Where the Lotus Flowers Grow

by MK Schiller

  “Hannah had Down Syndrome. My mother thought it was a curse, which reflected badly on her. When I was younger, I blamed Hannah for our mother leaving. I never said anything, but I wasn’t the most patient sister. I wish to God I appreciated her when she was alive. Papa did. He said Hannah’s extra chromosome came from the angels because she was too good to get what everyone else got. I never understood it at the time, but looking back, I realize she had the biggest heart in the smallest package.”

  “She knew you loved her, Mary. It was enough for her. Let it be enough for you.”

  He stood and placed a rock on each grave. I recognized them as the flat rocks that decorated the hotel entrance.

  “What are you doing?”

  “It’s a Jewish tradition.”

  “You’re Jewish?”

  He nodded. “I’m not exactly practicing, but yeah, my mum was Jewish, so I’m Jewish. Is that a problem?”

  I shook my head, smiling. “Not for me.”

  “Good.”

  “Why rocks, though?”

  “I’m not sure what the real context is. Mum said it was because rocks are solid and forever, like people. The deceased never really die. Not when they loved someone. You see them in the people they left behind. I didn’t know Hannah or your papa or your dadima, but I feel as though I do. Not just because you told me about them. They exist in you, Mary. You honor their memory.”

  Tears dripped down my face as I touched the rocks. I didn’t have the right words to show how much I appreciated this beautiful man.

  “Liam, that’s lovely.”

  “Do you want more time, sweetheart? I can wait in the car if you’d like some privacy.”

  I squeezed his hand. “I’m ready to move on.”

  My answer had more than one meaning.

  Chapter 26

  Liam

  Mumbai was spectacular buildings and bustling crowds, whereas Goa was tropical breezes and sand. The Wilshire Goa sat right on the beach, shining like a polished majestic jewel. The grounds, all fifty-five acres, were immaculate. It was hard to believe this bright blue water belonged to the same Arabian Sea that surrounded Mumbai. Everywhere I looked, there was a spectacular view. But the greatest sight by far was Mary’s reaction as she took it all in.

  “Is this real?” she asked, almost to herself.

  “It is.”

  I pulled her close while the bellman retrieved our luggage from the car. We entered the sun-drenched atrium of the facility.

  “It’s amazing.”

  “Yes, gorgeous.” I wasn’t referring to Goa. I was talking about the girl who stood next to me.

  The chime of church bells drew her attention.

  “Do you know when the last service is?” she asked the bellman.

  “Madam, they only have one service every Sunday. It just let out.”

  “Thank you.”

  The mention of next Sunday filled me with cold dread. I remembered what else Goa was. Goa was goodbye.

  I shoved the thought away. We had another week, and a paradise to spend it in. That was enough for me. It had to be enough. I managed a wide smile as we walked into the impressive lobby, which reeked of elegance and class mixed with just the right amount of Zen.

  I’d changed the booking to a private garden villa overlooking the beach. She hesitated as she walked into the room, as if the breeze coming through the veranda might turn into a powerful wind and blow her back outside. I placed my hand firmly on her lower back.

  Truthfully, I really didn’t have to come to Goa. In Jaipur, I needed to see if anything could be done to salvage our property. In Mumbai, I wanted to check out a new space for another hotel. Here, in Goa, our profits soared and our ratings matched. There wasn’t much for me to do. I just had to see the property for myself. It impressed the hell out of me. Now, with her here, I planned to take advantage of my first real holiday.

  “Is all of this for us?” she asked, her eyes widening as she took it in. It had been designed so the interior blended with the outdoors. Because we were on a hill, it resembled a luxury tree house.

  “All for us, Lotus Girl.”

  “This pool. Do we share it?”

  “No, it’s called a plunge pool. It’s for our use only. There are several much larger community pools, not to mention the entire Arabian Sea is our backyard, but this one…this is all ours. There’s an outdoor shower, too. Because the trees surround it, no one will see us if we decide to go without our skivvies.”

  She laughed, a throaty, good-hearted laugh. “It’s surprising how different all the properties are.”

  I undid my cufflinks and unbuttoned my shirt. She watched me.

  “A lot of that is location.” I poured out two glasses of madeira. “You build a hotel to suit the location, not the other way around. The architecture should always fit the atmosphere. That’s what separates luxury from everyday accommodations. We are not a one-size-fits-all operation. Of course, there are times when you end up missing the mark, like Jaipur. Anyway, you don’t really want to hear all this.”

  “No, it’s interesting.”

  Maybe it was interesting, but the last thing I wanted to think about was work. “I took the week off. No conference calls or meetings or anything. Except for touring the facilities, I plan to spend this week with you.”

  “That’s probably the best present you could have gotten me.”

  “What shall we do first? Go swimming? Or we could go snorkeling or sailing or take a tour of the old Portuguese churches. What’s your wish, Miss Costa?”

  “Those are a lot of choices.”

  “Wait, do you know how to swim?”

  “Yes. I’ll warn you I haven’t been in a while, so I might not be able to keep up with you.”

  “Keep up with me?” I scrounged around my luggage for my trunks.

  “I’ve seen you swim. Back in Jaipur. You swam every morning. Probably over a hundred laps at least.”

  I turned and stared at her. “You were watching me.”

  She took in a sharp breath. I let myself look at her. Look at her exposed shapely legs in the shorts she’d worn. Her rounded breasts, rising and falling, in the black tank top. The way the breeze coming through the open sliding door played with her hair. The sexy pout of her mouth as she took slow steps toward me.

  “Perhaps we don’t go swimming just yet…sir.”

  Maybe it was because she’d opened the blinds all the way for me. Maybe because we’d struggled with our emotions and feelings for each other until we reached this point of comfort. Maybe it was the lure of this location, the taste of salt in the air, the bottle of wine we’d shared on the plane. But I didn’t think it was any of those things. The way our bodies reacted to each other was a different animal entirely. I was a hungry man craving a girl with a need so fierce it should have frightened me. Yet, it didn’t.

  I unbuckled my belt. It hit the solid wood floor loud enough to echo. “I promise I’ll be gentle one of these times,” I said, “but right now is not the time.”

  “I don’t want gentle either.” She unbuttoned my trousers.

  Our lips crushed, hands roamed, and some clothes were shed while others were ripped. I threw her onto the bed. My teeth grazed her nipples. She left deep scratches on my back. I held her wrists down, my forehead against hers. I kissed her as tenderly as I could before my dick strained for satisfaction. Yet, I didn’t let it rule me. I ran my nose down her neck to inhale her spicy vanilla scent. I took the wine glass and poured fine madeira across her breasts. She giggled, tugging on my hair. I swirled my tongue across her body until I’d gotten good and drunk on madeira and Mary Costa.

  “Liam…” My name stretched, a soft humming whisper. She said it slowly and seductively, her fingers raking through my hair.

  “What’s wrong, love? Want some wine?”

  Although she’d turned me back into a horny teenager, I had the experience of a seasoned lover. I planned to utilize al
l my techniques to please her. To worship her like the goddess she was. Her mouth parted. I traced the outline of her lips. She sucked on my finger.

  Oh, fuck.

  I shifted up. I trailed my hands down, my fingertips following the curve of her voluptuous body. She squirmed beneath my touch, begging me for more. Grasping her hips, I spun her around. She gripped the sheets with tight fists as I slowly followed the path of her spine with my tongue. The swell of her arse, the arc of her hips, and the narrowness of her waist led to a nicely defined dip on her lower back. I did everything with a shaking control on the verge of chaos. Finally, I could hold back no more. I knocked over a lamp fumbling for my wallet. Damn fucking condom.

  My attempts were clumsy, but I managed to get it on.

  “On your knees.”

  I bent over her, a possessed animal desperate for his prey. We fucked with the frenzy of rabbits and the ferocity of lions. She leaned her back into my chest. My arm was beneath her breasts. She reached her arm up and caressed my cheek. I wanted to come, but even more, I wanted to see her face when I made her come. To see the expression where she was the least guarded and she belonged to me completely. I flipped her. Then I entered her again, deeper this time.

  Her warmth closed around me. Her hips bucked, meeting each of my thrusts. Mary closed her eyes and parted her mouth, her moans turning to grunts. She curled her hand around my bicep, her fingers pressing into my skin. When she let go, it was impossible not to follow. In the harsh breaths of the aftermath, I held her close, the wild beats of our hearts merging. We were tangled limbs bathed in sweat and fine Portuguese wine.

  I cupped the back of her head and kissed her softy. “I have to paint. I have to paint you. I have to paint you right now.”

  I figured she’d tell me I was mad. Maybe I was. How could I explain my need to fill a blank canvas was similar to my need for her? How I wanted to memorialize with detailed strokes all the delicious lines and curves I’d touched and tasted. But I didn’t need to rationalize it.

  “Where can we buy paint?” she asked with a bright smile.

  I laughed, feeling incredibly lucky this girl understood me in a way I’d never been understood. I rang the concierge, requesting an assortment of items. He delivered in less than an hour, just enough time for us to use the outside shower and go for a quick dip in the plunge pool.

  I tipped him generously, grateful he’d managed to find most of them. A few fine artist’s brushes of various sizes, a proper canvas, and a standard set of acrylics paints.

  “Take off your robe,” I said.

  She looked unsure.

  “This is for me only, Mary. No one else will ever see it. I promise you.”

  She undid the knot. I slipped the thick white robe off her shoulder. It landed in a puddle at her feet. The candles cast shadows and gave the room a soft glow.

  “This might take a while, so I asked the concierge to get you something to pass the time.” I handed her the paperback novel. I flipped on the light on the nightstand.

  She smiled. “A highlander romance. It’s perfect.”

  “Hope you haven’t read that one.”

  “No.”

  I positioned her on her belly. She crossed one leg over the other, an incredibly feminine pose I rather liked. I brushed her long wet hair to the side so it grazed just one of her shoulders. I adjusted her arm so she was up on her elbows.

  I kissed her temple. “Thank you.” There were no other words for my appreciation at the reawakening of a dead desire.

  “Liam, no one has ever looked at me the way you look at me. I’m afraid you see something that doesn’t exist.”

  I tried not to be irritated that she couldn’t recognize her own beauty. Stroking her hair, I said, “You have no idea how breathtaking you are. But I’m not going tell you. I’ll do my best to show you. You need to be still for me. Understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I slapped her ass playfully. “Let’s begin.”

  Scriabin’s “The Poem of Ecstasy” harmonized with the lapping surf coming through the open window. The piece sounded even more implicit…erotic tonight. There was no easel, but I covered a table with towels. I used a large piece of cardboard to palette my paints. I created a makeshift easel balancing the canvas against a vase. I doled out big blobs of rich, thick colors full of possibilities. Dipping the brush in the glass tumbler filled with water, I began.

  The brush in my hand felt right, as if it had been waiting for me to reclaim it. I had no proper scraper to move and mix the paint, so I used my fingers, a business card, and a butter knife to give life to the image in my head. I flicked water on the canvas to dilute the hues when needed. The tools were rudimentary, but they worked.

  I looked at the girl who had laid herself out for me. The one who made me question all the things I took for granted. Titan had his Venus. Manet had his Olympia. Dali had his Gala. And I had my Mary. I took liberties painting her with a cool blue tone surrounded by bright tangerine light.

  When I had finished, the wax candles had burned down to liquid pools, barely holding up their wicks. Every classical piece on my iPhone had played twice. My fingers cramped. I was exhausted and exhilarated.

  She had maintained her posture the whole time, although I could see her muscles strain, felt her need to stretch her limbs and shift her position. “I’m done, baby.”

  She collapsed onto the bed.

  I sat on the edge of the mattress and ordered room service, holding the phone in one hand and rubbing her back with the other.

  “You’re stiff.” She had to be in pain.

  “A little. May I see the painting?”

  “Let me take care of you first.” My fingers kneaded into her warm, dark flesh until her knots released.

  She made a noise somewhere between a sigh and a moan, a definite signal of contentment. “Better?” I asked.

  “So much better.”

  The food arrived. We sat on the bed, feasting on oysters, crab, and lobster. We sipped vintage port. I fed her fat, juicy strawberries dipped in spiced dark chocolate.

  We stacked all the empty plates back on the room service cart, and I took it down to the kitchen so she wouldn’t be distracted. When I returned, Mary walked with slow steps toward the table where the canvas lay drying. She turned her head back to me, asking for my permission. I nodded, although I was nervous about her reaction.

  I had planned to paint some stars around her. But my hands didn’t always follow the plans of my head. The stars had become much larger and rounder, almost translucent, with flecks of deep color inside them. Instead of a starry sky, I’d painted a landscape of moonstones around her, each one emerging like bubbles from a field of lotus flowers. Her figure floated above them, her body lined in black and colored with cerulean blue number seventeen.

  She gasped, her hand flying to her neck. She blinked her eyes, bending closer for inspection. Do you see the moonstones, Mary? If I had one right now, I’d give it to her.

  “I didn’t expect it to be so detailed. It’s different from your sketches.”

  “I always enjoyed sketching, but painting is my passion.”

  “It’s beautiful.” She swallowed, her voice thick with emotion. “Do you really see me this way?”

  “It’s the way I see you, and it’s also the way you are.”

  She hugged me. I picked her up and carried her back to bed. This time when we made love, it was slower.

  “I don’t think I ever want to leave this room, Liam,” she whispered right before we drifted to sleep.

  I don’t think I ever want to leave you, Mary.

  Chapter 27

  Mary

  We did eventually leave the room. We’d had a few solitary days where we explored nothing but each other’s bodies. We napped on a hammock in the afternoons. I wouldn’t think something made out of rope would be comfortable, but it was the best sleep I
ever had.

  But the sea called to us. Liam and I walked the sandy shores of Baga Beach, our feet skimming the ocean. He splashed me playfully. I jumped in his arms when I saw a crab. He tossed me into the water, drenching my sundress. He kicked up sand as he ran off. I chased after him. He let me catch up.

  We fit the image of tourists well. I wore a floppy sunhat and a bright sarong with yellow and pink paisleys. He dressed in a casual white linen shirt, open at the collar, and long khaki shorts. His skin had turned a golden bronze, adding even more definition to his sinewy muscles. His hair was disheveled. The dark stubble from not shaving for two days accented his strong jawline. How did Liam make being messy so beautiful? We had made it to the marketplace before his palm brushed against my backside. He gave me a look that spoke volumes. We headed straight back to the room.

  We sat at one of the beach restaurants drinking from straws pierced into fresh green coconuts. I read him passages from my highlander novel. Then he crooked his finger. I leaned closer to him, inhaling his clean, spicy, masculine scent. He whispered to me, his voice tinted with an imitation of a Scottish brogue. “You’re a fine bonny lass, ye are. I aim tae have me way with yee.” Heat flushed my face as desire filled my belly. We retired to the room.

  In the mornings, he’d swim in the plunge pool. I treaded water in more ways than one. I dressed in a bikini for him in the privacy of the veranda. We didn’t make it to the room. We had sex right in the pool.

  Today though, there was no turning back. We were in the middle of the sea on a private chartered boat.

  “You ready, Mary?” he asked, checking the snaps on my life vest for the third time.

  “Are we really going to ride a motorbike across the Arabian Sea?”

  His excited laugh startled the birds resting on the ship’s ledge. “It’s called a jet ski.”

  “The word ‘jet’ doesn’t make me feel any better.”

  He placed his hands on my shoulder, his gaze turning serious. “I’ll keep you safe.”