Siren's Storm

Chapter Seven

Women of the Rocks (Traditional)

The women, the women, they call you to sea

With skin alabaster and lips of ruby,

With voices of angels as soft as a sigh,

And touches like fire that call you to die.

Gretchen dipped a toe into the crystalline water. “It’s warm,” she said, surprised.

“Heated,” Jason said as he stripped off his navy T-shirt. Three quick steps and he leaped out over the water, pulling his legs into a cannonball.

Gretchen screeched as the splash sent drops spewing all over her. “You jerk!” she cried playfully as Jason broke the surface and shook his head, sending out a shower like a lawn sprinkler.

A gardener looked up from the hedge he was clipping, then quickly turned back to his work. He was Filipino, one of three workers busily weeding, mulching, and trimming the property. Jason’s mother had rented a different house this year, and the yard was pristine and very private. An ancient apple tree grew in the center of the yard, partially shading a collection of green and white hostas. Everything was surrounded by towering boxwoods and trimmed with periwinkle-blue hydrangeas. The brick-rimmed pool was near the house, and there was a pretty little ironwork cafe table with a market umbrella and four chairs. Gretchen imagined taking a morning swim in the pool, then drinking an espresso by the water. She didn’t usually like pools, but the lush garden surrounding this one made it seem like a natural part of the landscape, almost like a lake.

“Coming in?” Jason asked.

Gretchen pulled off her blue sundress and laid it across one of the iron chairs. She felt Jason’s eyes linger on her body, hesitating only momentarily at the scratches on her knees, as she stepped cautiously into the pool. Once Gretchen reached the bottom stair, she dove forward and swam up to Jason. “Mmm,” she said as she surfaced. The just-cool water slicked back her hair and left her feeling refreshed, washing away the exhaustion she’d been carrying from the night before. Both the sleepwalking and dealing with her father’s overwrought reaction when he saw her walk in through the front door had drained her. “That feels good.”

Jason watched her lips hungrily. He stepped forward, pressing his body against hers. His skin was smooth, slippery in the water. He kissed her, his lips warm and sweet.

Her mind whirled back to last summer, to the moment when they met. Gretchen had gone to a gallery to check out a retrospective of one of her favorite artists. The paintings were Pollock-like drips and splashes, but in gentler tones that suggested ripples and waves. She had talked Johnny into taking her to the opening, which was crowded with the tanned and the thin. Most of the sparkling crowd seemed to be more interested in talking to each other than in the art. Gretchen kept trying to look at the paintings, only to find herself being elbowed aside by someone reaching for an hors d’oeuvre or a glass of red wine. She finally found a far corner and managed to spend three uninterrupted minutes inspecting a miniature triptych.

“Thanks, Dad,” Gretchen said as Johnny wordlessly handed her a Coke.

He gave her a do we have to stay much longer? smile, and she kissed him on the cheek. “I just want to look at a few more paintings,” she told him.

“Take your time,” Johnny told her before disappearing into the social swirl.

“Isn’t he a little old for you?” A platinum-haired hunk had appeared at her elbow. There was a smirk in his voice, but Jason’s face was impassive, as if there wasn’t an answer that could possibly surprise him.

“That’s my dad,” Gretchen told him.

Jason nodded. He looked at the painting. “What do you think of this?”

“I think it’s beautiful.”

“I hate beautiful art,” Jason said.

“What’s wrong with beauty?” Gretchen shot back.

“It just doesn’t do anything for me.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Jason smirked. “You’re right.” His eyes skimmed her body, and she felt her face burn.

Gretchen found herself wondering why she was talking to this person. He was forward and she wasn’t sure she liked it.

“I’m Jason,” he said, as if he’d read her thoughts. “Gretchen.”

“You’re an artist.” Not a question. “What makes you say that?”

“Because you’re the only one here who’s looking at the art. Everyone else is here to be seen. You’d think that they were the ones hanging on the walls.”

“Why are you here?”

“This is my mother’s gallery,” he said. “I don’t want to hurt her feelings by not coming to her opening.” His voice was gentle when he said it, without the slightest trace of a smirk.

“You and your mom are close?” Gretchen asked.

“I live with my dad most of the time, but yeah, I’m closer to my mom.”

And that was when Gretchen had found herself confiding to Jason that she was closer to her dad-that her mom lived far away and never contacted them. They’d connected. And he was handsome. There was no doubt about that.

Now, in the pool, she melted against him, and his hand traveled up her side. A fingertip slipped beneath her bikini top, and she pulled away. “Jason,” she warned.

“What?” He pulled her closer, but she struggled against him.

“The gardeners.”

Jason looked up as if he hadn’t even realized that there were other people in the yard. They were at the other end of the wide green lawn, one up on a tall ladder with electric shears. Jason twirled his fingers into the ropes of her hair. “They don’t care.” His voice was a husky whisper.

“I care.” Gretchen felt herself blushing.

Jason narrowed his eyes. Then he gave her hair a yank. It was too hard to be playful, but he splashed away like a grinning otter. “Whatever.” Again his tone was nonchalant, but he sent a giant splash at her face, then headed for the side of the pool.

“Where are you going?” Gretchen asked as Jason hauled himself out of the pool.

“I need some iced tea,” he called without looking over his shoulder. “I’ll be back.”

Gretchen stood at the center of the pool, feeling idiotic. Why did I have to ruin the mood? she wondered. Then again, it was Jason who was being a jerk. So why am I feeling so bad? Every now and then, an elbow of the rage that Jason kept clamped down would poke out, knocking at those nearby. She had forgotten how much it had bothered her last summer, how often it had left her confused and sometimes frightened. And it was usually over something small. A glass of soda with too much ice. Obnoxious air-conditioning. People on cell phones. Is it so wrong to feel weird about making out in front of strangers? Is that really something to get furious over?

He hadn’t even asked if she wanted some iced tea.

“I’d like the mahi mahi with the mango-avocado infusion.” Angus grinned at Gretchen as he plopped onto the red vinyl bar stool at the counter. “And a glass of rosemary tea.”

“I think we’re out of that. How about some coffee that’s strong enough to fry your face?”

“Even better. I’ll take one of those pumpkin muffins, too.”

Gretchen poured a mug and set it down on the counter before him. She snapped a piece of wax paper from the box and lifted the glass cover over the muffins. Gretchen looked them over carefully before placing one on a plate and carrying it to Angus.

Angus drummed his long fingers on the table. “I saw that,” he said. “You gave me the biggest one.” He waggled his eyebrows, then took a long swig from the coffee, and his eyes went round. “Whoa.”

“I warned you.”