Chapter Sixteen

Aroha

There’s a method to my madness.  I want her to feel safe and comfortable with me, not like I’m a cougar on the prowl.  When I was watching her sketch me yesterday, her eyes kept following the lines of my ink, so I knew she was intrigued by them.  Turning my back on her not only gives her the sense that I’m taking this as seriously as she is, but also gives her a front row seat to the markings that captivate her.

I’m used to having people watch me, but for very different reasons.  They see my tatts and the colour of my skin, and whether they say it out loud or not, I can see they’ve already labelled me; just another Maori to keep an eye on.  I see them pretending to be busy while following me with their eyes, making sure I’m not trying to get a bit of five-finger discount.  Really, they have nothing to worry about with me.  I’m as honest as the day is long.  Too honest, some might say.  I’m not afraid to call a spade a spade, and if you try to tell me otherwise, I’ll damn well call you out on it.  It’s just how I was raised.

My father is Maori, and my mother, a blonde-haired, blue-eyed pakeha.  Ebony and ivory.  That’s how I got my mocha skin and green eyes.  I pay homage to my roots through my tattoos, linking my past to my future through design.  But that’s not what most people see when they look at me.

Except for Hailee.  She doesn’t look at me the way others do, like I’m someone to be wary of.  No.  She sees something different.  She sees me.

I know she was uncomfortable about me seeing her paintings.  It was obvious how much pain she’d been in when she did them.  I’ve never really understood art before, or perhaps I’ve never taken the time to really look, but as soon as my eyes landed on those ones stacked in the corner, I knew they were special.

Showing her the art on my skin is my way of showing her that pain can sometimes lead to good things, even if you can’t feel that at the time.  Hopefully, it will also show her that she can trust me, as I’m putting my trust in her.

After an hour of sitting in the quiet, save for the stroke of brush on paper, Hailee lets out a tiny groan.  A quick glance over my shoulder shows me she is leaning back, her hands on her lower back as she stretches.

“You must be getting sick of sitting in one position.  Do you want to take a break?”  She steps out from behind her easel, brushing her hands down her shirt front.  There is a smudge of paint on the tip of her nose, and fresh streaks of colour line her shirt.  But, it’s her eyes that take my breath away.  They almost sparkle with contentment.  It must be such a nice feeling, to have something you do make you so happy.

I nod.  Clasping my hands together, I push them up towards the ceiling, doing my own stretches, before pulling myself up to my feet.  She doesn’t bat an eye as I turn to face her in all my naked glory.

I can’t help but grin as I notice even more paint on her face, and even some in her hair.  “I thought the paint was meant to go on the canvas.”  Reaching out, I swipe a finger through the blob along her jaw, pulling it back to show her.  She giggles and I can’t help myself, I run my paint-covered finger down her nose.

She grins at me, taking a swipe of her own and brushing it across my cheek.

“Oh, it’s like that, is it?”  I grab the palette from its perch on top of the easel and using two fingers, I scoop up a big blob, holding it out with a glint in my eye.

“No.”  She shakes her head, but the laughter in her eyes spurs me on.  “You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t I?”  I lunge forward, smearing it down her cheek and neck.

“Two can play at that game.”  Slapping her hand down on the palette, she charges towards me, paint dripping from her hand and onto the floor.  I squeal and dart out of her reach.

“You’ll have to catch me first.”  I jump onto the mattress, my stance wide, ready to pounce.  I quickly dip my fingers in the paint, tossing the palette to the floor so I have both arms at my disposal.  “Come at me.”  I beckon her with a crook of my finger.

She leaps onto the mattress, quicker than I was anticipating, and we tumble down in a heap, giggling and fending each other off.  With paint all over our hands, we wrestle, each trying to hold the other’s arms at bay.  I lose my grip, my hand sliding down her arm as it comes down to meet my bare chest.

We both stop, my chest heaving beneath her hand as it slips down toward my neck.  Our eyes meet, and suddenly the laughter is replaced with a heated stare.  I lick my lips, and bring my hand up to hers.  With shaking fingers, I take hold, bringing it lower, until she is cupping my breast.  I don’t miss the sharp inhale she takes as her hand closes around me, gently kneading.

I arch my back, pushing against her hand with a soft moan.  She pulls her lip in between her teeth, her eyes flicking down to my lips and back up to my eyes.

Trailing my hand back up her arm to her neck, I let my fingers thread through her hair, softly coaxing her to shift closer.  With her breath mingling with mine, I take my chance, tilting my head up to brush my lips against hers.