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  He shook her and she woke, instantly alert, though she had no real idea how much time had passed.

  “Would you like to have a look?” he asked.

  And she realized that she’d finally done as he’d asked. While he’d made love to her, while he’d painted her body, she’d finally lived in the moment, without worrying about the next one.

  She nodded and reached out. Her arm was covered in intricate black and white swirls interwoven with a rich red.

  He grasped her hand and helped her sit up. She didn’t yet feel steady enough to stand. But she could look.

  The image staring back at her in the mirror was astonishing. Her torso and arms were completely transformed by the black, white and red paint into stylized symbols. Chevrons showcased her breasts. Spirals and triple line motifs adorned her abdomen and thighs. She tucked her shins beneath her to hide them because they weren’t painted and sat up to get a better view.

  “It’s—”

  “Called Unfinished Goddess,” he said before she could offer an opinion and finally sat down beside her on the drop cloth.

  “It’s beautiful. Dynamic.” She looked at him. “It’s—”

  “What I see when I look at you.”

  Cass turned back to the mirror and tried to make sense of the intricate design. Tried to see what he saw.

  “Explain it to me,” she said.

  He reached toward the edge of the cloth, grabbed the book he’d brought over ages ago and set it in front of her. It was a book on goddesses, very dog-eared and extensively marked with a colorful array of sticky notes.

  “I lied,” he said.

  “Again?” she asked, wondering what he’d confess to now.

  “I told you that life was unpredictable. But it’s really quite straightforward.”

  “We’re born and then we die,” she said, though it seemed to her that that view was a little too simplistic.

  He snatched up his book and flipped through it, clearly agitated by her comment, though she hadn’t meant to be flippant. She leaned closer to take a look and he slowed, stopping every now and then to show her the pictures. Many of the ancient female figurines had exaggerated body parts that obviously celebrated fertility. Many more were variously decorated with the same patterns and designs he put on her.

  She glanced at herself in the mirror again.

  “The complicated and unpredictable part of life is the big chunk in the middle,” she said. “But then you already know that. How? How do you know so much about life, death and the complicated part in between?”

  He dropped the book back onto the floor and faced her, but he had an unfocused look in his eye that suggested he’d gone somewhere far away. She reached out and caressed his pecs, understanding without needing words that wherever he was the memory was bittersweet.

  “If you’d rather not talk about it,” she said.

  He shook his head then reached out and caught hold of her chin. “You didn’t apologize for calling me a—”

  “Bastard,” she finished for him, a little startled by the abrupt change of topic. Where was this going?

  “And I’m sorry about that too. It’s a lousy excuse, but I spoke in the heat of the moment. I didn’t mean it.”

  “I know.” He scooted closer, settled his hand on her bare back and sighed. “But it’s a reminder of a complicated part of my life. I beat the shit out of the last person who called me that.”

  The admission shocked her. Probably he’d meant to. Because you didn’t say something like that, say it that way, without meaning it. Here she’d settled comfortably into thinking of him as a sexy artist, but his appearance was hardly artistic. The bald head, well-honed muscles and earring gave him a dangerous bad-boy persona. He’d also managed to subdue her with a couple of effective moves, which if she’d been paying attention, suggested he knew his way around a fight.

  “Took it a little personally, did you?”

  Her tone was light, but the comment was more than halfway serious, letting him know she was paying attention. She leaned against him, no longer so sure they were off topic.

  He grimaced. “It was. Personal, that is. Plus I was young and stupid.”

  It took her a few moments to piece together what he was saying, but then she remembered his reference to her father having expectations.

  “Your father—”

  “You mean that God-damn blankety-blank sperm donor.”

  She couldn’t help it, she laughed. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be.”

  “I’m also not sure you need to use blankety-blank if you say God-damn.”

  “My mother was quite emphatic about both parts. She grounded me for a week when I had suggested some creative substitutions.”

  She heard the love and warmth of affection in his tone and wondered how long ago he’d lost her.

  “She sounds like an intriguing woman.”

  “She kept me at a time when that didn’t always happen. She never made me feel like I’d interrupted her life. And then she was gone.”

  “Evan, I’m sorry.”

  He shrugged. “She fought the cancer as long as she could. Made it to my graduation, said she was happy I had a useful degree in business to fall back on, and handed me a sketchpad and told me to follow my dreams.”

  Cass waved a hand in front of her eyes. “It’s a good thing you didn’t paint my face, because I’m generating some tears here.”

  “Not this time,” he said, which implied a next time.

  “Look, Cass, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea here.”

  “I’m not. Your mother made it to your graduation, but she lost the battle with cancer. My father was in a hotel room waiting to play his next gig when he had a heart attack and died.”

  She rested her head on his shoulder. He was back to drawing concentric circles—of life?—on her back.

  “And look what happened,” he said. “I followed my dream and became a successful artist, in part because I have some savvy when it comes to promoting myself and my business. I’m also very good at taking advantage of opportunities.”

  She pushed away from him. “I’m an opportunity you’re taking advantage of?”

  “If I don’t want to keep rummaging around in boxes to find my supplies and my books, then yes,” he said, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

  He stood up then and reached down, offering her his hand. She took it and he pulled her up, leaned in and kissed her.

  The hunger was gone. Or at least she thought it would be—should be. But then she shivered—a tiny tremor that ran the length of her spine. He growled, hauled her closer and thrust his tongue inside her mouth.

  Seconds or maybe it was minutes later, the kiss ended.

  “Come upstairs with me,” he said. “We can shower and wash that paint off. You can practice creative solutions.”

  She laughed. “Plural?”

  “You can stay the night.”

  “Dinner?” she asked, hopefully.

  “We can do that too.”

  She nodded.

  “Give me a minute,” he said. “I need to put the book back in the box and I’ll get your things then we can go upstairs.”

  For a third time that day, Cass found herself standing alone in the spotlight. Only this time she was intrigued by the display she made. Even though he’d only painted the front half of her body from her neck to her knees, the effect really was startling. It was as if her head now sat on a totally different body. Synithia and Danielle were right—it was a liberating experience. A new perspective.

  “I’m glad you walked into my studio, Cass McCarthy.”

  She jumped at the sound of his voice behind her.

  “I’ve been living with the vision of an ancient goddess in my head for a long time. I think I’d stopped looking for the right canvas.”

  “Have you found it?” she asked, confident she knew the answer.

  “I think so, if you’ll let me,” he said and took hold of her hand. “Coming?
”

  She pulled away. He had her coat and scarf and purse with him and she took a moment to rummage in her purse.

  “Give me a minute,” she said.

  He nodded, gave her directions on how to reach his second floor apartment and left.

  When she was alone again, she took a few steps closer to the mirror.

  And this time she was certain she saw what Evan had seen. Felt the power of it—the design of life, of death, of the complicated bit in between. Of her place in it and the incredible gift she’d been given to see where this relationship with Evan was going.

  She slid open her phone and quickly typed the five-word message to Synithia.

  I’m going to be okay.

  And this time Cass McCarthy believed it.

  About Robie Madison

  Award-winning author Robie Madison loves visiting mystical places and learning about other cultures and peoples. She’s spent several years living abroad, allowing her to study human nature in a variety of settings and circumstances. These years also included a few wild exploits of her own. Multi-published, Robie uses her knowledge to enhance her stories. When not traveling or planning her next trip, Robie creates characters who can do the adventuring for her. She can also be found teaching writing courses online.

  Robie welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email addresses on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.

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  Also by Robie Madison

  Cats and Dogs

  Desperate Alliance

  Heartbreak Anonymous 1: Good Enough for You

  Heartbreak Anonymous 2: Gay Paris

  Heartbreak Anonymous 3: Getting it All

  Love Partner

  Print books by Robie Madison

  Cats and Dogs

  Desperate Alliance

  Love Partner

  Ellora’s Cave Publishing

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  Body Art

  ISBN 9781419992032

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Body Art Copyright © 2014 Robie Madison

  Edited by Shannon Combs

  Cover design by Allyse Leodra

  Electronic book publication September 2014

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