Outing of the Heart by Lisa Ann Harper Page A

wanted this delicious creature, but knew the time was not yet. She would move in later, after sufficient softening.
At last she let her off the hook.
‘Okay, that’s it. I’m starving. I’ll go order us Chinese while you dress. Anything you don’t like?’
‘No. Whatever you choose is fine with me.’
Relieved to be finally finished with all this, Tenille gladly peeled off the top and skirt, leaving her in bra and panties, looking for her clothes which appeared to have been buried under everything.
‘Lost something?’
She jumped and looked up to see Devon standing in the doorway. Her immediate reaction was to cover her nakedness, but she held onto her cool and said only: ‘Can’t find my shirt.’
Devon approached and stood practically against Tenille, brushing her arm as she leaned forward to move some clothes out of the way. Shock rippled through her. A jolt to her whole body. She had to sink down to the bed, her knees so weak and watch Devon search for the rest of her things. How was she going to keep from throwing herself at this woman?
As Devon handed her her clothes, all she said was a whispered: ‘Thank you,’ in a flat tone, devoid of emotion, keeping her eyes averted and all her tumultuous feelings tightly bottled.
‘You’re welcome,’ the other sang out brightly, on top of the world.
Returning to the living room, she saw Devon had lit a cigarette and popped a beer. ‘Want one?’ holding up the can.
‘Could I have coffee, please?’
‘Sure thing.’ Devon set down her drink and before getting up clasped her hands and raised her arms above her head in a sensual stretch, showing off her supple body. It was for Tenille’s eyes. ‘Our food will be here in fifteen. I’ve got this fantastic new recording of Paco Pena. He’s playing with Eduardo Falu. It’s called ENCUENTRO. Would you like to hear it?’
She plugged in the coffeemaker then turned on the CD player. Her stereo equipment was housed in a handsome, converted Victorian chiffonier. Tenille couldn’t see the speakers, but the sound was rich. She handed over the cover as flamboyant music surrounded them; a sensual experience for the ears. Tenille selected the next disc featuring Dieguito, a young Flamenco singer who had hit the scene and was already an acclaimed artist; still only in his twenties. His strong voice, full of feeling, flowed into the room. He had begun singing in the tablaos of Madrid the liner notes explained, like bistros only dedicated to flamenco music. She felt he wasn’t just singing a story; his words searched for his innermost sensitivity and the music poured out his soul to the listening air. She read on: Cante Hondo … the style of his singing, is the purest expression of the Andalusian art; all fire and temperament. It spoke to Tenille, filling her with passionate longing. Although she didn’t understand the words, there was no need; the voice, the music, said it all.
Soon after eating Devon took her home.
‘Thank you for making my first day in the city such a pleasant experience. I really enjoyed myself. Thanks too, for the skirts. I feel very well set up. Only I do wish you would let me pay. They were parked at Tenille’s front walkway.
‘You’re very welcome. I enjoyed myself too and of course you won’t pay me. What nonsense.’ She put her hand over Tenille’s where it rested in her lap. ‘We’ll have to do it again some time.’
Such thrilling words, but Tenille said nothing, letting herself out.
‘See you Thursday.’
*   *   *
The next week passed in a whirl. It was so easy travelling to work. There was the luxury of a lie-in, not having to get up at six and everyone was happy she’d settled in so comfortably. At noon there was time to go to Bloor and Yonge to open a bank account. She chose Victoria and Grey Trust. They had been her bank in