“He will.”
“How can you be so sure? I’ve hurt him deeply.”
“Lillian,” he said, stooping to plant a kiss onto her forehead. “You are his world now. He’ll talk to you.” With that, he faded into the night.
She dropped to the stone wall, staring at her hands through a film of tears. She felt his name push up against her gut, and spoke it aloud and with her soul. “
Nathan.”
There was a ripple of blond. Turning away from her.
Nathan please.
No, Lillian. Not now.
Please hear me. I’m so sorry. You can’t begin to understand this.
Can’t I?
His tone made her flinch. She saw his long fingers squeezed into fists, the knuckles white. He let the right fist fall open to reveal a wad of paper. The poem.
I can see it really shatters you.
She crumpled. Tears erupted from her eyes as blood spurts from a broken nose. She cramped with wracking sobs. It’s too late. I’ve hurt him, and he’s turned from me forever, she thought. Their connection flickered, and she thought he was closed to her.
Lillian, I’m sorry. Please don’t cry like that anymore. It’s killing me.
She gasped for control, her breath stuttering and hiccupping again.
My God, woman. You undo me.
His voice, twisted with longing, sent a sharp pang of desire through her.
What I wouldn’t give to be with you, to wrap you in my arms. But if I were there, would you let me?
Yes. How could I resist? Aren’t you having the same Visions as I am?
Jittery, she waited, watching him wind and unwind something about his index finger that looked like a piece of string or a hair.
Subdued, he said,
What kind of Visions?
The feather bed. My tattoo.
His breath came hard and fast.
Yes, those.
His thumb stroked the fine thread about his finger.
Are they real? Will it happen?
That depends on your friend there and which path you choose.
She heard the ultimatum in his voice and froze. Before she could formulate a response, he continued.
What I saw, Lillian, I can’t see anymore. Do you have any idea what that’s like?
Her tears were building again, a great wall of water in her chest which would drown her or maybe them both.
What can I do?
Wait for me. Wait for me there in Chicago. Send LeClair on his way and wait for me.
She jolted at the sound of John’s surname—her name—but Nathan’s words resonated within her soul. For a moment of mad joy, she thought she could do that. Then her heart faltered at the thought of being torn from John.
It’s not as easy as you think. There’s a lot you don’t know.
Lillian, you must realize this connection we have transcends what you have with LeClair. It is a power of its own.
I’m scared.
Nathan stopped. Her cleared his throat and swiped at the hair on his jaw, rasping it. Hot need shot through her, capturing her pussy.
Oh, Lillian. I am here with you. We’ll make it all right. Together.
His mouth was set in a determined line.
She fell silent, experiencing the bounds of Nathan’s soul merged with her own. It was like she’d flown through a great window and out the other side to find it was a verdant pasture. When he shuddered, she understood it was because he was provoked by the sight of her chewing her lip. She knew without him saying.
Nathan, tell me something about you,
she said suddenly.
Amusement made a bracket appear around his crooked grin.
Like what?
I don’t know. Like do you have any sculptures in Graceland Cemetery?
No, not that I’m aware of. You found the Granite Goddess in Seattle.
Yes,
she exclaimed in surprise.
Your Visions of me are quite vivid,
he said teasingly. She thought about the things she had seen when she touched Nathan’s art. The images flitted through her head, rapid fire. The feather mattress, the passionate weight of Nathan pressing her down. The taste of him—
Stop,
he said at once.
This is too erotic.
Lillian laughed out loud. The sound was strange and startling in this quiet place. There was a beat of silence, and then Nathan said,
I’ve never heard you laugh.
I suppose not.
I have centuries to make you laugh.
She felt his words shred her. An invisible cord yanked her back through the entrance of his soul, and she suddenly stood on her own side now, peering worriedly through the glass which she felt separating them.
You’re thinking of him.
It’s impossible not to.
Just so you know, I won’t be Calling to you anymore. I’m not up to that again.
This time, his mouth was hemmed in by parentheses of pain.
Please don’t be angry. This is so hard for me.
It doesn’t need to be,
he growled.
You have no idea what you’re talking about. You can’t sit there and judge me. Even Will understands.
Too late, she knew waving Will at Nathan was a red flag to a bull, taunting him with the fact that yet another man was with the woman he searched for. Tears scalded her chest.
No, don’t. I’m sorry. You’re right. I don’t understand all of it. I only know you are the entire reason for my existence, and I’m crazy with the thought—and the Visions, goddammit—that you are in the arms of another man.
Stop. Please. Don’t go punching anymore trucks.
His laughter bubbled up, beautiful music that filled her with joy. Is that how he’d felt a minute ago?
All right. All right, Lil. I can’t make promises, though.
His hands flexed, and she felt the light bruising. He lifted them and ruffled his hair into spikes.
She couldn’t stop thinking about that pale hair and how it would feel beneath her fingers. Someone is going to be hurt, she thought. Probably all of us, in the end.
What are you doing? You’re shoving me away,
he cried.
I have to. I’m not strong enough to continue right now.
Lillian—
But she did it. She slammed down the sash on the window to Nathan’s soul, and he was suddenly gone from her. She dropped her face into her hands and wept.
And then Will’s arms were spinning about her, lifting her, supporting her and holding her head above the water of a turbulent sea. She had no idea which direction she was to swim, and so she simply bobbed along and allowed Will to hold her afloat. But Lillian knew the tempest was yet to come.
Nathan had never struggled much with jealousy. As an only child of older parents, he had been doted over, and when he joined the military, some of his friends were married or had sweethearts. One man swapped over fiancés in two different townships, much to the delight of his comrades. But Nathan never paid much attention to the opposite sex. Girls in the surrounding county were thin on the ground, and the ones of marriageable age weren’t interesting to Nathan.
Recently, he felt faint jealous stirrings in the presence of Dante and Maria, whose love transcended any that Nathan had seen.
Now, he struggled. He fought. His jealousy was a long rope around his throat, with knots that couldn’t be undone. Knots the size of John LeClair. And the newest snarl was in the form of Will Cochran. Will was out there now, comforting Lillian, offering protection. Touching her. He had looked into her eyes and known their color.
The plane shot through the atmosphere, and thirty-thousand feet below, Lillian was at Graceland Cemetery, weeping after slamming Nathan out. He tasted her tears on the back of his tongue, knew the pressure in her chest and the tight coil of her fists.
He longed to smash something. Where was the trusty Ford F-150 when he needed it? Resting his head against the seat, he closed his eyes and let his mind drift. His safe, solitary world had shattered when Lillian Called to him. And yet, he’d never be sorry for it.
When he hit the ground, he immediately hailed a cab and shot off through Chicago, running blind, opening his mind, seeking her. She felt closer than ever.
The cell phone trilled and he rammed a fist into his pocket, fumbling to bring it to his ear in his desperation to learn about her.
“Will, what’s going on? She shut me out,” he screamed.
“I know. She told me.”
“She—” The words boiled on Nathan’s tongue, but came out dead. “She told you.”
“Ugh. Stop the jealousy bullshit with me, Nate. It’s not like that between us.”
“How is it?”
“She’s like a sister. And speaking of jealousy—that leads me to the reason for my call.” Nathan was still mulling the 'like a sister' part, so Will plunged ahead. “You’re ripping her up with your jealousy.”
“R. . . ripping her up? Do you have any—?”
“Hear me out before you have an aneurysm, Nate. Imagine for an instant you had found a mortal woman and fallen in love with her. Despite the fact that she was mortal, you chose to bind yourself to her and live your life loving her.”
Nathan drew an unsteady breath. “Okay.”
“Then one day Lillian Called to you, setting your world on its axis. You had to search for her, be with her or die. But your old wife is still at home, and you love her too.”
He had been holding his breath, and it whooshed from him. “John LeClair isn’t mortal.”
“Yes, but you’re a smart man. The same principle applies. What you and Lillian have is a higher Calling than what she has with him.”
“You said he was in her. You said you saw him in her,” he choked.
“I did,” Will answered calmly. “He is in her.”
“How do you know there isn’t a mark? An imprint medallion?” Nathan practically yelled into the phone. The cab driver glanced over the seat.
A resounding silence filled Nathan’s ear. Awkwardly, Will said, “Uh, I looked.”
Nathan’s throat constricted, but not before he shoved out the jagged words. “You looked!”
“Remember the warning about the aneurysm, Nate? You should heed that now.”
“Just exactly how did you see it, Will?”
“I pulled the neck of her sweater down real quick. There’s nothing there. I had to know what you were up against.”
The image of Will’s finger hooking into her sweater, brushing her flesh. It was too much. “Will, if I had you in front of me—”
He cut Nathan off. “I’m really cautioning you here. She shut you out because she can’t deal with your jealousy. I know you’re jealous, that it’s eating you up. But Lillian she’s a mess. She’s torn and she’s not holding up well. So think about your hypothetical mortal wife before you judge her actions.”
Ending the call, Nathan dropped his head into his hands, feeling the grit of his unshaven face and seething at the thought of more knots being added to that rope. Would Ricardo, the immortal who had lost his mate when their blood didn’t mesh, fall in love with her? What about the immortals who occasionally graced Dante’s doorstep, seeking company and advice? Would they all fall in love with her?
And how many others had there been over the decades? Her mortal husband. Boyfriends. Sweethearts.
Though his thoughts ran green, he grew calm. He pictured her again, lying between stark white sheets, lips forming his name. When it came down to it, she bore his mark. So for the moment, Nathan let go of his rope of jealousy and instead spent long minutes fantasizing about his first meeting with her.
I’m near, he thought. Closer to living than I’ve ever been. And I’m closing the gap.
Drops of moisture clung to the tree branches that lined the drive of John and Lillian’s Virginia home, lit by the midday sun like a thousand twinkling lights. Lillian was glad of the rain for her garden. Before leaving for vacation, she had been concerned about the fate of her flowers.
“Who will water my babies, John?”
He’d flung out his arms and tilted his face to the heavens. “The rain will, my love.”
For weeks she had dragged her feet about vacation. John had accused her of being a homebody, unwilling to leave her comforts. Now she wondered if an innate sense of unease was the reason.
“It rained,” she said happily from the passenger seat of their own car, a smoking little Mercedes roadster. John said he bought it to suit her glamorous appearance, but she thought it really suited John.
They cleared the trees and turned into the yard. The house was untouched by time—a picturesque clapboard home. After years living in Salem, they had returned to John’s hometown of Richmond, and he gave Lillian free reign with the real estate options. When she chose a simple two-story wood structure with a wide front porch, he was surprised. It wasn’t until later he discovered her true motive lay in the land. The two acres behind the house were quickly cultivated into glorious gardens. Until then, neither had speculated about the reason she wore a tattoo of vine and flowers.
She slipped from the car before John could reach her door, inhaling the fresh rain smell of home. “How long do we have?” she asked.
“Our flight to Massachusetts is tomorrow evening.” He removed their luggage from the trunk and followed her up the steps and through the front door, which she opened with a key from her handbag.
He set the luggage in the foyer and followed her straight out the back door and into her garden. When he caught up to her, she was framed in the open doorway, hands fixed on either jamb. He stepped up behind her and pressed his mouth to her neck. Her hand lifted to cradle the back of his head.
“You go to your gardens,” he said and gave her a nudge. She didn’t hesitate. She took the two stone steps down onto the cobblestone walk, where she abandoned her high heels. In seconds she was engulfed by flowers.
She padded barefoot around the turn to her potting shed. There she located a wicker basket and a pair of pruning shears. She began to snip the dead blooms. They fell into the basket one by one, beautiful in their own right.
As she worked, pulling weeds and carrying buckets of water to her prized hydrangeas, she released all her cares. Thoughts of John disappeared, Robert Albright vanished, Will Cochran fled, and Nathan. . . .
She straightened, swiping her damp hair off her forehead and tilting her face up to the sun. She had been working for hours, she realized with a start. Quickly, she replaced her gardening tools.
When she entered the kitchen, she found John grilling hamburgers for their lunch.
“There she is at last,” he exclaimed, turning to her with spatula in hand. He stepped up and pulled a dry petal from Lillian’s hair, which he dropped onto her palm. Her eyes half-closed at the rhythm of his voice.
In a step, she fell into his arms. His lips rained upon her eyelids, down her cheeks to her mouth. Her lips parted for him, hungry for his musky taste. His tongue found hers, gritty and hot. She moaned.
John’s fingers threaded through her hair, angling her head to deepen the kiss. He whirled her, pressing her against the counter and grinding his hips into hers.
The scent of burning meat reached them, and they broke apart laughing.
“I forgot I shouldn’t distract you when you’re cooking,” she said, recalling one particular roast which, after descending the stairs fresh from lovemaking, they had flung into the woods.
She stepped away, breaking the spell, and began setting out dishes. John flipped the burgers and leaned against the counter to watch her. First she set the milky white plates from the glass-fronted cupboard, crisp linen napkins followed by silver, and lastly, glass goblets filled with ice water.
“How do you do that?” John asked.
She glanced into his burning gaze. “What?”
“Make a simplistic task into something beautiful.” He caught her wrist as she spun to the table once more. “Have I told you today how heart-stoppingly beautiful you are?” He leaned in and nipped her earlobe with his teeth, raising her shiver.
She pulled free of his hold and sank into the kitchen chair. “Uh-uh, LeClair. I’m too hungry to let that burger grill into a coal. What are you doing later?” she asked, emphasizing the later.
He grinned, his full mouth spreading until his black eyes crinkled at the corners. “I thought I’d go to Hollywood Cemetery. You?”
“I’m going to walk to the post office and get our mail, then work in the garden.” What she didn’t add was that she was going to contact Will. And possibly Nathan. “Shall we stay in for dinner tonight?”
“Yes. I’ll pick something up in town.”
Their talk during the meal was light-hearted and normal. She felt the stress of the past few days leave her. But when she rose to clear the dishes, John gripped her waist and drew her near, sending her into a sudden spiral of panic.
What if Nathan Called to her while they were joined? Would she successfully drive him away forever? And did she want that?
John’s mouth crashed down upon hers, scalding and demanding. His fingers clamped about her hip and jerked her against him. He traced the bottom flower on her spine, sending tendrils of ticklish sensation through her legs. A jolt of desire enflamed her pussy as his thumb dipped into the waist of her skirt, the nail scraping the seam of her ass. Cream soaked her panties. She opened her mouth to his kiss, melting at the scrape of his beard against her jaw.
He backed her toward the narrow staircase off the kitchen which led to their master bedroom, hands splayed across her ass, stroking the bottom of each globe.
In a minute, she found herself on their antique brass bed. As he positioned her to his liking, he held her eyes. Skirt off. Blouse open all the way down the front. Head cradled on a down pillow, hair fanned about her. He bent her knees slightly and then pressed her legs flat as he dove between her thighs.
She gripped his head, twisting her hands in his hair as his tongue flicked over the crease of her thigh. He mirrored the action on the other side, making her writhe. A plea was on her lips, but all that sounded was a faint whimper.
His tongue met her flesh, making her buck. It seemed he sucked on her entire pussy at once, from hole to clit. She looked down her body, watching him bury his face in her pussy. His eyes flashed open and met hers, sending a shock of want through her. Her slit grew wetter, and he lapped at it while holding her eyes.
He worked the tip of his tongue around the rim of her honey hole, sending her into spasms of pleasure. Her hips wriggled, but he held her pinned, completely at his mercy. And God, she loved it.
Tongue forging a path to her hardened nub, he circled it slowly, maddeningly. Her thigh muscles tightened, her breathing hitched. She knew she would never hold on. He was too good.
His tongue pattered against her sensitive pearl, flicking it quickly, sending a thunder of heat to her core. She began to climb, rising higher, clutching his head and forcing him to suck her harder, grinding her clit against his soft mouth and bristly mustache stubble.
“Oh, God,” she gasped, head twisting on the pillow, “make me come, baby. Your mouth is so hot.”
He groaned at the litany of love words she had never before used. She had always been a silent lover. But he was driving her wild, and she needed release. Now.
She grasped a handful of his hair and worked his head against her dripping slash, her hips rising, ramming it against his face. “That’s. . . it. I’m. . . going to. . . fucking burst.” She shattered, heat splintering in her belly. She convulsed against him, pussy walls clenching, releasing, gasping open once again as his tongue soaked up all the thick cream she could offer.
His tongue poked through the hood of her clit, pressing the core against her. She screamed and shot again, this time soaking his face, the bed, her thighs. Her arms flopped to her sides and she lay quivering as John tasted the love fluid, spreading it over her with his tongue and swallowing it.
Still pulsing, she reached for him and drew him up her body. His long, thick cock bounced against her inner thigh and she gripped it at the root and guided him home. With one hard thrust, he filled her, the engorged head stroking her sensitive bundle of nerves.
Her mouth met the skin on his chest, hair crisp against her lips. She sucked a bit of skin into her mouth, wiggling her tongue. His taste overwhelmed her and she gave herself up to the passion surging through her veins. At that instant, only John existed.
She kissed a path across one shoulder to the Celtic knots of his tattoo. When her hot mouth met his warm flesh, they combusted. He rocked into her, plunging deep, withdrawing, faster, his breath rasping in her ears as she spiraled out of control.
A new flood of juices bathed his shaft, which swelled within her, spreading her tissues. His palm cupped her breast, thumb and forefinger pinching the hardened nipple, and tipping her over the edge.
In a haze of passion, she burst, her pussy walls clenching tight about him, sucking on him as he spurted deep within her. She came hard, all of her muscles clamping down as she soaked him with a fresh explosion of cream. Her mouth opened against his immortal tattoo, extending their sensation and pleasure, and she knew she’d never be able to stop loving him, never be able to give him up even if ten men possessed her soul.
“I love you, John,” she whispered, and when his gentle kisses fell upon her lips, she returned them passion for passion.
* * * *
Lillian spotted Will from a long distance away. When he saw her, he broke into a jog. He reached her side in less than a minute, sweat beading his brow. He wore jeans and a sweater, which didn’t suit the autumn weather in Virginia, but did in Vermont.
“How long do we have?” he asked.
“Awhile. John’s gone to Hollywood Cemetery.”
One russet eyebrow lifted. “Cemetery? Our John certainly has a fixation, doesn’t he?”
She laughed.
He grew serious. “Have you heard from Nate?”
“No.”
“Lil, withholding your voice stresses both of you.”
She continued to walk toward the post office, passing familiar landmarks but not really seeing anything. Her vision was blinded by blond hair and a tight-lipped mouth.
“You’re shorter,” Will said suddenly, causing her to stop walking. She blinked at him. “You’re shorter,” he repeated, pointing at her ballet flats.
“Oh,” she said. “The heels aren’t good for walking.”
“Lillian, do you understand what’s happening here?”
She shook her head hard, and her braid slithered over her shoulder.
He caught her hand and drew her to a halt. “This connection you have with Nathan, it can only grow. If you deny it, or the connection fails, you’ll be Walking soul less, or the equivalent.”
Her breath left her as if punched. “Soul less?”
“Yes. I know an immortal that lives this way. He is a shadow.”
She fidgeted, and they began walking again. The breeze was warm, bringing the scent of fresh-cut grass and sodden earth. At the post office, she left Will on the sidewalk to go inside and retrieve the mail.
Emerging into the beating sun once more, she felt a wave of dizziness crash over her. The bundle in her hands was alive. Snapping with electricity.
“What’s wrong?” Will asked, but she shook her head, leafing through the envelopes.
She had never laid eyes on Nathan’s handwriting, but when the postcard loomed into view, she knew he had written it.
The world closed in, blackness a heavy cloud pressing on her chest, lips and nose, smothering her.
“Lillian,” Will cried.
She came back to herself slowly, a far off buzz in her ears. Will shook her shoulders, and when she opened her eyes, he was hovering over her.
“Lillian,” he said, slumping. He stroked her hair from her forehead.
She surged upward in a violent burst. “My mail. Where is it?”
He passed her the bundle. Without looking, she located the ridges of Nathan’s fingerprints. The card was postmarked three days before in San Diego, a simple picture of hand-painted flowers gracing the front.
She turned it over with a fluttering in her chest. “
’La Vie en Rose.’
I know it is in your care. Wait for me. I’m coming.”
Will’s hand clasped about hers, steadying it so he could read the card for himself. Golden brown eyes shone with concern. “Is there any way to ditch John? To wait for Nathan here?”
She gathered her feet beneath her and took off. She had to get out of here. Now. As she rounded the corner of the post office, she broke into a sprint.
Will’s long-legged stride overtook hers easily. His hand clamped around her shoulder and he spun her to face him. “At least let me drive you. It will be faster.”
She stopped walking and nodded jerkily. Tears seared her eyelids, threatening to drop. While she waited for Will to pull his rental car up to the curb, she cradled the post card on her palm, thumb stroking the smooth edges. The bone-deep tremor grew stronger, louder, hammering her veins. Another wave of dizziness rocked her, and then an economy car pulled up Will stuck his head out. She climbed in beside him, and a minute later they turned into her drive.