Without even turning the car off, Connor jumped out and ran to the front door, forgetting he’d left his keys in the luggage locked in the trunk. But the door was unlocked. “Tara?” he called out into the house.
“Right here, honey,” his wife called back. “What are you doing back so soon?”
“I was worried, I…” Connor stopped speaking and rushed to his wife, lifting Tara up off her feet. He held her like that for a few minutes, plastering her face with kisses before she finally tapped his shoulder to let her down.
“Nice to see you too.” She smiled.
Now that he knew she was safe, Connor returned somewhat back to his old self. “Why was the door unlocked? You’re alone, someone could get you!”
Tara smirked and told Connor, “Or I could get them.” She returned to her seat on a blanket before the roaring fire.
Connor was set to argue with Tara about the unlocked door, about not answering his calls, but when he looked down at her lying by the fire, he decided it didn’t matter.
“I’m just glad you’re alright.”
“Me too. S’more?” Tara offered. A mini-buffet of graham crackers, chocolates, and marshmallows lay beside her.
“Sure. Why not?”
Connor sat down beside his wife and picked up a graham cracker. He didn’t think Candace ate s’mores.
*****
Tara had cleaned up well enough by the time Connor burst into the house, almost unrecognizable in his fervor. It was one of the few times she’d seen him in such a state. If he thought anything was suspicious he didn’t mention it. In fact, she found her husband in a more playful mood than she’d ever thought possible.
They fed each other warm, sticky bits of the s’mores, trading bites of the sweets. Tara licked the remaining chocolate from Connor’s fingers, and that was all it took to set him off.
He usually had an aversion to being intimate anywhere but their bed, but Connor attacked her with an urgency that precluded moving anywhere but from that spot on the floor before the fire. At first Connor explored her body with an urgency to which she responded with zeal. They made frenzied love, insensate to anything but each other’s bodies, grasping and clutching at each other desperately. That fire could not burn indefinitely, however, and finally, sitting on his lap, face-to-face, she felt her husband give in and climax within her. Connor’s arms tensed around her, needing something to hold onto. Tara kissed him again and again, soft kisses without such an urgent need, on his lips, his jaw, and his neck.
Later, once he’d recovered, Connor made love to her again. This time they found a slower, gentler rhythm. The comfortable pace of partners familiar with each other, where the slightest alteration in position and in pressure could elicit a gasp. Tara didn’t think she would come again- she was content to enjoy their almost idle play with one another’s body- but she was wrong. Slowly, she could feel herself growing warmer and warmer as Connor filled her again and again until she was aware of every slow thrust, every inch of him; Tara imagined she could count his heart beat through the pulsing member inside her. Gradually the pleasure became almost too much to bear, but Tara fought against that impulse to pull away and rest and pulled Connor into her with a greater intensity until, finally, it hit her. She trembled uncontrollably, shaking as each orgasm hit her, unable to breathe or do anything until the waves passed. And still Connor thrust into her…
Once Tara could move again she pushed against her husband’s chest. “Babe, stop. I can’t take anymore. Not right now.”
Connor obeyed and fell to Tara’s side. He kissed her on the cheek and said, “I’m glad I played hooky today.”
*****
He ended up extending his return trip home to a week, which became a second honeymoon of sorts. Connor made breakfast each morning, but let the dishes pile up in the sink whenever Tara decided to tease him with the bottle of syrup. It was a good thing he was so fit, and that they were now on an exercise regimen, because he undoubtedly doubled his intake of calories with each serving of Tara.
The bruise on her side escaped notice. Or rather, suspicion; Connor noted the ochre bump and kissed Tara there. “Did I hurt you? I’m sorry.” He apologized with more kisses on the other minor wounds he actually had inflicted on her.
Tara took him to town occasionally, showing him the book shops and a few other places she’d found before his return. After finding out he’d gone to the Writer’s Bar in Singapore (although not who he had met there) Tara bought an old copy of Pablo Neruda’s poems and read to Connor:
“Don't go far off, not even for a day, because --
because -- I don't know how to say it: a day is long
and I will be waiting for you…”
A full month after they’d met her, Tara and Connor finally followed Alice’s advice and hiked to the top of the Knob. They made love again there, like they did everywhere, at the top of the cliff, 400 feet high and looking over the town.
They went to the market occasionally too, but usually considered foods less for their nutritional value than for their potential use as an object of sensuality.
Tara knew this flicker of passion couldn’t last. Eventually Connor would have to return to Singapore, to his work, but she planned to enjoy it while it lasted. Besides, one morning, after Connor, who inevitably woke up before Tara, again cooked her breakfast, and brought it to her in bed-she even got to eat some of the food this time, before they had sex!- she realized the enduring part of their relationship: Connor took care of her. That was how he cared for her. He may not buy roses, but he did put a roof over her head, and while he didn’t write love poems, he always remembered to call her when he was away. Connor was perhaps not as passionate as she would like, but his love would never fade away. Instead, it would always be there burning gently, whenever she came looking for it.
And so, flighty Tara began to take care of Connor. She washed the dishes each morning, filled out the change of address forms, and took as much of the workload from him as she could. Without taking all the responsibility for them both she noticed he began to soften, become less tense with concern. Connor even suggested they repaint the house, and let Tara pick the colors.
She finally settled on a coral pink with sea green accents. To her surprise, Connor agreed with enthusiasm. Working only together they carefully scraped the already flaking paint from the house’s exterior, preparing it for its new face. Connor decided Tara could paint the railing and details on the lower level, and he would begin at the most difficult portion, the wooden shingles up on the roof. Standing on the lawn, Connor told Tara, “I think it will probably be another month before we finish. You sure about this?”
In reply, Tara flicked the tip of her brush at Connor, splattering him with dots of coral pink. Clenching her eyebrows in mock concentration she said, “Well, it doesn’t look that good on you, but I think it’s wearable on the house.”
That’s when Connor grabbed his roller and dripped paint after her all the way up the porch. Not only did they delay their start another half-afternoon but he ruined two perfectly good sets of clothes and a good portion of the porch with the paint.
“I think I’m in the wrong career. I should be an artist.” Connor told Tara. “I’m especially fond of this piece here.” He motioned to an outline he’d drawn around his wife on the porch.
Tara thumbed a still-drying layer of paint on her stomach, succeeding only in smearing it. “You don’t always get to paint nudes.”
Connor feigned an accent. “But the body, it is my canvas.”
“That was terrible! Were you trying to be French?”
“Maybe. Anyhow, let’s get back to work.”
*****
Tara found it pleasant to be in the sun all day. She began in the morning and watched as, by the time evening fell, small sections of the house slowly but steadily took on color. Like a girl who took too long to blush.
Even though she tried very hard not to, she thought about Marcus often while she worked and wondered h
ow long she was going to be able to keep her secret from Connor. So far, he had no idea that anything had happened to her and no clue of the creature that she was slowly but surely becoming. She knew he attributed her racing heartbeat to their increased sexual activity, but there was no way to keep him believing that indefinitely. She wondered if, by refusing to behave like a vampire, she had somehow arrested or slowed up the process. Thank goodness Connor had already thought her teeth looked “fangy”. That one would have been a little hard to explain. So far, she had only had minor urges for blood that she had been able to squash, like a long-sober alcoholic who occasionally wanted a drink but was able to resist. She also wondered how many others there were in the world like her, and how,or if, they ever managed to find each other. Did they have yearly conventions or something? Was there a mailing list for a newsletter? Sometimes, a part of her thought it would be nice if Marcus was still around, if only to answer her questions. But it wasn’t so urgent that she regretted putting that bullet in him. The bastard.
The day before Conner was to leave to finish the job in Singapore, she was carefully applying a second layer of green to the rails surrounding the porch. Somewhere upstairs, Connor was fiddling around the attic, rigging up some way to get to the roof and paint it, without killing himself. Tara hummed a wordless melody to herself as she painted, bobbing her head in time to the simple rhythm. As she was about to finish up,Connor came out the screen door. She smiled, thinking he came down to call for a “lunch” break, when she saw that he had something in his arms. Not his paintbrush, or roller, but a painting
Tara felt queasy. “Did you decide to actually become an artist?”
“Nope. I found this up in the attic! I bet there’s some kind of a story behind it. Do you want to hang it in the house?” Connor held up the frame, which contained a portrait of a beautiful and stern-faced young woman.
Lust and Mistrust Trilogy Page 6
