Arianna Rose: The Arrival (Part 4) (3 page)

Despite being devoid of arrogance, however, Arianna bristled.  Did he take her for granted already?  Did he just ass
ume she was his, without competition?  Such a notion, no matter how true, still chafed her.  Her brain began chasing more absurd thoughts around the crazy tree again. 

“Oh, so you know I am a sure thing, is that it?” she
asked.

“No, that’s not what I meant,” he started, but she cut him off. 

“Well then, all that will change,” she said and mustered her sexiest voice, one she’d reserved for him solely when they were intimate.  He smiled and she smiled back at him.  “Starting right now.”  She touched her index finger to the tip of his nose then slid from the bed.  She stripped her tank top and underwear off then faced him and blew a kiss his way.

For a moment, Desmond did not blink.  His eyes alternated between her breasts and a point south of her bellybutton.  When finally his eyelids fluttered, he gulped hard and said hoarsely, “You are beautiful.”  His voice was thick with lust and his words pitch-perfect.  But she’d
bound herself to her blustery little fit and was too stubborn to give in. 

She turned on her heels and walked with an exaggerated sway to the bathroom in their bedroom.

“Please, Arianna.  Come back.  I did not mean to offend you,” he pleaded.

Once in the doorway, she spun to face him and said, “Must be my cycle or something,” she shrugged and d
rew her mounds close together.  His gaze zeroed in on the stiff buds at their center and she felt her resolve waver.  “I’m sure you’ve got it all figured out already though.  You’re the expert, after all.”  She grinned cheekily and closed the door, leaving him with his mouth agape on the bed. 

With the door shut, she closed her eyes and blew a long breath between pursed lips. 
She crossed her arms across her chest, resting her hands on her shoulders, and realized her breasts were fuller than usual and tender. 
Damn it, Desmond!
She thought.  Her time of the month was close and was likely responsible for her moody behavior.  She hated that he’d noticed, and that he’d commented on it.  She collected her hormonal self and brushed her teeth before taking a colder than usual shower.  When she’d finished and returned to the bedroom, Desmond waited and sat on the edge of the bed.  He looked distraught.

“I’m sorry,” he said immediately.

“That’s awfully convenient considering I’m only wearing a towel,” she replied and hated herself just a little for persisting when he was clearly upset. 

“No,” he said firmly.  “That has nothing to do with it.  I do not want to make love when you are angry with me.”

She looked at his face.  His eyes, matching pools of tropical water, were sincere.  “I’m not angry,” she admitted finally.  “I was at first, but I’m not now.  I overreacted at tad.  I thought you were taking me for granted.”

The look of shock that washed over his face pained her.  “I would never take you for granted, Arianna.  My love for you is so much more than intercourse.”

Just hearing him say the word intercourse, as formal as it was, made heat slink up her thighs.  But she forced herself to hear him, and to look at his face.  His eyes shined with truth.  She had been unfair to him. 

“Do you believe me?” he asked,
his shimmering eyes pleading.

“Of course, I do,” she said and felt ribbons of warmth encircle her heart. 

Desmond rose slowly and closed the distance between them.  He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close to him.  He lowered his head and ran his lips up her neck from her nape to the tender spot behind her ear.  The stubble of his chin and cheeks sent chills racing across her skin.

“Oh wow,” she moaned, and then added, “And for the record, you have no idea how infuriating it is when a guy just assumes you’re PMS-ing.”
Especially when it’s true
, she neglected to add.

“Noted,” he mumbled as
he worked his way back down her neck and planted soft kisses on her collarbone.  Her knees felt like gelatin and tension coiled tightly at her center.  The conflicting sensations were both sensual and blissful.

She was about to release the grip she had on her towel and tackle Desmond to the bed when a soft knock at the door stopped her dead in her tracks. 

“Hey guys, are you dressed?” Beth’s voice called from the other side of their bedroom door.

“Uh, just a second,” Arianna called back.  Desmond gave a disappointed groan as she scrambled to the dresser and slipped into her bra and panties then a shirt and pants. 

“I am going to brush my teeth and shower,” Desmond whispered then disappeared into the bathroom.

“I can come back later,” Beth said.

“No, no, come on in,” Arianna replied. 

The door opened slowly and Beth’s petite frame made its way inside.  She’d ditched her blue-black hair color and matching lipstick in favor of her
natural dark brown hue and pale-pink lip balm.  She’d also trimmed her hair and wore it in a pixie cut befitting her elfin features. 

“What’s going on?” Arianna asked.
             

“Nothing,” Beth shrugged.  “I was just heading out back to breakfast and wanted to see if you guys were coming.”

Meeting for breakfast was not a new occurrence.  Since coming to Balfour, a rural town outside the Halifax Regional Municipality of Nova Scotia, Canada, Arianna and Desmond had eaten every meal with Beth and her family.  It had seemed odd to Arianna at first.  The concept of a family meal had always been a foreign one, an unattainable idealism fictitiously portrayed in campy family shows.  She’d only sat and eaten a meal with her mother a handful of Thanksgivings, and leaning over a wobbly folding table while watching her mother serve, feed and practically chew the food of whichever sleazy man she’d been shacked up with at the time hardly qualified as family time.  Still, the memory of her mother made a lump balloon in her throat.

“Yep, we’re coming.  Desmond will be out in a minute.  He just needed to brush his teeth and take a quick shower.”

“Gotcha,” Beth nodded slowly.  “How did you sleep last night?  Did you have it again?” she asked of the persistent nightmare Arianna had been plagued with.  She’d never been able to describe it in any detail, mostly because it lacked true specifics.  The only constant had been glowing green eyes, eyes that sliced through darkness so smothering she felt as if her lungs had been filled with a thick, sticky substance that prevented them from filling.  The eyes blazed murderously, penetrating the stifling gloom, freeing her lungs long enough to draw a breath that would lance a deep, guarded part of her that she could not name.  She was sure there was more to it, but only woke with an image of eyes branded in her memory, and a feeling of utter dread.  Both made her shudder.

“Define
sleep
,” Arianna replied and rolled her eyes.  “If sleeping means lying in bed, closing my eyes and being tormented by a recurrent nightmare then I had a great night of sleep last night.”

“Shit,” Beth said and clenched her small fist at her side.  “Why are you having this dream most nights?  What the hell do you think it means?”

“Damned if I know,” she frowned.  “But believe me, when I figure it out, you’ll be the first to know.”

Arianna shook her head slowly, knowing fully that if she closed her eyes, the green gaze would shine
cruelly, corroding the comfort of the dark recesses of her mind.  Perhaps they were the eyes of a mighty jungle cat she would someday face, or something else entirely.  She simply did not know.  All she was certain of was that the eyes belonged to the most dangerous of predators. 

Thoughts of dangerous predators were forced from the forefront of her brain thankfully when the bathroom door opened and a gust of muggy air perfumed with soap and toothpaste wafted out.  Desmond walked out in a fitted T-shirt and jeans looking like a golden god cast to Earth.

“Hey Beth,” he said cheerily as he sat on the edge of the bed and pulled socks onto his feet. 

“Morning,” Beth replied.  “Guess who made breakfast today?” she asked and cut to exactly what was on her mind.

“I don’t know,” Desmond answered.  “I haven’t really been paying attention to the rotation.”

“Jason,” she said and couldn’t keep the hint of excitement from her voice. 

Jason Parker, Beth’s older brother and identical twin brother of Dane, was hands-down the best cook in the clan.  His French toast was scrumptious and his eggs benedict and home fries were to die for.  In addition to knowing his was around the kitchen, Jason was also a fierce warlock who looked as if he’d wield a weapon much more readily than a whisk.  Only slightly shorter and thinner than Desmond, Jason was every bit the fighter he looked like.  His twin, Dane, was similarly built and fought just as ferociously.

“Really, it’s Jason’s turn in the rotation?  Yes!” Desmond
cheered.  “What’s he making?  What did you smell coming from the kitchen?” Desmond asked and sounded as excited as a kid on Christmas morning. 

Arianna could practically see Desmond salivating.  He looked like a puppy about to get a meal: eyes wide and eager, posture rigid and attentive.  He was adorable and his eagerness was justified.  Just thinking of the delicious treats Jason had
in store for them made Arianna want to wag her tail and drool like a German Shepard. 

Beth smiled broadly, a far cry from the sullen expressions she’d worn when Arianna had first met her nearly a half-year earlier.  It seemed like a lifetime ago, in fact.  So much had happened since then. 

“I don’t know, but I smelled something sweet and cinnamon-y,” she answered with wide and expressive eyes.

“Sweet and cinnamon-y,” Desmond echoed Beth’s report.  “That doesn’t help much.  That could be anything.” Desmond scratched his chin thoughtfully.

“Oh jeez, are you kidding me?” Arianna interjected.  “Who cares?  Jason is cooking!  What else do you need to know?  Anything he makes is great.  You don’t need to get yourself all hot and bothered for one specific thing.”

“She has a point,” Beth agreed.  “Whatever he makes will be spectacular.  I know I’ll overeat,” she said to just Arianna. 

“Maybe I should change,” Arianna said and noticed that she’d thrown on a pair of fitted jeans.  “Yoga pants would probably be better.”

“No way, I am not wasting time changing and risking being last to get to the table.  I like my food warm and not picked over, thank you very much,” Beth said and placed her hands on her narrow hips. 

Arianna glared at her.  “That’s all well and good, but I think I need roomier pants.  Not everyone is like you, Beth.  You can eat like a horse and you never need to loosen a button.  But when I have even a slightly larger-than-normal meal, I look like I’m pregnant.”

“You have never looked anything but perfect!” she protested.  “Now come on.  Let’s go.  Enough stalling,” she continued and began sheparding Arianna and Desmond out the door.  Desmond had barely stepped into the black boots he wore most days when Beth had shoved him out into the hallway.  “Hurry. Chop, chop,” she urged.  “My stomach is growling.”

“She’s a bit bossy today, isn’t she?” Arianna complained.

“Yeah, must be her time of the month,” Desmond smiled and winked at Arianna.

“Ha, ha,” Arianna crinkled her nose at him and said. 

Even though he’d make a wise crack about an issue that had been touchy not long ago, Arianna couldn’t help but notice how gorgeous he was when she glanced over her shoulder at him.  Tall with broad shoulders, he wore a black polished cotton shirt, which hugged his
well-constructed chest, and low-slung jeans that accentuated his tight waist.  She had to force herself to look straight ahead and avoid tumbling down the flight of stairs she was approaching. 

As they made their way down
the steps and found themselves in the large foyer of the house, they heard the sound of voices.  Dane’s rose above the faint chatter.

“What up, guys! Jason’s cooking!” he called and gave them a thumbs-up.  “Better hurry if you want to eat ‘cause I’m starving,” Dane added.  He smiled widely and dimples deep enough to place
nickels in appeared at the center of both cheeks.  He wore a hooded sweatshirt and baggy jeans that hid his fit physique, but beneath his loose-fitted clothing, everyone knew he was solid.  “Later!” he said.  He rubbed a hand over his dark hair that was buzzed closely to his scalp then tugged his hood over his head and dashed out the sliding glass doors of the living room to the expansive cedar deck beyond it.  There, two picnic tables had been set with tablecloths, plates, glasses and silverware. 

“It’s so nice to use something other than paper plates,” MaryAnn commented. 

“Hey mom,” Beth said to MaryAnn.  “You know Jason.  He makes his turn to cook an event.”

“Yea
h, he’s a regular Martha Stewart,” Avery, Beth’s younger sister, chimed in and rolled her eyes.

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Beth advised her sister.

The family resemblance among the Parker women was remarkable.  MaryAnn was slender and not much taller than Beth and had the same delicate features.  Her wavy hair was styled in a neat bob and she wore khaki cargo pants and a T-shirt.  Arianna did not know how old MaryAnn was, but if she were to guess based on her appearance alone, she would say MaryAnn was in her late-twenties.  The finest of lines creased her eyes and were the only vague hint of her true age.  Her sons were twenty-one.   Beth was eighteen and Avery was eleven.  Logically she could not be in her late-twenties.  But her youthful appearance argued she was not a woman nearing middle age.