Fierce (12 page)

“Sure you weren’t. It’s a really small apartment,” she told Hemi. “The bathtub’s in the kitchen. She was totally crying in there.”

“Yeh,” he said, serious now. “I’m sure she was. But your sister has a forgiving nature, eh.” 

He didn’t even have to lean forward to talk to Karen, I realized. What was I doing with a man who topped me by a
foot?
And outweighed me by…what?

“Right,” Karen said dubiously. “You made her cry, and Hope
hates
to cry. And you’re too big for her.” 

The exact same thought I’d just had. Oh, no. We weren’t going there. 

“Karen—” I began to say, but Hemi was too fast for me.

“Or could be I’m exactly the right size for her,” he said. 

“Yeah, right,” Karen said. “How tall are you? And how much do you weigh?”

“Karen,”
I said.
“No.”
 

“I’m an idiot savant,” she told Hemi. “I’m allowed.”

 “You are
not,
” I said. “That’s ridiculous.
Why
did I think today would be easier if I brought my sister? I am two seconds away from opening that door and pushing you out.”

Hemi was actually laughing a little now. “Better for me that you did, though,” he said. “As it meant you’d actually come, and we’ve already established that I only care about myself. I’m about six foot three and two hundred twenty pounds, give or take a pound. Course, I normally weigh myself in kilos, but I reckon that’s about it.”

“You’re allowed to say in kilos,” Karen said. “And meters. I can convert. Except that you already told me, so it’d be cheating.”

“Because you’re an idiot savant.”

“She is
not
an idiot savant,” I said. “She’s just
rude.
Well, the idiot part, maybe.” I loved my sister more than anything. Except right now.

“How much does Hope weigh?” Hemi asked.

“And you’re rude, too,” I told him. “Because you’re ignoring me. And absolutely not,” I told Karen for good measure. “Ab-so-lute-ly
not.”

“I don’t know,” she said. “We don’t have a scale. I know she’s five-two, though.”

“She already told me that,” Hemi said. “Seems she’s got a bit of a thing about height, eh. What do we think? Haven’t picked her up—sadly—but I’d say, mmm…” He wrapped his hand around my wrist, the fingers overlapping by inches. “A hundred pounds? Small frame.”

“Not your business,” I managed to say. 

I could tell that he had his fingers on my pulse on purpose, that he was all but counting the beats of my telltale heart, and with every moment he held me, they were coming faster, giving away more.

“Which means you weigh more than twice as much as she does, and you’re more than a foot taller,” Karen said, completely oblivious to what was happening in my body, to the effect of Hemi’s steady gaze on me, that warming of his eyes. And that hand around my wrist. She sighed. “Hope’s going to
hate
that. Which is
really
too bad, because this is a great car. I can’t believe she’s even letting you take her to the, whatever. The park. Plus you made her cry, and like I said—”

“She hates to cry,” Hemi finished. He hadn’t let go of me, either, Or rather, he had. He’d unwrapped his fingers from around my wrist, but somehow, he was holding my hand, swallowing it up in his, running his thumb slowly over my forefinger and the sensitive web between it and my thumb, and I was heating up from
that.
From him touching my
hand.
 

“But you see,” he told Karen, “I’m not going to be making her cry again. Or if I do…” That thumb was moving again. “Only if she wants it.” 

Before I could react to that, could ask him why on earth I’d want to
cry,
he was saying, “And as for my…size...we’ll have to see if I can convince her that it might…work.” 

I could see, out of the corner of my eye, that he was looking down at me. But I couldn’t look up at him. I sat, frozen, knowing I was blushing, and that I should pull my hand away. That I should stop this right now. 

And then it got worse, because I caught myself shifting on the seat a little as his thumb continued to move, as those wayward thoughts continued to arrive, as the heat, the electricity spiraled down my body.
All
the way down my body. And I could tell he noticed.

“Anyway,” Karen said, completely oblivious, “all of that, and she’s still going out with you again. Maybe it’s the car. Or the tattoo. It’s really hot, though, so I guess I can see why. Why do you have such a huge tattoo? How far does it go?”

“Karen,” I managed to say. “No. It’s personal.”

“It is,” Hemi said. “Personal. And it goes all the way.”

Charles pulled into the parking lot of the Botanical Gardens, and Hemi said, “Right. Roses,” and climbed out of the car. 

Charles was holding the door, but it was Hemi’s hand taking mine again as I got out. I could feel that my dress was riding up, and he must have noticed, but he kept his gaze on my face, and I appreciated it. Of course, then he put his sunglasses on again, and I couldn’t tell where he was looking. 

He let go of me and put a hand out for Karen, but she didn’t take it. She said, “Is this some kind of old-timey chivalry thing?” and hauled herself out, taking her backpack from Charles with a “Thanks” that at least saved me from wanting so sink through the ground. 

“Karen,” I said helplessly, feeling my color rising as it had all morning. “Please. What’s Hemi going to think?”

“That I’m honest?” she said. “And able to get out of a car by myself?” 

“No worries,” Hemi said. He told Charles, “I’ll ring you. Thanks.”

Charles nodded and climbed back into the car again, and Karen said, “You say ‘thanks’ to your chauffeur. That’s pretty cool.”

“I’m a Kiwi,” Hemi said. “A New Zealander. We tend to be polite. And democratic, you could say.”

“Oh, is
that
what you are.” I muttered it under my breath, but he heard it. 

“Most of the time,” he said, and I must have shot him a pretty skeptical glance, because he laughed, then dropped his voice to murmur, “Except when I’m…not. There are times when a command works so much better, eh.”

“See, Hope,” Karen said. “You don’t have to be polite all the time. I told you.”

“That’s not what Hemi’s talking about. So what do you think? Shall we go see some roses?  Or are we going for the walking-out deal again? You’re getting a little close,” I told Hemi. “I’m just saying.”

“That’s what I’m hoping,” he said, beginning to walk up the path with me.

“Really?” Karen asked, hustling along behind us. “You
want
her to walk out?”

“No,” Hemi said. “I want to get close.”

“Oh. Flirting.” Karen sighed. “I never get flirting. It’s kind of stupid anyway, don’t you think?”

“I always did,” he said. “Inefficient. But your sister’s bringing me around to her way of thinking. Seems I’d forgotten about the subtler pleasures.”

That got me turning to look at him again. “Didn’t we talk about
not
flirting?”

“No,” he said. “We talked about not pushing it. And I thought you wanted a date. Dating is flirting, least the way I remember it. But I’m keeping it on this side of the line, aren’t I.” 

“That ‘command’ thing?” I didn’t want Karen to hear this, so I kept my voice soft, which was a mistake, because he had to lean toward me to hear it. “Not so much.”

“Mm.” He kept it soft himself. “But you noticed. Got you paying attention, didn’t I.” He inclined his head even more toward me and took a breath. “And that’s Coco by Chanel. Very nice indeed. Not what I’d expected from you, though.”

“Because I’m such a simple girl?” 

“Getting the picture, aren’t I. And it’s this way.” He put a light hand on my lower back and steered me to the right, and I had to fight myself not to lean into him. 

“I’m kind of feeling like a chaperone right now,” Karen informed us. “So you know.” 

“Yeh,” Hemi said. “That was the idea, wasn’t it.”

“Hope’s not
that
hard to get,” Karen said, and I gasped.
What?

“I mean,” Karen went on, oblivious, “she does go out with guys.
Without
me along.”

“Mm,” Hemi said. “I’m a bit special, maybe.”

“Because you’re too rich?” Karen asked. 

“Nah. I don’t think that’s it. Or not all of it.”

“Hmm,” she said. “Maybe it’s that you
are
too big, and too…sort of take-charge. She doesn’t really go for guys like you. You know. Hot guys.”

“Could be,” Hemi said. He looked at me again. “What d’you reckon?”

“Oh,
now
you’re asking me?” I waved an airy hand. “Go on. Please. Continue exploring your bafflement at my resistance to your animal magnetism.”

“That’s right. The animal metaphors.” He told Karen, “We’ll put it that she feels a power imbalance.” He must have heard the snort I couldn’t suppress, because he smiled. “And that she’s not sure yet whether that’s…what she wants.”

“Oh,” I sighed, and, amazingly, forgot him. Because we’d come to the rose garden, and it was enormous. I hadn’t been here in much too long, and I couldn’t imagine why not.

Long rows of flowers stretched before us to either side, a sea of color even in September, near the end of their season. Pure, creamy whites and sunny, vibrant yellows, the blush and glow of pinks and purples, the sensual promise of deep, strong crimson. All set against the glossy green of the well-tended bushes, the brighter hue of the grassy paths. The warm, humid air was so richly scented with them, I was already almost drunk with it.

So much to see. So much to smell, and I needed to start right now. 

I let my hand drop from Hope’s back, but she didn’t seem to notice. She was wandering into the garden, opening her arms as if to embrace the beauty surrounding her. Bending to pull a bloom closer with a gentle hand, breathing its fragrance in before moving on, caught up in color and scent. 

I’d been right. This had been a good choice. 

“She’s going to be totally oblivious,” Karen informed me. “She loves flowers. Somebody sent her these flowers at work this week, and—” She stopped and laughed. “Oh. Duh. That was you.”

“Yeh.” I kept my eyes on Hope, because I couldn’t have looked away. “It was me. Did she bring them home, then?”

“Oh,
yeah. Taking up about the whole kitchen table, and that smell’s
powerful.
”

“And that’s not good?”

She shrugged. “It’s OK. Sometimes I don’t feel great in the morning, that’s all.”

“Oh? Why not? Don’t like school?”

“No. Nothing. I’m going to go sit down in the shade and do my homework. I mean, assuming you don’t want the chaperone thing anymore. I still don’t get why I had to come.”

“Because I scare your sister a bit. I’ll do my best not to, though, so we can leave you out of it.”

“See?” she said. “That, what you just said. Why would you be scary? Hope’s so
weird
sometimes. Probably because she feels responsible for me and everything. It’s like she’s
fifty.
Anyway. I’m going to go wait for you guys.”

She was looking a bit white. Maybe just the heat. But she headed over to a bench beneath an arbor and pulled a thick textbook out of her backpack, so she probably did just need shade.

I set out to catch up with Hope. She was still stopping, bending, then moving on, though, not looking at me, or looking
for
me, either, so I left her alone for a bit and did my own wandering about. Finally, when she was headed slowly back my way again, I went to join her.

“Smell this one,” she said, fingering a deep yellow flower, and I bent my head and obliged. Spicy. “So pretty, too, isn’t it?” she said. “So sunny. And this one.” She was holding a deep red rose now, and I smelled that one, too. Rich and heady.

We moved on, and she pointed out her favorites and bent to smell them again, and invited me to do the same. And it wasn’t so bad at all. Watching a woman experience pleasure was one of my favorite things. And if I liked it best if I were giving her that pleasure…well, I was, in a way, wasn’t I?