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Her mouth moved in response. Though he tried, he couldn’t understand, and he saw her evident frustration.
“It’s okay,” he reassured her. “I still like being here with you.”
The smile returned, and she put her free hand on his knee. Her gaze followed her movement and she stared down at his leg. With the lightest of touches, she traced a line farther down until her fingertips rested on the thick scar so prominently featured on his skin. She glanced back up at him, the unspoken question clear in her eyes, and one of her eyebrows lifted.
Stephen let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and looked away. “It’s nothing, really,” he mumbled.
She craned her neck and peered up at him to maintain eye contact.
“Well, nothing exciting, anyway.” He turned back toward her and she straightened, not relinquishing her grasp of his hand. “It happened almost a year ago,” he started, staring into the surrounding trees. “I wish I could tell you some sort of thrilling, heroic story, but it’s nothing so intriguing. I was crossing the street in Manhattan and got hit by a car speeding around a corner. He had to pay, of course, for everything required to put my leg back together and a bit extra. After I recovered from surgery is when I moved out of the city.” He rubbed his calf and tried to lighten the mood with a bad joke. “I guess it’s a good thing I was never interested in running marathons, right?”
She slid her hand up to his shoulder, and he was surprised at how close her face was to his when he turned back to her. I’m sorry, she mouthed, or so he thought.
He wanted to tell her he was beyond feeling sorry for himself and he had no need for pity from others. From the expression in her eyes, though, he imagined that instead of focusing on his weaknesses, she could see his inner strength. Motivated by this belief, he found the courage to slip his hand behind her neck and duck his head toward hers.
Her kiss was as sweet and tender as he remembered. Gentle affection was soon replaced by a more heated urgency, as the threat of being abruptly separated at any moment loomed overhead. He buried his fingers in her hair, keeping her as close as he could before she would be yanked away. She, in turn, wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her hands roaming his body while entangled in their frantic embrace.
Though his eyes were closed, the world spun around him and he was intoxicated by their shared passion. Liora pulled away. As he opened his eyes and was about to protest, she moved into his lap. He tried to return his lips to hers, but was denied with a shake of her head. With a coy smile, she reached up and unfastened the closure of her violet cloak, letting it slip off her shoulders into the grass.
The shimmering silk gown she wore underneath clung to her every curve. A familiar sensation stirred within his body. He could do nothing but take in the view of her long neck, her bare shoulders, and the swell of her chest mere inches away from his face. As he sat frozen in place, her fingers crept up to the top button of his shirt, and she set out to remove the hindrance.
A rush of heat spread throughout him and he could no longer resist her tempting mouth. He drew her into him again, and she crashed against his chest. Hands explored wildly, not knowing where to go next, and grasped onto anything which would keep them together. Her body was warm and alive and brimming with energy, and he yearned for the intimate touch he had been missing for so long.
Skin met skin and hearts beat together in a uniform rhythm. As much as he could have let her leave him gasping for air for as long as he could stand it, he needed to know more of her. He forced himself to tear his lips away from hers and kissed a path down to the base of her neck. Her breath caught in her throat and she squirmed in his lap, providing him with all the extra encouragement he needed.
He slipped the strap of her dress off one shoulder. The thin fabric gave way to reveal a supple breast, topped by a perfect pink nipple. He cupped it in his hand, admiring the flawless work of art before him while grazing the hardened bud with his thumb. Everything about her continued to be sensual and enthralling, and he gave in to his urge to suck it into his mouth. Her back arched as she responded to the application of his tongue and, to his amazement, he heard her impassioned whisper ringing in his ears. “Stephen…”
***
With a jolt, Stephen slammed into the hardwood floor beneath his couch. He struggled to catch his breath, and the realization he was back home was almost too much to bear. “No,” he choked out to the empty room. “No, no, no, no…”
He stayed on the floor, reeling from his rapid journey. The vision of her remained clear in his mind. The dewy velvet of her skin was present beneath his fingertips and the rock-hard erection in his pants strained for release. Compelling himself to sit up, he squinted into the morning sun and groaned.
The cycle in which he was trapped took its toll on him mentally. For every moment of bliss he spent with the woman of his dreams, there were countless more when he was utterly alone. Euphoria and agony wrenched him in two different directions, and he wasn’t sure if he would be willing to give up one to lose the other.
He got to his feet and resigned himself to another day spent in isolation. His gaze fell upon the portrait by the window and, again, he was wracked by indecision. Part of him wanted to push away all memories and reminders of what was so painfully unavailable to him, but he felt obligated to continue his work. Escape from Liora’s hold on him, even in the waking world, was impossible. A piece of him was determined to find her one day, and until he formed a cohesive plan, he would settle for bringing her to life through his art.
Before he sat down to paint, a cold shower was necessary to clear his mind. He turned on the faucet and shivered as he ducked his head beneath the spray. Needles of water pricked at his skin and he closed his eyes, trying to rid himself of the memories of her touch. Despite his efforts, she refused to vanish, and he reached down to grip his rigid cock. He leaned his forehead against the slippery tile and lowered his defenses, letting his thoughts of her finally consume him. She had stolen his heart and filled his soul, and he awaited the time when his body would be hers as well. As he stroked, it was all too easy to remember her flesh meeting his, accompanied by the sound of his name upon her lips, and his contented sigh echoed off the walls of the chilly bathroom.
He dried off and changed into a fresh pair of shorts and an old T-shirt in preparation for a day of painting. Taking his usual seat by the window, he prepared his palette and set to work. Each movement of his brush brought him one step closer to his goal, and he blended, shaded, and created with painstaking care.
Images of Liora were permanently etched into his mind. He wanted to capture her lithe movements, her resplendent vivacity…everything which made him feel so alive when he was with her and so dispirited when they were apart. It was a rare gift to be able to generate the impression of animation within a static picture, and he searched deep within himself to stoke the embers of creativity that had always lived inside of him, dormant though they had been.
Another day was spent in front of the easel with no regard to any external influences. He strove to bring her likeness into the room in some form. With every motion across the canvas, she continued to take shape. The smears of color melded together to become recognizable as the striking woman with the hair of gold and the compassionate heart, and he endeavored to highlight every captivating quality.
Every once in a while, he had to fight through the urge to lose himself in another daydream. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine her longing gaze and her fingers threaded through his. Her voice whispered in his ear and drove him forward, and he applied the details bringing her closer to completion with tender affection. At times, it was as if her hands were guiding his own as she reached beneath the surface to draw out his passion, feeding the power which flowed into his art.
Darkness settled around the small cottage, a blanket of warmth enveloping Stephen in its comfort. His eyes strained to make out the subtle shifts between the strokes of paint and he knew it was time to retire the brushes for the evening. His momentary regret was replaced with the reminder of how nightfall would bring about his anticipated slumber.
He ambled about his home aimlessly, rearranging knickknacks and shuffling papers. Preparing and eating another sandwich didn’t take as much time as he would have hoped, and he grew impatient waiting for drowsiness to steer him toward his bedroom. He cleaned out the refrigerator and the pantry. While he swept and dusted every bare surface in the house, he smirked as he thought of what Jill would have to say about the chosen channel for his restless energy.
Once every inch of tile in his bathroom was disinfected and gleaming, a lengthy yawn emerged from his mouth. He washed his hands, washed his face, and finished his nightly routine that was no longer the dreary, mindless chore it once had been. Burrowing beneath the covers, he closed his eyes and waited for the moment when he would not be alone in his bed.
Chapter Six
Stephen didn’t see her right away as he entered the clearing. Confused, he looked around, and his heart sank at the thought of not being with her. His concerns were dismissed as he heard a splash coming from the tall rock formation.
Liora emerged from behind the waterfall. She waded toward him, the water lapping up against her waist. Her dampened ringlets lay plastered on her porcelain skin. Other than the errant curl and the metallic bangles around her wrists, there was nothing to obstruct his view of her nude body. She flashed him an enticing smile before diving beneath the surface of the water.
