He followed right behind, whispering in her ear, “Jillian, baby.”
Chapter 3
A lie told often enough becomes the truth.
-Vladimir Lenin
For the next five minutes, they lay in bed, spent. Jill got up first. She patted her hair down in an attempt to control the craziness that was her hair. “God, people are going to think we did something in here,” she said, pulling her skirt down and her panties up.
Alexander propped his head up on one elbow and looked at Jill, amused. “We did do something.”
“Shit.” She walked to the mirror to fix her makeup. “How embarrassing.”
“Nah. Don’t worry ’bout it.” Alexander slowly got out of bed. “They probably didn’t even notice we were gone.”
“I hope you’re right. I’d be mortif—”
“Unless they heard all your moaning and screaming.” Jill flung her head back and pinned him with her big emerald eyes. Her cheeks immediately crimsoned. “Relax, babe. I’m just kidding. No one heard anything, and no one even knows we’re gone.”
Jill threw her hairbrush at him; he caught it before it hit his chest.
When Alexander finally managed to get dressed, Jill eyed him warily.
“Where’s the rest of it? All I see are camouflage pants. Where’s the shirt?” Alexander asked.
“Oh, yeah, I didn’t buy the shirt. That’s the entire costume. I figured that if you got away with not being a raisin or a loin-clothed superhero, the least you could do is be a half-nude soldier. Trust me. It’s a hell of a lot more than what your brother’s going to be wearing.” Jill smiled, suddenly not caring whether Rambo was from the 50s or the 90s. As long as the twins were half naked, everything was right in the world. “Oh, and the machine gun and the wig, of course.”
“Of course.” Alexander rolled his eyes. “Babe, I’m not wearing this wig. Is it your goal in life to humiliate me?” He scowled.
“Sort of.” She was helping him with his plastic guns. “But you have to wear the wig. You have to,” she whined. He pulled the black, mullet-like shiny wig out of her hand and groaned when he put it on his head and looked at the mirror.
“Well, you’ll just have to control your jealousy when all the women are drooling after this.” He pointed at his chest. Even though he was joking, Jill was suddenly a little uneasy about it. All the women would be drooling, including her. This wasn’t such a good idea.
“Maybe you should wear a shirt, after all.”
“Oh relax, Red. You know I was just teasing you. The only woman who matters is standing right here next to me.”
“Well, you better keep that gun of yours in check.” Jill said while tucking a plastic rifle in his pants forcefully. He laughed and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
“God, I love that you did this for me, but with you dressed like that, I really just want everyone to go home, and I want you alone again. Babe—”
“Stop, Xander. We have a house full of guests for you. I’m supposed to be hosting. Come on. Hurry up.”
When they finally stepped out of the room, a barely dressed Nordic god greeted them by the bar with a cone-breasted pop star. Jill squealed and jumped up and hugged Oliver. “I knew that costume would be perfect.”
“Okay, okay, calm down, Red.” Alexander interrupted. Heather was talking to Oliver, who didn’t seem to notice all the other women lingering around his mostly naked self. “Who the fuck are you supposed to be?” Alexander asked Oliver.
“He-Man.” He shook his head. “Don’t ask.”
There were about fifty costume-clad people in their small apartment. The music pounded in the background—eighties style rock music. Luckily, Heather had invited their neighbors; otherwise, the party would have ended as quickly as it began. Also luckily, the apartment complex mainly housed other college students, so this was not a community unaccustomed to loud parties. The counter top was laden with red cups, hard liquor, and chips. By the refrigerator, a cold keg of beer sat in a metal bucket full of ice. The girls had decorated the room with balloons and a Happy Birthday banner that went across the living room and fell slightly towards the dancing guests. A group swayed to the music in the living room, another group congregated around the landing right outside their front door, smoking, and another group hovered over the drinks in the kitchen.
“Who wants to have some fun—eighties-style!” Heather called out.
Alexander cheered. “Hell, I wasn’t around, but I know exactly the kind of things people did the eighties!” He said with a big smile.
“No way, Alexander! This is not going to put you back in rehab. I’m sure Heather didn’t mean drugs.”
“Neither did I!” Alexander deadpanned. “I was talking about drinks. God, babe, you really need to relax.” He pulled away from Jill.
“I meant Seven Minutes in Heaven and Truth or Dare and Spin the Bottle. I meant music from the big-hair bands, things like that.” Heather looked at the three of them. “Google it. I’m not explaining Seven Minutes in Heaven or Spin the Bottle to you three adults. It’s ridiculous.” Heather scoffed and continued mixing drinks and going costume by costume, trying to explain to Oliver what it was that everyone was wearing.
“I’ll say it again, the eighties were confusing. I’m glad we missed them.” Oliver laughed. “Although, I must say, Heather, tofu does the body good. You look hot.”
Alexander pulled Jill aside. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to get angry. I’ve never done drugs again, not since Helen’s funeral. I hope that’s not something you’re concerned about.”
“No. Well, I wasn’t until just now. I mean I admit I think about it every once in a while. Seeing you in a hospital after an overdose isn’t something I want to relive.”
“It’s been five years. I’m sober. I have been since that day.”
“Sorry. I don’t know why I overreacted. I love you.” She gave him a chaste kiss on this lips. “Forgive me?”
“In that outfit? Most definitely. You’re forgiven for everything.”
The party went off without a hitch. Everyone danced, ate, and drank, a lot. As in, a lot!
***
Alexander was hot. Damn hot! Gorgeous, really. But that’s not the thought that Jillian had the next morning when she woke up sweating. Temperature-wise, he was burning hot, and the leg and arm draped over hers the following morning were smothering her and making her sweat. Jill was on her back with Alexander’s face tucked under her neck and half of his body wrapped around her. Quietly unwrapping herself wouldn’t be easy. It almost seemed like a sacrilege when she looked down to see his perfectly chiseled naked body against hers, but she had to go.
As stealthy as possible, she reached first for the arm that rested across her torso. With the gentlest of touches, she lifted the arm, trying to maneuver a way out of his grip. The man was like an octopus. She felt as if he had eight arms and legs wrapped around her. When she lifted the arm, he snuggled his face closer to her neck. He mumbled something incoherent under his breath, but he seemed to be asleep. The arm of steel tightened around her waist. Getting out of this mess of arms and legs was going to be difficult.
His raspy morning voice whispered into her ear, startling her. “I’m not letting go.”
“Oh, so you are awake.”
“How could I sleep with all this moving and masterminding coming from your way?”
She laughed because she really had been trying to plan an escape. “Xander, I need to go. I have to be at Rocco’s in an hour. I still have to shower and get dressed.”
His grip tightened. “No. You. Stay. Here.” He kissed her neck between words, moving down her neck to her collarbone. Suddenly, his body replaced the web of limbs. He was right on top of her, holding her arms down and moving his kisses lower.
She cleared her throat. “Um, I have to go, Xander. I don’t have time—” Unable to control it, she let out a moan.
He ignored her and continued to work his way down lower and lower. “Who’re you fooling, babe?”
He ran a finger up and down her panties. “You’re wet and ready. Do you really want me to stop?”
No! “No,” she barely got the words out as Alexander slid her panties to the side and used his mouth to show her that being a little late would be worth it. After he used his mouth then fingers and finally mouth again, she didn’t care she was late. It had definitely been worth it. Really worth it.
Fifteen minutes later, she sighed. “Wow.”
“Are you ever going to say anything other than ‘wow’ after sex?”
“We didn’t have sex.” She grinned.
“True. Are you ever going to say anything other than ‘wow’ after I give you an orgasm?” Before she could answer, he held out two fingers. “Two orgasms.”
“Yes. Chocolate cake. That was most definitely chocolate cake, and I really don’t feel nauseated. Heather doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”
“What are you talking about?”
She giggled, slipping out of bed. “It’s a long story, and now I really am going to be late.” She gave him a brief kiss on the lips and ran out the door to the bathroom, stumbling on the sheets that lay scattered all over the floor. Alexander laughed at her frantic state. A few minutes later, she returned to a sleeping Alexander. It was a nice sight to see him on her bed, still naked. He was so big that he took up most of the bed. She quickly stepped into black linen pants and a gauzy emerald green blouse, applied some light makeup, and grabbed her purse and phone. Not wanting to wake him, she gave Alexander a feather-light kiss on the cheek and whispered “I love you” as she closed the door to her bedroom.
When she took in the disaster from the party that was her living room, she shook her head and cringed. A huge undertaking awaited her upon her return.
She got in her car and drove to Davenport, a ranching community in Austin, where her father had instructed she meet him. He had explained it was one of his homes. Her nerves were getting the best of her as she drove by large houses all hidden by trees, gates, more trees, and a guard. She continued to drive through the community: a huge championship golf course to her right and more houses on her left. When she reached the end of the street, a large wooden gate with a little building housing a guard met her. She gave the guard her name. He made a quick call and let her in.
Her heart beat wildly, and her gut, which had been mulling between fight or flight, was now taking the flight stance. It clearly had a mind of its own and was telling her, “Run, you stupid girl. This is a bad idea!”
But it would be a worse idea to find her friends hurt. Even though she knew this was not one of her best decisions, she had no real choice.
She took the long hilly drive up the long, as in, really long, driveway until she finally reached the mammoth home. Calling the house a mansion was an understatement. She parked her car under the roof that extended from the front of the home lined with keystone columns. She didn’t drive a clunker or anything. It was only a few years old, yet it seemed completely out of place at the ostentatious mansion.
An older man, perhaps mid-sixties and average height greeted Jill. He had thinning hair and was of Latin descent. He wore black pants, a white button shirt, a black vest, and a bowtie. She had never seen a butler, but this particular man epitomized the stereotypical butler in stereotypical butler garb from his clothes to his formal demeanor.
“Good morning, Ms. Stone. Welcome. Please, come in.”
Jill stepped into the house in wonderment. The first things she noticed were the floor-to-ceiling windows at the rear wall; all that could be seen were acres upon acres of luscious greenery. Jill was in awe of the sheer magnitude of the home. An enormous wrought iron chandelier hung from the foyer above a beautiful round table in the center that housed a huge bouquet of exotic flowers. The domed ceilings gave the house a Mediterranean feel. The massive staircase had ornate ironwork railings that led to the second and third floor. The walls were painted a simple cream color with white accents. All the draperies were in deep rich earth tones, as well as all the leather furniture. The house felt like a home: warm, welcoming, lavish. It was definitely ostentatious, but in a tasteful way. Jill took a second to take in her surroundings as she followed the butler through the double doors that led outside.
“Please, have a seat. Mr. Taylor will be right out. Help yourself to some juice or champagne. Brunch will be served shortly.” Jill nodded as the man retreated back inside.
To help ease her jitters, Jill took a champagne flute and gulped down half the flute without much thought. She sat back and looked out to the ponds and gardens on the golf course while she waited on Rocco. She checked her watch. In about ninety minutes, Alexander would undoubtedly call her if she didn’t call him first.
Suddenly, all her jitters vanished. Surely, it was the champagne. “How are you this morning, child?”
Jill stood up to greet him, but he placed his hand on her shoulder prompting her to stay seated. “Good morning, Rocco. Your home is lovely.”
“Thank you.” He sat down across from her, poured himself some orange juice, and looked out at the greenery. “I find it peaceful out here.”
“I’ve never played.” Jill motioned to the golf course “Are you good?”
Rocco laughed. “I saw this house and fell in love with the architecture, the neighborhood, and the beauty of the course, but, believe it or not, I don’t play. I don’t like the game. Never have.”
“Well, I have to admit it’s kind of strange that your backyard consists of miles of golf course when you dislike the game. Maybe it’s not so much you dislike it as you’re no good at it.”
Rocco roared out a laugh. “You are very presumptuous. You don’t hold back much, do you?”
“No. Not so much. It’s always been a problem. Gets me into lots of trouble sometimes.”
“I’m sure it does. Your mother was like that.”
“She was?” The only person who ever spoke about her mother was Helen, and she’d been dead for five years. It felt nice to hear someone say something about her.
“Yes. She was very gregarious. People gravitated towards her.”
“How’d you two meet?”
“I see you want to get right into the questions?”
“I’m sorry. That was rude of me,” Jill said, embarrassed. She didn’t mean to be rude to her host. “I don’t have much time, and there are so many things I want to know, especially about my mother.”
“But I have all day. Do you have plans? Why are you in such a hurry?”
After being independent for so long, it felt awkward acknowledging that Alexander was the problem. It felt uncomfortable to say it out loud. She felt childish. But regardless of the fact that Alexander was indeed domineering, overprotective, and possessive, he was also loving and caring, and everything he did was due to his unwavering love for her. Because of this, not in spite of it, she loved him, and she promised him she’d be cautious. She always kept her promises. Therefore, she wouldn’t be ashamed of her ridiculously domineering, overprotective, and possessive boyfriend.
“Alexander is worried about me being here. As a matter of fact, so are the rest of my friends.”
“I see.” He took another sip of his juice and proceeded to eat the eggs benedict that had been placed in front of him while they conversed. “I’m curious, Jillian. Why are they all so concerned?”
Ha! Where to start? You snuck into my house and left a cryptic note. According to Helen’s journals, you were so evil that my mother had to escape to the other side of the world to avoid you. There’s a police report that leads me to believe you may be a murderer. Paul Black, a man I thought I could love, tried to manipulate me to get to you, and someone is warning me—in my fucking mind—that if I don’t find you, you’ll hurt my friends. Yep, that about sums it up. Then it hit her. Shit!
“Can you read my mind? Did you just . . .?” Jill pointed to her head.
Rocco chuckled and answered. “No. But I can feel your unease. That’s about all I have left.” She gasped, almost
fell off her chair. It scared her to know how connected they were, yet she was relieved he couldn’t hear her thoughts. Knowing what someone felt was still a lot of power to have over someone. He neatly and patiently buttered some bread then placed it aside. He must have noticed—or felt—her shock, confusion, and unease. “I can only do this with you.”
“Why? Because I’m your daughter?”
“Yes. For that precise reason.”
“What do you mean by ‘that’s all I have left’?”
“Think of parapsychological powers as an extra sense. Sight, smell, touch, hearing, taste, and, in our case, foresight, as in seeing the future. That’s our extrasensory skill. For some it may be telepathy, as in reading minds, or telekinesis, which involves moving objects using only your mind. I once met a woman who was telekinetic. That was very interesting. With a lot of concentration, she could move a spoon half an inch, but that’s as far she ever got. She tried and tried to move it further or to move something else, but it never happened. Once, I met a man who said he could levitate, but I think it was all a trick. His profession was that of a magician, so I think he was pulling my leg. The point is, if we exist, I am sure there are people out there with other extra senses. But we—you, me, and Josef—are the only psychics I’ve ever met, and I’ve looked. It’s in our DNA. There doesn’t seem to be any other explanation than that.” He took a bite of his food before he continued. He spoke slowly, deliberately. “Just like most of your senses, as you age, they begin to deteriorate. I don’t see as well as I used to.” He pointed to his glasses. “My hearing’s not as good as it used to be. Most food tastes bland nowadays, and well, I cannot see the future any longer. For the last twenty years or so, it’s been diminishing, and now, I can’t see anything. My psychic abilities are gone, completely. I can’t even visualize unintentionally.”
Seeing Black Page 4
