Tessa wrapped her arms around her body, shivering; at her feet, the dog did the same thing. “We might want some towels,” she suggested gently.
“Right. I’ll be back in a second.” He dashed up the staircase. Tessa stayed where she was, afraid to knock something over if she started moving around. Vince came down a few minutes later and gave her a towel. He bent to rub the pup dry, talking in that way people do, in a soft voice, reassuring. “There you go, not so bad, right? Let me get your belly.”
“Spooky in the dark,” she said, drying her hair. At the sound of her voice, a dog made a sound in another room and came skittering around the corner to greet her, his nails skating uncertainly over the hardwood. He barreled into her legs, his usual greeting, and Tessa laughed. “Hi, honey,” she said, digging her hands vigorously into the thick fur at Pedro’s neck as he half-turned upside down. “I’m glad to see you, too.”
The border collie pup gave her a sad look. “It’s okay,” she said, bending down to scratch his ears. “I still love you, too.”
“You are so not giving that dog away,” Vince said.
“My dad will take him.” She stood. “Where’s your other dog?”
“Sasha? Here somewhere. She’s deaf as a post and half blind, so unless there’s food involved, she’s usually asleep on the landing upstairs. But open a cellophane wrapper and release one single molecule of scent, and she’s right there, baby.”
Tessa laughed.
Vince came close, holding up a candle. “C’mon. Let’s get warm.” He took her hand and pulled her upstairs to a giant bathroom with a big claw-footed tub, and although Pedro would have come in, Vince said, “No,” and pointed him down the hall. “Is your cast okay?”
Tessa nodded. “Wet.” She inclined her head. “I don’t think it will survive a shower.”
He smiled. “Steam bath.”
He put the candle on the sink and pulled a shower curtain around the tub, started the water running. Steam rose over the top of the curtain as Vince turned back to her. He pulled off his shirt, but when Tessa would have followed suit, he said, “Let me.”
She opened her arms, palms up, offering herself. Vince stepped forward and tugged the tank top off over her head, leaving her standing in an ordinary bra. “I didn’t bring anything sexy with me,” she said.
“This is plenty sexy for me.” He skimmed his fingers along her shoulders, along the straps, along the edges of her breasts, and then unfastened the clasp and her breasts fell free. Not as high as when she was younger, not as perky, but Vince gave a hot little sigh and he scooped the flesh into his hands. “Wow,” he said roughly. “Gorgeous. Better than I imagined.”
She imagined him imagining her naked, and it made her dizzy. Suddenly his scent seemed to fill the room, bright and hot and fierce, like chiles and pine, and she reached for him, pulling his head to hers, digging her fingers into his hair. She made a noise as he captured her, lifted her into him, pushing her against the bathroom door, their chests slapping together, his hands grabbing around her bottom to haul her hard against his erection. Tessa wrapped her legs tight around him, moving in timeless sinuous curls. The kiss was violent, hard, tongues and suction and teeth. She felt her tooth cut his lower lip and tasted blood, but he only made a soft noise and hauled her closer.
He pulled her legs from his waist, and Tessa rested against the door. His skin gleamed in the steamy room, the hair on his forearms and chest gathering tiny droplets that caught the candlelight and glowed amber. She let him unfasten the jeans, but then made him halt as she pulled out a condom from her back pocket, holding it in her right hand as she let him shove the jeans from her hips.
When he would have taken his jeans off, she slapped his hands. “Fair is fair,” she said. “Take this.” He took the condom out of her hand and held out his arms as she unbuttoned his jeans, freeing an impressive leap of flesh. “Well, well, well,” she said, and looked up at him.
Vince chuckled, shook his hips a little. “Howdy.”
Tessa laughed and yanked the jeans down to his ankles, leaving him naked and crookedly, heavily aroused. She touched his member, rubbing her thumb around the top, and he grabbed her wrist and pushed her back against the wall, reaching between her legs with the other hand, spreading her open as he kissed her again.
Then, strong as an ox—an elk, she thought—he lifted her and drove into her all at once, hands gripping her buttocks to pull her tightly into him, his mouth on her neck, biting, like a cat. She leaned on the wall for purchase, exhilarated by his power, and he bent and sucked her breast into his mouth, nipping her lightly, shoving himself deeply, and Tessa cried out, overwhelmed, and then they wrapped up fiercely together, jolting and surrounded with thick steam, chests skidding wetly, her thighs slippery on his sides, and finally they had to finish on the floor, Tessa riding him to an explosive release for both of them. The steam was so thick she could see only the glistening darkness of his throat, the edges of his hair, and she collapsed against his chest. “Holy shit, Batman,” she said.
His hands smoothed over her back, clutched a hank of her hair. “Yeah.” Abruptly, he caught her bottom and sat up, hauling her into his lap, joined tightly. He pulled her hair away from her face, cupping her head in his hands to kiss her. Lightly this time, tenderly. “Warmed up?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Let’s go crawl into bed.”
“Much more comfortable,” she said with a wicked little grin.
He ran his tongue along her bottom lip. “Something like that.”
Vince drank of Tessa for hours. His bed was a big, soft island in the darkness of his bedroom, lit only by candles and rainlight shining through the windows. He explored her body from stem to stern, collarbone and neck and ribs, belly and shins, spine and thighs. “Don’t,” she whispered shyly, when he held up the candle. “I don’t want you to see my cellulite.”
“I want to see it,” he said roughly. “I want to see everything.” He opened his palm on the dimpling over her bottom, and slid his thumb between her thighs, stroking her until she wiggled a little and turned over.
And she explored him in return, tasting his thighs, his throat, the ruddy weight of his testicles, which she held loosely in her hand. “Mighty nations,” she said with an earthy lift of an eyebrow.
She spread her hands on his thighs. “When I first saw you, this is what I thought of,” she said, and climbed on top of him, not touching his still spent but suddenly much less weary genitals. The promise of the dark recesses between her thighs, so close by he could feel the heat, was enough to at least tweak his organ. “I wanted to climb on top of these thighs.”
“Jesus,” he said, “where did you come from?”
In the candlelight, she looked at him, her eyes pale and shiny, her hair a wild tousle, her mouth very sober. He read in her expression the same stunned connection he felt himself, and to keep either of them from breaking the lightness, bringing too much weight into this night that was meant to be a relief, not a beginning, he sat up and captured her, kissing her mouth lightly. “Are you hungry?”
“For food, yes?”
He laughed. “Yeah. Food.”
“Starving.”
“Stay here,” he said. “I’ll get us some food.”
“I can help.”
He shook his head. No way he wanted her in his disaster of a kitchen. “I’ll get it.”
He raided the kitchen and brought back roast beef sandwiches and baby tomatoes, cheese and beer and even some store-bought chocolate chip cookies. “Not exactly elegant,” he said, “but it’ll chase the wolves from my belly.”
“Isn’t that wolves from the door?”
“Right.” They ate by the light of a pillar candle burning on his bureau, cross-legged and facing each other on top of the covers. Tessa had donned his shirt. Outside, the rain pattered down steadily.
Vince watched her looking at the room, the bare walls.
“You may not have heard that in this culture it is customary t
o hang a picture or … something on your walls.”
“I’ve heard that.” He took a big bite of his sandwich, looking around. “Even if I had time, I wouldn’t know what to do.”
“Put up a poster or something. A picture of a mountain or”—she glanced over at the trio begging piteously at the edge of the bed—“cute dogs.”
“Yeah, one of these days.” Her hair tumbled down her back, half wavy, half straight, and her thighs were smooth and muscular. He watched her mouth move as she spoke, mesmerized by the smoky depth of that voice. To keep her talking, he said, “Why’d you choose tourism as a job?”
“It kinda chose me. I like being outside, and the hiking came up, and one thing led to another, and here I am, fifteen years later.”
“And it’s lonely.”
She met his eyes, and in darkness, the pale color seemed to practically glow. “Sometimes. But I also really love it. I mean, they pay me to hike and teach other people about hiking. Not a bad job.”
He waited, taking another bite of his sandwich. Sometimes people kept talking if you didn’t interrupt.
She did. “Okay, I have to admit it’s been kind of a drag the last couple of years, since I came back to the States. Before that, when I was living in Tasmania, when I lived with Glenn, he would go study penguins and I would go off on hiking tours and we would come back together and be happy. It was good.”
A swirl of jealousy oozed through his middle. Surprising him. To quell it, he prompted, “What happened?”
“He fell in love with someone else. Another scientist.”
“Ow. Sorry.”
She shrugged one shoulder. “It happens.”
“Yeah, but it still sucks when it happens to you.” He reached for a lock of her hair and pushed it over her ear. Tried to remember that he didn’t have to find out her whole life story.
Still couldn’t stop.
“What I don’t get,” he said, “is why you went for that vagabond kind of life when I got the impression you didn’t much like it as a kid.”
“You’re a good listener,” she said, inclining her head.
“Thanks.”
She took a nibble of cookie. “I guess I was looking for freedom. That’s my dad’s favorite word.”
“Lot of different kinds of freedom.”
“True. He’s all about freedom from ‘the man’—freedom from capitalism, from doing things for money that you don’t want to do—about living in a relaxed way and not keeping up with the Joneses.”
He was grinning. “He really is a hippie, isn’t he?”
“Totally.” She examined the cookie. “I did think I wanted something more solid, but in the end maybe you just get stuck.”
“Stuck?”
“With certain ideas. It would be pretty hard for me to go live in a suburb somewhere and … go grocery shopping once a week and get hooked on CSI or something.”
He laughed. “Well, that’s the dull part of life, for sure. But it doesn’t have to be like that. What about having poker parties with your friends, or hiking on Sundays, or just being connected to other people, having a witness to your life?”
For a moment she looked so stricken that he reached for her, but she brushed him away softly. “No. Don’t. That’s the heart of it, isn’t it? Having someone who knows you. Who’s been there, seen the story unfold.”
He nodded. “Maybe you keep wandering,” he said, “because you’re afraid to stop.”
“I ain’t a-scared o’ nuthin’, “she said, cocking her head like a ten-year-old and shaking it. “I tried it,” she said. “Before I went to college. I settled down with my boyfriend and lived in a house and did the everyday thing, and I was completely nuts inside a year.”
“How old were you?”
“Eighteen.”
He cocked an eyebrow and picked up a cookie.
“I know,” she said. “I was out at the commune today and—”
She stopped.
“And?”
She measured him for a long moment. “I had a conversation with a woman who grew up out there. All she wanted at fifteen was to go to the normal high school and wear the usual clothes. It made me sad for her.” She winced. “Oh, I don’t even know what I’m talking about. Ignore me.”
“Sounds like you do know,” he said. “Sounds like you’re close to your dad, though, and maybe you wanted his good opinion.”
“Definitely.”
“I hope my girls like me as much as you like him.”
“Your girls love you.”
“I said ‘like.’”
She smiled, and it brought softness into her face. “I love my dad, and I like him. He’s just a really good person. Good father, even if he was—is—all Mr. Surfer Dude Magician Man.”
Vince laughed. “I guess. But kids want stability. That’s why I came back here when my wife died, so we’d all have an anchor.”
“The anchor needs pictures,” she said, looking at the bare walls.
“Yeah, probably. Not my gift.” He pointed with the cookie. “Stability, I mean. Kids need stability. You couldn’t have had that drifting around.”
“But I did.” She popped a tomato into her mouth. “The landscape changed, but the same people were around all the time, and we had our rituals and routines.”
“Oatmeal for breakfast.”
“Exactly. And I went to bed at the same time every night and we did my lessons at the same time.” She frowned. “Do you remember every single thing I’ve said?”
“Probably. I pay attention.”
“Verging on the creepy.”
“I seriously wanted to get in your pants.”
She lifted up the shirt and looked beneath it. “Looks like you did.”
The casual gesture, the triangle of hair, the depth of invitation in the glance she sent him, snared him all over again. Deliberately, he moved the tray of food, took the tomato out of her hand, and pushed her down on the bed. “Looks like I did.”
• • •
When Tessa awakened, she first heard the sound of rain pattering against the roof and windows. Somewhere, blackbirds whistled an alleluia. For a long moment before she came fully awake, that celebratory, peaceful sound wove its way into her dreams, filling her with a vast sense of well-being, a rightness that she’d not felt in a very long time. She allowed herself a space of time to simply float in it. The bed was soft, and she had made a nest of pillows, as was her habit. A weight held her legs to the bed. It snored softly. A dog.
Her eyes popped open. An uncurtained window, densely green with tree branches, let in silvery morning light. In the distance, thunder rolled into the mountains. There were no photos, no paintings, not even a postcard on the walls, papered with ancient faded roses. The window casings and baseboards were old, carved, painted a glossy white. She was naked beneath the covers.
It all rushed back—the endless kissing, the athletic sex, the lust-drunk depth of their explorations. She was in Vince’s bed, with Vince.
And his dogs. One of them huffed, perhaps disturbed by her faint movements. Tessa slid her leg out from under him. By the weight, it had to be Pedro.
Very carefully, she rolled over. Vince slept deeply, face half-buried in the pillows, only his beard-darkened jaw and the top of his head showing. And even that much made her chest ache in a warning way. That round of his left arm with its winding tattoo of words she couldn’t decipher, the scatter of that very, very dark hair. She wanted to lean in and kiss that angle of cheekbone, put a finger gently to his full lower lip, curl up with him. So beautiful. So real.
It made her feel breathless.
She took a mental snapshot, tucking the moment away. And as quietly as possible, she slid out of bed, worked her way around the dogs. She found her clothes on the floor of the bathroom. It took a little longer to find her underwear, and they were soggy wet, the crotch missing. She gave Pedro a glare, but he only wagged his tail.
Moving soundlessly, she crept into the hallway, past the open doo
rs to the girls’ empty bedrooms—much tidier than his own, and warmer. The first held a set of bunk beds, with pictures of princesses and cheery pink curtains. This must be Jade and Hannah’s room. Creeping noiselessly the rest of the way down the hall, she peeked into the last room and knew instantly that it was Natalie’s. Her bedspread was red and gold paisley, with the same pattern on the simple curtains, which someone had obviously sewn for her. An antique chest of drawers stood against the wall, and there were pictures of dogs and horses and bears all over the room. Paperback books were stacked on her nightstand and cluttered the floor, along with her shoes and a sweater. It smelled of sunshine and cinnamon and Herbal Essence shampoo.
Tessa lingered, feeling that ache low in her ribs again. Yearning, maybe. This was a bedroom where a girl could grow up, where she could change the curtains and the poster and still look out at the same steady view of meadow and mountains.
Firmly, she turned around and eased down the stairs, soundly built so they didn’t squeak.
And there in the foyer was the black-and-white pup. He raised his head, and the very tip of his tail slapped on the floor. In a surge of feeling, she knelt beside him and buried her face in his neck, rubbing his ears. Kissed the middle of his brow. “Good morning, baby,” she whispered. How could she leave him?
He gazed at her in worry and worship. Tessa thought of her father and what he would say about this whole situation. That this was her dog, that he had something to give her or teach her, and she had an obligation to him. Dogs as angels, she thought, and a quiver of tears caught at the top of her throat before she could clamp them down.
Whatever. She made a soft kissing sound and gestured toward the door as she stood. He got to his feet and trotted obediently in the direction she pointed, waiting politely as she picked up her sandals and purse and scarf.
It had been pretty dark the night before, so she had not seen the extent of the clutter in the living room. Bad. It was bad. Not like a bachelor pad, stacked with pizza boxes and beer bottles and dishes crusted with food. This was laundry folded on the table in piles that never got put away. Toys scooped up into a chair but not into bedrooms. Shoes and socks shed by the door in a towering mountain. Eddies of dust on everything, and squirrels of dog hair under the table, and a vacuum standing to one side, ready to be used and left where it was.
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