by Ward, Deena
A low chuckle riffled through the crowd.
“I thought,” she said in a suggestive tone, “to do some tableaux vivants today, and you just know I wouldn’t have it any way but naughty. I present to you a selection of book covers from racy, historical romance novels. It’s easier to show you than to explain it. See for yourself — the first tableau!”
She waved an arm with a flourish and the curtain behind her drew aside. My mouth dropped open.
Two people stood center stage, posed as still as could be, both wearing scraps of animal fur and ratty wigs with bones sticking out haphazardly. The pair was obviously a caveman and a cavewoman. The mountainous caveman toted a huge wooden club over his shoulder, and his other meaty hand tangled in the hair of a scantily-clad, kneeling woman. They were paused in time, stopped in the moment, the caveman sure of his prize, the cavewoman a snapshot of struggle, her face impassioned, her hands trying in vain to pry her way out of his mighty grasp.
It was indeed a living picture of a steamy romance novel cover set in prehistoric times. But that’s not what made my mouth drop open. No, it was the identity of the two actors on the stage: Ron and Elaine Hoyte.
When, exactly, Paulina managed to convince those two to star in this scene was unknown to me. Elaine never hinted at it.
“It’s a tale from the dawn of time,” Paulina called out, her voice raised for drama’s sake. “Grop, the mighty clan leader, charges into battle to defend his sacred cave from greedy invaders. His eventual victory ensures the survival of his people, and offers ample opportunity for the taking of spoils. Curva, the freshly-widowed nubile wife of the invaders’ ruler, vows never to submit to the man who took everything she knew. But Grop is a hard man to deny. Can he plunder Curva’s heart, too?”
Titters and chuckles passed through the crowd.
Paulina added, “I’ve got a prize for whoever calls out the best title for our prehistoric epic.”
“Clubbed and Conquered!” someone yelled.
Another, “On the Wings of a Pterodactyl!”
“Claimed by the Caveman!”
“A Mammoth Love!”
Several more ideas were shouted out until Paulina raised her hands and declared, “I’ve chosen my favorite. The winner is ‘Claimed by the Caveman!’”
We applauded. Paulina tossed the winning woman a small item. When she held it up and waved it around, I saw it was a plastic dinosaur.
The curtain closed on the Clan of Hoyte and a few men helped Paulina cross over to the second stage where she once again stationed herself off to one side.
Her voice rang out over the crowd. “Next up, tableau number two!”
The curtains swung back, revealing a new pair of lovers. This time, it was Toy and a woman I didn’t know but had seen around the picnic that day, a pretty woman around my own age. I had seen her talking to Gibson at one point, and had felt a stab of jealousy which took me by surprise.
The scene was set in ancient Egypt. Toy was decked out in Pharaoh garb, from golden sandals up to a false beard and full headdress. He even wore a linen skirt of sorts, and I realized that was the most clothing I’d ever seen him wear.
The woman was in tattered slave garb and had a bobbed black wig perched on her head. She was half sprawled across the floor of the stage, looking up at Pharaoh and reaching for him in a beseeching manner. Her breasts were playing peek-a-boo through the gaping rents in her soiled tunic.
Pharaoh Toy towered over her, staring down at her with a long flail dangling from his hand.
Paulina narrated the scene. “Pharaoh Nakembottum is the most powerful man in the world, and can have any woman he wants, but what he wants most is the beautiful slave girl — oh good grief, Toy. Try to look at least a little bit commanding! Really now. Puff out your chest. You’re an intimidating alpha male — oh, never mind.”
There were a few chuckles in the crowd, and I worked hard to suppress mine. Toy made the most ridiculous-looking Pharaoh I’d ever seen. He held the flail with apparent distrust, as if it might turn on him of its own will and take to whacking him. He was as intimidating as an oversized bunny.
Paulina marched up to the two and hissed commands which we in the crowd couldn’t hear. In short order, she had them reverse positions, leaving the slave girl holding the flail and looming menacingly over the cowering Pharaoh.
Paulina headed back to her former spot. “Sorry for the interruption. Now, here we have a novel set in ancient Egypt. Pharaoh Nakembottum is the ruler of all he surveys and can have anything he wants. But what he wants most is to submit to a beautiful, powerful woman. Titbust is a lowly servant, bought to service the Pharaoh. When he gives her his ceremonial flail, she can’t wait to unleash all her long-suppressed slave-rage on his kingly, tender flesh. Two people from two different worlds. Can something more grow between these star-crossed lovers?”
The crowd murmured its delight. Paulina called for book titles.
One man offered up to groans, “Is That A Crook and Flail In Your Pocket or Are You Just Happy to See Me?”
“Pyramids of Pain!”
“S&M Among the Sand Dunes!”
“Plaguing the Pharaoh!”
“Love’s Denial on the Nile!”
A few more called out, then Paulina declared “Plaguing the Pharaoh” as the winner for its clever reference to the Biblical plagues of Egypt. She tossed the winner a plastic mummy doll.
We applauded. As Paulina made her way back to the first stage, Xavier came up to me.
“Enjoying the show?” he asked.
“I am. I can’t wait to see what’s next.”
“Well, about that. Paulina was hoping you’d come with me. She has something in mind for you.”
I immediately saw what he was getting at. “Nope. Not gonna do it. I’m not getting up on a stage.”
“She has a great cover in mind for you. Found a nice man to be in it with you.”
“Gibson?”
“No. Not a chance. He doesn’t do public displays. I know the man she picked, though. You’ll like him.”
“Well, it wouldn’t have mattered if it were Gibson. I’m not doing it. I’m not ready, Xavier. I may never be ready.”
“Would you at least try? Come back behind the stage with me. Meet the man. Come on. Just take a look.”
I sighed. It was hard to say no to these people. I nodded and we worked our way through the crowd to the curtained stage while Paulina unveiled her third tableaux, which looked like a pairing of a Roman soldier and woman fleeing from something unseen. I recognized the couple as guests I’d drawn earlier in the day.
Paulina explained that the couple was running from the eruption of Mount Vesuvius and the setting was ancient Pompeii. Xavier led me behind the second stage where a dozen people were rushing around putting on and removing costumes.
He pointed out a good-looking man I’d seen playing croquet. “You’ll go on with Peter over there. Your scene is still three away. You’ll be a gypsy and he’ll be a country lord.”
“Nope.”
Xavier gave me a long, sad look. “It’s not a big crowd out there. And no one’s asking you to reveal anything. You’ll wear what you have on, just add a gypsy shawl and jewelry. It would be a good first step for you.”
“I’m not ready.”
He nodded. “Okay, but wait here for a little bit and think about it. Can you do that?”
I agreed, but only to appease him. Nothing was going to change my mind. Xavier walked off, and Elaine came up to me, still decked out in cavewoman gear.
“Hey there, Curva,” I said. “Where’s BamBam?”
“Costume change. He’s also playing Genghis Kahn.”
“What’s next for you?”
“It’ll be a while. I’m a Russian spy. You know, Cold War, taken captive by an American agent.”
“Lust and Lies in the Interrogation Room?”
“Good one.”
“Thanks.”
Elaine gave me a steady look. “And what are you
going to be?”
“No one. I’m not doing it.”
“Come on, Nonnie. It’s fun. Really.”
“No, I’m not ready.”
We stood together quietly, watched Ron cram a fur-trimmed helmet on his head. Xavier walked by, gave me a “so, have you changed your mind yet” look. I had not.
I waited for the inevitable, and sure enough, it came.
I heard Paulina announce the winner of the Pompeii tableau, “Passion in Ashes,” then say she’d be right back.
She headed straight for me.
“You can’t say no,” she told me. “I need you. Someone has to be the gypsy, and that’s why you’re wearing that outfit. It’s all been planned. You can’t back out.”
“I’m not backing out. I never agreed to it in the first place.”
“It will be good for you.”
It wasn’t easy saying no to everyone, but I couldn’t do what they wanted. Every time I thought of standing on that stage in front of all those people, my palms got sweaty.
“I don’t care,” I said. “I’m not doing it. But you all have fun. I’m going home.”
“Nonnie Crawford,” she said in a crisp, commanding voice, “you get back here and do your job. You’re letting everyone down.”
That was too much. I turned on her. “I most certainly am not. Am I letting you down, Elaine?”
She looked at me, then at Paulina. Her expression said she wished I’d left her out of it.
“Am I letting you down, Elaine?” I repeated.
After another quick glance at a fearsome Paulina, Elaine looked at me. “No, honey, you’re not letting me down.”
“Thank you,” I said. “So quit exaggerating, Paulina. Have fun. I’m exhausted. I’m going home. Good night.”
Paulina harrumphed behind me, but I didn’t care. I’d taken my last order from that woman, for one day at any rate. I marched over to where I’d left my art supplies, gathered them up, and headed off at a brisk pace toward my cottage.
Paulina was back on stage in no time, announcing the latest tableau, Genghis Kahn and a ... did she say nun? A man in the crowd jumped the gun on the title contest and called out, “Love Me or Cleave Me.”
I heard footsteps jogging up behind me, and I stopped abruptly, turning in an angry rush, expecting to see Toy, prepared to give him hell.
Except it wasn’t Toy. It was Gibson.
Gibson slowed as he came up beside me. “Here, let me help.”
He took most of the supplies from me. “You’re leaving early. Are you coming back?”
We began walking again. “No,” I answered. “I’ve had enough of Paulina’s fete.”
“She’s been riding you hard today.”
It surprised me that he noticed. “It’s been a long day.”
“Agreed. I hope you know that Paulina likes you. She actually planned the tableaux specifically with you in mind.”
“Now I feel guilty.”
“No, don’t do that.”
“I wish I could have done it. It’s just, I couldn’t get on that stage. I’m not ready.”
“It’s okay. Paulina pushes too hard.”
“I hope she’s not mad, or upset.”
“She’ll get over it.”
I shrugged. “She might as well. I can’t do anything about it.”
We strolled the path in silence as the sounds of the crowd and Paulina’s voice faded behind us. I could still smell the faint odor of burning wood from the pig pit, and the ever-present scent of freshly-mowed grass.
I thought I was tired when I decided to leave the picnic, but now that Gibson was with me, I felt reenergized. The annoyance of Paulina’s demands dissolved into so much nothingness. Gibson’s nearness wiping out all other concerns. He was an enticement. I longed to touch him, wanted him to touch me. I was ever on the verge, but never saw it through.
Seeing him talking with that other woman earlier had given me a sense of what might be, and that possibility was unthinkable. I couldn’t stand the idea of Gibson being with someone else. He belonged with me.
“Um.” I stumbled around for the right words. “What you did for me the other day, it meant a lot to me, and I didn’t thank you enough for it.”
“You thanked me plenty. I only want to see you happy.”
“I know.” And I thought, if you want that, then kiss me right now and I’ll be beyond happy. No such luck. For everything that Gibson was, he wasn’t a mind reader. Probably just as well.
When we arrived at the cottage, he followed me inside and into my workroom to deposit my supplies. He looked around the room with an approving eye, studied a few of the sketches I had pinned to the wall on a big cork board.
“I like this one the best,” he said, tapping a sketch of Xavier fishing off the dock. “You captured his serenity.”
“Thanks.”
“Well —” he began.
Fearing he was going to say that he was leaving, I asked, “Can I draw you? Will you sit for me?”
A frown flickered across his features. I expected a negative answer, but then his face smoothed. “If you’d like.”
I gave him a reassuring smile. He didn’t know it, but I already had a number of sketches of him that I’d done on the sly over the weeks. I’d finished at least four of him that day alone while he went about tending the pit, chatting with guests, refereeing a badminton match.
That didn’t mean, however, that I wasn’t looking forward to the chance to study him at leisure, to not have to hide my attention. I led him over to a stool, got him settled, then moved an easel into position and grabbed up a large pad of paper along with my other supplies.
My pencil skimmed over the page as I tried to capture the essence of the handsome man sitting patiently in my studio. I sensed his discomfort with the situation. He didn’t enjoy being the center of attention, even when the audience was only one, only me.
There was a time when I would have thought his aversion was a cute quirk, no big deal. Now, with issues of my own in this area, I couldn’t downplay it. I understood that he was doing something he didn’t want to do, that he was doing it for me, and so I didn’t prolong the process. I worked with speed, but not haste.
His hands rested on his knees and I noted the tension in his shoulders, in the strong line of his jaw. His face, though, was smooth and impassive, and it took some work to see through the enigmatic mask to the man underneath.
Gibson’s dark eyes and hair were a perfect contrast to the pristine white of his open-collared shirt and pants. I wanted to kiss the triangle of tanned flesh that showed in the neck of his shirt, then kiss my way up his neck to his full lips.
Damn, he was too good-looking. I wondered how many women threw themselves at him on a daily basis. Then I took a harder look at him and I realized probably not too many women would dare. Gibson Reeves was an intimidating man, impossible to read, polite to the extreme of creating an unbreachable wall between himself and others. It would take an immense amount of confidence to charge that barrier.
And yet, how many times had he reached over that wall to me?
I sketched in silence, focused on the angle of his neck, the planes of his cheeks, the fall of his hair. If I couldn’t touch him with my hands, I could touch him with my eyes, let my pencil stroke his shoulders, line the sensitive lobe of his ear.
His eyes, wide, dark and mysterious. What was he thinking as he stared off past me? I couldn’t get those eyes right. Twice I had to rub them out and begin again.
He reaches out to you, I thought. Do you reach out to him?
I had, yes, more than once. But not of late. I’d been afraid, more afraid of a negative answer than weary of uncertainty. As I attempted once more to capture the gleam in his eyes, something shifted inside me. I couldn’t stand aside forever, always watching, hanging back, as I’d done every day since Michael betrayed me. Every day.
Even here, in the safety zone of the estate. At the picnic. I haunted the edges. Watching. Timid. Afraid of being
seen. Recognized.
It had to be enough. At some point, I had to step forward. Maybe now?
Chapter 7
I took a deep breath. If I were going to do it, now was the moment, when I had him here, with me, alone.
I lowered my pencil and steeled myself for potential disappointment. “Do you think you can ever want me again, Gibson?” I asked, my voice surprisingly steady and firm. “Want me the way you did before everything happened?”
His gaze shifted to me and he appeared startled, but not surprised. He didn’t answer right away and my heart thudded several heavy beats in my chest as I waited.
When his answer came, his voice was even and sure. “I’ve always wanted you. You know that.”
As soon as he said it, I realized it was true. I should have known it. But fear hid the truth from me. He wanted me and always had.
And yet.
“Yes,” I said, “but, the way it was before, we were heading somewhere, weren’t we? It was more than just sex, I thought.”
“Much more.”
“So where was it heading? I mean, a relationship right?”
“That was my hope.”
“It was your hope. But that has to have changed, because I’m not the same.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “I don’t follow.”
I willed myself to say it simply and firmly, no backpedaling allowed. “Anyone who sees me now, anyone who watched those videos, they’ll think differently of me. They couldn’t help it. You must think differently, not see me as the same woman I was before.”
He stood up and held out his hand. “Come with me.”
I lay down my pencil, and went to him. He took my hand and led me out of the studio and into the largest of the living rooms in the cottage. He stopped in front of the big oval mirror that hung on a wall, positioning me in front of him.
He looked over my shoulder and met my gaze in the mirror. “Do you remember when I had you look at yourself naked and tell me what you liked about your body and what you didn’t?”
