eyond Desire Collection

by JS Scott, M Malone, Marie Hall, et al

  Her cries grow louder, and I’m all but out of my mind, consumed with something more than raw need. Something more than a night of physical pleasure. I don’t know what it is, but I want it. I want her. The realization makes me slow our frantic pace. As I carefully pull out of her, she whimpers and clutches my shoulders in protest.

  At the last moment, I slam into her again, filling her completely. We repeat the rhythm together, torturing ourselves, until, on the fourth thrust, she gasps and her muscles tighten around me. The spasms rip through her, and the rapture on her face as she throws her head back nearly makes me come undone. But I hold off, letting her recover for just a moment. Then I move again, making her all but whimper with each frenzied stroke until every muscle goes taut and I’m groaning into her ear as I shudder against her.

  We’re both breathing hard, sweat glistening on our bodies. She reaches up and places her palm flat on my cheek. Her blue eyes are heavy with satiation. “Seth?”

  “Hmm,” I murmur and clasp her thumb between my teeth.

  “That was incredible.”

  I nod, not trusting myself to speak. If I say anything, she’s going to see right through me. This is a hell of a lot more than a night of hot sex.

  “Can you let me down now?”

  “Sure,” I say, and reluctantly help her to her feet. After disposing of the condom, I return to where she’s sitting on the floor. She looks so small and fragile, almost naked except for those boots. I put a hand out, offering to help her up.

  She takes it, and when she wobbles on her feet, I pick her up and carry her to the bathroom. The downstairs bathroom is a small one, but it has a shower just big enough for the both of us. I set her down on the vanity, and without speaking, I unzip her boots for the second time, only now I slip them off her feet. Her eyes are big and round as she watches me.

  I smile up at her. “Don’t want to ruin these.”

  She chuckles. “No. We don’t.”

  Reaching over, I turn the taps on. Once the bathroom starts to fill with steam, I tug Lucy into the shower, and there, I explore her body again until we both cry out in ecstasy, only this time when we’re finished, she smells of citrus-scented body gel.

  ***

  Hoooonk, hoooonk, honk penetrates my consciousness, and I bolt out of bed. “Holy fuck.” I grab my head with both hands, trying to block out the incessant noise. “Keep your pants on.”

  I glance down, noting my buck-naked state, and grab a discarded towel lying rumpled on the floor. That’s when I notice the bed is empty.

  Lucy.

  Shit. Where is she? The honking finally stops, and I slide to the window just in time to see legs clad in thigh-high boots walking swiftly to the car. Jesus. She’s running away just as she had last night when she wanted to get as far away from Kinx as possible. Had the night been that bad?

  Dude. Get a hold of yourself. This is the perfect scenario. No awkward morning-after bullshit.

  Lucy pauses and glances up at the window. Spotting me, her eyes go wide, then she bites her bottom lip. Desire stirs in my gut, but I do my best to keep my face blank. She’s running out on me. No girl has ever tried to leave before I woke up before. Not that I ever bring them home. That’s too personal. I wouldn’t have last night if we’d had any other option. She frowns, and I don’t know why, but I want to chase after her and—

  Seriously, dude. Stop it.

  Her hand comes up and she gives me a tiny wave. A second later, she’s tucked in the car. I stare at the black SUV, focusing on the red taillights as they disappear into the morning fog.

  Marty. Bastard. For some reason I hate him more than usual this morning. I slam my fist into the wall, splitting my knuckle in the process. Fuck. That guy is the biggest douche on the planet, and the fact Lucy left with him has me aching to punch the wall again.

  Instead, I turn and head for the shower. Not the one Lucy and I shared last night, but the master bath in the room at the end of the hall. I never go in there. Do my best to avoid it at all costs. Even though I’d painted the room white, blocking out the bold sun yellow and tangerine that had once graced the walls, E was still everywhere. The wrought-iron bed she’d picked out, the unmatched nightstands she’d hand painted with wildflowers, the goddamned red velvet pillow I hadn’t been able to toss.

  I ignore it all, shutting down the part of me that is hers—that will always be hers—and slip into the bathroom. It’s easier in here. Whiteness gleams from every surface. It had been our compromise. Whatever colors she’d wanted in the bedroom were fine as long as I had a reprieve of white in the bathroom. Before it had felt clean, sleek. Now it’s impersonal. It doesn’t stop the memories from trying to slip back in, however.

  E using those 1950s hot curlers she’d found at a garage sale. Her Corvette-red lipstick. The two drawers of cosmetics I’d never once seen her use but she insisted on keeping anyway. The sleepy-eyed look she’d give me after we’d been up all night working.

  Pain lances through me. It’s her contented expression after the all-nighters we’d spent in the studio that I miss the most. The door slams shut on the memory, and I try to think of Lucy, but my pulse quickens and sweat prickles the back of my neck.

  The terrible memories of that night come flooding back, and my mind turns hazy as gut-wrenching bursts of metal grinding against metal echoes in my mind. A scream is cut off at impact, and then there’s darkness, punctuated by flashes of light. And all I can focus on is the blood. It’s everywhere. I can’t stop it.

  I let out a scream of desperate rage, throw on some clothes, and bolt for the door. Once outside, I take deep breaths of the salted air. In. Out. In. Out. With no memory of heading toward the ocean, I’m at the cliff, crouched down, my elbows resting on my knees. My eyes are open, but I don’t see the water crashing over the rocks or the hazy line of the horizon. I see E, her infectious smile, her impossibly curly golden hair, and paint. Lots of paint.

  Slowly, I stand, my legs stiff from the cold wind. Then I turn and walk the two miles to my parents’ house.

  ***

  I’m standing on the front stoop, bracing myself for the inevitable questions, when the door pops open.

  “Seth!” Mom says too brightly and pulls me inside.

  “Mom.” Suspicion rings in my tone, but she just smiles up at me, entirely too happy. After staying out all night without calling, I expect at least an hour-long lecture on common courtesy. I’m a grown man with my own house, but ever since I lost E, I’ve been crashing at my parents’ to escape the memories. Since the accident, Mom worries a lot more than she used to. The phone call was her only request. And I’d forgotten. Again.

  “Come in here. We’ve been waiting.”

  We?

  I’d already seen Dad disappear into one of the greenhouses out back. My parents are organic farmers. Two of the best. Together they can grow just about anything. And they do, even when no one else can due to weather conditions. It’s their talent. Growing plants.

  There’s a cinnamon-scented candle burning, and there’s a fire in the fireplace.

  Shit. These are not the signs of a woman intent on working in her greenhouses all day. No. She has company.

  “Honey.” Mom tugs me into the kitchen and waves at a middle-aged woman dressed in a bright red dress with lipstick to match. “You remember Francie, don’t you?”

  I don’t, but I nod anyway because I know she expects me to.

  “Your father’s Navy buddy Don. She’s his wife. They visited about three years ago.”

  A vague recollection of a family dinner comes to mind. “Sure. Hello, Francie. Nice to see you again.” I hold out my hand.

  She takes it, pumping with surprising strength. The woman isn’t an inch over five feet two and can’t weigh more than a hundred pounds.

  “Oh, my dear. You just get more handsome every year. I bet the girls are lined up a mile long trying to fill your dance card.” She gives me an exaggerated wink.

  “Uh, maybe not a mile long.” Ext
racting my hand from hers, I give her a tight smile. “Welcome back to Mendocino.” I turn to Mom. “I’ll be in the kitchen.”

  Before I can make my escape, she slips her arm through mine, holding me in place. “Francie is actually here to see you.”

  I stand still and really take a look at the older woman. She’s been smiling since I got here, but for the first time, I notice the edge of pain buried behind her facade. I know, because it’s the same one I’ve been wearing for the past eighteen months. Empathy courses through me, and I take her hand once more, leading her to my mother’s green-and-white pinstriped couch. “What is it I can do for you, Miss Francie?” I ask gently.

  Her big green eyes mist with unshed tears and her hand starts to shake. Unease takes up residence in my chest. I know from experience what’s coming, and I shoot Mom a sharp look of admonishment.

  “I’m terribly sorry to ask,” Francie says, her voice barely audible. She clears her throat, and when she speaks, she’s stronger. More sure. “Grace says you’re taking a break from your portraits in order to pursue other art interests, but I don’t have anyone else I can ask.”

  “I have friends I can recommend—”

  “No,” she says firmly. “Thank you, but please just hear me out.”

  Mom frowns at me. Short of getting up and stalking out, there isn’t much else I can do. I nod.

  She nods back. “You may know that my Don is starting cancer treatments soon.”

  I nod again. Seems Dad mentioned something about it.

  “Well, I’d really like to get a portrait done of us now, before the treatments progress. Before his body starts changing. I need someone who can see the real us. To really bring us to life.” Her voice cracks on the word life. “It might be the last… Well, it’s just that now is the time.”

  A lump of emotion clogs my throat. After the memories that haunted me this morning, this request is too much. I work my throat and force out, “Miss Francie, I wish I could help, but—”

  “Oh, dear.” She squeezes my hand. “I can see this is hard for you. After Elsa—”

  I wince at the use of E’s actual name. I don’t use it anymore, and everyone around me knows not to.

  “I’m sorry,” the older woman says. She looks so dejected I don’t even know what to say.

  Mom scoots forward in the chair she’s perched on. “Seth, honey, can you at least think about it?”

  I avert my gaze. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  “But you have to start painting again at some point.”

  I jump to my feet, anger boiling up from deep inside me. “Mother,” I say in a careful voice. “We’ve been over this. E is dead. My paintings will never be the same. Without her, the thing that makes them special and unique is gone. Buried with her. You can’t know what it’s like. Dad is still here, but just try for a moment to think about how you’d feel about growing your plants if he wasn’t around to share it with you.” My fists are clenched and by the time I’m done, my head aches. If she doesn’t stop pushing, I’m going to have to move. Where, I don’t know. I can’t bring myself to give up my house, and at the same time, I can’t bring myself to live there. Hence the reason I mostly live at my parents’ place instead of my own.

  “Honey,” Mom says.

  “No, Mom,” I snap and turn to Miss Francie. Softening my tone, I say, “I’m sorry, but I can’t do this. If you need a recommendation, I have a friend who can probably help you out.”

  Francie stares at me, her eyes wide and her mouth open in shock.

  I can’t stay here. Not with this guilt eating away at me. Without another word, I stalk through the house and back out to the street. I’m four hours early, but with nowhere else to go, I head to the edge of town to the only place I ever find refuge. The tattoo shop.

  Chapter Nine

  Lucy

  I have the key in the lock when I hear the phone ringing inside. Rolling my eyes, I slip into Dad’s house… Well, my house now. It’s been six months since I lost him and it still feels like it isn’t real. He’s everywhere here, from the built-in bookshelves lining the living room, to the collection of underwater photography hanging on the wall.

  Dad’s old answering machine—the one he’d refused to change out for a service—clicks on. His warm voice fills the room. “You’ve reached the Moores. Lucy and Mack can’t come to the phone. Leave us a message.”

  Tears burn the backs of my eyes and the hollow feeling in my chest intensifies. It’s always the same, yet I can’t bring myself to change the greeting. I can’t erase Dad’s voice. It’s the same message we’ve had ever since Mom moved out eight years ago. Dad hadn’t even changed it when he’d taken a temporary job out of the country and I’d been forced to move in with Mom and her husband during my last few years of high school.

  “Lucy!” Mom shrills into the phone. “Where are you? Are you there? Pick up.”

  I stare at the blinking light on the machine. How many times has she called since last night?

  “Lucile, this is not a game.” Her tone is lower, more controlled. Her pissed voice. “Cadan came all the way from Denver to see you last night, and you ran out on him. How long are you going to keep this up? He’s not going to wait for you forever, you know. You’re messing up your life.”

  My heart starts to hammer and something breaks inside me. I’m used to her rants. Mom is forever telling me how to live my life. Mostly I’ve learned to block her out, but this morning, with my emotions all over the place, I can’t take it. I can’t take her. Blood rushes to my head and I feel like it’s going to explode. Before I can stop myself, the phone’s in my hand and the words fly. “He won’t wait forever? He didn’t wait at all, Mother. Jesus fucking Christ. I caught him having sex with two other girls. I wasn’t even out of the picture before he started sticking his dick in other people.”

  “Lucile,” Mom scolds. “Don’t you dare talk to your mother that way.”

  I snort into the phone. There it is. The mom card. She pulls that one out on a regular basis in an effort to guilt me into her way of thinking. When is the last time she ever gave a shit about what I want? “Really? That’s all you have to say? Have you even once considered what it must be like for me? To have my soul mate cheat on me? And having to choose between my sanity and my career?”

  “Now, honey. I know he made a mistake. But he’s sorry. It’s hard finding your partner when you’re just nineteen. You both have some growing to do. If you do it together, it will mean more later.”

  “A mistake? That’s what you’re calling it?” She has lost her mind. I can’t believe I’m hearing this from her. And yet, at the same time, it shouldn’t surprise me. She has always defended her life choices with the idea that no one should live without their soul mate. “Has Randy made a mistake? Did you forgive him?”

  Mom doesn’t say anything for a minute, and I wonder if I’ve hit a nerve.

  “I’ll call you later after you’ve had a chance to think about the things you’ve said to me. And if you have any sense, you’ll call Cadan. You’re not only throwing away the one person who’ll love you forever, but there’s also a lot of money on the line. You’re going to mess up your life if you walk away from him and your record deal.”

  I clutch the phone until it creaks under my grip. “The one person who’ll love me forever? Where does that leave you, Mom?” Before she has a chance to answer, I gently place the phone back on the receiver. Totally numb, I climb the stairs and head for the shower.

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I step under the stream of water. As the spray sluices over me, flashbacks of the night before start to fill my mind. Jeez! What had I done? Had hot sex with an incredibly sexy, gorgeous guy I didn’t even know. That’s what I’d done. And it had been glorious and exactly what I’d needed to get Cadan out of my mind. Then I’d run out without so much as a good-bye. I figured he’d prefer it that way. But that was before I realized he was watching me from the second-story window.

  I’d woken up
with the sunrise, an annoying habit I’d developed ever since I’d gotten back home. It’s because I like to sleep with the window cracked so I can hear the ocean. If I keep the blinds down, the wind makes them slam against the casings, keeping me awake. Since the house is on the side of a hill facing the ocean, there isn’t a pressing need for privacy, but the sun does make it difficult to sleep in.

  Once I find my phone and turn it on, I see eight texts from Jax and a dozen from Cadan. The last two were a confirmation from them both that Cadan left town. He’s pissed. But who cares? I don’t want to see him, and I’m not the cheater.

  Though spending the night with Seth does make me feel slightly guilty. I hadn’t really believed I’d ever be with anyone else. Not even after I’d caught Cadan with the two skanks who’d already worked their way through the rest of the band members.

  Angry all over again, I turn the water to scalding. Just thinking about Cadan with them makes my stomach turn. Thirty minutes later, my skin red and tender, I pad into my room and pull on yoga pants, an oversized sweater, and slippers. It’s my intention to stay in all day by the fire.

  Back downstairs, I rustle around in the kitchen, putting together an omelet. Eggs, tomatoes, goat cheese, and avocado. Perfect. I’m about to crack one of the eggs when the house phone starts ringing again. I let out a long-suffering sigh. Only two people call me on that phone these days, and I want nothing to do with either of them right now.

  When the machine beeps, Mom says, “You should probably think about changing the message on the machine, Luce. It’s not healthy.”

  My fist clenches around the egg and… crack. The gooey mess drips down my hand.

  “But that’s not why I called,” Mom continues. “Pick up the phone.”

  I glare at it.

  “Lucy, you’re being a child. I said pick up the phone.”

  Not even if Ed McMahon himself were on the other end.

  “Fine. Don’t talk to me.” She’s angry now, but when she speaks again, her voice cracks. “What if something happens to me, too? You’re going to be all alone. Then what will you do?” The machine beeps, indicating she’s hung up.