Tasting Fear

by Shannon McKenna

  She hoped it wasn’t artist’s block. She’d experienced a bad period of that some time after she’d signed the contract with Brian’s gallery.

  Working with Brian had been great, at first. He sold a bunch of her pieces, the wilder, angrier ones. Money started coming in, and she’d quit her cocktail-waitressing job and basked in the thrill of being the hot new thing on the art scene. She spent a lot of the money she made on clothes, preapproved by Brian, of course. Then she started experimenting with another style. Brian didn’t like the new pieces. He demanded that she make more of the old series that sold so well.

  “But I’m bored with them,” Vivi protested. “They’re so angry and negative. I’m not as pissed off now as I was a year ago.”

  “They sell, babe. The new ones aren’t right for our catalog, and they’re not right for our clients. I need more pieces like Scream and Howling Skeleton. You’re making your name. Ride the market trend.”

  Vivi chose her words carefully, already afraid of making him angry. “But inspiration doesn’t depend on market trends. It—”

  Slam. Brian’s hand slapped down into his desk. “Don’t even start,” he snarled. “I’m already bored.”

  She jumped back. An ebony goddess figurine teetered and almost fell on her substantial behind. He stared at her, his gaze menacing. “Don’t be an idiot,” he said. “You’d better fulfil your contractual obligations to me. Or else.”

  She was shocked by his ugly tone. “But…but I just—”

  “You signed that contract, Viv. Don’t forget. Your future as an artist depends on it.”

  She gaped at him. Brian leaned back in his chair and leafed casually through a big glossy catalog of Wilder Gallery artwork.

  “What do you mean?” she finally managed to force out.

  His smile did not reach his eyes. “We discussed this, remember? Before you signed. You agreed not to play the diva.”

  “Yes, but I didn’t mean that I would be a—”

  “I need more pieces like the old series. End of discussion.” He slapped the catalog shut. “Another thing. Our date tonight. I can’t make it. Something’s come up. Since you have the evening free, I suggest you get to work. I have clients asking for your work. I mean to satisfy them.”

  He got up and stood in front of his desk, hands twitching in the pockets of his tailored suit. He sighed and tilted her face up to his. His cold, hard lips brushed hers. She flinched from his touch. “I know you’re upset, but it will have to wait,” he said, sounding bored. “I’m busy today.”

  She’d done as she was told. Trotted to her studio, tried to make pieces that would please him. Vivi cringed at the memory of how hard she’d tried to satisfy his demands. How pointless her efforts had been.

  She’d run dry immediately. She’d cranked out a few things, but they were obviously bad, flat. Her output ground to a total halt.

  Brian had been furious. He was convinced that she was doing it on purpose, to spite him. That was when sex with him started to go from tense and problematic to outright scary. Brian used sex to punish.

  The only thing she’d still been able to work on was the jewelry. It was the one thing that Brian had never tried to control, so she’d gone with it. Thrown herself into it, heart and soul. What else could she do?

  She cast a covert sideways glance at Jack, walking silently beside her, trying not to think about how he looked soaking wet. How he tasted. The solidity of his shoulders when she sank her nails into him.

  Brian might have derailed her artistic career and given her a closetful of stupid sexual complexes. But he had never driven her out of her mind with breath-stealing, toe-curling lust.

  The tractor chugged on until the van came into view. Dwayne and Jack attached the chain, and Vivi got in the van and started the engine.

  They pulled and pulled. The van shuddered and strained. Dwayne whooped in triumph when it rolled out of the deep ruts.

  Vivi felt like cheering herself when she felt those wheels turning, bumping over the ruts. She got out and strode over to the tractor with a huge smile of relief. “Thanks so much, Dwayne. How much do I owe you?”

  “Ah, nah,” Dwayne said bashfully. “Just being neighborly.”

  He pushed away the banknotes she held out, so she folded them back into her wallet, peeking to make sure he had a wedding ring.

  “Well, bring your wife over one of these days to pick out a necklace or a pair of earrings,” she offered. “I’d love to meet her.”

  Dwayne agreed to that plan cheerfully, and Vivi and Jack watched the tractor chug up the road and disappear around the bend.

  Vivi got into the driver’s seat. Jack climbed in. They sat in silence. “So?” she said finally. “Where do we stand? I’m mobile again. Do I need to get lost? I could be out of here in ten minutes. Just say the word.”

  “Please don’t be so defensive,” Jack said.

  Vivi put the van in gear. It lurched forward, bumping over ruts, and crawled gamely up the hill. “That’s hard, under the circumstances.”

  “I have an understanding with Duncan. You’re welcome to stay for as long as you have this security problem,” he said. “If you can stand it, that is. I doubt you’ll be staying that long anyway.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Your kind never do,” he said calmly.

  The van crested the hill. Vivi stared out the windshield with hot eyes. “My ‘kind’?” she repeated.

  “I don’t mean that the way you’re taking it. But I can see from the kind of person you are that you won’t settle in one place for long.”

  “Ah.” The van lurched violently over the deep ruts, making her teeth jar painfully in her head. “Indeed.”

  “It’s a valid lifestyle choice,” he went on. “I’m not judging you.”

  “The hell you’re not.” They crawled slowly up another steep hill. “I’m going in to Pebble River after lunch,” she announced. “I’m going to a furniture store. I’m buying a bed. A table. A bookcase. And I’m going start looking for a place to open my shop.”

  “Shop?” He turned to her, frowning. “What’s this about a shop?”

  “I mean to open a shop. Pebble River is a perfect place for the kind of business I have in mind—”

  “Hold on, here. Wait a fucking minute. I thought you were in hiding. I thought these bastards were trying to kill you. I thought that was the whole point of being here. Now you’re talking about opening a shop? Public records, databases, the Internet? What the fuck are you thinking? You’re out of your mind!”

  She blew out a long breath. She’d been going back and forth about this issue into the wee hours every night. “How long can I huddle in a hole and shiver?” she exploded. “I can’t afford this! I have to support myself somehow, and this is the—”

  “Are you doing this to prove something to me?”

  “Don’t flatter yourself, you self-absorbed jerk!” she yelled at him. “This isn’t about you! I’m just going about my business!”

  They arrived at the house. Vivi pulled in next to Jack’s truck, got out, and slapped the door shut. Her eyes glanced over the painting on the side and winced away. Jack was looking at it. And judging her for it, too.

  She’d always been ambivalent about that painting, but Rafael would have been so hurt if she’d painted over his masterpiece. And he’d been so sweet and supportive after the Brian debacle, sharing his booth, showing her the crafts fair ropes. The writhing serpent and muscle-bound warrior on her van was a small price to pay.

  Jack was following her up the stairs. She glared over her shoulder. “Excuse me? Where do you think you’re going?”

  “I just want to see what you’ve done with the place,” he said.

  “I haven’t done much of anything. It looks about the same,” she said. “Please excuse me. I want to make myself lunch.”

  Jack raised an eyebrow and waited. Vivi sighed, and fitted the key in the lock. “Whatever. Come on in. I imagine you want lunch, too?”


  “Lunch would be nice,” he said, blandly.

  The first thing he did was check the seedlings. She’d been watering them, afraid to kill them by planting them incorrectly, but even more afraid of asking for help. But he just stroked the little plants with his fingertip. “We should set these out today,” he said.

  “Fine.” She got to work making the grilled cheese sandwiches, so she could have an excuse to keep her back to him.

  He walked into the living room. She’d been doing inventory, and her current stock was spread across the green velvet drape on the floor: earrings; pendants; brooches; her compartmentalized boxes of beads; her stash of chunks of broken hand-blown glass, coils of silver and gold wire, hooks and clasps; her boxes of fun and colorful collected junk. The walls were decorated with hangings, paintings, drawings.

  “Did you do these pictures?” Jack asked.

  “No,” Vivi said. “I’ve met lots of artists in the past few years. I collected my favorite pieces. The ones I could afford, anyway. This is the first chance I’ve ever had to hang them up and look at them properly.”

  Jack walked slowly around the room. “And your stuff?”

  “There’s not a lot of my work here,” Vivi said, feeling defensive. “Just what’s on the floor. My favorite meda are bronze and blown glass, but you can’t do that in a camper van. I got sidetracked by my jewelry sideline, but I’m tired of it. I want to get back to sculpture.”

  Jack leaned over the cloth and picked up a fine lacework of antique beads and colored glass. “You sit on the floor to work?”

  “I can’t wait to buy a table,” Vivi said.

  He frowned. “I could have found you something.” He picked up a green bottle adorned with onyx beads and a filigree of silver foil. “These are beautiful. Unique.”

  “Thank you.” She was uncommonly flustered by the compliment.

  “You’re tired of making jewelry? That’s too bad. You must get tired of things quickly,” Jack said.

  There he went again, poking his stick between the bars of her cage. Vivi suppressed a flare of savage irritation. “No,” she said tightly. “I love designing jewelry. What I’m sick of is mass-producing for the crafts fairs. That’s just assembly-line work.”

  “Ah,” he murmured. “I see.”

  “I have a good feel for what will sell,” she went on. “I study the colors and styles in the women’s magazines, make pieces to match, and they go like hotcakes. It was fine for a while, but I’m burnt out.”

  “Remember, you don’t have to prove anything to me,” he said.

  “Then stop jabbing at me!” she flared. “You’re pissing me off!”

  He put the bottle down. “Sorry,” he murmured. “So if you’re not a jewelry designer anymore, what exactly are you?”

  “I think I’m a sculptor, but ask me again in six months.”

  “But who knows where you’ll be in six months?” He held a pair of malachite earrings up to the light, letting them dangle from his fingers.

  Vivi did not dignify that with a reply. She stalked back into the kitchen.

  She stuck her head around the door when the sandwiches were sizzling. “Lunch is on. Come get it while the cheese is gooey.”

  Jack sat opposite her on the kitchen floor. They ate their sandwiches, and the usual tense, charged silence fell upon them after.

  Vivi stared at the crumbs on her paper plate. “Would you like a cup of tea?” she asked, with rigid politeness.

  “No, thanks,” he said.

  “Then excuse me while I make one for myself.” She put the kettle on and stuffed napkins and paper plates into the garbage.

  “You’ve been talking to Margaret?” he asked.

  “That’s right. She’s got some good ideas for possible locations for me.”

  “For your shop,” he said. “To sell your own designs?”

  “Among other things. I know lots of excellent artisans, after all those years on the circuit. And there’s money around here, to support a business like mine. A gallery of wearable, usable art.”

  “And aside from the danger issue, you think that’s a good idea?”

  “Why wouldn’t it be?” Vivi stuck out her chin.

  “It’s a big layout of money,” he said. “A big risk.”

  “Yeah? So?”

  “I hope you’re not being unrealistic. To say nothing of stupid.”

  She decided to let the “stupid” comment slide. “Why? Lots of people start businesses. Sure, it’s risky. Life is risky. Why do you think it’s unrealistic for me?”

  She had to ask, even though she was afraid of the answer.

  He was silent for a moment. “I think you’ll regret it,” he said. “That kind of investment requires a huge time commitment. And a serious attention span.”

  Vivi counted to ten. “I’m not going to play this game anymore.”

  “Any woman who sleeps in a sleeping bag, eats off paper plates on the floor, and cooks with aluminum campware doesn’t impress me with her readiness to put down roots.”

  Vivi grabbed up the last plate and stuffed it into the garbage. “I’ve been stranded here for five days with no vehicle,” she snapped.

  The teakettle began to hiss. Vivi turned it off. She reached in the cupboard for a mug and pulled out a plastic travel mug with a sip lid and adhesive plastic on the bottom for sticking to the dashboard of a car. She stared at it, jaw clenched. Threw in the tea bag, poured the water. Everything she looked at felt like a slap, a reproach.

  “Think what you like,” she said. She grabbed the broom and dustpan and began to sweep up crumbs. “It makes absolutely no difference to me. I’m just going to keep doing my thing.”

  “Yes, I’m sure your intentions are good.”

  The detached tone of his voice maddened her. “I can make my business work. I know I can.” She grabbed a dishcloth from the sink.

  “Whatever.”

  She blocked the bad language that wanted to burst out. Lucia had taught her that much. She shook the swept-up crumbs into the garbage and rinsed off her hands at the sink. His sudden presence behind her made her gasp.

  “I can’t seem to stop making you angry,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re making me crazy.” She closed her eyes. “You say, don’t go, stay safe. Then you insult me and try to drive me away. Then you flirt with me, mess with me, seduce me. What am I supposed to think?”

  “I’m sorr—”

  “Stop! Shut up.” She twisted around. “Not one more word. You’ll just piss me off worse.”

  He drew in a breath, opened his mouth. She put her finger on it, but when she started to lift her hand away, he trapped it there, pressing it against his hot, soft lips. His breath tickled her palm.

  She snatched her hand away and turned her back again. “Don’t. You’re making it worse.”

  The proximity of his body transformed into the pressure of the lightest touch against her back. His lips pressed against her nape. Exquisitely soft. A point of warmth, of silent tenderness that spread and grew. Like the sunrise, slowly turning snowy mountains pink.

  This was as bad an idea now as it had ever been, she told herself.

  But she felt so pink and soft inside. So hungry for the feelings he triggered. For what happened to her body when he touched her.

  Like a junkie. Craving the poison that was destroying her. She’d watched that drama play out when she was a kid. She’d never touched drugs, but look at her now. Doomed to repeat that nightmarish trap in a different form. People got sucked into their ancient bullshit all the time, in spite of their convictions, their best intentions. They were imprinted. There was no escape.

  And she couldn’t stop. She could not push his hands away.

  He stroked her breast, brushing the tight nipple that poked through her tank top against his palm. He slid his other hand down her spine, his fingers tracing every bump of her backbone until it hit warm skin under the hem of the top—into the waistband of her gauze skirt.

 
; It was hanging a bit loose these days. Ever since the Fiend had started circling around, stealing her appetite and shrinking her ass. He slowly, tenderly petted her ass cheeks.

  “Why?” she whispered. “Why torture me like this, if you think so little of me? Why not just kick me out? It would be kinder.”

  “I don’t think little of you. On the contrary.” He kissed her bare shoulder, lips moving in a caress that left shimmering warmth in its slow wake. “I think you’re amazing. Talented, beautiful, fascinating. So amazing, I can’t do anything except speak the truth to you. Even when you don’t want to hear it. That’s respect, Viv. That’s the real thing.”

  “Your truth,” she said.

  He shrugged. “Only one I’ve got.”

  “But it’s not the only one there is,” she informed him.

  Silence was his response to that. Slowly, he lifted his lips from her shoulder. “I know you’re scared to leave because of what’s happening in your life. But I also know that once that situation resolves—”

  “If it ever resolves,” she broke in, her voice bitter.

  “Once it is resolved, you’ll pack up your van and drive away. As soon as it really sinks in.”

  She twisted around to stare at him. “What sinks in?”

  “What it means to look at the same damn place, day in and day out. Or the same person.” His voice was quiet but utterly convinced. His hand stopped, barely touching the quivering, hot fulcrum of excitement between her legs.

  “And I can’t convince you any different?” she whispered.

  He paused for a moment, motionless, and said, “No.”

  Her laugh felt more like a sob. “But you still want to fuck me.”

  “I still want to be your lover,” he corrected. “And I want it respectfully.” He pressed his hot face against her shoulder, his hands delving deeper, making her squirm. “I ask it…respectfully.”

  She clamped her thighs around his hand. “You call that respect?”

  “I love to make you feel good,” he offered. “That’s not disrespect.”

  She could hardly breathe. She tried to hold his hand motionless with her thighs, but he kept caressing her, and it felt…so…good.