“Alright Gib,” Hill said to the man on the other end of the line once remnants of a final round of good humor, had settled. “See you soon.” With that, the connection ended. The grin Hill wore all during the conversation, lasted but a few seconds more before it vanished altogether.
Truthfully speaking, the word ‘grin’ was perhaps a poor term to use in light of the gesture’s effect on Hill Tesano’s features. They were features that told an observer that danger was not only a possibility, it was a given.
Whatever the promised danger hinted by Hill Tesano’s features though, it was never enough to curb curiosity. This was especially true when the observers were women. Curiosity and hormones were in full reaction.
At 6’8, Hill’s height was merely one on a lengthy list of attributes that stretched the term ‘wickedly erotic’ to its greatest limits. It was perhaps quite safe to say that The Creator was testing the depths of His exquisite brilliance when He brought Roman and Imani Tesano’s first son into existence.
Hill’s staggering height was in perfect proportion to the body claiming it. The width of his shoulders and back made clearing most doorways difficult unless he shifted his stance to ease in at an angle. That width tapered into a lean waist that emphasized the remarkable breadth of his chest. He was toned to perfection, chiseled as if by a sculptor’s hand.
Hill possessed a body that was as much a testament to the grueling, physical demands of his lifestyle as it was to the results of a charmed meshing of prime genetics. Such a body was a tailor’s dream and Hill employed a small army of dynamically talented clothiers.
Of course, it would take such a physique; in all its dark bronzed vitality, to be worthy of the face it bore. The bone structure, all chiseled planes and angles, constructed a face that could’ve been wholly menacing were it not tempered by a host of wholly alluring elements.
While those elements didn’t exactly lessen the danger, they did curb it a trace to allow the more sinfully beckoning facets to fuse alongside. His hair was a mass of onyx waves that; when unbound, fell just shy of magnificent shoulders. The fathomless black of those thick locks was matched only by that of his eyes. The black was so rich- so bottomless it; at times, appeared to reflect a deep purple undertone as extraordinary as it was jarring.
Brow to eyes, eyes to nose, nose to cheekbones, cheekbones to mouth...every feature of Hilliam Tesano’s face was undeniably riveting. Such were features that flattered; to the highest extent, both sides of his African and Italian heritage. They sharpened then with tension as new sound touched his ears.
Humming; the softest strains of it, filtered into the hall from the kitchen. Persephone. Damn her. Hill winced and gave himself an inner kick over the snap. Fuck it, he thought, rolling his eyes when the happy tune she hummed flowed from the kitchen at a higher volume.
How the hell did she expect him to feel-seeing her after all this time? Over six years...seemed like a lifetime… A lifetime since he’d kissed her beautiful and naked in their bed that morning- that last morning…
“Fuck,” he muttered the word and knocked his head back against the wall. He then chanted silent orders to calm until the desire had passed to hum his own tune. He had no doubt, that his would resemble a growl.
He couldn’t overlook the fact that they’d all been caught up in everything going on with SyBilla. The latest chapter of revelation and drama had whipped his family into a storm that was showing no signs of calming. Of course he wouldn’t deny any of that, but goddammit the least Persephone owed him was an explanation worth a damn for leaving the way she did.
In his soul; at the depths of it, he knew it had been Eva. Evangela Leer had spent her life waging war on the innocent and guilty alike. He knew it had been Eva without question.
Still, he needed to hear Persephone say it. He needed her to say it in the hope that maybe-just maybe- it would soothe what had relentlessly gnawed the already raw area of his gut. The part that had turned to a bloody wasteland over the long years he’d gone without her.
An explanation...yes, yes an explanation was what he wanted and-alright, alright!- He deserved one goddammit! What he needed though...what he needed was what he hadn’t even allowed himself to think about-much- while they’d resided under the same roof and tried to focus on the purpose at hand.
SyBilla’s house, however spacious, felt as constricted as a matchbox. Through the course of it all- during all the endless talks to plan Bill’s rescue and other logistics, Persephone was never out of his head.
The image of her, the way she’d looked when he’d left her that day...God...how many women had he taken to how many beds in the hope of scouring that image from his memory? It hadn’t worked. It hadn’t even come close to working and for more years than he felt comfortable counting, he’d given up thinking other women in his bed would do him a damn bit of good.
He needed her. He needed her in the most basic way and in every variation of that basic way and she...she had the nerve to be goddamn humming?
Just an hour with her. God what he could do with her in an hour...was that too much to ask?
He needed a cold shower. Better yet, an ice bath. That’s what he needed. That’d do the trick. He was grinning a fully amused grin by the time he heard conversation replace the humming rolling out from the kitchen.
Hill held his stance against the hallway wall. There, he settled in for a listen that completely disintegrated all traces of his amusement.
~~~
“Hard to believe there’s no husband to benefit from cooking like that.”
The remark; called across the big kitchen, roused genuine laughter on Persephone’s part. She shook her head at Montieth Besson, one of SyBilla’s Vestige team members. She’d found him leaning against the refrigerator and watching her wipe down the counter space.
This, following another filling meal that Monty and his colleagues had just enjoyed. Monty’s remark was all in teasing and Persephone had taken no offence. It’d been a long time since she’d worked in a group setting. She had missed the camaraderie that went along with it, especially since she was well aware that group work didn’t always promise camaraderie.
“Husband…” she sighed with a smile. “My life’s complicated enough.”
“Ouch,” Monty’s attractively rugged features twisted with mock pain before he offered up a smile. “Don’t worry, I got it. Our lifestyles don’t leave room for the lifestyles that matter most, do they?”
“Hmph, guess not.” Persephone held onto her easy expression, though a trace of something poignant seeped into her voice.
Monty made another teasing face. “Is it just me or does it sound like we’re feeling sorry for ourselves?”
Again, Persephone laughed. The sound was a throaty, melodic mix when given honestly. “It’s just you, of course,” she threw back.
Monty nodded. “Thought so,” he joined in with the laughter in play for a few moments before curiosity touched his gaze again. “So how much longer do we have to benefit from your mad cooking talents?”
Persephone sighed out her laughter that time while turning to give the kitchen table another wipe down. “I’ll hang around another few days before I head out.”
She ordered silent the voice in her head that told her she wouldn’t go anywhere until Hill did. Idiot! The voice accused and Persephone had to agree. The man had been going out of his way to avoid her, hadn’t he? She drew the dishcloth to a jerky halt against the table when she realized Monty was speaking to her again.
“...my crew and I will be sad to see you go,” he was saying.
“Right…” Persephone sent him a playfully sly look. “Is it me you’ll be sad to lose or the food?”
A measure of Monty’s playfulness waned. “The food’s just an added bonus. It’s the gorgeous chef we’re all really hooked on.”
“Monty...you’re sweet.”
“I’m honest,” he clarified and then inhaled deeply and appeared apologetic. “I’m honest and I’m saying things that could get me broken in half.”
“Nothing to fear from me,” Persephone offered a flip shrug. “There’s no harm in a little flattery.”
