slide them down my legs with my underwear. I stare at the savage scars on the right side of my pelvis. I hope one day they will fade and disappear, but I’m past the point of healing and this is what I’m left with. Ragged edges and raised railroad marks from multiple stitches and my eyes blur with unshed tears.
‘My perfect, pliable flesh, how you tempt me. I will be the only one who will ever want you.’
I can imagine the disgust that would appear on Evan’s face if he were to see me like this. It wouldn’t take him long to figure out how this happened to me and who caused it. He wouldn’t be able to see my once attractive body the way I wanted him to. It’s not hard to imagine how repulsed he would be to finally see why I had to keep him away. And that’s just on the surface.
America’s most wanted has been front page news for years. Speculation and morbid fascination have flooded mainstream media at the mention of the Sculptor. There’s no cover up about what he does to his victims. Even if there were no remaining scars, the repeated violations are no secret.
I can’t even look at myself without having to fight the overwhelming urge to breakdown. Tonight is no different.
I know deep down the only way to save us both from this attraction is to make Evan listen, to warn him. If he is the same person that woman indicated earlier, it could never work between us. She was looking for gossip and if she found his love life interesting than so do others. Exposing myself anymore than I have to is both stupid and dangerous.
I bathe and pick out an outfit that’s safe. Hating myself for caring about what I look like because I’m supposed to be pushing him away from me for both our sakes.
Jamie and Evan are having a heated conversation about sports when I come downstairs. Ru’ hops up on the couch between them.
Jamie squeezes my hand when we leave, watching as I follow Evan to the door. Conflicting emotions shift over Jamie’s usual cheerful expressions.
On the ride to the restaurant, our conversation flows easily. He is one of the only people besides Jamie who doesn’t complain about driving through the crowded French Quarter. There’s no impatience as we wait for tourists and people on bikes to move out of the way. His fingertip brushes across the back of my hand. Its comfort wrapped in promises as he strokes the soft skin. I look down and notice the dried paint on his knuckles circling my wrist. He lifts his hand up and shows me how it wouldn’t wash off the grooves in his skin.
“A souvenir,” he utters.
My nipples strain against my bra at the memory of how he acquired the black paint.
Evan breaks contact when we pull up to the valet. I miss the sensation of his fingertips. He rounds the car and tosses his keys to the attendant before opening my door and holds his hand out for me to take. Once inside the restaurant, the hostess doesn’t ask for the name under the reservation before she leads us upstairs to a private wine room and motions for us to go in. There are three walls lined floor to ceiling with bottles and a table with two chairs in the center.
“Enjoy your evening,” the hostess says before leaving us alone.
Evan slides my jacket off my shoulders, before pulling my chair out from the table.
“Take your pick,” he says motioning around the enclosed space.
“I don’t know a thing about wine. I either like it or I don’t,” I admit and it causes him to grin.
“Do you prefer sweet or dry?” he asks.
“Dry, I think.”
My mouth goes dry as he raises his eyebrow and winks in approval.
I take my seat and watch as he studies the labels on the bottles. After awhile he makes a selection and sits next to me.
“What do you get here?” I ask.
“I’ve never had anything that wasn’t amazing. I recommend chef’s choice. Each course will be paired with the appropriate wine, it elevates the entire meal.”
“Then what’s that bottle for?” I point to the wine he carefully selected.
“Dessert,” a devious smile plays at his mouth, there’s nothing playful about it.
We both order the chef’s recommendation. My gaze travels to his lips but it doesn’t go unnoticed. His finger lifts and runs over my bottom lip in a soft caress.
“Stop looking at me like that or I won’t be responsible for my actions.”
His dark promise makes me flush as if I’m the one responsible for pursuing this mad attraction. I want to take a bucket of ice and obliterate it, so we can get on with it and walk away unscathed. I’m not judging him, but I look for anything I find unattractive about him. The closer I inspect the more my mouth waters in appreciation.
“Tell me about your family?” I ask between bites.
“What would you like to know?”
“Why do you keep answering my questions with a question?” I inquire.
“Are you asking for me to be more forward with you? I’m barely containing myself here while you lick your luscious lips, this candlelight makes your waves of red look like dancing firelight, and every taste of wine that swirls across your tongue makes me envious.”
He grabs my chair, his palm comes down on my thigh and squeezes hard. Pulling me to him, his hand sweeps my hair off my shoulders. Leaning in to me, his tongue traces the curves of my ear.
“I can’t think about anything but burying myself inside your sweet flesh, Harper. So you can understand why I wouldn’t want to talk about my overrated and overbearing family.” He takes a harsh breath and the outtake ignites goosebumps across my skin. “Every time your sinful lips take in a fork, I picture it being my cock with your lips sliding over me. That little pink tongue of yours is making me forget myself.”
His thumb skates over my pulse and pulls back just enough. It feels like he’s seeing beyond my eyes and past those careful walls I have up for protection.
“I swear I’m trying to be gentleman, but the things I want to do to you have nothing to do with being gentle.”
He grips the back of my neck and pulls me in for a taste of his lips. His skillful kiss is a seduction all its own. When he pulls back he whispers, “Deny this attraction, Harper and I’ll walk away. I’ll save you from my selfish intentions and we’ll both be better off.”
I gulp and have to break the heated stare. His words are a laced threat and his tone is all too familiar.
‘Say it, you fucking disappointment.’ I cringe and remember my resolution to push Evan away.
Up close, his eyes are a window to a forest I want to get lost in.
My eyes flicker to his mouth, while the waiter removes our plates. His tongue snakes out and licks his full bottom lip that I have an irrational urge to sink my teeth in to. He leans back and takes a sip from his glass of wine while watching me intently. There’s a slight sadness that he washed my taste away.
“You’re crushing me here, Harper.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“Say yes.”
‘Say yes sweet slut, give me what I fought so hard for.’
“What am I agreeing to?”
What am I thinking? Evan’s gaze stays on me, but I can tell he didn’t have an answer prepared. He weighs his thoughts and now I’m the one who’s crushed. I chastise myself for giving him hope. All the banter and back and forth have nothing to do with our intentions. From the moment we met there’s been a sizzling lust under all the small smiles and engaging conversations. Whatever niceties we have presented each other is not doing a good enough job to detract from the underlying issue of these sparks that fly between us.
“I could lie to you, Harper and pretend I’m interested in getting to know you, build a friendship, and eventually get you into bed. But I can’t do that, it would be a complete waste of time. You and I both know it.”
An understanding sinks in as he continues to get straight to his intentions. I should slap him, I should be appalled, but I’m not. I can’t be seen with someone like him. My survival instinct started to reluctantly kick in when I found out how much exposure I’m risking by coming here tonight.
The waiter sets a bag on the table and puts the unopened bottle of wine inside. I wait until he walks away with Evan’s credit card before I say anything.
“If you only wanted to fuck me, you didn’t need this farce of a date, did you?” I ask.
Last night we both know I would have done whatever he wanted like the slut the Sculptor accused me of. I would have used Evan for the ability to feel. To make my pathetic existence come back alive, if only for a heated moment. And beyond what I know is right and wrong, I would have loved every hot second of it.
My face heats with embarrassment and I’m ashamed of my epic ignorance. One good look at him and it’s obvious what kind of man he is. And what’s worse, he took one look at me and cast the exact same, accurate judgment.
“I want so much more than to just fuck you, Harper.”
Evan’s tone is no longer playful. It leaves me speechless. His annunciation of the word fuck is the hottest, most sinful way I’ve ever heard it used. ‘Fuck’ from Evan’s lips sounds nothing like a curse, it’s an exhalation. It’s a dark fantasy I’m both terrified and intrigued with.
He signs the receipt while I silently balk at how much he spent. And like the false gentleman he pretends to be, he pulls out my chair, and escorts me out of the restaurant.
Harper
Evan doesn’t touch me for the entire short drive back to my house. I miss his paint stained fingers swirling over my skin.
The silence stretches out between us in odd comfort. My thoughts are racing with the implications he laid out for me, but they sounded contradicting. He doesn’t want to date me, but he wants more than just sex, and I’m completely confused. I knew I gave him the wrong idea about me last night and I need to fix that.
Evan follows me in the house with the bag from the restaurant. Jamie is asleep on the couch with Rufus taking up the other side of the sofa when we walk through the front door. The television flickers, changing waves of light move across the room as Evan closes the door. The comforting beep from the security system goes off when I punch in the code.
Evan lifts the bag up and shrugs. I look around thinking about the best place to have dessert. The courtyard is quiet and I don’t want to disturb the neighbors, but the living room is already occupied by my snoring loves. I walk to the kitchen and grab two glasses and a corkscrew. I try to be as quiet as I can so I don’t wake either Jamie or Ru’ up. I need to drink more liquid courage to turn Evan away, it’s the only reason I let things go this far. I was too busy shifting through my troubled thoughts on the short drive here.
I motion for the stairs and Evan follows me up. I move through the room and unlock the French doors on the balcony. I hope my hands don’t shake and drop the glasses as I place them down on the small metal bistro table. I should have grabbed stemless.
Evan uncorks the wine and pours us both a glass. He sits down, pulls a large plastic container out, and reveals a decadent selection of desserts. He smiles in amusement while my focus is solely on the sugary confections.
“By the look on your face, Harper, I’m worried you’re not going to share,” he says playing with me.
I giggle and it helps ease my nerves.
“I will share, I was just admiring how each one is like a little work of art. They’re almost too pretty to eat.”
He swoops his spoon down and scrapes whipped cream off one and takes all the delicate chocolate shavings with it. He shoves it in his mouth without apology.
“Hey,” I mutter, while he goes back in for another topping o
ff one of the desserts. He laughs when I beat him to it.
“So that’s how this is going to be?” he states.
“You started it,” I banter back after savoring the taste of the stolen morsel.
We laugh as we swoop in for spoonfuls, the wine long forgotten as we chew one bite and focus on the various desserts as if it’s a game of chess, and we’re both calculating our next move.
“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” he asks looking up from our silly game.
He’s distracted and I keep my eyes on his while I sneak in and scrape the caramel off the cheesecake and bring it to my mouth. It’s the one we’ve both been eyeing and as I lick my tongue over the amber goodness, I feel like I made an epic mistake. Our playfulness takes a sharp turn when his eyes zero in on my lips closing around the spoon.
Before I know it, the utensil clatters to the ground and Evan’s picked me up off my seat. His grip on my arms threatening as he pulls me to him. His lips crash against mine and the only thing sweet is the lingering sugar on my tongue and Evan licks it off with his. I moan at how savage we become. As if we’re both angry about whatever this is between us.
I indulge a little longer. Relishing his taste and committing his scent to memory. His hands rove over me and I squirm under his touch. Feeling elated and defeated in the same breath. I finally push against his chest and he reluctantly pulls away. He puts distance between us, like he needs it to control himself. And it’s a good thing because I can’t control myself either.
“I can’t do this, Evan,” I say trying to catch my breath.
The look he gives me is chilling, as if I’m fighting a losing battle.
“You can’t deny this thing between us,” he whispers.
The scent of honeysuckle mixed with his cologne tickles my nose with a light breeze.
“I’m sorry if I led you on. I’ve tried to tell you, but you keep interrupting me, and saying it doesn’t matter. But that couldn’t be further from the truth. Evan, trust me it matters.”