by Opal Carew
I frowned. Written in the bottom corner of the drawing were three words: “Lucien, by Ollie.” I stared at the drawing. Ollie’s words confounded me, but after a minute I realized she simply forgot to write the word “for” in front of the other three.
I rose and paced the first floor. I’d always appreciated the serenity of the night. But my restlessness was unsettling. I fought the urge to go to Samantha’s tree. More temptation was the last thing I needed.
Instead, I ran through the moonless night to Edmund Place, lucky the darkness concealed my unnatural pace. I built a fire, crashed on the couch, and spent the night drifting in and out of a trance. Just before daybreak, crashing thunder convinced me to give up on trying to get any meaningful rest. I showered, changed, and retrieved a few belongings to take to the new house.
It was both selfish and masochistic to spend any more time there, but the idea of not going, of not seeing them…So I went.
And the restlessness maddeningly returned. But I couldn’t make any sense of my emotions. There was no one around, so they were clearly mine.
A knock at the front door interrupted my thoughts. I sensed immediately who stood on the other side. Don’t answer. I nodded, agreeing with myself.
But then she knocked again and called my name. When I still didn’t answer, she chanted, “Please be home, please be home, please be home.”
Extending my empathic abilities to seek her out, the most comforting affectionate warmth embraced me. Shaking my head at my weakness, I worked at a smile and opened the door. “Hi, Ollie.”
“Hi, Lucien! How are you?” she asked with a big grin as she twirled a clear umbrella with sea creatures on it.
“I’m good.”
She laid the umbrella on the porch, then walked in and flopped down on the couch like she owned the place.
I watched her in amazement. “Um, does anyone know where you are?” I closed the door and leaned against the arch separating the foyer from the living room.
“Yep. I asked Mommy last night if I could visit you today, and she said yes. As long as I came straight here and told Grampa and didn’t interrupt anything important you were doing.”
I marveled at Samantha’s trust in me, especially as it was so ill placed.
“I told Grampa, and he just said I needed to be home for lunch at twelve o’clock.” She looked down at the plastic pink watch on her wrist. “It’s only five after eleven o’clock now. See?” She held her arm up to me. “Were you doing anything important?”
I laughed and shook my head. “No, definitely not.” As I spoke, I ignored that the restlessness was dissipating in Ollie’s presence.
“Good.” She leaned forward and grabbed her drawing. “Did you like my picture?” She held it on her lap and smiled up at me expectantly.
“Yes. Very much. Thank you.”
“Can we hang this on your refrigerator?” She stood up in anticipation.
“Uh, sure. Let’s see what I can find to hang it.” I pushed myself off the wall and headed to the kitchen.
Ollie followed. “We use magnets at home. Or tape. Do you have any tape?”
“Good idea.” I opened the utility closet in the back hallway next to the kitchen and found some remaining painting supplies, including a roll of blue tape. I ripped off a piece, and we walked to the fridge.
“Here,” she said. “You hold the paper still, and I’ll put the tape on.” She pulled the tape off my fingers and applied it to the corners of the paper.
I watched her while she worked and sensed nothing but the warmth of affection from her. Which wasn’t nothing, at all.
“That makes it much homier, Ollie. Maybe you can draw me something else to fill up the rest of this empty space.” She beamed at my invitation.
I scratched my head. She simply reached a part of me I didn’t even know still existed.
Ollie moved curiously around my kitchen. After a few minutes, her eyes settled on the black case on the kitchen table. She walked over to it and ran her index finger down the marred surface. “Is this a guitar?”
I walked over to the other side of the table. “A violin. Would you like to see it?”
“Yeah.” She took a step back but leaned her head forward excitedly.
I spun the case around and unclasped the latches. “You can hold it if you want. Just sit down.” I pushed the chair out for her, and she scooted herself up. I laid the violin in her arms, and she cradled it uncertainly like a baby. I smiled. “Do you want me to show you how to hold it?”
She nodded eagerly.
I knelt down next to her and double checked my control. Though she smelled and felt good, my protectiveness of her had overridden my bloodlust, for which I was incredibly grateful—I would never be able to forgive myself if I stole the lifeblood from a child, particularly this one.
I positioned the violin on her collarbone and showed her where to place her hand and chin. Then I handed her the bow and invited her to move it across the strings. The screeching noise made her grimace and me laugh. I offered her more guidance, and she attempted to play again.
Then she stopped and held the instrument out to me. “Do you play?”
I pulled out the chair next to her and sat down. “Yes. Do you want to hear something?” The adoration in her lovely blue-green eyes melted me. I just couldn’t fathom it.
She wanted me to play for her. So I played. She started clapping immediately. “That’s ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star’!”
Encouraged by her requests for encores after each song, I played for her for almost a half hour before we ran out of time.
“Thanks, Lucien. You’re good at the violin.”
“Thanks,” I said as I secured the instrument in its case. “Come on. I’ll walk you home.”
“Okay.”
We walked out of the house as she chattered. The rain had stopped. A muggy haze hung over the midday. I was just thinking how much I appreciated the overcast day when Ollie did the most shocking thing—for me at least.
She took my hand.
I looked down. Her hand was engulfed by mine and so filled with life. She was oblivious to the significance of her actions. To her, the idea of holding my hand—a grown-up’s hand—was commonplace. To me, it offered a sense of connection I’d never had. I reveled in her touch and memorized everything about the moment.
Ollie ran inside her house with a wave. I stood on the sidewalk, dumbfounded. She had seen me, met my eyes, volunteered interaction, spoken to me, touched me, embraced me. It was wondrous, but…completely fucking unprecedented.
Wasn’t it? Lost in thought, I meandered back over to my place, wondering how to determine if Ollie’s reaction was typical of children in general. The sound of cheering pulled me out of my head.
The park. Other kids would be at the park. I passed my house and walked with purpose.
As I approached, a group of boys of all ages played touch football. They skidded on the wet grass and laughed and jeered at one another. None were as young as Ollie, but they were still kids. I grabbed a nearby bench at the side of the makeshift field and watched.
Twenty minutes lapsed without a single apparent notice. When an errant pass sent a boy tumbling within feet of me, my stomach tingled with his surprise at my being there. When another overshot sent the ball end over end near my bench, I retrieved it and threw it to the boy who had missed the pass. I smelled his fear even as he thanked me.
Maybe it was me being a big white guy and him being a black teenager, but I didn’t think so. I left them to their game and followed the sidewalk to the central playground.
A boy and a girl nearer to Ollie’s age alternated sending action figures and matchbox cars down the wet slide so they landed in a puddle at the bottom with a splash. They didn’t look up or acknowledge me, but their heart rates increased. The longer I stood there watching them, the more inappropriate my observations felt, so I left.
Still, I’d gathered enough evidence. It wasn’t just that I’d avoided children fo
r the past century. Nor did all children react with as much acceptance.
Ollie was special.
I hadn’t really needed an experiment to prove that. It simply confirmed what I already knew. But could I really keep that specialness in my life? My heart railed against the resounding NO my conscience offered up. There is one way to lessen the risk…
The thought energized me, and I left the park on a mission.
Chapter Six
A little before six o’clock, I shelved the procured flasks in the cabinet next to the kitchen sink. I felt the girls’ presence before they even knocked on the door.
Samantha and Ollie stood on the front porch and invited me to walk over to the playground with them again. More hopeful now that this…friendship with them could work, I was only too happy to agree.
Ollie entertained herself on the playground while Samantha and I sat on a bench talking. I focused the conversation on her and was so engrossed in hearing her thoughts vocalized and feeling her happiness a whole hour passed without notice.
Finally, Ollie danced in front of us. “Can we go home now, Mommy? The ’squitos are eating me.”
“Okay, honey. Let’s go.”
Back at their house, we stood on the front porch making small talk. Samantha looked up at me. “Would you like to come in?”
My mind erupted with want and regret. I managed to nod and followed Samantha and Ollie into their house, awed to actually be inside.
By issuing the invitation, Samantha had unwittingly lost her last line of defense. My control and the contents of those flasks had just become even more important. Samantha’s father walked into the room, and we exchanged hellos. He remained wary of me, his reaction the more typical.
Ollie asked to watch a television show before bedtime. Joe took Ollie’s hand. “I’ll watch with you, Ollie. Come on.” He led them to a room on the other side of the kitchen and looked back at Samantha. “I’ll keep an eye on her if you want to go out for a while or something.”
“That’s great, Dad. Thanks.” She walked over and kissed Ollie on the head. “Be good for Grampa, ’kay?”
“Okay, Mommy. Bye, Lucien,” she called, already getting herself settled in front of the television as Joe worked the remote.
Samantha looked at me expectantly.
While I wanted to remain in her presence, I wasn’t convinced I could trust myself alone with her. So when it came, Samantha’s innocent question disarmed me. “Do you want to get some ice cream?”
My only response was a laugh.
“What? I’m dying for some ice cream. I was going to get some at lunch today and decided against it. And I’ve been thinking about it ever since.” She smiled a little self-consciously.
I couldn’t contain my continued mirth. “Sure. Ice cream it is. Where do you want to go?”
She walked toward me and our eyes met, drawing me to her until I had to look away. “How about the Ben and Jerry’s downtown? I love their vanilla chocolate chunk.”
I nodded and we walked outside. “May I drive? My car’s just over on the street.”
“Okay.” As we approached the classic Z28—my first car—she whistled appreciatively. “Nice car. Wow. It’s in really great condition.”
“Thanks. I don’t drive it often, but was just in the mood today.” I held the door for her, and she got in. I took a deep breath before opening the driver’s door and sliding in. We arrived at the newly rebuilt area around the ice cream shop in less than fifteen minutes, which was good, as the interior of the car was so thick with her sweet scent I was salivating.
True to her word, Samantha got a big cone of vanilla ice cream with huge chocolate chunks protruding everywhere. I avoided getting one for myself, much to her chagrin.
We walked the avenue for a few minutes and before long found ourselves in Cadillac Square, a large oval plaza in the middle of downtown. Samantha pulled herself on top of a table and rested her feet on the attached metal bench below.
I sat next to her and watched her lips and throat work while she ate. The tightness in my jeans finally forced me to look away.
“Are you sure you don’t want to try some? It’s really good.”
I glanced back to her and found her smiling. “No. Thanks, though.” I tried like hell not to focus on her long pink tongue.
“Oh, come on. Are you really going to make me eat alone?” She held the ice cream closer to my face.
I smiled in defeat. It appeared I was going to have to eat some ice cream. When I still didn’t take her up on her offer, she tilted the cone toward me and touched it to my nose.
I flinched. I didn’t know what facial expression I wore, but it set her off laughing with abandon. She laughed so hard she almost dropped the cone. It was irresistible. I had to join her.
“I’m…I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. Here…” She held up a napkin and wiped the cold cream off my face. The smell of her radial artery set my mouth to watering, and I longed to lean forward and lap at the slender length of her exposed wrist.
I smiled and looked at her intently. “This is a dangerous game you’re playing, Samantha.”
She shivered. “Oh really? How’s that?” The flirtation in her voice was unmistakable. And enthralling.
Before she even saw me do it, I scooped some of the offending cream on my finger and wiped it messily across her lips and chin. She screamed and laughed. I swallowed hard at the soft feel of her lips.
She turned to face me on the table. When our laughter settled, I sat holding my cream-covered finger up in front of her. She used the soiled napkin from my face to clean off her own. Then she saw the ice cream still on my hand.
“Sorry, that was my only napkin.” I grimaced at the ice cream, and Samantha huffed. “Who doesn’t like ice cream? Do you want me to get rid of that for you?” She met my eyes and arched one eyebrow.
The mild scent of her adrenaline intrigued me. “Please,” I said quietly, observing her with interest.
She grabbed my hand by the wrist and pulled it down to her face.
I gaped at what she intended to do but was so captivated, my finger was in her mouth before I’d grappled with whether or not to allow her to do it. My brain exploded with the sensation.
Ah, Cristo. So warm. So wet.
Her pulse beat through her tongue. I fought not to gasp out loud. My eyes stung as blood threatened to rush in, the normal reaction to feeding and feeling threatened or aroused. It took all my concentration to will the blood away.
“There,” she whispered as her lips slid off the tip of my wet finger. Her heart thundered in her chest. The blossoming scent of her arousal was mouthwatering. “All better.”
The heat of her lust traveled down my abdomen, and my own rose up to meet it. She released my hand and hopped down off the table, then walked over to a trash can and discarded what she hadn’t finished. I tracked every sway of her hips and movement of her lithe frame, the predator in me now wanting something entirely different from her.
She returned and stood in front of me as I still sat on the table. “So, um, tell me about you, Lucien.” She laced her fingers together behind her back and looked up at me.
“What do you want to know?” My voice was low, strained by the thrill of her actions.
“Well, what do you do?”
“I’m a real estate investor, both commercial and residential.”
“Wow. Are you from Detroit originally?”
“I was born in New York, but I’ve lived here most of my life.”
“Is your family here?”
I swallowed my discomfort. “No. I don’t have much family. What I do have is all in New York.” I kept my answers short, purposely vague. Her questions helped me refocus and calm down.
“Ollie told me you play the violin. I hope she didn’t bother you by coming over today, by the way.” Samantha moved a full step closer to me as we spoke.
“No, she didn’t bother me at all. We had fun. I gave her a quick violin lesson, and then
she twisted my arm and got me to play for her.”
She smiled and more affectionate warmth flooded me. “She told me all the songs you played. I would love to hear you play some time.”
“I would love to play for you. Any time.”
She stepped forward again and stood just at my knees.
I watched her movements with wonder and need. The atmosphere between us thickened and sparked. Samantha looked up at me shyly, but with clear purpose.
“Lucien?”
“Hmm?” I gripped the edge of the table lest I reach out and pull her flush against my body.
She leaned in further and placed her fingertips on my knees. Electrical impulses ripped up my thighs and settled into the thick organ between my legs.
“Kiss me?”
My breath caught in my throat. My original plan for her made it blasphemous for me to consider accepting her affection. But I wanted it desperately. Wanted her.
We leaned toward one another. I met her lips tenderly, not wanting to take more risk than I already was. But then she took another step forward and fit herself tight between my legs. She moved her hands to my shoulders. Her heart hammered between our chests.
I needed to be careful, but I had to hold her. I released the table’s edge and wound my hands around her, tangling one in the soft, fine hair behind her head and snaking the other around her narrow waist. Her life thrummed in my arms. I had gone so long without affectionate touch that this felt beyond miraculous. It was simply irresistible.
I was so hungry for her, but not for her blood. I deepened the kiss and stroked my tongue with need and want against hers. Exploring her mouth with abandon, I groaned at the sweetness of her taste and thrilled at being inside of her.
Oh, dolcezza. The taste of her joy, her vivacious personality, the way she loved Ollie, her acceptance of me—everything about her bespoke her sweetness. Her heat seared me. I pulled her in tighter and relished the throb of her pulse against my skin.
