Secrets in the Stone Part 16

"All of the above."

"Have you been secretly meeting with my lover?" Jude teased.

Adrian laughed, grateful all over again for Jude's easy friends.h.i.+p.

"Well, Rooke-her name is Rooke-does have the dark and brooding thing going on a little bit."

"What exactly does she do?"

"She's a stonemason. She carves gravestones." Adrian hesitated.

"And she sculpts."

"Wow. Wow," Jude repeated. "She sounds really interesting."

"She is. Fascinating. I haven't even seen her sculptures, but the things she does with the gravestone carvings is...it's hard to describe how beautiful some of it is."

"That all sounds pretty intense, but something tells me there's more going on."

"For starters, Melinda came up here to find Rooke. She wants to get Rooke's sculptures into her gallery." Adrian sighed. "There's something else, too. Can you ask Sax a medical question for me, when she's got a spare moment?"

"Sure. But she'll be up in a few minutes and you can ask her yourself. She was on call last night and didn't get home until almost ten this morning. I forced her to go to bed. Is something wrong?"

"No, not really," Adrian said quickly. "Rooke has a medical condition that I've never heard of before and I thought Sax might be able to explain it to me."

"So how does Rooke feel about Melinda's offer?"

"I don't know. She never intended to sell her work, but Melinda can be very convincing." Adrian picked at a chip on the edge of the kitchen counter, wondering if she was making any sense at all. "She was a 147 a coming on to Rooke pretty hard this morning, and yesterday she kind of suggested she wouldn't mind a threesome. Not Rooke specifically, just on general principle."

"G.o.d, I really have to get out more. So, would you?"

"A threesome? It's not anything I've given any thought to."

Adrian let herself imagine Melinda and Rooke together and her head started to hurt. "If Rooke accepts Melinda's offer to sell her sculptures, she's going to be directly in Melinda's sights. Who knows what will happen."

"So what are you going to do?"

"I really like Rooke," Adrian said softly, "so I'm going to work on being friends. Rooke has some important decisions to make, and until she does, I think that's about all that can happen." She didn't add that Rooke wasn't the kind of woman to do anything casually, and casual was what Adrian was accustomed to. She was already uneasy about her inability to maintain any barriers where Rooke was concerned.

"Besides, I'm way out of my comfort zone here already."

"Uh-huh. Well, friends.h.i.+p isn't a bad idea." Jude was momentarily silent. "I hear Sax. You want to talk to her now?"

"Yes. Thanks. And thanks for listening."

"I expect you to call me again soon and let me know what's happening."

"I will. Promise." Adrian heard the phone pa.s.sed and then Saxon Sinclair, her deep voice still rough with sleep, greeted her.

"Adrian. How are you doing?"

"I'm great, Sax. Sorry to bother you with medical stuff on your day off."

"No problem. What's the situation?"

"What can you tell me about someone who's had head trauma and isn't able to read at all?"

"Posttraumatic alexia," Sax said. "Give me the details."

"I know she was very young at the time of the accident." Adrian explained about the accident and that Rooke had told her she couldn't recognize words or numbers. She also told Sax about the seizures.

"Well, it's rare but not unheard of," Sax said. "The nervous system in very young children is not mature-so a significant injury could disrupt development in unpredictable ways. If she hasn't had any a 148 a improvement by adulthood, she's not going to. As far as the seizures are concerned, it sounds as if she's fairly well controlled on medication."

"So she's okay climbing around on my roof by herself and driving, things like that?"

"There are no guarantees that she won't seize again. Her seizure threshold could be lowered by any number of things-change in medication or failure to take her medication, severe stress, physical illness, alcohol, or certain drugs. But it's a good sign that it's been a number of years since she had a problem."

Adrian leaned her head against the cabinet behind her and closed her eyes. She'd secretly hoped that Rooke's condition just hadn't been investigated thoroughly enough and perhaps some kind of treatment might offer improvement. Apparently not. "Thanks, Sax. That helps a lot."

"Her disorder presents a considerable challenge," Sax said, "but not an insurmountable one."

"Oh, I know. Believe me, Rooke is a perfectly competent, wholly functional human being. She's also a remarkable artist."

"Sounds pretty special."

"She is."

v Rooke stood in the doorway of her shop, her gaze wandering over the shelves from one sculpture to another. She'd uncovered the unfinished work in the center of the room. The torso and chest, the b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and the arch of neck were all visible, but the face remained featureless. That would come, she knew, as she worked. She tried to imagine her sculptures in a gallery, isolated on stark, white pedestals under bright lights. This room, her sanctuary, would be bereft without them. She wondered if her dreams would be emptier too.

She switched off the light, locked the door, and walked over to the house. Pops was sitting in the kitchen, a cup of coffee in front of him.

She helped herself to a beer from the refrigerator, popped the top, and drank some while leaning against the refrigerator.

"I saw you out on the grounds today," Pops said. "Pretty cold for a walk."

a 149 a "Adrian wanted to see some of the markers. She's going to write an article about them."

Pops raised his eyebrows. "She's a reporter?"

"Kind of. A freelance journalist. She writes about whatever she wants." Rooke described some of the articles Adrian had written.

"She told you all that while you were fixing the roof?"

"In between." Rooke studied her beer can, turning it in her hands.

"I told her about the reading thing."

"Did you." Pops sipped his coffee. "Is that what's chewing on your insides?"

Rooke looked up, startled. "What do you mean?"

"You came home this afternoon and went straight into your shop.

Usually when you do that, you don't surface until breakfast the next day. But here you are, looking like you don't know what to do with yourself."

"It's not Adrian." Rooke drank some more beer. "She didn't think it was such a big deal. About the reading."

"She looked like a smart woman."

Rooke smiled, thinking that Adrian wasn't just smart. She was smart for sure, but she never made Rooke feel as if she wasn't, even though Rooke had never been anywhere or done anything special in her life. When she was with Adrian, she felt as if what she thought or said mattered. Rooke set the beer aside and looked at her grandfather.

"Did you give one of my sculptures to Ida?"

Pops's mouth turned down at the corners and he nodded. "About two years ago. I thought she ought to see what you were. Past time, maybe. I'm sorry for taking so long to get to that."

Rooke waved a hand. "I don't care what Ida Hanc.o.c.k thinks about me. It ended up with Bea Meriwether, and now an art dealer wants it.

She wants all my sculptures."

"To do what with them?" Pops asked in surprise.

"Show them. Sell them." Rooke shrugged. "In New York City."

"Well, what do you know." Pops walked to the back door and looked out. He spoke without looking back at Rooke. "Snow is supposed to start up again around midnight."

"Another foot, they say."

"What are you going to do about the art dealer?"

"What do you think?"

a 150 a Pops was quiet a long time before turning back. "I don't usually tell you what I think you ought to do." He scratched the back of his head. "In fact, I don't think I have in the last twenty years." He blew out a breath. "But I think you should let her do it. You've got a talent, Rooke. Anyone can see that. Maybe her coming means it's time for you to own that."

"I'm afraid," Rooke said quietly, "it might change everything."

"Most everything changes." Pops opened the refrigerator, pulled out a pound of hamburger, and handed it to Rooke. "Get started making these." When Rooke reached for the package, he squeezed her shoulder.

"Being scared of the next step in life is okay. Just make sure you don't let fear keep you from taking a step you should take."

"How will I know what's right?"

"How is it you know what to do with stone?" Pops asked.

"I feel it. Then I know."

"Well then. There's your answer."

For some reason, Rooke thought of Adrian, but she didn't know why. She wanted to call her, to ask her what she thought. She wanted to call just to talk to her. To hear her voice. She'd never called anyone just to talk before. She wondered how close Adrian and Melinda were. They both lived in New York City, they were both artists, they probably had a lot in common. A lot more in common than Adrian had with her. Maybe if she let Melinda have her sculptures, that would change.

a 151 a a 152 a

ChapTER SEvEnTEEn.

Melinda was pulled from sated slumber to the pinnacle of o.r.g.a.s.m, where she teetered on the edge of a volcanic crater, dangerously close to plummeting into the fiery streams of molten rock below. She gasped, simultaneously registering hot, wet mouths on her breast and between her legs. A rush of pleasure engulfed her as she gripped the dark hair of the woman sucking her. Becky's friend. Nina.

Her tongue was exquisite, teasing ever so lightly over the sweet spot that made Melinda swell and ache.

"Nina," Melinda whispered, lifting her hips to slide her c.l.i.toris deeper between Nina's lips, "Nina, take Becky while you suck me.

Inside her. Hurry, darling, you have me very close."

Since Becky had arrived just after midnight with an eager playmate in tow, Becky and Nina had climaxed multiple times in multiple ways, leaving them drained and Melinda replete. They'd all drifted into a somnolent haze of s.e.xual satisfaction moments before, but apparently her two resilient young lovers were still hungry.

"Oh G.o.d," Becky moaned, jerking as Nina entered her. She rolled Melinda's nipple feverishly between her fingers and pumped her s.e.x on Nina's hand. "Feels so good."

"You're going to come soon," Melinda told Becky. "She's going to make you come."

"Oh yes. Oh G.o.d, yes. f.u.c.k me, f.u.c.k me please. I'm coming."

Nina set her teeth around Melinda's c.l.i.toris and sucked. The tendrils of Melinda's o.r.g.a.s.m unraveled in a burst of heat and light, sparks igniting behind her nearly closed lids. Becky wailed and Melinda groaned, her control annihilated.

a 153 a "Becky, kiss me." Abdomen rigid, Melinda thrust her hips to meet Nina's eager tongue. "Kiss me. Come with me."

Writhing in the throes of her climax, Becky sealed her lips to Melinda's and poured her pa.s.sion into Melinda's waiting mouth.

Melinda drank, filling herself with Becky's abandon as she emptied herself over and over into Nina. When Becky fell away, spent, Melinda reached for Nina.

"Satisfy yourself, darling," Melinda urged. "Let me feel you come."

Nina crawled up to curl against Melinda's other side, plunging her hand between her legs. Melinda stroked her face and skimmed the tip of her tongue over Nina's lips, tasting herself in the shadows of Nina's pleasure. Beside her, Becky stirred and reached down to languidly fondle Melinda's c.l.i.toris. Melinda's lids fluttered as her s.e.x tightened beneath Becky's fingertips.

Nina, her mouth twisted in a grimace, undulated in the tangled sheets, her legs spread wide and her fingers strumming her c.l.i.toris. She whimpered. "Hurts."

"You need to come so very badly, I can tell." Melinda caressed Nina's breast, plucking her taut nipple. "You want to come now, don't you."

"Yes, oh please, yes," Nina gasped, open-mouthed against Melinda's throat. "Want to come...for you."

"Faster, darling. Let me have you. Come for me." Melinda drew Nina's tongue into her mouth and sucked. Nina's arm blurred. Becky stroked Melinda harder. Nina arched, unleas.h.i.+ng a string of broken cries. Melinda closed her eyes and rode the river of molten pleasure.

v Rooke was cold, so cold her bones were about to shatter. The hands coursing over her were ice, the limbs entwined with hers slick and frigid as the marble that jutted from the snow-covered ground inches from her face. Twisting away from one writhing body, she slipped into another's fervent embrace. Lips trailed fiery kisses down her throat, burning through the bitter frost to singe her blood. Two hands, four, caressed her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, her abdomen, between her legs. A tongue coated her s.e.x with liquid flame and she convulsed under another mouth, biting at her a 154 a neck. Teeth tugged at her nipple, clamped down on her c.l.i.toris. The earth heaved and broken stone rained down on her, bruising her flesh and bone. A terrible madness churned inside, and she fixed on the pale surface of the grave marker. Help me, she pleaded, but got no answer.