Skin Like Dawn (29 page)

She was shivering now.  She absurdly convinced herself that she’d never felt like this.  That it wouldn’t go away. That something deep inside was propelling her toward a disastrous fate, a blind, ill-lit plight of her own device. 

Still, she had the audacity to lean down to kiss her husband’s forehead, slowly, sensually, desperately.  She closed her eyes.  Tears brimmed them.  She felt lightheaded.  He stirred a little, murmured something, then rolled over.  

He knew she was there. 

She was in love, even then - but the inevitable was a bright-white infectious light, a great big wave of lunacy, pulling her downward, slicing through the undertow.  

She raised herself from the bed and got dressed quickly.  

She crept out of the bedroom, and the moonlight cast shame against her.  

She shrugged into her pea coat - it smelled of him.  Him.  The delight she felt in its onset was sickening.  

But she drowned in it anyway. 

She took a step toward the door.

“Don’t do it, Nat.” 

She stopped cold.  “I’m just going for a drive, Scotty, that’s all. I need some fresh air.” 

“Bullshit.”

“It’s none of your concern either way.” 

“Tonight, Nat. I saw you.  I saw that look in your eyes. Just go back upstairs and think about it, baby girl.” 

“I’m just going for a drive.  I’ll be back soon.” 

And she left.  He didn’t try to stop her.  

She coursed along the streets in Brandon’s truck, betraying the better part of her brain.  

Stop.  Stop, Natalie, stop!

But she pressed on, desperation encapsulating her.  

She said to hell with her conscience, and she took a deep breath.  

She only smelled him. 

She parked in front of the Eliot Building downtown, tore the seatbelt from her body, and dashed inside.  

The puny security guard halted her, the scent of the freshly picked flowers and the water spewing from the marble fountain nearby dizzied her. 

“I need the name of the person you’re here to see, Miss.” 

She stared up at him, pushing forward her best attempt at a formidable gaze.  It worked.  The guard backpedaled.  “What’s your name, Miss?” 

“Natalie.  Natalie Chandler.”  

A flash of recognition crossed the old man’s face, then quickly faded.  She caught it, but did not flinch.

He pursed his lips.  “Twelfth floor.  Apartment 1204.” 

She stammered past him, shoving her hands in her pockets to quell their shaking.  She took breaths, but they did not come easily.  They hiccuped in her chest, convulsing over her.  She was nearer to him.  Him. 

She pressed the button to the appropriate floor and closed her eyes once the doors were closed.  She relived every touch, every unwarranted, perilous gaze.  She foolishly justified her reasons for being there. 

In vain, no less. 

The elevator doors slowly rolled open and the expectancy swelled.  She stumbled down the hallway languidly, swaying from side to side.  She wanted to believe that she’d been drug there against her free will - it was bigger than her.  She had no control.  But there was force behind her knock, as she stood in front of apartment 1204, haunted by her own wicked devices.  

He answered quickly, lingering in the doorway, wearing nothing more than a loose t-shirt and gray pajama bottoms draped around his narrow hips.  He stared at her, in disbelief, she figured, leaning against the doorjamb for support.  His wavy hair spilled into his face, over his green eyes, palliating the sting of his serious countenance.  

“Hi,” she breathed.  She watched his eyes flicker under the sound of her voice.  

Motionless and eyes wider than she’d ever seen them, she drank unabashedly from them.  

“Did you really love her?” 

He nodded.  An agonizing stint of seconds passed.  Then, he parted his lips. 

“I fear loving someone like that more than I fear death.” 

His voice was earnest.  

She exhaled.  “Hm...”

She couldn’t stop herself as she took one step toward him.  She watched his chest rise and fall.  

“You ever feel something so...”

He pursed his lips.  She studied them.  “Don’t.” 

“Let me finish...”

“Don’t.” 

She took another step.  “It’s an obsessive thought.”

“Natalie...”

“One you’ve never really experienced before...”

“Please...” 

“It’s new.  It’s foreign.  And it aches.” 

He rolled his eyes closed, she pressed forward, and she could smell his proximity.  Her body hummed with beatitude from within.  

She lifted a hand, with wavering, hesitant fingertips.  Bellamy lowered his eyes to scrutinize them - it was the first time she noticed marked fear in them.  She extended the hand toward him, as though organic contact would make a difference, as though she weren’t already teetering on the edge of her own sanity.  

She was the victim; what would it take for people to realize this?  “A moth bit by a big ass flame”, her mama would say.  She was too far gone, pulled underneath, laughing at the audacity of it all.  

He breathed her name as though he understood it, as though he owned it, as though he knew it well.  

Why are women so attracted to the unjust, the unfair?  What did it all mean?  She could have walked away, but she didn’t want to.  She’d witness something through a sheathing of darkness, something that attracted her eye, something that had not seen before. 

Damn it.  

And he reached for her hand, clutching it closely, all in slow motion.  Dizziness was her only friend.  She studied his action’s course as though she, too, could not believe that they’d succumbed to the inevitable.  

He pulled her hand to his lips and pressed into it.  

All of her crumbled beneath it, and an unwilling tear slid down her cheek.  

Her lips trembled.  “What did you do...?” 

And he pulled her into him.  Noses grazing, she could feel his heartbeat against her breasts.  And in a shadowed tunnel of inexorable plight, this felt right.  He grappled at her lower back, fingers sliding over the best of her ass, tugging her inside.  She felt the desperation in his touch.  

She murmured his name, pleading for its attention.  

He was panting.  “What have you done to me?” 

Her fingers drew a serpentine path down the length of his jaw, to his anxious lips.  They quivered beneath her touch.  Another tear fell from her eye.  

The rest of the world disappeared.  She’d never been more content in deviant isolation.  

His tongue flickered through his lips to greet her embrace.  He was ready.  So was she.  

And he pressed his lips into hers.  They grew tender quickly, as she melted into him.  She moaned.  It was too much for her.  She’d pictured it a number of times in her head, but it never amounted to much.  

Bellamy Lambert had always been so far away from her.  

She tugged at his hair, parting his lips with her tongue, invading him. 

And he groaned.  

She needed this.  

God...she needed this. 

“I’m right here.  This is what you’ve wanted.  Take it.  Take it now.” 

THE MANSION

HER BACK WAS ACHING.  Sharp, shooting pain.  She sat up quickly.  

She exhaled.  Dear Lord...it had only been a dream.  

Placing a hand to her chest, she looked down at her sleeping husband.  She was drenched with sweat and her skin was tight.  

But...it had only been a dream. 

It was raining. Languid, heavy drops. Her eyes idled out of the window as Brandon stirred.  She was desperate to catch her breath.  

He rolled onto his back, cracked his eyes open once, as though to check for her presence.  He smirked in a sleepy haze, then rolled his head over, and succumbed once more.  She leaned down instinctively and pressed her lips into his.  

They were dry and a little salty, but they were her home.  He pursed his lips to her attention, grumbled something, and pulled her down to him.  

He felt her there.  

She evanesced into his stale warmth, finding comfort there, humming along to his even, peaceful breathing. 

She ran a course of her fingertips along the curves in his bare chest, curling them around tiny tendrils of dark hair.  She studied her hand’s movement carefully, applying the slightest bit of care and understanding.  

It had only been a dream...

She had been so transfixed, that she hadn’t taken the time to notice that her husband’s eyes were now open, and were transfixed on her.  

He smiled.  “Hey...” 

She pressed her lips into his once more.  Wrapping his arms around her, he sucked in his breath, accepting her embrace as though nothing had changed. 

Their kiss deepened, and he groaned achingly in response.  She broke a part from him, gazing downward spellbound.  “Brandy...”

“What?” 

“Do you love me?” 

With his eyes flickering, his eyebrows curved in surprise.  “What kind of question is that?” 

“Just answer it.” 

“Of course I do.” 

“How much?” 

“Really, Tal?” 

“Answer me.” 

“More than I think is physically possible.” 

She glared at him and her heart flickered in response to his answer.  

He replied with an expression of curiosity.  “What?  What’s that face?” 

She shook her head.  “Nothing.” 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“No reason.” 

“Are you okay?”

“Yes.”  

“Are we okay?” 

“I think so.” 

He pursed his lips.  “Okay.” 

“I don’t think I ever realized how attractive you were.”

A glint of sunshine spilled into his eyes.  

“What?” 

“You’re actually really beautiful.  Has anyone told you that?” 

“Natalie, what did you eat last night?” 

“I”m being serious, baby.” 

“It’s not really something I think about.  I look like Jack and Martha Greene.  That’s all I know.” 

She smiled shamefully, giggling at the audacity of the words she’d just spoken.  “Well...you are.  I assure you.  The most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”

“You’re ridiculous.” 

“I love you, Brandon.” 

And he kissed her.  

AN HOUR LATER she was floating down the stairs in a loose cotton dress.  Brandon was showering.  Her body tingled, smelling of his proximity.  She was smiling almost arrogantly.  She was living, breathing proof that one could defy the inevitable, even when one damn near drowned in it.  

She created magic in the kitchen, innovating ageless sauces, sautéing, flipping, twirling.  Music played loudly from the stereo above the window.  She was celebrating something - she was celebrating her liberation from herself.  

Asha entered the room first.  “Man, it smells good in here.”  She sat herself down comfortably.  Natalie smiled.  

“What are you so happy about?” 

“Nothing...” 

“Everything okay?” 

“Never better.” 

“Hmm.” 

She dumped excess grease into an empty bowl off to the side.  Her heart thumped.  “So what do you want to do today?” 

“Honestly?” 

“Yes...” 

“How interested do you think Bellamy was in me last night?” 

Without a second level of thought, Natalie knocked her trembling hands into the bowl, causing it to tumble to the floor.  It didn’t break.  But it damn sure scared her. 

Natalie bent down quickly to pick it up.  “Um, I’m not sure...”

“He seemed pretty into me last night.  We had a good conversation.”

“Really?  About what?” 

“I don’t know...I got a vibe.” 

“What about Scotty?” 

“What about him...?” 

“Well...” 

“Nat, don’t start.”  

“Fine, I won’t.” 

“It’s too complicated,” her friend replied.  “I want something new.  Something fresh.  Something different.  Have you ever wanted that?  I’m sure you have.” 

Her heart thumped again.  “Of course I have. But then I remind myself of what God blessed me with and then I feel fine.” 

“Well, I don’t.  I want something different.  And I think Bellamy is...well...he’s definitely different.” 

“Yes, he is.” 

“What’s his angle?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“You’re sure he’s not seeing anyone?” 

Natalie’s brows were furrowed.  She internally said “to hell” with trying for a better countenance.  “What’s gotten into you?” 

“You’re my best friend.  And you’re friends with someone who’s gorgeous.  And you’ve been keeping him from me.  Do you see the direction that the conundrum is flowing in?” 

“No.” 

“You’re kidding me.” 

“I didn’t keep anyone from you.  He just wasn’t worth mentioning.” 

“Really? You two seemed...rather...close.” 

“I work with his father.  We’re bound to cross paths every once in awhile.” 

Asha didn’t seem the least bit convinced.  Still, she had the audacity to play along.  “Maybe I was imagining things.” 

“Maybe.” 

“I didn’t see you two talking.” 

“We’re allowed to be cordial.” 

“Intimately.” 

“He had a rough day.” 

“I must’ve dreamt the vision of him reaching for your hand.” 

“I stumbled a little.” 

“Natalie...Scotty told me.” 

She looked at her friend, swallowing thickly.  The rain had stopped.  The noise had disappeared.  There was nothing shielding her from the truth.

“Told you what...?”

“Man, it smells good in here!” 

Brandon was fully dressed, his hair still dripping wet from the shower.  He approached Natalie from behind, wrapping his arms around her proudly.  He pressed his lips into her head, making an audible kissing noise.  He smelled good.  She often imagined a day when he’d grow tired of her - she couldn’t see it in the near future.

She was frightened of that. 

Natalie’s eyes never left Asha’s.  

And suddenly, she couldn’t breathe.  

IN JUST A FEW they were sitting down at the breakfast nook.  Brandon was sipping coffee and Natalie had her hand on his leg.  She was gripping reality, fighting the intangible.  And both Scotty and Asha were staring at her wistfully, mystified by her appalling sense of calm.  She stared back vacantly, canvassing their faces for comfort.  All she retrieved was confusion.