glanced at the clock on the counter separating the kitchen area from the rest of the room. Seven o’clock. He and Allie had been painting almost nonstop since early this morning.
Through the morning freshness, and through the slow buildup of oppressive heat that lingered still, despite the constant hum of two overhead fans.
“Well, that’s that,” he said with satisfaction.
The hours of menial, repetitive work may have been nothing but part of a strategy to achieve his goal, but still, he’d enjoyed them. Was it because he was with Allie? He looked to the other end of the long room where Allie was lowering her roller.
“Are you finished?”
“Yes, yes and yes!” Allie deposited her roller in the tray. She stretched, then walked towards him.
Wisps of hair had escaped from her pony tail and now curled around a face even more paint-spattered than it had been a few hours earlier.
Just before she reached him she executed a pirouette, then stopped, her gamin face glowing, her arms extended. “I can’t believe it. We finished it all. Every bit of it. All that’s left is the trim and the window frames.”
Allie stopped in front of him. The light brush of her fingertips across his chest reminded him he’d discarded his T-shirt several hours ago—and sent a jolt through him like an electric shock.
“You’ve got paint all over. In your hair. On your jeans.” She broke into a playful grin. “On your face. You should see yourself.”
She didn’t wait for an answer. She grabbed his arm and propelled him towards a full-length mirror leaning against the Japanese paper and wood divider separating her bedroom from the rest of the large open room. “See? It’s all over your chin.”
She bit her lip.
Erik looked in the mirror. Indeed, he did have paint, more than he would have thought, on his face and chest and hands. But it wasn’t the paint that startled him. It was the somberness of the man staring back at him. The cold-eyed stranger whose expressionless face was a complete contrast to the glowing eyes and curving lips of the woman standing beside him. For the first time in his life he considered what he saw—and didn’t much like it.
“You’ve got paint on your face too,” he responded stiffly.
“Yes. I know. But not as much as you.” Allie stood back, hands on her hips. “Anyway, I’ll get rid of it in a moment. First though, I’m going to figure out where I’m taking you for dinner. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. In the meantime, why don’t you have a shower? I’ll have one right after you.”
She gestured to the apartment’s only enclosed room. Before Erik started to walk towards the bathroom, she stopped him with a touch.
He turned to look at her. Her expression had gentled, the sparkling eyes had turned to a soft green mist. Her lips curved in a sweet smile that cut into him with unexpectedly sharp sweetness.
“Thank you Erik. You don’t know how much I appreciate your helping me today. I’d be painting for another week if it wasn’t for you. Thank you.”
Erik stood rooted to the spot. He didn’t even try to suppress the pleasure her words provoked, or the wave of closeness that surfaced in him when she looked at him like that. It was a new and powerful sensation, touching him deeply in ways and places he had always denied.
He swallowed. With a certainty born of years of forcing himself into a mold which did not quite fit, he knew he should reject this seductive sensation and the dangers it posed to his goals and acceptance in Zalian society. Dangerous because, in his heart, he knew it was what separated him from every other Zalian on Zura.
But his gaze lingered still on her smile, her glowing eyes. He felt the answering smile begin to crease his face.
And he knew at that moment he wasn’t going to reject it. Not yet. For once, he was going to experience this heady sense of intimacy with Allie, to explore it, to revel in it.
Time enough later to force it back
Through the morning freshness, and through the slow buildup of oppressive heat that lingered still, despite the constant hum of two overhead fans.
“Well, that’s that,” he said with satisfaction.
The hours of menial, repetitive work may have been nothing but part of a strategy to achieve his goal, but still, he’d enjoyed them. Was it because he was with Allie? He looked to the other end of the long room where Allie was lowering her roller.
“Are you finished?”
“Yes, yes and yes!” Allie deposited her roller in the tray. She stretched, then walked towards him.
Wisps of hair had escaped from her pony tail and now curled around a face even more paint-spattered than it had been a few hours earlier.
Just before she reached him she executed a pirouette, then stopped, her gamin face glowing, her arms extended. “I can’t believe it. We finished it all. Every bit of it. All that’s left is the trim and the window frames.”
Allie stopped in front of him. The light brush of her fingertips across his chest reminded him he’d discarded his T-shirt several hours ago—and sent a jolt through him like an electric shock.
“You’ve got paint all over. In your hair. On your jeans.” She broke into a playful grin. “On your face. You should see yourself.”
She didn’t wait for an answer. She grabbed his arm and propelled him towards a full-length mirror leaning against the Japanese paper and wood divider separating her bedroom from the rest of the large open room. “See? It’s all over your chin.”
She bit her lip.
Erik looked in the mirror. Indeed, he did have paint, more than he would have thought, on his face and chest and hands. But it wasn’t the paint that startled him. It was the somberness of the man staring back at him. The cold-eyed stranger whose expressionless face was a complete contrast to the glowing eyes and curving lips of the woman standing beside him. For the first time in his life he considered what he saw—and didn’t much like it.
“You’ve got paint on your face too,” he responded stiffly.
“Yes. I know. But not as much as you.” Allie stood back, hands on her hips. “Anyway, I’ll get rid of it in a moment. First though, I’m going to figure out where I’m taking you for dinner. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. In the meantime, why don’t you have a shower? I’ll have one right after you.”
She gestured to the apartment’s only enclosed room. Before Erik started to walk towards the bathroom, she stopped him with a touch.
He turned to look at her. Her expression had gentled, the sparkling eyes had turned to a soft green mist. Her lips curved in a sweet smile that cut into him with unexpectedly sharp sweetness.
“Thank you Erik. You don’t know how much I appreciate your helping me today. I’d be painting for another week if it wasn’t for you. Thank you.”
Erik stood rooted to the spot. He didn’t even try to suppress the pleasure her words provoked, or the wave of closeness that surfaced in him when she looked at him like that. It was a new and powerful sensation, touching him deeply in ways and places he had always denied.
He swallowed. With a certainty born of years of forcing himself into a mold which did not quite fit, he knew he should reject this seductive sensation and the dangers it posed to his goals and acceptance in Zalian society. Dangerous because, in his heart, he knew it was what separated him from every other Zalian on Zura.
But his gaze lingered still on her smile, her glowing eyes. He felt the answering smile begin to crease his face.
And he knew at that moment he wasn’t going to reject it. Not yet. For once, he was going to experience this heady sense of intimacy with Allie, to explore it, to revel in it.
Time enough later to force it back
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