Every Rose (23 page)

“Huh?”

“I’ve taken nothing but cold showers for the past few weeks,” he explains.

I grin and bring my mouth to his neck. I caress him with my tongue and show him how amazing it would be if my tongue were allowed free rein. “Imagine my tongue running wild all over you. That’s how good it’s going to be between us, Michael.”

“Damn, baby,” he throws his head back and howls. When he looks back at me, my eyes gloss over as I see the love and desire reflected there in his own eyes.

“I’m sorry. I’ll try to be good.” I don’t want to screw this up.

He leans and whispers, “And just for the record, when you wrapped your legs around me back at the studio, I almost lost it.” My eyes widen as I realize exactly what he means by that. Damn is right.

“I wanna give you our present,” he tells me.

“What?” His swift changing of gears has me reeling.

“You’ll see. Wait here for a sec,” he says with excitement bubbling in his eyes.

He jogs back over to the campsite and grabs an extra blanket. He starts to jog back to me, but he turns and jogs backwards, having a conversation with Josh.
Geez!
I gawk at his lithe body. In high school, Michael was still Michael. He was beautiful but not like this.  He was kind of lanky in high school and a little self-conscious. Now, he looks so strong, so stable. I know that his confidence and self-assuredness plays a huge factor in that. He turns and catches me starring. I’m not sorry.

He doesn’t slow as he reaches me and grabs my hand. I jog behind him to a more secluded part of the island. He spreads the blanket out on the grass and kisses me until I’m lying down. “Mmm…beautiful,” he muses. I do feel beautiful when he looks at me look that. He takes his fingertip and runs it down my forehead, nose, and chin, creating a line of fire where his finger has touched me. Then, he uses both hands to run down my arms and picks back up at my thighs and runs his hands down the length of my body. I just lie there and try to focus on breathing. “Do you have any idea how alluring you are?” I cock my eyebrow at him. “No? Let me just say that every other girl that I’ve dated, or even considered dating, since I met you has had to compete with you.”

I frown at him and mutter petulantly, “I don’t like thinking about you with other girls.”

“Trust me, baby. They didn’t hold a candle to you.” His look turns thoughtful. “Yep, I would always find ways they fell short of your measure. Her hair is not as long and thick as Lorraina’s.  She’s not as tall as Lorraina. Too skinny—I like the way Lorraina has some meat on her bones. Lorraina’s eyes are a deep green, almost emerald. That must be a rare feature, by the way. I’ve never seen another girl with your color eyes. I like the way Lorraina can tell me everything she is thinking with just one of her expressions. This girl’s too hard to read. Lorraina would never play a game with me like this girl. She always tells me like it is.”

“Wow! You’ve dated a lot of girls!” I giggle as his hands begin a ticklish assault on my body.

“It’s been seven years. And some of them were lacking in more than one category.”

“So how about our present?” I prompt.

“Well,” he begins, taking a piece of paper from his pocket. “I’ve designed your tattoo for you.” He shows me the tattoo as promised. There is a melancholy red rose and a joyful purple rose. He signed his name ever so elegantly.

“It’s so pretty,” I gasp. I sit up on my elbows. I’m fascinated, but I cringe a little. I’ve never liked pain. “Can we get it done today?” Even the brief thought of pain can’t diminish my enthusiasm.

“Yes,” he hesitates. “There’s a catch, though.”

“What’s that?”

He licks his lips and swallows hard. “I need to draw this on your body for you.”

“I don’t understand. Do you want me to get the tattoo or not?”

“Oh, yes,” he murmurs darkly, “I want to be permanently etched on your gorgeous body.”

I purse my lips, still not understanding. “So what’s the problem?”

“The problem is I want you to get it done at Moonlit Studio.”

“And…”

He exhales hard and rubs the back of his neck rapidly. “And there are only guy artists there, and there’s no way in hell that any guy is touching you that intimately for that long. If I draw it, all they have to do is ink it.”

Oh! Possessive much?
I love it! “Michael, they are professionals,” I insist innocently. “They are not thinking about me like that. They tattoo hundreds of women!”

He shakes his head at me. “There you go lumping yourself into a category again. You’re not just any woman. You’re my woman,” he asserts. I start to bristle at his calling me woman; but then he leans in and gives me a lingering kiss, forcing all thought from my head.

“OK.” I relent. “But don’t blame me if I can’t keep my hands to myself while you’re working!”

He grins. “If you don’t want an amateur looking tattoo forever marring your delectable
derriere
, you’d better be good. By the way, you don’t want it there, do you?” He frowns.

I shake my head and lie back down, not taking my eyes off of his, and unzip my jeans. His eyes are drawn to my movement, and then they shoot back up to mine and widen. He looks back down and watches as I fold and tuck my jeans under my underwear and point to the indention just inside my hipbone.

I hear his breath leave him in a whoosh. “Are you kidding me?” He marvels. I shake my head at him. “Yeah, I’m really glad I thought of this. It’s going to be very hard to watch a guy touch you here for any length of time,” he says as he runs his finger over the unexpectedly sensitive area. I’m on fire. He places a light kiss there, and I almost come undone once again.

He sets to work on our drawing. My skin tingles where he puts his mark on me. I look up at him and gaze at the determination marking his face. This is incredibly sexy. I don’t think I can take it. I try to focus on something else but every thought leads back to him and his hands. Determinedly, I force myself to recall all the pertinent battles of every American war for the last four hundred years. I’m on the Mexican-American War when Michael sits up and tells me that both the roses are done.

“Yeah, about the rest of the tattoo,” I begin, making a split second decision, “I’m not going to put your name on me just yet.”

“What? Why not?” He doesn’t hide his disappointment.

I throw my arm over my face. I’m suddenly very self-conscious. I’ve never made a demand like the one I’m about to make. I peak at him from under my folded arm. “I’m not going to put your name on my body until you either make love to me or marry me. Whichever comes first,” I challenge him.

He frowns and mumbles, “That’s not fair.”

Hmm…Maybe this will get me my way sooner. “Sorry, babe. Who ever said life was fair?”

Chapter Twenty-six

Kiss Me Deadly

Getting my tattoo was one of the single most sensuous acts I’ve ever experienced. Through the pain, I felt great pleasure of marking myself for Michael, for us. All those years of flinging his art and his love back at him were quite simply erased at that moment. I hope he felt that too. If his heated stare was any indication, that was precisely how he felt; for he never took his eyes off of mine while the tattoo artist worked on me. He even had the happy rose added to his own tattoo so that ours would match almost exactly.

I’m jarred back to the present as Michael appears at my door to help me from the Jeep. “You OK? You seemed to drift off for a little while. Not having any regrets, are you?”

I reach up and wind my arms around his neck and stand on my tippy-toes to place a gentle kiss on his full lips. “Nope, not a one,” I murmur against his lips.

He squeezes and lifts me up to give me a giant hug. “I’m going to miss you so much,” he tells me. “I guess you need to get home, huh? Spend the last night with your family?”

I squeeze my eyes shut briefly and pull back to look at him. “I said my goodbyes yesterday. My parents think I left town then,” I squeak out. He and I are both sick of lying.

He looks grim for a moment. He sets me on my feet. “I hate all these lies, but it won’t have to be that way much longer.”

“Nope,” I agree. “Only a few months, which are going to drag by since I can’t see you.” I run my hands down his chest and circle his waist with my arms, laying my head on his chest. His heart beats so steady, so strong. How did I not know that he was all I ever needed?

“Mmm…I wish I didn’t have to play tonight. I’d like nothing more than to curl up with you and let the world just melt away.”

“That would be wonderful,” I admit. “It will be cool, though, for our last night to mirror our first,” I muse. This night will be a little different, I mentally amend, since I have a little birthday surprise for him.

“I didn’t think of it like that. Alright, let’s go get ready then,” he says reluctantly.

When he comes out of the bathroom, his hair is in disarray and he has a towel wrapped around his hips. It’s low slung, showing off his impressive abs and indentations around his hipbones. I hear my sharp intake of breath and wonder if I will ever get used to looking at him like this. I hope not.

I make my way over to him and run my hands through his damp hair and comb it through with my fingers. Michael closes his eyes and a secret smile appears on his lips. “I hope I don’t ever take for granted your touch,” he whispers.

I feel my heart swell, and I place a kiss on each of his cheeks before he pulls me in for another one of his soul-stealing kisses. I’m breathless when he finally releases me. When I calm myself a bit, I remember that our kisses are numbered and our time together is finite. He has a way of making me forget those little details. This leaves me with a bitter taste in my mouth.
Focus on the time you have, I chide myself.
“Hey, music man,” I perk up, “I have a special request for you tonight.”

“You do? Well, what’ll it be?” He smiles lovingly.

Sudden shyness causes me to blush; but I forge on and inquire, “Can you play ‘Glycerin’?” Requesting it in front of everyone would have been even more embarrassing. Like I would have rendered myself transparent for everyone to see with just that one little song.

“By Bush?” He asks surprised. I nod my head. “Yeah, yeah. You like that song?” He asks surprised.

“Love it. I think it’s one of the most beautiful, heart-wrenching songs I’ve ever heard. There’s just something about it that throws me every time I hear it. Not many songs can do that, you know? Just reach in, grab hold of you, shake you, and make you look at things in a whole different light.” These are all the reasons I’d tried to avoid listening to this song over the years. I couldn’t face the effect it had on me.

“Mmm…Well, I better bring my electric guitar then. It wouldn’t sound quite the same without it.” I tremble in anticipation.

………………………………………………………

Mona’s is pretty packed tonight, so I sit at the bar and make small talk with Jason. He’s as gregarious as ever. I tell him that I’m leaving tomorrow, and he pats my hand and tells me that Michael will be OK. I guess he interprets my frown as fear. I’m not scared for the reason he thinks I am, though. We’ve overcome distance before, and Jason probably thinks that I think Michael might cheat on me or something like that. No, he would never do that.  I’m scared of what my life will be like without him there. When I imagine going back to school, the images are black and white and faded. Like I was before Michael. I’m scared to feel that way again. I never want that again. I look at Michael and see him in glorious Technicolor and that infuses the rest of my life.

I’m jerked from my musings as I hear the opening cords to the song I’ve requested. I grin as I let the song’s lyrics take on a whole new meaning in my life. Before, the song portended sadness and misery for me. Now, I feel hope within the lines. And I pray it communicates meaning to him where my words have failed. It seems music has always been that magical portal for us. I hope he knows that I’ve gone head to head with my old friend fear where he is concerned, and I’ve conquered him.

………………………………………………………

We’re halfway through the Big Bang Theory’s gig. Typically, I would wait for Michael beside the stage, and we would get a drink and dance a little and make out a little before he goes on for his second set. Tonight, however, I’ve decided to do something completely out of character for me.

I’m standing off to the side of the stage a little where Michael can’t see me. As I hear the final bars of “Simple Man” fading out, I watch Michael jump off the stage and look for me. I feel a sudden attack of nerves, but Josh makes eye contact and nods his head at me. I smile slightly and make my way center stage, and then I quickly try to channel my inner Lita. The hardest part of singing this song is that I have to start without a lead in. It serves my purposes so well, though, that I barely contain a laugh. Michael will have no warning for what’s to come. I’d briefly considered doing my own rendition of the Stones’ “Can’t Get No Satisfaction,” seeing as how all this abstaining was getting to me, but decided this one would be way sexier.

I take a deep breath and belt out the first line. Oh my…It has an immediate effect. Michael spins before I can finish it. It’s one of the sexiest opening lines of a song ever. As soon as the band kicks in high gear, I’m off. My nerves and fear completely disintegrate. I sing to the crowd for a moment. When I hit the chorus, though, I focus everything I’ve got on Michael. His eyes are burning, and they penetrate mine. I smile around my mic and wonder if I’ll get to have my way with him tonight. I parade around the stage, hoping against hope that I’m exuding sexuality.