Her Immortal Love (4 page)

Chapter Three

The bell on the store's door tinkled. Lydia, who was in the back stocking a shelf with tarot books, froze. It was nearly three. She knew because she’d just checked the store's clock.

“Hi, Tristan.”

Elaine’s voice was loud enough it could have carried to the end of the street, much less to where Lydia stood, her arm frozen in the process of putting the last book on the shelf.

“Hello,” The sound of Tristan’s smooth, warm voice flowed over her like honey. “Is Lydia here?”

“She sure is. Hey, Lydia, your date's here.”

Lydia closed her eyes as embarrassment flooded through her. Elaine should thank her lucky stars that she was so cute because Lydia was sorely tempted to strangle her.

She pushed the book onto the shelf and headed toward the front of the store.

Elaine was grinning, her eyes glittering mischievously from where she stood behind the counter. Tristan looked over and smiled as she walked towards him. He was dressed in a black leather jacket, dark blue dress shirt and black slacks. Earlier he’d been wearing a lightweight jacket, plaid shirt and denims.

He’d changed clothes?

For her?

For their date?

“Hello.” Lydia wondered if he could hear the mad pounding of her heart. “You're on time.”

She inwardly groaned.
Great, Lydia, just great.

Tristan's smile widened. “They say that timeliness is next to godliness.”

“I thought that was cleanliness,” Elaine piped in, her hand tucked under her chin as she stared raptly up at him.

“That too,” he said, his utterly delectable dimples flashing.

Lydia still couldn’t believe this was happening. He was so gorgeous. It was almost surreal how handsome he was. And he was young. What could he possibly want or see in somebody like her? It had to be a mistake. He was here for some other reason. Certainly not for her.

“You look amazing.” He moved closer. “Not that you weren't beautiful before.”

Her face warmed under his approving regard. “Thank you. But it's all Elaine's doing.”

He looked over at her. “Really? Is that your name? Elaine?”

She nodded, pinking under his gaze.

“The lily maid of Astolat.”

Elaine’s eyes widened. “You know the poem?”

“
Elaine the fair, Elaine the loveable, Elaine, the lily maid of Astolat. High in her chamber up a tower to the east, guarded the sacred shield of Lancelot
.” The warmth of his smile rang in his voice. “
The Idylls of the King
is one of my favorite poems.”

If Elaine had been staring adoringly at Tristan before, she now conferred upon him a look of utter worship, and Lydia suspected he could ask anything of her and she would do it.

He looked back at her. “Are you ready?”

“Oh, yes. Just give me a minute.”

She hurried into the storeroom, put on her jacket, grabbed her shoulder bag then went over to the small bathroom. She closed the door and looked in the narrow mirror over the basin. Whatever Elaine had done she’d done a good job. Lydia looked years younger. She’d never been one for makeup. She would wear a little lip gloss and some eye shadow, but Douglas had not liked her to look, as he called it, made up. Women who wore too much makeup, in his opinion, were cheap and desperate for attention.

Lydia frowned. That certainly hadn't stopped him from cheating on her with Tiffany, who wore tons of makeup.

She leaned closer to the mirror. She didn't look made up. Just better. Softer. Even, dare she say, seductive?

She smiled and a sudden feeling of confidence swept through her. Turning away from the mirror, she made her way back to the front of the store. A customer had come in and Elaine was helping her.

Tristan stood in front of a shelf in a corner of the store. In his hand he held an ivory figurine.

Lydia’s face warmed as she drew closer. The figurine was of a Japanese man and woman. The man was having sex with the woman from behind.

Tristan turned the statuette around with his fingers. “I hadn’t noticed these before.”

“We tend to keep them away from general view. We had a complaint once from a customer. But we also can’t keep them on the shelves, they sell out so fast.”

“What do you think of it?”

When Elaine had showed her where the figurines were located, she’d just called them the porno statutes. Lydia thought the execution was a bit crude, but there was no denying its eroticism. There were a half dozen such figurines on the shelf showing various sexual positions.

“It’s...interesting.”

Tristan softly laughed. “I’ve come across such figurines before but I prefer the
shunga
prints myself.”

“
Shunga
? What’s that?”

“Erotic Japanese art.
Shunga
means ‘picture of spring’ and the word spring in Japanese is a common euphemism for sex.”

All this talk about sex was making Lydia warm. Especially standing so close to him. She didn’t sense anything lewd or unseemly regarding their conversation. He could have been talking about the stock market based on the tone of his voice.

“You said prints. What kind of prints?” She had studied art history in college before dropping out to marry Douglas but she had never heard of
shunga
.

He put the figurine back on the shelf. “
Shunga
is a subclass of
ukiyo-e.”

She nodded. She’d heard of
ukiyo-e.
It was a style of art popular in Japan from the 17th century on. The paintings were usually of the landscape, figures from the theaters and the pleasure quarters.
Hokusai's 
The Great Wave at Kanagawa
was a favorite of hers.

Tristan reached over and pulled a book off a nearby shelf. It was in the section of the store where various editions of the
Kama Sutra
or those dealing with tantric sex were sold. He paged through the book then stopped.

“Here,” he said. “This is an example of
shunga.”

Lydia moved closer and looked at the page, her shoulder brushing against his arm. She made herself ignore her quickening breath and focused on the painting. It was of a Japanese man and woman. The woman was lying on her back, her kimono askew so that her breasts were visible. A young man knelt between her legs and performed cunnilingus on her.

“Oh, my, um...that’s certainly not the Japanese art I studied in college.”

Tristan chuckled. “I would imagine not.”

She reached over and turned the pages of the book. Her arm brushed against his. He didn’t move his arm away. The churning in the pit of her stomach was reaching hurricane proportions. She couldn’t say why, but standing so close to him while she looked at erotic paintings was turning her on. It allowed her, she realized, to be sexual with him without actually being sexual. They were, after all, just discussing art.

She turned another page and stopped, her eyes widening. “Oh, my.”

Tristan laughed. “Ah, I had forgotten about that one.”

Lydia’s mouth dried as she stared at the painting. “What...?”

“That’s one of
shunga’s
most famous if controversial pieces. It’s often called
The Dream of the Fisherman’s Wife
.”

“But she....they...they’re octopuses.”

Tristan nodded. He took the book from her, closed it and put it back on the shelf. He cupped his hand under her elbow and guided her to the front of the store. “As I said, controversial.”

Elaine was alone at the counter. She smiled as Lydia and Tristan approached

“Well, I’m off,” Lydia said. “I'll see you next Tuesday. And thank you,” she silently mouthed, expressing her gratefulness for the makeup magic the younger woman had executed on her.

Elaine exaggeratedly mouthed the words
you’re welcome
.

“You two have fun,” she said aloud, winking at Lydia.

Once they were outside the shop, Tristan looked down at her. “Is there a favorite place you go for coffee?”

“Not really. There are a couple of places I stop to grab a cup but no one place in particular.”

“No problem. I know a place.”

They walked down a few blocks then stopped in front of a shop called
The Coffee Trader
. As it was a nice day, although somewhat cool, people were sitting at tables just outside the entrance.

Lydia peered in through the glass window. As she feared, it was crowded. But Tristan went on inside and she followed. Students, couples and families hunched around tiny tables or sat on couches and chairs scattered about the long, narrow room. She wondered if they’d even find a table.

Tristan made his way towards the back of the shop. He was heading over to a table where two young women were slinging their backpacks over their shoulders. As he approached them, they looked up at him and, judging by the looks on their faces, they were flabbergasted by the sudden appearance of this stunningly handsome man.

“Are you leaving?” he politely inquired.

One of the women, who wore a pair of black, square-rimmed glasses, smiled invitingly at him. “We were leaving. But if you'd like some company, we'd be more than happy to stay.”

Tristan smiled. “Thank you. But I'm with someone.”

The young woman looked over at Lydia. Her flirtatious smile dimmed and she frowned. As they left the table, Lydia heard them whispering to each other. The one with the glasses glanced back, her eyes raking over Lydia. Then she turned back to her friend and laughed.

Tristan apparently hadn't noticed. He was busy helping her off with her jacket. He draped it over the back of a chair then held it out for her.

She slid into it, thanking him as she did. She couldn’t help noticing how genteel he was in his manner towards her. She supposed his behavior would be thought politically incorrect by some, especially when in this day and age men and women were considered equals to each other, but she couldn’t help appreciating his attentiveness.

The table they were sitting at was very close to one where a young family sat. The husband had his face buried in physics textbook. A baby, who looked to be about six months, slept in a stroller, which was nudged up against the back of Lydia's chair. The wife held a dark-haired toddler in her lap. The boy squirmed as he tried to get down to the floor.

Lydia felt a twinge of envy. She had wanted to have children but she’d been unable to get pregnant.

“What would you like to drink?” Tristan asked.

She looked back at him. “Just coffee.”

One of the reasons Lydia rarely visited coffee shops was that she actually just preferred coffee. She didn’t drink lattes, cappuccinos, espressos or any variations thereof.

“Are you sure? Just coffee.”

“Yes, I'm sure.”

“Leaded or unleaded?”

Lydia smiled. “Definitely leaded.”

“Hungry?”

She shook her head. Her stomach was too full of frantically fluttering butterflies for her to be able to eat anything.

Tristan took off his jacket and draped it over his chair. “Be right back.”

She watched him walk away and she could not help but admire his tall, strong body. The broad shoulders, narrow waist and long legs. And, just as she had suspected, a very nicely shaped rear. He stopped at the end of the long line at the counter.

A group of women, who were sitting at a table near the counter, looked over at him as he waited in line. They whispered and laughed among their selves as they shot blatantly appreciative looks his way. One of them then held up a cell phone and took a picture of him.

She frowned. She wasn’t that old but she did find it a bit disturbing how much privacy had seemed to disappear with the introduction of smart phones and cameras the size of matchboxes. Plus, she wasn’t much one for crowds. But she couldn't think of where else she and Tristan could have gone.

To her place? His? Where, if she were lucky, they could have spent all afternoon engaging in nonstop bouts of hot, sweaty sex?

Really, Lydia, you just met him
. And she wasn’t even sure he wanted her in that way. Maybe he just wanted to talk. She was definitely putting the cart before the horse thinking about having sex with him. She didn’t even know him.

Tristan returned with their drinks. He placed a coffee mug in front of her. He, however, had a much smaller cup on a saucer, which he set on the table as he sat down. He glanced around the coffee shop.

“Bit crowded.” He looked back at her. “Hope you don’t mind.”

Actually she did mind. She honestly did not like crowds but she certainly wasn’t going to tell him that. “I’m fine. What’s that you’re drinking?”

He glanced at the tiny cup. A dark, golden cream floated on the surface. “It’s an espresso.” He picked up the cup and deeply inhaled the aroma. Then he moved it over for her to smell.

She did so then wrinkled her nose. He laughed and pulled it back towards him.

“You don’t sip an espresso.” He picked up the cup and drank the entire contents in three quick gulps. Then he gently tapped the cup back on the saucer, grinning as he did so.

Lydia smiled then picked up her mug. As she sipped her coffee, she tried not to stare at him. But being so close made her aware of everything about him. His handsome face, his thick, black hair, that sweetly musky scent of his cologne.

His youth.

Flashes of all those sexual fantasies she'd had about him the past two weeks flickered through her mind. His firm lips sucking her nipples, his hands gripping her wrists, his hard, muscular body pinning her to the bed as his cock moved smoothly inside her.

Her panties moistened, and she squirmed in her seat, embarrassed at having become sexually aroused in, of all places, a coffee shop crowded with people.

“Are you all right?” Tristan’s dark blue eyes focused anxiously on her. “I hope that painting wasn’t too disturbing for you.”

She blinked. Painting? What painting? Then she remembered. The octopus sex painting. “No, not at all. I mean, whatever floats your boat. Not
your
boat, exactly,” she quickly added, “just the boat of the person who, um, well, who painted that picture.”