Jewel of the Sun's Blood Destiny

by Bekki Lynn

  Elan climbed into bed. “Come on up here, Sassy.” She meowed and settled on the pillow beside him. “An interesting experience, wasn’t it?” he asked, reaching out to scratch her chin. She rewarded him with a couple licks on his thumb while purring. “Night, girl.

  * * * *

  Elan rolled over awakened by sounds. He listened, but heard nothing but his own rapid breathing. He lay covered in perspiration. Turning on the bedside lamp and catching the digital read on the clock, he sat up. Two in the morning and he felt like he’d not gone to bed. He felt spent, his cock used and sticky. Puzzled, he stared at the disheveled bedding hanging off the bed. With a quick swipe of his face, he rested his forearms on his thighs and looked up at Sassy who sat on the headboard. She hissed at him. “I feel the same way.”

  He lay back against the headboard with his eyes closed, his heart pounding and chest rising with a shortness of breath from an exertion he hadn’t consciously participated in.

  Scattered images of Cassandra Jones wearing his peridot as her body arched and rose to meet his, her nails scraping down his back as the orgasm rushed through her. He exhaled. He’d never taken a woman in his studio bed. He never will. Envisioning such an act was absurd.

  When his body calmed, he went to wash up and caught sight of red scrapes down his back in the full-length mirror. How in the hell is this happening? He looked at them closer, felt the sting when he reached around and touched them. If the markings weren’t so wide, he would have thought Sassy had attacked him.

  Unnerved, he slipped into a pair of sweat pants and went downstairs to the living room. He started a fire and sat in his black leather chair, watching the flames flick at the logs. If he drank or smoked, now would be a good time to indulge. He didn’t.

  The woman’s eyes stared back at him and he found himself pulled forward and down to the floor. The closer he came, the farther back she seemed to go. When his knee hit the raised brick of the hearth, he jerked back. Unsettled, he reached around for his sketchpad. Sometimes he found relief from visions if he drew them. He flipped to a blank sheet and pulled a pencil from the drawer of the end table.

  Elan’s fingers flew over the page and didn’t stop until he had everything in his mind down. He stared at the jewelry. A preset idea, he was sure of, but…He tilted the pad to get more light from the fire and dropped it on the hearth. With narrowed eyes, he stared at the piercing eyes, the necklace and down to the birthmark he’d added to her inner thigh—a crooked arrowhead tip.

  “Damn the old man,” he mumbled. He washed his hands over his face. Despite his resistance to certain aspects of his Apache heritage, his grandfather still tried to force it on him. This time, he’d used the gems. What other explanation could there be? It would explain why he mailed the peridot to his friend’s granddaughter.

  He looked down at the paper and the little birthmark on her inner thigh. Too detailed not to mean something. He knew he shouldn’t let it under his skin, but damn, his body ached for what he’d had…hadn’t had from her. He didn’t know for sure. What he did know was he wanted no woman in his life. No more women bleeding his heart out for their own greed. He closed the tablet and tossed it on the table.

  Rising, he spoke to Sassy, who jumped from the couch. “All right, girl. Let’s try this again.” She meowed and ran ahead of him.

  * * * *

  Cassandra stood with her arms folded on the edge of the display case housing the gems. She stared at the two new peridot bracelets Randy Beakman had called her a about. She’d wanted one for a while, especially since she’d opened the package intended for the man who haunted her nights. She shivered at the reminder of the two months of non-stop and strange intimate relations with a stranger she met once. She looked down at the jewelry. These pieces were as close to what she wanted as anything could get without being custom designed.

  “Cassandra.”

  She stiffened at the cocky, over-friendly tone of Rick Strickland. When he came to stand beside her, she told him, “I said not to approach me outside of work.”

  “Still hung up on the god-awful green rock, I see.”

  “Get lost.” She started to move away, but he grabbed her arm. “Let go,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “Cassandra, I’d like you to see this,” Randy called to her.

  “You’ve had time calm down. Let’s go talk this out. Have dinner with me,” Rick said, tugging on her arm.

  “Go to hell.” She yanked from his grasp and glanced over at Randy who watched with obvious disapproval. As a good friend of the family, he knew the situation between them.

  “Are you all right?” he asked when she approached.

  “Yes, he’s a dull thorn,” she said, but the man standing with them was another matter. Being this close to the live Elan Takoda sent her heart all a pitter-patter. He, however, seemed solely interested in the velvet case on the jewelry case as his gaze remained there.

  Oh, it must be the set he’d had made from his gems. Excitement raced through her and her heart fluttered for a different reason as he lifted the lid.

  She gasped at the site of the set she’d seen in her dreams, the necklace she’d drawn, the bracelet. What was going on? How could this be? She set her purse on the counter, dug into the center pocket, pulled out the drawing and gave it to Randy.

  He looked from the drawing to the set and back. “How did you know?”

  “I didn’t.”

  He handed the paper to Mr. Takoda. If she hadn’t been intent on his eyes, she would have missed the flicker of knowing before he masked the revelation.

  “I assume you saw the design before it was done.”

  “No. I show no one private designs,” Randy assured him.

  “I did this before you claimed them.” She pushed her annoyance of the unjustified accusation aside and enjoyed the brilliance of the gem. “So, perfect, beautiful,” she whispered. Cassandra looked up into the dark, piercing eyes, but they were unreadable as her dreams had mirrored.

  Elan picked up the necklace. The piece looked dainty in his large hand. He examined the intricate heart design of the gold hugging the gem and then laid it back in place.

  She looked over the five collective pieces with awe. “All this came from those pieces in the pouch?” Cassandra asked more in wonderment. She reached out to caress, but stopped. “May I?” Elan nodded and she took the delicate anklet from the velvet. She admired the design, running her fingers over the entwined hearts between the gemstones. “It’s perfect,” she said. “Eighteen karat?” she asked, looking up at Randy.

  “Yes,” he told her.

  Elan reached out and took the anklet from her, the touch of their fingers incidental, but enough to send a surge of tingling sparks through her midsection. She looked up at him, wondering what he was going to do with the set. Did he have a woman waiting to wear it? Jealousy stabbed her heart.

  “Cassandra, Elan does the photos for the store flyers,” Randy interjected. “He’s offered to feature this set for the August flyer as a draw for the peridot. I suggested you’d be the perfect person to model for him.”

  “I’m no model, Randy,” she replied, following the movement of Elan’s hand as he set the anklet down. The fact he was a photographer didn’t shock her. The coincidence of seeing them in the studio and learning his name drove her to look for him in the yellow pages. He’d been listed, and she had visited his website.

  “You have a genuine love for the gem, which is why I think you’d be perfect.”

  “You were wearing the Evening Sun when I picked them up.” He reached out and pulled her hair behind her ear, causing her to jump back. “You wear it much of the time?” Elan asked.

  “Yes.” The intimate touch was too much right now. She’d become accustomed to forcing down the nights eroticism into a secret compartment during the day. Now, his touch, more than his appearance, awakened the feelings and emotions.

  “Your natural beauty would compliment.”

  She dared to look up at hi
m, but couldn’t tell if he meant to pacify Randy. “But—”

  “I’m open this evening, if you’re free.” He handed her a card.

  She took it and stared at the breathtaking set while considering the offer. She did want to wear the set, even if for a moment. And she did owe Randy a lot. And if she kept thinking, she’d convince herself the photographer had an evil motive to torture her with some dream voodoo he had no knowledge of.

  Still, if a couple hours with Elan Takoda would prove she wasn’t desperate to replace Rick with just anyone, she might be cleared to sleep again without the sexual overtones. No more waking to her own moans on the tail end of orgasms, and wanting more.

  Cassandra straightened her back when she realized her body was heating up at her thoughts. She looked at the photographer. “I’ll meet you at the studio. First, I need to take care of business with Randy.” She turned her attention to Randy. “Show me the bracelets, please.” She knew she sounded terse, but she’d just put herself in a position where she’d have to keep herself in check every minute.

  “Of course. Elan, I’ll look forward to seeing the photographs.” He walked over to the gem counter and set the bracelets out for her to see. “I feared someone would come along and buy them before you arrived.”

  “So did I,” she admitted, trying to sound relaxed.

  “If I put you in a tight spot and—”

  “I’m fine.” She reached out and gave his hand a friendly squeeze. “Really.”

  “Aside from the earlier scene, has Rick been hounding you?” he asked as she picked up a bracelet.

  “Off and on, but don’t worry. Please don’t say anything to grandpa. I can handle him,” she urged as he took the bracelet from her and put it around her wrist. Looking at the bracelet, she shook her head. “No, this is too gaudy. Let’s try the other one.”

  He removed the larger bracelet, saying, “Ok, but I can always put security on the lookout.”

  Cassandra smiled. “Thanks, but I don’t think we have to go to extremes.” She watched him place the other one on her wrist and smiled. It was perfect with the point of the hearts meeting between the diamonds accenting the peridot “This is the one,” she told him.

  “I thought so, too.”

  “Would you put it in a box for me? No sense in wearing mine, until the photos are finished.” She handed him a credit card.

  “Of course.” He set the rejected bracelet in the cabinet and locked it before going off to complete the sale.

  When he returned, he handed her the box and her card. “Have a good time with the photos,” he told her. “I’ll see your grandfather gets a picture out of the mix. He’ll get a kick out of it.”

  “I think he would. Thanks,” she said as she put the card back in her wallet. He went to take care of another customer.

  Now, off to make a fool of herself, she thought as she put the jewelry box in her purse. The photos were more than likely going to be a waste of film and time, but she said she’d do them. * * * *

  Cassandra eased her car up toward Takoda Photography. She’d noticed the building before. It had always reminded her of a small chapel with its white pillars supporting the entry arch.

  She glanced around, her nerves kicking up. Unease spread through her when she realized all the activity in the shopping center was at the other end near the restaurants and theatre.

  She pulled up next to a white compact and glanced around unsure she wanted to go inside. She was acutely aware the man who claimed the gems, the man in her dreams was the same man who changed her tire, but the fantasy worried her. Or she should admit, her inability to separate the two worlds could become an issue.

  For a moment, she closed her eyes, telling herself, because she’d dreamt things, it didn’t mean things would happen inside the walls of the building where much had taken place. This was a job for him, a favor for Randy. She wiped her sweaty palms on her coat. Go on in and do it. She proceeded to give herself a pep talk.

  Once inside, keep in mind he has no clue about the sexual fantasies I’ve been having. Treat him like the stranger, he technically is. Forget what his lips taste like, how his hands draw fire from the depths of my being. And if all else fails, use ethics, morals, their family’s connection as a reason not to ravish him. Most of all, forget you saw he does indeed take the boudoir photos you dreamt about.

  Chapter 4

  Cassandra took one last relaxing breath and left the car. The cold wind blew into her face and she gathered the coat around her neck and rushed toward the entrance. When she entered the building, she saw Mr. Takoda stood nearby talking to his receptionist. He looked around then came over to her, his footsteps silent on the carpet. She looked up into the face she’d caressed, kissed, and scanned those high cheek bones she’d run her tongue over while he’d watched her under coal black lashes. She held her breath when she realized where her mind headed. So much for the pep talk she gave herself.

  “Can I take your coat, Ms. Jones?” he asked, showing no sign her perusal offended him.

  She began to unbutton her coat, but couldn’t stop herself from gazing at him like some school girl. His eyes seemed darker than they were in the jewelry store. It could be due to the lights and extreme white-brightness of the lobby they stood in. He slipped her coat from her shoulders and hung it on the rack next to his.

  “Thank you, Mr. Takoda,” she said as she ran her hands down her dress out of nervous habit and looked around.

  “Elan, please.” She nodded her acknowledgment. “Let’s go back.”

  She followed him through a door she hadn’t immediately seen. However, as with the rest of the room, and in fantasyland, it blended white-on-white right down to the doorknob.

  The rooms along the left side of the hall they entered were also as dreamt. While she hadn’t expected a place she’d never been to be quite so accurate, the eeriness of it didn’t frighten her. Rather, she became curious and wanted to look around. Their darkness indicated no windows, the nameplates for them sat to the left of each door. Formal, Victorian, Wilderness…Goodness he was as organized in reality, too. She’d thought it’d been her own inserted personality trait she’d given him. She looked at the man in front of her, wondering what other attributes were real.

  Cassandra called herself up short before she followed the urge to reach out and grab his ass to see if it was as firm as she recalled. She pulled her eyes from man who moved without sound to study the pictures on the wall.

  Like everything else she’d seen to this point, she wasn’t surprised to see he didn’t display portraits. He preferred landscapes, raw melding russet colors of red-orange rock formations. The one she stared at portrayed smoldering layers which made up a mountain. It looked incredibly real. She reached out and met glass instead of the sun’s heat radiating from the stone as she half expected.

  “Superstition Mountains.”

  “Near Mesa, Apache Junction,” she added. She looked up at him and saw he stared at the mountain with such an angry intensity. Maybe the mountain held unhappy memories for him.

  Cassandra cautioned herself against getting too personal despite the closeness she felt. All she was to him was a woman related to a friend of his grandfather; a fulfillment for a friend’s wishes, an obligation—a job.

  As if he sensed her watching him, the expression he wore turned into a blank one before he looked down at her. She started down the hall when he indicated they should move on.

  When Elan turned into a room and flipped a switch to light it up, she glanced around. Like she’d expected, the space was small, sparse in content except for the felt models he used and some little tents she thought looked like kitty homes. They sat in box cubicles on the far wall.

  “This is the Merchandise room,” he said. “It pretty much speaks for itself. This is where we’ll do the shots for the Beakman ad.”

  Her eyes caught a binder lying on the table inside the door. She opened the cover and browsed the shots of gray partial legs wearing jewelry. The boo
k was sectioned with tabs and she turned to the one titled Tents. The photos held various jewelry propped up, allowing their brilliance to be photographed. She understood now. Models was the next tab she turned to. Young women wearing various pieces covered the pages, but they didn’t impress her. With their bony structures and fake tans, she didn’t think they offered anything to the jewelry they wore. It might be why many jewelry store ads rarely sported live models. She imagined these types of photos were more for magazine ads, but what did she know?

  “How long will it take?” she asked, closing the binder.

  “The set is unique.” He studied her. “I want to play. Maybe an hour—a bit more. We’ll see how you hold up.”

  Play. How did he want to play? Her stomach quivered as his eyes held hers. For a moment, she sensed he searched her soul…for what she couldn’t fathom.

  He broke the connection and turned away to cross the room where he began to set up platforms and other furnishing he planned to use. Somewhere in his process, he set out folded, black-velvet sheets then he left the room without a word.

  Alone, Cassandra looked around and felt a chill worm its way up her spine. This wasn’t her thing. She didn’t care to have her picture taken, so part of her discomfort stemmed from the personal aversion she was sure. Venturing over to a platform, she stood on it, looking at the room from a different vantage point. It seemed larger from there, but the open floor space and door had more to do with the illusion she reasoned.

  Cassandra jumped when Elan appeared in the doorway. Her heart pounded as he watched her and as if he called to her, she went to him. He hadn’t she was sure. She would have seen his mouth move, heard him. “I was acclimating myself.”

  “No need to be nervous.” He reached for her hands, letting his fingers skim out the tips of her fingers, causing heat to swirl into her palms. “We must do some magic on your nails.”