Violet Among The Roses

by Cricket Starr

  His plaintive tone must have appeased her. Aphrodite shook her head. “Very well, Narcissus, I’ll do this. I’ll make certain she believes you. She’s sure to be attracted to you…” Here Aphrodite gave him a long lascivious look that left his new skin heated in a full-blown blush. “I’ll just see to it that she’s inclined to act on that attraction. Anything else will be left up to you, but if you need any inspiration, just call me.”

  She paused then gave him a little mischievous smile. “Oh, and one more thing…” Reaching for him, she grasped his privates and gave them a gentle squeeze. The resulting hardness in his penis made him gasp aloud. When she released him, the stiffness fled and he was left with a mild throbbing along his shaft and in his balls.

  “You’ll have no trouble keeping that at attention tonight or tomorrow.” She winked. “Let’s just say that you’ll be making up for the last three thousand years.”

  Barely able to focus on her words, Narcissus turned to stare at Violet, still oblivious to them in spite of their conversation. Apparently Aphrodite had shielded them from view. The sight of Violet’s forlorn figure sent a rush of longing through him, some of it lingering in his still tingling rod, which jerked under his simple robe.

  As if understanding she no longer held his attention, Aphrodite threw up her hands. “Go now and learn about love, Narcissus. Make my help worthwhile.”

  Narcissus bent to one knee and clasped her perfect hand. “Thank you, Goddess, for everything.”

  Smiling, she stepped back. The wind came up again and whirled around her form, catching her hair and gown in its excitement. Leaves and dust blew into a cloud that hid her from view, and when it dispersed she was gone.

  * * * * *

  “Violet?”

  The soft-spoken sound of her name drew Violet’s attention into the present, away from the desolation of her life. She was in the park, her favorite place in the world, the place she most often came when life was bleakest.

  No one knew she was here. How would someone know her name? Through her tears, she blinked, trying to make sense of the man standing before her. The first things she saw were warm brown eyes, framed by lush black lashes, the kind of lashes a woman would die to have—and usually showed up on her younger brother. On this man, they looked good.

  The rest of his face wasn’t bad either. Perfect cheeks, thick, soft lips, a nose long and straight and prominent enough to keep him from looking feminine. A nice face, handsome.

  The expression in his beautiful eyes was one of sweet anxiety. What was that handsome face doing, staring into hers with such impassioned concern? And how did this gorgeous man know her name?

  She widened her field of vision to take in the rest of him, and shock overcame the rest of her questions. The man was practically naked! A thin skirt of fabric was wrapped around his waist, providing him with a minimum of modesty, one long triangle rising to partially cover his well-built chest. Barefoot, bare-armed, and practically bare-chested—it was mid-fall, and she shouldn’t even be out here without a coat. Just looking at him gave her a chill.

  Violet pointed to what constituted his clothing. “Aren’t you cold?”

  He blinked at her and glanced down. Goose bumps formed on his exposed skin and he rubbed one finger along them. A quiet laugh escaped him. “I guess I am. It’s been so long since I had a body, I didn’t recognize the sensation.” To her dismay, he took a seat on the bench next to her.

  So long since he had a body? Violet edged away from him. Clearly the man wasn’t all there… although the part present certainly was impressive. “What do you want?”

  He smiled revealing perfect teeth, so white they gleamed even in the soft twilight. “I wanted to talk to you, Violet.”

  “Do I know you?”

  His smile became hesitant. “In a way. You call me Nick.”

  Violet’s brow wrinkled in confusion. Nick? Who did she know named Nick? No one, no one at all. It was a pet name she’d always liked. Surely she would remember someone who carried that name. She ran her eyes along his chest again.

  Surely she would remember a man who looked like this!

  On the other hand…wait a minute, that’s what she called the…she glanced over at the middle of the garden, spied the empty pedestal, and her jaw dropped.

  Fear sending tiny trembles along her spine, she returned her stare to the man sitting next to her.

  The half-naked man sitting next to her.

  The half-naked man who resembled, and was dressed like, her favorite statue.

  He seemed to read her expression, understand what was wrong. “Yes, Violet. That’s where I was.” His voice was soft, soothing. It was all she could do to resist being carried away by it—but resist she did.

  He glanced back at the fountain. “I was there a long time. You were the only one who ever talked to me.”

  “What—why—how?”

  “How is it I’m not a statue? I asked the goddess Aphrodite to turn me into a real man. She did it, but only for a few hours. Until two days from now.” A look of sadness crossed his face. “Then I must return.”

  “Why?” She seemed to be having trouble with anything other than one-word questions. Fortunately Nick wasn’t having trouble understanding her.

  “Why did I want to become real? That’s a little hard to explain.” He sighed. “The goddess and I go way back. Aphrodite is the embodiment of physical love, and I’m the symbol of self-absorption. When I was a young, untried youth, one of her favorite nymphs fell in love with me. She followed me everywhere and tried to seduce me, but I wouldn’t give her what she wanted. Finally she got fed up and complained to the goddess, who spoke with her son. She got Eros to hit me with an arrow just as I was passing a smooth pond.”

  She wasn’t all that familiar with Greek mythology, but Violet had heard this story and knew what happened next. For once she was able to put a sentence together. “You saw your reflection and fell in love with yourself, thinking it was another person.”

  If anything the blush on his cheeks made him look more adorable. It was all Violet could do to resist patting his reddened face.

  “I spent every minute I could gazing at myself, obsessed with my own reflection. Eventually I became ill, unwilling to leave the pond long enough to eat or rest. Even as I wasted away, I couldn’t resist wanting what I couldn’t have. I died there, the thing I loved best just outside my reach.”

  A wave of sympathy passed through Violet, and she did reach for and take his hand. Nick’s eyes widened at her touch and he stared in wonder at their clasped hands until Violet realized what she was doing and pulled away.

  Regret colored his face as he continued his story. “After I died, my spirit became caught up in the world of the gods, and I existed as a disembodied spirit among them. I never gave them the reverence they felt they were entitled to—after the dirty trick played on me, why should I? They may be the embodiment of human emotions and appetites, but that didn’t make them true gods, not to me.

  “Take Aphrodite, for example. A long time ago the goddess told me that if I ever experienced sex, I’d end up worshiping her. So long as I didn’t have a body there wasn’t much chance of that, so I didn’t take it seriously. I even told her that.”

  He shook his head, as if disgusted at his own stupidity at tweaking the nose of a powerful immortal being. “But then she inspired a sculptor to carve my statue so perfectly that the marble actually captured my spirit and made me part of the physical world again. I was able to see, hear, and, to some extent, feel. And since I could see and feel, I learned to want.”

  Nick reached out a tentative hand and lightly stroked the back of hers. Violet wanted to pull it away, but before she could, he withdrew. She stared at the place he touched, still feeling that gentle contact, almost bereft that it was gone.

  Lifting her head, she stared into his eyes and once more fell under the spell of those warm brown orbs.

  “Want what?”

  “What do I want? I told you, I wanted
to speak to you.” He hesitated. “You were hurting, I wanted to help. Make you feel better.”

  “How?”

  He reached out to her, clasping her upper arms and pulling her toward him. “By loving you, sweet Violet.”

  Sensibility snapped back in the instant. Violet placed a hand in the center of his chest, ignoring the odd thrill the contact brought her. Finally, she managed to find her tongue.

  “So, let me get this straight. You are the statue I’ve been calling Nick, the one from the fountain. You’re alive because you asked a goddess, Afrodady, to make you human, so you could make me feel better. By loving me.”

  “Aphrodite.”

  “What?”

  “A-phro-di-te,” he said, enunciating each syllable carefully. “That’s the goddess’ name. You don’t want to get that wrong, she’s easily riled. Otherwise, I think you have it.”

  “Right.” It was such a shame. He was such a nice looking mental patient. “I have to be going now.”

  He blinked, realization showed in his face. “You don’t believe me?”

  Avoiding the hurt look he was giving her, Violet stood, prepared to run if necessary. For the first time she realized how quiet the park was. No one was about but the pair of them.

  “Listen, I’m sure someone will come get you soon. If you like, I’ll call them when I get home.” Even if he didn’t like, she was going to call the authorities. She backed down the path, wary of pursuit.

  He made no move toward her. “Charlie…that was your cat.”

  “What?” Oh great, I’m back to single-word sentences again.

  “Your cat,” he continued. “Charlie. He ran away two weeks ago and was hit by a car. It made you cry.”

  She took her time, allowed the words to form slowly. “How did you know about that? I haven’t told anyone…”

  “You told me. You came to the fountain and whispered it to me.” The eyes he raised to her were clear, intelligent, no sign of lunacy. “You’ve always done that, since you were a child, come to me and told me your secrets, what was right and wrong in your life. You told me all the things you didn’t dare tell another.”

  She froze on the spot. Glancing behind her, she once again took in the empty pedestal of the fountain. Could it be? He was right, she had told the statue her troubles, most recently the one about Charlie’s death. She hadn’t worked her way up to telling him about Gary. That was one of the reasons she was here tonight.

  Nick rose from the bench and took a step toward her. “I’m not going to hurt you, Violet. All I want is to help.”

  “Help how?” At last some improvement—at least that was two words.

  “By showing you love. The men you’ve been with, they haven’t done that.”

  Outraged, Violet stood her ground. “How do you know that?”

  He reached out, grabbed her hand. Pulling her to him, he traced the edge of her face. His touch made her uncertain, giddy, and the sensation disarmed her indignation.

  “I know, Violet. I know because you’d never have stayed with someone like Gary if you’d ever known true passion.”

  Breathless, she tried to defend herself. “What do you know about Gary?”

  “Enough. I’ve been here when you’ve met him, when he’s talked to you. I heard what happened between you.” One of his arms snaked across her back, pulling her close to him. “Take me home with you. I promise I’ll show you what you’ve been missing.” His voice was a dark sensual purr.

  Caught between common sense and the rest of her senses, Violet struggled with what to do. Part of her believed Nick, or at least believed his claim that he’d make her forget Gary. Just having Nick’s arm around her was making it hard to picture Gary’s face.

  The other part told her that she’d be crazy to invite a total stranger home and that they didn’t get much stranger than Nick, a man claiming to be a statue who’d come alive through the actions of a Greek goddess.

  She waited so long to make up her mind that Nick had the opportunity to lean forward, his lips aiming for hers. Violet felt the touch of those soft lips on her own, his perfect tongue seeking the opening to her mouth with shy confidence, slipping silky smooth along her teeth. She responded in a way she couldn’t remember ever doing before, her mouth softening under the gentle plying of his, her tongue meeting his, thrust for thrust in simple abandon.

  It wasn’t the kiss of a stranger. He kissed her as if he had a right to it, as if they’d kissed thousands of times in the past, so well did his lips know hers. Every argument she had came undone in the midst of that gentle kiss.

  Kiss? No, it wasn’t just a kiss, certainly unlike any kiss she’d ever known. It was less a meeting of lips than a reunion of two souls who’d once been ripped apart and who’d now found each other at last. It was the sweetest and most passionate thing she’d ever experienced. She pulled back from him and saw in his wide dark-rimmed eyes the same wonder.

  The sky overhead seemed to reflect her own mixed emotions, taking the debate within her into its charge. In just in the short time they’d been kissing, clouds had formed in the clear sky, dark and ominous. With a flash of light and answering rumble, the darkened heavens opened up and within moments rain drenched the area, soaking through Violet’s sweatshirt and what little clothing Nick wore.

  She shuddered violently from the sudden cold.

  Or was it Nick’s kiss?

  Ignoring the little voice that said it was more the latter than the former, Violet grabbed his hand. She peered at him through the hair dripping into her face. “I guess you better come home with me.”

  Chapter Three

  Violet lived in a house just a couple of blocks from the park. Small, with red brick siding, a deep front porch, and white picket fence, it held a pair of bedrooms, single bath, living room with attached dining area, and kitchen. Inherited from her folks, the place was warm and cozy, and moreover, it was dry.

  After rushing through the rain, home looked even better than usual. With an uncharacteristic unconcern about allowing a stranger into her home, Violet opened the door and let them both inside, bolting the lock against the rain and dark behind them.

  Nick behaved as if he’d never been inside a house before. Violet watched as he wandered around the place, examining even the most commonplace twenty-first century fixtures with wonder. When she turned the lights on, he startled and stared, as if magic lived in the walls and the living room lamps.

  If he wasn’t a man from another century, he certainly knew how to behave like one. Nick loved the switch that controlled the wall outlets, flicking it on and off with a fascination she found disturbing. When he was done with the lights, he tried the furniture in the room, sitting on the chairs and the coffee table. He tested the soft cushions on the couch, and checked out the bookcase and its books with positive glee.

  As she watched him explore the room’s furnishings, Violet also found it disturbing how his clothes molded to his body when wet. The man was altogether too good-looking and the sight of him stirred up senses she’d learned to ignore living with Gary.

  Finally she couldn’t take it any longer. “You need something dry,” she said and fled for her bedroom. Peeling her own rain-soaked clothing off and tossing them into a corner, she pulled on her heavy, dark-blue corduroy robe, luxuriating in its warmth. In spite of the robe’s comfort she was shivering, from the rain, or shock—which she couldn’t tell.

  Violet sat on the bed, wondering what to do. A deep shudder ran through her. She needed a warm bath, but she couldn’t let Nick run around in his wet clothes and catch cold. First she needed to find something for him to wear.

  Searching through the clothes Gary had left, she found a pair of boxers and a large T-shirt. The men were of a similar size, if not shape; they would fit Nick.

  She turned to find that he, too, had decided his wet clothing was a problem. Nick stood in the doorway, his sodden outfit no longer clinging to his body, but dangling from one hand. “It was uncomfortable,” he explained,
checking out her robe with obvious interest.

  Oh…my…goodness. The sculptor responsible for Nick’s form had been a genius with a wonderful imagination. Naked, the former man of stone was absolutely gorgeous, all long molded muscles and smooth skin. And his privates!

  Wow. It really had been a shame to cover those with such an ugly garment. For a moment Violet hefted Gary’s hideous cast-off boxer shorts and questioned why she wanted to do just that.

  Nope. That was definitely going in the wrong direction. “Here.” Violet shoved the clothes into his arms before she could allow herself any further thoughts on the matter. What was wrong with her, contemplating giving the man run of her house in all his nude glory?

  He examined her offering with no little disdain, holding up the boxers. His nose wrinkled. “What do I want these for?”

  “To cover up.” She pointed to the most ambitious evidence of the sculptor’s art. “You don’t want to run around with your penis hanging out.”

  She felt his gaze follow her down the hall as she headed for the bathroom, and a hot flush replaced the chills she’d been experiencing. Perhaps she needed a cold shower instead of a warm soothing bath.

  * * * * *

  Wearing the shirt and shorts she’d given him, Nick searched for Violet, and found that she’d secluded herself in the little room she’d called a bathroom when she’d given him a tour of her house on first arrival.

  It was unlike any bathing room he’d ever seen, with fine white porcelain fixtures, only two of which he’d immediately understood. The bathing tub was obvious, particularly since the room took its name from it, and the smaller basin at waist height was clearly to cover the cleansing of smaller areas like face and hands.

  The one that looked like a seat, with a handle that poured water into a pot underneath—he had suspicions about the use of that fixture. He’d find out later if he was right.