To Touch the Sun

by Gia Dawn

  The shudder that shook her was primordial in its strength, and Kiera found herself actually moving toward the door, responding to their call with an instinct that overrode both safety and survival. Then, with a cry born of anger and regret, she turned and slammed her back into the door, refusing to let her fingers find the lock.

  It was not meant to be. After a last lingering look at the ones she wanted above all others Kiera pulled the curtains shut and headed to her studio, turning up the lights so bright they chased away every shadow in the room. Then she set up her canvas and began to work. She’d studied them both for so long she barely needed to use her sketches as she traced the outline of their bodies. They were as familiar beneath her hand as her own body.

  But after a brief few minutes she frowned, and in a fit of discontent swept the canvas to the floor. How could she possibly paint the heat of their skin…or draw with any accuracy the scent of sandalwood and musk? She’d moved beyond her private fantasy into another realm entirely when she met them at the exhibition. Now she would never again be content with nothing more than her paints and her sketches.

  Unable to work, unable to sleep, Kiera returned to her perch by the window. The lights were still on in the house across the lawn and she could see them watching some cheap horror film on their big-screen TV. She slid one hand over her breast and the other down her stomach, reaching between her legs to clamp her fingers around her clit, rubbing it hard and fast as her eyes feasted on the men of her dreams.

  In her imagination Jason’s teeth scraped over her nipple and Marco’s tongue licked the swelling bud of flesh. She came quickly, whispering their names into the empty room, feeling no more satisfied than she’d been before.

  After tonight she had no intention of putting herself through any more emotional torture. From now on, she would find a different subject for her work and keep her curtains tightly closed when her neighbors entertained.

  But she still looked for them every single day, and she couldn’t help but be disappointed when she didn’t see them for the rest of the week.

  Chapter Three

  Kiera nearly passed out from a panic attack when she saw who was pounding on her door the next Monday morning.

  “Hello?” Jason knocked even louder. “Anyone home?”

  She clutched her hands to her throat to stop from shaking as the hammering continued. What should she do? Let them in? Pretend she wasn’t home? What if they’d guessed her secret? She’d never survive the humiliation if they knew.

  Better to go back to her studio and pretend she hadn’t heard them, she thought, turning around to flee…until she saw Marco’s face pressed against the glass of her living room window, his smile showing he’d seen her.

  Damn. It took all her courage to smile back, shaking her head as she pointed to her paint-splattered apron.

  “We’re your neighbors,” Jason shouted as he moved to stand beside Marco. He pointed over his shoulder to their house.

  “Brought you a housewarming present,” Marco added, holding up a yummy-looking quiche. “Made it myself.”

  Her stomach growled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten breakfast. Maybe Ty Brisson was right. Maybe she did need someone to tell her what to do…or not, she decided, reaching to untie the apron as she marched to the door. Remembering just in time the telltale scar. Double damn. She took the apron off and tossed it over her arm as she turned the lock, sucking in a huge gulp of air before she opened the door a crack.

  “Hi,” she managed, hoping her smile didn’t look as terrified as she felt.

  “Hi yourself.” Marco’s voice was as deep as she remembered. “Marco Cavelli.” He thrust his hand through the crack. “And this big lug is my roommate Jason Samuels.” He jerked his head toward the other man standing beside him.

  Out of instinct Kiera reached her own hand out, snatching it back when she realized her mistake, holding up her left hand in an awkward greeting instead. “Hi.”

  “Can we come in? We’re not interrupting anything, are we?” To her horror Marco practically vaulted through the door, throwing it wide so Jason could follow him inside, both of them prowling around her living room like wolves on the hunt.

  “Sorry, we, uh, didn’t catch your name.” Jason sidled up behind her, causing her to jump when he spoke against her ear. “You do have one, don’t you?” His mouth was much too close for comfort when she whirled to face him.

  “Ki-Ki-Kiera Shriner,” she managed to stammer, hugging her arms around her waist.

  “Here, let me take that.” Jason grabbed a corner of the apron and tugged. Luckily it had tangled around her arm and barely budged.

  Kiera clamped her own hands tighter around it. “Uh…why don’t you take that wonderful-smelling quiche to the kitchen while I clean up. I’ll be right back,” she added over her shoulder as she bounded up the stairs.

  Once in the safety of her bedroom, she nearly locked herself in and refused to come back out, but she had a sinking feeling the flimsy lock wouldn’t hold much of a chance against the combined determination of the two men downstairs.

  But how on earth was she going to hide the scar? It was nearly ninety degrees outside already on a hot June day, and long sleeves were completely out of the question. Even inside the temperature had started to soar. Her air-conditioner was old and in desperate need of replacement, but she had no intention of letting some strange men into her house to replace it.

  Right, because that was different from the two strange men waiting downstairs for her now. It was different, she argued with herself. She knew Marco and Jason. She’d spent so many hours watching them these past few months they were almost like members of the family—which she suddenly realized was utterly insane and bordered on psychotic.

  None of which did anything to help her find a way to hide her arm.

  In a flash of inspiration, Kiera saw one of her old wrist braces lying on her dresser. She’d used it to keep her wrist stable while the ligaments and tendons finished healing and she put it on now, wrapping the thick material over her hand and wrist before securing one strap over her thumb and fastening the Velcro strips in place along her arm.

  It didn’t cover the entire scar but hid enough they couldn’t see the whole of the damage. Since she was left-handed she could keep it tucked in her lap or behind her back until she finally managed to get rid of the pair.

  Catching sight of the frizz of her hair in the dresser mirror, Kiera tried to twist it into a knot at her neck, but the wrist brace made it difficult and she had to settle for slipping it into a scrunchie instead. At least it wouldn’t curl around her head like Medusa’s snakes, or get stuck in the corners of her mouth or poke into her nose.

  Nice. Really nice. The thought made her want to giggle inanely. Which she didn’t have time for when she heard the guys start to prowl again below her. If they managed to find their way to her studio—

  Kiera hopped down the stairs much too fast, tripping over a corner of the rug at the bottom and tumbling right into Jason Samuels’s arms.

  “Whoa there, little lady.” His amusement was obvious as he held her much too close. As was his attraction when she felt him begin to lengthen in his jeans. Although Kiera was mortified, he didn’t blink a lash in embarrassment, keeping her prisoner in his embrace as his erection continued to swell.

  “Did you do that on purpose?” he whispered, nuzzling his chin against her cheek.

  “Do what?” Marco stopped short as he stepped into the room and saw her clutched in Jason’s arms. “I’m obviously missing out,” he said, arousal flickering at the back of his eyes.

  “No you are not.” Kiera struggled free, refusing to acknowledge that her efforts were doing nothing more than feeding Jason’s growing fire.

  Then he released her so fast she was propelled straight into Marco who caught her with a grin of triumph.

  “Really?” Kiera demanded when she felt his erection against her thigh. To her horror the reprimand came out sounding more like an invitation.


  “Sorry,” he mumbled, not looking apologetic in the least, keeping one arm curled over her shoulder as he led her toward the kitchen. He let her go as he opened her refrigerator with a grimace. “What in the hell do you eat? Nothing in here but half a loaf of moldy bread and a bag of lettuce that has rotted to juice.” He wrinkled his nose in disgust as he tossed the bag into her overflowing trashcan.

  In the meantime Jason foraged through her cabinets and managed to find three mismatched dishes that weren’t already piled up in her sink. “It helps to wash these things every now and then,” he said, grabbing two forks and a spoon from the silverware drawer. “I suppose a clean knife is out of the question?” He dropped the dishes on the table and moved to sniff her coffee machine.

  “That is clean.” Kiera stomped across the floor in indignation. “Here.” She slammed a can of coffee on the counter. The two of them were starting to annoy her with their attitudes. They hadn’t been invited over in the first place…how dare they just barge in and start criticizing?

  “I was not expecting to have company,” she told them both primly.

  “We can see that,” Jason rejoined, pouring water for the coffee.

  Marco stuck his head into her freezer. “This is sad, cara mia, very sad.” He took out a stack of microwavable meals that had grown ice shields around them. “After we eat we are taking you out to get some real food.”

  “I don’t do real food.” Kiera plopped herself at the table, the smell of the quiche luring her in at last. She grabbed the spoon and dug a hunk out, admiring the golden cheese and crisp crumbles of bacon before she stuffed it into her mouth. It tasted even better than it looked—a bite of heaven in her mouth. She dug out another chunk and shoved it in after the first, only realizing she was being rude when she caught Marco and Jason glowering at her in disapproval.

  Which didn’t mar their looks in the least.

  Kiera cleared her throat. “It’s delicious,” she stated as if she had only been doing a taste test and was not so hungry she was ready to down the entire thing as if she were in an eating competition.

  “Marco’s the best chef in town.” Jason had somehow found a knife—or washed one off—and he cut three huge slices of the quiche, placing Kiera’s plate just out of her reach.

  “You like anything in your coffee?”

  “I take mine black,” Marco stated before Kiera had a chance to open her mouth. “How about you?”

  “Same,” Jason said, pouring them each a cup.

  Kiera’s mood worsened. Who did they think they were? She was just about to tell them to take their sorry selves home when they sat down on each side of her and she couldn’t think of a single word she’d meant to say.

  “Here, eat it properly.” Marco sliced off a piece with his fork and held it against her mouth. “You have to get a bite of the crust to really appreciate the flavor. Go ahead,” he added, waving the morsel in front of her nose when she hesitated. “Taste.”

  To her complete and utter shock Kiera opened her mouth and let him feed her, refusing to acknowledge the satisfaction in his expression when she capitulated. But the quiche was so damned good and she was so damned hungry, Kiera forgot to be embarrassed. When Marco held out another bite she gulped it down without a second thought.

  “Much better,” Jason approved, placing a cup of coffee in front of her. “Do you take milk or sugar? No?” When she shook her head he lifted the cup to her lips. “Careful, it’s hot. What happened to your wrist?” he demanded when she reached out to close her hands around the mug and hold it steady even though Jason refused to let it go.

  Kiera lied without hesitation, using the same excuse she’d used many times before. “Carpel tunnel surgery.”

  “Huh.” Jason didn’t look a bit convinced.

  Neither did Marco. “My sister had to have that done. Why don’t you let me have a look?”

  Kiera snatched up the fork when he put it down, pulling the plate within reach. “You have a sister?” She tried to change the subject.

  “He has five.” Jason sat back in his chair. “All of them older. Big Italian family and he’s the little baby brother.” His smirk was fascinating.

  So was Marco’s upthrust middle finger. “My friend here has no idea the abuse I went through as a child. My sisters’ idea of fun was to practice putting makeup on me. I got in fights on a daily basis just to prove to my father I wasn’t really a girl. That’s how I met Jason here…beat his ass after school one day. Might do it again if he keeps up this conversation.”

  “In your dreams, baby boy.” Jason didn’t look threatened in the least. In fact, both men looked to be enjoying the conversation immensely.

  Kiera finished her quiche and reached to slice another piece, but Jason’s fingers closed warm around hers as he plucked the knife from her grasp and cut the piece himself.

  “Jason doesn’t have any siblings,” Marco added with a grin. “His parents were so horrified when he came out they swore they wouldn’t have another.”

  “Ha. Ha. Ha.” Jason smiled but a cloud passed over his expression. “Actually my parents were too busy making their separate marks on the world to have time to raise one kid, much less two. I was lucky when Marco’s mother forced him to apologize. She also forced him to have me over twice a week as a tutor. The man couldn’t read a word if not for me.”

  “He does have a point,” Marco conceded. “Schoolwork was never my strong suit.”

  Jason grabbed the coffee cup at the same time as Kiera, guiding it to her mouth with a look that pinned her right between the legs. “So what exactly do you paint?”

  There was a sensuality to the act of eating—double entendre aside, she thought, nearly choking on the coffee as her mind turned to sinful acts—the sharing of food and drink a timeless coupling ritual.

  But this was most certainly not a coupling ritual, even if her body told her otherwise.

  “I do portraits.” She made that lie up there on the spot.

  “Portraits?” Jason cocked his head, his eyes sharp enough to slice through her deception. “That’s funny, we never see anyone coming in or out of here.”

  “I, uh, do them from photographs. People send them in the mail.” She was now certain her nose had grown at least three inches.

  “And you send back the finished pieces?”

  “Mmmm.” Kiera forced herself to nod.

  “That must be bulky.” Marco joined the interrogation, leaning his elbows on the table, his gaze no less vigilant than Jason’s.

  At least Kiera had an honest answer to this. “Not really. Once the canvas is dry I roll it up and ship it in a tube. I use acrylics. Oil can take months to completely dry and most people don’t want to wait that long for their finished product.” She’d used acrylics in all her original canvases for Adonais Rising and many other contracted projects. It was only her personal paintings that she did in oil, those she intended to keep or exhibit, but she clamped her mouth shut before she spat out that particular bit of information.

  Marco placed his hand on the back of her chair. “That must be the most boring work on the planet. Don’t you ever consider doing anything original? We were huge fans of Kitty Sunshine before she vanished and we were thrilled when she turned up right here in Charleston last week. She had an exhibit at…what was the name of that place, Jason?”

  “The Gaston Plantation.”

  “The Gaston Plantation.” Marco’s smile could have rivaled the Cheshire cat’s. “You know it’s a front for a very exclusive sex club?”

  Kiera thought they must surely hear the frantic pounding of her heart or at the very least see the blush that washed up over her neck. How could she possibly manage to talk sex when they were so close they couldn’t miss the telltale signs of her attraction? “I did not know that. I don’t know a thing about the Gaston Plantation at all,” she added briskly, scraping her chair far enough across the floor she could slip away. “I don’t go out much.”

  “And why is that?” Jason stalk
ed her across the room, managing to interrupt her every nervous movement.

  His hand closed over hers as she turned on the water to do the dishes. His fingers found hers when she stacked the dishes in the sink, and he even managed to reach around her just as she stood on tiptoe to grab a crusted plate that had somehow crawled up onto a shelf and died.

  Their bodies collided when he took the runaway dish from her hand and he clamped his arms around her to keep her from tumbling head first into the water. She managed to dunk her chest in instead, and was mortified when Marco snatched up a towel and rubbed over her sodden shirt, her nipples beading instantly.

  Kiera froze. The two of them were way too much for her to handle. “Stop!”

  She hunched in on herself and held out her hands, forcing them to back off. But she had to admit her overwhelmed state wasn’t the result of her irrational fear—unless it was the fear of making a fool of herself by doing something utterly crazy like dunking her breasts back into the water and begging them to dry her off once more.

  They didn’t say a word as she fumbled to regain control, although Jason did begin to scrub the dishes and Marco cleaned off the table, putting the last of the quiche into her barren refrigerator.

  “We’re taking you shopping,” he announced, shoving her toward the stairs. “Get changed. We leave in five minutes.”

  “I don’t need anything,” Kiera protested stubbornly, feeling the first edge of panic as she thought of going out in public in the middle of the day without her costume and makeup to shield her.

  “You need everything,” Jason corrected, jerking his head toward her empty cabinets. “Four minutes,” he warned turning back to the dishes, “before we come looking for you.”

  Kiera changed in record time, listening for any sign that either of them was climbing the stairs as she dragged on a dry bra and shirt, refusing to give in to the phobia that snaked itself around her.