Let the Lover Be by Sheree L. Greer

Author:Sheree L. Greer [Greer, Sheree L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781626391208
Publisher: Bold Strokes Books
Published: 2014-06-30T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

Wednesday

Kiana climbed out of the cab and stood in the middle of the block. She glanced over each shoulder. A few cars lined the street, parked bumper to bumper, and a Harley Fatboy, shiny black and chrome with red flames painted on the gas tank leaned on its kickstand directly behind her. The sun had just risen and hadn’t yet broken the tops of the duplexes and single families that lined the block. She walked up to Genevieve’s bicycle and ran a finger across the cool dew that clung to the bright green frame. She took a deep breath and made her way past the main house and up the narrow cement path to the carriage house. She slowed at the sound of voices.

Genevieve’s voice, low and raspy, a sexy growl almost. “You’re still here.”

Another voice, a woman’s voice, stronger, clearer. “I told you I wasn’t going anywhere.”

Kiana crept closer, holding her breath. She stopped at the edge of the house and leaned against it. The moistness of the humid morning clung to the sides of the house and dampened the back of her T-shirt. She peered around the corner and into the garden. At the small, rusted wrought iron table, Genevieve stood stretching in black stretch pants and an oversized purple T-shirt that hung off one shoulder. She steadied herself on the back of one of the chairs where a woman sat sipping from a blue-checkered mug, her back half-turned to the house where Kiana stood watching. The woman pushed herself out of her chair. Big and tall, the woman wore a denim vest, her matching jeans hanging low on her waist and bunched up at the top of her black combat boots. She shrugged and shook her head, the large gold hoops in her ears shaking, too. Her hair, wavy and cropped close to her head, glimmered a shocking metallic platinum. She took Genevieve in her thick arms and held her tight, hugging her and nearly lifting her off the ground.

Genevieve’s arms clasped around the taller woman’s neck. She rested her head on the woman’s shoulder, closed her eyes, and smiled a smile that looked like peace, looked like love.

“I’m so glad you stayed. I needed you,” she said. She smiled again, her eyes still closed in private bliss.

Kiana clenched her jaws and squeezed her hands into fists. Her eyes stung. She pressed herself against the cold, wet siding of the house. She tortured herself with one last peek around the corner. Genevieve and the woman were still locked in a tight embrace. The red-haired woman kissed Genevieve on the temple, and Genevieve kissed her back, two kisses in quick succession, one on her cheek and another on her neck. An intimate touch that made Kiana sorry she had come to apologize. She should have known better. She thought Genevieve had rejected her because of a joke gone too far. That would have been an easy fix. A quick apology. Nothing was ever that simple. She should have known it was something else.

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