A growing wariness tempering anticipation, Jenny closed the oven door, checked the clock: five after six; she set the timer for ten to seven. Any moment now, Austin would come through the back door to one of his favorite dinners, and a wife and son looking forward to the Christmas holidays.
Passing through on her on her way to the parlor, she paused a moment, approving the dining room table Daniel had set with green and gold woven place mats he’d made in art class and a center piece she’d put together. Stretched out on the living room carpet, Daniel worked an animal kingdom puzzle while he watched a nature program. The channels he was allowed avoided war stories—mounting casualties, horrific images flashed on the screen? Her heart ached for the families of those dead and broken men.
“The table looks very Christmasy, Daniel,” she commented, reaching down to retrieve the plug beside a floor-to-ceiling blue spruce standing in the front window. Finding the socket, the tree burst into shimmering rainbows.
“Cool!” Looking up, a blaze of colors reflecting from his eyes, Daniel rolled over for a better view. “Dad will really like this tree, Mom. It’s the Grrrrreatest.” He rolled his r’s, like Tony the Tiger, a cartoon character he’d watched and mimicked.
She laughed, standing back to admire a magnificent tree, even without the decorations. “The Grrrreatest,” she agreed.
Daniel gave one of his enthusiastic nods. Returning to his puzzle, he fit a pivotal piece leading to a chain of others. Quite amazing, her son‘s skills, she thought. The thousand-piece puzzle had been a gift from Grandma Ivy. Recalling last Thanksgiving, she retraced her steps back through the dining room.
Hosting her first, family holiday had been a rite of passage. Lita and Clay flew in from Seattle; a caravan driving from Welborne, and along with the Tracys, more than a dozen relatives had gathered at her table. For the first time in her life, she felt fully grown. A turning point settling more deeply as the days passed.
Everyone had been on their best behavior that holiday; Austin, a gracious host. The men and boys watched football, or played games, while “the Hamlin Ladies”—Austin’s words of affection referring to the women in her family—saw to it that everyone was well-fed. He liked her family, though for Austin, large family gatherings had always been stressful. Calmed for a time undercurrents troubled their marriage; undercurrents too often whipped into a tidal wave.
A short six months before, they’d moved into their first house with high hopes, grand plans, and a sparse amount of furnishings: a few good pieces they’d purchased or been given, leftovers from a decade of apartment living. To breathe life into this fine old place, Austin had given her a budget, otherwise free reign. Still, she wanted his approval for the major projects, beginning with carpet samples. He liked a beige with scattered leaves in a kaleidoscope of colors. Rugs went down on hard woods, extending up the staircase and into the master bedroom. As she went, she picked up hues for drapes and upholstery.
Uncovering timeless treasures in wicker or mellow woods, she and Robin scoured the local used furniture and antique shops. Peg knew a man who did upholstery and repair. And she used native baskets—all sizes and shapes—she’d collected through the years.
Pulled together as the holidays approached, Robin remarked that together they’d developed a real talent for an urban-country look. “When do we start on my place?” Up to that moment, they’d been giving Robin’s place a “New Look.” Creative endeavors had side-tracked Jenny’s often troubled thoughts through much of these past months.
Back in her comfortable kitchen, she took a cut of foil from the roll, wrapped the dinner rolls. On Monday that week, Austin had gone out of town; today was Thursday—the usual length of his business trips two weeks out of the month. Departures and homecomings would by now be routine, except their lives had not been routine in the months they’d tried to put their marriage back together. On the surface, it was working. The underside held tensions they hadn’t known before.
At the time they reconciled, she’d set no conditions, nor had he. Though he admitted that constant travel had put a strain on him and on their marriage; a condition he intended to remedy without a great deal of success.
For a good many weeks, she’d buried Pam. Over time, in unguarded moments—like a specter from a graveyard—the image of Pam, her taunts; the pain of knowing an infidelity. “Get back in your grave, bitch!” A strong will kept a painful memory buried.
One night in their bedroom, a full three months after the move, she’d been watching Austin. The sight of him undressing had always brought a warm rush. This night, unexpectedly, Austin with Pam—the way they must have been together—flashed before her eyes. She couldn’t hold back the crushing pain that made her turn away. Seductive fingers gliding down her back, she froze—a reflex she couldn’t control.
He stepped away, turned abruptly, walked across the room, the flat of his hand striking the wall. Restrained as the smack had been, the muffled thud turned her belly, the air in their bedroom bristling with heightened emotions.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I don’t want to think ... remember.” He knew what had come between them.
A hand wiped a sullen face; no change in his expression. He took up his sleep pants; shook them, ferociously, before pulling on one leg then the other. “I’ll sleep in the quest room.”
She faced him. “I’ll go.” Darting from the room, she fled down the hall. When the door closed behind her, tears smarted. Unable to sleep, she lay in the quest room bed. What had passed between them, had been far too explosive; a cooling off needed.
The next morning, Daniel had left for school before Austin walked into the kitchen. Had he planned it that way? She poured a fresh mug of coffee for him, placing it on the table.
“Do you know what happens to me when you freeze up like that?”
She couldn’t respond. Shame, empathy flooding through her. She looked into his eyes; etched there, pain, like her own.
“I see red.” Pacing, he stopped at the window, gazed into a lifting fog. “I was a fool. … That’s hard for a man to accept.”
“You’ve been good to me, Austin. I want to be with you.”
Confronting her, he questioned, “Then why let her get between us?”
Why? As if she could prevent what happened the night before. She must keep Pam buried. “It won’t happen again,” she vowed, then came second thoughts. “I mean—”
“I thought we’d put that behind us,” he interrupted, coming to the table. “Last night was a shocker.” He took up his mug of coffee. A big swallow seemed to calm his anger. Silence. His mood softened. “I know I’m the one to blame here. I can’t expect to get off scot-free.”
They stood apart, but in his eyes she saw a need for reassurance. “We’ve had good times … wonderful moments. There will be more wonderful moments.”
Their eyes held, an understanding forming. “We need a getaway,” he said. “And soon.”
A romantic getaway inspired so many thrilling memories. A smile came to her face. “Yes, soon.”
But the holiday had come and gone. They didn’t find the time.
In the past few months, Jenny had fallen into an avocation she enjoyed. Austin insisted she give up the new venture. Giving in to his demands would be repeating past mistakes.
Their arguments become more frequent and heated until they could no longer shield Daniel. For his sake, and their own, they’d buried their differences, allowing them to fester unresolved. Lately, she felt off-balance. She thought Austin must be feeling the same, though he would seldom put his feelings into words. He’d been edgy and irritable; at other times, cold and distant. And then, there were the times he held her so fiercely; she had to struggle free in order the get her breath.
Thanksgiving had been a turning point for her. This week could be another. She’d planned a few quiet days’ vacation, only to discover that Austin had made other plans. And so she’d made concessions. And in the coming New Year, she would keep Pam in her grave.
If only the insanity of war would end. That peace would settle on the planet and on her home. A true peace without capitulation—that ambiguous word tossed about in the media. What did it mean? Countries war, inflict cruelty, horrific suffering, until one surrenders. Marriage is meant to be give and take. Not one partner ruling the other, as Austin had ruled her. That had to change. She’d set about to make that happen; doing so much more difficult than she’d expected.
Deep in thought, she opened the fridge, took out greens for a salad. In spite of the skirmishes with Austin, she’d been content since that golden afternoon they’d come together in this house; a sense of pure euphoria when he told her his decision. He’d swept her into his arms so abruptly, held her so close, she couldn’t breathe. To break his grip, she’d taken hold of his hands, stepped back.
A studied look came to his face. “I’m moving too fast.”
“Yes,” taking in a full, deep breath. “I mean ... I think I understand. You’re taking over the Pittsburgh office. You’ll be living here.”
“Right! And you said.” He gripped her hands as his eyes swept the empty room. “You want to live here with me.” A shaky grin broke across his face.
Keeping him at arm’s length, she clarified. “Is this,” her eyes swept the empty room, “what you want?”
“I’ll let you make that decision.”
Disappointment replaced euphoria. She dropped his hands, turned away, walking to the window. A murky dusk had fallen across the magical gardens. She turned back. “I had hoped we could make it together ... this time.”
He inhaled so intently, she felt drawn into his mixed emotions. “Okay. We’ll do it together.”
Was appeasement in order? For how long? And was appeasement what she wanted? Things were moving too fast.
Austin took the reins back into his hands. “Buying a house is a big step. We should sleep on it, at least. ... Do we need another walk through?”
Sleep on it. Together. Her heart leaped into her throat, the excitement of wanting to be with him overpowering. Coming over her then fading, a sudden wariness remembering the reason they’d parted; wariness clung to the edges of her thoughts. That golden afternoon, she had put her hand in his. “Yes, another walk through.”
Later, seeing him with Daniel, she’d been even more certain: coming back together would be right, and good. Austin had let down his guard with Daniel. There were tears in his eyes, and hers. Even now, remembering brought thickening into her throat as she sliced tomatoes for the salad she’d put together.
They’d left Daniel with the Tracy’s, headed for a small cafe Austin said was on the way to the inn where she’d made a reservation. He was starving. She had no appetite; her head so full of plans, and uncertainties—too vague express.
Pulling away, he glanced into the rear view mirror. “Danny doesn’t know about us.”
He meant the reason for the separation. “I don’t want him to know. I didn’t confide in anyone, except Robin.” He’d confided in Rich, and they’d grown close these past weeks.
His jaw set granite hard; Austin glanced her way then back to the road ahead. A moment later he posed the question she’d been dreading. “You’re coming back to me because of him?”
She swallowed the lump in her throat, took a shallow breath. “Yes… and for me. Mostly for me.” Unguarded feelings rising to the surface, “I can’t leave you, Austin. I love you.”
He kept his eyes fixed on the road, though his expression softened. He said nothing until he’d stopped for a signal. “I ... ahhhh.” He cleared his throat. “I don’t say this often enough. I love you.” He turned questioning eyes to her. “You do know that?”
She smiled, “I do.” Reaching out a trembling hand, she touched his face. He took her hand, kissed her fingers, their eyes held. A warm rush. The pull as strong as moon tide swelled between them, drew them close enough to kiss.
HONK! HOOOONK!!! An impatient driver in the car behind. The light had changed. Startled, they broke apart.
“Killjoy,” Austin sputtered. He shifted gears, drove on. And at the restaurant, taking charge, he ordered wine, two, light entrees. A bored waiter took their menus, stepped away. Soft light and music, past the dinner hour, few tables were occupied.
His eyes fixed on the table where his fingers drummed a crisp white covering. After a moment, he leaned in close. “Do we have to talk about that incident, ever again?”
That incident; a twinge, she winced, shook her head. She didn’t want to talk about that incident any more than he did. “I was confused ... and hurt.”
The waiter brought wine, two glasses, poured a sample for Austin’s approval. “It’s fine.” Her glass was poured. He waved the waiter off, turned his wine glass in his fingers, thoughtfully. Then with a steady gaze, he looked into her face. “I promise you, you’ll never have reason to doubt me again.”
A commitment she longed to hear disarming. Could words erase the pain of these past weeks? She trembled, pushed pain into a corner. Disconnected from pain, she could be more circumspect. “If you ever want your freedom, I would let you go.”
“I don’t want my freedom.” His eyes held hers, a powerful gaze. “We have something ... rare.” Reaching for her hand, he closed his fingers around hers. “I can’t give you up.”
She wanted to believe him; she felt the same.
He relaxed, leaning back in his chair. “I knew you were unhappy in Chicago. I let it ride, hoping it would pass. I wasn’t making you happy, and I regret that.”
She admitted she felt trapped behind the gates and walls. He’d been away so much, and he’d been distracted, and she’d been lonely. And there was the baby she couldn’t conceive and couldn’t talk about without losing her composure. Not here.
He said he’d let his work take over too much of his life. They needed more time together: the major reason he’d decided a job change was for the best. He raised his glass. “To us.”
‘Us.’ That warm rush that could push her to the edge and over rippled on the taste of lush, red wine.
Their entrees came, and while they ate they talked about the house, the neighborhood and Daniel, but came to no conclusions; only an assumption that they would live together as they had before this wrenching separation. He ordered coffee, told the waiter, bring the check. Their eyes kept meeting, as if there were more to be said. They’d run out of things they could discuss in a public place.
This was the man with whom she’d fallen helplessly in love. Sure of himself, and what he wanted. Yet beneath the surface, as vulnerable as she was. Their reunion would be wild and sweet, the way she wanted it to be.
A short drive to the Inn, a Colonial-style motel, bathed in flickering lamplight suspended from a grove of towering elms, the Green Tree Country Inn sat on an upward slope within a park-like setting. A copula and weather vane graced the gabled roof. Homey, she thought, pulses pounding rapid and strong.
“It’s not the Marriott, but it’ll do.” Austin commented dryly, as they pulled into the parking lot found a spot near the brightly lit office. He turned off the ignition gathered his thoughts. “It’s a little late for check in. Did you guarantee?” He turned eyes on her face.
Looking into his eyes, she nodded. “I used the credit card.”
“Are we registered as a couple?”
Did he need to be sure she wouldn’t reject him? A pull as strong as moon tide, she drew a steady breath, let it go. “I’ve missed being with you so much.”
Confidence in a grin that spread across his face, he said, “Same here.”
Austin left the car, stepped into the office, returned with a key.
Standing there, at the counter in her kitchen, her heart ruling her head, she heard the music, felt the rhythms—pulsing water, throbbing warmth. “Mmm.” Sensations made her tingle. She could almost recapture the power within only he could unleash—blissful memories she clung to when he was away. Or passing through this “rough patch”—Austin’s euphemism for their differences; the silent chill conflicts engendered.
When she and Daniel spent time at the lake, Austin grew sullen for a time. Then he’d come out of his dark mood, only to flare at an innocent disagreement. Coming from her evening bath on a night in Indian summer, she’d stepped through their bedroom doorway closing the door with a faint click of the latch. Standing in the window fixed on the night sky, he gestured.
She moved to his side, stroking the muscles in his back. In turn, he circled her in an affectionate hug, brushed a lock from her forehead. “Ahhh, you smell good.”
“Honeysuckle.” They were caught in the glow of a full golden circle set in a hallo of flickering stars.
Look at that moon … seems close enough to touch.”
Caught in the pull of moon tide, desires surged. “Mmm hum, Grandmother Moon.”
“What?” His arm dropped away. “Ha!” he scoffed. “That’s a Harvest moon.”
Accepting, a difference of perception, his comment went unchallenged.
He stepped away, yanked the cord, closing the blinds. Darkness filled the room as he stalked out the door and down the stairs.
Stunned, the sting of rejection froze her to the spot. Moments later she was able to crawl into their bed, pull up the covers.
In the night a sound awakened Jenny. The clock on the nightstand read: 4:10 AM. Beside her Austin adjusted the covers. “Did you call my name?”
“Yeah.”
Sleep confused, she turned to face the haunted look in his eyes.
He cleared his throat. “What is it you want up there … on the reservation?”
His question like a startling, thump in the night, she couldn’t put yearnings into words. “I … I don’t know,” she mumbled. Roots, she thought.
“I’m telling you now,” he paused, his jaw set hard, “I don’t want you … you and Danny to go there.” He closed his eyes; end of discussion.
She curled fetal. Was this a dream?
The following night in their bedroom, cautiously, she pulled out thorns that had tormented her throughout the day. “Last night you told me you don’t want—”
“I asked you why you were going there … taking my son.” Roughly he hauled a t-shirt over his head; sleep pants one leg at a time.
Our son. She raised the covers, climbed into bed. ‘We go to the lake to visit Gramps,” Calmly, she began. “The reservation is nearby.”
“Soooo?”
Disapproval put her on defense. “Daniel’s friend, the clan, we visit with them.”
“Getting more and more involved, it seems to me.”
A pause while she considered. “Most of the festivals are open to the public these days. You could come with us.” She brightened, hopeful of a positive response.
Flaring, he lashed out. “Our life is here!”
She let the discussion cool. After a moment she expressed her feelings. “There is a sense I have there, on the land, at the festivals, with the people. A connection with the past.”
He grunted disapproval. “The past is gone … dead … buried. Let it go!”
He turned out the light, Climbed in beside her. Side by side, darkness engulfing them, she felt alone with the painful rift growing between them.
Jenny opened her eyes, her thoughts returning to the task at hand. Pulling plastic from the roll, she covered the salad bowl, placed it in the fridge. Drying her hands on a kitchen towel, she moved to the window. The gauge outside read thirty degrees and dropping. Snow clouds swirled overhead; the ground a parched brown thatch in need of moisture. She hoped Austin would arrive before the snow began to fall and nightfall was complete. The shortest hours of daylight this time of year, so many preparations.
Austin’s absence had given her and Daniel an opportunity to shop, wrap gifts, find a tree and decorate. Pine cones, red and gold ribbons, evergreen boughs—fresh-cut from the yard—adorned the archways and windows. She hoped Austin would be pleased. Hoped. No way of knowing or predicting his strangely shifting moods.
The most unpleasant episode had taken place the weekend of the Harvest Festival at Indian Lake. For months, she and Daniel looked forward to the storytelling and performance of the Iroquois social dances; a seasonal gathering of the clans. The previous year in council, it had been decided to encourage cultural visits on reservation. Non-Indians could now attend the celebrations, get to know the Seneca ways. They’d asked Austin to go with them. A wave of dismissal, he said he had a golf date.
Since the move had been accomplished, she and Daniel made several trips to Indian Lake, though she knew that Austin didn’t approve. “Too dangerous on the road these days, even in daylight hours,” he said. His protective nature working overtime, she decided, though she knew: the lake was somehow threatening to her husband—a man so worldly-wise and confident in most circumstances.
The Harvest celebration lasted much longer than she expected. They were having such a good time, she hadn’t thought of leaving before the final event. On the drive home, fog—thick as applesauce—moved in. Several times she pulled to the shoulder allowing bewildered deer or woodland animals to cross the highway in safety, and in hopes the fog would lift. It didn’t.
A few weeks before, Austin hit a frightened doe one dark night on the same fog-bound road. The badly injured animal had struggled to her feet and stumbled off into the woods where she was swallowed in the undergrowth. A buck will stand and fight when injured, lash out with his powerful antlers. A doe will find seclusion, suffer and die, alone.
That night, driving cautiously, Jenny had kept to the road. No services were open, no phones available to travelers. Daniel helped navigate the most perilous stretches. Stressed out and exhausted, it was nearly midnight when they finally made it home.
Austin was livid. “I was sure you had an accident! I called the highway patrol,” he sputtered, worry and the heat of anger showing on his face.
She’d never seen him quite so fierce, but kept her voice calm. “We’re fine. The only thing we ran into was fog,” she explained, trying to lighten an ugly moment.
Ram-rod stiff and silently glowering, he paced the length of the living room and back.
“There was frightened wildlife along the road. I had to be careful.” She was about to remind him of the doe he’d hit. “You know—”
“Wildlife!” he shouted coming up short. “And how much thought did you give to my son’s safety? As much as your precious wildlife?”
Startled by his father’s outburst, Daniel stood motionless. The review he’d planned to give his dad forgotten.
“Our son,” Jenny reminded Austin. Then turning to Daniel, she said, “You have school tomorrow. You’d better—”
“Get to bed, son,” Austin barked. “Your mother and I have something to settle.”
Daniel took the steps two at a time without looking back.
Too enraged to speak, Austin paced, fist clenched, his face an angry mask.
Warn out, her legs wobbly as a young fawn’s, Jenny dropped down on the edge of the couch. An apology was in order. “I am sorry we made you worry. I should have tried to find a phone. Next time, I’ll plan more carefully.”
“Next time!” he flared, turning on her abruptly. “Ohhhh, Noooo. You’re not doing this again. Not to me, not to Danny.”
The state he was in, she couldn’t reason with him. “Austin, you’re upset, and I’m exhausted.” If this argument continued, they’d both say things they’d regret. “Can’t we talk about this tomorrow?”
As if he didn’t hear, he continued pacing, raging on. “You and Danny run off, go native every chance you get. I should have put my foot down long ago.” His back was to her, then he spun around, eyes darkly menacing. “NO MORE INDIAN LAKE!”
The impact of his words made her heart race, and she trembled. “Are you saying ... you won’t let us go to Indian Lake?”
He looked her in the eye. “I won’t let you put my son in harm’s way. I forbid it! And you’re not going either. Is that plain enough for you?”
‘Forbid it,’ left no doubt. She felt as if he’d struck her. She could stumble in the dark woods, suffer like the injured doe he’d plowed into on the road, or ... Bristling, she shot to her feet. “You can’t do this to me, Austin. I won’t take it. ... Is that plain enough for you!”
From a few feet away, stunned, he glared at her for what seemed an eternity. She stood her ground. At last, turning away, he threw his hands in the air, muttered, “What has happened to the girl I married.”
‘Girl.’ Smarting and disheartened, Jenny turned away. That’s what she was to him: a girl, a child. Trembling with indignation, she fled through the archway to the staircase. I am not a child, she thought, defiance in each step she took. This time his thoughtless comment wouldn’t go unchallenged. Two steps up, she turned, her eyes level with his, her voice strong and clear. “The girl you married is a woman now.”
Austin sulked. He stayed away mostly, telling Daniel he had to keep on top of several orders about to close. He knew Daniel would keep her apprised of his father’s whereabouts. He was using Daniel as a go-between. She didn’t like it, and she told him so. He avoided her eyes, turned away, went silent.
On rare nights when they slept in the same bed, he would turn his back, not touching her, or letting her touch him. Her attempts at making up would be of no avail. She knew the moving force would have to come from him.
Their infrequent conversations were polite and cool when Daniel was nearby; curt and snappish when he wasn’t. He said that since she’d cut her hair she’d grown a hard shell. Her hair, from the first time he’d seen the “Twiggy Look,” a point of contention between them. He didn’t ask her not to have it cut again; he told her. “Let it grow long.”
She said she’d like to keep it shoulder length.
He sneered, and accused her of punishing him in any way she could.
“Why would I?”
“You know why.”
She turned away. “You have the guilt’s,” she murmured, not wanting him to hear, but unable to control her tongue.
He heard and walked out, slamming the door behind him.
She hated the way they were treating each other. She hurt. Too often, she lashed out. Confronted and confused, he retaliated. She wouldn’t let him rule her. Nor would she let him sway her from the path she walked—precariously still—though more determined as the months passed.
Inclement weather, the White Season on reservation, called a halt to pilgrimages. A respite allowing tempers to cool and wounds to heal—if wounds would heal. The hurt they’d caused each other left scars on the heart, crippled the spirit. And Daniel. What was their hostility towards each other doing to him?
On a Friday evening the first week of November, she and Austin had to keep a long-standing commitment for dinner at the Petroleum Club and a performance of Barefoot in the Park by a local theater group. The date was with the Duncans, George, a VIP at one of Austin’s top-tier customers, his wife, Patricia, a patron of the theater group.
Peg did Jenny’s hair adding the fall Austin liked, and she wore the ivory, silk dinner suit he’d given her the previous Christmas—small but notable concessions. She hoped he’d understand her meaning: she didn’t want to fight, or punish him. As his wife, she wanted to be by his side.
That Friday afternoon, George Duncan signed a letter of intent regarding the order Austin had been shepherding for months. He was in a mellow mood through dinner and the play: a provocative, romantic comedy deserving several curtain calls and a standing ovation.
On the street outside the theater, they said good night to the Duncans. Walking to their car, guiding her one way or the other, his hand crept into the small of her back. The touching, she believed, more planned than accidental. And the stir it caused within her, not anger, expectation. On a clear November night, Jenny wished upon the shining stars above, a meltdown was in progress.
Daniel was spending the night at the Tracy’s—an absence she’d planned. They would be alone. While he locked up, she climbed the stairs to their bedroom, and slipped out of her clothes. From her drawer she took the flesh-tone nightgown that had a carnal history carried the nightgown to the bathroom where she drew a tepid bath.
Her body ached. Restraining lovers defied the laws of nature. This abstinence had to end. She would make their coming together as painless as she could—was he willing? There was reason to hope, she decided, toweling off, applying soothing lotion.
Padding down the hall—her senses elevated, her bare feet skimmed the carpet—her body seemed to float. In pajamas, an open jacket exposing a muscular chest, Austin stood in the window searching the darkness—the way he often did when he was mulling a decision. She yearned to touch him, let nature lead the way. She dare not step across the line he’d drawn.
The room teamed with possibilities and dangers. The wrong move or look or word: disaster. The right ones...
She took the pins from her hair and let it fall, running her brush through the tangles. In the mirror, she caught his refection from the corner of her eye. He turned from the window, watching her a long, tense moment before he cleared his throat. She put down her brush, turned toward him. Breaking the silence, she observed, “It was a nice evening,”
“Yeah, very enjoyable.” His voice trailed off, the hardness gone. “The Duncans like you,” he began, satisfaction in his tone. She knew the impression she made was important to him.
“Mmm, I like them.”
He looked away, shifting his weight from one bare foot to the other. “This rough patch we’ve been going through ...” Again he shifted footing, and then, as if making a hasty decision, he focused keen eyes on her face. “Let’s forget it.”
She drew in a sharp breath. Until he took a step in her direction, she couldn’t be sure of his intentions, “It’s forgotten.” She spanned the gulf between them, or he did. She could remember clearly the pleasant ache his touch engendered.
His hand smoothed her hair, drifting down her back as though long hair were there. “I miss this.” He drew her into his arms, taking in her fragrance. “Ahh, never could resist the way you smell.”
She stroked his chest, the smell of him irresistible. Touching her nose to his, she whispered, “That was the plan.”
“It worked.” A raspy chuckle rising from his throat, his lips touched hers, their kiss thrilling. Strong, seductive hands moved over her. Her body yielded, as though they’d never been apart. Moving together to the music, lovers on the edge, living in the moment; a woman alone could never bring about an ending so intensely, fulfilling. “Magical,” she whispered. His power made the magic.
Surprising how amorously they came together after the rancor of those past weeks. And it troubled her how easily she could be taken over, conquered by desire, consumed with passion.