On The Dotted Line

by Kim Carmichael

“I knew you were hiding something.”

  At his wayward wife’s voice, he turned. For years he hadn’t been caught.

  “I never would have guessed you were the one making art for nothing but the thrill of making art.” Her gauze dress fluttered in the wind and she seemed to float toward him. She looked up at her building. “It’s beautiful. Why do you hide?”

  He tossed the last of his supplies into his bag. “Where have you been?”

  “Walking.” She held out her hand, his ring catching the moonlight. “I wish I could have watched you.”

  With no resistance he took her hand, pulled her closer. “Who were you with?”

  She shook her head. “Just my two feet and ten toes.”

  “Why didn’t you call?” The anxiety from her absence and the adrenaline from his painting waned, leaving him exhausted.

  “I needed to think.”

  “Tell me.” At her soft demeanor he intertwined their fingers.

  She shrugged and continued to gaze up at his creation. “I just had to think.”

  “I was worried about you.” He put his other hand on her hip.

  “I would have made it home by midnight.” She ran her finger down his tie.

  “How?” He focused on his questions rather than the way his body reacted to her. Somehow he needed to get inside her head. They were miles and miles away from Bel Air.

  “I would have gotten there.”

  “You can’t walk around at night by yourself, it’s not safe.” He leaned down to try to catch her gaze.

  “I’ve always taken care of myself.” She continued to study his tie.

  He hooked his fingers under her chin and tilted her face up to his. “But I’m here now.” “Nothing is going to happen.”

  “How do you know?” Part of him wished he could have the faith she possessed.

  She didn’t answer.

  “Is that why you didn’t get insurance?”

  She took a step back and shook her head. “It was an error, but it’s my life and my business.”

  “You can’t walk through Hollywood at night thinking nothing will happen, you can’t not have insurance praying no one slips and falls in your store, you still need permits no matter how badly you don’t want the inspectors there.” He needed to make her understand.

  “Why did you have to break the spell? I don’t know what I expected. Can’t you be the artist?” She went to her door and opened it without using a key and walked inside.

  “You didn’t lock the door!” He ran after her. “This whole time your store was completely open!”

  She stopped short and spun toward him. At the movement, the chimes throughout the space clinked out their supposedly soothing sounds. “It’s my store.”

  Before colliding with her, he caught her by the shoulders. “Then act like you care about it.”

  With a huff, she pushed him aside and walked toward the front of her store.

  He dragged his supplies inside, shut and locked the back door and sprinted to join her. Exactly like any other deal, once his opponent got riled he would win. “Willow!”

  Rather than yelling, she held her palm up, closed her eyes and took a breath. Once she opened her eyes she turned, picked up a candle and with slow steps headed toward the stairs.

  “Where are you going? We need to go home.” He dashed ahead of her, blocking her way.

  “We only need to be together by midnight.” She swept her hand around the room. “Well, here we are, and if you want to keep to the contract, here you will remain. You can watch the paint dry.”

  He refused to allow her to dismiss him like one of their house staff and stared right at her as he put his arm across the passageway, blocking her way.

  Her eyes widened and she pressed her lips together. He stood up straighter, tightening his grip on the wood trim.

  The color in her perfectly pink lips and her surreal blue eyes stood out against her pale complexion, but she didn’t move. In fact, she remained absolutely still.

  He ground his teeth together. “I said we can’t stay here.”

  “Why not?” she whispered. “If we couldn’t stay in a different place, we would have been in breach of our contract the very first night.”

  Something had to make her react, break her calm and centered façade. “If you want to go to a hotel, I am more than happy to accommodate.” He cleared his throat. “We can’t stay here. If the place burns down, we don’t have any insurance if we get hurt.”

  “How is this possible?” She threw the candle down.

  At last she cracked and he fought a smile. “How is what possible?”

  She hit her fist into her leg. “How is it possible that a man who is as passionate, creative and gorgeous as you, be you!” The second the words left her mouth she turned away.

  “I suppose the same way a woman as utterly breathtaking and ethereal as you is you.” He closed the distance between them and took her shoulders. “I know what my problem is.”

  Her muscles tensed against his hold, but she didn’t back away. Instead, she glanced at him. “What?”

  “I spend the better part of my existence thinking about how bad I want you.” He inched their faces close together, slid the strap of her dress down and kissed her on the junction between her neck and shoulder. “The whole time I painted I was thinking about you.”

  She gasped.

  No way would he let up. While his tongue trailed over her skin, lapping up her sweet taste, he pulled the other strap down.

  Her breath quickened and she braced herself on the wall.

  He nipped at her collarbone and down over her shoulder. With both hands, he kneaded her breasts, her already hard nipples scraping against his palms.

  “Damn it!” She twisted her hand in his hair.

  He reached behind her and pulled down the zipper to her dress. With no straps to support the garment, it pooled at her feet between them. The site of his wife’s nude body caused his erection to throb. “Something wrong?” In an attempt to show her how everything would go down, he unknotted his tie.

  She jutted her jaw out, took hold of his shirt and pulled. The buttons popping off starting from the center and working their way up to his collar and down to his belt. “Is something wrong with you?” She snuck her fingers inside his shirt, scratching her nails across his chest.

  “Nothing we can’t fix.” He pushed her hand down to the front of his pants.

  She stared into his eyes and gave him quite a squeeze. “I thought you didn’t want to stay here.” Keeping her hold she slid her hand down his erection.

  Turnabout was fair play. He cupped his hand between her legs. “Yeah, well I thought you said we weren’t having sex.”

  “Who says we’re having sex?” She betrayed her own words by bucking her hips.

  With no resistance, he slid a finger inside her. “You tell me.” He added a second.

  “Damn it.” She closed her eyes and bit her lip.

  The sight of her writhing beneath his touch was all he could stand. “Tell me you love the way I touch you.” He continued to dole out his pleasure and using only one hand practically tore himself out of the rest of his clothes.

  “Randolph.” Once free of his pants, she wrapped her hand around him and returned the favor.

  “Tell me.” He put his arm around her waist and sped up, wanting to bring her close.

  Her body shook. “Oh, God.”

  “Tell me you want me inside you.” He prodded her some more.

  She held her breath. Any second he could make her come.

  In an abrupt move, he stopped.

  “Ah!” Her knees went weak and she held on to him. “Now, Randolph.”

  At her plea, he held her to him, laid her down on the floor and entered her. Warm and wet, she encompassed him, a metaphor for every second they had been together.

  She sucked in her breath, and let out a little whimper.

  Though he wanted to continue the torture, tease her to show her what he could
do to her, he couldn’t resist and instead drove into her. Hard thrusts shooting needed pleasure though him.

  An active lover, she kept up with him, her hips meeting his with every stroke, their bodies colliding together. “Like that.”

  “All week I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” He hooked his arm around one of her legs, pulling it up and back, giving into his own primal urge to be deep inside her. Damn if he didn’t want to ravish her.

  “Don’t stop.” She grasped his shoulders. “Randolph.”

  “Do you need to come?” His own desire accelerated, he sped up his strokes.

  “Randolph!”

  He got his answer by how she screamed his name, how her body froze, but her core rippled around him. Never had he felt a woman orgasm like his wife, her pulses around him only served to edge him on. “Like that, baby.”

  Unable to slow down, he lowered his face to her neck, closed his eyes and relished in the buildup. His breath ragged, he fought to inhale as his body climbed. He was almost there. Almost. “Willow.” He broke out into a sweat. “Damn.”

  She wrapped her arms around him. “Let go.”

  Her breathy request was the last bit he needed. He propelled into her one last time. “Yes!” Wracked with the first flood of release, his body went rigid.

  “Come on.” She held him tighter and continued to coax him on.

  Another wave hit, and another, ecstasy and satisfaction took over as his climax continued. His tight muscles went weak, his body still resonating with the ultimate pleasure.

  “Randolph.”

  “I need a moment.” He didn’t want to be apart from her, didn’t want to move. All he wanted to do was be right here. Right here on the hard wooden floor of Willow’s shop.

  “Take your time.” She combed her fingers through his hair. “Learn to take your time.”

  He let out a laugh.

  “Tell me something about your art. Something no one knows.” Her whisper sent chills through him.

  “You already know more than anyone.” He panted. “You tell me something about you.”

  “I can tell you that you can trust me that I will never say a word. Tell me something that’s only mine.”

  He paused, concentrated on how he felt her heart beat. “One day I was driving and got turned around and I began driving through some poorer neighborhoods and noticed how some tried to make their area nicer with art. Then I saw a school in a rundown area and thought it needed that touch.” With a little strength finding him, he lifted his head. “I couldn’t get it out of my head and I came back that night and made them a garden to look at instead.”

  “Thank you for telling me and thank you for my art.” She ran her fingers over his chin and shook her head. “Promise that one day you’ll let me see you create something.”

  “Come here.” He turned over and put her on top of him.

  “Promise.” She pushed herself up.

  No one ever took an interest in anything about him but his money. “I promise.”

  Her body melded into his and her hair fell around him. She lowered her head to his chest. He closed his eyes and traced the outline of her ear with his fingertip.

  She moaned.

  “Willow.”

  “Yes.” She shivered.

  He found his suit jacket and draped it over her. “I hated going home and not finding you there.”

  “Did you miss me or were you scared I would foil your plans?”

  “I started out thinking the worst.” He shrugged. “Every bad scenario.”

  She raised her head. “And?”

  “I never came home to someone before. I don’t know.” He looked up at the ceiling, noticing the fluorescent stars she must have stuck on the ceiling. “We can stay here tonight, whatever you want.”

  She stared down at him. The stars behind her fit her to a tee. Unable to resist, he leaned up and brushed his lips against hers. A soft kiss, the one he should have given her before when she first came walking through the alley instead of talking about insurance. “Don’t walk alone again, please. Call me and I’ll get you.” Nothing he wanted to say would leave his mouth.

  “You can’t always look out for me.” She sat up. “I think we should go back to the house.”

  He propped himself up on his elbows. “Why?”

  “Though I would love to sleep knowing my art is right here, Nan and Jeb are there, we have a shower there, and our bed is really comfortable.” She stood and gathered up their clothes.

  “That’s not what I asked.” He joined her and held his hand out stopping her dressing. “Who said I couldn’t look out for you?”

  She handed him his shirt. “Our contract.”

  Chapter Eight

  Willow stared into the flame of the candle trying to clear her mind, to focus on the yellows and oranges, the flickers and the small bit of heat. Somewhere, there had to be answers.

  She shut her eyes and swore she saw mountains. “You know, maybe we should go to Sedona early.” Every year she and Nan went to the Sedona for the solstice to welcome the light. The trip gave them renewal and a fresh start and was one of the one true traditions she and Nan managed to keep. Only she needed to talk to Randolph about the trip. They couldn’t be apart and she wasn’t sure how he would take to being out in Arizona without his plentiful comforts of home.

  “Maybe someone should learn to sleep in her contracted bed.” In the four days since she found Randolph’s shirt buttons scattered around the shop Nan hadn’t done anything but bark at her.

  Willow opened her eyes. Maybe the images she saw behind her lids were only reflections from the light. She snuffed out the candle, got up off the floor and returned to the counter, turning through pages in Randolph’s calendar. They had a dinner coming up next week with the Hartfords, marking her debut as Randolph’s wife. The name rang familiar. It seemed as if someone from Randolph’s work called him at home, he spat the word out, and if Peter happened to be around he would roll his eyes.

  “If we go to Sedona I don’t have to plan this dinner.”

  “Promises are sacred no matter how you make them.” Nan didn’t even bother facing her. The buttons didn’t upset Nan, nor did the sex. It was Willow’s mixed feelings about what she did with Randolph in her shop. Nan always said sex was fine as long as she didn’t regret the act. Willow wasn’t sure if it was regret or something else.

  She ran her fingers along the cream colored pages, but the chime of a text message jolted her. Unable to look she slid the phone down the counter. Even though she resisted, Randolph took care of her. In record time he got the insurance, he got the licenses, even got Jeb his license. The man, her husband, adored insurance, licenses and paper as much if not more than art. Every night after dinner and after he finished his work he sat with her and studied her business. Only the other day, a shipment of her supplies arrived. Hell, he even insured the shipment. She guessed it didn’t need a license.

  Without even thinking she returned the favor, or tried to in her own way. She brought him tea, made him snacks, sat with him while he worked at night after he told her it calmed him down, and even blended an aftershave for him that wouldn’t sting his skin. Rather than letting him disappear in the morning, she joined him for his coffee and tried to make sure he ate something before he started his day.

  Her path led to nowhere, no matter where she turned only disaster stood on the horizon. “We just need to go.” With their change in schedule came the texts, little checkpoints throughout the day, a small gesture most spouses made to each other. However, next year they wouldn’t be together, and she didn’t want to miss the texts, watching him work or waking up with him.

  In the middle of the room, Nan plopped a candle and some incense down. The scent of vanilla and roses filled the air, the scents used for love.

  “Why are you doing this?”

  Before Nan answered, the door to her shop opened and the space filled with late afternoon sunlight, blinding her.

  “There she is
!” A woman voice called out.

  At the sound of her mother-in-law’s voice, she straightened up and froze. The woman was invading her safe place and her time of reflection.

  The door closed and Willow blinked to adjust her eyes and found another women and an older man.

  Lillian put a shiny yellow shopping bag on the counter. No matter what time of day, Randolph’s mother always looked exactly the same. A living fashion doll who only changed her clothes. Even living with the woman Willow never spotted her without makeup, impeccably dressed and salon-styled hair. The lavender dress she wore fit her as if someone designed it with her in mind.

  “So, this is your little shop?” Lillian clasped her hands.

  “Yes, welcome.” Her throat dried out. Lillian Van Ayers didn’t really speak to her, mostly she spoke around her, but at least after that first night she was never nasty. Randolph’s mother seemed mostly interested in keeping her lifestyle and appearances, and they learned to coexist in the mansion. However, having her here was strange and off balance.

  “We saw the art.” Lillian smiled. “I was hoping there was a way to get it off the building so we could take it home, but all the experts say that’s impossible without destroying it.”

  “Maybe it should just stay where it is, since that’s where the artist wanted it.” She wasn’t sure if her answer made sense, but then again she wasn’t sure about the question.

  “Do you know the artist?” Lillian pointed to her ear.

  “No,” she whispered. Her husband’s secret was safe with her, she hadn’t even told Nan.

  “I bet it’s good for business.”

  “It’s not hurting.”

  “She is just as lovely as you said.” The other woman, a near carbon copy of Lillian but with brunette hair and a blue colored dress, came forward.

  Randolph’s mother called her lovely? She didn’t think the woman could pick her out of a crowd. “Thank you?”

  “Oh dear, where are my manners? Willow, dear, may I present to you Teresa Tuttle and Sam Burns? Together they are T&B Couture, and I brought them here to measure you and Nanette for the dresses you need for your wedding party.” Lillian gave her silent clap. “Terry, Sam, this is my daughter-in-law, Willow.”