Divine Desire: A Lotus House Novel: Book Three

by Audrey Carlan

  As much as I enjoyed living with Moe and Lily, the best times were when I was home alone in my studio doing what I did best…creating art. Being a yoga teacher by day definitely had its perks. However, I’d given up some of my hours at Lotus House so that Atlas and I would have some one-on-one time together, and I had additional painting hours to focus on the intense details. So far, the changes I’d made this past month by moving in with Monet and giving Atlas a go had been the best of my life.

  My art had never been better. I had several new pieces to show the gallery, and I wasn’t in the poor house. I actually bought a dress to wear to Atlas’s show next weekend. A sexy little number that he would want to rip off the second he saw me in it. Only he wouldn’t be able to because he would be on stage. I couldn’t lie, the concept was a little evil. I wanted him insane with lust for me while all the groupies danced around him with their bloated boobs bouncing around. At least my new dress showcased my ass. It dropped all the way down in the back, leaving the dimples at my lower spine visible.

  Those twin indents were like candy-coated lollipops to Atlas. Any time they were on display, his lips were touching them. Seeing as I had a ridiculously hot man in my life, I went a long way toward making sure he had reasons to touch the places on me that gave him a stiffy. Just meant more pleasure for me.

  I focused on his tune while I thought about how much my life had changed. I hadn’t even had the desire to blow off Atlas and go find a one-nighter. Being in his company was truly awesome. Maybe Moe was right. Relationships weren’t all bad. I honestly couldn’t complain. I had a beautiful subject to paint any time I wanted, a hard cock ready to go, and a jokester who played me lullabies. Yeah, my life was definitely better than it had been. More fulfilled.

  Atlas finished the lick he’d been working on.

  I shook my head. “Curly, it sounds like ‘Foolish Games’ by Jewel.”

  He stared at me for a long time and then played the song in question.

  “Shit! You’re right. Dammit! What am I going to do?” He set the guitar on the couch cushion next to him, leaned back, and rubbed his hands over his eyes.

  If I were a lesser woman, I’d jump his bones again, but since we had committed to giving this relationship a go, I couldn’t distract him with sex. I needed to be there for him, or try to be.

  Once I set down my brush, I went over to him and sat on his lap sideways, looping an arm around his neck. “What’s really the problem? You’ve played me countless ditties that were amazing and I hadn’t heard them before.”

  “Ditties?” He peered through a couple of his fingers.

  I nuzzled his side and pulled his hand away from his eyes. “Talk to me.”

  He sighed and rubbed at his chin and then started to pet me. Interesting thing about Atlas. When he was trying to figure out what he wanted to say, he’d run his hands all over me, as if the simple act of touching me provided him the time he needed to gather his thoughts.

  His fingers trailed along my collarbone. “I’m not sure anything I’ve written is good enough for Silas McKnight.”

  I frowned, and with thumb and forefinger, forced his chin toward me so that I could see into his eyes. One brown, one blue, so extraordinary, so Atlas. A fierce sense of protectiveness washed over me, a sensation I hadn’t felt since my dad went away.

  “Atlas, your songs are you. They are filled with heart, hope, and a depth you don’t hear nowadays. If Silas Mc-Fancypants-Song-Producer doesn’t like them, then you don’t want him producing them.”

  He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. “I just feel like this is my last chance to make something of my music.”

  “You’ve already made something of your music. You have beautiful originals that definitely speak to the audience. You should be proud of what you’ve already accomplished.”

  “And you’re proud of what you’ve accomplished with your paintings?”

  I scowled. “Well no, they’re not done.”

  “And neither are these. In addition, technically, you have a ton of them complete. When are you going to show them to the gallery?”

  I shrugged. “Not sure. When it feels like it’s time.”

  He tipped his head back and laughed. “Baby, we are a pair. Two artists who work their asses off but are afraid to share their work for fear of failure.”

  “Failure is not an option,” I whispered.

  “Exactly my point.”

  I sighed. “No, I get it. You don’t get anywhere in life by keeping your talents bottled up. How about this—you give yourself a break on trying to make the exact perfect songs, and I’ll talk to the gallery about showing them what I’ve got in the hopper?”

  He smiled and wrapped his arms around me. “Deal.”

  Before I could get up, Atlas kissed me. His lips were warm and wet, tasting of the lemonade I’d served him after we’d made love the first time. It tasted even better mixed with his unique flavor. I sucked on his tongue and rubbed my crotch against his hardened cock. The man was so damned virile. We’d just had sex twenty or so minutes ago, and he was ready to go again.

  “Round two?” he offered, nibbling down my chest where he stopped to suck on my nipple.

  I ran my hands back into his hair. “Oh yeah, round two.”

  He grinned around my tip and bit down. “God, you dazzle me, baby.”

  Instead of responding, I centered my slit over his cock and impaled myself. “How’s that for a little dazzle?”

  He gritted his teeth and gripped my hips hard. “Just the right amount.”

  ATLAS

  “Haven’t seen you around much.” Clay scratched the back of his neck as he poured a cup of coffee for himself. “Mila still here?”

  I grinned, thinking about the wildcat. I gave her the nickname because on the whole, she was wild and catlike with a sharp tongue I couldn’t get enough of. But lately, the acrobatics in the bedroom had been fitting the endearment far better than I’d ever anticipated. “Mila just left. Had an early class to teach.”

  “Good, means you can hit the gym with me,” Clay said.

  I groaned, shuffled over to the fridge, and pulled out some eggs and the English muffins. “Egg sami?” I held out the loot and set it on the counter.

  “Sure. Thanks.” Clay leaned against the counter as I cracked six eggs into a bowl and beat them with a whisk. “So you and Mila seem to be hitting it off.”

  I crouched down, got the pan going, and poured my mix in. While I stirred, I thought about his question, really thought about it. “Can’t complain. I mean look at her.”

  Clay smirked. “She definitely has it going on. And that ass…”

  I pursed my lips and kissed the tips of my fingers like an Italian would. “Perfection. I know, man. Blows my mind and my load pretty spectacularly.”

  He laughed and then shuffled his bare feet. He wore a simple pair of pajama pants and nothing else. I had on a pair of running shorts, figuring I’d run later, but I’d hit the gym with Clay since he offered. I don’t pay for the gym when I go because I only ever go if I’m attending as Clay’s guest. Then it doesn’t cost me a dime, and he enjoys the company as much as I do.

  “How’s, uh, her friend doing?” he mumbled, looking down into his coffee.

  I shook my head and pushed the eggs around while they cooked. “Moe?”

  “Monet. Yes.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Dude, you kind of blew that whole deal by bailing last month. The two of you seemed into one another and then just…nothing.”

  He frowned. “I didn’t blow anything. I was just making conversation. Wondering how you and your girl were getting along while having to share space with a woman and her…uh…kid.” His voice lowered when he mentioned Lily.

  “It’s totally fine. They do their thing; we do ours. Mila spends a lot of time painting, and Moe works a lot. When she’s not working, she’s spending time with Lily. And, man…that kid. She’s a riot!” I laughed, remembering last week when Lily came storming into Mila’s room
unannounced.

  “How so?”

  I pushed down the toaster and lowered the heat on the eggs so the muffins had a chance to catch up. While talking, I hit the fridge for the cheese. “The little one caught us kissing, right?”

  He snorted and sipped his coffee. “Bound to happen.”

  I stopped and lifted my chin. “Totally. But the funny thing was, she felt left out and then got positively angry when I wouldn’t kiss her. Went screaming down the hallway telling her mom that PowPow wouldn’t kiss her.” I chuckled and buttered the bread.

  “PowPow?”

  “Yeah. Little thing is only three. Atlas was way too hard to say, and when her mom first introduced me as Atlas Powers, she chose PowPow. Apparently, she has this double word preference. Calls Mila Auntie Mimi.”

  Clay sighed, turned around, and rested his hands on the counter. “Yeah, kids are unexpected that way.” His words had an underlying hint of sadness that I couldn’t quite place.

  “You, uh, ever think of having kids one day?” I threw that out there.

  His shoulders tightened, all that muscle bunching. “Once. Thought I was going to be a dad. Didn’t work out.”

  I plated the egg sandwiches and handed him one.

  “Uh, thanks.”

  “Yeah, sure. So what happened with the kid thing?”

  He inhaled sharply and then looked away. “It’s history. Let’s just say I don’t have any children at this time, and I’m damn sure not likely to have any in the future, either.”

  I nodded and bit into my egg and cheese. Fuck, it was good. My stomach was so empty it practically reached out a hidden arm to suck the sandwich straight into my gullet like one of those alien movies.

  While the two of us ate in silence, I thought about kids and the fact that I was nearing my twenty-ninth year of life. I’d always thought I’d have a child one day. I knew my ma would be in heaven if I gave her a grandchild. Heck, seeing Mila rounded out with my progeny in her…fuck yeah. A shiver rippled through me, and gooseflesh rose on my skin. My heart started pumping hard, and my hands went a touch clammy at the single thought of Mila having my baby. A little boy or girl with crazy curls from us, a set of deep brown eyes, both the same color like his or her mom, only tall like me. I could teach the little guy or girl some music, and Mila could teach painting. A beautiful life.

  The song I’d written had just then taken on new breath. Maybe never, probably someday seemed more about my future than the last words my father had said to me over two decades ago.

  “You ever think about it?” Clay’s words broke me out of my revelation.

  I huffed. “No, man, but I did just now, and I gotta say, if Mila was my forever, having a kid or two with her would not suck.”

  He smiled and rubbed at his spikey hair. “Nor would it from her roommate.”

  “Excuse me?” I shot back, catching him off guard.

  “Uh, nothin’.”

  I laughed. “No, you just put yourself in that same scenario with Monet. Admit it. You like her.”

  His attitude was nonchalant when he strode over to the coffeepot. “You’re reading too much into it. She’s my type, all right.”

  “Dude, she’s every man’s type. She’s hot, got great hair, a nice body, and a killer smile. Plus, she’s not a bitch. And of course, her kid is funny. Oh, and she’s rich. Doesn’t need money.”

  “Her kid. Yeah,” he murmured grumpily.

  “What was that?”

  “Just agreeing with you,” he lied. “Besides, I’ve got my own money. I’d never go after a wealthy woman because of her bank account.” The chip firmly on Clay’s shoulder got pointier.

  Something was up with Clay and kids or Clay and Monet, period. I didn’t think it had anything to do with Monet’s kid specifically because he hadn’t even met Lily, and from first-hand experience, anyone who met that kid was going to fall in love with her. I did, and I’d only spent a short amount of time getting to know her.

  I finished up my breakfast and went about cleaning the plates, letting Clay stew in his thoughts.

  “What’s the deal with her ex? How often does he come around?” Clay asked.

  “I fucking knew it!” I turned around, pointing a wet soapy finger and flinging soap suds across Clay’s chest. “You like her more than you’re letting on, but something is putting you off. Spill it.”

  “What are we having…a love fest now, bro? Want to braid each other’s hair?” He shook his head. “All you guys are all alike. You fall in love with a woman and decide it’s time to hook up all your friends. I get enough of that shit from Trent and Dash; I don’t need it from you, too.”

  I dried off my hands and lifted the towel in the air where I waved it in a peace offering. “Not trying to hook you up. Just wondering why you won’t go after a woman who very clearly seemed taken with all that is your studliness.” I gestured at his very obvious bulk and brawn. “And I’m not in love.”

  At that comment, Clay laughed so hard he sprayed coffee all along the sink and counter I just cleaned.

  “What the fuck, man! You’re cleaning that up!” I tossed the towel at him. He caught it midair.

  “You are so full of shit. You’re not in love with Mila? You’re going to tell me she’s just your fuck-buddy?” He harrumphed.

  A slither of anger shredded through my pores, and I clenched my teeth. “Not a fuck-buddy. Not even close.”

  “Then she’s your lover?”

  “Yes,” I growled, still a little tweaked by the fuck-buddy comment.

  “And you spend almost all of your time not working…together?”

  “What are you getting at?”

  He shook his head, wiped at the counter, and rinsed the sink. “Hate to blow the roof off your house of denial, but you’re balls-to-the-wall in love with the girl, and everyone but you knows it.” He finished and tossed the towel on the counter.

  I scoffed. “Whatever. You have no idea what you’re talking about. Mila and me, we’re just doing our thing and enjoying ourselves.”

  “Do you fuck other women?” he asked crudely.

  I cringed. “No, man.”

  “Does she fuck other guys?”

  At the mere mention of Mila anywhere near another man’s dick, a rage so strong fired through me I felt positively violent. “Fuck no!” I ground out between my teeth.

  “You think about her all the time? Wonder what she’s doing? Think of ways you can make her happy the next time you see her?”

  I squinted and focused on my friend’s pretty boy face. His California surfer boy look, complete with blond spiked hair, blue eyes, and tanned skinned made him a perfect candidate for a Hawaiian Tropic campaign.

  “Your point?” I was finally able to mutter.

  “If it walks like a duck, quacks like a duck, looks like a duck…man, it’s a fucking duck.”

  I pushed off the counter and walked around him, ignoring his comment. “We hitting the gym or what? I find I have a renewed need to punch something really hard over and over.”

  He snickered and followed me from behind. “You wanna spar today? Bring it, boy. I’ll take you so far down you won’t even know what hit you.”

  “Looking forward to it, asswipe,” I called out from my room, digging through the basket of clean clothes Mila had washed for me and delivered last night folded and freshly laundered.

  Clean clothes.

  Fuck.

  I sat on my bed holding the clean tee and looked at the subtle changes that had already taken place in my life. Clean clothes. A couple sets of her yoga clothing in the top right drawer along with some of her toiletries, brush, hairspray, that kind of shit sitting on my dresser. On the mirror over the dresser were a couple of pictures of us being silly and several of her doing yoga randomly. She called it, “Stop. Drop. Yoga.” She’d literally just rocked a complicated yoga pose in the middle of the sidewalk, another in front of a cool wall sprayed with wild graffiti markings in bright neon colors and others I couldn’t forget. I t
ugged on the faithful key hanging around my neck and ran the key over the beads, allowing the comforting sound to tick with each metal bead it ran past.

  Since Mila and I’d been exclusively seeing one another, we’d never used the word love or even the string of three words that are so often said to express that feeling when you know that the other person is your one. For Mila and me, we’d just been dazzled. And since that night, we’d used that phrase more often than not…”you dazzle me.” Was it really just a way for us to deny stronger feelings toward one another?

  I gripped my hair and remembered a conversation not long ago that I’d had with my mom about Mila. She’d been afraid I wouldn’t let a woman in because I’d been abandoned by my dad. Apparently, it was a real source of worry for her. My mother believed wholeheartedly in love and loved my dad with her entire heart and still, to this day, hadn’t been in another relationship. She said my dad was it for her. Had that been the reason I’d never followed through on a longer relationship? Fear of abandonment?

  Was I afraid Mila would walk away? Hell yes. It was all she knew, too. Her dad went to prison, and her mother up and left her, moving three thousand miles away to make a new family. Did I believe that Mila could be capable of doing the same to me? I honestly didn’t think so. She might not have allowed herself to have much, make too many long-lasting relationships, but the ones she did have were intense. Her connection to Monet was steadfast and reciprocated. Perhaps that was the answer to Mila. Reciprocate her commitment and she was yours for life.

  A knock blasted me out of my thoughts. “We hitting the gym or did you think more about the fact that there’s no way in hell you’re going to beat me sparring and you decided to wimp out?”

  I chuckled and picked up my gym bag. “I’m not wimping out, but dude. Don’t wound me in there today. I’ve got plans with my girl later.”

  “You mean the one you’re denying you love?”

  “I’m not going to do that.”

  “Do what?” He opened the door to our apartment, and I walked through.