by CORY CYR
She had too many questions. It felt more like an inquisition. I put down my purse, studying the mail. “How about some teriyaki chicken with a small salad? Nothing heavy or fancy. I’m exhausted. I need a long, relaxing bath, dinner, and sleep, in that order,” I stated.
With a snort, she examined me from head to toe. “Fine, if you don’t want to say where you’ve been, that’s okay with me. Though, it’s not like you to keep secrets.” She turned abruptly and headed toward the kitchen.
Anai could be snippy when I kept her out of the loop, which I did often. After all this time, she was someone I could talk to and my closet ally. But knowing her, she would have a field day with this information. She’d spent a large amount of time trying to steer me toward some semblance of life. A few years back, I’d confided in her who I was before, and she’d never pried for more details. She always said when I trusted her enough, I would disclose my past. She allowed my constant excuses for not being social. Anai knew how self-conscious I was about my face. She attempted to make me less withdrawn by purchasing all sorts of concealing cosmetics, hoping I would achieve self-confidence. But after years, the die had been cast and my attitude set in stone.
I filled my bathtub with scented crystals and then undressed. Why hadn’t my scars all been below the neck? Those had faded with time and didn’t look so harsh. I sighed because I’d had this conversation with myself many times. I sat in the hot water, putting a pillow behind my neck. Reaching behind me, I grabbed Lincoln’s book. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to read it while naked in the tub. My giggles echoed in the marbled bathroom.
Thirty-minutes later, drowsy, with pruned skin, I stood.
“Miss Jensyn, dinner is ready. Do you want to eat downstairs? Or should I bring it to your room?” Anai asked after tapping on the door.
“You know what? Go ahead and bring it up here if you don’t mind. I’m bushed, and at this point, I may be too tired to eat,” I replied through the closed door, dressing in pajamas. I yawned as I entered the adjoining room.
Collapsing on my king-size bed, I turned on the flat-screen to find a movie. I picked at the tray Anai had left on my nightstand, but I no longer had an appetite. I needed to close my eyes and rest my mind. It had been a long time since I’d exerted myself to exhaustion.
Even though my body felt fatigued, my mind looked forward to tomorrow. I finally could be somewhere I could be myself. Spending time with Lincoln allowed me a sense of normalcy. I could almost forget who I’d been and how tough these last years were. I supposed having someone else to worry about blocked out my personal pain. It was refreshing to be around somebody who couldn’t examine or ridicule me. I chuckled. I shouldn’t rule out ridicule, considering the man I was dealing with. I was curious, though, what happened to him. And I wondered, like me, if there would come a time he’d open up.
*****
The next morning, I left before even Anai woke. Sleep hadn’t come easy, and I’d tossed and turned during the night. I’d finally gotten up just as the sun rose. I ran into the groundskeeper on my way out. I wasn’t even sure he knew who I was, because in all these years, we’d never actually met.
Wearing enormous dark sunglasses and a floppy hat, I stopped at a fish market that had just opened and got the provisions, including beer and two packs of cigarettes, without being seen. I never made excursions like this. I hadn’t personally been to a store since moving here, but considering it was so early, I felt confident there would only be a few shoppers. Lincoln had kept giving me shit—I was rich, ha-ha. Those cancer sticks were almost eleven dollars a pack! That was crazy. But the piece of swordfish was the worst. Never mind the cost; it reeked to high heaven. I had the butcher triple wrap it before I put it in the trunk of my BMW.
I drove straight to Lincoln’s. I couldn’t wait to get that fish the hell out of my luxury automobile. I’d forgotten he hadn’t given me a key. Dammit. And it was only eight. He was probably still asleep.
The air felt damp with salt because of the light fog. I shivered in my flower-print shorts and sleeveless shirt. I dragged three of the five bags to the front door and jiggled the handle. Stupid man, he’d left it unlocked. In his physical state, not the wisest thing to do, especially living alone. I put the groceries on the floor, then retrieved the other two bags along with the stinky fish. I unloaded everything in the kitchen before filling the refrigerator and pantry. After removing my glasses and hat and starting the coffeemaker, I sat down to contemplate our schedule today. I assumed we would start working on his book. It was going to take some time to get my typing skills up to par, but I could read whatever he needed. Regardless, I knew he was going to be an impatient asshat. Since he had a deadline, we needed to get busy. His bedroom and the yard could be addressed later.
I padded into the living room and began looking at the framed photographs he had on display. Quite a few of them were family photos, including several of him and Lucas. There were two with Lincoln and a woman snuggled together, holding some kind of award. Upon further inspection, I realized this must be Kami. Clearly, one photo showed him accepting an award for Crime Fiction Author of the Year. She was pretty, and her expression was anything but editorial. I'd never loved a man before, but I’d always imagined what it looked like to experience the emotion, and this was clearly it. I wondered if he knew she had these feelings and if that was the reason he’d walked away from a personal relationship with her.
The one redeeming factor about Lincoln’s blindness was I could snoop and he’d never know.
“Hey,” a groggy voice said behind me.
I let out a loud shriek, jumping. “Jesus Christ, you scared the crap out of me. Don’t sneak up on me.”
He laughed, rubbing his eyes. “Um… blind, remember? Didn’t know for sure where you were or if it was even you. Well, I’d hoped it was you. The aroma of coffee woke me up.”
I was shocked it wasn’t the aroma of stinky-ass fish. I turned toward him, clutching my throat. I felt as though I’d been caught with my hand in the cookie jar.
He was wearing baggy shorts, nothing else. The morning hard-on didn’t count as apparel, I observed, biting my bottom lip, then chastising myself for staring. His wavy hair was standing on end, and his eyes were heavy with sleep. Every time I looked at this man, my body stirred and my heart raced.
“I assume you were able to get some sleep, then, if the coffee woke you?” I asked.
He stretched as a yawn surfaced. “I actually did. It took a while. What time is it?”
Watching him extend those long, muscled limbs left me distracted. “Um, what?”
“What. Time. Is. It?” he said loudly and slowly.
“Eight-ish.”
“Damn, you’re early. Couldn’t wait to see me again, huh? I don’t actually blame you. I am kind of hot, and with my vision problems, you can take advantage of me.” His eyes drifted down as he adjusted himself.
I groaned. “I’m glad you got sleep. I didn’t, so I’d tread carefully if I were you. And go pee or whatever; just take care of that. Then maybe we can have some coffee and start working.”
“You talking about this?” He smirked, pulling his shorts tighter so the outline was more noticeable.
“You really are a child. You and your cock.”
“Damn, woman, it’s too early for you to be this cranky. I guess the lack of sleep combined with, what, that time of the month?”
I huffed. “Bite me.”
“Tempting, but I promised to behave.” He smiled with the retort.
He’d hit a pitifully sore subject with me. After my incident, I’d no longer gotten periods. Most women would be thrilled, but not me. The doctors had informed me traumatic events could halt ovulation. They suggested a hysterectomy three years later. I chose not to do that, but even without a cycle, I still had hormonal issues once a month, hot flashes, bloating, and a bad temper. Lincoln had caught me in one of my moods. Up one minute, down the next. Or in his case—happy then pissed.
“Tel
l me you brought smokes. You’ll be my new BFF,” he said, pinning me with a knee-weakening grin.
“Yes, I did, and I am in awe that someone would pay almost eleven dollars per pack for twenty ways to kill yourself.”
“Thanks, Mom. I don’t need the health commentary. I have Lucas for that.”
I sighed. “I’m just saying, with all your other issues, why add those to the mix?”
“It really doesn’t matter. I’ll quit eventually. Don’t tell my brother. He’ll lose his shit if he finds out I’m still smoking, and he’ll go nuts that you aided and abetted,” he begged.
“Some friend you are. Don’t make me an accessory. I only did what you asked, and I knew you’d be hell on wheels if I didn’t. You’d better ration those two packs carefully because I will never be your accomplice again. And I bought your disgusting swordfish, too. I told you I was no cook, so I’m not sure what you plan to do with it.”
He smiled wide as he made his way to the kitchen. “Lucky for us I have exemplary culinary skills. You’ll be my eyes, and I’ll instruct. Kind of like a talking cookbook. Just wait. I bet I change your mind about that disgusting fish. Now can you help me get some coffee?” he asked, standing in the middle of the floor.
Lincoln Bass had two sides. The one that rubbed me the wrong way and another that made me want nothing more than to improve his life. Being in his presence was a mixed bag. “Steer to your left. Once your body hits the counter, the cups are above.”
“Wouldn’t it be quicker if you just got me some?” he responded in a perturbed tone.
“Look, I’m not going to be here forever. You said you didn’t know if your blindness was permanent, but let’s go on the premise that it’s not returning, at least anytime soon. You can’t be apathetic about this. You need to be able to do normal things on your own. Maybe you’ll want coffee tonight when I’m not here.”
“You could always stay. We could have a sleepover. Although, I’m not sure how much sleeping would be involved.”
“You promised to be good.”
He chuckled, reaching up into the cabinet, feeling for a mug. “I promise I am good. No, I’m amazing, probably the best you’ve ever had. Plus, I’m younger, so I’m flexible and have stamina.”
I took a deep breath and stepped toward him, ignoring his sexual confidence. “So here’s the deal. The coffee is probably too hot for you to feel it and know when to stop pouring. I think it will work better when it’s cooled down and you can set it in the microwave. Let me get it for you this time, and we can work on alternative methods later. Because I could really use a cup right now.” I took the mug from him and grabbed a second one, filling them both and setting them on the table. “Walk toward my voice. I’m less than two feet away.”
Once he determined his path, he made it to where I sat. I placed the steaming mug in his hands. He tentatively took a small sip. “Ow, burnt my fucking tongue. Did you get milk or creamer?”
“Yes, both. Which would you like, you who are the most royal pain in my ass?”
He laughed, sounding irresistibly sexy. “Well, maybe some milk, if your ass doesn’t hurt too much.” He took another sip as I topped off his brew with milk. “And speaking of asses, I was thinking maybe I need to tighten up the anal scene in chapter thirteen.”
My eyes widened as my face turned pink. “Once again, I so did not need to know about that. It’s too early. Can we save ass sex rewrites for another time, considering we have twelve chapters to cover before that one? I’ve barely had time to drink half a cup,” I quipped.
He set his mug on the table. “You really are funny, you know. But why is it I get the feeling it’s all camouflage? Whatever you’re pretending isn’t really you. As a writer, I'm able to read people well. I have kind of a sixth sense about them. I love to observe, but since my world went dark, I’m more attuned and perceptive, and you, Jensyn, have a secret. One I highly doubt you’ll share with me. I get that. We don’t know each other—but we will. I’ll make it one of my new missions.”
“Why do you care? I’m only here to assist you. We don’t have to know each other, be friends, or, for that fact, like each other.”
As his eyes penetrated mine, a tremor crept up my spine. In that briefest of moments, I almost thought he could see me.
His hand skidded along the surface of the table until it found mine. “Because you have a story to tell, and I’m a storyteller.”
Chapter 7
I quickly changed the narrative. I had no doubt the more I changed the subject, the more intrigued he’d get. I had a feeling it was in his nature to be inquisitive. He was an author after all. I was sure he got his ideas from somewhere. What he wrote was deeper than his sexual scenes. The storylines were always rooted in a moral. His writing was compassionate, thrilling, and seductive. The emotional connection between Maxwell and Suzanne often made me wonder if Lincoln designed his characters after someone he knew. A woman he’d loved.
After much debate, he relinquished to save the swordfish for Friday. I was in no rush to cook or eat it. The truth was I loathed fish of any kind. Thankfully, he had a separate freezer for long-term food storage. Of course, it was empty but for bags of ice.
We spent the rest of the week with me reading the first five chapters of the new book aloud. He would stop me periodically and ask me to checkmark words or sections with a red pen. Time had gone by fast when I’d finally gotten to chapter six. The first sex scene. I slowly skimmed the pages and closed my eyes in dread. This was too intimate for us to share. It would be embarrassing as hell to read this out loud. I should consider this a preamble to the dreaded anal in chapter thirteen.
Jensyn, it’s only words on a page.
This sexual encounter was more detailed and erotic than the others I’d read in his previous books. Of course, I’d only read a few so far.
“I need to get something to drink before I read this,” I said reluctantly.
“I’ll take a beer,” he mentioned cockily. “Of course, after the next ten pages, I’ll need a cigarette. Hell, it might be so salacious you’ll need one, too.” He chuckled.
“Doubt it,” I yelled back, thinking oxygen was more likely. I stuck my head in the refrigerator to search for some bottled vodka coolers I’d purchased. I twisted the cap off one and took a gulp. I might have to down the entire four-pack after chapter six. I snagged a beer and another cooler for myself. He’d never know.
“There you go. I even popped the cap off for you,” I declared mockingly.
“You have all the fun. I miss flipping beer caps with my forefingers. I was pretty good, you know.”
“Well, see, now you have something to aspire to.”
“I can still do it, but it’s no fun if you don’t have a target and you can’t see where they land. You’re in remarkable form today. You must have slept well last night,” he remarked, taking a swig of beer.
I nodded. “As a matter of fact, I did, after a nice hot bath allowing me the time to finish Trial by Fire.”
“So you finished another book. What did you think?”
“If I’m honest, it seemed to have a ton of gratuitous sex, much more than the previous ones.”
He spun his chair around, stopping right in front of me. I had yet to figure out how he knew exactly where to stop. It had to be a smell thing. “The thing is, Jensyn, as their relationship progresses, so does their sex life. It can’t be all vanilla and puppies. Besides, the readers want spice. My male readers dig the violence, but the dirty appeals primarily to women.” He paused, taking another sip. “Now give me details about your bath. Sunken in, Jacuzzi, big enough for two, or orgy-size?”
I choked, swallowing my beverage. Okay, I’d play this game. Lincoln liked details. “Big enough for two. Square, marbled, and my favorite place to read.”
“So you read me naked and wet? I like that. Do my words excite you?”
“Oh Jesus, do we have to spar right now? I’m trying to numb my brain and possibly my eyes to chapter six. So cut
me some slack. I know all this sex talk doesn’t bother you, but it’s not a part of my daily life. And obviously, I read without clothing. I’m taking a bath, doofus.”
His facial expression showed surprise. “I know you said you were older, but I assume you’re not virgin. Explain what not part of your daily life means. I’m assuming from the way you smell you get laid all the time. You have to be beautiful.” He laughed. “And I don’t think I’ve been called a doofus since I was nine. Thanks for the nostalgia.”
“I don’t have to explain anything. I didn’t come to help you so you could excavate every aspect of my life. In particular, my sexual activity—no, screw that. My entire life is off-limits in our conversations. I’m here to help you with Maxwell and Suzanne, not have you dissect every nook and cranny about me.”
“Unfortunately, I find you fascinating, and that makes me want to know specifics.” He acted unfazed by my response, which pissed me off further.
“Well, I’m sorry about that, because that chapter of my life is closed to you. Now, shall we start on this next installment of stimulating exchange between your characters?”
His mouth twisted in a cynical smile. “Whatever you say. You’re the boss. Just read it loudly and put some effort and emotion behind the words. I want to hear some moans, heavy breathing, maybe a sigh or two.”
I shuddered at his demand. I should have been more at ease because he couldn’t see me. He had no idea how many times I’d crossed my legs in the last five minutes or how my hands twisted in my lap and tiny beads of sweat had begun gathering between my breasts. The more I read, the more aroused I’d gotten. My voice began to crack as a breath caught in my throat. I wanted to run, but my body stayed petrified as I forced the words from my lips. I looked up from the computer screen to see Lincoln seemingly staring, fixated on my mouth.
“Go ahead and print out those first few pages. Then read them again slowly… and with more intensity.”
