Bliss (17 page)

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine. It's not your fault that neither our politics nor
our bodies are compatible." She saw the look on Sinclair's
face. "Sorry. Spoke out of turn."

Sinclair blushed at the mental image that Hunter's words
conjured, two bodies moving together, frantically trying to fit.

"No need to apologize. I like to think that I'm not so naive
that honesty will shock and insult me."

"And you certainly don't seem like the naive type. But I
was actually apologizing for talking like that about your sister in front of you. I usually say those kinds of things to her
face so I don't have to repeat myself."

Sinclair nodded, thought of pursuing the matter, then decided to let it drop. She focused instead on the meal in front
of her. The chicken was tender, with just a hint of pepper to
complement the aromatic seduction of the rosemary. Sinclair
finished off her meal and sat back in the chair with a satisfied
sigh. The rain still fell heavily outside, but she didn't care.
With her belly full and her camera safe, life was good. She
stretched out her legs, wriggling her toes when runaway
drops of rain bounced off the railing and splashed on her
bare feet.

Across from her, Hunter devoured her meal even more
completely than she had. Sinclair watched her sink sharp
teeth into the chicken bone, heard it snap, then her soft grunt
of satisfaction. She made soft sucking sounds then emptied
her mouth of the tiny ground-up remains on a corner of her
dish. Hunter ate with rabbitlike intensity, biting and sucking
and spitting in an even rhythm until all that was left on the
plate was a small brown and beige pile of ground bones. She
finally looked up and caught Sinclair staring.

"Want to try it?"

Sinclair shook her head, but Hunter scooted her chair
closer and urged Sinclair to pick up her barely nibbled
chicken bone with its thin curls of meat still attached.

Goaded by the look of disgust that had flared in Sinclair's
eyes, Hunter guided the still moist bone to the other woman's
mouth. "You have to clean off all the meat first. Come on."

Quelled by her unwanted attraction to this woman,
Sinclair was helpless to stop her mouth from obeying.

"Now, bite into it."

Sinclair blinked when the marrow squirted inside her
mouth, released from the remarkably soft prison of bone. It
slid over her tongue and she swallowed. The marrow was
smooth, like pate, and infused with a taste of iron that made
it rich and unexpectedly good.

"Well?" Hunter's smile said she knew exactly what
Sinclair was thinking.

"It's not bad. Is there a way to eat this without the messiness of biting into the bone?"

"I could suck it out of the bone and spit it into your
mouth."

Disgust wasn't quite the emotion that twisted her stomach
and made her take in a quick breath.

"I'm joking, American girl. I swear." She laughed softly
and moved back to her side of the table.

"I'm starting to understand that you're a truly wicked
woman."

"You're a little slow then, aren't you?"

"I'm fast when it counts though."

"Ah." The exhalation left Hunter as a sigh.

Smiles lingered, deliberately playing with each other.

Sinclair's eyes fell to Hunter's mouth, noticed its softness,
the wet gleam of lips a shade or two lighter than her skin. She
imagined another place on Hunter's body that would also be
two different shades of dark. Her cheeks burned.

"Can I paint you?" Hunter asked.

Sinclair helped Hunter clean up after their lunch, wiping
down the table and the rest of the kitchen while the other
woman washed the dishes and pots. When they were finished, Hunter took two Popsicles from her freezer.

"Want one?"

Sinclair nodded. "Red, please."

"That's not very adventurous of you, is it?"

"What?"

"Red is such a safe color. Why don't you take this white
one? Live a little."

Sinclair looked at Hunter as if she'd lost her mind. "I don't
think so."

"Fine. Your loss."

"OK. Why don't we just share? You have the top half of
the white and I'll have the bottom half. Same for the red."

"Very diplomatic. I commend you."

They moved back out to the verandah and put their feet
out for some of the cooling drops of rain to hit them.

Hunter licked the side of her white Popsicle. "So, may I
paint you?"

"If you really want to." Sinclair made a face.

"I do, so when can I start?"

"Whenever you want. I'm not on a schedule. How long is
it going to take?"

"Not long. If it's all right, I'd like for you to pose for me
for a few hours one day, then I'll take photos of you and use
those for the rest of the painting."

"I don't have to be naked, do I?"

"Only if you want to be." Hunter wiggled her eyebrows,
startling a laugh out of Sinclair.

"Are you ever serious?"

"Yes. But only when I'm alone."

Sinclair watched her for a moment, idly wondering what
else Hunter did when she was alone.

Hunter drove her back to the Breckenridges' house and let
her out at the gate. "Come back to my house in two days and
we can get started."

"OK. See you Friday."

"I was starting to get worried," Nikki said when she came
out to get Sinclair.

They walked up the long drive together, with Sinclair stopping occasionally to admire some part of the large yard's
landscaping.

"Hunter took pretty good care of me," she said as they
walked into the house. "I ran into her before the rain got
started."

The smell of cooking food floated in the air, oddly out of
place with the sterile decor. Everything that Sinclair saw was
expensive and tastefully placed, but the house didn't feel
lived in. The bone-colored furniture and white walls weren't
the least bit welcoming. White drapery fluttered at the windows.

"Good. She's nice," Nikki said.

Was she? "Well, she's at least interesting."

She didn't see the look of speculation that Nikki threw her
way.

"This is a beautiful house." As beautiful as a Tudor squatting on a jungle hilltop could look.

Nikki hummed an agreement. "Nigel and Barbara are
going to be in town for another couple of hours. After I finish
making their dinner we can go."

"Since I'm the one sitting up at your job, please take your
time. I'll just go have a look around the house and the gardens."

"Go ahead, but be careful. The Breckenridges are very
particular about their things."

Sinclair threw her a wicked grin. "I'll try to break only the
cheap stuff."

She didn't get much sightseeing done. A little corner in
their solarium seduced her into stretching out in the windowed alcove with her head propped up on a white pillow.
The sun burned tiny kisses all over her skin as she looked out
the window on the abundant green of the land below and the
miles of blue sky above. Tall trees danced in the breeze. Her
eyes fell closed.

Victor was waiting on the verandah with Xavier when
Sinclair and Nikki walked through the gate later that
evening. The two boys sat in serious deliberation around a game of checkers while Xavier's cup of milk and Victor's bottle of Guinness sweated nearby.

Nikki sat in the rocking chair after briefly touching her
child's head then her husband's. "I'm tired. Who's going to
cook tonight?"

Victor laughed. "Sinclair?"

"Don't look at me," she said, glancing over Xavier's shoulder at the close game. "If you don't want to wake up with
ugly stomachaches in the morning, one of you will cook."

"Daddy made dinner already."

Both women looking at Xavier in surprise. "Really? You
were both good boys while I was away, then?"

Xavier nodded in response to his mother's question. "I
helped clean the fish and everything."

Nikki perked up. "What kind of fish?"

"Stew parrot fish." Victor looked up from his game with
an indulgent smile.

It was apparently one of Nikki's favorites. Her pose in the
chair became one of contentment instead of exhaustion. "I
could eat that," she said.

Sinclair knocked on Hunter's door later in the week with a
bottle of wine and a loaf of still-warm bread.

"Hello." Hunter's eyes immediately fell to her guest's impromptu gifts. "I should invite you over more often. Come
in. Let me take those." She immediately put her nose to the
damp plastic that covered the bread. "Lovely."

Sinclair closed the door behind her and walked into the
softly scented house. An oil burner on the living room table
was the source of the fragrance. Sage, she identified, following Hunter's almost naked back deeper into the house. The
woman wore loose denim cutoffs, paint splattered and ripped,
and a white halter top that left her back bare except for a bit
of string that dipped across the solid expanse of flesh. Her
hair was wrapped in a bright blue cloth and coiled on top of
her head like a giant sleeping snake.

"Would you like some of the wine and bread to help you
relax?" Hunter waved her toward the sofa. "I'm sure I could
find a bit of cheese around here somewhere."

"If you have to scrounge for the cheese, don't worry about
it. I don't like my dairy European."

Hunter smirked, then disappeared into the kitchen. She
came back with two wineglasses and a plate with cheese already sliced into neat, appetizing rectangles.

"You are a domestic goddess," Sinclair murmured appreciatively, watching her wrestle the cork from the bottle and
pour the merlot.

"Only a few of my talents are in the kitchen, my dear,"
Hunter said, stroking an imaginary mustache.

"That's good to know."

Hunter sank her long fingers deeply into the soft white
dough of the bread and ripped it apart. "Et voila!"

She sat down beside Sinclair and sipped her wine. "Umm.
And she has good taste in wine too. I love it."

Is she flirting with me? Sinclair hid her warm cheeks by
tearing off her own hunk of bread. "So what are we doing
today?"

Hunter finished her mouthful of bread and cheese before
she spoke. "Come, I'll show you." She picked up their meal
and stood up.

The house was even larger than Sinclair thought. They
passed by the familiar kitchen to a small anteroom with walls
hidden by empty and half finished canvasses and hanging
white cloths splashed with paint. The scent of oil paints and
turpentine laced the air. A long cloth-covered couch lay a few
feet from the easel, waiting for a body to fill it. Just behind
the couch was a large window facing the backyard, allowing
a view of at least a quarter acre of land wild with fruit trees
and flowers. A hammock lay empty underneath a fiercely
blossoming royal poinciana tree. Bright red blossoms from
this tree lay scattered on the low, small bladed grass that provided at least twenty feet of good rolling around room.

"How do you ever get any work done here? This place is
gorgeous." Sinclair had to take some photographs of the
house before she left the island.

"Discipline. The need for a paycheck." Hunter grinned.
"Sit. Eat. Think about what position would be most comfortable for you on the couch."

Hunter set up the platter of bread and cheese along with
the wine on a small table within reach of the couch. She put
her own wine near the palette and sat down on the stool to
watch Sinclair, who squirmed under the close scrutiny but
tried to sip her wine and pretend nonchalance. It wasn't quite
working.

"Should I take my shirt off? What do you want me to do?"

Hunter smiled as she put the wineglass to her lips. "Hm.
Those words are music to my ears. Too bad I'm not a pervy
sort to take advantage of your willingness to sacrifice your
virtue for art."

"Is that how you get women to put out? Ask to paint their
portraits, then ... ?"

"That's only one of my wicked, yet effective ways. You'll
have to stick around to find out the rest."

Sinclair shivered in response. Tempting. She's your sister's
girlfriend, dammit!

Under Hunter's eyes and the influence of the wine, Sinclair
relaxed. She leaned back on the couch, stretching her arm
above her head. Her sandals hit the floor with the sound of
two light slaps and the cotton shirt she wore sighed over her
breasts, baring the tiniest hint of cleavage. She closed her
eyes, enjoying the early morning heat that slid in through the
large window.

"That's perfect." A camera shutter snapped. Once, twice,
then again.

"What kind of camera do you have there?"

"A digital Olympus Stylus that I picked up a little while
ago." The shutter clicked again. "It works great. Haven't had
a single problem with it."

"I'd love to see it later, if you don't mind. I take photographs,
too. Of landscapes mostly, no nude girls yet." Sinclair peered
at the other woman. "Though from seeing you at work, it's
suddenly something worth thinking about."

The corners of Hunter's eyes crinkled in amusement.
"Yeah, you can come by and see my camera anytime. And
while you're at it, take a closer look at my all-booty-all-thetime lifestyle."

"I hardly think that about the way you live. But I like it.
It's peaceful. You're happy. What's not to be envious of?"

"Sinclair, honey, you're only on vacation. This is my life."
She rested the camera against her thigh. "I'm sure that citybred girls like you would get bored in this place in no time at
all."

"Maybe." She looked up as Hunter adjusted the camera
and took another shot of her. The dark woman gave her a
stern look and indicated with one finger that Sinclair should
turn back around. With a sigh, she turned her face into the
back of the couch. The camera clicked again.

"I'm going to start painting now. You can sleep if you
want to, just don't move."

"Not a problem." She breathed in the scent of paint and,
underneath it, the smoky scent of sage that clung to Hunter.
Her mind easily followed the path of the sage, wondering
where it clung. Was it all over her skin, laying just on the surface of that bitter chocolate flesh, sinking into her pores and
becoming part of the woman that was Hunter? Or was it in
her hair, caught in the dark, snaking strands, trapped and unwilling to escape? Sinclair thought about the feel of all that
heavy hair against her belly. Or would it be light, resting
against her shoulders like a hundred black feathers while
Hunter whispered hotly in her ear? Would this same sagescented hair fly like a wild banner around Hunter's head and
back as she moved, teeth bared in passion, above Sinclair?
Sinclair's eyes snapped open. But she didn't move. Her body was damp under the cotton dress, ripe as an August mango.
Had Hunter noticed?