Hell Yeah!: Until There Was You (Kindle Worlds Novella) Read online

  Morgan fought the smile that rose on his face. Why it should make him so happy that a woman he’d just met was a fan of his work was a mystery. And yet, her compliments meant more than any accolades he’d ever received.

  Part of him wanted to bask in the moment. Another part was still in a tailspin. How could he have dreamed her? Made love to her in his mind? Taken her over and again, in every way possible, watch her passion overwhelm her and carry them both tumbling into ecstasy?

  “Well, thanks,” he said, trying to shove back questions, and to put a halt to his rising erection. “But the camera does most of the work.”

  “You’re too modest,” she argued. “Your use of light is unparalleled and the way you capture the…the essence of expression in your subject’s eyes is masterful.”

  “Looks like she wasn’t lying, Morgan,” Chris quipped. “I think maybe she is your biggest fan.”

  Morgan chuckled as Lola blushed and looked away. “Must be my lucky day. I always wondered if I had a biggest fan.”

  “Well she’s not all that big,” Kelly jumped into the conversation. “But she isn’t lying. I think she has every book of photos you’ve ever published and her bedroom has—”

  “I think I’ve had enough embarrassment for one day, Kel,” Lola cut in softly.

  Kelly giggled at the gentle admonishment. “Oops, sorry.”

  “Now wait a minute,” Chris said. “You can’t leave us hanging like that. What’s this about Lola’s bedroom?”

  Kelly elbowed him gently. “You heard the lady. She doesn’t want you-know-who to know you-know-what’s hanging in her bedroom.”

  Everyone laughed, including Lola. “Okay, fine,” she said and turned to face Morgan. “I am the proud owner of number ninety-seven of the numbered prints of Seraphim. It’s hanging in my bedroom and not a day goes by that I don’t wish I could create something that beautiful and…and touching.”

  Morgan felt heat rise to his face. The photo she referred to was one he’d taken when he was twenty-two, traveling in Europe. That was during the time he was devoted to film and doing his own developing. He’d been wandering an old cemetery, taking shots of the gravestones, when he came upon an elderly woman kneeling by a grave, arranging fresh flowers..

  She’s been talking quietly while she worked but stopped when she realized he was watching, and sat back on her heels, motioning him over with one hand.

  Morgan had spent more than an hour talking with her about her deceased husband and had marveled at the change that came over the old woman’s face when she spoke of her lost love. It was as if the age dropped away, revealing a glimpse of the beauty she had been in her youth.

  Shafts of light split through the clouds overhead, lighting the fine strands of her silver hair that had worked loose from the bun pinned to the back of her head. Her white dress was loose and flowing, giving her almost an angelic appearance.

  Morgan had asked if he could take her photo and she agreed. He’d gotten her address and promised to send her a copy. When he returned home, he’d discovered that the film canister had been damaged and most of the film inside destroyed. All except for one shot. Of the old woman at the grave.

  He’d always attributed it to the damaged canister and the shafts of sunlight breaking through the clouds, because in the developed print, the woman appeared to have ethereal gentle wings spreading out from behind her. Her hair was haloed in light and while it was clear that she was old, her face was without lines and her eyes seemed lit from within.

  He’d titled it Seraphim and entered it into a photography contest. That was the photo that had launched his career.

  “What touches you about it?” he asked, wanting to know why she was so attracted to the image.

  “The beauty and sadness,” she replied without hesitation. “You can see it on her face and in her eyes. Here’s a woman who has known life, who’s loved and lost. Who walked hand-in-hand with her true love, and also had to stand alone. You can see her love and her loss in her eyes, and there’s something else there. Something…pure and untarnished…untouched by time, undiminished by life. She’s…well, she really is angelic.”

  Morgan was stunned. She’d summed up in one short but eloquent speech every feeling he’d ever had about the photo. Obviously, there was more to this woman than just the uncanny effect she had on him. For the first time in his life, he was interested. Not in what she would be like in bed—although that thought had risen—but who she was and what made her able to see things so clearly.

  A waitress arrived with a tray of food. When she left, Morgan remained unresponsive, staring silently at her. It made Lola uncomfortable. Not only because she was afraid she’d overstepped the boundaries in her evaluation of his art, but because the longer he looked at her, the more her senses came alive. And with the awakening of her senses came the Sight.

  Images swam in her mind, confused and muddled. This was not the time or place. She could not allow the Sight to take her here, now. She closed her eyes and shook her head, willing it to subside.

  “Are you okay?” Morgan’s hand closed on her wrist, his voice filled with concern.

  She nodded after a moment and opened her eyes. “Guess I…haven’t quite gotten my head together. Sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize,” he replied. “And thanks.”

  “For what?”

  “What you said about Seraphim. Think I could talk you into becoming a critic? I could use more reviews like that.”

  The teasing tone of his voice eased away the last of the Sight and restored the atmosphere. “How much does it pay? I am a starving artist, you know.”

  Everyone laughed and the conversation turned to mundane topics like films they’d seen, books they’d read and favorite places they liked to go. It was clear to Morgan that Kelly and Chris had far more in common than he and Kelly did. And it looked like they had definitely taken an interest in one another.

  He and Lola, on the other hand, seemed cut from similar cloths. They both preferred museums to nightclubs, hiking to dancing, and they shared an eclectic taste in film and music. If Morgan didn’t know better, he’d swear this was a made-to-order woman.

  Even down to her looks. Lola was a woman of subtle beauty. There was nothing flamboyant or flashy about her. Her hair was a warm brown that danced with amber and gold highlights, and her eyes were a soft sea-foam green that darkened and lightened depending upon her emotions.

  She had flawless creamy skin that was unmarred by makeup and artifice, and her figure was something he was certain he would fantasize about. Full, lush breasts and generous hips gave her a classic hourglass shape that appealed both to the man and the artist within him. She reminded him of beauties from the nineteen fifties and sixties like Marilyn Monroe.

  He found her interesting and most importantly, mysterious. Morgan had always been attracted to the mysterious. There was enough mystery in Lola’s eyes to keep him interested, he suspected, for a very long time.

  When the evening came to an end, he was disappointed.

  They all walked out together.

  “Where’s your car?” he asked.

  “I rode with Kel,” she replied. “We’re parked across the street.”

  “Oh, okay. This was fun, Lola. I’d like to call you, if that’s okay.”

  “I’d really like that,” she replied and dug a card out of her oversized canvas purse.

  Morgan read the card and smiled. “I’d like to see some of your work.”

  “Maybe,” she said with a smile. “Goodnight, Morgan. It’s been a real honor meeting you.”

  “Please, no more of that,” he said with a laugh. “I’ll call you soon. Goodnight, Lola.”

  She smiled and stood on tiptoe to plant a gentle kiss on his cheek, then turned and literally danced away with Kelly, the two of them laughing and bumping into one another the way women who were comfortable and happy in one another’s company were prone to do. Morgan smiled as he watched Lola take Kelly’s hand when they crossed the
street.

  “That Kelly’s really something,” Chris said from beside him. “I take it you don’t mind if I call her.”

  “Seems like a good idea to me,” Morgan replied, then turned to his friend with a smile. “Thanks. I needed this.”

  “It’s good to see you smile again,” Chris replied and slapped Morgan on the shoulder in a brotherly manner. “Give me a call if you want to get in a round of golf later this week.”

  “Will do,” Morgan replied.

  “Later,” Chris said and turned to head for his car.

  Morgan stood there a few moments longer. What had started as a horrible day had taken a very interesting turn. Lola had temporarily relieved the torment and made him feel at ease with himself. He wished he could think it was a permanent fix, but would be happy to just have the feeling last through the night.

  Chapter Four

  Lola stood in the darkness of her bedroom and stared at the framed photograph on the wall. She would never view the image in the same light. Meeting Morgan Sands had changed that. Not only had it been one of the biggest surprises of her life, it was an experience that had generated unexpected results.

  Like the Sight trying to take her in the middle of a crowded bar. That had never happened before. What was it about Morgan that had such a profound effect on her? Was her sexual attraction for him confusing her, crossing her wires? No, it was more than that. He had to be the person she was sent here for.

  But what was she supposed to save him from? He was famous and wealthy and from all appearances led an enviable life. She sank to the floor, still staring at the photograph, watching the light from the window slant across the wall, illuminating the woman’s face and turn her hair to radiance.

  Who are you, Morgan Sands? What do you mean to me and how am I supposed to save you?

  She had to know the answers. Determined to start the quest for them immediately, she rose and went into her office—or studio as she sometimes called it. She started her Mac and sat in front of it, pulling the oversized graphics tablet to her lap.

  The familiar image of a lotus blossom appeared on the screen. Once she’d created a new file, she picked up the stylus and let her hand lie limply on the tablet. As she’d been taught, she closed her eyes and took a long deep breath. She made sure to breathe from her belly, pulling the air deep into her lungs, letting her abdomen expand, then her chest. When her collarbone rose and lifted up and out, she held the breath for several heartbeats then began to slowly release it.

  Twice more she repeated the process, feeling the calm wash over her. When the final cleansing breath was done, she opened her inner eye and let her mind fill with whatever impressions came to her.

  She was unaware of the motions her hand made on the tablet. Unaware of the picture taking shape on the oversized monitor perched on her desk. She lost track of time and even of herself, caught up in a swirling eddy of images that she didn’t even try to interpret. She simply let them come and go, and remained a silent observer.

  Time passed without acknowledgement or realization. Lola was lost, once more a traveler.

  * * * * *

  Morgan watched the digital display on the clock change. It was three in the morning and sleep would not come. The moment he’d walked into the house, the demons returned, plaguing him with their whispered voices.

  If only he could understand what they said. He’d tried for years to silence them, to no avail. No amount of alcohol, drugs, sex or therapy could quell the whispers. He’d learned that the hard way.

  He’d hoped the positive glow he had while around Lola would last at least the night, but that obviously was not to be.

  “What the fuck do you want?” he shouted and hurled his pillow at the clock, sending it tumbling to the floor where it lay like a sentinel, its bright red eye of time silently watching.

  The whispers grew in volume, their number increasing until it seemed every voice on the planet was speaking in a raspy hiss, competing with all others. The resulting dissonance threatened to send him spiraling into madness, back into that dark place that so frightened him.

  Morgan jumped out of bed, threw on a sweat shorts and a T-shirt and then hurriedly putting on his shoes. He raced out of the house, his pace fast, pushing himself to the limits of his endurance, as if he could outrun the voices that clamored to be heard, to be understood.

  It was the course of his life. Always running. From what, he wasn’t sure. Toward what, he didn’t have a clue.

  * * * * *

  Lola jolted back to reality at the shriek of the phone. Her hand stilled on the graphics tablet and she blinked her eyes to restore moisture.

  How long had she been sitting there? The level of light in the room told her it was morning.

  She put aside the question of time as she reached for the phone.

  “I was about to hang up,” Kelly announced before Lola even had time to say hello. “Where’ve you been?”

  “What do you mean?” Lola asked.

  “You sound like you just woke up.”

  “Ummm…” Lola didn’t want to lie so she tried to avoid the question. She had never made Kelly privy to certain aspects of her life.

  “So are you coming to the class or not?” Kelly asked.

  The question didn’t register. Her eyes were glued to the image on the monitor.

  “Lola? Lola?” Kelly screamed her name.

  “What?” Lola asked, scooting her seat closer to the desk to study the image.

  “Are you coming to class?”

  “Class?”

  “Duh, Earth to Lola. The rock-climbing class we signed up for last week. I’m at the center now. The next class starts in half an hour.”

  “Oh!” Truth be told, Lola had forgotten about it. “Ummm, no, not today. Maybe next time.”

  “But we’ve already signed up! And I don’t want to do it by myself.”

  Lola grimaced at the nasal tone that came into Kelly’s voice. As much as she loved her friend, her tendency to whine was one thing she could live without.

  “I have to go, Kel. Call you later.”

  She ended the call before Kelly could argue. The image on the monitor held her captive. The more she looked at it, the more agitated she felt. She broke into a sweat, and her breath hitched. Eyes that had grown wide scanned the image, fear mounting with each passing second.

  It was something from a nightmare, a scene of horror and death that made tears stream down her face and sobs build in her throat. She reached for the keyboard, intent upon deleting the horrifying image. But something stopped her. Her fingers hovered above the keys. She wanted to delete it. Forget she’d even seen it, much less drawn it. But it had to be important. She never drew anything when taken by the Sight that was not significant.

  With trepidation, she saved the file, then picked up the phone and dialed.

  “Can I come over?” she asked as soon as the call was answered. “I need to show you something.”

  “Are you all right, Lola?” the soothing voice asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Come.”

  “I’ll be there in an hour. Thanks.”

  As soon as she ended the call, she emailed the image to herself. That done, she hurried to the shower.

  * * * * *

  Morgan was whipped. This was his second run, and he didn’t think he had the energy to make it home. He’d run nearly ten miles in the dark hours of the morning and returned home to fall across the couch. Sleep had come almost immediately but he’d slept only three hours when the dreams came.

  He’d wakened soaked in sweat with the voices whispering in his mind. He’d tried to quell them by listening to music, going through the last batch of photos he’d taken and attempting to focus on what images to include in his next show. But the voices wouldn’t let him concentrate.

  The louder they grew, the stronger his anxiety became. His heart raced, he felt hot then cold, he couldn’t sit still. He was going to jump out of his skin. So he headed out
again, running as hard and fast as he could.

  He lasted about three miles at a full-out run before his energy ran out. Even in near exhaustion, his mind was tormented with whispers. He looked up and saw a car headed his way, and for a moment contemplated just jumping out in front of it.

  But fate had another idea. He didn’t notice the chunk of broken pavement until he landed on it wrong and pitched to one side, his ankle rolling over as he did, causing pain to shoot up his leg.

  “Shit!” he cursed as he limped off the edge of the road into the tall grass. Just what he needed. A sprain and a couple of miles to his house. Great.

  “Can I be of help?” A woman’s voice drew his attention.

  The car he’d considering throwing himself in front of had stopped. A middle-aged woman with kind eyes and gray hair got out and approached him.

  “I just twisted my ankle,” Morgan said.

  “I know. I saw. Where do you live?”

  “Couple of miles up the road.” He pointed in the way he’d been headed.

  “Why don’t I drive you home?” she asked.

  “I’d appreciate it,” he replied.

  “Come,” she said and slipped one arm under his and around his back. “Let’s get you into the car.”

  Morgan accepted the help even though he thought he could have made it alone. Once he was in the car, she circled around the front and got in behind the wheel.

  “I appreciate this,” Morgan said. “But how do you know I’m not someone who’d knock you over the head and steal your car and purse?”

  The woman laughed. “Oh, let’s just say I have a sense about people. But it would be nice to know your name. I’m Nanette.”

  “Morgan Sands,” he replied.

  “Nice to meet you, Morgan,” she said as she turned the car around and headed back the direction she’d come.

  There was silence until they neared the driveway to Morgan’s house. “You can drop me here,” Morgan said. “Right there, that drive on the right.”

  “Nonsense,” Nanette said and turned into the drive. “So, you bought the old Wilkins place. I wondered.”