He + She

by Michelle Warren

  “Yes! I’ll sell gift baskets full of the stuff. Can you design a retail space, too, or do you only design houses?” I crunch a mouthful of cookies while talking.

  “I’m multitalented.” He strokes my arm, practically giving me a heart attack. I hold my breath at his touch, because I can only imagine how talented he is. With his lips, his hands, his fingers.

  Hew turns on his side, facing me, giving me that smoldering sexy look of his. The one that makes me want to throw myself at him. I put my wine and cookies aside and turn to him, and huddle under our blanket. Now face-to-face, we smile at each other, and with a fluttering heart, I examine the Roman god who is looking back at me.

  Our intensified breathing warms the space between us. I smell sex on his breath, or maybe it’s mine. Either way, I sense the pheromones pumping. It may be the glass of wine I just downed lowering my inhibitions, but Hew has never looked as devilish as he does right now with his messy, wind-blown hair, thick dark stubble, strong chin, and full lips. My gaze lands in that last spot for a moment longer than it should, and there’s an intense urge to press my lips to his, to relieve the wanting ache building within me.

  I take my time, wanting to extend all these intense feelings, but most importantly wanting to make the right decisions. I reach out one finger and gently touch the spot right below his ear. He stiffens just slightly but relaxes as I drag my fingertip down the long slope of his neck, follow the shape of the collar, and land at the tattoo right above his collarbone. Stopping there, I mindlessly trace the edge of the black design.

  Hew doesn’t protest or move, he only watches me memorizing him. There’s an undeniable thickness surrounding us, and whatever it’s made of—desire, loneliness, or restlessness—it’s an aphrodisiac urging me to do things I hadn’t intended when we originally met.

  With new bravery, I slowly unbutton the rest of his shirt to where it meets the waist of his pants. Once open, I push the fabric over and off his shoulder, until it rumples on his back and bunches at his elbows, revealing the entire tattoo. Hew’s chest breaks out in a flurry of tingled flesh and aroused nipples as they meet the chilly air. I know what it’s doing to him because I’m feeling every bit as excited. I gently glide my palms along his defined pecs, and he leans his head back, closes his eyes, and sucks on his lower lip in response.

  I stare at those lips, plump, wet, and warm, and I want to bite them. I move my body closer, capturing the heat between us. My eyes are at the same level of his tattoo now. It’s triangular in shape, fitting perfectly in the natural triangle created by his collarbone, neck, and shoulder, like it slid into place and lodged there, forever trapped by the rigid shelf of his bone. I make another round with my hands over the tattoo and his chest. My heart skips a beat because for the first time, I realize that I want him. Something in me needs him.

  Taking my time to consider this new intense emotion, I trace the tattoo, a simple three-pointed Celtic knot entwining a single blooming rose. The artwork is beautiful.

  “Does it mean something special?” I whisper.

  “It’s a trinity knot.” His gaze meets mine as his words roll through the air, caressing my face. “It means many things to different people, but to me it means life, death, and rebirth.”

  “That hints at a serious back story.” I smirk seductively.

  Hew nods and swallows, seemingly out of nervousness. “You have no idea.” He looks into the distance and I feel him drifting from me, so I leave it alone. We aren’t here to tell those secrets. But it’s the first time that I realize that he may have his own complex past. Part of me wishes I could share my real story with him, too, but if he knew how screwed up I really am, I suspect he never would have even had lunch with me on that first day.

  Hew grabs my hand in his, like he can’t take any more of that discussion. His skin is rough and warm, and his heated energy seems to flow out from him and into me. He lifts my hand to his perfect lips and gently kisses my palm. At the point of contact, a shot of lust races through my body, and I physically jolt with delight. He pulls away and I clamp my hand closed, as if I can capture the sensation.

  I roll into him so that I’m facing away. I don’t know where this is going, but I need it to last as long as possible. My shoulders, back, behind, and legs snug into his every angle. He slides his impossibly long arms around my waist, pressing his palm into my stomach to pull me closer, and then places his chin in the arc of my neck where it fits perfectly, like curving pieces of a puzzle.

  His breath is even warmer than his body, and with every rise and fall of his chest against my back, I’m acutely aware of the magnetic attraction between us. When the heat from his lips spills like a waterfall over my neck and chest, a wildfire of electricity races down my arms, hips, and legs. And just when the sensation consumes my entire body, my toes curl and my muscles clench as I try to contain my excitement.

  Hew must notice because he hugs me in response. At the moment my energy leaves me, it seems to seep into him. I know because I feel his skin prickle, small hairs rising with excitement, just like mine.

  Somehow we’re connected. Truly connected, and I don’t know how or why. We don’t say anything, we only continue to explore each other’s body by shifting, rubbing, and pressing. I slide the pads of my feet up and down his shins, and in response, Hew slowly drags his palm along the curve of my hip and thigh, intensifying our encounter. I rub my back into his chest, and in response, Hew brushes his rough stubble over my cheek. I reach back and rake my fingers through his thick hair and gently tug, and he moans with delight and answers me by cupping and massaging my breasts, and sliding his palms down the center of my abs.

  Every movement we share creates a wild, animalistic friction. Fabric shifts on fabric, skin brushes against skin, and every sensual touch ignites an intense fire that connects us. It’s passionate and erotic, but we go no further; we never even kiss. We don’t need to. We start our own kind of blazing bonfire. We’re kissing and licking with our entire bodies, our breath, and our eyes.

  We’re playing a new game where Hew is in charge. I place my trust in him, something I’ve never done with anyone else, or even myself. Everything I left behind is so far away, and with Hew, it doesn’t seem important anymore. So I just give in.

  Chapter 27

  He

  I’m a horny teenager all over again. The intensity of this unorthodox make-out session could ruin me to this girl forever. We’re doing nothing but touching, but every movement seems to mean everything. Every part of my body wants her, but I decided on the car ride here that I would only go where Shea prompted, do what she’s comfortable with. And though I’m tempted to slide one hand up her shirt to caress the skin of her breasts and lightly pinch her nipples and sneak the other down her pants, to massage the sweet spot between her legs with my fingertips, I hold back on those and many other urges. I don’t want to ruin the perfection of finally feeling her sexy body against mine. This moment is a victory in itself.

  When we’re only holding each other tightly, all of Shea’s muscles relax, probably from exhaustion and, I suspect, too much wine, and she falls asleep in my embrace. Seeing her like this—vulnerable and real—I realize that I more than “like” her, but there are no exact words for what I feel.

  I pull her close, as though I can hide her away and keep her all for myself. Out here in the darkness and in the middle of the night, it feels as though I may actually have a chance. I’ve never been this protective of any girl. It’s an instinct that rises from deep within that I can’t explain. I try to relax and sleep, too, but my mind leaps forward into any future that we may have, and the road is blocked by all the issues from my past. I’m certain that she’ll want nothing to do with me when she knows my awful truth.

  And that truth is that I’m so unworthy of her playful spirit, her perfection, her hot body. Despite this, I can’t help myself from wanting to wake her and finally kiss her, continue where we left off and keep going until I’ve made her mine and she’s made
me hers, but I hold back.

  I’ve been running away from the guilt of what I’ve done, and it’s not easy to forget. Nor is it something I want to forget because if I do, it’s as though I’ve forgiven myself, and I never will. The bottom line is that I don’t deserve Shea. Even as I held that wineglass in my hand earlier and toasted with her, my mouth watered, my hand became shaky, and my body was instantly covered with nervous sweat. Alcohol hasn’t been that close to my eager lips in ages, and I desperately want to give in. It was all I could do to control my reaction in front of her so she wouldn’t see what a weak fuck I really am.

  Even from here in the moonlight, I can see the outline of the wine bottle. It tempts me, like the seductive curve of Shea’s hips. I catch a faint whiff of grape on the night breeze, and cringe as the scent activates the demon inside that seems impossible to quell. I pray to be free every single day, but I know it’s a useless and stupid wish.

  I look down at her, breathing peacefully, and run my hand lightly around the halo of her mussed hair. I think she could be my salvation from all my struggles if she allows it. And in that thought, I realize that everything hinges on this crazy girl, and the unbelievable part is that I’m comfortable with that.

  I sigh and give up thinking in constant racetracks that take me back to the same issue over and over again. Releasing her from my embrace, I slide out from under the blanket and stand and stretch. I move beside her and gather her in my arms, sliding my hands behind her knees and back, and easily lift her. The blanket drapes over the curves of her body and she moans, waking slightly, and tucks her head into the curve of my chest. I carry her inside and place her on the bed.

  “Come to bed,” she says, her voice raspy with sleep, and she reaches out, beckoning me.

  “Anything you want.” I answer by sliding in beside her.

  • • •

  “Ahhhhhhhhh! Oh my God! Oh my God!”

  My eyes open wide. I shoot straight up and immediately jump out of bed, my heart beating fast because of Shea’s scream.

  She frantically flaps her arms, yelping and hopping around, and it feels like complete chaos because my brain has yet to catch up with my instantly awakened body.

  It takes a moment to realize what’s happening. She’s fighting off a fluttering bird. A big, fat fucking bird.

  Get the bird out of here. I pick up a pillow and wave it through the air, trying to guide the frantic creature out the French doors, which I apparently left open last night.

  Wings flapping loudly, the bird flies away into the blinding sunlight.

  Breathing heavily from the excitement, I turn and walk back into the bedroom. Four loud bangs rattle the wall between us and the next room. I look at Shea and she looks at me, and we begin to giggle like we did last night. The action immediately relieves the frightening tension, helping my heart rate return to normal.

  “I think our neighbors hate us,” I say.

  “But they didn’t wake up to a bird nesting in their hair.”

  I snort. “In your hair?”

  “Yes,” she says, still catching her breath and crosses a hand over her heart. “Holy crap, that scared me! Those little bitches!” She looks out the open door and purses her lips, fists clenched at her side, and takes off running out onto the veranda. With pointed fingers, she’s attacking a flock of birds that have camped out on our terrace, devouring the contents of her leftover fortune cookies. She shoos them away, arms waving and legs kicking the air. I want to capture it in a photo, but I can’t look away for fear of missing something.

  I rub my chin, watching her, realizing I feel exactly the same as the first time I saw her in the airport. She’s so fucking crazy-cute.

  “Thanks to the birds, I guess we can buy more dirty fortunes.” I playfully waggle my eyebrows.

  “Maybe.” She purses her lips. Her shoulders and legs turn inward, as if she’s suddenly turned shy. Sometime overnight, she must have shimmied out of her jeans shorts, and I’m sincerely sad that I wasn’t responsible. Now she’s standing in front of me, all bare legs and sexy in her days-of-the-week underpants, making my dick twinge with excitement as I remember last night. Apparently she does, too, because her cheeks burn a rosy shade to match the large graphic heart on her oversized T-shirt, hanging off one shoulder that reads, I LEFT MY <3 IN SAN FRANCISCO.

  I wish to God she would just leave that heart with me. Or just give herself to me, because I’m totally captivated.

  “Morning,” she offers timidly.

  “Afternoon is more like it.” I walk to her and capture her in an embrace. The most significant part is that she allows it, because part of me worried that she wouldn’t even be here when I woke up. This is progress.

  “There’s something about you that birds love,” I say, and she laughs into my chest, her body rising and falling quickly. She leans away and looks up at me.

  “I think they’re your cannibal zombie seagull minions. They’re just following their master around.”

  “You caught me,” I say with mock seriousness. “It was their mission to confiscate the boring fortune cookies and they succeeded. I’ll pay them handsomely in beer and pretzels.”

  “Is that the key to bribing them? I thought it would be bird brains or something zombie-ish.”

  “They’re vegetarian zombies.”

  “Of course they are.” Shea pulls away from me and I instantly miss her. She spreads out her arms, soaking up the sun rays. “It’s such a pretty day. What should we do?”

  “Anything you want, sunshine.”

  Chapter 28

  She

  Hew takes a shower and gets ready, and then it’s my turn. I lug my things into the bathroom and shut the door behind me. After I dump my toiletries onto the vanity I take a long moment, wondering if I should take my medication, just in case my illness finds me again. If I had to guess, the chances of wandering into a wedding or a similarly upsetting situation in Napa Valley is high. Even just thinking of the possibility makes my shoulders tense.

  I unscrew the top, remove a pill, and drop it on my tongue, but I don’t swallow. I want to be better than these things, not be chained to the pills like a tortured prisoner. For once, I want to be in control.

  I spit the pill back out into my hand, toss it in the toilet, and flush. Unsure if I’m doing the right thing, I cross my arms, holding myself together as I watch it swirl around the bowl and plunge into the hole.

  Then I close the commode top and sit down, raking my fingernails over my arms and rock back and forth.

  Things have been going so well since we left the city, that I can’t imagine Luke ever finding me here. There’s no way for him to track me, and the thought immediately causes me to relax. A part of me, though it’s dangerous to think this way, feels like I’ve finally escaped him, and I have Hew to thank for that. With him by my side I feel stronger, and though it worries me to death, I’m doing my best not to be scared anymore. I can do so much more without fear. I want to kick fear in the ass and make it my bitch.

  I think I can do this. I need to do this. Leaning on my knees, I run my hand over my face. With a deep breath, I slap my thighs and stand up straight, mustering my girl power, and gaze at my reflection in the mirror. The day I arrived in California seems so far away. I’m already feeling stronger. My coloring is healthier, and my smile somehow brighter.

  The truth is that I—feel—good.

  I think of last night again, remembering how hot it was just to touch each other. If Hew and I had kept going, I surely would have spontaneously combusted into a hot, fiery mess. Despite the fact that I want to do it all over again, right now, I do my best to concentrate and continue with my regular routine: shower, teeth, face, hair.

  I reach for the hair dryer, plug it in, and turn it on. As I yank at the cord to remove a kink from it, I accidentally knock my open pill bottle over. It falls on its side, pills spilling out and rolling as if in slow motion down the curve of the sink, then dropping from view into the yawning chasm of the
open drain.

  “No!” I scream as if it will make a difference. I catch a total of three sleeping pills, losing all the white and dreaded pink pills. I yelp with concern and fall to the floor on my knees with the last of them in my hand, cursing because I can’t get any more without a new prescription, and the last thing I’m going to do is call my doctor for one of those.

  Destiny, you bitch.

  Hew knocks on the bathroom door. “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” My response is small and I know it doesn’t sound convincing. It’s shaky and unsure, which is exactly how I feel. I suck the inside of my cheek and tighten my arms around my body. What will I do if I break down again? Can I talk myself through the anxiety like I did at Pearl’s in Chinatown? The answer is that I don’t know. That was partly a fluke, something I hadn’t been able to do—ever. But if I’m to continue on my little road trip, I’ll have to be in charge of my own body.

  I inhale a long breath through my nose, summoning the parts of me that are right to overpower the bad.

  I can do this.

  I can do this.

  • • •

  Eventually I emerge from the bathroom clean and dressed. Hew looks me over, probably sensing the slight distress in my eyes. How could he not suspect that something’s happened, and it has everything to do with the noise I made while was in there. He stands and I dig my hands into my pockets, waiting for him to ask me what’s wrong.

  “Everything good?”

  “Yeah, let’s go explore!” I perk up when he lets it slide, but I think he’s starting to realize when my enthusiasm is real and when it’s not.

  He grabs his wallet, room key, and camera, and I wander into the bathroom for my purse. Then we lock our room and head outside.

  The wine festival is in the next town, and Hew drives. Outside the city of Saint Helena, cars park along the side of the interstate, so we do the same and walk, following the crowds to the main street. It’s closed off for pedestrians and lined with tents selling hand-painted wineglasses, wine stoppers, wine holders, and wine decanters, as well as Bedazzled wine shirts, scarves, and hats, and any other wine-themed item you can possibly imagine. There are food vendors, other shops, children’s activities, farm animals, bounce houses and, of course, lots of flowing wine.