by Gun Brooke
“Obviously. Which photos are these—oh.” Evie knelt on the floor next to her chair and viewed the photo of herself. “Please tell me you’re not considering this for the book.”
“No, that’s not for publication.”
“You could probably make a bit of money by sending it to one of those NASCAR catalogue companies.” Evie wrinkled her nose and grinned.
“I think not.” She meant to close the folder but Evie stopped her.
“Are those of me too?” She pointed at the thumbnails of the other pictures.
“Yes. They’re not for the book either.”
“Still, this one is good. Are the other ones good too? Can I see them?”
“Sure.” Her belly filled with cold dread. “They’re of you, after all.” And Evie might not appreciate that she kept them in a folder and sat ogling them on her own.
Evie browsed through the lingerie pictures slowly. A few times, her cheeks colored faintly, but she didn’t say anything. Blythe had a sinking feeling this wasn’t going well. Why else would the spontaneous woman next to her clam up like this?
“Is this how you see me?” Evie broke the silence. Her voice gave nothing away, not even annoyance.
“It’s part of how I see you.”
“I’m glad you’re not sharing this with anyone else. They’re very private.”
“I agree.” She carefully lifted her gaze to Evie, who was still looking at one of the photos. In this one, Evie lay on her side, resting her head in her hand and reaching toward the camera with the other.
“They’re for you. Everything I thought of that night, when you kept shooting, was you. How intense you looked. How free and dynamic you suddenly were. Your true personality comes out when you hold that camera. Especially the big one. Viktoria Hasselblad.” Evie finally smiled, softly and gently. “When you’re one with Viktoria, I see the Blythe that’s ready for the world to see her. I may be the motif in these pictures, but they show more of you than of me.”
“What do you mean?”
“You shoot photos of me. I respond to your energy and directions, which makes them about you. What you want, what you see. You know, actions, reactions. I know exactly how I felt that night, just by looking at the photos. You made me feel safe and you turned me on. I remember laughing and nearly tearing up. A lot of emotions, all because you placed the camera between us. That’s when I knew I had to try.”
“I’m starting to sound like a parrot. Try what?” She gasped as Evie grabbed her by the waist and pulled her down on the floor with her. Keeping Blythe on her lap, Evie rested against the back of the armchair.
“I had to try and see if I could coax that Blythe out of her shell even without Viktoria Hasselblad.” Evie kissed her lightly. Blythe returned the caress and then pressed her face into Evie’s neck.
“Go on.” She inhaled Evie’s scent.
“I wasn’t successful all the time. Several times, I just seemed to make matters worse, no matter how good my intentions. I had to try to convince myself that it was worth it, and that I wasn’t doing it just for me, but also for you.”
“I see.” Feeling self-conscious, she knew she hadn’t reacted very amicably on several occasions. She’d felt that Evie had overstepped the boundaries, and climbing onto her proverbial high horse was all she knew how to do at such times. “And now?”
“I see the real, courageous Blythe more and more. With the camera in place, she’s always there. Without the camera, she’s actually pushing through more often. I love when that happens, but I also find the shy Blythe, the woman who feels awkward half the time, so incredibly amazing.”
“Sweet talker.” It was ridiculous for tears to appear, but they did. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the tears to absorb back into her tear ducts, but no such luck. Instead, one ran down her cheek, drawing attention to itself instantly.
“Don’t cry. Blythe, please. I’m sorry, I—”
“Shh. It’s okay. I’m just happy.”
“Oh. You are. You are?” It was almost humorous how relieved Evie sounded.
“Yes. I find it fascinating how any photo can be interpreted in so many different ways. It truly is all in the eyes of the beholder. I look at these photos and I see you. I see many of the different facets of you that I’ve learned of over the last year, especially these last weeks. I know, logically speaking, that you respond to me, the photographer, in the photos. Still, you’re so hot, so enticing and endearing at the same time, that I can’t think of who’s behind the camera. I just know that it feels like you’re looking at me.”
“Good. Since I did. Do.”
“You might feel that I had the camera between us, which is of course true, in a sense, but the real truth is, the camera allowed me to really see. It freed me. When you took the camera and set it down next to the bed, then reached for me, I was still nervous, but I had seen the truth through the lens. I saw you. And, oh God, how I wanted you. I still do.” Blythe’s voice sank to a husky whisper. “I think I always will.”
*
Evie’s breath caught and she had to clear her throat a couple of times. It was nearly unbelievable how courageous Blythe was. She could easily see how much it scared Blythe to say what she had. Her round eyes were larger than normal, she clearly held her breath, but, and this was the most crucial part, she also looked relieved and happy.
“I’m in love with you, Blythe.” This was the moment she had been waiting for. Blythe’s guard was down, at least for now.
“You—you…” Blythe took a deep breath. “I never thought it would happen to me. I love you too. So very much, Evangeline.” Shifting to straddle Evie’s legs, Blythe wrapped her arms around her neck. “I can hardly believe it. I pinch myself on a regular basis, but it’s still true. I’m still awake, and I love you.”
“Oh, sweetie.” She tugged Blythe’s hair gently, making her reveal her neck. She ran her lips up and down the side of the satin-smooth pale skin. “You’re irresistible. How can I have lucked out like this? I’m so fortunate that nobody else snatched you up a long time ago.” She licked at the pulse point on Blythe’s neck, then gently nipped her left collarbone. She pushed the cotton shirt away, struggling with the buttons. Eventually they came loose and she pushed her hands inside, cupping the full, beautiful breasts through the sports bra. “You feel so good. So damn good, Blythe.”
“Evangeline.” Blythe placed her hands on top of Evie’s, holding them firmly against herself. “I think we both know the risk of anyone snatching you up is far greater. You’re young, vibrant, famous, exciting—”
“Scarred. Inside and out.” She wasn’t filled with self-pity; she just wanted to be honest.
“Aren’t we all, one way or another? We both have issues. Dysfunctional families and issues.” Blythe cupped her cheeks. “If you scratch enough on anybody’s surface, you’ll see that they all have something under the veneer.”
“Veneer, huh?” She slid her arms around Blythe. “You explain things in such a good way. Technical, like.”
“I’ll show you technical.” Blythe unbuttoned her jeans and pulled down the zipper. Her small hand wormed its way inside, holding her.
She knew she was damp, bordering on wet, already, from fondling the woman she loved, loved, more than she’d ever loved anyone. Ever. Allowing herself to acknowledge that fact, and to tell Blythe, had put her emotions under a magnifying glass. They were now obvious and strong. It was dangerous to render yourself vulnerable by handing over your heart, but if she couldn’t do that with Blythe, she’d be cold. Frozen.
Now she reveled in the heat, the blood carrying her passion for Blythe along her nerve endings, making them erupt into flaring fire bolts. “Blythe. I love you.” She could barely speak. Her throat was constricted as the emotions became overwhelming. “God, sweetie.”
“I love you too. I never thought this possible, Evangeline.” Blythe pressed hungry kisses on her shoulders, rubbing her swollen folds through her panties. “I want you. I want all of you.”
“You have me.” She slid sideways down onto the rug. Pushing her jeans and underwear down simultaneously, she kicked them off. “Now. Take me.” She’d incinerate if Blythe didn’t go inside immediately.
“Look at me.” Blythe bent over her, her blond curls caressing her face. She positioned her fingers at Evie’s entrance and seemed to hesitate.
“Now.” She spread her legs farther, pulling them up.
“Mine.” Blythe’s fingers entered her, carefully, but with certainty. “Mine.”
“Oh, yes. Yours. Yours. Yours.” She moved her hips in sync with Blythe’s firm thrusts. When Blythe pressed the pad of her thumb against her clit, she couldn’t hold back any longer. The fire bolts around her body now all convened between her legs, exploding again, but this time in cascades that had her sobbing Blythe’s name.
Slowly, she came down to earth and rejoined her body that aligned with Blythe’s. “Whoa.”
“Very eloquently put.” Blythe kissed her cheek and grinned down at her.
“Mmm.”
“You okay? You seem a little out of it.”
“Fine.” She could actually see the remnants of the stars that had adorned the inside of her eyelids. “Mmm. Very fine.”
“You look extremely fine to me. Still, this is a bit rough. You’re a young thing. You can be on the floor for ages and not suffer, but I can’t.”
“Ha. You’re not that old. I vote we move to the bed.”
“Couch. Bed is too far away.”
“Couch it is.” She was recuperating fast now and all she could think of was to get Blythe naked. They stood, and she peeled off Blythe’s shirt and pants on the way over to it. When they tumbled down on the cushions, they were both naked. There could never be anyone as soft and sexy as Blythe. Nobody could ever feel this good or so right. She kissed along Blythe’s abdomen, paying attention to how she sounded and responded. She wanted Blythe to feel as wonderful as she’d made her feel. Eventually she plunged her tongue inside Blythe, greedy for her, loving her taste.
“Oh,” Blythe said in a long breath.
“Feel good?” She murmured the words against Blythe’s drenched folds.
“Yes.” Blythe whimpered, her inner walls clamping down on Evie’s tongue. “So good. So good, Evangeline.”
Chapter Twenty-four
Blythe adjusted her lens, felt one leg of the tripod give way, and jumped off the chair she’d been standing on. She adjusted the large tripod and made sure she’d fenced herself in so nobody ran over it. She wore her smaller camera around her neck, for photos that demanded more movement.
Over by the pit, just a short distance from where Evie had set up, the team swarmed around the Viper like enchanted bees. Evie stood to the side with Ben, dressed in her red coverall. Adorned with the logos of her sponsors, it was proof of how much money was involved and also explained some of the added pressure on Evie to succeed. Raising her point-and-shoot, she snapped a few shots of Evie from a distance. She worked quickly, catching a nice series, a true study of how Evie gestured, how her facial expression changed when she discussed something with Ben.
Blythe jumped up on the chair, so used to working around her own lack of height, and went in with the Hasselblad, happy to shoot a photo of Evie when she turned to look her way. A grin spread over Evie’s face when she found Blythe on the chair. She kept shooting, unable to keep a reciprocating smile away.
A male voice sounded increasingly excited over the loudspeakers. He recounted everyone’s stats from the previous season and kept returning to the fact that Evie was back after two years. At first, Evie flinched at the constant recount of her last race, but eventually, she seemed to be able to tune it out. Blythe was furious at the speaker-voice, wondering what moron could think it was a splendid idea to hammer the horrible events into everybody’s mind. It wasn’t just disrespectful to Evie, but to all the others who were hurt, not to mention the families of the ones who died.
Soon, and it felt too soon, it was time for the drivers to get behind the wheel. She heard a crackle in the headset she wore around her neck and donned it. She’d be able to listen in on the conversation between Evie and Ben through it, as would the TV viewers.
“Get your camera ready.” Evie raised her hand to Blythe, clearly not fazed by the chance of anyone else noticing, and jumped into the Viper, feet first through the window. The protective grid slid into place.
Blythe went completely into work mode. She did what she’d done in Afghanistan, Iraq, or Congo-Kinshasa: slipped into the skin of the woman who was all about doing the job. Her nerves, fear, and concern were locked away in the compartment of her mind that she’d deal with later. Much later.
Above, a sudden roar made the crowd go insane and the speaker-voice sounded like a squealing teenage girl. Grabbing her smaller camera, she snapped pictures of four air force F16 jets doing a flyover in formation. As they had passed, a female voice sang the national anthem. Hand on her heart, camera in the other, she kept her gaze on Evie’s Viper.
Once the anthem ended, the applause and cheers died down, and the pace car led the cars around the track, waiting for the honorary starter to wave the flag and begin the race. Soon, the escalating roar signaled that the race had started, and she used her Hasselblad to capture Evie. Having had the fifth best time at the two-lap trial, she was in a good position.
Evie advanced to third place after fifteen laps, which made the crowd yell, stomp, and applaud. The speaker almost howled the information. She shot the entire sequence, catching Evie’s first official triumph over the past frame by frame.
*
Evie grinned to herself when she passed Ollie West on the outside. She actually liked the guy, whose polite and low-key manners appealed to her more than those of the testosterone-filled God’s-gift-to-mankind fellows who sometimes dominated the sport.
Immediately after Ollie, she saw a chance, a gap between the second and third car, and took it. Her adrenaline spiked and she shifted gears for the straightaway past the main bleachers. The crowd was probably going nuts, but she couldn’t afford to consider them.
“Great, Evie. Keep that up and it’s in the can.” Ben’s voice cheered her on over the headset.
“Eye on the prize, Ben,” she muttered. “Where’s Ollie?”
“Right behind you, kiddo.”
“Gotcha.”
The next four laps were uneventful. She maintained her position, avoiding attacks from both Ollie and a few others who tried to move in. She refused to be bullied into surrendering a place on the podium. Preferably on the top of it.
She was chasing a green Ford when something happened. Suddenly the Ford tossed its rear to the left and skidded back and forth in a mad, shimmying movement.
“He blew a tire. Watch out, Evie!” Ben said in her ears.
“He’s not going to make it.” She gripped the wheel as they hit the bend. The Ford was out of control, pushed out toward the outer edge.
“Go low, Evie! Go low!”
She froze. The exact words that Ben had yelled at her two years ago made her hands freeze around the wheel. Time slowed and, in her mind, the car filled with smoke and she couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t see. There was nothing she could do. She was going to crash. Her skin would burn again and people would die.
“Go low, Evie. You’re free to push it. Evie!”
Evangeline. Blythe’s voice, the way it sounded when she woke her from one of her nightmares, echoed in the car. She snapped back into reality and realized she’d wavered for only half a second. The car wasn’t smoke-filled and the inner track was clear. Knowing that her competition behind her saw the opening too and wouldn’t hesitate to take advantage of it, she floored the accelerator.
*
Blythe saw the green Ford swivel, slamming into the barrier at the bend. At first she couldn’t see the Viper, but she heard Ben call out Evie’s name in frustration, with no immediate reaction from her. Her heart literally stopped before it beat wildly, the pulsations mo
stly noticeable in her throat. Please, please, please, Evangeline.
She barely finished her thought before the audience gave such a roaring, thunderous sound, it temporarily deafened her. The red Viper shot forward, past the skidding Ford with plenty of space between them, and assumed second place after a Chevrolet.
“Yes!” She heard Evie yell triumphantly over the headset. “How’s the guy in the Ford doing, Ben?”
“He’s come to a stop. He’s all right, kiddo.”
“Thank God.”
She took a few moments to regain her composure, not having anticipated how rattled she’d become. She suddenly understood that while focusing on Evie’s nightmares, her flashbacks, she’d totally missed her own fears. The incident had been potentially serious, but no way near what happened two years ago, and yet it was damn near impossible for her to regain her work mode.
As usual, holding on to her camera, the familiar feeling of viewing the world, no matter the target, through the lens, settled her. She watched the Viper, listened to the comments back and forth between Ben and Evie, and gradually her breathing slowed. She hadn’t realized that she’d hyperventilated until her fingers stopped prickling. The fact that she stood on a chair made such things kind of important to keep tabs on. Falling down and breaking her neck, not to mention her beloved camera, wasn’t an option.
With only twenty-some laps left of the 267, she had been up and down the chair more times than she could remember. Shooting the Viper from different distances, taking pictures of the crowd and the team, and the competitors, she was starting to develop a headache. In addition to the loud sound of the engines, the fans in the bleachers and the excited speaker added their own decibels to the mess.
Would she be able to tolerate this setting for years to come? If she and Evie were going to have a future together, she’d have to come to as many of these races as possible. She’d want to, for Evie. Granted, today had been harder than it would be later, since she’d been working. In the future, she’d insist on having a very comfortable chair in the pit with the team, not climb one a million times to carry out her assignment. She made a face, wondering, not for the first time, if she’d ever get used to watching Evie risk her life for the sake of entertainment. Evie’s love of the sport and for the driving, and her competitiveness, drove her to test the limits for herself and the Viper.
