So Much for Dreams

by Vanessa Grant

  "Three years." Joe made his voice expressionless, revealing nothing of the way her words brought back the memories.

  Three years spent walking away from nothing. The first year had been like a race. He had sailed away and kept moving, hardly even speaking to the people on the other boats he met. He'd circumnavigated in just over a year, ended up in Mexico exhausted and a couple of thousand miles from the place that had been home. Their loss had still been an ache, but dulling.

  Now Dinah was standing there, watching him, and he heard his voice say, "You have a very unsettling effect on me." Her eyes widened and he said carefully, "I don't want to be unsettled."

  "No," she agreed. "I knew that." But she blinked her gray-blue eyes and he felt his heart trying to crash its way out of his ribcage. He didn’t want this … needed to reach out, touch her, hold her tight until her softness swelled against him. He would kiss her, brush her lips and invade the sweet darkness of her mouth. Then ...

  She said, "I don't want to be unsettled either." Something flashed in her eyes and she added, "Not exactly."

  "Not exactly," he repeated thickly, his eyes on her lips.

  They were alone in the middle of the mountain desert. If he touched her and she turned to fire, he would undo those flimsy little ties at her shoulders and the dress would fall. She had hardly anything on under it, he knew that. His eyes had been fighting to stay away from the soft hints of her body ever since early this morning when he first saw her. Her white creamy flesh would be exposed, waiting for him. He swallowed the powerful image and managed to ask, "What does that mean? Not exactly?"

  Her tongue slipped out to wet her lips. His fingers reached out towards her, but he got them back. Was he crazy? He couldn't take her here in the middle of the desert! He pulled facts in to cool his blood. Scorpions. Tarantulas. That would be a hell of a comedown, interrupting a hot desert interlude with a tarantula bite!

  "It means …" She swallowed and he saw that she was going to be honest. He wished she would keep herself hidden more. It would make it easier to do whatever they were going to do together, then walk away. If it was going to happen, it should be cooler, more distance between them. Otherwise—

  "… that when this is over …" He saw her throat move again. She wet her lips and her voice turned brisk. "You unsettle me, too. I—Whatever happens, I want to be able to go back afterwards, to go home to my job and my life, and I don't want to—I don't want to be different, to be hurting or ... anything."

  He came closer. He could see her chest moving unsteadily. Her breathing was giving her trouble. So was his. "Dinah," her name came out as a hoarse whisper. Wasn't that what he wanted too? No more hurting. He felt a painful urge to tell her about Julie and Sherrie and Bruce, about the Joe that had existed before it all became impossible. He said, "I don't know who you are," and he wasn't sure what his words meant. "Hurting is a pretty personal thing."

  He was going to touch her. He wasn't sure why, whether it was because of the hardness of his body, or the need to avoid opening up with words. She was only inches away, and her lips were waiting for him. He managed to say, "I'm not going to ask anything of you. Just whatever happens here ... Nothing more."

  Her lips were soft, trembling. The shy uncertainty of her mouth surprised him and he drew back a little, brushing her mouth with his, taking the sweetness carefully, then more as she trembled and her mouth opened to him. He hadn't wanted to desire her so much. It was like a wild thing in him, the need to bury himself in her, to feel her surrounding him, touching his body and his heart and soul.

  He kept his hands at his sides, a crazy attempt to keep his sanity. She shifted, her lips coming against his more positively, her tongue touching his. He bent to her then, but forced himself to feel the difference, her tallness and the strength of her body as it waited for his touch. Julie. Julie had been small and fragile.

  Soft unrestrained breasts brushed lightly against his chest, exploding Julie's memory as a harsh need surged through him. He reached for her, drowning in her warm, woman's scent, seeking out the softness that sheathed her firm body.

  Dinah felt her knees give way when his hands settled on her waist. Her blood was boiling, just like that radiator! She sagged against him, knowing the instant before his hands touched that he would take her weight, holding her close, his hands running up along the loose dress, feeling the flesh that covered her ribs, the small, hard muscles of her back, the softness that trembled over the muscles.

  As his mouth hardened, she felt her heart working to keep up with the rush of blood that sang everywhere in her veins. Then his hands slipped down, cupped her buttocks and held her close, and she thought she was going to die from the shuddering wave of need that possessed her. She slid her arms around his neck and held on while the world rocked.

  His mouth drew away from hers slowly, lips seeking the curve of her cheek, the sensitive underside of her jaw. Her head lost its equilibrium and fell back along his shoulder, the soft hair rummaging against his chest as if it had come home. Her fingers explored the ridges at the back of his neck, the hard muscle that led to his shoulder.

  He bent, holding her close with one hard hand splayed against the small of her back. She found the ridge of his collarbone and traced it to its source as his lips opened on the flesh that swelled softly just above her breast. Sweet ... shuddering pleasure ... lips hot and soft on her. There was a shifting, a touch at her shoulder and the thin tie dropped from the right side. His teeth took the edge of fabric and pulled gently down, his head ducking as he freed her breast.

  Her fingers were knotted in his hair, gripping. Her eyes must be closed because there was only heat on her eyelids, no vision, and she felt the hot sun touching her exposed breast with an erotic caress that made her swell. A groan escaped her lips as his tongue caressed the warm slope leading to her hardening nipple, the hairs of his mustache brushing against her sensitized flesh.

  "God, you taste good!" It was a low groan as his lips found their goal and he drew the turgid peak into his mouth.

  Ohhhhh ...

  She didn't know if her throat sent the sound. There was a roaring everywhere. It might be the wind that would end the world, or it might be in her, around her … them. Her stomach was caving, and her harsh breathing couldn't keep up with the spinning in her head. Her fingers clutched his hair and the soft lobe of his ear as he tongued the sensitive peak of her swelling woman's arousal.

  When he left her breast with a soft, sucking caress she found her eyes open, staring into his, her head pillowed on his arm as if it could not move. His hand touched, cupped the swelling he had kissed so shudderingly and she knew he could see in her eyes what his touch did. A blue flame answered her need and she thought she would never be able to breathe again. He pulled the cotton of her bodice up, covering her, dragging it across her nipple with a slow caress that made her shudder.

  "Joe …"

  She saw him swallow, could not help seeing the hard evidence of his need as he stepped back from her. His tongue wet his lips and his throat worked again, then he managed a husky voice.

  "You're dynamite, lady." His fingers fumbled at the ties of her dress, but he failed to get the bow. He clenched his fingers, said, "I'm not exactly prepared for this to go any farther."

  Not prepared.

  She remembered telling Sally that she was crazy to walk into a wild relationship with a man without planning ahead, that these days, if a woman was even going to think about being with a man, she'd better make a trip to the drugstore first.

  "I—" She wanted him. Out here, under the sun, with the cacti looking on. She wanted him. She closed her eyes, told herself harshly and silently that she wasn't that crazy. "I'm not prepared either," she managed finally, her words a triumph of will and sanity over the things his eyes and his touch did to her body.

  She saw the air leave his body. He had been holding his breath as if he wanted her perhaps as wildly as she needed him. "That's that, then," he said. He cleared his throat. "Why do
n't I see about the rad while you—" He pushed back his hair, rubbed the back of his index finger along his mustache. Her eyes widened with the remembered touch of his mustache against her breast. His voice was hoarse. "You'd better do up your dress. If I do it … try to do it, we're not going anywhere."

  He watched her fingers fumbling, watched as the tie was knotted over her shoulder. Then he took in a deep breath. "God damn it, Dinah. You—" He choked off something that might have been a laugh but wasn't. "I haven't felt so—" He broke off again and spun around to head for the car.

  Neither had she felt so … not ever. She re-tied the shoulder of her dress, making a neater job of it this time. So this is what Sally found to exciting. Or had Sally ever felt like this? Had anyone? She swung around, making herself look away from his disappearing back, trying to still her mind and erase a picture of Dinah Collins going into a drug store and making certain that next time, if there was a next time, she was ready for him.

  Would she have the nerve to make a purchase like that? Some of the girls she took camping, like Sally, were sexually active. She didn't try to tell them not to, that would have turned them away from her and probably wouldn't have stopped anything. After all, Dinah's role was as a friend, a big sister to the girls. They went camping, and she tried to be a role model to show them that there were ways a girl could make it on her own, be a woman with pride and self-respect. So she didn't talk about the morals, but made certain they knew the facts about protecting themselves. Lord, Sally would laugh if she knew that Dinah had never walked into a drug store and bought anything of that nature!

  And now, thinking about doing it for the first time in her life, she realized that it was next to impossible. They spoke Spanish in this country and that particular purchase was not going to be in her phrase book!

  Just as well, she decided as she made her way back to the car. This was insanity. She mustn't even think of it. She could close her eyes and see his face, his eyes searching hers, and she'd only known him a day. What if she did ... if they did, and she went home and he became the thing she dreamed about, loving and touching and wanting? What if her days turned empty and sterile and she couldn't find any joy in the world again without him?

  "I'll drive first," she told him later, when the rad was filled and the hood down. She didn't meet his eyes, just went to the driver's door, saying, "It's flat country here. You can have the next mountain. You're better at mountains than I am."

  He slid into the passenger seat without speaking. She settled herself, turned on the engine. "You're probably better at casual affairs, too," she added tightly. Oh, lord! Why had she said that?

  "Probably." His voice was expressionless. He didn't look at her, just shifted down and leaned his head back. She sneaked a look and his eyes were closed. He felt her eyes on him, must have felt them, because he said, "Don't worry, señorita. Nothing happened. Nothing at all."

  What about the feeling inside her, the turmoil of nervous feelings she had never felt before? It was almost as tremulously frightening as thinking of tonight when dark fell, of the man at her side and somewhere ahead, a hotel.

  Chapter Five

  Joe slept in the passenger seat while Dinah drove. There were mountains. She took them slowly, and turned on the heater for one steep grade. Whenever she looked across at him, she felt an intimacy, a pull from somewhere that was her heart or her stomach. Unsettling.

  He stretched and rubbed his eyes as she negotiated a narrow street and parked in what seemed to be the middle of the little village she had found. He tried to stretch his legs but there wasn't room.

  "Where are we? I—Oh, it's Loreto. Too bad I slept while we were going along Conception Bay. We could have stopped for a swim. Cooled off."

  She had no bathing suit and she found herself wondering if she would have gone into the water in only her panties. She had nothing else under this dress. She asked, "Where do you think for dinner?"

  She had a restaurant in mind, but Joe overruled her and they ate at a taco stand. Mexican taco stands had to be the least expensive meals in the world, but the eating didn't last long and they were back at the car before she was ready to deal with the issue of where they would stay the night.

  He took the keys from her hands and she didn't protest. He had a way of taking over that she should resist, but she didn’t want to resist, although she wasn't sure where they were going. He managed to get them through the crowded streets, and around a Pepsi truck that was stalled in the middle of a major intersection. They passed two farmacia signs. She shivered, remembering her fantasy of dashing into a drugstore to make a purchase that would make an affair possible. The car kept going, didn't stop. Just as well, she decided. By tomorrow she would be regretting this wild need.

  Then they were on the highway and it was turning into another mountain. She bit her lip and said, "It'll be dark soon." She didn't want to mention a hotel. He might think she was suggesting something more than sleep, and she was too confused to know what she wanted.

  He was concentrating on the road. He didn't answer.

  "Joe, shouldn't we stop somewhere before dark?"

  He shifted the car down into second gear, took a curva peligrosa slowly and smoothly. "We'll go on. I'll drive. When you get tired, let me know and I'll stop so you can get into the back to sleep."

  "What about—" She shifted uncomfortably. What about a hotel? What about touching, sharing, loving? What about a farmacia? She swallowed, asked only, "What about the cows?"

  He settled himself in the seat. He was getting comfortable for a long drive. "There are things more dangerous than cows." He pushed his fair hair back and his voice wasn't soft at all when he muttered, "You, señorita, are a hell of a lot more dangerous."

  That was the almost the last thing he said to her.

  They climbed the worst mountain of all just before the sun set, taking a double hairpin curve that wound almost straight up.

  She stared at the horrifying road, and said with forced lightness, "This must be hell in the winter when it ices up." They were just north of the tropics and she knew it was a silly joke, but if he had laughed she would have felt better.

  At the top he found a wide spot beside the road and stopped. "Why don't you go into the back and sleep." His voice had lost the coldness. It was neutral, as if he didn't care. She opened the door and climbed out, into the back seat.

  When he started the car again, he sounded like a tour guide. "The mountain we just climbed is called Sierra de la Giganta. Now that we're up, we stay up. This flat plane goes on for over a hundred miles."

  It was the last thing he said for a long time. She pretended to sleep. It was dark. He drove faster than he had earlier. The air cooled with the darkness and she lay awake, seeing the back of his head and wondering who he really was, why he had left whatever it was he had left. She believed that under the surface, he was filled with a frustrated energy, a need to be productive. Would he ever stop and go back home?

  Why did it matter to her?

  She forced her thoughts to Cathy, and finally fell asleep planning her moves once she got to La Paz. There weren't many moves she could plan, because she had no real idea of what the ropes were in this strange exotic country, but she managed a rough outline, a plan of attack.

  When she woke, there were lights shining in the car window. She sat up, dizzy and disoriented. Outside, she could see a cement walkway along the seaside, streetlights sending reflections out over the water. They were parked and Joe was just getting out of the car. Dinah found her sandals and stumbled out onto the sidewalk as he opened the trunk.

  "Where are we?" Somewhere civilized. Buildings all around, city lights. A taxi stand just up the way. Shadows of boats out on the water. Sailboats. "Where is this?"

  "La Paz." He dumped his duffel bag on the sidewalk. "Do you want your suitcase?" He jerked his head towards the building behind her. "That's a reasonable hotel. American style. They speak English—some, anyway."

  "I guess so." Her suitcase l
anded on the sidewalk, then he slammed the trunk down and jumped up onto the sidewalk. He handed the keys to her. His voice was wry, self-mocking. "Your suitcase. Your keys. A hotel. Anything else you need?"

  "My purse." She felt thick, stupid. "Do you think they'll have rooms?" He was going to walk away. She could feel it and did not know how to stop it.

  "Bound to. It's the off season." He leaned into the car and handed out her purse, then he went around and locked all the doors before he returned to the sidewalk and shouldered his duffel bag. "That's it," he said finally, his voice businesslike. "You're delivered." He frowned, added brusquely, "Thanks for the ride."

  She picked up her suitcase. What did you say to a man who had kissed you and turned your world upside down? "Where are you going?"

  He jerked his head towards the boats. "My boat, if it hasn't sunk while I was gone. Good-bye, señorita." Then he walked away and she realized that she hadn't really believed he was going until she saw him crossing the street, walking along that seawall with his duffel bag slung over his shoulder and his body swinging in a seaman's walk in the tight jeans.

  She didn't sleep well. For the first time in days she was in a comfortable bed, accommodated in what Joe had termed an American-style hotel. The hotel room they had shared the night before had been much simpler and about a quarter of the cost of this one. She resented slightly that Joe should assume she wanted the more elaborate accommodations, decided in the end that perhaps he was simply being practical. After all, the people at the desk spoke English, and she was hardly equipped to communicate in Spanish.

  But she had managed, hadn't she? Back there in that village without a name. Sometime before dawn she fell asleep thinking of that, dreaming of a man with hard muscles under a tattered T-shirt, gold flecks in icy blue eyes that could turn hot when he touched her.