by Lyn Denison
And she was sleeping wonderfully well — apart from the occasional wakeful moments when she imagined that she was not alone in the comfortable double bed and that Crys had slipped quietly between the sheets, her warm naked body pressed close to Mel’s.
Mel groaned, and Misty raised her head and looked expectantly up at her.
“It’s okay, Puss,” she said softly. “I’m just thinking about taking liberties with your owner. Well, actually, I was imagining her taking liberties with me. Either way, I wouldn’t say no.” Mel sighed. “Ungrateful wretch, aren’t I? Taking her hospitality and repaying it by lusting after her incredibly sexy body.”
Mel paused and grimaced. Sitting here on her own thinking licentious thoughts obviously wasn’t helping, let alone the fact that she was talking to the cat. What did she expect? That the cat might all of a sudden tell her to throw discretion to the wind and jump Crys’s bones?
“And what do you think your mistress would think about that, Puss? If I jumped her gorgeous bones?”
The cat blinked appraisingly, and Mel sighed loudly.
“So here I am lusting after my mother’s best friend and discussing the merits of it with a cat. I’m slipping from the sublime to the ridiculous.”
So much for sitting here on her own. Maybe she should have gone out to dinner with Crys, met her friends. But that could have been complicated, too.
Although Crys hadn’t said so, Mel surmised her friends were lesbians, and if they’d asked questions Mel would have to have been on her guard. And good friends, friends Crys had told Mel she’d known for years, would be the first to notice that Mel was feeling more than a casual friendship for Crys. Yes, it was all too complicated. Far better to have stayed home.
Paddy got up and went to check his food bowl, and Mel stretched out more comfortably on the couch. Misty took advantage of the situation and settled across Mel s thighs. Determinedly, Mel opened her book and tried to pick up the threads of her story.
An hour later the book had slipped to the floor and Mel was in that transitory state between being awake and asleep.
She was walking along the river with Terry. They stopped, sat side by side on a bench, huddling as close together as they dared. Terry had brought along some bread and they fed the ducks, talked, and laughed. Then they moved on until they found a tree with overhanging branches and they slipped beneath them, strained against each other, exhilarated and frustrated by their lack of privacy. Until Terry took Mel’s arm and hurried her back to their small flat and the wonderful seclusion of it.
Almost before the door was closed, Terry had pulled off Mel’s coat and slid her hands beneath Mel’s sweater, her cold fingers making Mel squeal and try to escape. And then they were on the narrow bed and Terry was slowly driving her mad with her fingers and tongue, teasing Mel until she begged for release.
Mel stirred, suddenly perturbed, disquiet clutching at her. She frowned. She wanted Terry to hold her close, stroke her hair, talk to her, but Terry was moving away as she usually did.
Mel murmured softly. She’d often felt this slight sense of loss, of unfulfillment somehow, after they’d made love.
No. She moved and the cat protested. No, she was being absurd. She was only dreaming. They had had a fantastic love life. Exciting. Exhilarating. And all orchestrated by Terry.
Mel frowned again. She didn’t want to think about all this. It was old news. She wanted to wake up, get herself out of this disturbing dream, but it held her captive, and she was too drowsy to pull herself awake.
She would have liked to drift off to a place where she was with Crys, where Crys was reaching out, where she felt the softness of Crys’s skin, her warmth.
And then she felt the light touch of a hand on her head, brushing over her hair so gently she wondered if she was imagining it. The hand moved and cool skin feathered her cheek, lightly tracing the line of her jaw.
CHAPTER FIVE
Mel’s taut muscles, muscles she hadn’t realized were so tense, slowly relaxed, and she sighed.
“Mel.” A low, liquid voice said her name, the sound of it reaching out, enveloping her, cocooning her in a delicious warmth.
“Mel.” There it was again. So wonderfully soothing. So sensual.
Mel’s lips twitched. She felt a small smile play around the corners of her mouth, and she murmured her pleasure. She could drift like this forever. But she wanted more, knew there was more. Her eyelids fluttered, revealed the back of a strong hand as those cool fingers continued to stroke her cheek.
And there was a dark head, the curve of a strong jaw, a small nose, the contours of a determined chin, and a soft, smiling, so inviting mouth.
Mel was almost overcome with the desire to touch those lips with her own. She stirred and began to raise herself, her fingers taking hold of that gentling hand, the pad of her thumb stroking the exposed palm.
“Crys?” she said sleepily, and felt her body arch toward the other woman. She wanted to pull Crys down on top of her, feel the soft, so feminine curves meld with her own.
“Mel? Wake up, love. You’d be more comfortable in bed,” Crys’s deep voice said above her.
Only if you’re there, too. The words trembled on Mel’s lips as she came fully awake, stopping herself just in time. What if she’d said those words? Had she actually voiced them? Her eyes opened wide and she studied Crys’s face, but there was no horror, no indication that she had said anything untoward.
Mel reluctantly released Crys’s hand and pushed herself into a sitting position. Misty protested with a loud and indignant mew.
Crys had straightened and moved a few feet away from the couch. “I see Misty has claimed squatter’s rights,” she said lightly as Mel swung her feet to the floor.
“She, um, she does a pretty good job as a hot water bottle.”
Crys laughed. “That she does.”
“Did you have a good evening?” Mel asked, ostensibly rubbing her eyes with her hand, hoping Crys wouldn’t notice the warmth she knew had colored her face.
“Wonderful. The meal was delicious. However—” Crys made a face — “I was soundly chastised for not bringing you along with me. They’re a really nice group of women.”
“Are they lesbians?” Mel heard herself ask.
Crys paused slightly before she replied. “Yes. Yes, they are. But we don’t—”
“I know.” Mel stood up. “It doesn’t matter. I was just, well, just curious, that’s all.” She shrugged. “I’m sure I’d like them if you do. Maybe I could go with you next week. That is, if you go.”
Crys smiled vaguely. “That would be fine. They’d all enjoy meeting you.”
“Mmm,” Mel murmured noncommittally.
“Well, I guess we should turn in.” It was Crys’s turn to stifle a yawn.
“Do you want some coffee?” Mel was suddenly loath for them to be separated, especially by the wall between their bedrooms.
“No, thanks.” Crys shook her head. “I had some coffee after dinner. Any more and I won’t be able to sleep. How about you?”
“Oh, no. I’m fine.” Mel glanced at her watch. “Coffee this late would keep me up, too.”
They walked toward their rooms.
Perhaps they should both have coffee, Mel contemplated hysterically, and stay awake and make love till dawn. Mel’s body heat increased rapidly at the recalcitrant thought.
“Maybe you’ll be able to return to your dream,” Crys said lightly. “I was disinclined to wake you, you looked so peaceful. Do you remember what you were dreaming about?”
“Oh. No. Not really.” Mel guiltily stretched the truth. “So it can’t have been that good.”
Crys laughed softly. “Seems not. See you in the morning.”
Mel nodded and went into her room.
Did she remember what she’d been dreaming about? Oh, yes. She remembered all right. What an understatement! she derided herself as she sank onto the side of the bed. If only she could pick up the dream from when Crys’s hands touched he
r face and then have the dream continue on from there. Or better still, Mel reflected recklessly, make the dream an erotic reality.
She swallowed. That wouldn’t be sensible, she told herself. All this fantasizing was only making her awareness of the other woman more intense by the minute. And it was already becoming harder for Mel to keep some distance between them.
Crys took a quick shower, donned the long-sleeved T-shirt she wore to bed, brushed her teeth, and ran a comb through her hair. Then she stretched out beneath the doona, the thick eiderdown comforter.
She felt decidedly unsettled. And whose fault was that? she asked herself irritatedly. She’d brought it all on herself. She’d only meant to lightly touch Mel so she’d wake up without getting a fright.
Bad move, Crys, she admonished herself. What had possessed her to touch Mel the way she had? Instead of gently patting her awake, she’d allowed that fleeting touch to linger for far too long. Mel could so easily have misconstrued.
Crys laughed softly in self-derision. If she was totally honest with herself she’d have welcomed any misconstruction on Mel’s part. Anything to hold Mel’s beautiful body in her arms. Crys moaned softly, calling herself all kinds of a fool.
When she’d walked into the house and found Mel asleep on the couch, she’d stood quietly and watched her, allowed herself the luxury of letting her gaze linger on the young woman.
Her beautiful face, softened so delightfully in sleep. Her firm breasts, flat stomach. The exciting spot where her long legs met…How she wished she could kneel down, bury her face in the softness, the heady feminine aroma of Mel’s body.
Crys shifted agitatedly in her bed. For heaven’s sake! She was allowing her errant thoughts to get way out of hand. And it had to stop. Yet how she wanted…
All right! Go ahead and face it, she reproached herself. What did she want? She wanted to hold Mel close, let her fingers and tongue explore her, make long, sweet love to her.
Crys’s body responded to her libidinous musing. Her nipples prickled to attention, and an arrow of arousal centered between her legs. For the first time since she’d lost Diane, she actually felt a burning, inciting need to make love with another woman.
But why Mel Jamieson? she asked herself agitatedly. She’d come into contact with any number of women in the past five years. In an offhand way she’d noticed these women were intelligent and attractive, but none of them had stirred her senses the way Mel did.
Perhaps it was simply a normal part of her healing process after the loss of Diane, and Mel just happened to come along at the right time. Or maybe it was just her hormones beginning to play up. She was forty-two, she reminded herself. She could expect bodily changes as she entered menopause.
But all that aside, putting forward reasons why she might be attracted to Mel didn’t exactly clarify or solve the problem. The bottom line was that she couldn’t allow herself to act on her oh-so-incendiary impulses. It just wasn’t possible.
But why wasn’t it conceivable!? a small yearning voice said from deep down inside her. She, Crys, was an adult, and so was Mel. They were both free to do as they pleased. But, of course, another small part of Crys that clutched at rationality thrust forward all the reasons why she couldn’t permit herself to follow up on the dictates of her body.
She was fourteen years older than Mel, old enough to know better than to take advantage of someone so much younger than she was. Mel was her best friend’s daughter. And she was straight. It was mega-foolish getting involved with a straight woman, Crys told herself forcefully. That was one of the rules of the sisterhood, if such rules actually existed. And if they didn’t exist, Crys decided peevishly, then they should.
Of course, all this was pure fantasy, existing only in her apparently very vivid imagination. She knew if she let her guard down, allowed Mel to see just how attracted to the younger woman she was, then Mel was more than likely to run screaming. Even if Mel had been confused about her sexuality as a teenager, Mel had been living with a man for the past six years. Elementary, my dear Watson, Crys told herself scornfully.
But what if Mel was still interested in…? Crys sought the words she hardly dared even think. What if Mel wanted to explore her sexuality? Crys cringed at her trite turn of phrase and shifted exasperatedly in her bed. She was beginning to sound like some sort of pseudo-psychoanalyst.
Yet deep down a small part of her clung to the concept. It was a possibility, wasn’t it? If Mel…
Crys angrily turned over, plumping her pillow with more than necessary vigor.
And wouldn’t that be worse? she asked herself brutally. If she, Crys, was just an experiment to Mel, one she wanted to pick up where she’d left off all those years ago…Crys sank back into her bed. Somehow that thought was completely and utterly devastating, and she couldn’t or wouldn’t admit to herself just why this was so.
They headed off to the lower paddock. Crys was driving the tractor with the seed-harvesting implement attached and Mel carefully followed her in the truck. The old tractor spluttered and coughed, and Mel was amazed it actually kept going.
Surely Crys would have to consider getting a new one soon. Mel had no idea how much such a piece of machinery cost to buy, but she suspected they weren’t cheap. Maybe Crys couldn’t afford it. Mel’s mother had said Crys was hardly well off.
Mel sighed as she glimpsed the valley through the trees. A light mist was gradually dissipating as the sun rose. It seemed everyone’s life was fraught in some way.
They turned left and followed the bitumen road for a short distance before taking what was little more than a rough track through high grasses down to the right. The track branched, and Crys took the right fork, heading back toward a sagging iron gate in a barbed wire fence that was barely visible in the undergrowth.
Crys climbed down from the tractor and opened the gate, then she drove the tractor far enough through to allow the truck to follow. Crys walked up to join Mel, raising her voice above the irregular chugging of the idling tractor.
“I’ll close the gate and then we’ll park the truck over under the trees. It’ll be cooler for you to sit there than out here in the full sun.”
Mel nodded, and Crys swung the gate closed behind the truck. As Crys passed her Mel called out, “And I’ll close the gate next time to save you getting down off the tractor.”
Crys smiled and waved, and they continued along the fence line toward the trees that followed the creek Mel had seen from Crys’s veranda.
They started when Crys decided the dew was gone from the grass and, although Crys protested, Mel took her turn on the noisy machine as it whipped the seed into the box. When she rested, Mel took out the sketchbook she’d brought with her and tried to capture the lines and angles of Crys at work, patiently following the row cut back and forward along the length of the paddock.
Taking the last turn on the tractor before lunchtime, Mel was more than ready for a break so she could sit down on something that didn’t shake every inch of her.
“I feel like I’m still moving standing still,” she said to Crys.
“Well, I did warn you.” Crys frowned. “You don’t have to do this, Mel. I’m used to it, and I know how tiring it is. Not that I don’t appreciate your help. I really do. I’m way ahead of schedule, and I’ll be finished long before I normally am when I do it all myself. You can still go home and relax for the afternoon and I’ll finish up.”
Mel grinned. “What, and miss the fabulous picnic lunch we packed?”
“I meant after lunch,” Crys explained, and Mel shook her head.
“I’m fine, Crys. I promise I’ll tell you if it all gets too much for me. Okay?”
“All right.” Crys agreed reluctantly.
“So, where shall we have our lunch? And can it be preferably somewhere that doesn’t move?”
“If you don’t mind a short walk, we could go down by the river.” Crys grinned. “Unless running water constitutes moving.”
“That I can live with.”
They picked their way through a group of straggly trees, and Mel could hear the sound of cascading water. She exclaimed in surprise when they came out into the sunshine again and found they were on a small grassy bank overlooking a crystal-clear stream tumbling over smooth, round rocks.
“This is the creek I can see from your place, isn’t it?” she asked, and Crys laughed softly.
“This creek is the beginning of the mighty Tweed River.”
Mel paused in the act of setting down the small cooler of food she’d been carrying. “You mean the Tweed River I crossed over on my way down? This is it?”
“Sure is. Actually this is the South Arm. It rises in the Tweed Range southwest of Mount Warning. The other two tributaries that join with this one and go on to form the Tweed River begin in the McPherson Ranges.”
“Amazing.” Mel looked at the water with new eyes. “I didn’t realize. You’d hardly believe it when you see how wide it is closer to the coast.”
“If it was summertime we could go a little farther along the creek and have a reviving swim. It’s a bit wider and deeper there and makes a wonderful swimming hole.”
“We can’t today?” Mel looked at the cool water. “I’m warm enough after all that work to take a refreshing dip.”
Crys shivered. “You might think so but, believe me, the water’s freezing.”
Mel shrugged. “Oh, well. Pity. I didn’t bring my swimsuit anyway.”
“If you want to swim you don’t have to stand on ceremony with me.” Crys was spreading out the old blanket she carried. “This is pretty private and no one ever comes down this far, so feel free to skinny-dip if you want to.”
Mel sent her a quick look and her body tensed, her nerve endings tingling. She had a vivid picture of herself and Crys, naked, splashing in the cool water. She swallowed as her heart rate increased threefold.
“But I think you should give it the toe or finger test before you decide,” Crys was adding. “As I said, it’s pretty cold this time of year.”
