Pierced: Pierced Trilogy Boxed Set

by Lashell Collins

  When he’s satisfied that there are no monsters, or creepy stalkers, he finds me in the living room waiting. “I’ve got to get going, baby,” he says, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me close. He kisses me tenderly for a moment and then sighs, letting me go. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “Okay,” I pout.

  Once he’s gone and I’ve locked the door, I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. I need to unwind a little. I head into the bedroom to get out of my work clothes and into something more comfortable. I change into a pair of old cutoff jean shorts and an old ratty t-shirt that is spattered with paint. Stuffing my cellphone into my back pocket, I go into the kitchen and pour myself a small glass of wine. Then I venture into the living room and grab first my iPod, then the vase of roses that Josh gave me two days ago, and carry them upstairs to my studio.

  I’ve already prepared the canvas as I have been itching to paint these flowers ever since Josh gave me that first single rose. I set the vase of roses down on a small pedestal that I keep in the studio, and position the roses until I find just the right angle. Then I put the iPod into the docking station I keep up here and scroll through my music. I find one of my favorite playlists that’s full of beautiful love songs and get to work.

  As I fill my palette with color and the music begins, my mind starts to drift over the events of the past few days and I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly and trying desperately to push the fear and the anxiety away. I don’t want to think about my stalker issues right now. The goal is to unwind, and I find painting cathartic. I take another sip of wine and savor it for a moment as I run a hand through my hair.

  Concentrating on the music as I take up a brush and dip it into the paint, thoughtfully mixing my colors, I feel the tension leaving my shoulders as I let my brush glide boldly across the canvas. I hum along softly with Lauryn Hill as she starts to sing about how she can’t take her eyes off of him, and her words make me smile slightly as I picture Josh’s smile and his eyes.

  I lose myself in the music and my thoughts and watch the colors dance and swirl on my canvas. I hope Josh isn’t too good to be true. He has quickly become so very important to me; I like him so much. Oh, who are you kidding, Sam … you love him! My subconscious sounds as forlorn as I feel, and she’s right. I know that I am completely, desperately in love with this man and I don’t know what to do about it. And I don’t know how he feels about me. He claims that he doesn’t know anything about being in a relationship … yet he does the most thoughtful things for me, every day. He says the sweetest things to me, and when he makes love to me he is so passionate and tender. He makes me feel cherished. Like I’m precious to him. Does he love me?

  The question makes me frown, and I feel myself chewing my bottom lip as I paint. The song changes and I let the music wash over me and continue my task, studying the bouquet of roses as I paint them. And again, the words make me think of Joshua as I listen to a sweet voice describe the feeling of being in the arms of her lover. She says his arms are her castle. That’s an interesting way to put it but, I know exactly what she means. There is no place I would rather be than in Josh’s arms; they are my castle. My refuge. My favorite place to be. It’s where I feel the safest and the most protected. I feel treasured and adored in his arms. And even though we haven’t said the words, I feel … loved when he holds me. Does he love me?

  The question comes again, nagging at me, and I have no clue what the answer might be. And I realize that I’m afraid to spend too much time thinking about it for fear that the answer isn’t what I want it to be. I have fallen hopelessly in love with Josh and I want to believe that he loves me too but, I just don’t know. He is so closed off most of the time, refusing to share the smallest detail about his life or what he’s thinking. Any information he gives me is like precious gold. I feel like a starving orphan child begging for scraps of knowledge from him.

  I sigh as I place the brush in a small cup of water and grab another, mixing the colors on my palette as I continue painting. My thoughts of Josh continue to haunt me, driven by the next song starting on my iPod. And again, the words mirror the emotions I’m feeling but can’t even begin to articulate. The Sugababes talking about being in so deep that they can’t think straight. So in love that they’re totally lost in the guy. I definitely know how that feels. I am too lost in Josh, too wrapped up in him. I have fallen way too hard and much too quickly. And every time I try to make myself slow down, something happens to spur me on and push me forward, rushing in like the fool that I am. But I can’t help myself. He is just so … wonderful.

  I throw myself into my task, working feverishly, and the beautiful bouquet of Esperance roses begins to come alive on my canvas, and I remember the joy I felt at opening the door that night to Josh and seeing the flowers in his hand. It was so completely unexpected. Two dozen, long-stemmed beauties of the most unusual hue! They were as stunning then as they are now, three days later. In fact, they’re even more so now that the blooms have opened more. An endearing, tender bouquet of hope.

  The next song on the playlist begins and I continue to paint as Celine Dion’s angelic voice sweeps over me. And as she sings, I realize that her words say everything that I wish I were brave enough to say to Josh right now. Everything I want him to know about how I’m feeling. How I want him to dream of me and need me. How I want to be everything to him. How I want him to need me the way that I need him. I want him to open up and let me into his heart. I want him to love me.

  When the song ends, I take a deep, steadying breath and I realize that I’ve been crying. I set my brush and palette down, and grab a clean towel to wipe my hands. And as I’m drying my eyes, the doorbell rings and I take out my cellphone to check the time. It’s 6:21. That should be Josh returning and I haven’t even begun to think about dinner. As usual when I paint, I’ve lost all track of time. I turn off the music and quickly head downstairs to the door.

  When I glance at him through the peep hole I get a flutter of butterflies in my belly and I feel slightly uneasy, remembering my tears a moment ago. What the heck was that about anyway? My subconscious picks now to show up and ask that question! I ignore her and open the door to my man. I can call him that, can’t I? He is my man … isn’t he? Sort of. I’m not really sure. Maybe that’s what the tears were over. The fact that he’s not really yours but, you want him to be.

  He gives me a bright smile as he walks in. “Hi, baby,” he says, leaning down to kiss me. He’s carrying his gym bag and I know that it holds another change of clothes. His voice sounds tired but relaxed, and I smile back at him as I close and lock the door.

  “Hey,” he says with a slight frown as he caresses my face with his hand. “What’s wrong? Have you been crying?”

  I’m slightly startled. It was only a few tears … how does he know? Can he read me that well already? And what am I supposed to tell him? That I’ve been crying because I realize I’m in love with him but I don’t know if he feels the same for me? I can’t do that.

  “No, I’m okay,” I say softly, trying to shrug it off. “But I’m afraid I got carried away painting and I haven’t thought about dinner yet. Just give me a minute to get cleaned up and I’ll throw something together.” I turn to exit the living room but he grabs me gently around my waist and pulls me to him.

  “Samantha, slow down,” he says with a worried smile. He studies my eyes for a second and I know that I’m not fooling him. He wants to know why I was crying but, thankfully, I don’t think he’s going to ask. He sighs and tucks a strand of my wayward hair behind my ear. “Why don’t we make it easy and just order a pizza?” he says with a shrug of his shoulders.

  “I don’t mind cooking,” I protest.

  “I know you don’t,” he says softly, “but this way you don’t have to worry about it. You can go back to your painting if you want to until dinner gets here.”

  “What are you going to do if I’m painting?” I ask, looking up into his eyes.

  “D
on’t worry about me, baby,” he smiles. “You don’t need to entertain me, you know? I’ll just watch TV, or work out or something.”

  “You wouldn’t mind?”

  “No, of course not,” he says, smiling down at me. “I would like to see what you’re painting, though.” His bright blue eyes seem to sparkle with mischief and I can’t help but smile at him.

  “Really?” I ask him, and I can hear the surprise in my voice.

  “Yes, really,” he chuckles at me.

  I hesitate for a beat, unsure of myself as I chew nervously on my bottom lip. Then I take his hand in mine. “Okay,” I say shyly, turning toward the stairs and he follows me. I lead him up to my studio and over to the wet canvas and we stand in silence for several seconds as he takes in my work in progress. I stand next to him, anxiously willing him to say something.

  He wraps his arm around me and pulls me in front of him, hugging me close, and we stand and stare at my painting. Finally he kisses my temple. “I don’t know much about art, Sam, but you really have a knack for making your pictures look so realistic,” he says quietly into my ear. “That sketch you drew of me sleeping a few days ago was amazing; it could have been a photograph. And this … it looks like I could reach out and take a rose from that vase! It’s just incredible, baby. I can’t believe that you can’t see how talented you really are.”

  His words make me feel so good. I can’t help the uncertain grin of pride I know I’m wearing, and I feel my face flush slightly. I bite my lower lip again.

  “You really should talk to your friend with the gallery, Sam,” Josh continues, talking softly in my ear. “And when you do, you should include some of your paintings in that show. Not just your sketches. You are very talented, baby.” I look up at him nervously and he smiles and kisses my forehead. “Sausage and pepperoni okay with you?” he asks with a smile.

  “Mushrooms on half?” I ask him.

  “I like mushrooms,” he replies with a small smile. “One sausage, pepperoni and mushroom pizza, coming up. I’ll call you when it gets here.”

  “Okay,” I whisper, looking into his bright blue eyes. He kisses me for a long moment then and my heart skips a beat as I hear Celine Dion’s beautiful song in my head once more. He looks deeply into my eyes when he pulls away and then he turns and goes downstairs.

  Chapter Five

  Joshua

  I wake up early, just as if the alarm had gone off. That’s the bad part about Saturdays – I don’t have to get up and go to work but my body is used to waking at a certain time. Whatever. It’s just as well since I have a full day planned. I want to take Sam on a little adventure today, if she’s feeling up for it.

  I look down at her sleeping peacefully in my arms and I can’t help but think about last night. She was in an odd mood last night as we ate our pizza and I still can’t put my finger on it but, it puzzled me. She was quiet and sort of sad, and at one point I wondered if maybe I had done something to upset her or if she was still a little mad about the other day when I insisted on acting like a cop and took her statement. But that wasn’t it. She wasn’t upset, she was just … preoccupied. I suppose I can’t blame her. If there was some psycho out there stalking me, watching my every move, making threatening phone calls and sending sick “gifts”, I would probably be preoccupied too.

  Hopefully my plans for the day will help take her mind off of things for a few hours. Maybe she’ll even have a little fun. And I know that Martin will be tailing us for some extra protection. I talked to him about it when I arrived at Sam’s last night, just to give him a heads up. I would hate to take Sam out of town and have something happen to her.

  She stirs slightly and her eyes flutter open. She looks at me with those bright green eyes and smiles. “Why do you watch me sleep?” she asks lazily.

  “Because I just can’t get over how beautiful you are,” I answer her honestly, without hesitation. She blinks at my words and a soft blush steals over face. I lean down and kiss her lips softly. “Feel like going for a drive today?” I ask her quietly.

  “A drive?” she repeats, and the surprise in her voice is evident. I nod my head, saying nothing as I smile at her, and she bites her lower lip and smiles back at me. “I would love to.”

  “Good.” I lean down and kiss her again, passionately this time, my tongue stroking hers slowly and rhythmically. My hands move effortlessly over her silky smooth skin. And soon, we’re lost in each other as our bodies become one, melding and writhing and pulsing together, and we soar high above the fears and the anxieties and the threats and frustrations of the past several days. Our lovemaking is intense and impassioned, like it was last night, and I get the feeling that Samantha is still caught up in the same troubling thoughts that were plaguing her then. I wish she would tell me what’s bothering her.

  When we’re lying spent and panting in each other’s arms, I can’t stand it anymore. “Baby, please tell me what it is,” I say softly, still panting slightly. “I know you were crying before I got here last night. Why won’t you tell me what’s bothering you, Sam?”

  I feel her instantly tense up in my arms and I know I’ve struck a nerve. She moves, attempting to sit up and I have to release my hold on her. I pull out of her and sit up beside her, removing the spent condom and studying her lovely face. She sits back against the pillows, pulling the sheet up over her breasts, and says nothing as she chews on her lower lip. “Talk to me, Sam,” I whisper.

  She shakes her head and takes a deep breath. “I’m just … scared,” she says softly, and it’s barely a whisper. “And I’m tired of being scared. I don’t like feeling this way. So unsure of … everything.”

  She looks so sad and her words make me feel like a heel but, somehow I don’t think I’m getting the full story. I know that she means what she’s saying but, I get the feeling I’m missing something. As if she’s speaking in code and her words mean something else. Like she’s trying not to say what’s really on her mind. What is she really talking about? Does she mean that she’s unsure … of me? I reach out and softly caress her face.

  “What are you unsure of, Sam?” I ask her quietly. But she doesn’t answer. She just shrugs her shoulders and she won’t look me in the eye. And I watch, feeling helpless, as a lone tear escapes and trails slowly down her cheek. I lean in and softly kiss that tear away. “Please tell me what’s wrong, baby,” I whisper.

  “Oh, Josh,” she sighs. But she says nothing more and I feel so frustrated. We sit in silence for a long time as I try to will her to tell me what’s bothering her but to no avail. Finally, I kiss her forehead and get up, with a sigh, walking to the bathroom. I look back at her from the doorway and she returns my glance but still says nothing. I turn and head to the shower, wondering like mad what could be on her mind.

  When I come out of the shower, Sam is not in the bedroom and I can smell the coffee. I dress quickly in the black jeans and black t-shirt that I packed in my gym bag yesterday. I put on the belt holster I usually wear when I’m not working and stuff my Sig into it at my back. I know some cops who don’t carry a gun when they’re off duty, but my Sig Sauer is my constant companion. I would feel completely naked without it. I grab the black and white checkered flannel shirt from my bag and put it on over my t-shirt, concealing the gun, and roll up the sleeves.

  Heading out to the kitchen, I find Samantha at the stove, plating up what looks like a cheese omelet, and I wrap my arms around her from behind and kiss her temple. “I was going to take you to breakfast, baby.”

  “Well, now you don’t have to,” she says with a small smile, and I take the plates from her and carry them over to the breakfast bar. We sit and eat silently, and I want to get back to our earlier conversation but, I decide to just let it go. She’ll tell me what’s bothering her when she’s ready. I hope.

  I glance at my watch and take a sip of my coffee. “You should get moving so we can go,” I tell her.

  “Where are we going anyway?” she asks, smiling at me.

  “It�
��s a surprise,” I say, smiling back at her.

  “Well what should I wear?” she asks, giggling. And my smile gets bigger hearing her laugh. It’s better than the tears from before.

  “Just wear something casual and comfortable, baby,” I say, looking down at my own attire. She looks me over and then blushes. “What?”

  “Nothing,” she says. “You just look hot.”

  “Is that so, Miss Colby?” I ask her with a raised eyebrow. She nods, still blushing and I laugh at her. “Go get dressed, Sunshine.”

  She stands up and kisses me swiftly, then she dashes off to the bedroom and I’m happy that her mood seems to have improved some. I finish eating and then clear our dishes, putting them into the dishwasher. Then, as I continue to wait for her to dress, I take a seat in the living room on the plush white leather couch. I’m about to turn on the TV when my eyes spot her sketchbook sitting on the marble coffee table and I pick it up, wondering if she would mind that I’m looking through it. I open it up and see some really cool sketches of landscapes. A couple of them I even recognize – the view of the Olympic mountains outside her balcony doors, and one of the park across the street from her apartment building.

  I keep flipping through the book and I’m suddenly startled to see my face staring back at me from the page. It’s a perfect likeness, as though I were looking in a mirror, and I’m shocked as I stare at the drawing. I don’t know why I’m a little stunned but, I am. I turn to the next page and see me again, this time I’m smiling. When did she draw these images of my face? I’ve never posed for these sketches. I turn to the next page and see more of me – my eyes and my mouth and my profile. She’s even drawn my hands. Just a close up sketch of my hands! I don’t know what to think. Maybe she’s constantly thinking about me the way I’m constantly thinking about her? Or is that just your wishful thinking, Pierce?