Sunday, December 7, 2008

Arrival of the Winter Were-Beast

Good late evening from the tame prairie, my Big Beautiful Cats...the Kougar is worn down to her clawed toesies by her long brutal, but successful trip into the little city. When the snows arrive and the temps are frigid, moi wishes the comfort of her meals without braving the nasty roads and traffic dangers. Just too darn *tail-slashing* bad the lovely late-fall sky with scudding streams of clouds was marred by the chemtrails playing a game of X marks the spot. However, the quarter moon hung high as an enchanting mist against the wintry blue sky...and later, once moi had returned home, the blue sky with scudding puffs of cloud, shone through the black-dark, nearly bare branches of an old and wise tree, a splendor that captivated the Kougar’s soul.

Just for the Big Cool Cats ~ from the Kougar’s WIP ~ Winter Were-Beast ~

“I do not believe this!” Krystal threw the tire jack, frustration owning her. Not hard, but hard enough that it jack-knifed the short distance and buried itself in the dirty snowbank. Clenching her fists, she shrieked, a restrained scream, then responsibly marched over to retrieve it. “I just had that damn tire fixed two effing days ago,” she snarled under breath. She plunged her ungloved hand into icy wetness. “Damn it to...” The crunching of re-frozen snow beneath the tires of an approaching vehicle halted her.
Grabbing the tire jack, her fingers threatening to become frostbitten, she tossed it back inside the toolbox, and dared to hope it was someone she knew, and could trust. All she needed, desperately needed, was a ride back into the small, art gallery town. As along as she could whip out her credit card, Jerry would obligingly tow in her middle-aged , faux wood-trimmed green van, the kind once adored by soccor moms before the latest models.
“Crap. Holy crap,” she whispered, recognizing the monster white SUV with all the bells and whistles men loved. It slowed down, stopping, rumbling a fine purr beside her tire-disabled van. The King of Art Galleries. As he was known in town because he owned three of them, partnered in four others, and created the kind of shaman-mystic art pieces snapped up by the East and West Coast buyers not to mention the parade of tourists from the area’s ski resorts grabbed them up as if they’d just bought back a piece of their soul.
How incredibly stupid, she reprimanded herself. She simply stood there practically gaping at him before he’d even stepped out, although the door was cracking open. Mentally arguing with herself over how she should address him, she watched him launch out the door with all the confidence of a man who was about to take charge. Most of the local women, especially the singles, called him ‘Rock’. Rather they sang it as if he held the secret to sexuality itself. As Jeannie, her gallery mentor, had said, ‘he looks like living breathing granite, or clay sculpted by Aphrodite’s hand, when she deigned to sculpt a lover’.
Although she’d always possessed an innate distrust of good-looking men, and avoided them like the proverbial plague, Krystal was not entirely immune to his over-the-top handsomeness. My God! He looked like a cross between a brawny Norse god and a sleek-racing Adonis. With skin of pale gold, with startling eyes of pale ice blue and a mane of hair that was the most unusual coloring she’d ever seen on a man. Platinum silver with thin streaks of raven black and larger streaks of deep red.
“Krystal,” he hailed her, his voice a deep virile rumble. She frowned at her flip-flopping insides. Shutting his door, he removed his mirror sunglasses, casually easing them in the pocket of his black ski jacket. From his attire he’d been on the slopes and was returning home or headed into town.
“Mr. Vhintner, got a flat tire. If you could just give me a lift...” Damn! he was huge standing right in front of her. Krystal had never actually been this close to him, even when he’d formally welcomed her to the Ninth Winds of Heaven Gallery six months ago, as one of their new artists.
“Let me take a look. Didn’t you have that repaired at Clark’s Auto Clinic?”
Geez! Talk about a piercing gaze. “Yep. Always do repairs on the van. No matter what. You know, better safe than sorry.”Hah, at least I wasn’t tongue-tied. And how the hell did he know about my tire?
Walking around her, he tromped on top of the snow she’d already tromped down into brown mush, her tall red leather boots proof of her desperate foray, and fortunately water-proof. Lowering down on his impressive haunches, his fantastically impressively muscled haunches, he gave the tire a cursory scan for a few moments, then stood, the epitome of graceful power.
“Whatever’s wrong, it wouldn’t inflate using the air compressor,” she offered, waving to the open panel door. “And I didn’t get any more of that inflation puff stuff...since I used it the last time.”
“Inflation puff stuff?” he repeated, approaching her, his mouth turning up in a small lazy grin.
Krystal dragged her gaze away from his gorgeous lips, and wished for an instant she was a portrait painter. “Whatever...” she shrugged one shoulder. “The foam inflation stuff.”
“You didn’t try to jack up your van up, did you?” His voice almost scolded, growled at her.
“Thought it might help,” she murmured, swivelling her face back to him. He stared down at the toolbox inside the van. With utter authority, he shut the door, then opened her passenger door, retrieving her purse and her large purple duffel bag.
“I’ll call ahead for a tow. Come on.” He took possession of her arm guiding her toward the SUV’s passenger door. It was like being handled by a sexy-as-sin gentle giant. Where the heck had her breath gone to? Disappeared into the rainbow ethers of her fantasy paintings. Krystal answered herself as she often did.
Handing her within, he patiently waited until she was settled before placing the duffel bag at her feet and the purse on her lap, then closing the door. Her breath stuck in her throat, Krystal followed his long strides to the other side.
What in amazing hell was she doing inside his SUV? The subtle scent of his cologne, his male-intoxicating scent aroused what she called her wanton hormones. Krystal clutched her purse as if it were some kind of magic shield destined to save her from his evil prowess. She nearly jumped when he opened the door, sliding into his seat with the languid grace of a Big Cat.
Weary, but warm kisses from the Kougar...

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