Fearsome (18 page)

He positions his hands underneath each of my butt cheeks and then his head is between my legs. His tongue is inside of me and I groan, letting every muscle in my body go limp as my legs open wide to receive him. As he works my desire over with his relentlessly probing mouth, my thoughts spin with the image of Dylan. Quickly Dylan’s face changes into Carson and it’s Carson’s splendid, naked form that brings me to a climax. That fantasy coupled with the building
delirious happiness
throws me over the edge into the most intense orgasm I’ve ever had. I cry out, relieved that I didn’t shout Carson’s name.

This is too good to be true
, I tell myself. Finally, I’m compatible with someone I don’t want to kick out of bed.

“I’m in love with you, Jess,” Dylan whispers into my ear.

For a moment I am paralyzed with fear, not knowing how to respond. I like Dylan, I’m infatuated with him, but I can’t say that I’m in love with him. I hope I will fall in love with him, but I can’t utter false words now, not in this moment when he’s being honest and I have a bad habit of thinking of his brother. Instead, I look at him and smile as I bury my face and body back into his inviting embrace. I’m good at deflecting and I am too tired and sated to say or do anything.

The last thing I remember is drifting off, still cuddled next to his naked body.

Twenty

Over the month of July, I find myself in a rather nice routine. I rise early and walk Bert as far as he’ll go, which is usually to the end of the driveway and back. After breakfast, I spend four to six hours in the library handling 5 Alpha work. I don’t take on any new accounts, so I can keep my workload manageable and part-time.

Nathan is obliging because I am reliable and produce good work. I’m thankful because even with Aunt Virginia’s money from the trust, I still need an additional income so I can pay the rent on my New York apartment and put a substantial amount in savings every month.

I have a fear of poverty. I shouldn’t. I grew up in a home with everything that I pretty much desired and, as an only child, I’ll inherit everything from my parents’ savings and assets. Of course, I now own a home free and clear as well, but I still worry about being alone and being penniless. I suppose a shrink would tell me it’s because I never allowed myself to become attached to anyone in a real commitment.

Yet, now there’s Dylan.

Every afternoon I work in the studio and paint and, when I finish, Dylan arrives with groceries in hand to make dinner for both of us. We hang out on the porch or watch movies on one of the computers in the library before heading off to bed. I can’t say that I’m falling in love with him, however, I’m fond of him and completely in lust, looking forward to our nightly bouts of adventurous sex that leave me so exhausted that I sleep like the dead and wake up every morning feeling refreshed.

Sometimes Lauren and Imogene stop by for lunch or dinner depending on their schedules at the diner and I look forward to their company; our growing friendship is one of the reasons why I don’t think I could leave Hera.

I have also started taking yoga three times a week at Beyond The Pants, which Lois and Eleanor opened during a scorching hot day in July. It was one of the few places with working air conditioning, so they got a lot of customers during their grand opening.

When I pass through town to go to yoga class, or stop in to see Archie about my trust and house accounts, I’ll sometimes see Carson. It’s usually from a distance and we never say anything to one another. I never see him at Bonnie’s diner or any of the dinner parties among our mutual friends, either. I wonder if he is avoiding most people or just me. Dylan doesn’t mention him even though they work together every day at the shop. He talks about clients or projects, but manages to leave Carson’s name out of it as if he senses that I think about Carson.

I do. I think about the night I was on the footbridge with Carson at Barron’s Creek and the afternoon we baked those ridiculous pies together. Of course, that look he gave me as I drove off with Dylan to begin a relationship that has become increasingly more serious on Dylan’s part is ever present in my thoughts as well.

I enjoy the physical aspects and the sweet company of Dylan, yet I’m aware now more than ever that he floats around on a cloud of love while I’m more pragmatic about it. Sadly, a month of spending every free moment with Dylan hasn’t changed my initial feelings for him. I work, I paint, I have friends, I have a stubborn dog and I have a cute boyfriend who can dish it up in the kitchen and the bedroom.

Dylan appears to be happy and I don’t want to change that, but I’m concerned that his growing love and affection for me is way beyond what I may ever feel for him. I should be content with this, right? This is a pretty good life I have carved out for myself. A lot of people would be overjoyed to have this type of contentment. Maybe safety and faithfulness are more important than falling head over heels in love.

I finish a phone call with the 5 Alpha IT guys and sit back in my chair, daydreaming about a painting I’d like to do when Dylan surprises me by coming home early. I hear the front door slam and him bounding up the stairs to find me.

“Hey!” he says, slightly out of breath. “We knocked off early for the day so I thought you and I could do something special.”

Dylan’s face is flushed against his tan skin. He is radiant. He comes over to give me his usual greeting kiss and then spins me in my office chair, which makes me laugh.

“Well, I was planning on painting this afternoon. What did you have in mind?” I let my fingers brush against his groin, which immediately goes hard.

He removes my hand. “Not so fast. We’ll get to that, too. I thought we could go up to the Ridge and have a picnic. Take a bottle of wine, a blanket and then that other stuff you love so much.” He smirks.

“A picnic.” My voice is flat and Dylan’s smile fades. I’m afraid I may have dampened his expectations. “Oh!” I try to recover the mood, but I sound artificial. Before I can say anything else, the sound of a car driving up to the house interrupts the awkward moment.

“Who could that be?” Dylan asks with concern and I wonder if he’s hoping it’s not Carson. Secretly, I’m hoping it
is
Carson and he’s deciding to come back to work on the house projects. I miss having him nearby, but of course, I don’t say this.

We both look out the second floor window of the library and watch a black Range Rover park before a well-dressed man in a suit gets out. He slings his suit coat over his shoulder and holds it with one finger while he walks with a confident gait up to the house.

“That’s Tom!”

“Who?”

“My art dealer. Well, the guy who took a few of my paintings last year. He sold a couple pieces.”

“You didn’t tell me he was coming out here today.” The hurt in his voice is almost annoying and I feel mean for thinking that.

“Because I didn’t know,” I tell him, running out of the room to answer the door.

Tom is in his late-thirties and looks very youthful and fit. His clothes are expensive and his grooming is impeccable without appearing finicky. His blond hair is buzzed against his scalp and his face is plain, though it has strong Scandinavian lines giving him a very masculine edge as though he is someone who could have been a sailor or oil rigger before becoming accustomed to finely tailored suits. I don’t know Tom’s history, but I like to make these things up in my head as I go along.

I introduce Tom to Dylan and then we all decide it would be nice to sit on the porch with our cold glasses of water.

“I haven’t seen one of my favorite artists in a while, so I thought I’d come out here and see what all the fuss is about.” Tom reclines back on the wicker loveseat and puts one ankle across a knee. He looks very comfortable and Dylan seems completely uneasy about that. “Nathan told me how to find you.”

“This is a nice surprise. I didn’t know you made house calls.” I’m sitting on the loveseat next to Tom and Dylan sits across the coffee table from us. I can tell the distance from me makes Dylan even more uncomfortable.

“I make house calls when artists make me money.” Tom reaches into his suit coat and pulls a white envelope out of the interior pocket. “This is for you.”

I take the envelope and open it. I pull out a check and my eyes must have popped because Dylan comes to my side to see the figure.

“Twenty-four thousand dollars?” Dylan asks. He’s not smiling, but I am.

I am giddy. I can’t believe my paintings are selling.

“This is incredible,” I say.

Tom smiles and shrugs. “Your work is unique and it moved well. I actually raised the prices on the last three pieces. Do you have more for me? I’m ready to give you a show.”

“Seriously?” I am so excited I jump out of my chair and give Tom a kiss on the cheek. “Let me go upstairs and get the other paintings.” I leave without looking back at Dylan’s confused face. I run up the stairs to the studio and begin taking down the completed paintings from the wall. I collect twelve of them and put them in a large portfolio case.

When I return to the porch, Tom is talking to Dylan about his gallery, but Dylan appears to be waiting nervously for me with a troubled expression.

“I have twelve more here.” I hand over the hefty portfolio to Tom.

“It’s a good thing for me that you work on paper and not canvas,” Tom says, trying to lighten the tense mood that Dylan has created. “So I was thinking of perhaps doing a show in mid-December before everyone shuts down for the holiday season. You wouldn’t be the headline, but you’d be shown with two of my strongest artists. I’d like to have at least twenty-five pieces total from you. Is that doable?”

“Absolutely. That gives me four months to paint. I can do another thirteen or so; I have so many ideas in my head. I can even cut back on my hours at 5 Alpha—”

“Wait, slow down, babe,” Dylan interrupts. “Don’t knock yourself out over this. You already have a stressful job; you don’t have to put more pressure on yourself by trying to paint day and night.”

My first inclination is to yell at him to stay out of my business; my art is the only thing that I have that is all mine.
Slow down
, I think.
He’s right. Dylan is only trying to be a good boyfriend, to be supportive
, I tell myself. So why does it seem like petty jealousy? Is it because my paintings are selling or that Tom is here delivering the news in person? Is Dylan jealous of Tom? The guy has no interest in me, other than the money I can bring in to his gallery. Tom is a single, wealthy man in Manhattan, who has plenty of women. Is Dylan so insecure or paranoid in thinking that Tom has nefarious intentions towards me?

I can’t read the expression on Tom’s face, but he is definitely questioning Dylan’s role in my life. Tom looks quizzically at Dylan before turning back to me.

“If this is too much—” Tom begins to say.

“No, of course not,” I cut him off. “I have plenty of time to do this. I paint all the time. It’s my favorite thing in the world and I’m very pleased that you’re selling my work.”

Dylan stiffens and reclines back in his chair. He knows he went too far. His emotional outburst will have to be discussed later. This is business and, like his furniture business, you don’t let your personal relationships slip into discussions. He humiliated me in front of someone I respect. I know Dylan’s aware that he really screwed this up and made me look unprofessional. He remains fairly quiet for the rest of Tom’s visit, which is short.

After Tom goes through my new paintings and takes some notes, jotting down titles he’d like to use, and then doing a short tour of the house with me alone, he leaves. As I watch his very clean Range Rover drive away, Dylan comes up behind me and places his hands on my waist.

“You can never do that again, Dylan,” I say, looking out at the amazing landscape from the porch to avoid facing him.

Dylan kisses my neck. “I know. This guy likes you and it made me feel envious that he can talk about your art with you. It was immature of me, but I wanted—”

I wrench away from his caresses and face him. “You wanted to show him that you live here and sleep with me. It was stupid, Dylan. Also, for the record, Tom isn’t attracted to me. He likes my paintings. Actually, I don’t even know if he likes my paintings so much as he likes the money my paintings make for him. I am lucky to have his representation and you had no right to interfere like that.”

Dylan rubs his jaw with his hand—a move that reminds me of Carson—and he looks genuinely remorseful. “I’m sorry. I started imagining this guy taking you out to celebrate your success and I felt scared. It was like I was losing you already.”

“That’s ridiculous. You’re letting your imagination get away from you and it isn’t fair to take it out on me. Are you afraid of my potential success? Do you want me to fail?”

“Of course not. I know I didn’t react the way I should have, but in the moment I wasn’t thinking clearly. I see this successful guy pull up in his expensive SUV, he hands you a huge check and says he’s giving you a show. In my mind, he’s taking you back to New York and you’re going to be successful there. In my mind, I saw you leaving Hera, leaving this,” he says, holding his arms wide. “Leaving me.”

Leaving me
, his words echo through me. How often have I felt that I was alone, having to do everything on my own, to figure the world out, to figure myself out because my parents didn’t talk about personal needs or desires, or how a young girl is supposed to navigate an adult world before she’s on equal footing with everyone else? Am I still so naïve and foolish that I cannot truly see the wonderful man in front of me who cares about me?

I place my hands on Dylan’s chest and feel his strong heartbeat underneath the thin T-shirt. He is so attractive that I begin to consider lewd thoughts to dismiss my earlier anger. Without deliberating further, I start taking off his T-shirt. He looks a little bewildered, but assists in removing his shirt. I rub my hands up and down his muscular torso and push him back towards the porch wall. Then Dylan watches as I unbutton my blouse. A wonton expression overcomes his face as I stand before him in my see-thru lace demi bra. I step out of my skirt and underwear and begin kissing him as I put my hand down his jeans, aggressively groping his hardness.