by Eden Bradley
She could not see him again. He got under her skin too much. Made her open up. Open up to him, open up inside. He made her remember Ben, her first love. Her only love. The beginning of her obsession.
And the intense pain of loss. She didn’t want to remember how that felt. But she couldn’t help it now.
Ever since she’d met Jagger, she was coming apart inside, in some beautifulland utterly terrifying way.
The kettle whistled, startling her out of her dark musing. She turned the stove off, poured the steaming water into her cup, and stood watching it steep, trying to get her mind to calm, her body, which was still buzzing with the aftereffects of orgasm after orgasm.
She shook her head in the empty room. She had to stop thinking about him, and she couldn’t do it here.
It was too quiet. She was too alone. She needed to get out, maybe walk in the park or go down to the beach and watch the cold, crashing waves. If she stayed in the house one more minute, she was going to pick up the phone, call him, ask to see him.
Taking her tea, she went into the bedroom to get dressed, and only a few minutes later she was in her car, her tea mug cradled in the cup holder in the center console. She sipped as she drove, stillunsure as to where she wanted to go, what she wanted to do with her day. And her heart was stillbeating at a million miles an hour.
There was a great bookstore down by the wharf.
She could lose herself for hours in there. Maybe she’d try to find a new cookbook for her collection.
She turned onto Van Ness, shifted as she climbed the hill and headed toward the bay.
She was surprised at how hard it was to find a parking space, then remembered there was a farmers’ market around the corner on Sunday mornings. Maybe she’d wander through there before hitting the bookstore. Finally a spot opened up and she pulled in, slipped into her jacket, and grabbed her purse as she stepped out into the foggy morning air, heavy with salt this close to the ocean. She could hear the low murmur of the crowd two blocks away, the strumming of a guitar as she passed one of the locallstreet musicians and threw a dollar into the cup at his feet.
She reached the rows of tented booths and wove between the throngs of people. There was color everywhere: piles of vegetables and fruits, stacks of homemade bread, jams, honey. And there were flowers at every stand, it seemed.
She stopped to buy some gorgeous purple Japanese eggplants, a bouquet of fresh basilltied with string, a small bunch of Roma tomatoes. Such a lovely distraction, the sights and smells, the people.
She was beginning to calm down, her pulse slowing, even if Jagger’s face was in the back of her mind the entire time.
She shook her head, trying to rid herself of his image, the scent of him, the taste of his skin stilllingering on her tongue…
“Mia Rose?”
Her heart slammed into her chest like a hammer blow.
God.
“Jagger. What are you doing here?”
He seemed momentarily stunned. Well, so was she.
“What am I doing here? What are you doing here? Is this where you went when you left this morning?”
“What? No, of course not. I just got here. I just…”
But what could she say? She’d crept away while he was sleeping. It had felt necessary at the time. She realized now it had been rude, at the very least.
“Jagger, I’m sorry. I couldn’t…I had to leave.”
He nodded his head, his face somber. Had she hurt him?
“Yeah, it’s alright. No problem.” He paused, ran a hand over his hair. “I was just wondering what happened to you.”
“Well, I’m fine, as you can see.”
What a lie that was.
He nodded. “Yeah.”
They stood in an uncomfortable silence while her pulse fluttered in her veins.
Finally he asked, “Do you want to get some coffee?”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
He was silent for a moment, his softening gray gaze on her face. Then he said quietly, “Come on, Mia Rose. I know why you left. I probably would have, too, if it hadn’t been my house.”
Her face went hot. “What are you saying?”
“That this is scaring the shit out of me, too.”
She had to look away, to look at the ground. What he’d said was all too true. And she felt like an absolute coward. Brave of him, to be so honest. He was a hell of a lot braver than she was. Maybe more grown-up about the whole thing, despite being so much younger.
“Mia Rose.” He said her name softly. And it reminded her of the way he’d whispered to her in the middle of the night before pulling her into his arms, kissing her, pushing into her body. She shivered, gooseflesh rising on her skin.
Looking at him, she caught his gaze. God, his eyes were beautiful, like two pieces of quartz in the morning light.
“I don’t want us to run away from each other, Mia Rose. Can we…just not do that? I understand why you left, at least on some level. I know why I want to run. And I want to talk to you about it. I don’t know why.” He paused, ran a hand over his hair once more. “Lord, I know I’m not making sense.”
“No, you are. And you’re right. I am scared, Jagger.
Of a lot of things.”
He took her hand, folded his fingers around hers, and squeezed. She wanted to cry suddenly. And when he pulled her in she didn’t resist, didn’t pullaway when he bent his head and gently kissed her lips. Instead, she inhaled, took the scent of him into her body, leaned into him. Let it feellgood.
His voice was low, as gentle as his kiss. “Come on. I could really use some coffee.”
“Okay.”
She let him lead her away, through the crowds of people, past the booths of produce. She left her hand in his, let them both have this moment of tentative connection that was so unfamiliar to her.
She couldn’t stop being afraid, not entirely. But for now, she could simply let things be between them.
Somehow Jagger admitting his fears made her own a little easier to handle. It was a revelation to her, that sharing her fears seemed to make them fade into the background.
Jagger was a revelation to her on severalllevels, and she had a feeling she’d only scratched the surface of who he was, what he had to offer. And for the first time in too many years, she gave herself permission to find out.
The telephone rang, waking Karalee from a deep, dreamless sleep. She rolled over onto her stomach, her arms and legs achy, but pleasantly so. She smiled to herself, remembering the night before with Gideon: in the parking lot, and then again here at her house. He was even rougher with her in bed than he was when they were in public, as though he needed that when the element of risk, of being discovered, wasn’t there. Not that she minded.
She grinned to herself as she picked up the phone.
“Hello?”
“Karalee.”
Gideon.
Her sex gave an involuntary squeeze simply hearing his voice.
“Hi. Good morning.” Oh yes, she could almost feellhis hands on her again. She shivered.
“What are you doing?”
“I just woke up. You kept me up untillafter three. I didn’t even hear you go, I was so tired.”
“How soon can you be ready?”
“For what?”
A long pause, and then, “You don’t really think I’m going to answer that, do you?”
She laughed. “Give me thirty minutes. Where shall I meet you?”
“I’ll pick you up.”
He hung up and she rolled onto her back, let her hands drift down her body, pausing to cup her breasts. They were heavy, wanting, her nipples two hard peaks beneath her own fingertips. Jesus, he’d turned her into a nymphomaniac.
Slipping her hands between her thighs, she brushed her mound. She was swollen and wet already. But she didn’t have time to indulge her needs. Besides, she knew Gideon would take care of those later. He always did. How decadent to know she had that to look forward to.
She’d done it many times before. That sprayer was a single woman’s best friend. But it was also too tantalizing to force herself to wait for Gideon.
She got through her shower and dried her hair, pulled on a silk camisole and matching thong in a pale shade of blue that looked good against her skin, topped it with a pair of jeans and a sweater in the same shade as her lingerie. She wrapped a narrow, cream-colored scarf around her neck, slipped on a pair of brown leather boots, and at exactly the appointed time, her doorbell rang.
She opened the door, her wallet and her short tan leather trench coat already in hand.
Gideon looked great, as always. He was casually dressed today, in khaki cargo pants and a fisherman’s sweater. But he still looked sophisticated, like something out of a Ralph Lauren ad.
“Good, Karalee, you’re ready.”
He smiled, that dashing smile. Such an old-fashioned word, but he really was dashing. Like some old-time film star.
“I wouldn’t think of keeping you waiting.” She smiled as she said it, but it was true. Gideon had an air of command about him she couldn’t resist. She didn’t want to.
He offered her his hand; she took it and let him lead her out to the car. He opened the door for her, handed her in, and she loved the gallant gesture, as she loved everything he did.
He got in and pulled into the street. She watched him as he drove, the way he handled the car with the same assurance with which he did everything else.
The way he shifted gears seemed purely sexuallto her. She could watch him all day if she didn’t need so badly for him to touch her.
“So, not even a clue, Gideon?” she asked him.
He turned to her, smiled. He didn’t say a word.
She sighed, shook her head at him. But she knew she’d find out soon enough.
They drove up Fulton Street alongside Golden Gate Park, then he made a turn into the park itself, wound between long expanses of green beneath the ancient eucalyptus trees. She rolled down the window a little so she could smell them, the pungent perfume that seemed to be released whenever the air was damp, which was much of the time in San Francisco.
“They smell good, don’t they?”
She turned back to Gideon, surprised. “They do. I love them, their scent. I love the cool, damp air. It allseems to make for a certain mood about the entire city.”
“That’s one of the things I missed, the scent of this place, when I was away.”
She couldn’t figure him out. He was so mysterious, completely closed off to her in so many ways, and yet there were moments like this when he said something revealing, something that showed a more sensitive side, hidden away beneath his slick facade. And even though most of the time she was perfectly content with his air of mystery, when he let these deeper glimpses through, she found herself wanting to know more.
“Are you ever going to tell me why you moved away, Gideon?”
“Maybe someday. Why do you need to know?”
“It’s not so much that I need to. I’m just…curious.
People are interesting to me. I always want to know things. My mother couldn’t stand that when I was growing up. I was always asking questions.”
“Maybe the problem was that she didn’t know how to answer them.”
She wrapped her fingers around the shoulder strap of the seat belt. “Maybe.”
“There aren’t stock answers to every question, Karalee.”
Suddenly she knew they were no longer talking about her mother. “Yes, you’re right about that. Life isn’t always clear. Sometimes I don’t even understand my own reasons for doing certain things.
Or not doing things, as the case may be.”
“Here we are.”
He pulled over and parked along the street, next to a long strip of grass leading to a tree-covered hillside.
“Where are we, exactly?”
“You’ll see.”
He got out of the car, came around, and helped her out. She knew enough already to wait for him rather than jump out herself.
He laid a hand lightly at her waist and they moved down the sidewalk, turned at the corner, and she saw across the street the big building that housed the Academy of Sciences behind the leafless fruit trees and the rows of wood benches that made up the music concourse in front of the bandstand, like an enormous open seashell.
A little farther up the sidewalk and he nodded at the high red-painted gates set between towering bamboo: the gates to the Japanese Tea Gardens.
“I didn’t know you liked tea,” she joked, but he just smiled, led her through, paid their fee at the smallbooth just inside the gates.
“I like it here,” he said as they moved down the meandering paths set between small, beautifullbonsaied cypress trees and delicately leaning willows, the pools with their stone lanterns and painted wooden bridges, the orange and black koi fish darting between the water lilies. “The whole idea of this sort of Zen architecturalldesign appeals to me, even if this place is a little over the top. I like it best early in the day, or off season, as it is now, when there aren’t too many tourists around. When it’s quiet.”
They wound around to the back of the gardens and up severallsteep flights of stairs, then stepped down into the teahouse, which was really more of a long, roofed terrace overlooking the pools. A waitress in an embroidered silk kimono seated them on smallstools at a long, lacquered wood table close to the railing. She set a fragrant pot of tea and a smallplate of rice crackers and almond cookies on the table before Karalee had had a chance to unbelt her jacket and settle in. The place was nearly empty; one other couple took up a table at the opposite end of the terrace.
Gideon poured for Karalee, handed her a cup.
“It’s peacefullhere,” she said, watching the koi move languidly through the water below.
“Yes.” He drank from his teacup, played with a rice cracker, but he didn’t put it in his mouth. “So,” he said after a minute, “what about yourself don’t you understand?”
“What?”
“You said in the car that you don’t always understand your own reasons for doing things. Or for not doing things, which I find even more intriguing.”
“Ah. Well…” The question caught her off guard, and she had to take a moment to organize her thoughts.
“Well, for instance, I don’t believe in love. I mean, I don’t believe in it for me. And the permanence of it seems highly unlikely to me. For anyone. I don’t really know where that comes from. I mean, I had a fairly normallfamily, average middle America. My parents have been together for nearly forty years.
But I never got any sense of them loving each other. I understand different people express it in different ways, but I never saw it. I know a lot of couples are the same way. They exist together in some loveless, passionless void, and their kids grow up still hoping for love, believing in it. But for me, love is something I’ve always been sort of…indifferent about. I know that must make me sound cold, but I’ve just never experienced it, other than loving my family, or my friends. I mean romantic love.
“I honestly don’t think I was traumatized by it. I simply developed a certain belief system. Or lack of belief, I suppose. And you see so many people getting divorced. The idea of that sort of love existing and lasting doesn’t seem viable to me. We’re all alone, in the end, whether we’re in a relationship or not, don’t you think?”
She looked at him, and it was as though a storm had settled over his features. His eyes were absolutely flat.
“Gideon? What did I say?”
He glanced away, stared into the gardens below the terraced teahouse. “Love does exist, Karalee,” he said through gritted teeth.
That was the last thing she’d have thought to hear him say. It shocked her somehow. And it made her realize that beneath his smooth exterior was pain of some kind. Something
he kept hidden away. It was severallmoments before she could manage to speak.
“I’m sorry, Gideon.”
He shook his head, seemed to shake off the mood, all but for the tiny lines of tension around his eyes, his mouth. “Nothing to be sorry for. I didn’t mean to be so terse with you.”
“And I didn’t mean to dismiss love so casually.
Maybe I’m wrong to do that. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
He was quiet for another moment, then, “Let’s not talk of it anymore.”
He slid his hand over hers, turned her hand over, and stroked the inside of her wrist with one finger. She didn’t know what had just happened, exactly, but she was happy enough to let it go. To enjoy the long, sweet shivers his touch was sending through her like a faint electric current.
They drank their tea, talked about work, ate the cookies. The fog never lifted, the sky a heavy, damp gray, but it made her feellas though they were cocooned in the teahouse. She almost didn’t want to leave when he suggested they get up and walk around the gardens, but she was happy to be wherever he was.
What the hell did that mean?
But she didn’t want to question anything today. Or Gideon. She wanted to simply enjoy it, to enjoy him.
They wandered along the paths, stopping to admire the giant bronze Buddha, to throw pennies into the wishing well. Everywhere was the scent of eucalyptus, of pine and juniper and new grass. They walked up the steep stairs to the pagoda at the highest point in the gardens, then down the narrow path that led behind it, where there was a secluded deck partially hidden by tree branches. Gideon pulled her into a corner of the deck, then had her step over the small wooden fence where the surrounding park had been left to grow wild.
“Where are we going?”
“Shh. Just come with me, Karalee.”
“We’re not supposed to be here, Gideon.”
“I know.”
When she looked up at him his eyes were dark, glowing, his crooked grin absolutely wicked.
“Oh…”
She smiled as he pushed her up against the rough bark of a tall pine tree, that little bit of fear at being caught, his utter command over her making her hotter, wetter, immediately. She could feellthe texture of the tree even through her coat. One fleeting thought about how crazy this was, then he kissed her and she stopped thinking altogether.
