Sunny - Mona Lisa Eclipsing

There was that sensation, that odd zap of energy and awareness again, but muted now. I had somehow reined it in, smothered down the raw intensity of the primitive urge. It still hovered, however, like dry tinder ready to take spark again, but I was in control now: the reason, maybe, why I didn’t freak out when his other hand joined the first and his fingers explored my face with something almost like reverence.

“Your skin feels so soft,” he murmured in wonderment. His eyes dipped down to my lips, and slowly his head lowered down to mine as hesitation and curiosity held me still. Strong attraction zinged between us again.

I drew back, more than startled by my response. “Oh!” I exclaimed, my hand flying up to cover my mouth.

It had always left me feeling nothing before, men’s kisses, their touch. Left me feeling empty, dispassionate. But not now. Whatever chemistry had been missing before was present in full, blazing glory with Roberto.

“ Oh as in I did not like it? ” asked Roberto in a low, throaty murmur. “Or oh as in That was unexpectedly good . . . wonderful . . . something we should do again ?”

“The latter,” I whispered, holding up a hand when he started to press forward, “but not now. I’m . . .” Overwhelmed, confused. Like a tiny, drifting boat caught up suddenly in powerful, swelling waves that drew me further and further away from all that I had ever known or thought about myself.

“Forgive me, you are injured and in pain.” He visibly reined himself in and stepped back. “But tell me,” he said, passion vibrating his voice, “tell me that it is the same for you, what I am feeling.”

Words I could easily give him. “It’s the same,” I assured him. “I have never felt attracted to another man before. Until you.”

Strong emotion—fierce satisfaction—tightened his face, making the bones stand out strong and masculine. “Rest now and recover,” he said in a husky murmur. “We will speak more of this later.” Stepping away from me, he left the room.

I took the opportunity to shower and wasn’t surprised to discover colorful bruises and red chafed skin on my body, both sides, though more on the right. The hot water eased some of the soreness, and being clean made me feel even better. The only pain I could not account for was in my upper back.

My first glimpse of myself in the mirror was a bit of a shock. My dark hair, so naturally dark it had almost been black, had been skillfully lightened to a color ranging from dark blonde to ash brown, and the cut was more sophisticated than the blunt, straight style I’d always worn my hair before. I lifted a hand to touch the lightened strands of my hair and felt a small twinge of pain between my shoulder blades. When I twisted around to check out the sore spot in the mirror, there were no bruises or signs of falling, just a tiny, barely visible red mark.

Others’ pain, their sickness and injury, had always held a special pull for me—what had drawn me into becoming a nurse in the first place. I could take that pain, draw it away from those sick and unwell, and take it into myself. But I could not take away my own pain. Taking away the pain was not my intention, however. Finding out why it hurt, was.

I stretched back and lay my hand over the tiny red mark. With contact, I felt that special ability I had spiral out of the round, pearly mole centered in the heart of my palm and wind itself down, exploring the half-inch depth of the healing injury. It was a puncture wound, though what could have caused it, I had no idea. It was too clean and precise to have been a branch or stick poking into my back when I had fallen. Only a needle could have caused this.

Had they have given me an injection in the hospital? A tetanus shot, maybe? That would make sense, but not the location there in my back; the shot was normally given in the arm. And it was too high up to have been a spinal tap.

A knock interrupted my thoughts and a woman’s voice came through the closed bathroom door. “Miss? I am Maria. Senor Carderas asked me help you. I come in, please?”

Wrapping the towel around me, I opened the door. A short, middle-aged Latino woman attired in a maid’s uniform smiled pleasantly up at me.

“There’s no need for your help, Maria, I’ve got it.”

Maria’s pleasant smile slipped away as I began to close the door. Something almost like panic sprang into her eyes. “No, please, senorita. Senor Carderas. He very upset if I no help you.” Fear coated Maria’s voice and quickened her pulse, filling the air with sharp scent. It was enough for me to open the door and allow her in.

Why had she been so afraid? Was she so terrified of losing her job?

“ Gracias, gracias . Here, I help you dry hair.” Eagerly she blotted the wet strands with another towel and gently combed out the tangles. After blowing it dry, she parted it down the side and gathered my hair back into a simple, elegant chignon. The hairstyle exposed the delicate features of my face, which she then proceeded to enhance with makeup: mascara to thicken my lashes, smoky dark eye shadow, light blush, and red lip gloss—all items she had brought along with her in a small makeup bag. When she was done, the overall effect was quite pleasing.

“How lovely I look. Thank you, Maria. You possess a much more skillful hand with hair and makeup than I do.”

Maria beamed with pleasure as she ushered me back into the bedroom where clothing had been laid out on the bed: a sky blue dress, clean underwear, and sandals that looked to be my shoe size. All new.

“These aren’t my clothes,” I said, looking at the items.

“Senor Carderas asked me buy you something clean and pretty to wear. You try, yes? You wish I wash and fix old things or throw away?” She nudged the shirt and pants I had left on the bathroom floor, torn and covered with dirt and blood.

A good question, considering the condition my old clothes were in. Yet they were the only things linking me to that half year missing out of my life.

No, I wasn’t ready to toss them just yet, I decided. “If you could wash and do your best to mend them, please.”

Maria wanted to help me dress, but there I stood firm. I would dress myself. With heavy assurances that she had been of great assistance, I ushered her out and closed the door.

The dress fit me almost perfectly; it flattered my tall, slender form, and the color looked good against the creamy white of my skin, my light brown hair, and red lips. I looked quite unlike myself, so smoothly polished and feminine. Not my usual jeans and T-shirt and sneakered self. It was almost startling to realize that with a little effort, I could look attractive. Not something that had interested me much before, but now with Roberto and that potent, shimmering attraction between us, looking nice for him was an appealing idea. The few times I had tried men and sex before had been unpleasant. Painful, even. But things seemed to be different between Roberto and me. Dare I try one more time?

A knock drew me away from my thoughts as Roberto’s voice came through the bedroom door. “May I come in?”

“Yes, please do,” I answered.

Roberto and another older Latino gentleman entered. “You look lovely, Lisa.” Approval and appreciation lit Roberto’s eyes, causing a strange fluttering sensation in my stomach.

“Maria is wonderful,” I responded, blushing. My words reminded me once again of her strange behavior. “I tried to send her away, but she seemed almost, I don’t know . . . afraid of displeasing you.”

The muscles in his face tightened subtly before easing back into relaxed blandness. “I pay my staff very well,” Roberto informed me. “She must have feared losing her position. I told her how very important a guest you are to me and how I wished you treated well and with all courtesy.”