Chapter Two

I think of Keven all the time—especially how he speaks my name, Teagan, with such affection I’ve never heard from any man. He reluctantly takes me to the extremes knowing I like it rough. But I like it best with him, of all my lovers because his face pours passionate sadness into me through his eyes. I saw him first on the beach with a hatchet in his hand. He’d been chopping wood and was scraping off pine tar and shavings. I’m sure I intruded on whatever contemplation he was in the midst of—he looked so very serious—but I couldn’t help myself reflecting on his expression.

His full head of wavy brown hair falls about his face, adding to the soft look of his lips and the tender blue of his eyes. His eyes are intensely haunting and they say so much about him. He’s generous, compassionate and stern. Charismatic and casual. But he is conflicted about what he won’t speak of to me. When we talked that first time, I told him who I was and how I didn’t want to make trouble. I just wanted a home for a while where I can smell flowers when I walk in meadows, and where the streams run clear, where I can run barefoot in the dirt and feel clean sand between my toes. I don’t think any explanation of myself would have mattered. He seemed to adore me from that first gaze.

We talked for several meetings. I told him about myself, about how I assist the newsmaker preparing his presses for the papers every Friday, and sell jewelry I make from things I gather from the shoreline—shells and rocks and petrified pieces of wood. I’ve sold them at market several times in the villages, usually bartering for food. At night I weave on the frame I built, making cloth from yarn and thread I buy on market days.

Keven’s talked about his childhood, but little about his present life, except his humble profession. He says there is not much to say. I’ve had a much more fascinating life—though he knows so little of the truth.

The day I invited Keven home to see my work, I thought he’d turn me down at first. But his eyes were as swept with lust as mine. And before I had a chance to show him the jewelry and fabric, he took me into his arms and kissed my lips. Those full, sweet manly ones preyed on mine, though I can’t say I didn’t welcome them. Considering the enthusiasm with which he tore at my dress and his utter awe of me, I wondered if it had been years since he was with a woman. When he untied my blouse, it drifted downward exposing my breasts, and my nipples instantly turned into pebbles before his aroused eyes. The half light of the afternoon brushed the surface givin