Levi's Blue: A Sexy Southern Romance (16 page)

“Seven paintings,” I exhale, for the umpteenth time, making it sound, I’m sure, like Cherelyn and I are both closely related to Rain Man.  “Seven paintings. Ohmygod, I sold
seven paintings
!”

Seconds tick by.

Words settle into place.

Comprehension takes hold.

Finally, the realization of what she’s saying, the truth of it and of what it
means,
sinks in and my chest begins to grow tight with exuberance. 

Seven paintings.

I sold seven paintings.

Holy Mary, Mother of God,
I. Sold. Seven. Paintings.

Suddenly, the dam breaks.  I can’t hold it in and all of it—the jubilation, the thrill, the pure joy of having someone else see the different pieces of my soul and find them worthy of purchase—bursts out.

My squeal of delight is mirrored on the other end of the phone.  Cherelyn knows what this means for me. As an artist, as a business woman, but more importantly, as a
blind
person.  The achievement is significant, but what this money could do for me… It’s mindboggling.

I feel validated and humbled and accomplished.  I’m so overcome with joy and pride and pure happiness that I’m not sure my feet are touching the ground.  But more than any of that, I feel encouraged.  Optimistic.

Hopeful for my future.

This money…it might be enough for my portion of the surgery.

It might be enough to help me see again.  At least a little bit.

Breaking through the sounds of glee both Cherelyn and I are making comes the deep black velvet of another voice from the other side of the door.  “Evie, are you all right?”

Without thinking it through, I end the call, drop the phone, and fling open the door.  I’m still laughing, and my insides feel like they’re spinning, spinning, spinning. 

I reach out until my hand comes into contact with Levi’s hard chest, and then I launch myself at it, throwing my arms around his neck and screaming right into his ear.

Without asking questions, his arms come around me, holding me tight to his length.  When I lean back enough that we are nose to nose, he finally says, “Whatever it is, I’m thrilled. Let’s get naked.”

I laugh again, letting my head fall back and giving myself over to the exultation flowing through my veins. 

“I sold seven paintings.  Seven. Paintings.”

“Why are you surprised?  You’re the most talented woman I’ve ever met.”

That brings me up short, and I wish for the thousandth time that I could see his face, look into his eyes,
see
what they hold.  “Really?”

“Yes, really.  You’re like a brilliant flash of lightning.
Brilliant
.  You set everything you touch on fire. You make it beautiful.
You give it color, make it feel alive.  You make
me
feel alive.”

The staccato thump of his heart is an exact reflection of mine. I can feel the pound of it meeting the thud of mine in perfect harmony, like we’re moving, beating,
breathing
as one.

“Levi?”

“Evie?”

“What would you say if I asked you to make love to me?”

His voice is coarse with need. I feel it, too. “I’d ask you what took so long.”

I pause only briefly.

I’ve fought this. As much as I could for as long as I could, I’ve fought this.  But my fight is over. This is what I’ve been racing toward and running from. This is what I’ve craved and resisted.  What I’ve needed and feared.  This was…
we were
meant to be all along, right from the beginning. 

“Then ask me.”

“What took you so long?”

His words touch my lips, a caress of warning before he takes them.  And when he does, I don’t ever want him to give them back. They are his.
I
am his. In ways that terrify me and exhilarate me, I am his.

Without breaking the kiss that’s threatening to be my undoing, Levi carries me across the room. When he stops, he slowly lets me slide down his body until my feet touch the floor.  Only then does he lift his head.

He says nothing and neither do I as his fingers brush my chest, loosening the fold that holds my towel over my body.  Before it falls away, however, a hair-raising shriek splits the air and sends a knife of sound tearing through my head. 

CHAPTER 16

LEVI

EVIE SCREAMS like she’s been shot and doubles over, her hands clamped over her ears.  The sound was startling and unexpected yes, but I realize my hearing isn’t as sensitive as hers, and it’s probably excruciating to her.

“It’s the fire alarm,” I explain in a voice loud enough that she can hear me over the siren and through her hands. “Do you smell smoke?”

She shakes her head and straightens hesitantly. 

“Stay here,” I tell her, waiting for her nod of assent before I move.

I run back into the bathroom and grab a robe from the padded hangers on the wall and go back in to throw it over Evie’s shoulders. I just need to get her decent enough to get her out of here. 

I grab her hand and guide it to one of the arm holes, and she takes it from there, slipping into the thick white robe then covering her ears again.  When it’s belted around her waist, I sweep Evie into my arms.  It’ll take too long to guide her and there might be chaos out in the hall if this is real. I can’t risk it. I can’t risk
her.

Outside our door, there are dozens of others fleeing their rooms to find out what all the commotion is about.  Looking at their faces, though, I can see that no one knows. 

I err on the side of caution, walking swiftly to the stairwell and kicking at the bar to open it. I rush through it and start down the stairs.  Evie is quiet, hands over her ears, face tucked into the curve of my neck, as I hurry to ground level.

In the lobby, I take a quick assessment.  The harried look on the faces of the staff tells me this isn’t a drill.  They’re herding people out the manual doors on either side of the lobby area, their movements jerky with panic and uncertainty. 

“Levi, what’s going on?” Evie finally asks when we are safe outside in the cool night air. 

“Must be a legit fire alarm. They’re getting people out fast.”

Other patrons start pouring out of the lobby, some women talking in shrill voices, some men shouting in gruff grunts. Several are telling about the smoke they smelled or the fire they saw.

“Where are we?”  There’s a frantic quality to her voice that tells me she’s about to freak out, too.

As if punctuating the increasing anxiety, glass shatters somewhere above our heads. We all look up just as a burst of flame comes shooting out of a window four stories up. I take a few steps back so we don’t get peppered with shards. 

That’s when the real hysteria begins.

The weak sound of sirens down the street pierces the night, women are screaming, children are crying, hotel staff members are trying to be heard above the fray.

People are being shuffled this way and that, and Evie clings to me tighter and tighter, no longer holding her ears.

“Sir, you need to move over here. Can she walk?” an older guy asks, frowning at Evie.

“She’s blind,” I explain.

“Okay, okay. Over here,” he orders abruptly, pushing at my shoulder.

I feel Evie’s breathing speed up, her ribs tapping erratically against mine where I’m holding her.

“We’re okay,” I assure her.  “I’m gonna try to get us out of here.”

“Don’t leave me!” she pleads, terror darkening her wide eyes to pitch-black in the night.  “I don’t…I don’t have my cane. Or my phone.  I’m not wearing shoes.  I don’t…I can’t… Just don’t leave me, Levi.”

“I won’t,” I promise, pressing my lips to her forehead. “I just need to figure out where we can go.”

“No one is leaving, sir,” a woman shouts sternly from behind me. I look over my shoulder at her.  She’s wearing a pant suit and a name tag. Maybe the night manager.  “Emergency services are on their way, as are the police.”

“I don’t give a damn! It’s cold and she’s wearing a robe with no shoes.  And she can’t see.  We will
not
be standing out here half the night.”  I glance around, spotting some café tables set out in the courtyard of a neighboring hotel. “We’ll be over there. You can tell the cops where to find us.”

I don’t give her a chance to answer or argue. I simply bark my name and room number then turn, with Evie still tucked tight against my chest, and start off to the place next door.

“Sir!  Sir!” she shouts, but I keep walking.

Evie is trembling, and the only thing I care about right now is getting her comfortable and calmed down.

I carry her across the street and down a block, toward the softy lit tables I could see.  I stop at the first one I come to and set Evie gently on her feet.  Her fingers are fisted in the front of my shirt, and she leaves her small body smashed to mine. 

I wind my fingers around her wrists and tug, dislodging her grip and folding her hands into mine. I brush my lips over her knuckles and keep my voice low as I speak. “Let’s sit here for a few minutes, catch our breath.”

I wrap my arm around her waist and guide her to one of the wrought iron chairs, easing her into it. I don’t release her hand when I sit across from her. I just stretch my arm across the table and prop my elbow between us.

“Are you thirsty?” I ask.

“No.” Evie’s chin begins to tremble. “I’m so sorry, Levi.”

“Sorry? For what?”

A big fat tear falls over the rim of her bottom lashes and slides slowly down her cheek.  “You had to carry me that whole way.  And now you’re stuck out in the French Quarter, at night, with a blind girl to take care of.”

“My only plans tonight were to be with you.  And,
believe me,
holding you in my arms was
definitely
no skin off my nose.”

“But you had to hold me so long. I’m sure your arms are hurting,” she sniffles.

“With these guns?” I tease, laying her hand on my bicep and flexing it. “Never.”

Still, her distress doesn’t ease.  “Are there a lot of people around? I can’t really tell with all the noise and commotion.”

“No, just a few.”

She drops her head. “Oh, God! And I’m in a robe.”

I see a few more tears follow the first.

I scramble for a way to make this better.  Then one hits me.

“Hey, I just had an idea.”

I signal a waiter who was finishing serving another table, probably before making his way to ours. He nods and smiles and comes right over.

“Does this hotel have a boutique of any kind?  Our hotel is down the street, burning evidently, and this beautiful woman is in need of something other than a robe to wear.”

The young guy smiles and nods again. “Yes, sir.  It’s just through those doors and to the left.  I think you’ll be able to find her something there.”

“Thank you,” I say, slipping a bill into his hand. Thank God I was dressed and had money and cards on me.

I wait until he leaves, and I rub my thumb over Evie’s knuckles to get her attention.  “Let’s go get you some clothes and salvage this night. What do you say?”

“Levi, I…”  Her expression is the picture of someone who wants nothing more than to bolt. “I think I just need to go back home.”

“What? Why?”

“You don’t need all this aggravation. I told you what it’s like dating a blind woman. Now you can see what I mean, why men don’t hang around for long.”

“Evie,” I begin, getting up and walking around the small table to squat in front of her.  “These are
extreme
circumstances. I’ve been traveling for
years,
and I’ve
never
been in a hotel that’s caught on fire.”

“And to make matters worse, you have to look after me like I’m a helpless toddler.”

“I don’t have to ‘look after you’. I’m a man. We’re built to want to take care of women. Hunt and fish and beat our chests.  Rescue and fight for the fairer sex. All that shit. It’s what we do.  It’s called testosterone.”

“Not like this. I mean, look at us! Look at where we are.” 

“No, let’s take a look at where
I
am. I’m sitting at a café table, outside a ritzy hotel in the French Quarter, staring at the most beautiful woman in the city.  And she’s wearing a robe and nothing else. This is like a dream come true for me.”

The edges of her lips twitch like they’re threatening to turn up at the corners, but they don’t.  Her face is still creased with worry, so I keep going. 

“In fact, you should feel flattered that I would even
consider
putting clothes on that body when all I
really
want to do is find a quiet spot and untie that damn belt.”

She shakes her head, her head still turned slightly bowed.

“
But,
I guess I wouldn’t blame you for wanting to go home.”

At that, she raises her face until her glistening eyes are level with mine.  “It’s not you. You
know
that’s not what I mean.”

“Then prove it.  Let me buy you something nice to wear and we’ll go have dinner and celebrate you selling the
Magnificent Seven
of paintings.”

She doesn’t answer right away, but I think she’s starting to settle down and at least
consider
my offer. Her expression seems to be lightening up by the minute.  Maybe just getting her away from the chaos, away from the place where she felt so helpless and vulnerable and out of control was all she needed.

“I’ll even come into the dressing room and help you get dressed
if you insist.
”

Her smile is small, but it feels big to me. I feel like I just won a miniature battle, like I outwitted all the other men she’s dated—the ones who have given her such a skewed perception of herself—and captured the flag.

“I’ll think about it.  The dressing room, I mean.”

“So, yes to the clothes?”

She nods, her smile firmly intact now.  “Yes to the clothes.”

I pull her to her feet.  “Great, then let’s get in there.”  I reach down and give one end of her robe tie a tug.  “Before I change my mind about this damn belt.”

She mutters something under her breath. I can’t tell what she said, but what matters is that she’s smiling again. It’s starting to feel like that’s
all that matters
to me.