by elda lore
“You think I’m beautiful?” The arrogant curve of his lip, detonating a dimple, pissed me off more. My mouth watered and I cursed again.
“Forget I said that,” I growled. “You’re so arrogant. So…smug.”
“I think you’re beautiful, too.” His tone softened, rolling seductively low, while his eyes roamed over my face and down the length of my neck. His fingers slipped around the curve of my throat and he gently tugged at the fine hairs on the nape of my neck. His pinky finger stroked upward over the sensitive skin, and my body responded with a shiver. The dimple cut deeper, his eyes focused on my hair. “Your hair is this beautiful acorn color, with streaks of gold.” My concentration snapped.
“Don’t think I’m beautiful. I’m not one of your conquests.” I straightened, damning myself for liking the warmth of his hands on my skin. Using my hand to deflect his grasp, I continually received pricks of shock, sparking each time our skin collided. It was as if I’d purposely swiped a carpeted floor and grabbed a metal doorknob, looking for the electric current it would conduct. Glutton for punishment, I cursed myself and forced his touch away from me with a sharp push on his chest.
“My conquests?” He snorted.
“Yes. Let’s see Ionia, Mel, Letty, Callie.” My fingers ticked off the girls I’d heard speaking earlier in the day. “Oh, and let’s not forget Di, who thinks you’ll be all sweet and romantically gentle with her virginity.” My voice boomed in frustration and my nostrils flared as I breathed deep.
“You’re adorable when you’re jealous,” he taunted me. His fingers reached for my hair again but I swatted them away.
“That’s all you have to say?” I barked, my tone coarse. He attempted to touch my hair one more time and my hands swirled between us like I swished at an attack of angry bees. Flapping fingers and swatting palms, I slapped the air. “And don’t think for one second I’d let you near my Persephone.”
Instantly, my breasts crashed his chest. His hands gripped firmly around my upper arms, holding me pressed against him. Both our breaths hitched exaggeratedly, forcing the sharp tips of erect nipples to drag over the hard form of his upper chest.
“Don’t,” he jiggled me, increasing the brush of sensitive nipples against the warmth of him. “Don’t you ever say I’ve gone after Persephone.” His flirtatious tenor changed. Heat charged the air. Gooey caramel melted to fireballs of anger. “I’d never touch her,” the booming sound of his voice warned me.
“What’s wrong with her?” I snipped. What’s wrong me with me? I thought, as I was suddenly defending the honor of my best friend with encouragement of their union.
“She’s beautiful and sweet.” His fingers dug into the skin at the back of my arm and he jostled me to emphasize the words. “But she isn’t mine, and I don’t want her to be.”
“Why not?” The sharp snap to my speech surprised me. Again, I cursed myself. I didn’t want him to desire Persephone, and yet suddenly I seemed to promote it.
“Because all I can see when I look at another woman is peacock eyes.” His smile grew and his eyes lit. The fire smoldered and returned to warm embers. Our mouths were separated by mere inches. Mine opened slightly, drawing his eyes to my lips. I breathed in his hot breath, and the heated oxygen traveled down my throat, warming my insides to volcanic desire. Admitting he looked at other women, however, only pissed me off more. My palms, bracing his shoulder, pushed against him.
“I despise you,” I muttered through clenched teeth.
“I loathe you,” he retorted and reached for the back of my neck again, dragging me to him. Our mouths drew even closer, the touch of his lips millimeters away from connecting with mine. His parted for the capture.
“Solis?” Nails-on-a-chalkboard clawed the air, smothering the moment like cold rain. Solis’ head came forward to rest on mine, but I untangled myself from the close call of kissing sunshine.
SOLIS
I’d lost Veva after Mel’s voice ripped the connection to shreds. She escaped my grasp and raced down the guest hall, leaving me to face another round of Mel’s pleas for us to be a couple. It wasn’t going to happen. I didn’t commit. I was more like my father than I thought, but I didn’t want to be. I’d never admit that to just anyone. I didn’t want the solitary life of flitting from one bed to another, but that’s the life I led. I’d already lived the chase of moving from one place to another, continually searching for safety, denying I needed it. I wanted one place to remain stable: one bed to be solid, one woman to finally be mine, but I didn’t allow hope to haunt me.
Conquests, she called them. Veva would be my next one, because that girl had me so riled, and I needed to tame that storm. Put out the thunder and move on. The lightning between us ignited the closer we drew to one another. She felt it, too. It’s why she kicked me off of her ankle. It’s why she swatted my hands away. That quick current of energy flickered between us when we touched, and the thought of that live wire Veva being plugged in turned me on.
But Mel droned on and on in my ear. My irritation grew and her tears fell. Normally a sucker for the salty liquid streaming from a female eye, tonight the sight agitated me. The weather matched my mood. It had turned stormy as dark clouds tumbled over the estate. The rain fell sweetly, momentarily cooling the parched land and refreshing the olives, but as Mel continued yapping, my annoyance flared. Lightning struck somewhere nearby. Mel flinched, but I held my ground.
“I think it’s best if you retire,” I suggested, knowing if the storm raged too fiercely, the transmitter would snap and the lights would extinguish. I actually liked an evening in the cool flames of candlelight, but tonight was not such a night. Tonight, I wanted Mel to shut up. Thunder clapped. Lightning snapped. Taking Mel’s arm, I escorted her to her room. Somewhere down this stretch of guest rooms, Veva and Persephone shared a bedroom. At the end of the hallway was a common space filled with oversized chairs and low tables. Much like the grand foyer, the area had floor to ceiling windows on either side, allowing for natural light to flood the space.
Standing outside Mel’s door, she reached for me. Catching me off guard, our lips collided and I returned the kiss, briefly. I sensed someone watching me, and my lids opened to find Veva standing in the middle of the common room, glaring down the hall at me. My lips continued the numb connection with Mel as I watched Veva observe us. My hands slipped around Mel’s lower back and I drew upward, willing Veva to take in the performance. She pissed me off, and I wanted her to see what she missed out on by rejecting me.
Mel moaned in this exaggerated way she had, more dramatic than endearing. In fact, it distracted me and turned me off. Instantly, I pulled back from her, never losing eye contact with Veva.
“See,” Mel’s screechy voice exclaimed, “I knew we belonged together. You missed me, admit it!”
My attention snapped to Mel.
“Mel, I’m sorry. That was a mistake.” I wiggled my arms to loosen her hands from my biceps. When I looked up, Veva was missing from the common space. I didn’t see her retreating down the opposite hall, certain her room would be among those nearby. My father liked to keep the younger girls together; it kept their mothers separate for his entertainment. By gods above, what had I done? It hit me like the lightning bolts raging outside—I had acted like my father, pitting one woman against another. In my attempt to make Veva jealous, I’d used Mel. As I kissed Mel, I upset Veva. I shook my head, disgusted with myself, and stepped away from my forever ex-lover.
“Good night, Mel.” I bowed, continuing down the hall in the direction I’d seen Veva.
Standing amid the common area, the lightning crackled, illuminating the dark sky. The rain subsided some and thunder snapped in the distance. The glow of low lights lit the comfortable space, but Veva was not present. One of the exterior glass doors stood slightly ajar, and my eyes scanned the patio. Surely Veva couldn’t have been so foolish as to venture out into a storm? Sliding the door open, I stepped outside and let the soft drizzle wash over me. I’d been a fool tonight.
> + + +
Needing an escape, I made my own path to an outer house, a separate home on the property, once considered the in-law residence. As my father had no wife after my mother, no in-laws existed to fill the space. My father’s parents were long dead, and the story of their demise was an old tale. The run-down house had been gifted to me when I arrived, and Heph helped me convert the place. Wet underbrush swiped at my ankles, dampening the hem of my pants. As I neared the hut, I noticed the front door askew..
I didn’t bring girls here. I had two rooms in the main house, but I preferred to keep this space as private as I could. Careful to never be followed, this was my sanctuary. I slowed as I listened for the intruder to my personal residency. Hesitantly, I pushed the door open wider. My senses alert, I smelled her before I saw her: summer rain mixed with warm skin. Her acorn hair soaked to deep oak, droplets dripped to dampen the back of her dress. The peacock tattoo prominently displayed, wrapped around her leg as she stood with her back to the entrance, her arms crossed and her hip cocked as she stared at the canvas before her. On the large sheet was the beginning of a painting, in swirls of turquoise, bright blue and dark greens.
“What is it?” she asked without turning to me. Ignoring her question, I asked my own.
“What are you doing in my studio?”
VEVA
I stared at the mixture of color that matched the pattern on my leg. He had faintly sketched the intricate outline of a peacock, and started the laborious task of filling in each feather with minute detail. My eyes glazed as I wondered, Why? Why was he painting that bird, those colors? And why was he a painter? His body was that of an athlete, all rippled abs and bulging biceps, and yet he had incredible skill. Attention to fine details like texture brought life to the start of this image. My fingers itched to touch the silky feathers, as if they were real.
“Veva?” He’d asked me a question, but I hadn’t heard him. My heart had raced as I stormed from the common room in the main residence, but staring at the image before me calmed me. My arms wrapped tightly around my middle in an attempt to hold myself together. My fingers were bruising my skin, they pressed so firmly against my upper arms. I didn’t respond to him, only nodded in acknowledgement. I wouldn’t let him know I was impressed with his ability.
“An artist, huh?” The words huffed forth, and I sensed his presence behind me. My eyes closed as the energy coming off him reached out for me, like electrical currents drawn to one another. Electrons and protons attracted to their opposite by magnetism beyond their control.
“I like to paint.” His response caressed my ear, tickled my lobe, and wrapped seductively around my neck. He remained silent, but I could feel him breathing me in.
“Mad at me?” A wicked smile curved his lips and skipped out of his mouth. I didn’t have to see the smile; I heard it, felt it, and the skin on my shoulders prickled.
“I hate you,” I muttered, with no conviction. He’d just kissed another girl in front of me, and I despised him, but I lost my ire staring at the image before me. He stepped around me and unpinned the sheet dangling from clips attached to the wall.
“Let’s try something, okay?” I hadn’t moved, but my eyes followed him as his fingers unclamped the clips and he carefully draped the large canvas over the back of a couch. He returned with a new sheet and pinned it with clips to hold it upright. He set several cans of paint near my feet before he stood and held out three brushes.
“I can’t paint.” My eyebrows furrowed deep and my eyes glared at him at the insult. I wasn’t creative, unless you counted stick figures with uneven limbs and large heads as art.
“You don’t need to. Take a brush,” he demanded. I yanked one from his grasp. He stepped back and tugged his linen shirt over his head with one hand. My mouth fell open. Did he wish for me to paint him? He was already a work of art. Stepping aside, he faced the canvas. I looked back at the blank sheet.
“Tell me something you hate?”
“What?” My head spun in his direction, and I noticed he casually propped himself against an island cabinet. Behind him was a small galley kitchen open to the larger room. The very square space consisted of nothing more than the kitchenette, a couch and empty floor space before the large wall for painting.
“Come on, Veva, what’s something you strongly dislike?” His deep voice prompted me.
“Millipedes.”
His shoulders quivering, he laughed heartily but low.
“Okay, dip the brush in a color and whip it at the sheet, saying what you hate.”
“What?” My entire face scrunched up at the instruction. He pushed off the island and stalked two steps toward me. Taking my hand like I was a child, he pointed the brush toward an open can of paint. The gray color matched my mood. His other hand on my hip, he forced me to bend forward. With the wrapped hand pointing downward, I dipped the brush in the paint. Standing us both upright, he spoke deliberately, directly to my ear.
“Now, fling the paint at the sheet, saying what you hate.” He stepped back and I looked over my shoulder at him. He tipped his head toward the sheet letting his eyes lead me there.
“I hate millipedes,” I said without conviction and flicked my wrist. Paint spiraled off the brush in an arc of droplets, but hardly made it to the edge of the canvas.
“Veva, that was pathetic,” he sighed.
“Well, I’m not an artist,” I snapped.
“There’s my girl.” He winked, and my blood popped those first bubbles, hinting at a boil rising soon. I hated that he called me his. “Say that again like that, and whip the paint at the canvas.” He flung his arm forward to imitate what I should do.
“I’m not an artist, and I’m not your girl,” I snipped out, using more force behind the paint brush, snapping my wrist sharply as I whipped paint at the sheet. The sound of the droplets, like the first kiss of rain on a standing body of water, satisfied me.
“Where’s my Veva, the girl of life? Do it again. Pick something else.” His voice sounded removed, as if he stepped away, allowing me space. He’d called me his again, and I shuddered at the thought.
“I hate small things on four legs, like shrews and rats.” I shivered as I flipped the brush, covered in a darker shade of gray, at the canvas.
“Again,” he barked, and the sound cracked like the whip driving a horse. It irritated me, and I repeated the motion.
“I hate small flying things like moths and flies.”
Pause.
“I hate clowns.” I heard him laugh and the humor at my fear spurred me onward.
“I hate cottage cheese.” I gagged at the thought and threw more paint.
“Tell me more fears.” His voice coached me.
“I hate darkness.” Splatter.
“And thunder.” A clap resounded outside the hut. Splat went more paint. The sporadic image grew.
“I hate cheaters.” My teeth clenched while I snarled and my heart galloped in my chest. “And liars.” The paint hit the target harder, but I already bent to reapply more color. The white sheet slowly transformed to a crazy succession of dots and stripes in black, gray, charcoal and ash.
“I hate players.” My arm launched backward and I let the paint fly as I rotated my shoulder forward like I intended to throw a ball.
“I hate mothers who are bitter. And fathers who disappear.” My hand crisscrossed two slashes to form an X. “I hate secrets.”
“And all that’s unaware in my life.” I growled.
“And heights.” I continued.
“And sunshine tattoos.” Without realizing it, I’d dipped the brush in bright yellow. The strike of color resembled a lightning bolt as it jagged against my angry, dark creation. My heart raced and sweat moistened my hairline. Upset that the brilliant color leapt from the muted darkness, I dropped the brush to the floor and bent to retrieve a whole can of gray. I’d wash the brightness away. Righting myself, Solis’ hands covered mine around the tin container.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down.”
His voice attempted to soothe. My chest rose and fell with the exhilarating effort of releasing all my hates and fears. I jerked the can toward me, but Solis was stronger. He refused to let it go. I gulped for air and looked up into concerned caramel eyes. He held mine captive as he inhaled deeply and then exhaled. His chin tipped, encouraging me to follow his lead and let my breath dance with his. Inhale deep. Exhale slow. Inhale again. Exhale one more time. Calm washed over me and exhaustion hit. I released the paint container, thankful for Solis’ quick recovery. He caught it as it fell from my clutches.
“I’m so tired,” I mumbled. A bead of sweat rolled down my temple. As he squatted to replace the can on the ground, my knees gave out and I folded downward, sitting with a thud on the wooden floor. I stared in wonder at my weak attempt at a masterpiece. Solis followed my gaze.
“Not bad.” The smile returned to his voice, but I sensed he mocked me. I no longer had the fight in me. Must sleep, I thought. My hair, still damp from the rain, and my face, sweaty from the effort to expel my hatred, caused my head to weigh too heavy on my shoulders.
“Peacock?” His loud tenor softened, but still boomed, wrapping around me. His arms came next and I felt myself fall back against his chest.
“So tired, Sunshine.” My lids felt too heavy and the pull to close them great. One more blink of the lightning bolt over the thunderous sky, and the world faded to black.
SOLIS
I awoke as I expected, stiff from the wood floor beneath me and stiff from the wood protruding from my lower region. What I didn’t expect was to wake alone. Holding Veva when she nearly passed out felt better than I imagined. In her sleep, she stroked my forearm, cooing my name, while I inhaled the rain scent of her hair. She’d lulled me to sleep, and for the first time in a long time, I had no dreams. Nothing, like Veva. Vanished. I listened for running water from the small bathroom, but a quick scan of the square space proved her absence.