redeeming cupid 01 - struck by eros

by Jenn Windrow

  “You’re not leaving until I let you.” He ran the tip of his finger along the top of my hand, teasing me with his touch, and my stomach wasn’t the only thing growling anymore. “I notice you’re not wearing the bracelet.” Not really a question.

  I knew he had asked me to, but when I was getting ready I held it in my hand, slipped it on my wrist, and watched the Cupid bow dangle. Then I stripped it off and tucked it under the rest of the jewelry hoping to hide it away until I was ready for that kind of commitment with him. “I’m not ready to take that step.”

  “Someday.” He turned my hand over and traced the veins on my wrist, sending chills up my arm and straight into lusty loins.

  Thomas arrived with dinner and saved me from pulling him on the table and having my way with him.

  “How long have you lived in your house?” Grayson asked after swallowing a piece of his own rare steak.

  “My whole life. It belonged to my grandparents, then my parents, and now it’s mine.” I cut into the steak. “I’ll never move out or sell. It’s a part of my life, the only thing I have left of my family. Well, that and Doris. She was my grandpa’s.”

  “Your grandpa drove a pale-pink Mustang?”

  “She was fire-engine red when he owned her. I made some alterations to match my personality.”

  “I couldn’t imagine you driving anything else.”

  Len and Grayson couldn’t be any more different. “Len has been after me for a year to replace her with something more reliable.” I took a bite. “I almost caved.”

  “He’s a fool.”

  Dinner continued, the conversation flowed, and then it was time to go. Thomas came up to say good-bye. Gone was the serious restaurant owner, back was the affectionate family friend. We thanked him for a lovely evening, and Grayson helped me down the stairs.

  In the car, Grayson handed me a leopard print blindfold. “I don’t want to ruin the surprise.” I turned and he tied it around my eyes. “We’ll be there in a few moments.”

  “Didn’t think you were into BDSM.” His chuckle sparked worry.

  Once the car stopped, Grayson came to my side and opened the door, but kept me in the dark, literally. He helped me up and navigated me to our secret location. A bell tinkled from above.

  “Good evening, sir,” a woman purred. “Right this way please.”

  “Just a few more moments.” He whispered in my ear.

  My heels clicked on a wood floor. I counted two left turns and one right. Grayson put his hand on my shoulder, turned me slightly to the left, and then untied the blindfold.

  I opened my eyes and my breath stuttered. Hanging on the wall in front of me was the entire collection of Degas’ Ballerina retrospective. Not just the finished paintings, but the sketches, too. But that wasn’t what captured my attention the most. In the center of it all, on a wooden pedestal, stood the sculpture of the young dancer, arms behind her back in her gold and cream leotard and skirt.

  He placed his hands on my hips. Light. Tender. Intimate. Right where they belonged. “I saw the statue in your studio.”

  “He’s my favorite.” I left his touch, even though I didn’t want to, and stepped closer to the art.

  The curator pulled out a pair of white gloves. “If you put these on you’re welcome to touch the statue.” She handed a pair to Grayson too.

  I slipped the gloves on my hands and walked closer to one of my favorite pieces of art. Ran my hands over the bronze beauty. Felt the clefts, the indents, the power that a piece of art held over my heart.

  Grayson stood by my side, but didn’t say a word. I stopped at every painting, every piece of paper, and studied the strokes. For an hour I walked back and forth, taking it all in, not talking, not thinking about the man next to me.

  When our time was up, Grayson led me to the door and to his car. I couldn’t talk, the emotions were too raw, too close to the surface, and he left me to my own thoughts.

  “How did you manage a private showing of Degas’ collection?” I finally said when I felt like I could keep the happy tears at bay.

  “I work with the owner of the gallery on quite a few projects. When I saw they had the exhibit coming, I knew you would love to see it.”

  “Thank you.” I paused to gather my thoughts and laid my hand on his. “I think tonight was the most spectacular evening I’ve ever had.”

  We pulled into my driveway and Grayson turned off the car, came around, opened the door and escorted me up my porch. “So, the man-whore did well?” The playful look on his face made me want to invite him in and do X-rated things.

  “The man-whore excelled.”

  He leaned in, his lips close to mine, and I welcomed the kiss about to come. His hand touched the side of my face, tucked my hair behind my ear, breath warming my cheek. I sighed when his lips finally touched mine, but before the kiss even started it was over.

  “Good night, Noel.” His fingers brushed my thigh, and his words caressed my heart. “And sweet dreams.” He bent down, touched his lips lightly to my cheek, then turned, walked down the porch steps, got in his car, and rolled down his window. “I do chaste well.” He pulled out of the driveway, leaving me with a smile on my lips and the aching between my legs he promised.

  No matter how much I wanted to deny it, Grayson had whittled his way into more than just my loins. He had found a place in my life. But more importantly, he found a home in my heart. Cupid be damned.

  Sixteen

  Lucy and Ethel Got Nothing on Me

  The only information I needed from Cupid’s daily text in the morning was the when and where. The who? Len and Lauren. That was obvious. So when it finally came through at its normal time, I was already at my pottery wheel working. Well, pretending to work. I pushed the peddle and it spun in a slow, lazy circle, the cool, slippery clay sliding between my wet fingers as it formed and reformed, bringing me an odd sense of calm I couldn’t find anywhere else.

  Burying my heart in my work would help alleviate the worry and unease that bubbled in my belly. Pounding on clay for a couple of hours would relieve the stress that had tied my shoulders in knots. And hopefully spending a few hours in my studio would straighten out the Sunday-morning-paper jumble of problems in my mind.

  Color me confused, conflicted, and concerned.

  My thoughts circled my brain like the clay on the wheel. Around and around, not ready to be turned into something solid or concrete.

  My feelings for Grayson were the main reason I sat in a daze. Last night he had surprised me, proven to me there was so much more than the playboy who lived on the surface. It was obvious that Len wasn’t mine to keep, and if I was honest with myself, I didn’t want to. I wanted Grayson in my life. No doubt about it. But not until after Len and Lauren found their happily ever after. I owed that much to the man whose heart I trampled.

  Tonight I wouldn’t rely on Cupid or fate or the alignment of stars to connect them. If Len was going to meet Lauren, I was going to be the one to put his hand in hers and make sure those damn flickering arrows disappeared for good.

  Limbo is a fun game, but not a state I wanted to live in permanently.

  Forcing Len to notice Lauren was the only way we would all be free from this current cycle of bullshit. I had to hope he answered the text I sent him earlier asking him if we could talk. That he was willing to meet with me.

  Len’s ringtone sang from my phone’s tiny speakers and an arrow of adrenaline bounced against my bones. I wiped my hands on my pants to remove the sweat and clay, and picked up the phone to read his response.

  When and where?

  With a whoosh, I released the breath I had been holding and typed out my answer to his question. Wet Stone Wine Bar—8p.m.

  The same time and place as my Cupid connection with Grayson. Coincidence? I think not.

  I’ll be there.

  The plan that had been percolating in my mind all morning would open his eyes, and if everything played out the right way, he wouldn’t even notice I was missing b
ecause he would be focused on Lauren. His real soul mate.

  I worked until the sun went down, my heart growing heavier at each passing minute. I called Grayson on the drive home, happy to hear his voice when he answered.

  “Hey, Sunshine.” He sounded just as happy to hear from me.

  “I need a favor.”

  “Anything.”

  “I need you to stay away from tonight’s connection.”

  “Anything but that.” His happiness disappeared into a fog of grump.

  “Just hear me out,” I started, but quickly continued so he wouldn’t have a chance to cut in. “I need Len and Lauren to connect tonight. We all do. I promise I won’t stand in the way.”

  And I meant it. I wouldn’t interfere, I wouldn’t get in the way, and I would make sure that Len and Lauren found each other. What they did with each other after that, well that wasn’t my problem, I had my own happily ever after to arrange.

  The silence on the other end of the line grew uncomfortable, so I babbled on to fill the void. “They’re meant to be together I know that now, but I need to be the one to connect them.” Then I filled him in on the rest of the plan.

  He didn’t speak for several moments, and I pulled the phone away from my ear to see if he was even on the line. The read out showed the call was still connected, so I put it back up to my ear and waited for him to respond.

  He made a sound, part growl, part moan, and one hundred percent frustrated. “Fine. I’ll let you handle this one, but I’ll be watching. If something goes wrong, I’ll come and rescue you from your Lucy and Ethel moment again.” He hung up after that, leaving me to chew on his words like some bad cud.

  None of the fancy fun clothes in my closet matched my mood, so I picked out a white silk blouse, black slacks, and black knee-high boots. Serious clothes to match my serious mood.

  I arrived at the Wine Bar half an hour early and took a seat on one of the cushioned bar stools, far back in the corner with a great view of the door. A row of over-priced wine bottles decorated the shelves above my head, and colorful un-matching arrows bobbed over the heads of the other patrons, but only one pair of bobbing arrows interested me.

  Grayson’s text tone chimed.

  At the coffee shop across the street. Let me know when you need help.

  Not if but when. Ye of little faith.

  As if summoned, Lauren walked in and paused at the hostess stand. She looked like she had just gotten off work in a beige tailored-to-perfection business suit and a beautiful pair of gold Louboutins, but her expensive clothes couldn’t hide the toll that these past few days had taken on her body. Dark circles smudged the top of her high cheekbones and her complexion leaned closer to ghostly pale than rosy pink.

  The hostess led her to a quiet table for two in front of the window and handed her a menu. Lauren put it to the side, pulled out a compact mirror from her purse and reapplied her lip-gloss, mopped run-away eyeliner form the corner of her eyes, and pushed one side of her hair behind her ear. She settled in her seat and read her menu, but her gaze kept wandering to the sidewalk outside.

  A figure passed by the window and Lauren straightened in her chair, head high, shoulders pulled back. Len? My heart sped with anticipation. The door chimed and we both turned our attention to see who joined the party. Len walked in, looking even worse than he had on the jogging path in a rumpled shirt and pants with wrinkles that would put a raisin to shame. He stopped at the hostess stand and asked her something. She ran her finger down the list, probably looking for my name, then shook her head. Len checked his phone, and then stepped back outside.

  My phone vibrated in my purse. I ignored it. The ringing stopped and he stepped back in. The hostess led him to an empty table across from Lauren. Just like before, he didn’t even notice her, even though she sat in his line of sight.

  Once seated, Len buried his head back in his phone and ignored the world around him. How was I going to get him to stop thinking about me, and notice the pretty lady sitting to his right?

  Lauren took a long look at Len, stood up, and headed to the bathroom, moving past me on her way. I hopped off my stool and followed her in. She already thought I was a stalker, might as well make it a reality.

  She was washing her hands at the faux marble sink. I closed the door and leaned against the dark wood, blocking her exit. “If you want Len to notice you, you’re going to have to take the first step.”

  She turned away from the sink and walked to the paper towel dispenser. “I had a feeling you’d be here tonight.” She dried her hands and threw the wet towel in the trash. “What do you suggest I do?” Annoyance coated her words.

  “Tell him you remember seeing him at the jogging path today. That you wanted to talk to him, but he ran away before you could.” I grabbed her shoulders, my eyes drilling into her eyes, and issued a command like a general to his troops. “Make him notice you.”

  “And if he doesn’t?”

  “Sit down. Join him. Flirt. He’s alone tonight.”

  “He might be waiting for someone.” She looked down and fidgeted with the gold bracelet on her wrist.

  “He is. Me. But I’m not coming.” I turned her toward the door and gave a small push in the direction that would lead to her destiny. “He’s out there waiting. Alone. It’s now or never.”

  Lauren smiled, but it was shaky and unsure. After a deep breath and a last look in the mirror, she left to entice the man of her dreams. I snuck out the door and returned to my perch at the bar. Fingers, nose, and toes crossed that Lauren could pull off the impossible. She either smoothed her skirt or wiped off her sweaty palms, I couldn’t tell which, and approached Len like a brave little soldier. She tapped him on the shoulder.

  Startled, he looked up, his phone momentarily forgotten. They engaged in a few moments of conversation and then Lauren gestured to the chair across from him. Len nodded and she took a seat. Lauren kept up a steady stream of conversation, but Len had his phone back in his hand, checking it every few minutes. He refused to focus on her or what she said.

  Len raised his phone to his ear and my purse started vibrating once again. I wanted to bash my head against the bar. Lauren looked back at me and frowned. I pointed to Len and made the universal sign of talking with my hands. She turned back and tried once again to catch his interest, but after a big, old, fat nothing from Len she slumped in her seat.

  My fingers were clenched so tight I expected drops of blood to fall into my lap. Len was blowing his only chance to be with his perfect match because of his obsession with me.

  “Excuse me.” The bartender reached over my head for an overpriced bottle of cabernet. His fingers skimmed the surface of the dusty bottle, tipping it over, where it proceeded to roll in slow motion. “Watch out,” he yelled as the wine toppled to the bar, shattered, and soaked the front of my shirt with big, red splotches.

  Everyone in the bar stopped their conversation and looked in my direction… including Len. He hopped up from his chair and headed over, my game of hide-in-the shadows ruined by my Carrie-at-the-prom moment.

  Time for the backup plan. A plan I had hoped I wouldn’t have to deploy.

  The overly apologetic bartender grabbed a towel from under the counter and began wiping away at the growing red stain on the front of my white silk blouse. I stopped him before he touched my breasts, took the towel, and blotted at the liquid that covered my arms.

  Len stormed over, eyes pinched into tiny, dark slits. Without a word, he grabbed my arm, pulled me from the seat, and dragged me through the front door. He twisted me so I faced him, his eyes blazing. “How long have you been sitting there?” His words held an anger I had never heard from him before.

  “Long enough to ruin a perfectly fine piece of silk.” I dabbed at the wine-blot test on my chest, refusing to look at him.

  “Is this a game to you?” He paced back and forth on the sidewalk, ignoring the passerby, who dodged him to avoid being mowed down. “Some sick way to torture me?”

  “
I’m not playing a game. You weren’t supposed to see me.”

  He stopped in front of me and I looked up. His face red with heat. “We had plans to meet here tonight.” He sounded impatient, irritated, irate.

  “I had a change of heart.” I focused on cleaning off the wine and not on the heart I was about to crush. Smash. Destroy.

  Anger shook his body and propelled him into my personal space. “Were you going to call me and cancel? Or just let me sit and wait?”

  The door opened with a jingle-jangle-jingle and we both turned toward the sound. Lauren walked through the door, head down, refusing to look in our direction.

  “Lauren,” I called out, hoping I could still make the connection. She hiked her purse up on her shoulder, turned, and shot me a look that could have killed Al Capone. Then she walked away from the drama, from me, and once again from Len.

  Another opportunity fell through the crater.

  “Do you see the woman who just walked away?” I grabbed his chin and forced him to watch Lauren cross the street. “What’s wrong with you? She sat with you, tried to start up a conversation, and you ignored her.”

  “I don’t know her.”

  “Because you haven’t even noticed her.” I threw the red-stained towel on the closest patio table and surrendered with an I-give-up gesture of my hands. “You’re too focused on me. On us.”

  Len grabbed my hand and pulled me close. “I only have eyes for you.” He rubbed his thumb over my cheek. “You’re who I want. Who I need.” His words sounded like a recorded message.

  Realization burst through me like a rocket to the moon. Len would never see Lauren for who she was, who she could be to him. Not when he held the smallest bit of hope that we could be together. Not when I refused to take the step needed to push him in the right direction.

  Not when I continued to be selfish, self-centered, and self-involved.

  I hadn’t wanted our relationship to end like this, but like everything else since Cupid shot me, it wasn’t my choice.

  I stepped back, needing distance between us before I spoke. “Len, I don’t want you to call me, or text me, or come see me anymore.” I sucked back the sob that tried to escape. Not because I was letting him go, but because I was hurting someone I used to love. “We’re through. I’ve moved on with Grayson. I love…” I stumbled over the word, but forced myself to finish the sentence that would end the cycle of suck. “I love him.”