by Tina Donahue
Clover muttered beneath her breath.
“They won’t, and I did do that. I swear.”
“I’m not doubting it. What did those SOBs do? They better not have said anything mean about you or your work.”
God, he adored her. No guy deserved to be as lucky as he was, especially after he’d let her down repeatedly. “No one said anything insulting. They used me. On some level, I understood that from the beginning, but I also liked being included rather than kept on the outside.”
She slapped his arm. “What’s the matter with you? Those goons aren’t good enough to breathe the same air as you. You’re hotter than any of the other guys.”
He wasn’t, except to her. That’s all that counted. “I couldn’t care less if they think I’m a ghoul, but my work does matter. That’s why I was really stupid with them. It’s nice to have people gush over what you’ve poured your heart into.”
Her anger faded, replaced by weariness or sorrow. “Yeah, it is.” She touched her music jewelry. “I should get back to pushing my stuff.”
He couldn’t let her go. Not again. She hadn’t even acknowledged his feelings for her or said they might have a chance again. “Sure, but if you don’t mind me asking, how much have you sold today?”
“I had a couple of bites.” She waved her hand. “No takers yet.”
“Let’s change that. I’ll help.”
A man’s voice thundered from the sound system. “Xavier’s Uncommon Designs, table forty-five, is going BOGO during the next two hours.”
Van Gogh lifted his shoulders. “BOGO?”
“Buy one get one free.”
“Good idea. Have they announced your sale, giveaway, contest, or whatever you’re doing yet?”
Clover made a face. “The coordinator refused. Said my work doesn’t meet their guidelines. How can you possibly stick around to help me?” She glanced at the wall clock. “Shouldn’t you be heading back? Your shift starts in a few hours.”
“I’m on vacation until your thing’s over. Lauren’s cool with that. If she hadn’t been, I would have quit. Let’s see what we have here.” He didn’t like what Clover had done with her table. “Why are your Clover Cuffs hidden in the back? They’re your most unique work.”
“Maybe for a BDSM convention. Not here. The coordinator said my banner’s too racy.”
“Let’s see.”
She unfurled the thing. “Peaches and Shell had less on at the party.”
Van Gogh didn’t want to talk about that or them ever. “You’re fully dressed.” She wore a strapless black top similar to an old-fashioned corset, her black jeans, and heels.
“Unfortunately he didn’t give me points for my outfit.” She put the banner away. “No biggie. Most people who’ve come by don’t know what the cuffs are for.”
“Let’s show them.” He lifted the man-finger ones, admiring her fantastic work. “You did an amazing job on these.”
“Thanks.”
He returned her smile, his eyes as wet as hers. For the first time in his life, Van Gogh wouldn’t have minded crying, in front of other people, no less. Being with Clover again was as sacred as a moment could get. “Put out your wrists.”
She laughed. “You’re going to cuff me?”
“Like I said, you’re fully dressed. He can’t complain about that or you advertising your stuff. That’s why you’re here. Let’s give these rubes a demonstration. Show them what people in Northwood Village do for a good time.”
Her gaze turned inward. “If I’d worn a collar and chain, you could have walked me around the room as your meek sub.”
That would happen only in her apartment or his, their intimate moments between them and no one else, if she gave him another chance. “When we get home, we can make a video. Put it on YouTube and BDSM sites that sell cuffs. Even places that are into funkier jewelry.”
“Oh my God, seriously?” She clapped. “That would be too awesome. You know how to do a vid?”
For her, he’d learn. Whatever it took to make her happy and successful. “It’ll be amazing, I promise. Think your band customers would like to donate some music?”
“How cool would that be? No harm in asking. Hold on. I need to take this down.” She grabbed her smartphone. “We could put your paintings in the background, against black walls so they’d stand out and attract attention to your work. During a particularly ominous strain in the music, the camera could swoop in on your somber stuff.”
She texted and paced. Attendees dodged her. “You could be at your easel, painting away when I come in. Then, as the Dom, you could slap the cuffs on me, your sub.”
“I’d rather be behind the camera, so to speak.”
“No. You have to be in it.” She wove around two women to get to him. “You could wear a hood to hide your face but leave your chest bare to show off your awesome muscles and ink. No one would know it was you.”
“Except for my tat.”
“It’s that unique?”
“Pretty much.”
Her mouth turned down then widened into a smile. “We could cover it with heavy-duty makeup. Hollywood does that all the time. This is going to be epic.”
“Excuse me.” An older man leaned in. “Do either of you know where table seven hundred is?”
Clover grabbed Van Gogh’s wrist and pointed in the opposite direction he had for the woman who’d asked. “That way. Keep going. You can’t miss it.”
“Thanks, miss.”
“You bet.” She released Van Gogh. “I should have worked the floor as information. Would have at least made something by now.”
“The day’s young. Put your wrists together.”
She giggled.
The sound opened his heart even more and touched his soul. To live without her was unthinkable. He wasn’t about to try.
Once he’d snapped on the cuffs, he positioned her to face the advancing throng. “Don’t move. Be right back.”
“Where are you going?”
“To get a prop.” He ran from table to table and finally found what he wanted at an American Indian jewelry display.
The wrinkled woman behind the table smiled. “Do you like Hopi and Navajo?”
“Love them. How much do you want for your pole?” He pointed.
“The one holding up my sign?”
“Yeah. If you move the other two, you don’t need the third. I can help so your banner still looks good. I’ll give you twenty bucks for the pole.”
“Fifty.”
It wasn’t worth two. “Thirty.”
“Cash.”
“You bet.” He handed over the money, made sure her sign looked good, and returned to Clover.
She eyed the pole. “What’s that for?”
“To display you.” He put it in front of her table. “By any chance, did you bring a hammer and nails?”
“Yeah. To hang my banner.” She inclined her head.
He pounded two nails into the top of the pole then draped the links between her cuffs over them to support her wrists. “Lower your eyes and look meek like I’m a Dom about to auction you off to the lusty crowd or punish you for their enjoyment.”
Her blush deepened. “Someone’s been reading X-rated romances.”
More like he watched porn online. “Let me do the talking. Okay?”
She nodded.
A young couple passed. The woman did a double take and returned, pulling the guy with her. She smiled at the cuffs. “Are those what I think they are?”
“Depends.” Van Gogh stroked the items. “If you’re talking about Clover Cuffs, the hottest thing to hit the East and West Coasts, then you’d be right. You can use them to play with a significant other or wear them as jewelry.” He showed her the dragon and double snake ones.
She lifted both pieces to the light. “I can see these hanging from a belt loop or a purse.”
“Clover’s clients also hang them on the wall above their beds.”
The guy grinned. “I’d like that.”
“You would.” Grinning, she bumped his arm and tried on the dragon one. “Do I need a key to get this off?”
“Let’s ask Clover, the designer.” Van Gogh turned the floor over to her.
Her eyes sparkled with excitement and delight. “Once you have them on, tug hard. They’ll open easily.”
“Nice touch. How many of these do you have available?”
“How many do you want?”
She and the woman put their heads together and agreed on the order. After ringing up the sale, Clover handed over the receipt. “Your cuffs will ship in three weeks.”
“Can’t wait. These are going to make great bridesmaids’ gifts. Thanks.”
Clover waved bye to the couple then threw her arms around Van Gogh. “That was awesome. Let’s do it again.”
They sold three additional orders along with five arm tat bracelets, several earrings, and numerous flowered necklaces. Four merchandisers approached Clover, expressing interest in her mancuffs and the music piece for their clients, retail jewelers in Miami, Key West, and Fort Lauderdale. She talked business like a pro and exchanged cards with them.
Van Gogh added up the receipts. “Not bad for a day’s work, but tomorrow will be better.”
She hugged him. “What you did today for me was beyond nice. You do love me.”
Nothing else was possible. He embraced her. “Can we be friends again, please?”
“I want that. I’d like us to be the way we were before the stupid party.”
“Absolutely. You come first. Always will—oh hell, I almost forgot what I brought you.”
“Besides yourself?”
He laughed. “Yeah. The design for your tat. Finished it last night.” He pulled the paper from his pocket and handed it over.
She touched the 3-D geometric drawing. Spokes burst from a center circle. Stars shot from the tips, scattered, and rained down.
“If you don’t like it, that’s cool. I’ll come up with something else. Something better.”
“Than this? Impossible. I love it and you. I should have said it when you did. It was mean of me not to.”
“You had your reasons. I understand.”
“I’m so glad to have you back.” She threw her arms around him.
He staggered and righted himself. “Are you crying?”
She nodded and pressed close. “Promise this is our beginning. Please.”
“Absolutely.” He held her with a right she’d given him. “Nothing else will do.”
Epilogue
Months later…
Mild weather and clear skies made the day perfect for Clover and Van Gogh’s move to their new place, a modest rental home Lauren and Dante owned as an investment.
The second bedroom proved ideal for Van Gogh’s studio if Clover could only convince him to use it. “I want you to have this.”
“I prefer to share the space with you.”
Her stuff was already inside over her objections. “But you could make this your man cave and paint on the walls like Neanderthals did in their places.”
“Don’t think that’s in our lease. You can ask Dante if you want.”
He, Tor, and her dad grilled burgers and steaks in the backyard. Earlier, they’d hauled furniture and boxed belongings inside. Her mom, Lauren, and Jasmina helped clean and currently took over the kitchen to whip up sides for the meal.
Thankfully, her mom didn’t mention the talk they’d had about Van Gogh, nor did she give him the evil eye. With him back to the man he’d always been, she treated him like family already.
As far as Van Gogh was concerned, he hadn’t hidden his surprise or delight that her folks had arrived dressed. What a worrywart. Her parents knew how to look and behave like ordinary people in the outside world. When they were on their own turf, though…
She circled her table and equipment and shook her head.
Van Gogh fiddled with his painter toolbox, pretending not to notice her mood.
“I don’t like how this is set up.” She gestured to her stuff.
“There’s no other way for me to arrange it. You get the left or the right side. We’ve tried both.”
“My things are still taking up too much room. Way more than yours. My stuff should go in the garage. I can work there.”
“Where will we put the car?”
They’d bought a clunker he and Tor had fixed up so Van Gogh could drive to the parlor.
She pointed behind her. “How about we park it on the street, like our neighbors do with their vehicles? It’s the only solution. There’s no space in here now for your earlier paintings unless we hang them, too. We should.”
“Hold on.” He grabbed her wrist before she could leave. “My oils are already on every wall in each room, even the bath. This is the only place you haven’t hung them.”
“That’s my point. We’ll put the rest here on every available spot.” She lifted her face to the ceiling. “If we have any paintings left over, they can go up there.” She pointed.
“Storage sounds better. Dante and Lauren own one of those places, too. I’ll make arrangements with them tomorrow.”
Jasmina shouted, “Hey, guys!” She dashed down the hall and stopped in the doorway. “Noah and Kyle are in route. Marnie, too. They’re expecting to see your vid.”
Clover crossed her arms. “Cover charge is five bucks apiece. Do they have it?”
Van Gogh laughed. “It’s not that good.”
“Says you.” She bumped her hip against his. What he’d done was beyond awesome. Since the convention, he’d proved repeatedly that she mattered. “Your work makes Avatar look lame in comparison.”
“Thanks. But what I did is more like Story of O.”
Jasmina brightened. “Yeah?”
“He’s kidding.” Clover swatted his ass. “Everyone pays ten bucks or they don’t get to see it.”
“Noah and Kyle will be armed.” Jasmina smiled smugly. “They get in and watch for free.”
The doorbell rang.
“That’s probably them.” She bolted down the hall.
Lauren called out, “The guys and Marnie are here.”
After the new arrivals enjoyed a short tour of the house, garage, and grounds, everyone gathered in the living room around Van Gogh’s laptop, plates and drinks in hand. Molly enjoyed her bottle in the playpen.
Clover took in the adult crowd. “Everyone able to see?”
Her dad sat on the floor in front of her mom. She braided his waist-length hair. They both nodded.
The others did, too.
Clover massaged Van Gogh’s shoulders. If they got any tenser, he’d need muscle relaxers. She kissed his cheek. “Bite the bullet and turn it on.”
“It’s still not perfect. I could have done much more.”
“You will with the others we do.”
Tor choked on his beer and coughed. “He barely lived through this one.”
Lauren pointed her bottled water at the screen. Pregnant, she couldn’t drink. “That opening photo is great.”
He’d used the banner shot from the convention and splashed the words Clover Cuffs across the model’s thighs.
“I should have used a different color for the text.” He squinted. “It’s too hard to read.”
“Is not. Turn it on. I’ll help.” Clover pushed his finger over the mouse. The cursor shot wildly across the screen.
Noah and Kyle clapped, both men gorgeous, Kyle blond, Noah dark-haired. Seated between them, Jasmina slapped their thighs. They kissed her cheeks and behaved.
Van Gogh eased Clover’s hand from his. “I have it. Here goes.”
Haunting yet powerful strains sounded. Luke’s composition. Clover had persuaded him and the band to contribute.
The opening shot faded, replaced by the room she’d envisioned. Photographed at Tor and Marnie’s house, Van Gogh had Photoshopped their white walls to black and added his most intense paintings later, along with his easel to the side and her cuffs on a small table, everything digitally pro
duced and enhanced.
The music swelled then drifted away, replaced by Van Gogh’s on-screen narration. “Want to create the perfect fantasy?” His deep voice rasped with lust. “Want to make your lady yours?”
Luke’s band went into complete metal mode, the tune and their singing super rough.
Van Gogh strode into the scene, hooded as Clover had suggested. His tats on full display as she’d hoped. Except for his black jeans, he was naked.
No guy would ever be hotter. She whistled through her teeth. “You are freaking gorgeous.”
The men laughed. The women smiled.
He groaned.
“Oh, hey, here’s where I come in.” Clover pointed.
She paraded into view and faced the camera, clad in her vintage bustier, spike heels, and black short-shorts that Van Gogh had begged her to don. Too bad she’d acquiesced to his pleas. “My legs are too skinny, aren’t they?”
Lauren sniffed. “Mine should look that good.”
Dante hugged her. “Nothing wrong with you.”
The song receded.
Van Gogh spoke on screen. “Clover Cuffs. For adults only…and those who dare to pursue pleasure.”
In the shot, he grabbed her mancuffs. Dutifully, Clover held out her wrists. He slapped those babies on. The camera zoomed in for a close-up. Metal glinted.
Luke’s drummer pounded away.
Van Gogh lifted her arms and secured them to a post. He circled her ominously.
Face lowered, she played the meek sub.
“Use Clover Cuffs to confine and display your woman.” His baritone rumbled in her belly, same as the bass. “Four designs for your enjoyment and personal fantasies.”
Luke shouted his lyrics. His band played wildly.
Shots flashed on the screen showing the cuffs she wore, then her modeling the dragon and snake ones in various poses. On her knees, hands on Van Gogh’s rock-hard belly. Her wrists secured to the wall, him regarding her, arms crossed, biceps bulging. Van Gogh to her side, holding a chain attached to a leather collar that hugged her throat.
“Clover Cuffs. Your newest toy. Your intimate dream come true.”
The image burst apart, replaced by her brand name, email address, and phone number.
Applause and wolf whistles broke out from the audience, Jasmina’s the loudest.
