Painted Passion

by Latisha Brandon

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Vlad asked, “You’re letting her move in?”

  Kevin and Ashlyn said in unison, “For the summer!” Both shot visual darts at Vlad.

  Yes, she knew that she couldn’t spend the rest of the summer in a hotel, but the idea of residing with Kevin at first seemed ludicrous, preposterous, and utterly ridiculous. She was thinking with her femininity, because he aroused her with looks, a kiss on her neck, and a crawling hand around her waist. But living together was a monstrous step, even if only for the rest of the summer. What if she wanted to remain after the summer? She knew she wouldn’t have the courage to voice it aloud.

  The only person she’d ever lived with was Makayla, and that had taken a great deal of getting used to. Makayla was a neat freak while Ashlyn thrived in chaos. Ashlyn knew Kevin fell under the same heading as her best friend—he was almost anal. He labeled everything, even the shelving where his plates went. His home lacked comfort, at least to her. It was overly modern. She was a fan of knick-knacks, flower arrangements, candles, and potpourri while his house was sterile, bare of such. He preferred dark colors, but the furniture in her house was mostly white. Kevin would never let Fancy sleep in his bed or on his sofa. She would be lucky if she got through the front door.

  “Kevin, Vlad is right. Are you sure? I’m up every morning by five, while you sleep until ten on the mornings you don’t paint.” She gazed around his sterile environment. Nothing was out of place.

  “We agreed you would stay for the summer. Besides, I’ll give you a reason to sleep in.” The man thought about sex twenty-four hours a day. It was rubbing off on her, because he made her hum with the simple press of a single finger.

  “Keep it in your pants, I’m tired.”

  “Tired…tired…you sound like a wife.”

  “Are you proposing, Kevin?” Ashlyn asked, receiving the desired effect of his silence.

  “Is the honeymoon over?” Vlad asked, dragging the last of Ashlyn’s suitcases up the stairs. “By the time this groundbreaking experiment is over, both of you should be battle-hardened…if you don’t kill each other first.” They heard him laughing, the sound bouncing of the walls.

  “There’s a serious echo in your house. You need more stuff.”

  “I have more than enough. I don’t like clutter; clean lines suit me,” he quickly and emphatically said.

  “Why don’t you at least paint? This room is devoid of color,” she pointed out.

  “I have painted…it’s called Arctic white. The artwork adds the color. Besides, the white walls reflect sunlight brilliantly.” In no way did he want her making changes to his loft. Was he making a mistake? Damn, why was he sweating? “Is it hot in here to you?” he asked, fanning his face and neck, checking the thermostat.

  “No, Kevin, it’s not hot. You’re just having second thoughts, as am I.”

  “We’re both independent people. This situation will take some getting used to.”

  “I don’t know if I can bear it. This is your space, and I can’t tolerate you giving me evil looks if I put my feet on the furniture or leave a glass around.” Her eyes were blazing, her back rigid, and her hands were waving around, emphasizing her points.

  “Where am I supposed to put my clothes, Kevin? Do you expect me to live out of my suitcases? If I say I’m tired, it’s because I’m tired of trying to figure you out. You asked me to stay, don’t forget. And now you stand here sweating, asking me if it’s hot.” She sat down on his hard couch, curling her legs under her. “Where’s the television?” she asked, frustrated and homesick. She hadn’t seen the nightly news in two weeks. She had no idea what was going on in the world. When was the last time she’d picked up a newspaper? She was surviving on green tea, sex, and salad.

  He sat beside her, pointing to a mirror. “When you turn the television on, you can see the screen through the mirror.” He rested his head on her shoulder, holding her hand between the two of them. “Baby, you can put your clothes wherever you want. Let’s not argue over it. I want you here.”

  Kevin nuzzled her neck, desiring her, but in a new way for him. Beyond the sexual, he cherished her company. For the first time in his life, he wanted to stay true and do right by a woman. “I want you to meet my father.” His teeth grazed her sensitive earlobe. “Stay and spend the summer with me.”

  “I don’t want to be where I’m not wanted. You have to make up your mind, and dangling an introduction to your father will not change that.” Ashlyn slid further down the sofa. Angrily she said, “I’m too old for games. Am I putting pressure on you?”

  “Sweetie, you’re thirty-three, not sixty-three. And why do you constantly assume the worst of me? You act as if I’m deficient in some way. You behave as if I have no insight into your desires.”

  Kevin pulled her feet toward him, rubbing the bottoms, thumbing her arches. “As if I couldn’t possibly want the same for myself. We may have grown up in different places, but our home lives in one way were mirror images. My parents were deeply in love as well. My mother left her parents to marry my father and she never regretted it for a day in her life.

  “Her father still refuses to acknowledge Aaron or me. I know my father will never remarry. I know firsthand that that type of love happens. It may be rare, but I know it exists. So, never assume you have the patent on happily married parents.”

  “I’m sorry. This is the first you’ve ever spoken about your parents’ marriage.” Ashlyn burrowed down into the sofa. It was getting more comfortable by the minute.

  “Isn’t this the purpose of spending time together, to find out these things?” Kevin toed his shoes off, twining his legs with hers.

  “I hate when you talk like the elder. That should’ve been my line. Tell me about your parents.”

  Kevin leaned back on the sofa, putting his arms behind his head. “They grew up together. Her family owned the local neighborhood store. Any chance my father got, he went into that store, from the time he was fifteen, my mother a year younger.

  “Finally my grandfather banned him, but that never stopped my father. He would slip notes under the back door. Her brother would collect them when he took the trash out, giving the letters to her at night before she went to bed.”

  “How did you find out about this?”

  “After my mother died, my father would sit awake all night, holding a box with old photos and his love letters. He told me one evening when he was a little too deep in his cups.” Night shadows had crept into the room, like otherworldly ghosts. She was finding it harder to make out his facial expressions.

  “Did they attend the funeral?”

  “No, her father wouldn’t allow it. By the time I was brave enough to approach him, he looked at me and told me he didn’t have any grandsons. I walked out of that store and jumped into a car with a friend of mine named Calvin. I knew better, but I was just so hurt. The only connection I had to my mother was right around the corner, and he pretended I didn’t exist.”

  “What happened?” she asked as softly as possible.

  “The car was stolen and contained a small amount of marijuana. I got arrested five blocks from home. Calvin ran, but I just stood there, stunned, until the cops threw me to the ground.” He still remembered it as if it were yesterday, his face touching the asphalt, a knee in his back, his arms forced behind him. He had never been so scared in his life. There was nothing manly about it, no right of passage. His grandfather had stood on the corner watching the entire act. Kevin had lowered his head in shame. His mother had her father’s eyes. It was as if she were there, a witness to how far he had fallen.

  He’d never returned to the store. He’d spoken to his grandmother once, the year he returned from Vermont. His father had sent her information about her grandsons over the years, and she’d come to tell him that his mother would have been proud. It was the first and only time he ever cried. He’d hugged her tightly, knowing he might never see her again. She came to see Aaron when he graduated from college. Kevin sent he
r a painting of his mother entitled Adara. He had the same image on his back.

  “How did your mother die? I can understand if you don’t want to talk about it.” He was correct about needing to spend the summer together to get past all their preconceived notions. Ashlyn wondered how Vlad was occupying his time upstairs, staying out of their way, giving them time to come to terms.

  Ashlyn hadn’t talked to Makayla in a few weeks. Maybe she was trying to do the same, even though Ashlyn knew it was hard for her.

  “My mother was uncomfortable with going to a doctor. She found it very disturbing to undress before anyone other than her husband. When she began to lose a great deal of weight my father would make appointments for her, but she refused to go. He surprised her by coming home early, scooping her up into his arms, and taking her to the hospital.

  “She had breast cancer, but by the time we found out it had already spread to her lungs and kidneys. There was nothing they could do, except make her last days as painless as possible. She was gone two months later. She passed away at home, with us around her.

  “She was beautifully delicate, almost dainty next to my father. She would chase Aaron and me around the house, washing our faces, but they would be dirty an hour later. My father worked long hours, and was away from home a great deal, but my mother handled us with a silent strength. At night, Aaron and I sat in the doorway of their bedroom, watching my father brush her hair.

  “It was the only time we saw her without her headdress. Her thick, inky black hair hung to her waist. My father enjoyed it more than she did. He did that every day until she passed.”

  “Your mother sounds exceedingly brave to walk away from the only life she knew and not have the support of her family. Your parents’ marriage was a grand love affair…we have more in common than I ever thought. My parents also dealt with ostracism for daring to fall in love and marry. Thank you for sharing that with me. It can be very difficult to share your history, especially if it’s steeped in controversy.” By now the moon was prominent in the sky.

  Ashlyn stood and pulled Kevin to his feet. “Why don’t I cook dinner today? You can go upstairs and tell Vlad it’s now safe enough for him to come down.”

  Kevin gently kissed her mouth. “I hope to hear more of your story one day.”

  Doubtful eyes met his. “When the time is right.” She walked to the kitchen, wanting to change the subject. “Invite Vlad to stay for dinner.”

  “Is there meat involved?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Could we meet in the middle and at least have some type of seafood?”

  “If tofu is seasoned correctly, it can taste like various forms of meat or seafood,” she informed him, sounding like an infomercial.

  “I don’t want tofu seasoned like fish when I can have fish.”

  “You shall have your fish, but one of these days you’re going to try tofu, love it, and thank me for prying the artery-clogging spareribs away from your fingers. I know the day is coming, and the boon you grant me will be priceless. But until that day, you shall have your fish.”

  She began to pull out pans, still shocked by the order in which they were stacked. The shelves were labeled for frying pans and skillets, baking pans, broilers, and sauté and soufflé pans. She wondered who had taught him to cook, or if he even knew how to make a soufflé. She stopped herself from mixing up the pans on purpose. How could someone so fine be so uptight? Well, at least now she was finding his flaws. She would rather deal with neurotic behavior than sexual confusion or womanizing.

  What would he think of her home? Ashlyn believed she could tell a lot about a person by their friends and the place they resided. She knew he had impeccable taste, but he also was a tad rigid, very disciplined. Did that come from his parents or the trouble he found himself in during his youth? Ashlyn assumed a combination of both. He could be very intense at times, overwhelming her. She knew that when he entered a room, he gravitated toward her with a single-minded force, his approach dark and focused, as if she were the only person present. She found herself backing away from him unconsciously, finding breathing space.

  He could be a master flirt, a charmer, and a challenge. Some days he wouldn’t leave her side, constantly touching her, taunting her for imaginary reasons. He dared Ashlyn to push past her sexual limitations, with a heady mix of voyeurism and hedonistic pursuits, telling she could indeed go further. How far would she be willing go for him? Would they ever find a balance?

  * * *

  “The next thing I know, you’ll be talking about marriage and picking out wedding colors. Give me some warning before you spring surprises on me like this! I thought I would live with someone before you—especially if I got behind in my rent.” Vlad raked his fingers through his hair, staring at Kevin as if he had no idea who he was. “You’re setting a bad example for Aaron. Is she pregnant?”

  “Hell, no, she’s not pregnant. Why would you even put that bad voodoo out there? Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” Kevin stood at the railing, looking down into the main room of his loft. He watched her putter around his kitchen, making herself at home. He felt at peace when he was with her. “She’s different…I want to see where this leads.”

  “I warned you when you first told me about her. She’s out of your league, from a different class…old money. I’m not talking about the nouveau riche, but hundreds of millions passed down from generation to generation. Has she told you who her father is?” Vlad sat on the edge of a chaise lounge, talking to Kevin’s back, trying to prepare him.

  “Yes, her father owns a pub. What’s so intimidating about that?” Kevin thought Vlad was trying to scare him, to get him to change his mind.

  “Yes, but that’s just a hobby, to keep open something his grandfather started. Ask her who her parents are.”

  “Since you know so much, why don’t you tell me?” Kevin turned to him. “How do you know so much about her, more than even I know? Why would she keep anything from me?” Did he really know her, aside from the fact she dominated his mind, body, and deeds?

  She evaded most questions about her past. Should he wait and just let her tell it all in her own time or demand answers? He already knew she wouldn’t give in to demands and would fly back to Atlanta the day he started. Was she frightened of how he would react? What was she hiding?

  She’d told him a little of how she grew up, living life one-sided. Why would her mother allow it? What would they think of him? Kevin already knew the answer—they would view him as not good enough. Would that eventually tarnish her viewpoint? He’d never had to prove himself to anyone and he loved it that way. His work spoke for itself and his actions were accountable to no one.

  “I know because I’m not blinded by a strikingly accomplished woman,” Vlad sarcastically stated.

  “Just tell me what you know.”

  “I know her father retired from working with the Department of Defense and works in the private sector. I know her mother’s side of the family made millions, damn near a billion, during the industrial age.”

  “How do you know all of this?”

  “Because you’re like family to me and I don’t want you walking blindly into this. Her father has far-reaching hands…don’t fool yourself into thinking he has no idea where she is and who you are.” Vlad’s eyes darted to every darkened corner. “This house could be bugged right now.” He shivered, as if someone had walked over his grave.

  Kevin didn’t have time for Vladimir’s KGB-inspired paranoia. “Vlad, this isn’t the Cold War. You’ve been watching too many spy flicks. When Ashlyn is ready to tell me more about her history, she will. Until then, I just have to be patient.”

  Vlad played his last card, the one Kevin never saw coming. “What about Franklyn Tatum?”

  Kevin refused to lower his eyes. Her parents probably adored Frank. Why did that flake from her past keep resurfacing? “She already told me about Frank.”

  “Did she tell you how their families became friends and still
socialize now? I found a picture of them at a charity event a few weeks ago. Like one big, happy family.”

  “If her family is as stuffy as you say, his family has to be the same.” This was slowly turning into a nightmare. Eventually he would meet her family. Would his path cross with Frankie’s?

  “Tatum Oil…that’s all I have to say!” Vlad screamed.

  So Frank was a spoiled rich kid, rebelling against his parents. Instead of going to work for the family business and instituting change from within, Frank had decided to become a narcissistic avenging angel. And Ashlyn had fallen for it, naively believing in him. He had to accept money from his parents because he didn’t have a real job. Kevin thought him weak.

  He would have had more respect for him if he worked with his family and built upon it or struck out on his own, contributing to society, instead of sitting in judgment or doling out punishment to those who went against his unsolicited advice. Kevin wasn’t fazed about meeting Frank; in fact, he was looking forward to it. Kevin would make damn sure Frank knew he was not going anywhere, because men like Frank always reappeared like bad pennies. Especially if word got back to him about Ashlyn moving on.

  “Are you staying for dinner?”

  “Can’t tonight. I already made plans. Aaron and I are going to hit up a few clubs. Sorry you can’t go, but you’re on lockdown, an old married man before the age of twenty-six. She’ll soon be calling you, telling you to bring home some milk and eggs.” Vlad laughed, imagining a domesticated Kevin.

  “Stop hating just because I’m getting some on the regular. Besides, who says I can’t hang out anymore? Was there a rule book passed out? I didn’t get my copy. Plus, I haven’t beaten you in pool lately. I think it’s time for your annual ass whipping.”

  “You talk so much junk, but guess what? You still can’t come tonight. While I log too many phone numbers to count, dance with two women per song, and then decide who I’m going home with, you’ll be here, eating tofu seasoned to taste like chicken.” Vlad stood, yawning, and stretched.