by Gun Brooke
A middle-aged woman approached and took their orders. She listed the specials, but they knew what they wanted. Soon two large plates of carpaccio appeared before them.
She closed her eyes in total bliss. “This is one of the best carpaccios I’ve ever tasted. You happy with it?”
“Yes.” Blythe sipped her water. “This is the second time we’ve eaten out, and so far we’ve stuck to Italian food. Pasta Cosi, remember? And now Dino’s.”
“Next time we should branch out.”
Blythe swallowed and looked up. “Next time?”
“I eat out all the time during racing season. So often that I’m ready to shoot someone for a home-cooked meal.”
“I know from last year that you prefer to live in your RV, moving from racetrack to racetrack. I suppose the lack of a kitchen makes cooking limited.”
“Not just that. I mean, the kitchenette in my trailer is okay, but if I were to start cooking something, guess what? The guys would start ‘passing by’ and ‘being in the neighborhood,’ and soon I’d end up feeding everybody just to avoid playing favorites. So I don’t cook for anyone, and they certainly don’t, unless you consider hotdogs and burgers with cold beer cooking.”
Blythe’s laughter was a thoroughly pleasant sound that created a hot sensation of happiness in the center of Evie’s belly.
“I wouldn’t knock a burger every now and then, but I don’t want to live solely on them.”
Suddenly, a loud male voice behind her caused Blythe to frown and shift in her seat. “Hell, yeah! It is!”
“Trouble.” Blythe pressed her lips together and, to Evie’s shock, she shifted her grip on her steak knife. Did she intend to stab someone?
“You’re trippin’,” another male voice said. “Evangeline Marshall? Here?”
“Yeah. Over there. With that blond chick.”
“God almighty.” Evie looked at her food with regret. “And we haven’t even reached the main course yet.”
“He doesn’t sound like he’s a fan. And he’s big.” Her upper lip pulled back, Blythe watched someone’s movements. “Don’t turn around and face him.”
“Come back, Pete. Sit down. That bitch ain’t worth it.” The voice of the second man calling out seemed to quiet the voices around them.
“Fuck she is. She needs to hear what she did. That we know.” The first man, Pete, sounded infuriated and a bit drunk.
She’d had enough. No matter what Blythe said, she wouldn’t hide. She rose from the chair and whirled around. A few yards away stood a stocky man in his forties, looking like a typical tourist. Tan shorts, Myrtle Beach T-shirt, a half-open hoodie, and sandals. His wispy thin hair looked like he’d shoved his hands through it several times.
“I’m Evie Marshall. What can I do for you?”
“Not a fucking thing.” Pete was clearly not sober.
“Then I suggest that you go back to your friend and stop bothering everyone in here who just wants to enjoy the food.” She motioned to the other patrons, not taking her eyes off the man.
“You just don’t want them to hear about how you caused the biggest pileup in years, killing—” He stopped talking suddenly, his eyes shifting to something at her side.
“You were saying?” Blythe asked, and raised her camera. Flipping out the small screen, she looked intently at Pete. “I want to make sure I don’t miss anything. Isn’t today’s technology amazing? You can take stills and film with the same camera.”
“She…this woman…” He hesitated. “She…”
“Come on, Pete. Let’s go.” His companion waved frenetically. “Just drop it.”
“Really, Pete? And here I was about to document and record your slander so we’d have firsthand proof when Ms. Marshall sues you for defamation.” Blythe’s eyes sparkled.
“You heard her. Come on!” Not waiting for Pete, the other man tossed some cash on their table and headed for the door.
“May I suggest you follow suit, sir, since you seem to be outgunned, in a manner of speaking?” The maître d’ placed a hand on Pete’s arm and nudged him toward the entrance. “It’s either this, or I call the police. I’m sure you understand.”
Pete muttered something inaudible and stomped out.
Evie blinked repeatedly. What the hell had just happened? She’d been prepared to leave the restaurant for everybody else’s sake, but then Blythe suddenly stood by her side, and the management of Dino’s clearly backed her as well.
“I’m so sorry about this,” she said when the maître d’ came back. “I really am.”
“Please, Ms. Marshall, we’re the ones who are sorry. I hope you will consider having the rest of your meal now that order is restored.”
Conscious about the glances from the other dinner guests, she hesitated and glanced at Blythe, who shrugged, clearly leaving it up to her to decide.
“Hey, Evie Marshall, you got to eat. I plan to bet on you at Daytona this year.” A young man and his three friends grinned at her from across the restaurant. “You have to show them the Queen of NASCAR is back.”
The other guests yelled and applauded. Encouraging words rained on them until she relented and took her seat. Blythe sat down as well, placing her camera and the steak knife next to her plate.
She stared at Blythe. “So that’s why he looked so damn scared. You had the knife as well.”
“A nifty grip I learned in Afghanistan. A way to hold a knife alongside my camera, ready to use both, if I need to. Came in handy. No pun intended.”
“What if the police had come?”
“They would’ve had to arrest almost everyone in here. Nothing illegal about holding on to a steak knife at a restaurant that sells steaks and provides the knives.” She winked at Evie.
The dynamic had shifted between them again. Yesterday had started out with Evie losing her cool, and then Blythe had a rough time because of remembering her youth. Now the focus was back on her.
Feeling she could relax again, she finished her meal and even shared a piece of key lime pie with Blythe before asking for the check. Several of the other guests smiled warmly at them when they walked among the tables toward the entrance. The maître d’ fawned over them until they were out the door.
“What’s next?” she asked, shaking her head. “That was the weirdest thing. You were great, though. Except we have to discuss that knife thing.”
Blythe answered with mock haughtiness. “We do not have to do anything of the sort.”
“Seriously? We do. If you’re going to keep wielding swords around me—”
“Swords?” Blythe snorted. “A steak knife. You make it sound like I pulled out my favorite katana.”
“I don’t sound like anything. I saw you threaten that guy.”
“I may have pointed it at him. Very subtly. Like an intimidation.”
“I’ll say.” She put her arm around Blythe’s shoulders and squeezed gently. “Hell, you intimidated me. It wasn’t the first time. There’s something reckless about you.”
“What?” Blythe stopped walking so abruptly, Evie nearly toppled over. “I’m not reckless.”
“Unless you count climbing up into old oak trees during a hurricane.” She looked pointedly at Blythe.
“That was nothing.”
“It was too.” She couldn’t keep from laughing. They started walking again and headed for the car. The Carolina Opry wasn’t far away, and she found herself looking forward to some touristy entertainment.
*
Blythe was pleasantly surprised. Some of her more snobbish acquaintances would frown upon the variety show they’d just seen, but she’d actually enjoyed it. The performers had great voices, the chorus line had some amazing dancers, and the orchestra was well rehearsed and played like they truly loved it. The stunning costumes were the icing on the cake, but most of all, she had enjoyed Evie’s enthusiasm.
Evie looked less than pleased only once. Toward the end, the host of the show called for men and women who had been or were active in the armed
forces to stand up to be applauded.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered as they clapped.
“I know it’s tradition and I truly think our men and women in service deserve this, but so do you. Your profession put you in harm’s way, to a degree where you’re still suffering the consequences.”
“For what it’s worth. Thank you.” She knew Evie meant what she said, and appreciated that she understood her assignments had taken a toll.
The performers stood in the lobby to sign autographs and say good-bye. When Evie bought a CD and had one of the leading ladies sign it, her cheeks went pink when the woman clasped her arm and pursed her lips seductively.
“Gorgeous woman,” she said casually as they strolled back to the car.
“Yes. Very nice.”
“She flirted with you.” She was acting ridiculous even bringing it up.
“Who? The singer? She was?” Evie seemed to search her memory.
“Yes. Alice something.”
“Alicia D’Angelo. I didn’t notice. She was friendly.”
“I’m sure.”
“What’s wrong, Blythe?” Evie had begun to turn the key in the ignition, but let go of it and leaned back.
“Nothing.” She couldn’t believe she’d let any sort of jealousy surface. A few heated kisses didn’t warrant this reaction. Nothing did. “I’m sorry, Evie. Ignore me.”
“All right. For now. I’m nothing if not stubborn, Blythe. I’m determined to find out more about the new things I learned about you today. From kissing, to knives, to strange bouts of jealousy. Trust me.”
She didn’t doubt Evie for a second. This woman she was documenting hadn’t reached her success in a man’s world by backing down from a challenge. If Evie wanted to grill her, she would find a way. Close to panicking, she cursed herself all the way back to the beach house.
An hour later, she knew she’d procrastinated enough. Tugging at her fingers she stood by the window in the living room gazing out into the darkness. She could barely make out the waves crashing onto the beach, but she heard them.
Evie hadn’t said much after they got home. She’d withdrawn to her bedroom where she’d immersed herself in paperwork. Apparently NASCAR required quite the red tape to go through. Evie had a lawyer, but eventually she was the one who signed on the dotted line. She should’ve taken a few pictures of Evie doing this. Perhaps she might still be able to.
After dashing into the guest room, she grabbed her small Canon and checked the battery. Outside Evie’s room, she rapped her fingertips against the door frame. The door wasn’t entirely closed, but she didn’t feel right just stepping in.
“Yes?”
“You still going through paperwork?”
“Yes.”
Oy. She winced. Evie sounded very standoffish. Not that she could blame her. Of all the foolish things to say. She flirted with you. And even if this Alicia person had prostrated herself in front of Evie, it would hardly have been Evie’s fault. “Um. Okay if I take a few pictures of that? Don’t have any of you doing paperwork.”
“By all means.”
Finding it a bit odd that Evie sounded so frosty yet still gave her permission, she pushed the door open and came to a full stop right inside. Small mood-light lamps cast a cozy glow around the room. Only the bedside lamp provided enough light for Evie to read through the documents spread out around her. She sat among binders and papers, which shouldn’t have been remarkable, but she didn’t wear her usual attire. Instead she wore navy-blue satin briefs and a matching chemise, and her hair hung in newly brushed waves around her face. Evie smelled of the soft lotion she had come to associate with her.
“Camera? Photos?” Evie looked up, impatient.
“What? Dressed like that? Hardly.” She tucked the camera behind her back for emphasis. No way was she was sharing this Evie with the world.
“What’s wrong with this outfit?” Evie looked down at herself. “It’s La Perla. Cost a damn fortune.”
“I’m sure it did. It’s lovely. You look amazing.”
“So?”
“It’s kind of revealing.”
“You didn’t mind my swimsuit, even if it was more close-fitting.”
“Ah, come on. There’s a difference between swimwear and underwear.” She was treading water now. Any moment, Evie would connect her response to the perceived jealousy from earlier and she would’ve dug her own grave, metaphorically speaking.
“So…you think this is too much. For the public.” Evie quickly gathered the papers and binders and tucked them on the shelf in her nightstand. Kneeling on the bed, Evie studied her closely. “But you think it’s a nice outfit?”
“You look incredible. Why are you teasing me? To prove a point?”
“Which point would that be?” Evie tilted her head, appraising her. Her expression wasn’t scornful or angry. If anything, it was enigmatic.
“I managed to destroy the evening. We had a great time, and I said something I shouldn’t. And I’m sorry.” She held on hard to her camera with sweaty fingers.
“You’re forgiven. Please tell me why you said that? About her flirting.”
This was her chance. Evie would know if she stalled or tried to sweep this under the rug with a lie.
“You were right. I saw her touch you. Flirt. She actually did. It was pretty obvious. Still, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have even mentioned it. I—I was jealous.” She looked down at her feet and saw her toes curl, her whole body just as tense. “We kissed this morning. Made out, really. I haven’t let anyone close like that in a very long time. I suppose the fact that I lowered my guard made me too, um, presumptuous.”
“Sweetie. She may have been flirting, but I honestly didn’t notice. If I had, it still wouldn’t have mattered to me one little bit. Do you believe me?” Evie’s voice, suddenly so familiar in its warmth, caressed her ears.
“Yes.” She refused to make a complete fool of herself by bursting into tears. Hot tears crowded behind her eyelids, but she’d be damned before she let them fall.
“Good. Now, why don’t you put your camera to use?”
“No. I told you—”
“Just for me. For us. Please?” Evie winked and slid down in a relaxed position. Her back was flat on the bed, hands next to her head, and hips turned, one leg over the other. It was by far the sexiest thing she had ever seen.
Moving in a dreamlike way, she raised her camera and began to photograph the wonderful woman on the bed. Suddenly a natural model, Evie turned into a new pose every third second or so. Nothing sleazy, just a sensual, stunning manner that hit her right in her chest.
Eventually, the Canon beeped that it needed batteries, which made her lower it and Evie stop posing. She was kneeling on the bed again. “Get any good ones?”
“Several.” Breathless, she kept gazing at Evie.
“Come closer. Please.” Evie extended a hand. “Blythe.”
Nobody said her name like Evie did. She made it sound soft and very feminine despite its androgynous connotation. Blythe walked up to the bed, and Evie took the camera from her and placed it on the nightstand.
“God.” Evie breathed shallowly. “Do you have any idea how it felt to pose for you like that?”
She laughed incredulously, ending in a half sob. “Any idea? How do you think I felt watching you, snapping one photo after the other when all I wanted was…was…”
“Yes?” Evie whispered. “Yes? What did you want?”
“You know what I want. What I want, and what is possible, are rarely the same thing.”
“Yet here I am. Only inches from you. Available.” Evie trailed a hand down her arm, from where the short sleeve of her T-shirt ended to her fingertips. “So, come sit down. At least tell me what you want.”
She sat down, her face going increasingly warmer. “If I could just do what I want, without considering the consequences, I’d spend a very long time removing that pricy La Perla lingerie. I’d kiss every part of you that I uncovered. You’d know how b
eautiful and sexy I find you. You would have no doubt that you mean a lot to me and that I find you so incredibly sensual.”
She knew she sounded longing and forlorn at the same time. She had in many ways found herself since she began to know Evie, but she had also in a way lost something, even before she had it.
Chapter Seventeen
Evie could hardly speak. Blythe’s words, uttered with such conviction, were so unlike anything she would have expected from the shy woman she’d first known. Gone was the apprehensive persona, and in its place sat a quietly confident woman with passion in her eyes. She was afraid to say something to scare away this person, the woman she suspected was the true Blythe.
“Do I make you uncomfortable?” Blythe laced her fingers on her lap.
“No! No.” She couldn’t take her eyes off Blythe’s face. “Please. Keep going.”
Blythe’s eyes narrowed and her gaze wandered from Evie’s face, along her body all the way down to her naked feet. “It’s more than skin deep, you know. You’re naturally stunning, and the fact that your images have sold more calendars for charity than most testifies to that. But that’s just one aspect. It’s how you respond, you know. How you gasp and moan, and arch into a caress. This morning, when we kissed, I truly felt you wanted me. You were so in the moment, and I’m seldom that way. You were very seductive. I could barely let go of you.”
“Yet you did.”
“One of us has to stay strong.”
“What do you mean?” She leaned forward.
“You’re so passionate.” Blythe sounded yearning. “You go full force, damn the torpedoes, and you draw me in. You make me forget there’ll be a tomorrow.”
“Of course there’s a tomorrow. There is now. Here.” She shifted closer and touched Blythe’s arm again. Blythe twitched under her hand. “And there is tomorrow. The future. Why can’t they go together, you mean?”
“They rarely do. You have people in your life. Or you think you do. Then you don’t. You leave. They leave.” Though Blythe’s voice had been full of sultry passion, now a contradictory mix of cynicism and pain prevailed.
