No Holds Barred
Page 7
She was almost numb when Francesca kissed her on the cheek and placed a fresh carton of Green Tea ice cream and a spoon in her hand.
“I don’t want to be here if you screw this up. I’d be tempted to commit murder and I’m the only lawyer I know who could possibly get me off so it’s out of the question.”
Ella heard the door close and she still couldn’t move until the condensation from the carton made an audible plop on her shoe. She put the carton back into the freezer and when she turned around she saw her reflection in the window, the harsh overhead light stark in its assessment. Jake’s words came back to her. “I’ve never understood wanting to change something that was perfect already.” She’d entrusted him with so many secrets why couldn’t she trust his judgment? How many kinds of a fool could one person be?
Panic was what she did. Running was a comfort she sought whenever it happened. She’d been brave enough to let him see the real Ella but she hadn’t been brave enough to really see Jake. Love was about two people, not just one. This week had been about two people and she’d fallen into the old habit of only considering herself, running before she could be hurt.
There were those who would always argue that sex was nothing more than an itch to be scratched. She knew because she’d been one of them. With Jake it became the deepest connection two people could achieve, a safe place where brutal honesty could leave your soul naked and free.
Through his eyes she’d seen the woman she used to be and a glimpse of the woman she was capable of becoming. She’d missed trusting so much she wasn’t afraid to give, experiencing everything fully, not just the bits and pieces she’d allowed herself over the years. Happy Birthday Ella. He’d given her a gift she hadn’t been expecting.
There were three messages on her answering machine from Jake and two emails on her computer. She printed out the emails and couldn’t bear to erase his messages, got the ice cream back out of the freezer and proceeded to have a pity party she knew she didn’t deserve.
It was two in the morning when she dialed his number and his cell phone went straight to voice mail. “Hi Jake, I’m home and everything is fine. Well, not fine but I’m dealing with it. I loved our time together. I love you. I trust you.”
Her phone rang at six a.m. “You still owe me two days but we’ll tack it onto the rest of our lives. Your birthday present will be finished in two weeks, I’ll be there then.”
Chapter Seven
Ella decided tough love was the answer. Her soul was naked and free. Her body was a different matter. She walked around her apartment naked all weekend and forced herself to look into every mirror she passed. Nope, she still looked the same, gravity was a bitch. She put on soft music, hard rock, Celtic harps—mood music didn’t make it any better. Candlelight was a marginal difference as were two glasses of champagne with peaches.
She stood in her bedroom looking into the full-length mirror that never lied and punched the button on her answering machine, played back his messages and smiled, started to laugh and then she started to cry, ridiculously happy. Jake Truhorn’s eyes were a mirror if she had any sense she would never want to escape.
They hadn’t had phone sex for the past year. What they’d had was phone dating. They’d laughed over their lives, commiserated over their troubles and fallen in love long-distance. When he’d called her Ella my love it had seemed normal, playful, just something Jake would do. She’d gone into the week thinking of it as a pocket of pleasure she could remember, had waited for the signal to run, expected it and given in to the familiar pattern. It was time for a new pattern.
She went to the spa and had the works for a day—facial, manicure, pedicure, highlights, massage and makeup. It wasn’t for him, it was for her. She was totally, blissfully in love and she was going to experience every wonderful minute of it. Jake had seen her in her rawest form and she could still remember the look of absolute adoration in his eyes. All she’d had to do was show up.
She spent the entire hour before she saw him again smiling into every mirror she passed and if she really wanted to feel good, she played his phone messages back while she did it. Every time he said she owed him the rest of her life she started thinking about all of the experiences they’d yet to explore.
He sent a car, a black limo. He could have sent a rickshaw and she’d have gone even though the October mist would have kinked her hair into a thousand unruly curls. It wouldn’t have been anything he hadn’t seen before.
She arrived at Snap!, the same gallery where they’d met, wearing the same black dress but this time she’d added a red silk embroidered shawl with a fringe the exact color of the ties she’d used to bind him during their five days of unbridled-no-hold-barred-anything-goes sex. The doorman nodded and opened the door for her.
Ella’s three-inch heels clicked on the tiled entryway, echoing down the dimly lit narrow hallway into the main room. She stopped and caught her breath. His tux was classic black, his tie, the blood red of her shawl. He was smiling that Viking marauder you’re mine smile that made her crazy with lust, standing in the center of the softly lit room, a familiar determined glint lighting his blue-gray eyes. She’d missed him so much.
“Happy Birthday, Ella,” he said, his deep voice echoing through the room where she’d first seen Jake Truhorn.
The main room of the gallery where they stood was lined with paintings of her, reclining nude on the lovely antique chaise, lounging in a Roman bath, naked in a meadow, sunshine illuminating her like some woodland goddess. There were large ones, small ones, long narrow ones, all wearing the same smile. He’d gotten her mouth right. He’d gotten everything right and if he wanted to show them to the world, she couldn’t be prouder.
“They’re so beautiful.”
“I wanted you to have something to remember this birthday by. Something you could look at when I’m obsessed with a project and forget to tell you how much I love you.”
She hadn’t planned on crying. The truth was she rarely cried. Tears clogged her throat and she shook her head. “I see that in every painting here. No one has ever seen me the way you see me, Jake Truhorn. And no one has forced me to take a good look at myself in a very long time. How did you get so wise?”
“I wanted to be prepared when the chance of a lifetime showed up—so I paid attention.”
She looked up at him and wiped at her tears, smearing her perfectly applied makeup, smiling.
“You’re the chance of a lifetime, Jake. A year ago I thought you’d make a great birthday present. I got so much more. I’ve been waiting two weeks to tell you that I should have trusted my instincts and stayed with you in that hotel room. I shouldn’t have run this last time either. I was like an addict looking for any excuse to run, for the fix that would make me feel strong, safe.”
“And now?”
“The only thing that kept me from running back to you was that you wanted the two weeks. From now on, I’ll always be running to you, not away.” She stepped closer, put her arms around his neck and smiled. “I’ve never felt stronger and I can’t imagine a safer place to be than with you.”
“It’s about fucking time,” he growled before he kissed her, softly at first, then her Viking marauder showed up, grasping her as if she was still the prize he wanted.
Public sex was something they decided not to try but they barely made it back to her apartment. Just inside the door they were tearing each other’s clothes off and she had his braid undone, his long hair spilling over her as he lifted her onto his legs and took her against the door hard and fast, promising the second time would be better. She started laughing as he slipped out of her, remembering another time, another promise.
She led him naked to her bed, smiling at him, smiling into the mirrors they passed and drew him down, holding him as if she’d never let go as he slid into her. “You are so beautiful,” she said and he laughed and rose up on his elbows.
“Look me in the eye when you say that, Ella.”
About the Author
Paris Brando
n lives in the Midwest with her husband of thirty plus years and a Labrador who thinks she’s a lapdog. When not bent over a keyboard dreaming up new stories, she loves reading, consuming as much chocolate (preferably with a little chili pepper) as possible, surfing the history and science channels and dreaming about the day she finally has enough nerve to go white water rafting.
The author welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.
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