End of the Road (17 page)

He applied the finishing antibiotic ointment
to my butterfly and let me sit up, looping a finger under the
fabric of my sundress and slowly pulling it back into place.

I looked into his eyes as his finger slid
between my bodice and me. They showed me what my own mind was
thinking, that he’d rather be pulling it down. I had rolled the
strapless garment away from my breast enough for him to work on my
tattoo, but not enough to expose more than needed and more than
once during the application process, I found myself wanting him to
throw the gun aside and run his fingers over my flesh instead. The
chemistry between us was mounting and each time he came near me, I
found it harder and harder to keep my mind and body on the same
plain. It was as though a magical heat of passion and desire came
to life between us and his very nearness made me want to forget
everything else as I gave in to my need to feel his flesh pressed
against me.

I looked down at my newly applied butterfly
and smiled. It was exquisite. If I hadn’t known better I would have
sworn that a living creature was sitting on my skin.

He had nestled the tattoo on the upper edge
of my left breast, in the space near my left armpit. The
butterfly’s head appeared as though it might be investigating the
dark crevasse between arm and breast as it lay on the curved swell
of my milky, white skin.

For a moment I felt as though I could
actually sense the flutter of the creature’s wings and a light
vibration moved beneath my skin. It was accompanied by a spread of
pins and needles, which traveled up from the design towards the
base of my neck.

I’ve felt this type of sensation before, but
in my hand, after using the tattoo gun on one of my own clients. It
comes from the repetitive reverberation of the gun and the needles
bouncing at such high velocity.

Baine smiled broadly as I examined myself.
He could tell I was pleased.

When I looked in his eyes, I saw the raw
hunger that his hot Irish blood directed at me. A wave of new heat
shot through me crowding out my better judgment and I reached
forward, pulling him into me as my mouth closed on his.

He didn’t resist. His mouth worked mine with
all of the pent up desire we had both been feeling since our first
meeting in his father’s pub.

The skin beneath my butterfly began to throb
and ache in a strange way. The beating of my heart became so strong
that I thought it might jump out of my chest. The tingling
sensation mounted with unexplained pressure and its intensity made
me break our embrace. I looked at my tattoo again, not sure what I
expected to find but feeling as though my skin had just split open
and that my heart would be hanging from the gaping hole. I was sure
that the butterfly was being crushed between us, and I didn’t
understand how, but I was feeling its pain. The visible flutter
under those butterfly wings sent chills up my spine. I panicked and
looked up at Baine. He had an odd expression on his face and for a
brief moment, I saw my alarm and worry mirrored back through his
eyes.

I heard him call my name, “Ivy!” but I was
unable to speak. An explosion ripped through me and fire tore from
the tattoo down to my toes. My head started reeling. I couldn’t
breathe. Hot whiteness clouded my eyes and I closed them to keep
from vomiting.

I felt myself moving and in a moment the
pain began to subside, almost as quickly as it had erupted. I felt
as though I were floating. No, not floating. Flying?

When I opened my eyes, I saw my body on the
tattoo bench. Baine knelt over me, calling my name over and over as
he shook my shoulders and listened to my chest. I felt my heart
beating there, in that body, but also here where I was, fluttering
above the scene.

His mouth was on mine again, only blowing
this time, not kissing and I gasped at the force of air that took
away my breath. I coughed and sat up, pushing him away so that my
lungs could fully fill with air.

“
Are ya alright?” he still
held me by the shoulders and I heard and saw his fear as he
questioned me.

“
Yeah, at least I think
so.” But I wasn’t sure. I wasn’t sure what had just happened to me.
My pulse was still racing and my body still felt as though it was
being burned.

“
Drink this.” He handed me
a glass of water and I downed it.

“
Well, I have ta say that’s
the first time I’ve err made a girl faint from a kiss.” He sat down
on his work stool and wheeled it up to the bench so that he was
sitting between my knees and he held my hand to keep an eye on
me.

“
I don’t think I
fainted…not really. I’m not sure what happened.” I laughed lightly,
trying to ease the tension I’d heard in his voice. I could tell by
his tone that he was sort of apologizing for kissing me and taking
me off guard, but it was I that had kissed him.

“
And it’s not your fault. I
kissed you, remember?” I put my hand on the side of his cheek and
ran my thumb over his mouth in my own kind of apology. This made me
think of Greylin and I tensed. He had done something similar the
night I met him back in Quincy. The night I wanted
him
to kiss me, and he
didn’t.

How is it that so little time seemed to pass
since that night with Greylin and yet I had all but forgotten him?
I had been so ready to throw caution to the wind and change the
course of my life forever on a whim. Now I struggled to remember
what exactly had transpired between us and why it was that I had
been so willing to give my heart to him.

Baine moved his hand over mine, pulling my
palm to his lips in a soft yet sensual caress and pulled my
thoughts back to the present. His mouth moved over my palm, lightly
skimming my flesh until he came to the inside base of my wrist,
where he let his tongue and teeth gently taste my rising pulse. He
slipped his other arm around my hips and pulled me from the
workbench onto his lap.

I went willingly, letting the motion push
the hem of my skirt up over my thighs as I straddled him. The rough
fabric of his jeans against my bare thighs added to the hardness of
his body.

His mouth found my lips again and we began
to kiss one another for a second time. My chest rose and fell with
the hurriedness of my quickening breath and my heart started to
pound once more.

The butterfly once again fluttered between
us. Electricity mixed with a strange and unexpected energy ebbed
throughout my body. The explosion of white once again took me away
on its heat as I felt my mind leaving the woman sitting below
me.

Only
this time when I opened my eyes against its onslaught and the
strange and wild energy coursing through my veins carried me higher
on its brightening stream, my mind saw the human forms awkwardly
sprawled on the floor near the workbench and I knew that Baine
Finlayson was with me.

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Chapter 16

Anywhere

By C.A. Newsome

Kitty stumbled out of Teresa Waxler’s house,
furious at herself, furious at Tom. She’d let him bring her to this
juvenile puke fest. She knew it wasn’t her kind of party, but Tom
said if she didn’t want to go, he’d go alone. Then he got plastered
and started acting like an ass. Now she was bolting into the night
without a clue where she was going.

She spotted Joe across the road, leaning
against his Chevy pickup. He had one foot propped behind him on the
rusted fender and his arms folded across his chest. His real name
was George. Only his teachers called him that. He was Injun Joe, or
just Joe. She wondered if the tough crowd he hung with knew he’d
named himself after a Mark Twain villain. Probably not.

He was a little shorter than she was, with
skin that browned as soon as the sun came out and straight black
hair almost down to his shoulder blades. He wore jeans and work
boots in spite of the heat. His shirt was unbuttoned and a narrow
strip of chest showed. He was motionless, like a snake considering
prey. Smoke curled from his cigarette. It played hide and seek with
one high cheekbone.

Joe was watching her with those dark eyes,
his chin lifted. A hint of a sneer challenged her. He gave her a
faint nod. Acknowledgment? Or just affirming his own opinion of her
personal drama?

Oh, Yeah?
Kitty abruptly changed course and headed for the
old truck.
Think you know me?

“
Give me one of those,” she
demanded, gesturing to his cigarette.

“
You don’t smoke,
Buttercup.” He lazily placed the filter between his lips and drew
in. The end lit up, illuminating his face, red pinpoints reflecting
in his eyes.

“
Don’t call me that. And
how would you know?”

“
I know a lot of things
about you. Buttercup.”

She ignored the provocation. “Like what?”
She dared.

“
Like you’re too smart for
that asshole you date, for one.”

“
And?”

“
What are you doing here,
Buttercup? Aren’t you afraid your grade point average is going to
drop?”

“
I’m not some nerd. Give me
one of those,” she repeated.

“
Aren’t you, now?” He kept
his eyes on hers as he pulled the pack of Marlboros out of his
shirt pocket and shook out a cigarette.

She took the cigarette and held it up,
waiting. “What are you doing out here, anyway? This isn’t exactly
your scene.”

“
Just enjoying the show.”
He lit a match, cupping it in the still air as he held the flame
for her. His hand brushed hers. An electric sensation pulsed
through her as their hands touched. Had he felt it? She stepped
back and puffed, nurturing the ember.

Kitty looked away and dragged on her
cigarette. She knew better than to take it into her lungs. She blew
out carefully to avoid coughing.

She looked sideways at him. “You don’t talk
much, do you?”

He shrugged. “You going to inhale that
thing?”

“
Are you always this
rude?”

“
Usually. Remind me not to
share a joint with you. I hate waste.”

“
Do you want it back?” She
held her cigarette out to him. He took it from her, gently tamped
it out on the side of his truck and returned it to the
pack.

She crossed her arms. “I just wanted
something to do with my hands,” she groused.

“
I can think of plenty you
could do with your hands, Buttercup.”

“
Why do you call me
that?”

He grinned. “Because it bugs you.”

Kitty huffed. Light speared out from the
house as the front door opened, drawing her attention. Tom was
silhouetted in the doorway. He stormed into the yard, bearing down
on them.

“
Get me out of
here.”

“
Trouble in paradise,
Buttercup?”

“
Can we just
go?”

“
Where to?” The passenger
door squealed as he opened it for her.

She climbed up. “Anywhere.”

“
Not home?”

“
No way.”

She looked through the rear window as they
pulled out. Tom was in the middle of the street, fists on hips,
enraged. She leaned back against the bench seat, smug.

She’d spent the last month as Tom’s girl.
Being Tom’s girl mostly meant being the adoring witness to his
awesome-ness. It was boring. She had the feeling that who she was
didn’t matter. She could be one of a dozen females, and any one of
the others could slide neatly into her place without Tom ever
noticing the difference.

At least she hadn’t ’done it’ with him. He’d
pushed, he’d kept pushing. Whatever she was supposed to feel, she
hadn’t felt it. So she kept saying no. She took a moment to be
relieved.

Perhaps Joe was the only port in a storm,
but at least he was fully aware of her. She couldn’t explain how
she knew this. She felt amazingly . . . something. Amazingly, well,
‘here.’ She lowered her lashes and observed him from the corner of
her eye as he tucked another cigarette between his lips, the same
one she’d started, and coaxed it back to life from the old one.

They rode in silence punctuated by the
whining and grinding of the truck’s gears. He headed out of town,
then turned off on a section line road.

“
Where are we
going?”

“
We’re going anywhere,
Buttercup. You ever been there?”

“
I guess not.”

Should she be worried? She’d heard about
boys who drove girls out in the country and refused to drive them
back home unless they put out. The stories were vague. It always
happened to “this girl,” or “my friend told me about a friend of
hers.” Never any names.

If it came to that, she’d be able to spot
the town lights over the tree line. A long walk might be just what
she needed to cool out. She discovered part of her was spoiling for
a fight.

The boy beside her was silent as he drove,
right hand on the wheel, his left elbow resting on the door frame.
He’d barely touched her, just the once, when he lit her borrowed
cigarette. He gave no hint to his intentions; no clue what was
going to happen next. She felt prickly all over as each moment,
each mile, took her further into the unknown. She didn’t know if
she liked the feeling, but she wasn’t bored.

The motor droned as she hung her arm out the
window and felt the air rushing through her fingers. She wondered
what he was thinking.

The fields gave way to woods that crowded
the road, rising over them and blocking out the sky. Joe turned
onto a lane that was barely more than a pair of tire tracks in the
high grass. He jammed his cigarette into the ashtray and put both
hands on the wheel. The truck humped and bucked over ruts and
fallen branches. Trees closed in around them, shutting out
everything except the bouncing headlights. Then the track
disappeared.