Smother (2 page)

Time was lost as she observed. She stared at his fingers and wondered how they could do what they did, and then in return wondered what they would be like on her body. The way they mastered the pencil made Reese think they could rule and bend, even reconstruct, anything—maybe even her. She felt the quickening of her pulse and turned away. One would think, with the amount of action she got, that she wouldn’t have to resort to sordid thoughts about her boss.

Her boss, who was an enigma full of closed doors and secrets. Her boss, who was nine years older than her. Her boss, who didn’t even like her. Maybe that was the appeal. He was older, aloof, a mystery—a challenge. She liked challenges. She also apparently liked tattooed men with plain features and sexy voices who were abrupt conversationalists.

Reese was torn from her daydream by a steely-eyed look from Leo. She must have been making him nervous. She backed away with her eyebrows and palms raised. Reese sat down on the stool, placed her chin in her hand, and eyed the clock. Only four hours and twenty-two minutes more to go until she could escape from the stifling atmosphere of the room with all the drawings on the wall.

At ten minutes to ten, the door swung open to announce the arrival of their first customer. The girl was tall and slim with straight red hair and green eyes. Beautiful in an earthy way. Reese instantly hated her—not because she was pretty, although that didn’t help, but because she floated more than walked, and there was a bright smile on her face. Excitement shone through her eyes as they scanned the shop. She was unbroken, innocent.

Reese was jealous of that element she’d only had a glimpse of as a child. She’d been damaged at such a young age that she could barely remember what it felt like to have hope, to dream, to look at the world with possibilities instead of dismay.

The girl stopped by the desk with a warm grin on her face. “Hi! I’m April Lange. I have an appointment at ten.”

Reese pushed the paperwork toward her. “Fill this out.”

April’s smile dimmed and apprehension took the shine from her eyes as she looked toward Leo, as though to reassure herself that she should be doing this. “Okay.” Her lowered voice was evidence of how easily the joy could be sucked from the soft ones.

Leo nodded at April before aiming his gaze at Reese. He jerked his head toward the hallway. Sighing, she slid from the barstool and followed him, shoulders back and scowl in place. He entered his office and she followed.

Reese closed the door and whirled around to confront him. “Don’t say anything,” she warned.

Arms crossed, legs spread wide, and jaw set, it didn’t seem as if Leo had planned to utter a word.

“She’s way too nice. People like that bother me,” she muttered, careful to avoid his eyes.

The office was smaller than Reese imagined Leo liking, and she could tell being in it for too long made him cagey. This was the room in which he did his bookkeeping, using it only when necessary and never staying longer than he had to. The walls were cream-colored with one lone window to offer sunlight on occasion. There was a utilitarian desk with a swivel chair and a bookshelf full of folders, waiver forms, and tax information. It was a boring space, and she understood why he didn’t like to be in it, both for its lack of size and for what it represented.

Obligations, bindings, imprisonment.

Reese fidgeted with a lock of hair near her ear and brought her eyes to him. His silence, always aggravating, was more so right now, knowing he waited for certain words she did not want to say. “Can we go back now, or do you want to keep staring at each other? She’s going to think we’re doing the nasty the longer we’re gone. Unless it doesn’t take long? Want to test it out?” She knew that saying anything sexual would get them out of the room faster. It was his kryptonite—or maybe she was.

Something shifted in his eyes, a darkening of gray that passed as quickly as it appeared. The air grew stifling and the walls closed in, bringing him closer and bigger though he didn’t move. She was surrounded by Leo—his scent, his lair, his judgment. She couldn’t take it anymore, needed to escape him. He continued to watch her, and that flummoxed her. She’d assumed he’d be marching from the room by now.

“She’s happy, okay? Much too happy, and chirpy, like a little bird chirp, chirping along,” she continued, biting her lip to keep the nonsensical words inside even as they fought to come out to fill the quiet.

Leo remained silent.

“So . . . this is fun.”

He didn’t move.

Reese sighed. “Okay. I was rude. Happy?”

One eyebrow lifted.

“I’m not apologizing.”

He looked at her.

She set her jaw, biting out her next words. “I’ll be nicer.” That was as close to an apology as she was going to give.

Leo inclined his head and walked past her, taking all the air with him. Only when he was out of the room did she dare breathe again, sucking in a sharp inhalation. She bowed her head, gathered her bravado, and willed her heartbeat to slow. Composure intact, she left the room, a smile pasted on her face as she met the girl’s worried eyes.

“All set?” she asked, the sweetness of her voice nauseating to her ears.

April’s shoulders relaxed and she nodded. “Yes.”

“Great. Do you know what you want? On the phone you mentioned getting a flower on your foot.”

Leo silently offered the girl a glass of water from the bubbler in the corner of the room. She accepted it with a sunny, shy smile and lowered her eyelids. Her skin blushed prettily.

Reese stiffened and her eyes flew to Leo. He was already walking away, not noticing April’s reaction to him. She was so envious her mouth was bitter with it, all of her wound taut. She exhaled deeply, fighting to push back the beast that wanted to tear the innocent girl’s head off. That would be unprofessional.

“Tattoo?” she prompted, watching Leo’s bent head as he worked from the desk across the room.

“Oh, um, yes, maybe a flower. Or a heart. Something pink.” She went quiet, eyes on Leo. April leaned toward her, whispering loudly, “He’s super sexy, ya know? All broody and mysterious.”

The pencil in her hand snapped in two, causing the girl to jump and back away. Reese grinned, her teeth showing more than she could help. She took the paperwork and looked it over, noting April dotted her “I”s with hearts. With an eye roll, she slapped the form on Leo’s desk, looking over his broad shoulder and catching a glimpse of the design he’d already drawn up for April.

It should have looked babyish or even cartoonish, but it didn’t. The flower petals curved downward into soft, flowing hearts. The stem and leaves were wispy and scrolling. It looked like the flower was sighing with contentment and there was a certain elegance to it. April got her heart and her flower. Awe and respect for Leo filled her, adding another undeniable notch to her obsession with him.

As she watched, he quickly penciled in the drawing with tones of blush, cream, yellow, and green. Reese glanced at his face. His eyebrows were lowered in concentration, his lips were set in a thin line. The air around him heated up as he worked and her heart paused. Leo was the artist, but he was also the art.

He didn’t draw—he
felt
what he was doing.

She was surrounded by beauty made with the hands before her. The room was full of his drawings, placed on the walls like wallpaper that offered a little piece of Leo’s soul for any who entered to observe. He bared himself to others, opened himself up to be judged. It should have made him seem vulnerable, but all it did was make him strong to Reese. She couldn’t do that—had never considered it.

Her boss only did freehand work and each design had his special touch on it. It made her sick with longing to think of all the people wearing a sign of him on their body. She didn’t
want
to want him—she couldn’t help it. Something in him appealed to her in an inexplicable way, something she didn’t want to figure out, so she didn’t.

April cleared her throat and Reese looked up, surprised she’d been capable of forgetting about her. She moved away from Leo, who was also getting to his feet.

He showed the drawing to April and uttered one word: “Okay?”

Her lips parted as her eyed widened. She glanced at Leo and back at the paper. “Yeah. Perfect. I love it,” she said breathlessly.

He nodded once and motioned for her to follow him. Reese watched them walk away, Leo’s footsteps steady and confident, the girl’s pace going from fast to slow and back. It was obvious she wasn’t sure if she should go through with it or bolt, but she kept moving forward, regardless. Reese supposed that took certain bravery, or stupidity. She turned away when they were no longer within view, hating the thought of his hands on anyone, professionally or otherwise.

Logically, she knew she was being ridiculous. Illogically, she didn’t give a fuck. For starters, the girl was a kid. Miss April Lange was also too fragile for someone like Leo. She’d get lost within him and sucked up by the abyss that was his unconquerable essence, until she was nothing, forgotten, and all she knew was him. He needed someone resilient, someone who wouldn’t be scared or intimidated by him.

Someone like you, right?

It wasn’t like it mattered, because that would never happen. Her face pinched up and she grabbed a women’s clothing magazine. Reese absently thumbed through it, not seeing any of the clothes on display. The pages were all a blur of Leo’s strong, long-fingered hands, touching skin that wasn’t hers.

When the tattoo machine turned on and its high-pitched buzz reached her ears, she heard a startled yelp and a smile curved her lips. She sat back to listen to the upcoming performance of pain and regret, followed by the crescendo of jubilation when it was finally over and there was a pretty image to end the show with. Standing ovation and gushing praise. Flowers tossed in the form of compliments. Leo was classic—an abstract musician who wrote prose with pictures instead of letters and musical notes.

Loud voices, laughter, cigarette smoke, heat, and music—it all pulsated around her. The sounds were in her ears, shouted into her brain, the warm temperature of a room with closed windows suffocating and inescapable. She sat in the middle of it all and observed the people around her with the glazed eyes and foggy awareness of someone who should have stopped drinking a long time ago—or never started.

Her lips were numb. That was the point when she needed to be cut off. But there was no one here to babysit her—not that she would listen if there was—so instead she brought the drink back to her lips. Reese sucked its mix of artificial sweetness and biting liquor through a straw until it was gone, and let her hand fall to her lap, ice sloshing out of the plastic cup and onto her jeans.

She felt heavy, the weight of remaining even partially upright too much. Reese’s backside was firmly planted on the floor, but her upper half moved with boneless limbs. People become disjointed entities with elongated faces, blurry bodies, and too-bright clothing. Their voices took on a maniacal, high timbre. Everything was aggravatingly loud.

Her hand lifted to mess up her short hair that was beginning to fall flat around her ears and neck. Instead she pitched forward and her chin hit the linoleum, ice spraying from the cup and onto the floor near her face. She stayed that way, her chest against the floor with her ass in the air. It was surprisingly comfortable. People laughed, ice crunched under shoes, and she began to laugh with them. Maybe she could sleep here. She didn’t think anyone would mind.

“You okay?” a low voice asked by her ear.

She swatted at the annoyance, on the brink of passing out, and a hand wrapped around hers. Another went under her arms and she was hauled to her feet.

“I was fine there,” Reese mumbled, seeing pieces of clothing through the slits of her eyelids. She couldn’t seem to open them completely.

“You were, yeah, but what about everyone trying to walk around and over you?”

“Fuck ’em,” she slurred and dipped forward dangerously fast.

The man laughed and the hand tightened on her arm to keep her upright. “Need another drink?”

He had to be stupid. Anyone could see she didn’t need another drink, even her. She shrugged, and only one shoulder cooperated. What was one more drink? “Sure.”

“I was joking.”

“Only assholes joke about drinking,” she informed him.

He was shuffling her somewhere and she knew she should probably protest, but she was tired, and his voice was nice. If he kept talking, she could probably pass out standing right where she was. Actually, she could probably do that whether he continued to talk or not.

“I’m Mick,” he told her as a door opened.

Cool air rushed over them before a door closed again. Reese’s alcohol-infused brain noted that they must be outside. The strikingly cold air gave it away. That, and the water dripping onto her head from above. It was raining.

She fought to open her eyes far enough to take in the man beside her. “Reese,” she supplied, right before she threw up on him.

He sighed, moved her toward something cold and hard—a wall—and told her to sit down. She couldn’t believe he wasn’t yelling at her. Of course, if he had, she wouldn’t have cared. Her throat was raw and tasted of her drink, but with a horrible taint over it. She slid down to the wet grass, and when that wasn’t comfortable enough, she let her body fall to the side, the pull of slumber too great.