Initiate and Ignite by Nevea Lane Page A

schooling taught her everyone has an anchor, whether it is a sound, a touch or a sight. She became a master of her own environment merely because having one place instead of many to rest her head became her anchor. Finding a studio which she could rent the apartment above, she believed, was fate. Her anchors of home and work came together in one place. The harmony she felt in her studio was a harmony she wanted each one of her clients to walk out with. She believed many of her clients needed her to be in complete control of her environment as well as theirs.
    While she knew she had to take on all different styles of clients in order to make ends meet, her passion was veterans suffering from PTSD. She’d seen subtle breakthroughs with a few of her clients, but with Xerxes, she wanted to see more than a subtle breakthrough. She took a quick shower and dried off. She draped a sheer black dress made of the best batiste material her mother could find over her svelte frame. For this particular session, she was delighted her mother had the lauded French taste and a flare for the exotic. The dress lay against her skin like it was painted on, but the folds of the fabric allowed her to move freely.
    Celine knew how to make even the most subtle changes to her facade thanks to years of watching her mother apply makeup according to the purpose of the evening.
    “Smoky eyes, dear, create sensuality by batting an eyelash.”
    She could almost hear mother’s strong accent in her ear as she dabbed a bit of kohl eyeliner around her eyes. She slipped on thin ballet flats and tiptoed back downstairs. A knock sounded as soon as her foot hit the last stair. Always punctual , she thought, as she shrugged her shoulders and opened the door.

Apprehend
    His eyes opened wide and the long look he gave her from head to toe made her shiver just a bit. At least she knew he appreciated her extra effort.
    “Um, we have a session today, don’t we Mademoiselle Beauregard?” He’d always called her by her proper name and even now, he looked very much the soldier with his ramrod straight posture.
    “Of course, but tonight, I’m just Celine. May I call you Xerxes?” she asked as she made a sweeping gesture for him to come in.
    “Please do,” Xerxes said as he walked into her studio and looked around. She’d pushed the massage table out of the way and left the middle of the studio bare, like a dance floor. The shades were pulled, the peaks of sunlight from the setting sun played cat and mouse with his dark features. The stubble on his chin looked a bit darker and his brown eyes appeared almost coal black.
    “Listen…” Xerxes began to speak before he even turned around, “…I don’t know how much these sessions are helping. I know they say there is no such thing as a lost cause, but I’m feeling more lost by the minute.”
    Xerxes shrugged his shoulders and let out a sigh. He ran his fingers through his hair and finally turned to face her. For a brief moment she saw his face relaxed, yet vulnerable. In a blink, that exposed part of him was gone and he fixed a blank stare on her.
    There he goes again, putting his emotions into a tightly sealed box, but not tonight soldier.
    “Let’s not focus on ‘fixing’ you. I don’t think ‘fix’ is the right word for you. I believe we need to relax you,” Celine said while moving slowly to the CD player hidden in the wall and let the flowing sound of Miles Davis Blue in Green fill the air. As the melodious horn filled the room, Celine closed her eyes to the music. Her hips swayed and she could hear the swish of her dress as she pirouetted and sashayed until her cheeks were warm. She opened her eyes, chanced a glance at Xerxes face, and noticed his lips pursed into a frown. A frown was not going to discourage her. His downturned mouth did make her notice for the first time, in the six months she had been seeing him, that he had the most kissable lips. Shaking her head slightly to halt the thoughts