Page 11 of Color of Love

“I know, right?” she gushed, and he fought a chuckle. He looked around again. A group of older men in a booth were having a heated debate, the raised voices drawing his attention. His palms started sweating but he tried to stay relaxed. He turned away, distracting himself and saw Beau waving to him, he waved back but didn’t make a move to join them. Tonight would be too risky, he was already on edge.

Taylor brought him his drink and as he raised his glass to take a sip, he spotted Justine joining her friends. His drink stalled halfway to his mouth when he saw her, she looked…he didn’t have words. Her silky chocolate locks were pulled into a bun on top of her head, two tendrils loose, framing her face. Her eyes were smoky and sensual, and her lips wide and plump, covered in a rich purple lipstick.

Her orange satin dress was strapless, leaving her delicate shoulders bare, her flawless skin on display. The dress pulled tight across her breasts, enhancing her cleavage. His throat dried, he was baffled by his response. He preferred sweet angelic-looking women, not blatant sex goddesses.

Or do you just not like men prettier than you?

Her words from their session this week had haunted him, he’d read far too much into them. Was she just being nice, or did she really think he was pretty? Did he want her to think he was pretty? He couldn’t stop the words from playing around and around in his head until it was all he was thinking about.

As though she heard his thoughts, her eyes flicked to his and widened. They stared at each other, tension passing between them before he gave in, and nodded his head at her in greeting. She stared at him a moment longer before turning back to speak to Christy. He threw back his drink in one gulp and gestured to Taylor to pour another.

Why hadn’t Justine acknowledged him? That was the second time she had done that now. Was she just trying to remain professional? He rolled his eyes, why did he care? It was getting harder and harder to keep quiet during their sessions. He had to bite his tongue to keep from answering her questions, from spilling information that no one else knew about him. Could he trust her, could she genuinely help him?

He couldn’t believe she seemed content to just let them sit there in silence, openly assessing him with that hot stare of hers. He liked listening to her talk, that voice of hers was so sexy, he didn’t want to admit it, but he spent most of their sessions being turned on, imagining what her moans sounded like. She was getting under his skin, and he hated it.

Taylor brought him another drink and a big smile before the music in the bar turned down and the crowd fell silent.

“Good evening everyone and welcome to another amazing Saturday night performance by Justine! Y’all know the rules, no bar service during the performance and I swear to Dolly Parton if anyone talks, I’ll drag your ass outside myself. Oh, and only me and Christy get to dirty dance.”

Blake’s eyes moved to Christy who looked around, embarrassed. “Take it away, Justine!” Taylor finished then whooped loudly and started clapping, glaring at everyone in the bar until they did the same. She put the mic down, dimmed the lights and he watched as Justine took her seat on stage and strummed her guitar.

He watched as a sense of calm appeared to wash over her, confidence cloaking her as she lost herself in her music. She opened her mouth, and the most magnificent sound came out. Her singing was beautiful, soulful, and heart-breaking. Her smoky voice changing with the music, husky where it was warranted and sweet when required.

He was captivated by her, during a particularly slow, sultry song she began vocalizing and moaned softly on the final note, the sound exactly what he’d been imagining during their sessions, and he hardened painfully. To hear her moan like that while he stroked inside her, he pictured her splayed out underneath him, her nails clawing his back, her head thrashing as he worked her. His mouth ran dry, he gripped his thigh tight and then all of a sudden, he was startled out of his daydream by the volume around the bar increasing.

What the hell? He’d been so out of it he hadn’t noticed she’d stopped singing, that people were crowding around him trying to get to the bar, shoving past him. A bark of laughter right in his ear made him jolt in his seat. How could he have stopped paying attention, what sort of soldier was he?

The bar faded around him, replaced by desert as he was transported back to the worst memory he had of his last tour of duty. He and one of his buddies from his unit, Walker, had been out on a routine patrol. He and Walker had been laughing one moment and the next Walker was lying on the ground, blood pouring from his thigh and shoulder. He’d been shot by waiting rebels and in an instant Blake turned lethal. He spun, rifle raised, alert and immediately located the enemy. He shot twice, one bullet to the head and one to the chest.

Blake stayed calm, keeping his panic inside, as he lifted Walker into his arms. Walker’s face was already ashen from the blood loss. Blake ran, fear pushing him to run faster than if his own life depended on it. He ran back to base, praying the whole time that Walker would make it, he nearly dropped him a couple of times, his hands so slick with blood. He’d made it back and lasted through a tense wait for the chopper to arrive and evacuate Walker. His friend had nearly died on his watch because he’d been too busy joking with him to do his job and keep an eye on his surroundings. Blake had failed him.

His chest tightened, his breathing grew shallow, and his vision began to cloud, the desert fading in and out, merging with the bar. A panic attack was moments away, he could feel it. He reached out blindly, not knowing what or who he was grabbing on to. He stumbled off his stool, his stomach roiling and he looked down at his trembling hands, covered in blood. He needed to get out of here and fast but there were so many people, what was his exit strategy? He couldn’t remember, what the fuck was wrong with him? This is what he trained for!

Blake stumbled his way to the door and jerked it open, the cool evening air enveloping him. He took in huge lungfuls, trying to calm his breathing but it continued to quicken. Blake fumbled in his pocket for the keys to his car and managed to make his way over to his vehicle. He couldn’t drive though, not like this. He would just have to sit and wait for it to pass, where the fuck were his keys? His panic reached breaking point and he felt a hand on his shoulder, he spun around, ready to attack.

“Hey, come on, find your way back,” her husky voice washed over him, soothing.

“Get away from me!” he shouted, he turned to shove her away. Didn’t she realize she was in danger? She grabbed his arm and pressed him against the car, the metal cool on his back.

“Blake, listen to me. Take a moment, pull yourself back from this. You can do it,” she soothed, her voice remaining calm and steady. His eyes adjusted in the darkness; the bright orange of her dress became his focus point. She flattened her palm on his chest, over his pounding heart. She grabbed his hand and placed his damp palm on her chest, over her heart.

“Focus on the rhythm, focus on my breathing and the steady beat of our hearts,” she intoned. He tried but he couldn’t, he needed to get away. He wanted to break apart in private, no one could help him, least of all this seductive siren.

“I can’t…” he choked out, gasping for air and she shushed him gently.

“You can do this, you can, Blake. Find a focus point, start thinking of something. Your favorite sports teams, list them. Favorite songs, name them, pick a color and associate objects to that color, distract yourself, give yourself something to focus on as a way to pull yourself back.”

His mind raced. Any second now he would pass out, that was what usually happened, he couldn’t bear the thought of doing that in front of her.

“You need to work with me or I’m gonna lose you. Blake, I need you to trust me.”

He ran through what she’d said, he played basketball years ago but didn’t really follow it anymore. Color, pick a color. The moonlight shone down bouncing off her orange dress, snagging his attention and he stared at it. Yes, orange, okay, oranges…basketballs…his mind blanked.

“You can do it, just focus, keep thinking,” she encouraged him. Oranges, pumpkins…. foxes…. Carrots. Justine’s dress…he slowly gained control of his breathing, his nausea began to fade, and his vision started to clear the more he stared at her in that dress.

“Good, that’s so good, Blake! Keep going, I’m so proud of you!” she cried, and he met her stare, looking at her properly for the first time. Her warm eyes, shining up at him in the moonlight, her wide mouth parted in the most beautiful smile.

His breathing deepened and he felt the heat of her palm on his chest, seeping through his thin t-shirt. He realized his palm, the one held to her chest, was no longer covered in blood. The skin beneath his hand was delicate, soft, as silky as her dress. Her cleavage rising under his palm with each inhalation and his eyes couldn’t move away from her, drinking her in.

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