Heaven, Texas

by Susan Elizabeth Phillips

  She told herself his lovemaking would be mechanical, as cold and dispassionate as the man himself, but as she fumbled with the light switch, the image of a teenage boy with angry eyes and a hungry mouth darted into her mind. She shuddered and pushed it away.

  As she undressed, she avoided her reflection in the mirrors that were set against the dark red-tiled walls. The room was opulent with its gold fixtures and black marble sunken tub, which was square in shape and spacious enough to accommodate two people. She stalled as long as she could, neatly folding her clothes, placing them on a paisley upholstered bench that sat near the tub. She set her shoes underneath, side by side like good little soldiers. After wrapping herself in a thick black towel, she ran the water in the huge tub. While it filled, she tried to calm herself by thinking about her garden and what she would plant in the fall, thinking about everything except Hoyt and the fact that she was about to commit adultery.

  When the tub was full, she switched on the Jacuzzi, whipping the water into a froth of camouflaging bubbles, then she turned off the lights. There were no windows in the bathroom and it was blessedly dark, so she wouldn’t have to watch his eyes exploring the body that only her husband had caressed. Why did he even want her? Her skin was no longer taut; her stomach hadn’t been flat for years, and she wore an estrogen patch on her hip. Discarding the towel, she lowered herself into the bubbling water.

  She didn’t have long to wait before he knocked at the door. “Yes?” she inquired, polite as always, because she had been reared to be polite, because women her age had been brought up to obey the rules, defer to men, and put their own needs after everyone else’s.

  The door opened, admitting a dim wedge of illumination from the bedroom. He didn’t turn on the light, but neither did he close the door, and despite her earlier words, she was grateful for the faint glow from the other room. Although she didn’t want him to be able to see her clearly, she also dreaded being alone with him in dense darkness.

  She studied the silhouette of his body as he approached the tub. If only he were unattractive, this wouldn’t seem like such a betrayal. He was a powerful man, not as tall as Hoyt had been, but equally imposing in a different way. She couldn’t make out either the fabric or color of the robe he wore, but as his hands went to his waist, she knew he was untying the sash, and she dropped her gaze. How many grown men had she seen naked? She’d known Hoyt’s body nearly as well as her own, and as a child, she’d occasionally walked in on her father. When Bobby Tom stayed at the house, he sometimes roamed in his underwear, but that didn’t count. She had very little experience to draw on.

  The water level rose as he lowered himself into the tub and settled his body into the opposite corner from hers. The soft whir of the Jacuzzi masked the outside noises so that the two of them could have been alone together anyplace. He propped his elbows on the rim, and his legs brushed hers as he stretched out. She stiffened as she felt his hand clasp her ankle and draw her foot on top of his thigh.

  “Relax, Suzy. You can get out of the tub anytime you want.”

  If his words were meant to soothe her, they had the opposite effect because she knew there was no escape. If she didn’t get this over with tonight, she would surely go crazy.

  He made a slow circle in the arch of her foot with his thumb and her whole body jerked in response.

  “Sensitive?” The anger that had crackled from him like static seemed to be gone. He drew a figure eight in her arch.

  “My feet are ticklish.”

  “Mmm.” Instead of letting her go, he began to massage her toes, rubbing them between his thumb and forefinger while he continued to caress her arch with his other hand. Despite herself, she began to relax. If only it could end here, with a warm bath and comforting massage.

  A surprisingly peaceful silence fell over them, and the exquisite movements of his hands on her foot, combined with the fact that he showed no inclination to attack, began to lull her. She sank more deeply into the water.

  “We should have brought a bottle of champagne in here.” He sounded as lazy as she felt. “This is nice.”

  As he continued his sensuous game of this-little-piggy, she knew she had to apologize for the nasty remark she had made about his mother. She had never believed that other people’s boorish behavior served as an excuse for abandoning her own moral code.

  “What I said about your mother was cruel and uncalled for. I apologize.”

  “You had provocation.”

  “That’s never an excuse.”

  “You’re a good woman, Suzy Denton,” he said softly.

  A creeping languor turned her muscles to jelly. It had been so long since anyone had really touched her. All those years she’d been married, she’d taken the power of sensual caresses for granted, but she didn’t anymore.

  He reached for her other foot. The ends of her hair dipped into the water as she sank lower into the tub, but she was feeling too relaxed to prop herself back up. Once again he began his slow, deep kneading. She told herself it was merely because she was tired that the sensation felt so delicious.

  He drew her foot to his lips and she felt the pleasant rasp of his teeth as he nipped gently on the pad of her big toe. “I assume I don’t have to worry about getting you pregnant.”

  His statement jarred her from her lethargy. She tried to sit up, but he kept his hold on her foot, returning it to the top of his thigh where he continued to minister to it.

  “No, you don’t.”

  “You don’t have to worry about me, either,” he said.

  What was she supposed to worry about? she wondered. Certainly not getting him pregnant.

  She heard the amusement in his voice. “Suzy, it’s the nineties. You’re supposed to ask your potential lovers pointed questions about their sex and drug habits.”

  “Lord.”

  “It’s a new world.”

  “Not a very nice one.”

  He chuckled. “I take it I’m not going to get any pointed questions.”

  “If you had anything to hide, you wouldn’t have brought the subject up.”

  “That’s exactly right. Now turn around, and let me rub your shoulders.”

  Without waiting for her to move, he tugged gently on her wrists and turned her so that she slid between his open legs. She felt the muscles of his chest against her back. His hips shifted, and she realized he was fully aroused. A thrill of awareness shot through her, immediately followed by a rush of guilt.

  “Hand me that soap,” he whispered, his voice as gentle as a caress, as his thumbs worked the muscles in her shoulders. “It’s on your right.”

  “No, I—”

  To her surprise, his teeth sank into the curve of her neck. He nipped her there, not painfully, but with enough strength to remind her that he was in control. She remembered that stallions frequently nipped the mares they were covering, sometimes even bringing blood. At the same time, a dim voice told her that she only needed to rise from the water for him to let her go. But the voice was too amorphous for her to hold on to as his hands glided over her shoulders and palmed her breasts.

  “Lean back,” he whispered. “Let me play with you.”

  He must have fetched the soap himself because his palms were slick with it and the sensations he aroused so exquisite her eyes stung with tears. She didn’t want to betray Hoyt. She didn’t want it to feel so good, but it had been too long, and as his warm, soapy hands circled her breasts, she couldn’t resist. She would permit this intimate caress for a moment, and then she would draw away.

  Round and round his hand traveled, coming closer and closer to the tender centers. Her breathing quickened. He brushed her nipples, then plucked them between his fingers and began massaging them as he had her toes. The sensation was delicious and familiar, like a favorite song heard again after a very long time. She had forgotten how wonderful this felt. Her body grew heavier, more languid, until it seemed to be melting into his.

  He abandoned her nipples and returned to making l
azy circles around her breasts, gently teasing until he once again reached the tips, then plucking and pulling. She squirmed against him. He circled again. This time she moaned when he reached her nipples and rolled them between his fingers.

  Her breathing was coming heavier now, and her body felt swollen with arousal. Kissing her ear, he lifted her up onto his thighs, her back still against his chest. She felt his lips tugging on her lobe. He began to suck there, on the flesh and the diamond stud, and she shuddered at the unfamiliar sensation. She couldn’t remember Hoyt ever doing that to her, but when she tried to recall if he had, her thoughts kept scattering.

  He spread his legs and, in the process, wedged hers open with his knees. His hands slid down her breasts to her inner thighs. She didn’t understand what he was doing as he rotated both of them, pulling her thighs wider, moving their hips closer to the edge of the tub. And then she felt the powerful jet of water gushing into her.

  She gasped and nearly jumped off his lap, trying to get away from the surge of water shooting out of one of the nozzles set into the side of the tub.

  She heard the devil’s laughter in her ear, soft and seductive. “Relax, Suzy. Enjoy.”

  And, God forgive her, she did enjoy.

  He played with her breasts, nipped at her ears and shoulders with his teeth, sucked at the tender flesh of her neck. Their bodies shifted so that sometimes the surging jet of water pummeled her, sometimes him. She lost all sense of herself, didn’t even think to object when he pushed himself inside her from behind and let the water work at them where they were joined. She tried to move on him, but he wouldn’t allow it. And each time she was about to go over the edge, he shifted the position of her body just enough so that it didn’t happen.

  She began to sob. “Please . . .”

  “What do you want?” he whispered, as he pushed deeper.

  “Please, let me . . . Let me . . .”

  “Do you want more, Suzy? Is that what you want? You want more?”

  His gentle croon fueled her excitement. “Yes . . . Yes . . .” She was begging him, but it had been so long that she couldn’t stop herself.

  His voice was soft and gruff and tender. “Not yet, love. Not yet.”

  She sobbed as he lifted her off him. She tried to turn in his arms, but he stood. In the dim light, she could see his silhouette and the hard, thick thrust of him. Instinctively, she reached up and clasped him, shameless and brazen, forgetting that this man wasn’t her husband, that she hadn’t wanted this.

  He groaned and caught her wrist. “Wait. Just a little while longer.”

  He stepped from the water and slipped his robe over his wet body. Without bothering to fasten it, he pulled her out and wrapped her in a towel, then picked her up in his arms and carried her into the bedroom, as if she were a virgin going into her bridal bower.

  She turned her head into his shoulder as he walked into the dimly lit room. She didn’t want to see him, didn’t want to remember who he was and who she was, and that she was about to betray her husband. What was she doing in a stranger’s arms hovering on the brink of sexual oblivion?

  “No light.” She needed the darkness to hide the shame she felt for letting this man arouse her to such a state where she couldn’t help herself.

  He stopped walking. She lifted her head to gaze at him and saw that his hair was wet and rumpled, his expression unreadable.

  She expected him to put her on the bed, but instead, he carried her in the opposite direction, toward a door she hadn’t noticed earlier. She gazed up at him questioningly, but he wasn’t looking at her. With his foot, he pushed opened the door and carried her inside.

  To her shock, he had taken her into his large walk-in closet. She saw double rows of expensive suits and tailored shirts, orderly racks of boots and wingtips, a stack of denim jeans, a pile of knit shirts. The heady masculine scents enveloped her: cologne, leather, and the clean, starchy smell of freshly laundered shirts. He set her down on the carpeted floor and immediately reached behind him to shut the door. They were plunged into a darkness so thick she caught her breath in fear.

  His voice drifted to her, husky and dangerous. “No light.”

  The towel slipped from beneath her arms as he tugged it away. Then he must have moved back because he was no longer touching her.

  Seconds ticked by. Her heart began to pound. She stood naked in the darkness, no longer certain how close he was to her. Even the sound of his breathing was hidden by the distant hum of the air conditioner. The darkness disoriented her. It was too dense, too absolute. She thought of death and the grave. She turned, then turned again, but the movement was a mistake because she lost her bearings. She clutched her throat against a rising tide of hysteria.

  “Way?”

  Nothing.

  She took an involuntary step backward. Garments brushed her naked body. She strained to hear the sound of an indrawn breath, a movement, a joint cracking, anything.

  Out of nowhere, a hand touched her outer thigh. She jumped. Because she could see nothing, hear nothing, the hand seemed disembodied, as if it were coming from a phantom lover, something not quite human, demonic, even. It brushed over the patch on her hip, and she stiffened. It moved on, touching her waist, climbing her rib cage, caressing her tender, tortured breasts.

  She could no longer stand submissively in front of this demon lover. Reaching out with the palms of her hands, she felt for him. She touched his chest and realized he had discarded his robe. The thick pelt of hair was soft beneath her fingers. Hoyt’s chest hadn’t been as hairy, and the strangeness of this body heightened her dark fantasy that she had fallen in with the devil. The configuration of muscles beneath her hands felt wrong, not what she had grown accustomed to over three decades. She was alone in thick, dark space with a demon lover, and her wicked body silently begged for his touch.

  Despite the threat of eternal damnation, her hands began to roam him, learning his devil’s body by touch. His skin should no longer be damp from their bath, but it was, damp and hot. Beneath her fingertips, his muscles contracted, and for the first time she could hear the heaviness of his breathing. She dropped her hands, touching him there, where she had no business being, exploring him, greedy with desire. She tested his weight and thickness, stroked him.

  Abruptly, he pushed her away, and once again she stood alone in the impenetrable darkness.

  Her breathing rattled in her ears.

  He turned her. His hands palmed her buttocks, kneaded them, slipped between. Once again, she felt only his hands in the darkness, nothing else, no other part of him. Disembodied demon hands separated her legs, stroked her until she hummed and quivered. Abruptly, he pushed her down on her back into the thick, soft carpet.

  She lay there waiting.

  Nothing.

  Death thick darkness. The loom of the grave. The specter of damnation. She embraced it all.

  A force—animal, human, demon spirit?—caught her knees and opened them. No other touch. Just a demanding pressure, ordering her to offer up her most tender parts in sacrifice to the dark angel.

  And then nothing.

  She lay waiting, barely able to breathe. Damned already, her body burned with pagan passion.

  Then she felt it. The soft tickle on her inner thighs. The parting. The moist hot tracing of a tongue.

  Oh, this! This! She had missed it unbearably. Dreamed of it. This lap and thrust, this rough and silken stroking, the suction, the greedy mouth full-feasting, all of it heightened by the darkness of the underworld. Her demon lover devoured her until she lost herself. With a cry she fell, spinning round and round, dropping into the embracing pit.

  He was inside her before she could reclaim her self. His body covered her and filled her. She wrapped her legs around his hips, her arms around his neck. Her breasts burned as they rubbed against the thick hair on his chest. He plunged into her center, withdrew, plunged again and again, carrying her with him on his spiraling journey upward.

  His cry was low and hoars
e, hers a keening wail as they tumbled together into the very heart of darkness.

  It had never felt more welcome.

  Some time later, she began to cry. Light spilled over her as he opened the door of the closet. She curled into a ball, hid her face in her arms. Guilt and shame consumed her. My love, my love. She had betrayed her husband, betrayed the man she loved with all her heart. She had promised to love him forever, until death do us part. But she wasn’t dead. And he was still the husband of her heart, her dearest love, and she had betrayed him.

  It shouldn’t have happened like this. She was supposed to have been making a sacrifice! She had gone to Way to save the town. Instead, she had ended up pleading with him to take her, and in the process, she had lost herself.

  “Stop it, Suzy. Please.” His voice was ragged, almost as if he were in pain.

  She plucked at the towel fallen in a heap next to her and struggled to sit as she used it to cover her shame. She looked up and saw him looming above her, still naked, wet with her.

  Tears of grief coursed down her cheeks. “I want to go home.”

  “You’re too upset,” he said quietly. “I can’t let you do that.”

  She dropped her gaze to her lap, studying her bare knees, which were bent beneath her. “Why did you do this to me?” she cried. “Why couldn’t you have left me alone?”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I’m sorry.”

  He picked up his robe from the floor and slipped into it. It was dark green and richly patterned. Gently clasping her arm, he drew her up off the carpet. As she stood next to him, he pulled a white terry cloth robe from a hook by the door and helped her into it, though it was much too large for her. His hand rested in the center of her back as he steered her from the closet she had entered so many centuries before. She moved automatically beside him. What difference did it make where he took her? What more could he do to her?