Layers(71)

Next, as though in slow-motion, I watch him grab the guy by his shirt, yanking him from beside me, throwing him to the opposite side of the deck as if he were weightless. Losing his balance, Rafael’s friend falls onto the parallel matching recliner. Distracted by a moving figure, I turn to see Rafael standing by the door that leads to the deck, observing the scene from the side. From the expression on his face I realize he is as shocked as I am. He looks utterly exasperated as he begins to scold his friend in Spanish.

Daniel seeks my gaze. Finding it, he stares at me, absorbed in checking whether I was hurt in any way.

“I’m okay,” I mouth quietly, still shaken. His eyes smolder. His entire psyche reflects a need for blood. I’ve seen him angry before, but never like this. He has a lethal glint in the depths of his stare.

He turns to look at Rafael who shrugs with a tormented expression, what appears to be embarrassment at his friend’s behavior. I actually feel sorry for him.

Daniel returns his stare to the other guy and in an ice-covered voice, says, “Next time, if you even accidentally breathe her way, you will end up needing to breathe with the help of a machine.” Slightly releasing his clenched fists he adds, “Now get the hell out of my house, before we both regret the outcome.” Luckily it takes Rafael’s companion less than a few seconds to sober up and comprehend the magnitude of Daniel’s threat and makes himself scarce in the blink of an eye.

“I am so sorry, Daniel, Hayley,” Rafael stutters, completely sincere. Daniel just glances his way with the same expression that’s inhabited his face since he came back.

“It’s okay, Rafael, you did nothing wrong, it’s not your fault,” I say in a velvety voice. Trying to further soothe him I change the subject and ask whether he was able to find his textbook, at the same time trying to provide Daniel with an explanation of Rafael’s presence.

“Make sure he doesn’t set a foot here ever again. You can leave now,” Daniel growls. I stare at him, concerned, ready to jump in, hoping he won’t take it out on Rafael.

“Daniel,” Rafael tries, but the look Daniel grants him makes him stop. He just nods and takes it as a cue to leave.

What a brutal awakening to such a serene sleep. I sigh, still somewhat shaken.

As we’re left to ourselves, I look up at Daniel, and he stares back at me, still looking infuriated. There’s something about the way he looks: his wetsuit hanging loose around his waist, his exposed chest, tanned, bare and carved, his damp hair falling in gold clusters over his tawny, handsome face and the gaze in his eyes, that raw murderous gaze. A wild need starts inside of me, drawing every part of me to him. Trembling inside with raging desire I stand up and walk toward him. I inch up and grab his face with both hands as I reach his side. Pulling him forcefully, I literally drink his mouth. It takes him less than a second to register my intentions and as he does, he reciprocates my outburst in the same animalistic manner; anger quickly shifts to feral need. In no time we’re all over each other, stroking, touching, biting, kissing, and gasping anxiously as though fighting for the ultimate release, and right after reaching it we both collapse on the recliner. We level our short rapid breaths in laced hands, deep in thought.

Daniel rests his forehead against mine and with his closed eyes murmurs, “If something ever happens to you …”

I squeeze his hand.

“I love you too,” I whisper to his lips.





Chapter 29: Hippie Commune


“Ready to meet Mommy?” Daniel asks, with a wide smirk.

“Sure.” I beam back at him, though now that I’m here I am a tad nervous. Knowing how he feels about his mother, all of a sudden it becomes extremely important to me that she’ll like me too and approve of me.

“It’ll be fine, she’s cool.” Daniel winks at me, squeezing my clenched fist reassuringly.

I am taken aback by the look of the house as we get closer; it could not have been more different than what I had pictured; it’s a one-level, small, old but charming house with an equally small yet groomed garden. The house couldn’t have more than three bedrooms. The place screams modesty, not exactly what I anticipated for Daniel Stark’s mother. Daniel opens a rusted turquoise gate to let us in. Stepping in, I notice that the garden is surrounded by close-knit grapevines that give it a fairytale, secret garden look.

Daniel doesn’t knock but opens the unlocked door that leads to a cozy interior, to velvety, crimson, majestically patterned, wallpaper-covered walls. Indian oil lamps are scattered around; some hang from the ceiling, some are placed on furniture around the room. Soft, colorful saris are laid on two adjunct mocha sofas standing firmly on a dark wooden floor. The room gives the impression of a refined ashram, hippie chic. Again, the exact opposite of what I anticipated. Daniel and hippie don’t go hand in hand, at least not in my mind.

A tall, lean and graceful lady almost Daniel’s height walks toward us from a lengthy corridor; she has the most tranquil, gentle smile upon her lips. A jingling sound from the few bell anklets decorating her bare feet accompanies her movement. She’s simply dressed in jeans and a Boho linen blouse, yet still looks elegant. I stare at her, captivated by the serenity she emits. Approaching us, she appraises me with a silky hazel gaze, that same color as Daniel’s, though her eyes are different, inducing sheer peacefulness. They exchange caring, meaningful stares between them; the expression in Daniel’s look is of reverence, and it deeply touches my heart.