by Sacchi Green
Lucinda stood and snatched away her ever-present coverings, unveiling herself fully. It felt as if she were being born, and she marveled at how often Sam’s presence could renew her. “Touch me,” Lucinda whispered.
Sam put both hands on her bare, swelling belly, and they both felt the spark of life within. “Your father will have to accept this,” Sam said. “You’re with child, and no man can claim it as his own.”
Lucinda smiled. She trembled from all that she had taken in, and more than anything she needed Sam’s touch to release some of that pressure. She guided her wife’s hands to cup her heavy breasts. “It’s yours, too,” Lucinda said. “I would never have had the courage if not for you. And I’m yours.”
Sam drew her close, kissing the outline of the birthmark, teasing her nipples awake and pressing fingers between her legs until Lucinda threw her head back and glimpsed a different world altogether.
PENTHOUSE 31
Brey Willows
Bren Ryder ran her forearm over her face to keep the sweat from dripping into her eyes. The salt in her new Celtic tattoo stung like a bitch, but she ignored it. When you were thirty stories up, suspended by ropes and pulleys, it was a damn bad idea to get distracted. The late afternoon sun glinted off the tower windows in front of her, making her glad she’d remembered her sunglasses before rushing out into the foggy San Francisco morning.
The high-rise she was working on required constant maintenance, and as she checked the seals around the windows, she usually did her best to avoid actually looking inside. Too many times to count she’d glanced in to see some couple getting it on, or someone doing drugs. Once she’d seen someone lying on the floor, obviously not in a good state based on the amount of blood around them, and she’d called the police from twenty stories up. But it always amazed her when women walked through the place naked, even though she was clearly on the other side of the glass. Plenty had given her a little show, something she never minded, although it left her uncomfortably aroused for the rest of the day, her boxers wet and irritating.
The one set of windows, however, that she always looked forward to checking, was the penthouse at 31. It was massive, and the windows went nearly all the way around. Even the bedroom was floor-to-ceiling windows, but that had black-out blinds. She had caught glimpses of the beautiful woman who lived there, seemingly alone, several times. She was usually curled up on the couch, her exceptionally long brown hair pulled into a ponytail, glasses perched on the end of her cute little nose, her feet tucked under her, and a laptop balanced on her lap. Without fail, whenever Bren was working on her windows, the woman stopped whatever she was doing and watched Bren the way a child watches animals at the zoo. Bren stole glances, sucked in her stomach, flexed her arms. There was something sensual about the woman, something intense but vulnerable. Bren desperately wanted to get to know her, but professionally she couldn’t possibly ask the woman’s name or number. Hell, she’d have to shout through the glass to find out, and that just seemed stupid.
But whenever she knew she’d be checking 31, she wore her shirt with the cut-off sleeves that showed off her biceps, and the jeans that were just a bit tighter. With all the straps and wires, and the heavy tool belt she wore, the jeans were practically invisible, but it made her feel sexier anyway. She loved when the woman watched her, and for some reason it really, intensely mattered that the woman liked what she saw.
Today the living room was empty. Bren allowed herself a moment to look, really look, at the interior. Although the windows had privacy coating, up this close it was easy to see inside. A massive canvas sat on an enormous easel. Bren squinted to get a better look. It appeared to be a castle. Not a childish one, but one out of some kind of dark fantasy. Shrouded in fog, surrounded by threatening trees under an ominous sky. A figure stood in a window, her long hair caught by an invisible breeze as it hung from the high terrace. The overall scene was so lonely, so intense and sad, that Bren wondered what went through the woman’s mind as she was painting it. Did she feel as isolated as the woman in the painting?
A movement in the corner of her eye startled her and she jumped slightly, sending her ropes and cords swaying enough to make her nervous. The woman stood in the doorway to the bedroom, watching her. As always it was a look of avid curiosity, like a cat searching for movement in tall grass, rather than irritation at having caught Bren blatantly staring inside her home.
Bren gave her a brief smile and quickly returned to work, checking the seals and bolts the way she was supposed to. When she got to the dining room window, her stomach dropped. A hairline crack ran along one edge, radiating from a circular divot. Probably caused by a bird hit. It wasn’t serious, but it could be. Glass shattering and falling from this high up would certainly kill anyone below it, and if the person inside was standing too close, it could do them some damage too. The thought of the mystery woman getting hurt in any way made her feel a bit ill.
She made a note of the exact length and location of the crack before she moved on, checking the rest of the windows carefully. If the bird had been with a flock, there could have been other hits, but by the time she’d made her way almost all the way around, she was relieved to find the rest of the windows secure. She had just finished inspecting the last window, almost opposite where she started, when she saw the front door open.
It was the first time she’d seen anyone else enter the apartment, and she couldn’t help but stop to see who the woman’s visitor was. The window she was hanging outside of was far enough to the side that the person coming in wouldn’t see her right away, and she felt distinctly shady peering inside. If she had needed to guess what type of visitor the woman would have, it wouldn’t have been the stately, scary-looking older woman who walked in. She didn’t so much walk as glide, and her jet-black hair, peppered with gray, was offset by the black leather coat draped over her shoulders. Her face was long and gaunt, her eyes hollow. Bren felt herself shrink away involuntarily.
The beautiful woman appeared in the doorway of the bedroom and seemed to brace herself against it. Bren knew body language, and the younger woman’s body was screaming her discomfort. She watched as the older woman gestured disdainfully at the younger woman before making herself a drink. She stood in front of the painting, studying it as she sipped her drink. The young woman never moved from her place in the doorway, but Bren saw her glance through the window at her before returning her attention to the woman. That one glance held more sadness and desperation than Bren had ever seen in a person’s eyes. It made her heart ache, and her curiosity about the situation in Penthouse 31 intensified.
She began her descent, slowly releasing the pulley system that kept her suspended. Something about the older woman made her think it would be bad to be caught peeping into the apartment, even though part of her hated the thought of leaving the young woman there, as idiotic as that was. It was slow going, and although her mind was whirling with what she’d seen, she made sure to keep her attention on what she was doing, since plummeting to her death wasn’t going to help her situation at all. When she made it to the bottom her arms ached from the strain and sweat soaked her shirt.
Joe, another inspector, sat on the hood and held out a cold soda. “All right?”
She took a long swig of the drink. “Yeah. Crack in Penthouse 31, probably a bird strike. Far left.”
He whistled and looked up. “That would be a damn lot of glass.”
She nodded. “I’ll call it in.”
“Sad, though. You’ll probably have to do the fix from the outside. Won’t be let in.”
She turned back to him quickly. “What do you mean? Why?”
He nodded toward the penthouse. “Jamie O’Cairn. She’s got that disease, you know, the one where people are afraid to go outside? My wife is a big fan of her paintings, all dark and scary. I won’t let her hang any in the bedroom, too freaky for me. Rumor is she’s been that way for a lot of her life.” He took a drink and continued to look up, looking pensive. “Imagine, shutting
yourself away in a tower like that.” He laughed. “Like some princess in a fairy tale.”
Bren grinned, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of unease. Somehow the fact that the beautiful woman was stuck up there, with that horrible woman visiting her, did seem absurdly fairy tale like. She shivered at the memory of the look in the woman’s eyes. She grabbed the phone to distract herself.
“Hey boss. Yeah, mostly good. Crack in Penthouse 31, probably a bird strike. Single, far left, seven millimetres. What do you want to do?”
She listened as her boss typed whatever info it was he processed into his computer. “It’s Friday, and I don’t want to leave something like that any longer than necessary. Was there anyone home?”
“Yeah. A woman. Joe says she’s some kind of shut-in, though.”
“Well, shut-in shouldn’t be an issue. You’re not asking her to leave. See if she’ll let you inspect the window from the inside. If the crack goes all the way through, we’ll get someone out first thing in the morning for a reinstall. If not, we’ll do it Monday. Either way, let her know.”
Bren closed her eyes. This is it. Her chance to meet the woman who often slid through her dreams like smoky silk, her chance to see that pretty face up close. “Cool. I’ll let you know what she says.”
She went back to the truck and started removing the various harnesses that surrounded her. She was inordinately glad she’d worn her best work shirt and jeans. Granted, she was sweaty and dirty, and probably looked like hell, but hey, it was better than being completely scruffy.
She entered the main lobby, and realized she looked far scruffier than she hoped. Compared to the marble reception area, the slate-black tiled floor, the white countertops, she looked like someone had just poured a bit of earth into a museum.
“Can I help you?” The receptionist looked like she was trying not to wrinkle her nose in distaste.
“I’m with the window inspection crew. I need to talk to the resident in the penthouse on 31 about a potential problem.”
The girl bit her lip, suddenly seeming far less confident. “I don’t…I mean…she can’t be bothered.”
Bren sighed. “Look, I won’t bother her. But the crack could be dangerous, and you don’t want her hurt, do you? Or someone on the street below if that window falls out?”
The girl paled. “Well, no, of course not. Let me call.”
Bren noticed that her hand shook slightly and frowned. What the hell? It didn’t seem like normal concern for a resident. She seemed…scared.
“Yes, Ms. O’Cairn? The window inspector, she’s found a problem. She needs to see your window.” She waited a moment, then seemed to relax slightly. “Yes, I’m sorry, I didn’t see her leave. Thank you, I’ll send the inspector up.” She hung up and turned back to Bren, looking slightly calmer. “I’ll key you up to her floor.”
She walked ahead of Bren, who couldn’t help but notice the small, firm ass under the tight, short skirt. She looked away quickly when the girl pressed her card to the elevator, then swiped it quickly inside before pressing the level for the penthouse. The elevator opened into a small entryway, and she raised her hand to knock, but the door opened before she could.
And there she was. Her beautiful long hair was held up in a complicated braid like a crown, but was still long enough to hang down her back to her heels. Her eyes were brown, like milk chocolate flecked with bits of dark chocolate. Her lips were on the thin side, pastel pink. And they were turned up in the tiniest smile. “Is there really a problem with my window? Or did you just finally decide to actually speak to me? Or, just stare at me a little closer?”
“Jesus. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to stare. You’re just…” Bren shook her head. “I’m an idiot. Yes, there’s a crack in your window. I need to take a look at the inside, to see how bad it is.”
The woman opened the door further and waved her in. “Do what you need to.”
Bren ducked her head as she walked past and caught a whiff of the woman’s smell. Fresh air and citrus. The apartment was lovely, but she already knew that. It was tidy, but not obsessively so. The painting she’d seen earlier had a sheet over it. “I’m sorry. I know you have company. I’ll be quick.”
She flinched almost imperceptibly at the mention of the older woman. “She’s gone. You must have missed her when you were doing your circus trick down the building.”
“Circus trick?”
“What would you call being strapped to something on the roof, so you can walk down the side of a building?”
“Rappelling? High-rise inspection? Sexy?” Bren wiggled her eyebrows and her stomach flipped when the woman laughed.
“Fair enough. I’m Jamie, by the way.”
Bren started to hold out her hand, but turned away. Her hands were filthy, and a flare of shame shot through her. “Bren. If I could just check the window, I’ll get out of your head. Hair. I mean, I’ll go away.” She ran a hand through her hair. Smooth.
“I could make a cup of coffee? If you wanted to stay for a minute?”
Bren smiled. “I’d love that. But my partner is waiting for me at the truck. Rain check?”
Jamie looked so crestfallen Bren instantly regretted turning her down.
“Sure, of course. You’re working. Another time—”
“Tomorrow? I’m off tomorrow. If you’re free.”
Jamie’s smile was so beautiful it took Bren’s breath away. “Tomorrow is perfect.”
Bren quickly inspected the window. While most of the crack was outside, there was a hint of it that had come through. She frowned.
“Jamie, I’m sorry, but this has to be fixed as soon as possible. I can have some folks in tomorrow, and then maybe you and I could grab some lunch after?”
Jamie looked away, her expression pained, and she hugged herself. “I understand. But I can’t leave…could we have lunch here?”
Bren nodded, wishing she knew Jamie well enough to take her into a strong hug, so much did she look like she needed one. “Of course. Sure. Here is fine too.”
Jamie sighed in obvious relief. “Can you be here when they do the window, too? I’m not a fan of strangers.”
“No problem. I’ll be here around eight thirty, is that okay?”
Jamie’s smile was like someone turning on the sun in a small room. The elevator doors slid shut and Bren took a deep breath. She felt like someone had turned on a tumble dryer in her stomach. Jamie was more beautiful than she’d thought, and the combination of humor and vulnerability was a heady mixture.
She met the window guys in the parking lot at seven thirty the following morning, not wanting them to go up to Jamie’s without her. They rode up in silence, the guys obviously not in the mood for chitchat so early on a Saturday morning. The door slid open and Bren knocked.
They waited.
Bren knocked again, and the door was flung open. But it wasn’t Jamie who opened it. The creepy older woman looked at them with undisguised irritation.
“Well? Come in. Fix it and get out.”
“Yes, Ma’am. Bren Ryder.” Bren held out her hand, challenging the woman to ignore her. The woman’s return handshake was cold and limp, making Bren think of a dead fish.
“Jamie mentioned you’d been by yesterday.” Her lip curled slightly like she smelled something off.
“Is she here? I’d like to discuss the process with her. Really, it would be better if she weren’t here—”
“No! She does not leave this apartment. She has…special needs. She can’t be bothered with the putrid outside world. She’s far too delicate. Leave her alone, and do your job. She’s fine.”
The woman turned away and Bren had clearly been dismissed. She shook her head when one of the guys was clearly about to say something, and just waved them toward the window. She glanced at Jamie’s closed bedroom door and sighed. The whole thing was off in a way she couldn’t put her finger on. She turned her attention to the guys and waited as they discussed the best way to remove the window safely and replace i
t. The older woman sat in the dining room, a cup of something steaming in front of her, as she flipped idly through some fashion magazine.
Something moved in her peripheral vision and she saw Jamie’s door open a crack, just enough for Bren to see her wide, frightened eyes. She motioned with a finger and Bren moved slowly toward the door in an attempt to keep from drawing the old woman’s attention.
“Jamie? What’s going on? Are you okay?” she whispered, keeping one eye on the dining room doorway.
“I can’t explain now. Can you come back tomorrow? I’ll be alone. Please? I need…just, please?”
Bren looked into Jamie’s face and was baffled by the fear she saw. “Yeah, of course I can. I’ll be here. Nine?”
Jamie nodded. “Whenever you want to come. I don’t sleep much. Thank you.”
She closed the door softly before Bren could say another word. Bren shook her head. What the hell had she gotten into? She had only taken a few steps when the old woman appeared in the doorway. “What are you doing? Get away from there.”
Bren held up her hands. “I was just looking around. I was wondering what her painting was. I heard she’s good.”
The woman’s head tilted slightly, and it reminded her of the way Jamie looked at her when she was checking the windows. Suddenly she wondered if the creepy woman was Jamie’s mother.
“She is excellent. One of the best. Magical, really. Which is why she’s so sensitive and must be left alone. And she certainly can’t be around,” she looked Bren up and down, “riffraff.”
Bren felt her skin crawl. Anyone else and she would have given them some of their own attitude, but something about this woman was dangerous. Evil.
“No worries there, Ma’am. This riffraff knows where she belongs.”
Bren turned away and supervised the rest of the window restoration. Although she glanced at Jamie’s door throughout the morning, it never opened again. The old woman sat on the couch, an ominous deterrent.
