Gideon
I don’t hate cats. Honest. But since my girlfriend Raven’s pet is more bear than cat, I might hate this one. She often says a cat will focus on the one person in the room who doesn’t want him. That theory appears true, since he’s on top of me.
Aww …
No. Not cute. I tense as the mangy thing marches around in my lap, getting comfortable. His tail swipes my nose, and I sneeze. When his nails dig through my jeans to my thighs, I’ve had enough.
“My poor baby, come here.”
I wish I could say she’s talking to me, but Raven’s gaze stays on her cat as she walks toward the sofa. She lifts her hundred-pound panther off my lap. Okay, twenty-five pound Maine Coon. Still. She kisses his head, and gently scolds him like a naughty child before depositing him on the rug. Edgar parks his fat carcass in front of the fire and is asleep in seconds.
Raven returns and sits Indian style on the floor at my feet with the slow grace of a dancer. Her chin balances on my knee as she peers up with slate-colored eyes. Unusual, infinite, I will never tire of looking into them. The scent of her shampoo is clean, like the woods after a rain. Her smile distracts me from thoughts of cooking her cat. When I can’t stand the distance between us anymore—which isn’t long—I pull her closer, kissing her smooth brow, her nose, and neck. I can’t get close enough.
“So, Mr. Maddox,” she says, clearing her throat. “Where were we?” Her hands fall away from my chest and she resumes her spot on the floor.
She’s been doing that more lately, creating distance between us, and not just physically. Raven’s never had trouble speaking her mind, yet lately when I ask, she says, “I’m fine.” I hate that insipid word. As Artisans, Maddox men are born and bred to act without mercy or hesitation. So, I can’t believe I’m admitting this, but I don’t know what to do. Cutthroat ultimatums probably aren’t the best approach with your girlfriend.
In the past, I dated plenty but seldom saw the same girl twice. I wasn’t big on sharing my feelings, and a girl that got too clingy got her number deleted from my cell.
But I’m not that guy anymore. I’m the one people talk about, the sap that changed when he fell for the right girl, and you know what? They’re right. I don’t give a shit if I’m a cliché. I’m happy, damn it. So, instead of asking why she pulled away, I give her space and answer, “We were talking about your Bug.”
Her dilapidated 1973 VW Super Beetle is parked in my driveway. I want to buy her something else. Anything else.
Her full lips turn down. “I like my little car.”
“That’s not a car,” I say, still focused on her mouth. “It’s rust. Stuck together with more rust.”
There’s a smile. “One man’s rust is another man’s classic. Red is my color, and it runs just fine.”
Fine.
And so continues our battle of wills. “The car is going. That’s done. What about an Audi, or a MINI? You might as well tell me what you’d like to drive, or I’ll choose something for you.”
“Stubborn.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you.”
She draws a smiley face on my knee with her fingernail. “I appreciate the offer, I do, but I can’t accept a whole car.”
Keeping a straight face is impossible. “Somehow, I don’t think half a car will solve anything.” She smacks my leg. Buying her a whole car won’t put so much as a dent in my allowance. And it’s nothing compared to what I want to give her.
She straightens. “Thanks for the thought. I know you want to help, but a car is too much.” Her eyes remain uneasy above a small smile. “You don’t always have to buy me things. You know that, right?”
No. This whole conversation is ridiculous. When I found her, she was sleeping on a storeroom floor, surviving by sewing inventive, steampunk creations for a small clientele. If I can afford it and want to spoil her, where’s the harm? I recline against the couch cushions with a heavy breath.
Proud and independent, Raven’s used to taking care of herself, but all girls like presents, don’t they? Then it occurs to me that the VW is a tie to the memory of her stepfather Ben, who recently passed away. Maybe she sees replacing the car as a betrayal. That must be it.
“Raven?” The stiff set of her jaw warns me she’s done with the subject, but I press once more. “Your car is old and unreliable. If you were in an accident, Ben would want you safe, and so do I.”
Her gaze finds the window.
“I’ll make you a deal.”
“You and your deals.” She doesn’t look, but her mouth tips up at the corners. “You’re relentless. Like the tide.”
I lean forward, lowering my voice, “Keep the Bug. We’ll garage your classic. Drive it once in a while to keep the motor in good shape, but let me buy you—”
“Here we are, my lovelies!” Jenny, my housekeeper and part-time surrogate grandmother, scurries into the study through the open door. Her cheeks are flushed, as usual. A sheen of sweat glistens on her ruddy skin, and the starched collar of her powder-blue uniform has begun to droop.
She sets her overloaded tray down with a final rattle on my desktop. “Who makes s’mores in the fireplace? In June, no less? Why, I’ve never heard of such a thing.” Facing the desk, she clucks like an old hen as she sets out the necessary supplies.
I give Raven a reassuring wink.
“You know I’d make you lambs anything you want for a late-night snack.” Jenny pauses, looking up. “All you need do is ask. It’s no bother.”
“S’mores are a childhood memory of Raven’s,” I say. One of the few happy ones since her mother died leaving Rae to nurse an alcoholic stepfather. “I intend to indulge her wishes.”
She jumps up and heads for the desk. Holding a bag of marshmallows in the air, she shakes them like a little kid. “Do you want me to make you one, Jenny? You have to be careful to get the mallow brown without burning it.”
My housekeeper’s eyebrows climb for her hairline. “The idea! Guests do not attend servants, Miss Weathersby, no matter how charmingly they may offer.” Jenny pats Raven’s cheek, and then glances over her shoulder. “Gracious, child, will you look at this room. What a green thumb you have. I confess the plants in the house have fairly doubled in size since you took to watering them. And so green!”
Raven follows her gaze to the potted jungle growing near the window and smiles. “We never had many plants around our house. I didn’t know I’d like it so much, but there’s something sort of therapeutic about gardening.”
“Well, they’re better off with you minding them.” Jenny steps toward the various containers, examining each one. “Now isn’t this is strange … See how they’re growing?” Raven joins Jenny at the window, her hand gently running over the glossy ficus leaves. “Look here, see how the stems bend away from the sun. That’s odd.”
It is odd. I hadn’t noticed until now, but the growth is uneven. All the new leaves sprout on one side growing away from the light and toward Raven’s favorite chair in the darker corner.
“No matter, dearie. I suppose the plants know best what they need, eh? And now … ” Jenny’s chattering stops for a gulp of air. “Will there be anything else for you two this evening?”
I glance at my new Rolex surprised it’s nearly nine o’clock. “No, thank you. Please get some rest.”
“Very good, sir. I hope you have a pleasant flight to New York tomorrow, and a nice …” She shrinks as Rae cheerfully impales a plump marshmallow with her skewer.
I lift my chin. “Night, Jenny.”
Once the door clicks shut, Raven moves to the fire. “Remind me to ask for some of her chocolate chunk cookies this week. I don’t want to hurt her feelings.”
Concern for others is a constant of Raven’s. It was she that agreed to take the place of her ailing stepfather last year and make restitution for his gambling debt against my family. Little did she know I’d exact payment by insisting she move in with me.
I scoot over on the couch and prop my feet up. As Raven stretches over the fire, her sleek black hair swings forward. The color picks up a red glow from the hot coals beneath, her eyes reflecting the low burning flame. The sight speeds my pulse.
After she moved in, I became obsessed with the girl who sacrificed her dreams for someone as unworthy as her stepfather. Weeks passed, and I studied her habits, watched as she created the beautiful designs that saved my father’s failing clothing line. She worked for me, her enemy, endured my temper, kept her grades up, even befriended my lonesome housekeeper.
“Oh, ouch!” Raven blows out the flame charring her marshmallow and plucks it from the prongs. “Dang it.”
I’m off the couch in a blink. “Careful, you’ll burn yourself.” Taking her hand in mine, I guide the scorched sugar to my lips and devour the whole thing.
“Gideon! That one’s ruined.”
I release her fingers and laugh through the mush. “But I wuv the burnf wons.”
“You do?” Her little frown destroys me.
“Mm-hmm.”
Her glaze flits to the fire and back. “Okay, here’s an idea. Don’t go to New York tomorrow, and I’ll make you as many charred s’mores as you can eat.”
I gulp the last of my marshmallow, confused by her request. “I’d love to, but you know I can’t.” Truth is, I’d avoided half a dozen meetings in the last two months. Art Windsor, my father’s longtime business associate, and the nearest thing to a friend I have on the board, called this morning. First, to check on me, as it’s out of character for me to miss so much work, second, to warn me that tomorrow’s meeting is mandatory.
She slides her empty skewer onto the mantle. “I know. I’m sure it’s stupid paranoia, but I have a really weird feeling about this trip.”
My head lowers. “I don’t.” Kiss. “Want you.” Kiss. “To worry.” Our lips are warm and sticky with sugar. My hands drop to her hips, and though I meant to distract her, it’s my pulse that’s revving. “I’ll be back in two days, three at most. Deal?” When I slide my arms around her ribcage, she melds into me.
Her hands move up my back. The contact energizes me. My heart pounds harder. When her lips part for me, I deepen the kiss, making sure she understands what she means to me, what she does to me. My fingers dig into the fabric of her blouse. Her answering whimper drives me half-crazy with wanting. I never knew it could be like this with anyone. And then I realize, it wouldn’t be like this with anyone but her.
My head spins. Thought goes up in smoke, replaced by need, yet I can’t help but notice the increasing heat from the hearth. The warmth becomes uncomfortable, then unbearable. Edgar’s hiss unhinges something in my spine.
Breaking the kiss, Raven balks at our little fire. Only it’s not so little anymore.
The color is wrong. Blue flame licks the interior brick walls, flaring up the chimney. My head pounds, hearing sharpens as the wood snaps and crackles. There’s an odd hum coming from the grate.
Tiny nails scratch the floor as Edgar squeezes his bulk under the couch. I step between Raven and the fire, but it seems I’ve overreacted, because the blaze lessens. Colors gradually change from blue to a natural orange and the flares shrink to their former size in seconds.
When Raven presses her cheek to my shoulder, I turn, drawing her under my arm.
“Wow,” she says. “What was that about?”
“I don’t know, sap or something flammable on the log.” There’s no reason to worry, still my arm tightens around her shoulder.
We watch the log burn, and when nothing else interesting happens, Raven slides away from me, taking a seat on the couch. “Phew, it’s gotten hot in here.” She fans herself with a hand. “Do you still want dessert?”
“Hm.” Moving in her direction, ten inappropriate replies to her question file through my mind, but I leave them alone. The mood’s suddenly heavier. Tomorrow will come soon enough and with it, our separation.
Whipped much, Maddox?
I don’t much care.
Raven’s head tilts. “What?” Her smile grows unsure and becomes a squeal as I lift her into my arms, take her place on the couch, and settle her in my lap. Her laughter fades under my steady gaze. When the light in her eyes dims to a smolder, I cover her mouth with mine and kiss her until we’re both breathless.