Page 78 of Love the Way You Lion
Maybe that’s what it was and what it will be. Maybe that’s all I should hope for. Every time I look for more, it’s ugly and I can’t fuck things up for either of the women, so I should assume that this is a fun thing. I can have a lark. That’s it: a once in a while, fun thing.
Great.
The Bird Clears The Air
TAURUS
Ipop into what I assume is the master bedroom in their house. Looking around, I smile at the touches that I identify as the minx and the décor that has to be her interior designing housemate. It’s elegant yet feminine in that ‘Fifties ingénue’ way.
The only hint of the stoat is the scattered art supplies and shared hair products in the bathroom. I love the huge, claw-footed tub, giant Jacuzzi in the corner, and the enormous shower stall big enough for an army. That git must have laid this entire place out to service a herd. You could have the lot of them in here all at once without even being tight on elbow room.
My problem is that the stoat’s not here, nor was he in the studio when I dropped the note off earlier. I doubt that he is in one of the guest rooms. I have no idea, though, and I’m not comfortable with the history in this room, so I don’t want to stay here. I don’t know where to go, and I feel like a git.
“How’s ithanging, Assassin?”
I blink when I see the Designer Duchess in the doorway sipping a dirty martini. There isn’t a single flaw in what she’s wearing—which I expected—but I didn’t expect the grin. Her reputation is for being a dispassionate observer of truth, but she looks more like a fond big sister.
“Where’s the long-haired one? I left him in the studio earlier, because I didn’t think he’d move.”
She snorts, sipping her drink again. “Much like a bad penny, he always re-appears. He’s back in his hidey-hole. Once all of you crazy people left, Hex cleaned up the mess. The studio’s usable and fluid-free again. Xanax save me from the bitching. You people.” Sniffing delicately, she turns on her heel and says over her shoulder, “Go down the stairs, take a right, and then follow the guest hallway to what used to be the solarium.”
Right. No mention of the women. I guess they took a powder? Fuck.
I leave the minx’s haven without snooping more—my gut clenches when I consider opening a door and seeing what’s inside up there. Following the directions given, I end up at the enormous set of double doors. I pause for a moment because not only is this whole situation awkward, but I don’t have the foggiest idea what to do or say. I have a distinct impression that I fucked something up. I might have behaved like an ass, which is why I left the note while I was on a brief break. I knew he wasn’t there when I did, but I hoped I didn’t know why.
Christ, Taurus. Just suck it up and go in—that’s my way, head first, and balls out.
I open the door, smiling to myself when I find him in the overstuffed chair from last night, a sketch board propped on his lap. There are papers scattered at his feet, headphones in his ears, and a bottle of bourbon on the table next to him. He has charcoal smudges all over his hands, arms, and chest, and he’s tapping hisfoot on the chair as he works. I almost don’t go in because I worry that, much like the minx, he’s damaged.
It’s possible that he’s more damaged than she is, and he’s not told anyone. I could screw this up and make my primary’s life worse. Hell, I’ve got my wife, right? No need to make everything worse. Leaning against the doorframe, I watch, trying to decide what to do. I can’t make myself leave, though it would be the best plan.
My reticence is strange; I’m not one to give in to sentiment this early on.
He pauses in the drawing, looking up for a moment. “Hello, mate.” His eyes drop to the paper, and he finishes a couple of strokes. Once done, he sits the charcoal on the napkin on the table and pulls the headphones out.
I push off the doorframe, sauntering into the room as if I have the slightest idea what I’m doing, pasting a sardonic grin on my face. “You and yours are too blasted good at sensing. It ruins a bloke’s appreciation time.” He tilts his head, watching me, and I curse internally.
It seems like I’ve already hit a nerve.
“We live in a household where you never know who is behind you or what they’re wielding. It sharpens your reflexes.”
“My household is not like that. Well, except for the time I thought Damien was making a move on my woman or when he annoys me.”
“There are no locks on the doors here, so you never know who the hell is lurking about. The bitch keeps me on my toes, Victor and the droids give each other hell—you might even get caught in a prank war.”
“I waited a long time to meet Philomena, but I’m not disappointed every time we end up having a chat. When did you move back down here?”
He shrugs, setting the board aside and tucking his knees up. “I went for supplies because the women were in here. When I came back, they’d split and Hex had finished cleaning. With no one around, it seemed safe to hole up in here and work.”
Interesting. I wonder where the women went? I didn’t see them upstairs, so maybe they found another perch. I drop into the opposite chair, looking at the stacks surrounding him. “What are you working on, mate?”
“I’m messing around to keep busy.” He looks down and frowns, as if he does not understand how many things he’d finished in that span of time. “I had no idea how busy I was.” Scratching his chin, he spreads charcoal all over his face, looking every bit the absent-minded artist he is.
Should I tell him? I feel wicked. So, no.
“What’s the subject du jour in the great art caper here?”
He blinks as if no one ever asks him this. Maybe they don’t. I could believe that outside of his family members, none of the exes gave a damn about what he used as an outlet for his emotions.
