Whoa. Just agree with him. Maybe he’ll go away.“I think you have a point there.” She went over and turned off the hose.
Watching her intently, he licked his lips. “I bet you’re real popular with men. I also bet that you love them clamoring after you.”
She laughed tightly. “I really don’t. What about you? Do you have a special woman?”
An intense darkness covered his face and he glowered. “I don’t trust any woman except my mother.” His gaze lingered on her mouth.
When she bent down to pick up her weeder, the hairs on the back of her neck rose as she sensed his stare on her. “I have to finish a painting I’ve been working on. It was good chatting with you.”Not!
“But you’re not finished.” He looked at the weeds.
“I’ll do it later. I didn’t think it’d be this hot out. The cloud covering fooled me.” The man creeped her out; she had to get away from him. She’d finish gardening when he was holed up watching TV like he did every night. On the evenings when she’d take a walk, she’d see the flickering of the screen from his open window. He was always in the dark, and if she cocked her head a certain way, she could see his face illuminated by the glow of the TV. It looked like a ghastly mask, and sometimes the image of it invaded her dreams.
“I really do have to start painting. See you.” Rushing past him, she heard his noisy breaths. Closing the door behind her, she locked it and leaned against it. “We got one fuckin’ nutcase for a neighbor,” she said to Sooty. Shaking her head, she went to the back porch and put away her tools, grabbed a large bottle of water from the fridge, and went over to her canvas. She’d placed her easel in the living room to catch the early afternoon light.
A few hours later, a knock interrupted her flow. Rolling her shoulders backward and forward several times to get the kinks out, she laid down her brush and went over to the door. Looking through the peephole, she gasped as her heartbeat raced. Slowly, with trembling hands, she opened the door.
With wide and glowing eyes, she greeted him. “Hey.”
Muerto grinned. “You seem surprised to see me.”
Recovering from her initial shock and anxiety at seeing him at her door, she smiled. “Just surprised you knocked.”
He chuckled. “I came by to see how you’re doing.”
“I’m good. That incident is behind me. I’ve been in scrapes before and I don’t let them get me down. You want a cold beer?” He nodded and she unlocked the screen door, moving aside as he entered. “I’ll be back in a sec.” She shuffled to the kitchen.I can’t believe he’s here, and that he fuckin’ knocked.Giggles burst through her lips as she grabbed a Coors and an iced tea and went back to the living room. “Here you are.” She handed him the cold can.
He took it, popped the tab, and put the tiny piece of metal in her open and waiting hand. He laughed. “You really do use anything for your jewelry.” After taking a deep drink, he set the can down on the table. “It looks like you’re working on something.”
“Yeah. I got accepted to show a few of my paintings at an art gallery in Denver. I’m beyond excited.” She drank a gulp of iced tea; her mouth was dry as dust. And the way his gaze penetrated her made her nervous as hell. “I took a couple of workshops with Elliot Caraway. He’s an awesome artist and paints in my medium. Anyway, he ended up liking my work and we’ve kept in touch. He referred my artwork to this gallery in Denver.” She swallowed. “They have a lot of folk and pop art. I need to finish before the end of next week.” Another large gulp. “It’s a big deal to get your work in a gallery.” Pressing her lips together, she brushed away some lint from the couch.
“That’s cool. Am I making you nervous?”
“No. Why?” Heat radiated from him as he moved closer to her.
“You’re acting like it.” Again his dark gaze bored into her.
“Just anxious excitement over finishing my painting and getting it to Denver. You want another beer?”
“A water would be cool.”
She leapt from the couch and dashed to the kitchen.You’re acting like an ass. Damn. Get a grip. Why’re you letting him get to you all of a sudden?It was because she was beginning to see the layers that made him who he was. Before, he was like a bad cardboard cutout, but she was beginning to see past his persona, and liking it. It scared the hell out of her.
When she came back into the living room, he was standing in front of her painting, his face expressionless. “Do you like it?” she asked, scrutinizing what she’d created for the past several hours: bold colors depicting a nude woman kneeling on red sand with bones scattered around her. The woman had long black hair that covered her nakedness except for her perky breasts. She stared ahead as if she were looking at the person regarding the painting. A colorful umbrella in her hands shielded the bright yellow sun. The heads of three men hung from the handle of her parasol, streaks of red dripping onto the sand.
“It’s interesting. Is it the desert?” Muerto asked as he cocked his head to the side.
Handing him the water bottle, she picked up a wet brush and shaped its tip with her fingers. “Yeah. The woman lives in the desert of blood, devouring men as they come upon her. Have you ever heard ofDevoradora—the Mexican folklore?”
Slowly he nodded, a lazy smile spreading over his lips. “She seduces and deceives with her beauty, then kills every man she meets.”
“Or castrates them.” Her gray gaze held his.
He took a swig of water and chuckled. “Is that what you’re aiming for, sweetheart? My balls?”
With her gaze still locked on his, she placed her brush in a tattered wooden box. “Maybe.” She ran the tip of her tongue over her top lip and his eyes followed the movement.
In two large steps he was beside her, one arm wrapped around her small waist and the other tangled in her hair. He yanked her head back and stared deeply into her eyes. “I’m totally up for the challenge.” He pressed his lips to hers, kissing her firmly.
Heat flooded her, and she twisted away. “Don’t do that.”
Letting her go, he stepped backward. “I’m planning to do a lot more than that.” He winked at her, his crooked smirk switching to a small smile. “Glad you’re good. Gotta run.” He swaggered out the door.
As she watched him get on his Harley, she brought her fingers to her mouth, her lips still warm from his kiss. Her calm was shattered; it seemed that it was beginning to happen more often and more completely each time she was around him. She knew the signs: dry mouth, giggling, butterflies in the stomach, always thinking about him. She was falling for him and she didn’t want to. It was like she was on a runaway freight train barreling down a hill—unstoppable until it finally crashed.
Cringing, she knew the ride would be fast, hard, and exciting, thus making the inevitable crash that much worse. And she didn’t know how the hell to stop it.
