Trefoil

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Book: Trefoil by Em Petrova Read Free Book Online
Authors: Em Petrova
Tags: Erótica
speak with her, but was he ready for that? After all, the images invaded his head at every turn, which was bad enough. He didn’t think he was prepared to hear her voice. Or worse, her rejection.
    Thinking of her tore a blindfold from his eyes. Her image swelled in his mind—driving, chewing her lip. As he watched through the tunnel of vision, she released her lower lip in that maddeningly slow fashion. A hot spring of desire bubbled in his core.
    What Nathan was not prepared to see was the masculine forefinger sliding along the moisture on her lower lip.
    Black spots of rage burst behind his eyes. His boot crushed the brake and the truck jerked to a stop in a fishtailing spray of gravel. He fell out the door and onto the road, stumbled to his feet and did the only thing he could think of doing. He sank his fists into the thick metal door. His knuckles were already bruised and sore, but he couldn’t stop. They made a satisfying explosion, yet did nothing to alleviate his rage. His breath sobbed in his lungs.
    He’d made the wrong decision last night. He should have forced his way into Lillian and John LeClair’s hotel room, ripped him off her and pummeled his face rather than the truck. He should have annihilated him. What had stopped him?
    The answer came to him swiftly. It was the idea of Lillian rising from John LeClair’s bed, damp with the sweat of their lovemaking. He would not have that be their first meeting—a disheveled bed between them, a sheet wrapped hastily about her nakedness and her eyes wide with horror as Nathan beat up her lover.
    He shoved the image away.
    Cars sped by, and as Nathan destroyed the rental truck’s door, they began to slow. A horn blared and the jeering voice of a driver cut through his frenzy.
    With one final slam of his knuckles, he leaned his head against the cool window glass. His hands ached like hell, but it was nothing compared to the throb in his chest. He touched the inside pocket of his leather jacket. The coiled mahogany hair lived there—a talisman of his link to Lillian.
    What had Maria said? When you find her at last, she will be yours. He embraced this thought. She has Called to you. She has wept for you. She is having Visions of the feather mattress. You’ll find her, he thought.
    Straightening away from the truck, he swiped the perspiration from his forehead and climbed back inside.
    With his music cranked, he felt a little lighter. As he drove, he tried not to 'see' and finally began to enjoy his surroundings. He hadn’t traveled in many years. The beauty of his farm sustained him. But the coast was gorgeous in an untamed way, and everything stimulated his senses. The ruffled feathers of a seabird and great, twisting trunks of olive trees inspiring him to carve.
    His hands twitched to hold the pitching tools, to knock off huge chunks of stone. He could nearly taste the stone, the rock dust slightly burnt and bitter. He loved the grit of it in his teeth and occasionally slipped a sliver onto his tongue, holding it there while he carved. He was hungry for it now.
    For him, the music always went hand in hand with the work. From a pile of rubble at the quarry where he selected his granite, he had plucked a small stone, and the Louis Armstrong song, La Vie en Rose, had wheeled through his mind. He’d never worked on such a small scale, but in that instant he had seen a graceful rose, petals unfurling to the morning sun. He had spent more time on those intricate petals than on some larger pieces of his career. All the while, the dulcet tones of Louis spun a web in his brain.
    When he finished, the delicate creation was no bigger than the palm of a woman’s hand. Then Nathan had shipped it off to a gallery where it depressed him to think someone would buy it for a paperweight.
    By mid-afternoon, he decided to stop and rest. He felt horribly brittle, as if the slightest upset would shatter him into a thousand shards of non-being. It had been ages since he felt a pillow

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