Something in my closet must have come in contact with Daimon while he was in my apartment in L.A. Hell, he was probably in my old apartment many times while I was gone working at the gas station. I’ve been too busy trying to blend in to my new home, I didn’t notice I’d brought a piece of home with me.

I miss L.A.

And, as sick as it is, I miss Daimon.

I miss his scent. I miss his kiss. I miss his voice.

I miss the anticipation of not knowing when he’d arrive. I miss the feeling of his warm skin on mine.

But, most of all, I miss being in the presence of someone who was my equal.

You and I … we are the same, Alex.

I peel off my dress and look down at my perky nipples and the soft curve of my hips. I recall the time Daimon sat me on the edge of my bed and knelt before me so he could devour me. I close my eyes and my heart races as I remember how it happened, allowing my mind to embellish where my memory is fuzzy.

I slide my hand over my ribs and cup both my breasts, pinching my nipples, I imagine Daimon’s mouth covering my areola. His tongue flicking my sensitive flesh. That familiar throbbing between my legs returns. A pulsating, flashing signal, beckoning me.

I slide my hand down my belly and into my panties. As soon as the soft pad of my fingertip comes in contact with my clit I gasp. Leaning against the doorframe of the closet, I inhale that familiar scent as I stroke my swollen bud.

I remember Daimon’s mouth sucking my clit. His fingers massaging me from within. How he made me taste myself. Finger-fucking my mouth and forcing me to savor it.

“Oh, God. Daimon,” I breathe, my right finger working soft circles over my achingly swollen clit.

I slide two fingers of my left hand into my mouth and imagine Daimon’s hard cock. That sticky bitterness I tasted on the tip. My legs begin to wobble as an orgasm approaches. I lift one of my legs and press my foot against the other side of the doorframe across from me to steady myself.

I suck hard on my fingers as my other hand brings me to orgasm. Then I slide down to a crouch on the wooden floor. Hugging my knees to my chest, I finally allow myself to weep for the loss of Daimon.

My other half.

I bury my face in my arms and cry until my chest aches with exhaustion, then a delicate breeze blows over me. Feeling like a soft feather on my shoulder. I open my eyes and find my bedroom window open.

Chapter Five

After crying for more than an hour, I pick myself up and indulge in a long, hot shower to rid myself of this repulsive behavior. Fine. I’m allowed to grieve over Daimon for a short period of time, but I can’t draw this out. The man killed my father. I can’t indulge in sexual fantasies of the two of us together because, even if he is alive, we will never be together again. If he is alive, the only time I will ever touch him is to break his neck.

His muscular neck with the smooth skin that tastes so… real. So manly.

Oh, God. I’m in trouble. And I’m pretty sure Nick is the only person who can help me.

I try not to cringe as I quickly dress myself in another dress and sandals. I pull my hair up into a ponytail and apply some eye liner and lip balm. Then I sling my camera around my neck and head out the door. Outside, I run into Maria Elena; though she goes by Elena. She’s checking her mailbox on the other side of the street.

Elena digs her slender arm inside the box and comes out with a small stack of envelopes. She waves at me as I step out onto the street.

“Hello, Alyssa!” For an older woman, her voice is still quite youthful and melodic. “How are you?”

“Just fine, thank you.”

I keep walking toward Nick’s house which is right next door to hers and her gaze follows me. “Are you visiting Nicolas?”

I almost blurt out that it’s none of her business, but I keep my cool. “Yes, I am.”

“Oh, very good. Can you please take this to him?” She walks toward me holding out an envelope. “They put it in my mail.”

I take the envelope from her and she tilts her head as she looks at my skin and my hair. “I can color your hair, if you want. I used to have a salon many years ago, but I still color my own hair.”

A sharp pain twists inside my belly and I grit my teeth at that familiar feeling of being judged. “No, thank you. I like my hair the way it is.”

“I’m sorry. I did not mean to say that it is not beautiful the way it is.”

“It’s okay. I understand. And thank you, but I’m not interested in coloring my hair. I’m…” I pause as I try to figure out what the hell I’m doing. “I’m trying to be myself.”

I cringe at the irony of telling her I’m trying to be myself when the woman doesn’t even know my real name.

She flashes me a warm smile. “Your self is beautiful.”

I chuckle softly. “Thank you.”

“You should come over for dinner one of these nights. You shouldn’t have to eat alone. My husband and I would love to have you.” She takes a piece of my hair between her fingers and examines it wistfully. “My children have all moved away. My son is in Barcelona and my baby girl is in Belgium studying. She loves it, but I miss them. I can’t really afford to visit them. And they can’t afford to come home.”

“I will definitely stop by one of these evenings. Thank you for the invitation.”

She lets go of my hair and her smile tightens as she realizes I’m humoring her. She tucks her mail under her arm and turns around to leave.

“Wait! Elena.”

She turns around, eyebrows raised in a silent question.

I lift the camera from around my neck and hand it to her. “Here. Take this.”

“What’s this?”

“It’s a camera. You can use it to take pictures and send them to your kids.”

“Oh, no. I can’t take that. It looks very expensive.”

“No, please take it,” I say, pushing the camera toward her. “Please. I ordered a new one and it should be arriving any day now. Please take it.”

“Are you sure?” I nod vigorously and she carefully takes the camera from my hand. “Thank you.”

I watch as she heads back to her quaint yellow cottage with the red tile roof. Just one in a thousand other cottages like it on this island. But I’m beginning to realize that each one holds a different story. I think Elena’s might be one of quiet desperation. I still haven’t figured out my story yet.

I knock on Nick’s door and he answers almost immediately. He looks me up and down then smiles. It’s almost a bashful smile, as if he’s embarrassed for making me sick with his cooking.

“I’m starving,” I say, holding out my hand. “Can we get some lunch?”

He reaches for me then pulls his hand back at the last moment. “Hold on. I can’t forget my phone.”

He disappears inside and comes back a few seconds later, tucking his cell phone in his pocket as he pulls the front door closed. He turns around and grabs my hand, swiftly bringing it to his lips and planting a soft kiss on my knuckles.

“I will try not to feel bad that you don’t trust my cooking.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust it. I’ve just had an upset stomach for a couple of days. Just getting use to the island and all.”

He casts a suspicious sideways glance in my direction. “I’ll pretend to believe that.” He begins walking faster until we’re jogging. “Come on. The restaurant I want to take you to is always busy for lunch. We have to hurry if we want to get a table.”

I laugh as he pulls me to the left at the crossroad and we jog up the incline to a small restaurant with a patio overlooking the harbor. He seems a bit out of breath when we get there, but I could probably go up and down that hill a half dozen times before I’d show signs of fatigue. If Daimon comes back, Nick will be no match for him.

Nick speaks to the waitress, who seems reluctant to seat us. He seems to be laying on the charm pretty thick, though I don’t understand a word they’re saying. Finally, her shoulders slump and she nods as she grabs a couple of menus and takes us through the restaurant to the patio.