A black veil settled over her eyes, blotting out her vision. She felt her body going numb, swaying. Her stomach rolled. She swallowed, clenching her jaw, trying to fight off the sickness threatening to overtake her. She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead hard, as if she feared her skull would crack and spill out her brains.
“Damn, damn, damn,” she cursed. “Not now.”
Dani lowered her hand and took several fortifying breaths of air. That helped clear her vision, steady her balance. The dark spells usually signaled the beginning of the headaches that had begun plaguing her almost a year ago. She would be all right and then, bam, the pain would arrive, usually in her left temple. When the pain was bearable, she could chase it away with an over-the-counter headache medication. When it was bad, no amount of painkillers could dull the agony.
Stress, she thought dully. It’s the stress again.
The stress of success. The stress of an unfaithful spouse.
Whispering shadows in her mind, too many voices chiming in her ears. The ifs, the buts, the whys, and why nots all eating away at her psyche, as surely as the acid in her gut ate away the lining of her stomach.
Dani drew in a deep breath, fighting the headache back. Not tonight, she silently pleaded. Please, not tonight. Her hands curled into fists. “I should have brained the fucker with a hammer.” The cheating bastard was having the time of his life. “And I’m having a nervous breakdown.”
She sighed. She was feeling sorry for herself and she knew it. This wasn’t the time or place to delve into deep self-analyses of what had gone wrong with her marriage. That would come naturally, now that she was alone and had time to think. Then, she could mentally beat herself senseless. She was good at slashing herself to pieces with bitter memories of failure.
Dani lowered her hands. “Relax,” she murmured. A long weekend stretched ahead. She could eat as much as she wanted, drink wine, laze in front of the television, and watch all the trashy movies she wanted. She’d earned the break.
First, a hot bath. Then a glass of wine.
Her bedroom featured plush Oriental rugs, a crewelwork canopy-covered, queen-size, pencil-post bed, and a full private bath with shower and a huge tub. With its soft hues, the room was utterly feminine.
She stripped off her clothes, discarding them in a pile.
Naked, she stretched, running her fingers through her shoulder-length hair. A shadow moved behind her and she turned, catching sight of her reflection in the mirror. Her gaze ranged over her nude body. Strong shoulders ruled under the tilt of a determined chin. Her breasts were small, but firm and round. Her arms and torso were sleekly muscled from years of vigorous work with mallet and chisel. Trimmed short and neat, a blond thatch of pubic hair covered her Venus mound.
Dani frowned. Her reflection frowned, too. God, when had she gotten so pale and thin? The missed meals and sleepless nights told shamelessly on her. So much for living on coffee and painkillers. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d sat down to a decent meal.
Shaking her head, she flipped on the light in the bathroom. She sat on the edge of the tub, regulating the water temperature, watching as the water slowly inched higher. Once she turned off the taps, she stepped into the warmth of the bath, slowly sinking into its depth. The back of her head braced against the cool porcelain rim. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the blissful relaxation the water brought her abused body.
I’m thirty-seven and it feels like I’m seventy-three.
She lifted her eyelids and drowsily regarded the steam rising from the water. Pieces of the strange fantasy she’d had reared up to taunt her. The thought made her tremble with expectation, with need, with the memory of the pleasure he’d almost given her. Driven to the height of orgasm but hardly allowed to peak, she was a mass of raw, frustrated nerves.
Dani pushed the memories away, refusing to let anything daunt her immediate sense of well-being. She sank lower into the water, stopping when it reached her chin. But the images persisted on, lingering, playing through her mind like a vividly colored carousel.
If she closed her eyes she could easily recall the feel of Herakles pressing his hard male length against her softer one, how his hands had caressed her.
Wanting to recapture the moment, her hands slipped under the water. She sucked in a deep breath as her palms brushed lightly over her breasts. Soft pink nipples tightened, then peaked. With a soft moan, she lightly pinched the hard tips. That sensation alone was enough to bring her blood to a hot maddening boil all over again.
Remembering the sensation of his tongue laving every inch of her breasts, Dani pinched harder. Deep inside her core, sensation coiled into a tight hard fist as the cream of her arousal mingled with the warm water.
Stiffening with frustration, she tracked a hand over her flat belly. Then lower, between her legs. Experienced fingers parted the soft petals of her labia. Hot breath scorched her lips as she stroked a single fingertip against her clit. Sheer erotic ferocity sent her simmering lust skidding out of control. In one wildly sensual moment she was no longer in the bathtub, but back in bed.
With Herakles.
Losing herself in the pleasure, Dani let the fantasy take full control of her mind and body.
She easily imagined her otherworldly lover shifting his weight to plant tiny kisses down her neck before his lips found and encircled a waiting nipple. She could almost hear him whispering in that sexy voice of his, urging her thighs to open so his hips could fill the void.
Dani moaned softly, biting the pillow of her lower lip. She wanted to feel the heat of a man’s cock entering her slick warmth. Only Herakles wasn’t here to fill the emptiness. She’d have to take matters—and her satisfaction—into her own hands.
Needing something, anything, Dani slid two fingers into her sex, pressing her palm against her pulsing clit. Overwhelmed by her raw sexual appetite, arousal crept toward blazing hot temperatures. Her hips trembled in a flurry bordering on desperation. Short ragged gasps underscored her soft moans. Not wanting to come too quickly, she slowed her pace, teasing the hooded organ between her legs with long, slow strokes.
Just when she was certain she could reach no higher plane of rapture, orgasm rippled through her. Lust seared her senses, a red-hot sizzle of pure liquid fire. A violent burst of glittering stars exploded behind her eyes.
She cried out in the throes of magnificent carnal pleasure.
Then it was over, as quickly as it had begun.
Her mouth quirked down in a frown. That was nice, but definitely not enough. Not by a long shot. Tonight most definitely called for BOB. A little vibrator fun might help take some of the edge off her nerves.
The cold water around her dragged her out of her thoughts. Dani quickly soaped her body, then rinsed off the bubbles. At least the tension had lessened, the stiffness leaving her neck and shoulders.
Wrapping a towel around her waist, she let the tub drain. She grabbed a hand towel, wiping her face. Wiping the steam off the vanity mirror, she grimaced at the sight of herself. The deepening of crows-feet at the corners of her eyes and the strands of silver weaving in at her temples weren’t a welcome sight. Forty was just around the corner.
Marrying a man almost a decade younger than herself had been a mistake. She was well settled into her life and career. Lucien…Well, he had no career. Unless you counted professional party animal as a vocation. Lucien craved the bright lights of the big city. The cachet of being married to Dani Ryan had quickly worn thin once he realized the isolation that encompassed her life and work. His own career as a photographer had stalled.
Dani grimaced. Not that he’d ever taken anything aside from nude photos of his girlfriend. Which was how she’d busted Lucien’s affair open. He hadn’t even bothered to hide them well enough not to be found. His message had been clear. He wanted out.
Picking up a comb, she attacked the tangles in her hair. “I’m a fool.” She sighed between strokes. “He was too damn young for me. A boy, not a man.” He’d d
one what any gold digger on the prowl would: married an older successful artist who would support him. Perfect pickings. That’s what she’d been.
Fresh off her triumph of her Four Seasons—four gloriously nude males depicting spring, summer, fall, and winter—she’d been exhausted, at loose ends with herself. The crash that followed the completion of a new work never failed to haunt her. Lucien had been her anchor, saving her from drowning in a sea of depression. He made her feel young, beautiful, desirable. Much like the nude males she sculpted from stone, he seemed perfect in every way. Only he was real, alive. And, for a time, he’d been hers.
Their story didn’t have a happy ending. Once again, she was alone.
Hard to take a man made of stone to bed.
Dani dropped the comb, covering her eyes with her hands. Tears hovered, ready to fall. The emptiness was there again. She could feel it, gnawing her up inside.
“No, no, no,” she admonished herself. “It’s just the black dog again.” Black dog, indeed. The hound was biting hard today. “I just need to take a little time to pamper me.”
Taking off her contacts, she slipped a pair of simple black-rimmed glasses on. The specs made her look like the artistic nerd she was. She hated the glasses, refused to be seen in them, but her contact lenses felt like ground glass on her eyeballs. She wasn’t supposed to be wearing them more than eight hours anyway. She’d already exceeded that limit by about a week. She could see well enough to get from point A to point B, but without corrective lenses her world was a blur.
Mouth positively rancid from a diet of black coffee and gummy bears, she brushed her teeth, gladly chasing away the nasty film with a liberal dose of mouthwash.
While she took care of the necessities of keeping a body together, Dani deliberately kept her eyes away from her wrists. Yes, she knew the scars were there, knew that she would wear them for the rest of her life.
What she’d done was stupid. Though she didn’t want to, she replayed the scenes in her head; pushing the rewind button and watching the events spool out across her mind’s screen.
After Lucien left, she’d gotten drunk, wasn’t thinking of the repercussions when she picked up the sharp chisel. In a moment of bitter depression, she’d tried to end her life.
She hadn’t succeeded.
Dani felt her chest tighten. Her heart felt like lead. She didn’t know exactly why she’d done it. She was in pain, needing oblivion, escape.
Jack had found her, drifting in and out of consciousness, covered in blood. The ER docs had to stitch her back together.
She’d spent nearly a month in the hospital, precious time ticking away. All she wanted then was to stop. Stop thinking. Stop breathing. Stop being. To be stone would be perfect. Immobile. Immovable. Incapable of feeling hurt, jealously, and betrayal. The night Lucien had left, he’d made a little speech. Belittling her, humbling her. Denigrating and destroying her all in one sweeping arc.
Why had he done it?
Jealousy, perhaps.
Dani walked in rarified air, blessed with a talent that made men gnash their teeth with envy. While many could envision the soul in the stone, few could bring it forth in a realistic and lifelike manner. Her sculptures not only looked real—the figures appeared to breathe, draw air into living lungs.
“Thank God for Jack,” she murmured. Visiting her every day without fail, he’d helped lead her back toward the light of sanity. He’d gotten her through the depression. Gotten her back on her feet.
To work.
She knew why. She might be a fool where men were concerned, but she wasn’t a fool when it came to her art.
An unfinished Dani Ryan piece would be worthless, the vision unrealized. She suspected that Jack Wilde had already leaked the details of the piece to certain collectors. He wouldn’t have named a figure if he didn’t have prospective buyers in mind. Having a nervous breakdown had cost her more than money and lost time. It’d cost her self-respect, self-esteem, and almost every other self a human being could possess.
Dani sighed again. Through the last months, she’d known it was time to make some changes in her life or she’d soon be a dead woman. To keep her sanity, she’d had to make some sacrifices. In retrospect, she wondered if she’d made the right choices. When she thought about the decisions she’d made recently, the only thing she felt was totally screwed. Like a small boat adrift on a large ocean, she somehow had to make her way back to land. This time giving up wouldn’t be an option.
Feeling human again, she wandered back into the bedroom. Digging out a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, she started to dress, then stopped.
“Boring. Unsexy.” She tossed the sweats with a snort of disgust.
She opened another drawer, digging out a sheer negligee and a pair of panties that were little more than see-through lace. She hadn’t worn the knock-his-eyes-out ensemble since her honeymoon. Amazing how quickly the nice lingerie got tossed aside for the tried and true.
Dani slipped on the lacy confection. The silk whispered against her skin, making her feel soft and feminine. She stepped into the panties, hitching them up her legs and thighs. The lace molded to her hips, barely covering her mound. The thin piece of floss in back settled between her butt cheeks. Much to her relief, the panties still fit. Better yet, her ass didn’t droop a bit. To sculpt took hard, brutal labor.
She dug in another drawer. Ah. There it was her favorite toy, unused for months. She switched it on. A nice friendly buzz met her ears. No plain old plastic one for her either. Her dildo had the size and shape of a real penis, one guaranteed to offer lifelike stimulation. The bulbous head tapered gently into a ridged neck and long shaft, complete with expertly contoured testicles.
Not quite the real thing, but it would do in a pinch.
Dani’s mind drifted toward her beautiful naked god. Remembering his sleek bronze body, her breath caught in a hitch and her heart fluttered. Mmm. She teasingly flicked her tongue around the shaft of the fake penis. “I’d love another taste of that,” she murmured. “Wish it had been real.”
Too bad Herakles and his lovemaking skills were a figment of her imagination.
Her lips quirked up in a smile. Well, who said a woman couldn’t dream a little? A cozy fire, a glass of wine, and some soft music would certainly put her in the mood to fantasize about her immortal lover. Then she could put her favorite toy to work.
Lucien might be out of her life, but someone new, someone exciting, had to be waiting around the corner. Surely she wasn’t doomed to be alone forever.
“I’ll take a year off,” she promised herself. “No work, no stone. Just fun.”
5
L eaving her bedroom behind, Dani claimed a chilled bottle of wine from the fridge. No plain wineglass tonight, but one of the good crystal ones. Might as well go all the way and spoil herself rotten.
Drifting back into the living room, she sat bottle and glass down and set to arranging a haven for rest, building a fire in the hearth, and lighting several scented candles. Lush sweet vanilla filled the air as the flames consumed the wicks. Rain beat the roof above her head, flashes of lighting punctuated by rolling peals of thunder lit the room.
Dani spread her favorite comforter on the floor. Several thick lush throw pillows followed. With a little grin she added the dildo.
Nothing more alluring than making love in front of crackling fire. She’d never tried it with Lucien. Somehow she hadn’t been able to open up enough and share her fantasies. Not that it mattered. Two years into their marriage he’d stopped sleeping with her.
Reclaiming her bottle and glass, Dani sank down on the floor and poured herself some wine. She drank it down in a single gulp, poured a second, and drank it, too. She hadn’t eaten since yesterday and the wine went straight to her head. She just wasn’t hungry lately. And, truthfully, she just couldn’t face another Lean Cuisine or other frozen bland confection.
Plumping up a pillow, she stretched out on in front of the fire. Nice just to let her thoughts float along
with the melodic masterpiece of nature’s music. The storm outside resonated with pain and loss, taking its grief out on the earth below.
Eyes half closed, lulled by the wine, the scent of the candles and her own emotional exhaustion, Dani’s hand drifted to her left breast. She cupped it, feeling its weight. A little tingle sent shivers up her spine. Through silky material she circled her nipple with the tip of her fingers, enjoying the feel of soft pressure. Liquid warmth spread through her veins and pulsated between her thighs. Aching desire quivered through her.
“Love this.” A low sigh escaped her throat. Easy to imagine that her fingers were those of her Greek god, his tongue circling the hard tip. Her free hand slipped down, brushing the curve of her pubic mound. Lifting and bending her legs, she spread them and brushed the fingertips of one hand across the crotch of her panties. Air weighed heavily in her lungs. Her heart raced.
Using only the tips of her fingers and the gentlest pressure, she stroked her clit with soft little flicks. Arousal arrived instantly. Eyes closed, she inhaled again. Tremors of pleasure coursed through her as her fingers gently massaged. She slipped her finger under her panties and rubbed her finger up and down her slit. Her labia were beginning to swell and separate as she thought of what she’d love a man to do to her body. Silky cream drenched her sex. She stroked gently up and down. Her wetness clung to her finger. Soft mewling sounds broke from her lips. Her body shuddered deliciously. Half her finger slipped easily inside. She was primed and so ready to be taken.
Stroking herself was nice, but she needed heavier action. “I bet I know what you’d like, little pussy of mine,” she whispered and removed her hand. Flicking on her dildo, she slipped it under her panties and pressed it against her clit.
Dani closed her eyes and threw her head back as the vibrations electrified her sex, sparks of pleasure igniting every nerve in her body. Mind descending into a pleasant fog, her fantasy took on vivid life. She easily imagined Herakles’s touch awakening her sexuality, his mouth suckling her breasts, his scent coming directly from heated naked skin.
Eros Island Page 17
