“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.
“I don’t want to get hurt,” she blurted.
“I don’t see any way to avoid that.” His voice was muffled against her hair. “It already hurts. It’ll hurt no matter what we do.”
“So we might as well make the best of it?”
He pulled her against him, tightly. “I will make it the best.”
“One question. What happens if I just don’t leave? Is there a statute of limitations on this notion that I’ll run? If I’m still here in five years, ten years, what then? Would you be glad? Disappointed? What?”
He declined to reply, but she could see his answer in his eyes. That door in his mind was closed, locked, barred. Nailed shut.
He would never give himself up to her completely.