Lovers and Reprisals (Lovers Series)

by Turner, Lori

  She said…

  “Was it easier when you didn’t know?”

  He closed his eyes because in his current situation, her question was inconsequential. Finding out the truth had been bound to happen, primarily because he’d conceded to the terms of his job. Eliza was a fixer, and she’d hired him to be her assistant. He’d understood when she’d explained this to him and when he did things that tested his moral conscience; in those moments he drew strength from his love for Eliza. How had this happened to him. Before the New Year had begun, he’d accepted a job in Denver. The position and the pay had not been the best, but he’d secured the position and he’d been proud of that. Then he’d made the darn fool decision to see his father. Bolden wanted to rant curses, because months ago, he’d been honest with himself; his life wasn’t his own, and he blamed his father for that. His father had secured his future and he wondered at what cost. In spite of his father’s wrangling, he couldn’t wholly blame him because he’d taken the bait. When he’d caught his first sight of Eliza, he’d been floored by her beauty. Then after the first time they’d made love, he couldn’t get enough of her.

  He felt her behind him and he wanted to pull away, yet the thought wasn’t even a consideration. In fact, the idea stood as much of a chance as spinach being devoured on his plate; and he hated spinach. Whenever he sensed his resolve wavering, he’d say that these dueling emotions were isolated incidences. He’d stood firm in this assertion but after seven months of swaying, then finally landing on one side of the fence; he’d given up and accepted the truth. He was a man foolishly in love with a woman he barely knew.

  They were at a stalemate and Eliza did that thing too him that she’d usually do when she wanted something. She came around to stand in front of him. She stared him in his eyes, parted her mouth to glide the tip of her tongue across her lips for added moistness. Then, without preamble, she placed her hand on his chest, lowered her head, then clamped his nipple between her teeth and she didn’t release until he cried out her name. Through gritted teeth, he strained out

  “Eliza.” He winced, then he felt the pain ease when she released his nipple, but a part of him had wanted the pain to stay. She lifted up on tiptoes, then she kissed his lower jaw.

  She said…

  “Of all the things that I love about you—I love the color of your skin the most. I would die for that complexion.”

  She’d said this before but they never talked about his mixed heritage. He smiled at her and he watched her lips when she said…

  “Join me in the shower. I want to tell you something.

  “What.” He said obstinately..

  She laughed, then she rounded him, and began a backwards trek, in the direction of the bedroom. He loved watching her, especially when she was naked. She never scrambled for a robe or wrapped herself in a sheet. Eliza was smart, beautiful and she was comfortable in her own skin.

  Eliza’s eyes bore through him when she said…

  “I love you. I love you and I know that we might be making a huge mistake—but I don’t care anymore. And what does that say about me?”

  She laughed but the sound wasn’t one of those hilarious sounds one would make after hearing a good joke. Her expression had sounded forced, and he’d detected a hint of mockery in her voice. Eliza had never expressed her feelings in words, and this was the first time she’d used the word love when referring to their relationship. But that laugh; what the fuck was that all about? He wondered if she’d been laughing at herself, or did she consider him to be the absurd one. How did she expect him to react after witnessing two emotions that contradicted the other? How long had he waited to hear her say the word, love. One month—two months; he didn’t know because he’d stopped counting, and that was the problem. Eliza was an enigma and she rattled his cage. He wanted to scream every time one of their conversations reached a deadlock. He wanted a winner, not this head heat bullshit. In times like this, Bolden would withhold his comments. Eliza was a calculating woman and she never did or said anything unless she could control the outcome. He didn’t know if this was another one of her tactical ploys and he hated the fact that he gotdamn didn’t want to know. He was too afraid of the truth. Truth held meaning, and generally, it came with consequences. His skull felt like a bat ridden cave and each bat resembled a problem; something he couldn’t or wouldn’t puzzle out. When Eliza had hit him with her ‘love’ zinger, he’d been mulling over Governor Andrew Wilcox—the conversation he’d overheard; that as well as all the other dirty nasty secrets he and Eliza had been paid to dismantle or coverup. He heaved a sigh because it was all too much for him, and he was beginning to feel like his life wasn’t his own anymore. That was a joke, he thought to himself because when had his life been his own. Never—the thought blasted him and he hated it when brut honesty hurt. Bolden Gustafson was Morpheus Gustafson’s son—and that came with a hefty dose of responsibility; so much so that he didn’t even want to reflect on this past year. He just couldn’t because Bolden had done the one thing he’d swore he would never do. He was becoming his father. This thought took him down a dark dank hole, but thankfully Eliza rescued him. Her sweet luring voice was like a lifeline to him, and he needed that. Bolden needed her.

  “Bo…”

  She rarely called him by his nickname because this is the name that his sister and his father ofttimes would use. But Eliza had told him that she would use it, despite his aversion towards it. She told him, that she would use it because she wanted him to take back his power. She repeated that to him, and it wasn’t until now that he understood. Bolden had hated his nickname because over the years he’d linked the word ‘Bo’ to all that was bad in his life; and in so doing, he’d given something that belonged to him, to someone else. Namely, his father and his sister. But when Eliza called him Bo—her pronouncements always followed with something sweet and when he answered her, it was because he’d chosen to respond. In the end, he got it. It had never been his name that he disliked; it had been his father and his sister—not the name Bo.

  Bolden set aside his memory and he concentrated on the woman in the room. He quietly followed her into the bathroom, then he watched her when she turned on the shower. She stood back, and studied him and when her eyes raked an up and down path; every hair on Bolden’s body stood on end. He walked over to her, then he swooped her up into his arms. He cursed, then he said…

  “I don’t give a damn about anything. Whoever you were talking to; I don’t care who it was. I don’t have to know. Wherever you go—I don’t care what kind of shit we’ll have to deal with; I’m in it with you baby. I mean it Eliza; we’re in this together.”

  She loved him for that—but if he only knew, she’d thought. Her heart pounded in her chest and she wanted him inside of her. But not yet. Eliza needed more than a declaration of solidarity.

  She pressed saying…

  “Bolden, you don’t understand. I’ve done things…and I’m not proud of my actions”

  Bolden pulled her close. He kissed her, and his passion struck like a cobra. His lips and tongue moved with a fierceness that had been so intense; later her lips would be reddened with bruises. Eliza didn’t pull away. Her fingers clutched handfuls of his wavy black hair. Hot tears stained her face but he didn’t see this until he released her from their kiss. Bolden pulled back and his breaths were hot and heavy. He burned her soul with his gaze and her heart quicken when he said…

  “I love you and I don’t give a damn about your past. You can keep your secrets.”

  He said it, and he truly meant it. They slid to the floor, then their hands aimlessly groped, touching and feeling their bodies. Their lovemaking had been hard, clumsy and passionate. Bolden emptied his mind, at the same moment he’d released his seed. They wrapped their arms around each other, quivering in tandem. When he kissed her, her lips parted accepting the glide of his tongue and its soft gentle touches. This was how it was supposed to be. This—the here and now; that’s all that truly mattered because if he w
ere going to have the woman that he loved, he would have to accept that the world was an ugly place, and it was her job to gloss over the ugliness.

  **********

  Part 3

  Chapter 17

  Let the chips fall where they may

  “Girlfriend you’ve got way to much pep in your step and I know that it isn’t the coffee. What does Mister tall dark and handsome have planned for today’s mini rendezvous?”

  Rachel was pulling on her coat, while Sahara stood off to the side, seemingly oblivious, while she powered down one of the computer stations. For the past six weeks Ona and Lucien had been seeing each other; and she still couldn’t bring herself to say the word, ‘dating’. They had been secretly meeting, and in her head this realization was beyond measure. Everyday something new would occur, and like a budding flower, and after each exploration, Ona felt like she was meeting herself for the first time. Lucien had been patient with her, never wanting her to feel as if her behavior was inept because truthfully, until meeting him, she’d never been kissed. She had not held hands with a man and any contact that wasn’t casual generally sent her hormones raging. In the beginning she had warred with herself, and on one side she would consider her duty to her Sect and her family; then there was Lucien—he was on the other side. She had tried to tell herself that her actions were wrong. Each time she left him, rejoining the other members of her Sect, riding the ferry; Ona would politely smile, all the while praying that they wouldn’t ask probing questions. On the few occasions when her parents called, their remarks were the typical ones. How are you feeling, are you eating enough, have you heard from Noah; then the conversation would end like every other conversation she’d had with them in the past.

  “May the Lord watch over us while we are apart, and may He keep us safe until we are reunited as a family.”

  She had ended those calls, thankful that no one in her commune had notified her parents, telling them about her and Lucien. If her parents didn’t say anything, in her mind that meant that the members belonging to her Sect didn’t know and her behavior had not caused reason to ask questions. Growing up as a child she’d never lied to her parents and in this instance she found comfort in telling herself that she had not lied; she’d simply chosen not to share this information. One day Rachel had given her actions a name; she’d raise one brow, then she’d said…”Classic case of don’t ask don’t tell”. Ona didn’t know if it was that simple, but the principle was sound and it fit her circumstances. She would think about this whenever she roamed around her family home purposely refusing to consider her parents. She didn’t want to think about what they would say or how they would react when they’d learned that she’d taken advantage of their trust. She recoiled when any bad thought entered her mind; that made it easier for her. She would hum a verse, recite an encouraging reed; until thoughts of Lucien flowed like water. It didn’t take much for that to happen because after her prayer time, Ona would think of nothing or no one else. At night when she was alone, Ona would lay awake thinking about Lucien but she never considered outcomes. Once when she’d cross paths with his sister, she’d seen something strange in her eyes; a stare that had haunted her. Chantel had not been unkind to Ona but her gaze had been a picture of misgivings. She also made a point to remind her brother about Marisela and that she would join them at her dinner party. Ona had remembered this name and she also recalled the first time she’d seen her on the street with Chantel.

  Ona rarely talked about her relationship with Lucien, yet Rachel had offered to be her sounding board, primarily because she understood the delicate nature surrounding this choice. Even though weeks had passed, she was always amazed at how quickly the brain could sum of thoughts using only a few seconds. Not much time had passed between Rachel’s question and the thundering sound of a crashing object.

  Sahara plopped an industrial size three hole punch on the counter, causing both women to gape in her direction.

  Rachel slanted her head at an angle. She pursed her lips and she didn’t mask her annoyance. She said…

  “You don’t have to do that you know. I told you that I’d take care of the front desk.”

  Sahara pulled on one of her locks returning her gaze…

  “I don’t mind. Besides…isn’t someone due to arrive.”

  It didn’t pass their notice that her statement had not been a question. And they also noticed her squinty eyes. Every week since she’d agreed to see him, one of Lucien’s conditions was that he would stop by the Children’s Center at the close of each day. Around the center, everyone knew that Lucien Delors made daily visits and they didn’t talk about it because she was a Samaritan, and they didn’t have to be Samaritan’s to know that Ona’s choice was an unmentionable subject; plus, every volunteer at the Children’s Center loved Ona and they wanted to protect her secret. They all hoped that everything would somehow work itself out. Well, almost all of them.

  Sahara had lowered her head, and Rachel glanced at Ona, then she rolled her eyes before saying…

  “Did you close down the computers in your office?”

  Rachel had created a series of code phrases, and this was one of them. Everyone knew that Sahara didn’t care much for Lucien, and everyone also knew the reasons for her aversion.

  Ona looked at Sahara and she noticed that her attention was fixed on her task. The opera house was three times the size of the warehouse and the shutdown was triple the time; basically that meant that the place required an all hands on deck methodology. As a rule, Ona had come to rely on Rachel and Sahara the most. These women never needed to be asked to help and they would stay as late as Ona needed them.

  Ona considered Rachel’s code, when she finally answered her.

  “I haven’t closed up my office. Can you help me Rachel?”

  “Girl…you needn’t ask.”

  The two women were off, leaving Sahara to abuse the office equipment or kick a wall if it would make her feel any better. Sahara heaved a sigh, willing her eyes not to raise. She poured her focus on the desk and the sequence to close out the computer files. She told herself, as long as she kept her hands busy, they wouldn’t be free to choke a certain insanely rich handsome man.

  When the women were alone, Rachel sang a tune, because she treasured her moments alone with Ona.

  Rachel said…

  “That brother of yours—I could shake him, if I didn’t love him so much.”

  While Ona had been secretly dating Lucien; Rachel had been corresponding with Caleb. And the woman couldn’t keep a secret.

  Ona said…

  “When did you last talk to my brother?”

  “A week ago. Actually…six days, eighteen hours, and twenty-two minutes.”

  Ona wanted to gasp because Rachel had it bad for her brother.

  Ona said…

  “They’re nearing the end of their project. Caleb and my parents, that is.”

  Rachel heard a tremble in her voice, and she didn’t mince her words.

  “Yep, that’s right—and you had better pony up, the same as me.”

  Ona had worked outside of her commune at an early age but she always got hung up on regional vernacularisms; and Rachel spoke in these terms more than anyone she’d ever met in her life.

  Ona said…

  “Do you mean that…” she stopped, mainly because she had no idea what Rachel was talking about.

  Rachel calmly said…

  “Look Ona…by now, you know that I don’t mince my words. I say what I mean and I mean what I say.”

  Ona nodded, then Rachel said…

  “Ona—everybody around here knows about you and Lucien except for your family—and according to Caleb, soon he and your parents will return home.”

  This too, she knew, so she nodded while Rachel continued.

  “Well…I’ve given Caleb a few ultimatums. I won’t be dicked around—excuse my language, but I made the mistake of falling in love with him, and I’m pretty sure that he feels the same about me.”r />
  “Did he offer you his band?” Ona spoke in terms that she understood, and Rachel didn’t correct her. She simply shifted her gears, and told her what was what.

  “No…he didn’t ask me to marry him and he didn’t say that he loved me in terms that you would understand…but a girl knows.”

  “How does a girl know?” The question had been more for her than Rachel, but her friend had clinched down on this topic and there was no prying her loose.

  They were standing in front of the door to Ona’s office, when Rachel stopped, and this had caused Ona to face her.

  Rachel’s eyes held an expression that puzzled yet drew her in. As politely as one could say these words; somehow Rachel managed to execute her sentiment.

  “After I say what I’m about to say—you might have to clean your ears out but…well…”

  Out of frustration, Rachel threw up her hands. She was clearly annoyed and Ona could hear exasperation in her voice.

  “Your Sect is governed by a strict set of rules. I know this because Caleb told me. Before he left, he explained that we might not see each other again. I got angry and I told him that that was bullshit, and I didn’t apologize. Caleb wouldn’t say the words—but he made it clear that he wanted to be with me. Whenever we met at the dock, or walked here to the center; if we passed a person belonging to your Sect, he didn’t act different, or shy away, and pretend that we weren’t together at all. In fact—he didn’t care if anyone saw us. Our weekly lunches at the Samaritan dock—those dates were Caleb’s idea. He’d wanted to spend time with me—and I did whatever it took to encourage his interest”

  For the better part of a year, Ona had heard profanity and she didn’t shy away like she’d done in the earlier months. She stood silent while Rachel said…

  “I told your brother the same thing that I am going to say to you, as it concerns Lucien. Rules are rules—and rules are made to be broken. Not that I’m putting down your religion but—I will not allow a Creed to tell me, who I can love and who I cannot get married to. As a Baptist I understand that denominations acknowledge their own doctrine but my religion doesn’t tell me who I can date. And I’m not talking about that unequally yoked stuff; I’m talking about being with a person who is good for you—the bible says that that’s a good thing. People should be with the people that they love and no set of rules, creeds or commandments should wedge itself in the middle, preventing that from happening.”