A Matter of Faces
by Elizabeth Jewell
Copyright 2010 by Elizabeth Jewell
Smashwords Edition
ONE
The bar smelled of smoke and too many perfumes, a combination Piper found oddly comforting lately. She’d met Billy here, and the smell reminded her of him. She came here to think about him, to remember. He’d been the only man she’d ever picked up in a bar.
She looked at the drinks in front of her—a Cosmopolitan and a Scotch and soda. The first drinks they’d ordered that night. She sipped the Cosmopolitan but left the Scotch untouched.
Last year, on this day, she’d done the same thing.
Two years ago today, she’d sat at this bar with him for the last time.
“Excuse me?” The voice broke into her thoughts and she looked up, blinking back tears. The bartender, noticing, smiled gently as he set another drink in front of her. “From the gentleman at the end of the bar.”
“I doubt he’s a gentleman.” She pushed the drink away. “Tell him I don’t want it.”
“Okay,” he said, and took the drink, but Piper said suddenly, “Wait. What is it?”
“What’s what?”
“The drink. What is it?”
“It’s a Seven-Seven.”
Piper stared at it. The second drink from that night. Billy had bought Seven-Sevens for both of them. “Who sent this?”
The bartender pointed. Piper looked, and her breath caught in her throat.
He sat at the end of the bar, watching her. Finely drawn brows arched above his dark eyes, and his full, pretty mouth moved into a seductive smile.
“Billy.”
The bartender quirked an eyebrow. “You know this guy?”
“I did.” She stood, forgetting her drinks, and walked to the end of the bar.
He looked at her with Billy’s black eyes. “Don’t you like your drink?” he asked, and his voice was Billy’s voice.
“It’s fine. It was exactly right.”
“I thought it might be.”
It was surreal, standing there looking at him, at his black hair and eyes; his white teeth; the small triangle of moles on his cheek. She reached for him and he sat smiling as she slid her fingers into the black silk of his hair. It even felt the same.
“Do you live around here?” she asked.
“Yeah. Not far.”
“Let’s go.”
He nodded. “All right.”
* * * * *
By the time they reached his unfamiliar apartment, the dream had taken her over and all she really cared about was getting him out of his shirt, his jeans, his cotton boxer-briefs—even the underwear was right—and into the bed. Or onto the plush Oriental rug in the middle of the living area, which was actually where they ended up.
She couldn’t find anything about him that didn’t match. The taste and temperature of his flesh as she explored him, the moles and scars, the sounds he made. Tears brimmed in her eyes as her hands slid over every inch of his body.
He lay back, naked, on the soft brown-and-blue rug, and put his arms around her as her mouth greedily sought his. Her tongue pressed past his lips, hot and needy. His mouth tasted perfect. He’d been drinking whisky.
“May I—” he started, when she gave him a chance, but she put a finger against his lips.
“Do whatever you want,” she said, “but don’t talk to me.”
“I can do that.”
That counted as talking, but she decided to let it slide.
He jerked her shirt up and loosened her bra, maneuvering under her until he managed to get her breast into his mouth. His teeth scraped against her nipple. She moaned, swollen and wet between her legs, more ready for him than she’d been for a man in two years.
Burning, she went straight for his cock, cupping her hand around its long, thick shaft, but he chuckled and eased away. She tried to pull him back to her, but he would only let her press his glans between her need-soaked labia, no more.
Laughing, she let him torment her until the driving heat changed her laughter to tears of need. He withdrew then, and slid his fingers inside her, finding the hidden spot just inside and pressing hard until the pleasure was nearly unbearable. He’d gone unerringly to the right place. Only Billy had ever bothered to find that spot, much less use it.
“Is that what you like?” he murmured into her ear.
The driving intensity of her fired blood made it hard to talk, but she managed. “I thought I told you to be quiet.”
He only laughed and found her breast again with his big hand, teasing her nipple until that fire shot straight down to join the fire between her legs. She had turned to hot liquid from her heart to her feet, her mind blanked out by it, nothing else in her world but that fire and the movement of his body against hers.
She couldn’t stand it anymore—she had to have him inside her. “Now,” she said, barely aware she spoke. “It has to be now.”
When she caught hold of him next he was sheathed in sleek latex, and she wasn’t sure how or when he’d done it. Nor did she care. He was thick and long and hard and felt exactly right as he slid deep inside her.
Exactly like Billy.
She rode him hard, driving him as deeply into her as she could, taking as much of him as she could take. She watched his face, seeing the blindness of passion overtake his eyes, until she could watch no longer, until her own passion pulsed and pounded inside her, bringing her to powerful completion. His hips rose under her, lifting her from the brown and blue rug as he, too, came to the peak. She knew the breathy, urgent sound he made when he came. She’d heard it a hundred times before. There had been times when it had made her laugh. Now she wept, falling forward onto his damp chest. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close, his whisky-tinged breath warm against her ear.
Finally she rolled away from him, tears rising again as he slid out of her. It was like losing him again. She found her sweater on the floor and pulled it back on. The long, baggy garment covered most of her if she pulled her knees up under it.
He made no move to get dressed, just lay there naked on the thick rug, watching her. His erection sagged against his stomach, bobbing to the left. Just like Billy.
“I know you’re not Billy,” she said finally.
He frowned. “You’re sure?”
She regarded him levelly. “Billy died.”
He nodded. “I see.”
Closing her eyes, she pushed sweat-damp hair out of her face. When she looked again, he was still Billy, sitting there with his tousled black hair and his sin-sexy smile.
“So who are you?” she asked.
His smile faded, his black eyes regarding her soberly. “Whoever you want me to be.”
* * * * *
He’d been watching her for a long time. She didn’t come into that bar often, but he’d seen her there from time to time, and soon had started following her here and there, to see where she went, what she did. He wanted to know what mattered to her. Once he’d gotten entirely too close to her and had backed away. It hadn’t been the right time.
It probably wasn’t the right time now. But he couldn’t hold back any longer. He’d seen too much of her loneliness, felt too much of her pain. She was broken, and needed someone to put her back together.
No doubt he was the least suitable person for that job.
At least now he knew why she was so sad. The images he’d collected from her, of the man foremost in her mind, the man she most desired, had brought him to wear the face of a dead man. This Billy had undoubtedly been her greatest love. He’d envied the man for months, realizing how much she loved him. He’d hated him, as well, assuming he’d thrown that love away.
But death—that was something else. He’d thought to help mend her heart by making an appearance as her lost love, the man who’d abandoned her. She’d never know the difference—no harm done, and they’d both get a little of what they most wanted. But he hadn’t gotten enough information. Because Billy was dead.
She’d gone home with him, anyway. What was he supposed to make of that?
Now she sat on his floor, on his rug, wrapped in her big, gray sweater. Her scent filled the room, wrapped in his own smell, thick and musky. A sex smell. No wonder she’d driven him hard and desperately. Even knowing from the beginning he wasn’t really Billy.
She watched him warily, pulling the sweater down to cover her feet. It wasn’t long enough for the task and she stretched it far past reasonable endurance.
“Whoever I want?” she said, echoing his words. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means I belong to you now. You knew I wasn’t who I seemed to be, and you still took what I offered.”
She shook her head. “Look, I was just after a one-nighter. Not even that—an hour or two at most. I know you’re not Billy. I shouldn’t have done this.”
She found her panties and slipped them back on under the long sweater, granting him not even a glimpse of the secret places he’d opened and made sing only minutes before.
“The mistake wasn’t yours. It was mine. If I’d known Billy was dead I never would have offered him to you.”
She shook her head, her face a study in irritated confusion. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You don’t understand. You will later. Right now just know that I’ll always be there, any time you need me. It’s my obligation.”
“You’re going to stalk me?”
“No.” He laughed at her misunderstanding. “I have to protect you now, and do what you want.”
“I want you to go away.”
“That’s the only thing I can’t do.”
She shook her head and found her jeans. “All I need is a serious whack job in my life. Look, you do what you want, but if I see you stalking me I’ll have the police on your ass so fast it’ll make your head spin.” She picked up her shoes and socks and headed for the door. With one look back at him, she shook her head sadly. “What a waste. You look so damn much like him.”
She closed the door behind her. He shook his head, frustrated, and a moment later he didn’t look like Billy at all anymore.
* * * * *
Piper spent most of the next day trying to forget what had happened last night. It was hard, though, when she still felt the fiery trails he’d left inside her. She almost felt like he was still in there, penetrating her, arousing her. Made it damned hard to concentrate.
Resigned to the fact all the catalog copy she wrote today would be full of double entendres, she set aside the toy entries and worked on more adult fare. She could get things down on paper today and work the kinks—or the kinkiness—out later.
She was finishing up an intense paragraph about yoga props when her phone rang.
“Hi, Ms. Mason. This is security. There’s a delivery for you.”
Piper shrugged as she set the phone down. She wasn’t expecting anything. Wondering what it could be, she took the elevator down to the lobby.
Flowers. That was about the last thing she’d expected. But there they were, a big bouquet of carnations and some other strange, brightly colored things she didn’t recognize. She’d never been much for flowers. The FTD man was still there, leaning against the security desk and holding his electronic clipboard for her to sign.
“Are you sure these are for me?” she asked, taking the board from him.
“Are you Piper Mason?”
“Yeah, that’s me.”
“Then they’re for you. Here’s the card, if you’d like to double check.”
She took the envelope from him and opened it. The card seemed innocuous enough, with a picture on the front of a still-life fruit bowl. But inside, in a firm, rounded handwriting, it said, “You can’t get away from me that easily. I won’t hurt you. Go with it. Yours, not-Billy.”
Her mouth tight, Piper shoved the card back into the envelope and handed it to the FTD man. “I don’t want these flowers.”
“Yes, you do,” he said.
She stared at him. Suddenly he looked vaguely familiar—something about the set of his mouth, or the shape of his eyebrows. “I don’t want them.”
“You can’t get away from this. It’s the way things work.”
She snatched the clipboard from him and signed her name. “Fine.”
To her surprise, he touched her hand as he took the clipboard back. “See, that wasn’t so hard.”
His grin infuriated her beyond all reason. Repressing the urge to swear, she spun on her heel and stomped back to the elevator, leaving the flowers on the security desk.
* * * * *
She’d been paying attention last night, so she knew where to find the apartment. It wasn’t a bad place, and the neighborhood was decent, but she supposed stalkers could grow anywhere.
Angry, she pounded on his door. She hadn’t known what else to do. He’d sent her flowers, after all, not a box of dead bugs or a piece of his ear. The note hadn’t even been threatening. It certainly wasn’t enough to involve the cops. Plus she didn’t think he would hurt her, unless he managed to annoy her to death.
She knocked again, and finally the door opened. Taken aback, she lowered her fist.
The man who opened the door had blond hair, green eyes and a goatee. Except for the facial hair, he looked more like the FTD guy than the man she’d so enthusiastically fucked last night.
“I’m sorry—” she started, but he smiled.
“Hey, Piper. What can I do for you?”
She took a step back. “I don’t even know you.”
“Sure you do.” And suddenly, in barely the blink of an eye, he was Billy. Black hair, black eyes, cheekbones that could have been carved from marble. “Remember?” he said. Then he was the blond man again, with his green eyes and half-beard.
“What the hell?” Piper managed.
“Come in,” he said. “I’ll explain some things to you.”
TWO
It had been a very long time since he’d had to explain himself to anybody. A very long time since he’d even come close to screwing up this badly. But he’d botched things, and now he had to face the consequences.
Piper had come in the front door, but still stood only a few steps inside the room, tense and wary. He couldn’t blame her. She still seemed to be clinging to the theory that he was a stalker.
If only it were that simple.
“None of this makes any sense at all.”
“I know. Can I get you a drink?”
“No, thank you,” she said emphatically. “God only knows what you’d put in it.”
“I have no intention of drugging you, if that’s what you mean. I just thought you might be thirsty.”
“And why should I believe anything you say?”
He shrugged. “I can’t give you any good reason.”
“That’s great. I’m leaving.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t do anything about this one way or the other.” He went to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water. He held it out to her. “Sit. Please.”
She stared at him, wondering how he managed to look so familiar with his blond hair and green eyes. It was his hands, she realized. Everything else was different, but the hands were the same. She reached for the water, her fingers brushing his as she took it. The touch was the same, too, even in that feather-light contact. Her body went fiery, remembering the way those hands had worked her.
She took the water and stared at it, fighting the sudden, hot flood of need. She could have taken him right there on the kitchen floor. Her hand tightened hard on the water bottle. “I should go. I really, really should go.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Under normal circumstances I’d be out of your life by now.”
She made herself look at him. In his eyes she could see the memory of last night, even though they were green now instead of black.
“Don’t do this to me,” she managed, but wasn’t sure what she meant. What could he possibly be doing to her to make her hot and slick and ready for him? He was just standing there.
“I only wanted to make you happy for a little while. But I made a mistake. If I’d known Billy was dead I never would have given him to you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I know. You will, eventually. Right now just know that I meant you no harm then, nor do I mean you harm now. But we’re bonded now, and because you know what I am I can’t leave you. I have an obligation to you now.”
She was still holding the water bottle out in front of her as if, someday, she might drink it. “You don’t eliminate all witnesses?”
His smile was gentle. “No.”
Somehow, she managed to close her eyes. It broke some of the spell, and her body eased back to her control. “So what is this obligation?”
“My abilities are at your command. In return, you tell no one what I am.”
She opened her eyes again, focusing this time on his left ear. It seemed safer than his eyes. “How can I tell anyone what you are when I don’t know?”
“You know enough.”
“And what’s this ‘at your command’ crap? Are you like some kind of genie? Except instead of rubbing your bottle I rub your dick?”
“No, not really. Although you may, if you like. You seem to be pretty good at it.”
Her face went hot. “I don’t want a boy toy. When I’m in bed with a guy he needs to want to be there.”
“I don’t think that would be a problem. But this relationship needs to be conducted solely on your terms.”
“If it were on my terms, it wouldn’t exist in the first place.”
“That’s the only part I can’t change. It’s our code of ethics.”
“Our? What ‘our?’”
“Those like me.”
“There are others?” Could this possibly get any weirder?
“Let’s don’t talk about that.” He looked at her hand, still clutched on the cold plastic bottle. “Why don’t you drink your water?”
* * * * *
A few minutes later, she had drunk half the bottle of water and was sitting on his couch. She seemed calmer, but he could still sense her arousal. They’d experienced a deeper level of bonding last night than what usually occurred. He couldn’t exactly read her thoughts, but her emotions flitted around her like lacy butterflies. When the time came, he would be able to reach deeper, to find exactly what form would bring her arousal to its greatest heights. That was how he’d found Billy.
Right now her need for him had made him hot and hard. He hurt with it, but forced himself to concentrate.
“So,” she was saying, “do you have a name? What should I call you?”
“Trey,” he said.
“Okay then, Trey, how likely is it I can just go home right now and forget I ever saw you?”
“Not likely at all.”
“Then how are we supposed to arrange this deal? Are you going to, like, move in?”
“I don’t have to.”
She went on as if she hadn’t heard him. “Or maybe I should move in here. This is a pretty nice place.” She put her face in her hands. “This is crazy. It’s just nuts.” Then she looked up, spearing him with a glare. “How did you know about Billy?”
“I found him in your mind.”
“I’m sorry, what?” She sounded as angry as she did confused. “You’re fucking around in my head now?”
He slid closer to her, his arm along the back of the couch, his fingers not quite touching her shoulder. “I saw you last year, sitting alone in that bar. I felt your pain, your need.” He touched her black hair, the contact light as a breath. “I wanted to help you. It’s what I do. How I’ve chosen to use my gifts.”
“To dupe innocent women?” But she didn’t move away from his touch, even when he eased his fingers a little deeper into her hair.
“To bring healing. To ease pain. Yours was so—dark. So desperate.” His fingertips touched the nape of her neck. “My gifts allow me to see what you most desire. What would bring you the most comfort, the most pleasure, the deepest and most consuming arousal.” His hand was under her hair now, slipping down her back. Her breathing quickened. He remembered the way her skin had felt, hot and velvet-soft. “I stayed near you, as best I could, for the entire year, collecting the thoughts that skittered my way until I knew what form would give you the greatest relief from your pain.”
She was staring into his face, listening to his story, but her eyes had darkened with desire.
“So you could read my mind,” she said tonelessly, “but not well enough to figure out Billy was dead.”
His hand had reached her waist and cupped her there, fingers sliding under her shirt. She still hadn’t told him to stop. Nor had she pulled away. “Something like that.” The heat and softness of her skin were just as he remembered. “Tell me what you want, Piper. Tell me what you want right now.”
Her lip curled as she tried to sneer. “Brad Pitt.”
Hardly an original request. He smiled as his face shifted, shaping the full lips, the cheekbones. He added facial hair—women seemed to like this particular fantasy scruffy. And blond, or at least with blond highlights. He watched the sneer fall off her face, replaced by shock as he completed the transformation.
“Is this what you really want?” he said, and even the voice was right, soft and just throaty enough.
“No.” Finally she responded, pulling away from his hand where it rested against her bare back. “No. God, you’re creeping me out.”
“Then what do you want?”
“I don’t know. Do you have something…natural? Do you have your own face?”
“Not really.”
“Then just—anything. Anything but Billy.”
But her true preferences for this moment had bubbled to the surface just long enough for him to catch them. So he kept the blond hair but made it shorter, shifted his jaw to make it wider, changed the mouth just a bit, softened the cheekbones.
“I’ve seen that face before,” she said, her voice soft with shock.
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“I saw it in your head. Is this good?”
“Good God, yes.”
He had changed his body, too, making the musculature more prominent, but not overly so. It was a good, strong body, the kind women liked to see in a T-shirt.
“This brings you pleasure,” he said. He knew it was true. He could feel the renewed heat of her arousal. Could see it, almost, buttery gold against her skin.
“You’re easy on the eyes, that’s sure.”
He smiled. “Think about it. A different man every night. Two or three a day if that’s what you want. But still the same man.”
Her breath moved hot and fast between her lips. He leaned forward, feeling it on his face.
“What’s the catch?” she asked.
“You must tell no one who I am. Or, more importantly, what I am. In exchange for your secrecy, I would give you myself and my talents for your use.”
“For how long?”
He shrugged. “Forever. The secret is that important. This was the pact set down by our ancestors. My people have lived by it for hundreds of years.” He cupped her face in one hand. When she didn’t protest, he bent to kiss her. This body responded a little differently than Billy’s had, but with no less enthusiasm. He touched her lips with his tongue and she opened to him. The warmth inside her mouth tasted of breath mints. He savored the flavor, deeply and thoroughly, exploring the heat and textures of her mouth. Finally he drew back and smiled into her lust-dark eyes. “Do we have a deal?”
“Make me want to say yes,” she answered.
He smiled. “It’s what I’m best at.”
She trembled as he touched her face, tracing his finger down the line of her jaw. Fear leaked into the superficial connection he held. Leaning forward, he set his forehead against hers.
“It’s all right. I have no reason to hurt you.”
“I know.” Her voice shook a little, too. “It’s just—I don’t understand what you are.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Please don’t change again.”
“I won’t.” He shifted until his mouth found hers, moving softly, tasting. He outlined her lips with his tongue until she opened to him. The tip of her tongue touched his and he held perfectly still for a moment, holding only that small contact. Finally, she made a sound in the back of her throat and melted into him, her mouth hot and open under his.
He could always tell the exact moment when they accepted. Perhaps not everything he was—often they didn’t even know that—but when they accepted the possibility, and the moment.
Her fingers found the buttons on his shirt, which was a bit too tight after his last transformation. She undid them one at a time, then her hands slid between his skin and the cotton. She traced his ribs, then found his nipples, teasing them to hardness. His breath quickened in his throat and he could feel himself hardening already. He gave that area of his body a moment of his attention. He’d promised her he wouldn’t change again, but he did anyway. Only a little, though. An inch of length—make it two—a half-inch of diameter. He didn’t think she’d mind.
He changed himself as a matter of course, but he didn’t think there was a single thing he’d change about her. His hands found their way under her blouse, into her bra, until her nipples thrust hard against the center of his palms and she gasped, arching into him.
He loved human women immensely. Loved their infinite variety and the security of knowing they would stay the same and not morph into a completely different creature even as he made love to them. Now he molded her breasts gently, feeling the soft heft and weight of them, the rough texture of nipple and areola, the silk-soft skin of the breast itself as it mounded under his hand. She pressed back against his hands and he met her rhythm, letting her soft, throaty cries guide him.