Desiree drained her glass and set it on the coffee table. “Don’t know what I was thinking agreeing to go out with him. See, I’d given up on him sorting his shit. We dated a few years back—even moved in together for a bit. But it didn’t work out. He had this dumbass male thing about me earning shitloads more money than he does. And boy, he embraced that whole macho pride BS. What a crock. Like I give a shit about how much money he brings in. But he couldn’t handle it.” She wrapped her arms tightly about her middle. “Or maybe it was just an excuse because he couldn’t handle me.”
“Roth was being an idiot,” Opal said. “But he seems to have finally figured that out, because he was mad keen to get you to go out with him, and he wasn’t giving up until you agreed to a date.”
Desiree managed a smile but it was so forced and tight it looked borderline angry. “The thing is, I’d moved on—as you do. I wasn’t waiting around for some guy to get a clue. I’d stuck him firmly in the ‘friend’ box. And not a friends-with-benefits box, either. And I was okay with that. I thought he was okay with that, too. I thought he’d moved on. Now it’s like I’m giving him permission to yank my heart out of my chest and stomp on it all over again.”
Opal’s heart ached at the misery she saw in her friend’s eyes. “It’s okay, Desiree. It’s only a date.” Another memory blipped to the surface. “A film matinee, so not like you’ve committed to a week-long shared vacation where you can’t escape each other if it goes bad. Besides, Bruce Willis. Gary Oldman. Chris Tucker. And did I mention Bruce Willis? It’s The Fifth Element, girl. Don’t make it more complicated than it needs to be. Just kick back and enjoy the show.”
“Says the girl with a mega-huge case of lusty-pants for the handsome asshole next door. Let’s just agree that it’s complicated.”
“I hate you right now. But I still want you to come for dinner Sunday. And I expect details about your date. Lots of details. Just so’s we’re clear.”
Desiree laughed and blew her a kiss. And when her stomach growled loudly, laughed some more. “Is there any leftover Chinese? I was trying not to seem greedy in front of Her Magda-ness but I’m starving.”
“I believe there might be.”
“Well, what are you waiting for, girl?”
Opal gestured toward the kitchen. “What am I? Your slave or something?”
“You wish. You owe me for my insights into Danbur’s state of mind, and I demand food as payment.”
“You win.” Opal crawled off the couch.
“I always do,” Desiree said. And as Opal disappeared into the kitchen she thought she heard Desiree say, “Except when it comes to stubborn guys with antiquated ideas named Roth.”
~~~
Opal tiptoed from Sera’s bedroom and headed downstairs to the kitchen. She’d expected it to be a bit of a mission getting Sera to sleep after the evening’s excitement but according to Peter, who’d kindly carried her back home around ten, she’d crashed on his couch around half nine. She hadn’t stirred once, not even when Peter had carefully decanted her into her bed. And seeing the tenderness with which he’d cradled her sleeping daughter, Opal felt happier about acquiescing to his offer be a stand-in nanny for Sera.
Temporarily, of course. She couldn’t rely on it becoming a permanent arrangement. She liked Peter, trusted him, but there was something… secretive about him that made her balk at allowing him to step in and assume the role of the grandparent Sera had never had.
“What’s with that dude?” Desiree had asked, when he’d shut the door behind him. “He’s gotta be, like, a century older than me, right? But he still makes me all quivery inside. Dude should bottle that… that… whatever he has going on. And then we could spray Magda with it, and sit back and watch the fun.”
Speaking of fun…. Opal made a mental note to have Annie and Desiree over some time soon. She thought the two women would like each other very much and—
And wow. Just… wow. It was so strange to be thinking about inviting friends over after years of it being just her and Sera. So normal. And so startling to realize she looked forward to the prospect. She’d coped surprisingly well tonight. And if she could do it once, she could do it again. Right?
A little of her newfound positivity dimmed as she eyed the dishes draining in the rack and reached for a dishtowel. Halfway through the monotonous task of drying glasses she found herself gazing out the kitchen window. And thinking about Danbur. His lips on hers. His hands skimming her body. His fingers dipping inside her, teasing her, making her want more, making her want him.
She set the glass down on the counter with a little more force than necessary and gripped the countertop with both hands. There were so many reasons why wanting him was ill-advised. She barely knew him. Sera’s obvious attachment to him was enough to make any parent worry. Parts of him seemed broken. Everything about him screamed, “Danger, run like hell.”
Her life was about to take a turn for the better and, despite the ever-present specter of Rick’s reaction to her reemergence on the fashion scene, she should have been jumping for joy. Instead, she was mooning over Danbur like a teenager with a crush. Hoping for a glimpse of him. Hoping he’d talk to her. Hoping for something rare and magical that her rational mind knew was unattainable. But then, nothing about her feelings for Danbur could even remotely be termed rational.
Her heart ached. Her body, too, whenever she thought of him. Heck, even the deepest recesses of her soul ached. He consumed her days and her nights. She’d never felt like this before and it scared the hell out of her. Because despite her age, and having birthed a child and taken full responsibility for that child, when it came to emotional maturity she was stunted. Damaged—perhaps irrevocably. And she knew she couldn’t—shouldn’t—trust these feelings, these emotions.
But with that knowledge came painful self-awareness. Yes, she recognized the danger Danbur held for her and the potentially devastating consequences of letting him into her life, but if he showed up on her doorstep right now she’d take whatever he chose to offer.
Her fingers bit into the counter until her knuckles throbbed. She squeezed her eyelids tightly shut. Pathetic. It was a good thing that he’d stayed away—continued to stay away. Because eventually, like all teenage crushes, his allure would fade and she could move forward.
Opal headed upstairs and stood in the middle of her bedroom, eyes closed, rolling the tension from her neck and shoulders. When she opened her eyes, she noticed the window wasn’t latched. She walked over, had reached out to close it when her gaze zeroed in on a flash of light in the darkness.
Her heart jolted. She couldn’t breathe. It was him. Danbur. A mouthwatering vision of male perfection illuminated by the glow of his bedroom light. She hadn’t realized her window looked out onto Peter’s spare bedroom and oh, right now she was thankful it did, because it seemed like the world had stopped spinning, allowing her, and only her, to witness and preserve this precise moment in time. And the reality of him eclipsed even her memories because he was naked—
No, not quite. There was a towel slung about his hips.
He moved deeper into the room, and Opal sucked oxygen into her lungs with a painful rasp. Please don’t pull the drapes closed. Please….
Her silent prayer was answered. He paused at the end of the bed and whipped the towel from his hips to hang it over the bedpost. And she was treated to an erotic peepshow of burnished ebony skin playing hide and seek with shadow and light as he paced the length of the room. Mesmerizing. Breath-stealing. Possibly bad for her health if her pounding heart was any indication.
She wondered why he couldn’t settle. Dared to hope that he would leave the confines of his bedroom and seek her out, work off some of that suppressed energy on her.
Time stretched. Opal had no idea how much time had passed, how long she’d been standing by her bedroom window, when he finally stopped pacing and strode toward the bedroom door.
Longing zinged through her veins, and her skin felt hot and tight and so sens
itized she could barely stand even the thin worn cotton of her overalls. Her vision fuzzed. And when she’d blinked and could focus again, Danbur’s bedroom was dark.
Now her heart fluttered like a captured bird. She didn’t move—couldn’t move. She stood by the window, waiting, for what seemed like an eternity….
But Danbur never came.
Chapter Fifteen
Thursday blurred into Friday, and the thrill of daydreaming how she might spend some of the cash she would soon be earning waned. Despite squeeing like a silly kid with Annie over her good fortune, the niggling doubts began to claw too deeply to ignore any longer. Modeling was a fickle business. Heidi Klum’s famous catch-phrase, “One day you’re in and the next you’re out,” wasn’t just for the hell of it. It was the truth. And it didn’t apply only to fashion designers.
Opal finally concluded it would be the height of irresponsibility to cut off her hard won stable income stream this early on in the game. After all, Magda had ditched Sherriam without a qualm. And if Opal didn’t live up to all Magda’s expectations, if she couldn’t bring it when she faced the camera and her photos looked like shit, that could be it.
Even if she did everything right, and her stutter didn’t prove an issue, in this business things could still go south in a big hurry. In the space of mere weeks she could find herself in Sherriam’s position. But whereas Sherriam doubtless had plenty of other prospects knocking on her door, Opal had none. And no matter what Desiree said, Opal didn’t believe it was going to be a piece of cake to take up where she’d left off. It had been too many years since her last modeling job. The industry had moved on. And there was a very good chance she might be left clutching a cancelled contract.
Best to retain the goodwill of her current clients until she was in a more secure position. Which meant she needed a temporary replacement—someone reliable, who would be content with the prospect of perhaps taking over an established business at some later date. Someone who wouldn’t see this as an opportunity to steal Opal’s current clients out from under her. But she hadn’t a clue where to start looking for that paragon.
She leaned against the bus shelter, eyeing the bus chugging toward her stop. And the instant she’d planted butt on seat, as if on cue her mobile phone rang. She fumbled for the phone, grateful the nearby seats were empty so she wouldn’t have to put up with sympathy or sneers from the other passengers.“H-H-Hello?”
“It’s Peter. I have a solution to your problem.”
Huh?
Before she could say anything he continued, “I’m at the shelter. And Mickey, the female half of the couple who runs this place—”
In the background Opal distinctly heard someone yell, “The better half, you mean!”
“Duly noted,” Peter said, and Opal could hear the amusement in his voice. “Mickey knows a young woman who has been laid off and desperately needs work. Her name is Yara. She’s nineteen, a hard worker, and very reliable. She’s been employed as a cleaner at a high school for the past four years but there have been cutbacks. She comes with a number of excellent references. She’s here right now, as a matter of fact. How soon can you get here?”
“I, uh—”
“Hop off at the stop nearest PJ’s Pizza. Mickey’s partner, Max, will pick you up outside PJ’s. He’s collecting some donations. He rather resembles a biker. You can’t miss him.”
“B-B-But Sera—”
“I’ll meet Sera off her bus. I’ll be in plenty of time if I leave now.” And before she could protest further, he’d disconnected, leaving her staring at her phone.
Opal glanced out the window to get her bearings. She blinked, and the distinctive red, white and green of the pizza joint appeared the distance. Blink. The bus was pulling over. Blink. She was standing on the curb, watching the bus motor off down the street.
Surreal. How could Peter have known exactly where she was?
Still dazed, Opal meandered down the sidewalk toward the pizza restaurant and approached the entrance just as a man exited.
The first thing Opal noticed was his impressive walrus moustache and luxuriant beard, which were all the more striking given the hair on his head was little more than stubble. Next was his clothing. Scarred leather pants, white t-shirt and leather vest, matched incongruously with red hi-top sneakers. And finally, the sheer, imposing bulk of him.
She gulped. This must be Max. And if it hadn’t been for the whimsy of the sneakers, she’d have been too nervous to do more than turn on her heel and walk away. Ulp. Too late now. He’d spotted her.
“Opal?”
When she nodded, he juggled his stack of pizza boxes to free up a hand and extended it. “Name’s Max.”
She took his hand, wincing in anticipation of having her own crushed in his large paw. But his answering squeeze was gentle, and she felt shame flush her cheeks. She, of all people, had no right to judge him on his appearance.
“Understand ya need a ride. Ya coming?”
She nodded again and hurried after him as he strode toward the parking lot beside the restaurant.
His mode of transport was another surprise. A white van. Old, sure, but lovingly cared for. He obviously took pride in it. He stowed the pizzas in the backseat, and waited for her to buckle the seatbelt before starting the engine. “Got one last stop to make before heading home. That okay with you?”
“Sure.”
When he didn’t seem inclined to bother with idle chit-chat, Opal forced herself to relax.
Max eventually pulled up in front of one of the local high schools. “Be five minutes,” he said as he climbed from the van, leaving the bunch of keys swinging from the ignition.
She watched him veer toward the field beside the school and head for a dozen or so people performing what looked like a slow, controlled dance with large wooden sticks. She leaned forward, squinting through the windshield. All men. Some form of martial art, at a guess.
As Max neared, a trio of men detached themselves from the group and walked over to meet him.
Hang on. Was that—?
Her stomach started up a trapeze act of swoops and dips. Danbur. She would recognize him anywhere. She flopped against the seatback, brain scurrying for what to say, how to act. How to suppress her reaction to him when he got in the van. Because it was obvious Max was here to pick Danbur up and take him back to the shelter. This encounter was going to happen whether she was ready for it or not.
She was practically vibrating with anxiety by the time the group reached the van. So when Max opened the rear door and his passengers climbed inside, she was too tense to utter a single word.
“Everyone, this is Opal,” Max said. “Opal, this is Danbur, Owen and Bob.” He punctuated each name with chin-jerk in each man’s general direction—not that Opal was capable of noticing anyone but Danbur right now. She didn’t dare look at him for fear she would reveal too much, but she could feel his presence seeping into the pores of her skin, infusing her veins, lungs and heart until he filled her up and all she could sense was him.
She must have uttered some sort of noise that Max took for a response because he said, “Danbur was practicing sword katas in the yard with a bokken he got from Peter. Impressed a few of the guys so much they wanted in on the act. If ya’ve seen the size of our yard, ya’ll know why I sent ’em here.”
Max was watching her, obviously waiting for a response. “R-R-Right,” she mumbled. And luckily nothing more in the way of conversation was expected of her throughout the journey.
Max pulled into driveway of the shelter and directed the men to unload assorted cartons of stuff from the back of the van. Opal sat inside, taking a minute to pull her shredded composure back around her. And then she opened the passenger-side door and climbed from the seat.
“Go on in,” Max called. “And if ya could take the pizzas in that’d be real helpful. Take a right off the hallway. Mickey’s in the kitchen with Yara. They’re waiting on ya.”
Opal grabbed the pizza boxes. Somehow she resi
sted sneaking so much as a glance over her shoulder to check if Danbur was watching as she walked up the path and entered the shelter.
In the kitchen she found two women sitting at a huge wooden table, a plate of cookies between them. Cookies fresh from the oven going by the chocolaty aroma perfuming the room. Her stomach grumbled a reminder that her last meal had been a snack bar wolfed down far too many hours ago.
“You must be Opal.” The older of the two women gestured for her to set the pizza boxes on the table. “I’m Mickey. Sit down and take a load off.”
Mickey sported short, spiky, electric blue hair. Opal suffered a twinge of envy. Not only would she never be able to pull off a look like that, the contract she’d signed had a clause about running any major alterations to her appearance past Magda first. Somehow she didn’t think she’d get away with blue hair. Not to mention tattoos and piercings were probably a no-go. Ah, the joys of an industry where your superficial appearance was key.
Opal stepped awkwardly over the bench seat and settled her butt onto the surprisingly comfortable wooden surface. Apparently so many butts had been planted on this bench over the years that depressions had formed in the wood.
Mickey pushed the plate of cookies toward her. “Choc-chunk. Try one.”
“They’re to die for,” the younger woman said, smiling. “I’m Yara.”
Opal selected a cookie and took a dainty nibble, conscious of the watchful gazes of the two women. She could feel her eyes widening. Best. Cookie. Ever. She crammed a larger bite into her mouth.
“Told you,” Yara said. “Now please, keep that plate away from me before I eat another one.”
“No problem if you did,” Mickey said.
“Having a fourth would be plain greedy.” Yara’s expression was mournful and Opal could completely understand why.
“I’ll wrap some to take home to your family. And for you, too, Opal. Tea or coffee?”
Opal's Wish: Book Four of The Crystal Warriors Series Page 23
