She considered it. “I’ve always wanted to share my vision. I just can’t bear the idea of intrusion. Do you understand?”
Danny pulled her down to him for a brief, searing kiss. “Better than you know, sweetheart. So if I move here and promise to keep you anonymous, you’d live off my less than stellar salary until you can sell paintings?”
“I’d hope we’d share all the responsibility. But of course. Although I think you’re setting too high a store on those paintings.”
“And I think I’m not.” He kissed her again. “Okay, missy. You have a deal. When do we ask your sisters’ permission?”
“When Mare wears a gray suit. Don’t worry. They love you already. Mare will offer to have your babies if you take my attention away from her. Hey, I don’t suppose you could help me talk her into college.”
Danny laughed. “Mare? Oh, Dee, don’t waste your breath. Mare’s going to end up creating something wonderfully bizarre, like, oh, an interactive movie-watching game that everybody’s going to want, and she’s going to become a cultural phenomenon.”
Dee sighed and settled back on Danny’s chest. “Fine. Outvoted again.”
“I will do one thing for you.”
“What’s that?”
“Show you why I bought the feather boa.”
She was up again and smiling. “Boas make me hot.”
Danny James could look very smug when he wanted to. “I thought they would.”
Lizzie opened her eyes, slowly letting them adjust to the predawn light. She was lying sprawled across Elric’s perfect body, exhausted and deliciously, perfectly happy. She had no idea where, or when, or how she’d gone—at some point the arcs of color had speared through her body, turning it into tiny shards of crimson, blue, and gold, fairy dust spread across the universe until it settled back into lavender and then into flesh once more. It had been endless, glorious, and instinctively she tightened her grip on Elric’s shoulder, afraid he’d gone.
He murmured something sleepily, but his arm was locked around her back, and there was no way she could escape. No way she wanted to.
The door to her room was open. Someone must have come in to check on her during the night and she could only guess they’d found nothing. Lizzie and her phantom lover had vanished, at least for the time being, which was probably just as well. She wasn’t sure either of her sisters could have withstood the shock of seeing peaceful little Lizzie turning into …
What had she turned into? A raging sex addict? If you considered exactly what she’d done, what he’d gotten her to do with nothing more than a gentle tug, then she was the most wanton creature on the face of this earth. Except that she wanted no one but him.
The bastard was right after all. They were in love, bonded, and there was no breaking away. No safe life in the suburbs with a mini-van and two children. There’d be children all right, but the thought of what they might produce was enough to send chills through the heart of any prospective mother. A child with both their gifts would be something to reckon with, indeed.
She turned her face to look at him. He looked so young, so beautiful. And most astonishing of all, he was hers.
The door closed and locked again, and he opened his eyes to meet hers. “Has someone been snooping around?” he murmured.
“Probably my sisters. Are you ready to meet them officially?”
“God, no,” he said, sliding his hand up the smooth line of her back. “I can think of much better ways to spend our time. Even if we have more than our fair share I don’t want to waste a minute of it.”
She slid back down in the bed, back on the purple sheets, and smiled at him. “Don’t you think the next fifty years will be enough?”
He made a face. “I think it’ll be more than that,” he said. “And even then it won’t be enough.”
“Are you asking me to marry you?”
“No. It’s a foregone conclusion.” At least this morning he didn’t seem nearly as upset over the notion. In fact, he seemed quite smug. “The way I figure it, if an average life span is ninety years, then we’re both about one third of the way through it.”
“So another sixty years, then.”
He shook his head. “You forgot what I taught you about traditional alchemy. There are two main quests. One is to change base metals into gold. The other is to prolong life. You’ve already crossed that border, though I’m not sure when. I expect we’ll die within hours of each other, a very long time from now.”
“What border?”
He didn’t answer. “You don’t mind marrying an older man?” he said instead.
“For all I know you’re younger than I am,” Lizzie said. “And I’d marry you no matter how old you are.” She looked into his deep lavender eyes, wondering if hers had the same translucent glow. “Er … exactly how old are you?”
He reached up and pulled her down to his mouth, kissing her. “Older,” he said.
“How old?” she persisted.
He put his mouth against her ear, hot and sweet and arousing. “Physically, I’m in my late twenties. Mentally, I’m about thirty-five. In actual years …” He hesitated.
“In actual years?” she prompted.
“Ninety-three,” he whispered.
And she let out a shriek of laughter that woke the entire house.
Dee had long since lost hope of ever waking to the sight of a man in her room. But when she woke up, there he was. Lying on his side, head propped on his hand, just watching her.
“You really will marry me,” he said. “I wasn’t just dreaming.”
Dee laid her hand against his heart. “And all my worldly goods endow. Unfortunately the sum of that is three business suits, a handful of bird feathers, and a closet of acrylic paint.”
She’d thought he’d been beautiful last night. This morning he was glorious, a celebration of sensuality in her sterile bed. His beard shadowed the hard angles of his jaw, adding a rakish air to his smile. His eyes were sleepy and sated. He was naked to his hips where the crisp white sheet pooled just south of his navel to expose her favorite torso on earth. She’d traced every inch of it last night with her tongue. She’d followed the hair that decorated his chest straight down to where his cock rose to meet her and tasted that, too. Then when it had gotten too cold up on the mountain, they’d gathered their blankets and snuck inside the house, giggling like teenagers, and she’d explored all over again.
Danny never looked away from her as he traced a lazy hand along her jaw to dip into the hollow of her throat. “And you really won’t mind that we’ll have to pinch pennies.”
Dee savored the shivers his touch unleashed. “I live to hear Lincoln scream.”
“You probably won’t be able to go on research trips with me.”
She sighed. “So all that talk of Montmartre?”
“To get you to have sex with me.”
“It worked. I’ll save up my own money and go. But I am going … one of these days.”
He just kept watching her. At first Dee felt cherished. Slowly, though, she began to suspect that his contemplation wasn’t all infatuation. He was just too quiet. Too still. After the night they’d had last night, he should be singing like Domingo. He should at least praise the luster of her eyes, or the fact that she was double-jointed.
“Dee, I have a confession to make.”
She fell back against her pillow and shut her eyes. “Oh, hell. I knew it was too good to be true. I looked like your mother after all.”
“Like my who?”
“If I did and you didn’t mind, then I’m afraid you’re just too gothic for me. You’ll have to leave. Just don’t sell my story to The Enquirer.”
“Nothing short of the News of the World, I promise. What the hell are you talking about?”
She cracked an eye open. “It’s my usual party trick. Why else did you think I was so frantic?”
“You turn into … whoa, that is out there.”
“The fact that you seem surprised is a good thi
ng.” She rose up on her own elbow to face him. “So if it wasn’t that—and I thank all the powers of the universe that it wasn’t—what is it?”
Danny stopped making eye contact. Dee felt that loss right in her solar plexus where all her dread lived.
“What?” she demanded. “Your wife needs you? Your gay lover needs you? Your bishop needs you? What?”
“I’m, uh, not who you think I am.”
That brought her all the way to a sitting position. “I really think this demands an explanation.”
Danny reached for one of her hands. She slapped him away.
“You said it yourself,” he defended himself. “You can’t bear the notoriety. To have people think they have the right to you. That they know you. I, uh, I guess I’m here under an assumed name.”
“You’re not Danny James.”
“I am. Daniel James Mark—”
He never got the rest out. The figurative light went on in a blinding flash, and Dee shoved him ass first off the bed. They should have heard the thud across town. Dee found she didn’t care. She leaned over the side to see him sprawled naked on her hardwood floor, his dignity in serious disarray. It would have been easier if he didn’t look as if he were posing for a portrait titled The Male Animal Recumbent.
Dee swung her feet off the side of the bed, oblivious to her nudity. Danny wisely scooted beyond immediate range.
“You are not going to tell me that you’re really billionaire, world-famous author Mark Delaney,” she snarled.
He tried to smile his crime away. “He’s not such a bad guy.”
She climbed off the bed and stalked over to pick up her clothes. When Danny or Mark or whoever tried to rise and follow her, she planted her foot in his solar plexus to dissuade him. He went down with a faint “oof!”
“I hope you know that this is one of my favorite fantasies.”
Dee glared him into submission. She was not going to allow him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. “So, what was this?” she demanded, struggling into her sweat suit. “A joke? A bet? Are things so boring in Chicago that you have to go all the way to Salem’s Fork for a little fraternity humor?”
“Actually, not Chicago, either.”
“Shut up.”
With a nervous glance to make sure she wasn’t in striking position, Danny climbed to his feet. “I was perfectly serious. I just mostly do my own research. And I call myself Danny James so I can avoid the hoopla. When I still did research as Mark Delaney, the only thing I could accomplish was finding new places on teenage girls where they wanted me to sign my name. I couldn’t tell you.”
“Oh, I imagine you could have. Any time during the four times last night you had my legs spread, for instance. Or sometime around that marriage proposal … or is that part of the joke, too? See how the poor chick responds to an honorable but poverty-stricken invitation to marriage. Did I score high? Will you at least spell my name right in the book?”
He yanked his jeans on. “All right, I admit it. I was afraid.”
Dee laughed out loud. “Of course you were. After all, I’m so fierce.”
“Actually,” he said with a wry grin, “you are.”
She sucked in a calming breath and squeezed her eyes shut. “Snap your jeans. You look like a cheesy Chippendales poster.”
He ducked into his shirt, too. It didn’t make Dee feel any better. “Dee, listen to me.”
She threw out a hand. “From across the room.”
She was backed against her wall, where she could see the only art she’d thought to put up, school paintings from her sisters. A pony with big brown eyes from Liz and Lydia from Beetle Juice from Mare, all sharp angles and lots of black. It was good to remind herself sometimes just who she could trust. And here she’d been worried about shapeshifting.
Danny speared his hands through his hair. Dee held her position instead of hurrying over to smooth it back down, like she wanted to.
“This has just been a bit overwhelming, ya know.” He wasn’t telling her anything. “I came here on a mission. I wanted to blow the whistle on self-serving hucksters who took advantage of people in pain. I wanted you to give up your parents. The only thing I knew about you was from your aunt. And I have to admit—” He shook his head. “She doesn’t know you as well as she thinks. To be honest, Dee, I didn’t think past getting my proof. I told you. What happened to my mother shouldn’t happen to anybody.”
“I agree. Get to the part where you think it’s a good idea to help me dispense with my virginity under false pretenses.”
“What false pretenses? I love you. I meant it. Thursday I didn’t know you. Now I can’t imagine spending my life with anyone else. The false identity thing was an oversight.”
“Not telling me you knew Aunt Xan could be termed an oversight. Having sex under an assumed name is fraud.” She stalked up to him and poked him right in the chest. “And I know fraud. My parents were convicted for it.”
Danny grabbed her hands and held them to his heart, which Dee could feel was beating far too fast. It hurt her, because she knew that he was serious. He really was afraid.
“I know,” he said quietly, holding too tightly for her to pull away. “And I’m sorry. I really am. It’s just that the world is different when you’re famous. Everybody thinks they know you. I wanted you to fall in love with the real Danny Delaney. Not the hype on a dust jacket. I thought you’d understand.”
She was weakening, and he didn’t deserve it. Not yet. “What did I tell you about how I feel about liars? I don’t even know where you really live.”
“The person you know is the real me,” he said, sincerity radiating from every pore. “No pretense.”
“Where do you live? Is it really Seattle, like the book jackets say?”
He had a great line in chagrined. “Actually, Detroit.”
She flinched. “I hate Detroit. We spent three very bad years there.”
“We’ll move.”
She shook her head. “You really think it’s that easy?”
“We really can travel. You can paint whatever or wherever you want. I’ll hold your paint box. And think about it. I’m the perfect person to show you how to share your art without paying for it.” He leaned so close she could almost taste the perspiration that beaded on his upper lip. “Dee, I can take care of your sisters. You never have to worry about them again.”
She just shook her head, beyond words.
“You said you loved me,” he said.
Oh, why did he have to sound so uncertain? He didn’t deserve to be forgiven yet. But she couldn’t bear to hear that vulnerability.
“I love you so much that for the first time in my life I made love to a man as me,” she said.
“Then it shouldn’t matter.”
That brought Dee’s eyes open again. “It does.” It was all she could do to stay strong. “I can’t be in a relationship without honesty. I can’t give everything and then get my lover in considered bits and pieces.”
“Your husband’s.”
“You’re not paying attention. I think you should leave now, and think about what you want from us. I know what I want. I want it all. I want all of you. I won’t settle for less.”
“You’ll have it!”
“Don’t make promises you haven’t figured out how to keep.” This time when she pulled, he let her go. “I’d rather you weren’t here when I try and explain this to my sisters.”
She could just hear Mare’s reaction. You threw him out because you found out he’s richer than God? Oh, yeah. That’s thinking.
Danny cupped her face in his hands. “Promise you’ll be here when I get back.”
She couldn’t look away from those mesmerizing eyes. For the first time, she saw no humor in them. It was enough. “I’ll be here.”
It wasn’t until she’d let him out the front door that she took in her first real breath. Then, where nobody could see her, she allowed herself a slow smile. Life was very, very good.
Waking up wit
h Crash in the sunlight inspired Betty Crocker fantasies in Mare.
“I could be a wife,” she told him, lying on her stomach with her chin in her hand, staring at her new beautiful footboard as the Sunday sunshine poured through the window, warming her naked body and making the butterflies on the drapes glitter. “I could be a barefoot wife and learn to cook.”
“A barefoot wife with a blue butterfly on her ass,” Crash said, tracing the round wings of the new tat on her tailbone with his fingertip. “This works for me.”
“It’s black, not blue,” Mare said transferring her attention to other renovations. “You know, the flowers I painted never went back to the drapes. They’re all over the floor and the sheets now, they never went back. Maybe it’s because they couldn’t fly like the gold butterflies.”
“This butterfly is blue,” Crash said, letting his finger drift lower.
“Hey, it’s Sunday,” Mare said, looking over her shoulder. “Show some respect.” She sat up and craned her neck, trying to see her new tattoo. “I saw it when Mother was done with it. It was black.”
“It’s blue now, like your magic,” Crash said, looking at her breasts.
“You are entirely too predictable,” Mare said, and got off the bed to try to see the tattoo in the newly cleared cheval mirror.
It was blue. The black outline was still there, but now it was filled with blue. The color of her magic. “Huh. Maybe the magic changed it. Maybe something happened last night—”
“Come here,” Crash said.
“I think I should make breakfast,” Mare said, her hands on her hips. “A good wife makes breakfast for her man. I could start with toast and work up.”
“I think we should make something else,” Crash said. “I could start with your toes and work up.”
“Okay,” Mare said.
An hour and a half later, Mare was down in the kitchen wearing an apron over the long striped skirt she’d made for the movie that night—Victoria from Corpse Bride, since Sophie had no good clothes in Howl’s Moving Castle—and doing her damnedest to fix toast. Setting the toaster on “5” turned out to be a bad idea, since it meant darker not faster—“You’re not going to eat that,” she told Crash when he looked manfully ready to consume charcoal for her—so she sent him out into the dining room with orange juice while she dialed the toaster back to “2” and tried again. But when she went out to the dining room with a plate of reasonably golden buttered squares of hot bread, she found Jude alone in the dining room with Py hissing at his feet.
Unfortunate Miss Fortunes, The Page 30
