Agnes leaned forward, placed her right fist against his chest, and lightly kissed his lips. “I’ll be in the bedroom wrapped in warm blankets. You can stay out here if you want to.” She let her fist fall to his stomach and then swept it away as she turned and sauntered out of the room.
Too much data flooded his brain, and a familiar pattern refused to emerge. There was no doubt about where his urges wanted to lead him. It was just all the damn yellow signs. They kept appearing around him, larger with each passing minute. And what about April? How could he hold Agnes in his arms so soon after April’s murder? How could he let the hands that so recently slit April’s throat caress him now?
He reached in his pocket but pulled out his hand, empty. She deserved more than a coin flip. He wanted to trust her. In fact, he needed to trust her.
But it was more than that. Something stirred in him that pushed all of the past aside. Pushed April aside. He should have seen it coming as soon as he’d opened up to April, as soon as he’d relegated Eugenia’s memory to a unit of measure.
It had to be Agnes. He wanted it to be so badly he was willing to ignore all the yellow signs. He wanted it to be so badly he walked to the bedroom in the back of the trailer.
CHAPTER 42
Jason paused in the bedroom doorway and stared. The shape of her body showed through the tightly wrapped blankets. The bed was a small, the kind that forced intimacy between two people.
He savored her outline. She laid on the right side of the bed, next to a makeshift table—a modified construction crate. One of the large candles sat on the crate, dwarfing an adjacent votive. Her curves pulsated with the flicker of the pale, orange light. Another crate and mismatched pair of candles bracketed the bed on the other side. The candle arrangement was the twin of the one on the right, but it strained to cast a symmetrical glow.
Twins. Jason was ready to curl up with her under the covers until the word came to mind. Now he wasn’t so sure. She looked innocent beneath the blankets, a welcoming smile anchoring a look of expectation. But what else could be beneath the blankets? He’d decidedto trust her just a few seconds ago, but now those yellow signs were around him again, posted at the foot of the bed. He couldn’t keep going back and forth like this. It would drive him crazy.
But he still moved forward into the flickering candlelight. Despite the possibility that it could be Lilin, despite the loss of April to the very hands in the bed before him, he stepped toward her. Why? Why didn’t he call the police? Why didn’t he run from her?
His hand went to his mouth, covering a deep inhalation. He felt his eyes watering, threatening to release onto his cheeks. And he nodded. It was her all along. It wasn’t April who opened his heart to the possibility of loving again—it was Agnes. April was the proof, but Agnes was the motivation, the goal. Agnes’s embrace in the other room had introduced the epiphany. Her welcoming presence in the bed confirmed it.
A smile spread on his face. She turned a little in his direction as his knee brushed the side of the bed. His smile faded. On the floor beside the bed, within arm’s reach, was her purse. It was open wide. Just sitting there, wide open. She didn’t need anything beneath the covers; she had her purse so close by. His hesitation was brief as he brushed the imaginary yellow caution signs aside.
Trust. He had to trust that it was Agnes—a new Agnes. Better yet, the old Agnes with a new attitude. The Agnes he was meant to be with. He stepped around to the empty side of the bed and sat.
She turned farther in his direction and the stretched blankets pulled from her bare shoulders. She rested her head on an uncased pillow and widened her smile.
He rotated his feet onto the bed and lay next to her, outside the covers.
“You won’t get warm like that.” Her voice was cozy, but with a hint of sass.
He sat back up and leaned over the edge of the bed to untie his shoes, then straightened back up and turned. She hadn’t moved. A tentative giggle escaped her lips.
He pushed the heel of his left shoe down with the toe of his right and flipped it to the floor, then repeated the maneuver with the other shoe. He could face her for the rest.
He peeled to an undershirt and boxers and slipped under the blankets. Skin touched skin.
She didn’t move away. Her face was inches from his, and the glow of the candles made her dimples dance. Her soft eyes laser-locked to his. They weren’t Lilin’s eyes. Or April’s eyes. Or even Eugenia’s.
A new challenge swamped his brain, emanating from somewhere within his boxers. He felt her bare skin with his knees, his shins, and his feet. But how much of her was unclothed? His entire torso was covered, as was his nether region. He didn’t want to grab her. That would be too forward. But he needed to know. He hoped she was naked, but he didn’t want to assume it. He struggled to control the physical manifestation of his building need for her. In such a small bed, it could be embarrassing if she only wanted to cuddle.
He half rolled away from her and worked his shirt up from his waist. With an awkward arm cross, he managed to get the garment over his head, but his left arm caught in the fabric. The bed shook with his efforts to get it free.
She leaned over and helped free the shackled arm, and it took him a full second to realize that her bare breasts were pressed against his chest and side. His armsfolded around her and pulled her close. They settled together against the single bare pillow.
Her lips reached for his, and the meeting was gentle. She pushed her torso into him, but her kiss was still delicate.
He returned it, just as gently, and felt her lips part and her tongue touch the inside of his upper lip. His tongue met hers.
She pressed firmly into the kiss and emitted what sounded to him like a contented hum. Her nasal exhalations increased in frequency and force, and he detected in them a scent exceeding attractiveness. It was alluring, irresistible. Not a perfumed, artificial odor, but a natural one, a woman one. Whatever it was, he couldn’t get enough of it.
She terminated the kiss and pushed her face into his neck and kissed it before snuggling into a hug. A soft moan let out another flume of her aroma.
He wanted to hold her like that forever. This tenderness, this peaceful embrace, was what he had felt with only one other woman. And he knew that whatever happened next would be ratcheted up way beyond wonderful because of it.
Then it happened. The male brain is a joker, and it presses its gags at the most inopportune times. It spun one more challenge to interfere with his tenderness, derailing the immediacy of his actions without changing their direction. Was she wearing anything below the waist? He had to know. Right then.
The joker had control of his movements, and it commanded his right hand to slowly draw a line down her back, to her hip and her right buttock.
But the joke was turned back. Her hands were on the waistband of his boxers, tugging them downward. Her efforts met resistance, and when she ran her lefthand down to confront the snag, she whispered with a laugh, “Oh, my.”
He helped free the boxers and worked them off each foot with the other. She pressed into him, and their total skin contact spun them into another kiss, this one more forceful and impatient. He heard two long, low moans, one his.
Despite the immediacy of their embrace and kiss, she didn’t seem to be in a hurry. Was she like him? He needed to enjoy the intimacy, explore it, find out what made her enjoy their mutual sensations. Find out what made her feel good. There was plenty of time for the ultimate act of closeness, and he felt a stronger bond was formed by building toward it together, slowly, sharing smaller pleasures along the way. Investigating each other for a better understanding, for a better closeness. Most women he’d been with had totally missed it. They wanted to jump to the grand finale. For him, the abbreviated program didn’t warrant curtain calls.
His hands moved on her, caressing, while his brain took mental notes of each response. He dwelled on the positive ones, reveling in his ability to give her pleasure. To his surprise, her hands were equally
busy and equally adept. Was she making entries in a mental data book of her own?
His right hand slid down the mesa of her stomach, and her legs spread to accept it. It didn’t seem like a reflex act, but rather a conscious movement. And it wasn’t a jerky twitch of want, but a smooth slide of expectation. He touched her gently, and her response was immediate. No mental notes were needed.
Her lips were next to his ear now, and her breathing was fast and rhythmic. The smell of her filled the room.
Her hips fell into motion, mirroring that of hishand. He kept his touch light, steady.
The joker elbowed in. Don’t make her wait any longer, it said. You’ll lose her. Get on with it.
The joke was a wedge of uncertainty. Was he doing the right thing?
He resisted a change, but brought his mouth near her ear. “Do you want me to keep doing this?”
She exhaled her response, “Yes, please.”
And that was the punch line, because her words tickled his ear and enveloped him in her pheromone-laden odor. It made him want her more than ever. And it took all of his self-control to keep her pleasure at the forefront of his intent.
His newfound concentration brought her to within reach of the summit, her rhythmic, openmouthed vocalizations ascending the musical scale. As she reached the top, he felt muscles throughout her body tense. He gently entered her and synchronized his movements with hers, initially keeping pace but then struggling to do so. Her voice filled the room, and her second whole-body contraction vibrated in and out of tetany.
Her arms gripped him tight to constrict his movement, her voice a hoarse whisper. “Wait. Let me get my breath.” She finished off a dozen quick breaths with a delicate kiss on his neck. Her hands ran down his back, barely touching it. “Thank you.”
He scaled his own mountain in brag-unworthy time and fell against her, trying to catch what little oxygen was left in the room.
He enjoyed their closeness for minutes that seemed like hours. From her steady, calm breathing and her caresses, he assumed she felt the same.
She kissed him gently and pulled her head back a couple of inches, interrupting the mood. “I want to tell you something, and I don’t want you to say anything back.” Her voice sounded different. It caught his attention. “Promise me you won’t say anything back.”
His mind took flight. Do women have a joker for a brain, too? He’d never encountered anything like that, anyway.
“Promise me.”
He leaned up on one elbow, towering over her. “Okay. I promise.”
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
He could still smell her odor.
“I love you. I have since before Imola.” She pulled him against her. “Don’t say anything. Just hold me.”
He kept the promise and snuggled against her. He thought he felt the slight hitches of sobs as she burrowed her face into his neck.
He settled into the spiral of relaxation that doomed all postcoital men, when he felt her jerk up in the bed. His faculties were slow.
She leaned over the edge of the bed, and he heard her hand pushing through the contents of her purse. He tried to move, but his muscles were lethargic.
She straightened up and turned toward him.
His sluggishness turned to partial paralysis: he could rise only halfway, but he managed to bring his right hand up in front of his face. All of the yellow signs of caution crowded around the bed, laughing at him. He peered through his fingers.
Something in her hands glinted in the candlelight. She gripped it with both hands, her arms extended. It shook in her grasp.
He tried to move, but he couldn’t. His immediate thought was of his background research on Lilith and her demon progeny. How they seduced, then devoured men. He remembered the swipe of Lilin’s razor. He closed his eyes. “No. Please.”
He held his breath and waited.
And nothing happened.
Then he heard a chuckle. He lowered his hand.
She held a small, white jar out toward him.
“What’s that?” His voice came out high-pitched, like a child’s.
She laughed. “Carmex. I can’t get the lid off. Can you help me?” She thrust the jar into his right hand.
The first two tries were unsuccessful but not due to tightness of the lid. His hands didn’t feel like they were attached to his arms. They shook flaccidly like Jell-O salad headed for a picnic over a bumpy road. The lid dislodged on the third try, and he nearly dropped it handing it back to her.
She nodded a thank you. “Whenever I breathe through my mouth a lot, I get chapped lips. I want to head it off.”
The logic sunk in, and Jason let out a wheezing breath. Classic Agnes.
She looked at one hand, then the other, and frowned. “You know what?” She twisted the lid back on the jar and threw it across the room. It hit the far wall and fell to the tiled floor. The lid came loose and rolled on its edge toward the door. She turned to him. “I don’t need that stuff. I know a better way to take care of my lips.” She lunged on top of him and held a strong kiss as long as she could before her giggles broke the seal between them.
Agnes lay awake, propped against the faux wood paneling, cushioned by the thin pillow. Jason’s breathing was regular, calm. He was beyond leg-twitching sleep and into full slumber. She wanted to caress him, hold him in her arms, but she didn’t want to wake him.
She had dreamed about what happened a little earlier, but her dreams didn’t do reality justice. She hadn’t known what to expect physically, but she had a good idea of what she wanted emotionally. And Jason carried her beyond her expectations and wants in both arenas. That’s why she’d told him. She’d known right then what it was to her. There’d been no need to wait.
A frown crinkled her forehead. She hoped he understood her request. She wanted to hear the three words from him. Desperately. But those words had a history in her world. They were the words of her father, said to both daughters in different ways. If Jason had said them, it would have created a crack, an opening. Lilin was lurking, waiting for the smallest opportunity. And those words sliced two ways.
CHAPTER 43
Jason stirred, his eyelids flittering at the early morning glow. He rolled on his back and drifted for a moment and then jerked his eyes full open. He searched, in panic, until he saw her.
Agnes leaned down and kissed him. “Good morning, sweetie.”
He smiled, started to say something, but stopped until he could turn his head away. “Hi. Sorry. Morning breath.”
She pulled on his arms, and he slid to the edge of the bed. He tried to grab a sheet for cover, but she yanked him upright and pulled him across the room to a whitewashed chest of drawers. On its top sat a plastic washbasin, half filled with water, two gallon jugs of water, two washcloths, and two towels. One washcloth was wet; the other appeared dry. Same for the towels.
Agnes turned to the far edge of the chest and poured coffee from a thermos into a Styrofoam cup. She heldout the cup and slid a box of donuts in his direction. She smiled. “I’ve been busy this morning.”
He sipped the coffee, unfazed by his shivering nakedness. “You went out this morning? I didn’t wake up?”
“Yes, and no.” She laughed and dipped the dry washcloth into the basin. “This is going to be cold.” She pressed the cloth to his chest and rubbed a circle before he pulled away, nearly spilling the coffee.
“Jesus.” He looked down past his waist as he slid the cup of coffee onto the chest. “That’s not going to portray me in the best possible light.”
She laughed again. “I saw the best light last night. I can handle this version as long as it isn’t permanent.”
He grabbed her in a hug. “Any colder and it might be.” He kissed her and shivered.
“It’s no colder than the air in here.”
“Feels like it.”
The washcloth headed south.
He grabbed her hand. “About what you said last night. I—”
�
��Please don’t say it.” She pulled her hand free and brought the cloth to her target. “Okay?”
“Okay. Okay.” He exhaled and immediately pulled in a full shivering breath. “Mind telling me why?”
She pulled close but kept washing. “Last night you showed me. Words weren’t needed. I like it that way. So don’t tell me. Show me.” She leaned back. “Oh, my. I didn’t mean so soon.”
She pushed him onto the bed and climbed on top, straddling him. Her kiss was hard but not violent. With a final thrust of her tongue, she planted her left palm on his chest and pushed off of him. Before he could react, sheslid downward, kissing a path down his chest and belly.
Her scent made him dizzy. His mind caught, but only for a second. This was Agnes. And last night, it was Agnes. No doubt. But it was like a weight had been lifted from her. A trapdoor opened allowing another escape—this one emotional. And she was encouraging him. Daring him. To share.
As his pleasure rocketed, his desire to reciprocate gave chase, and he pulled her upward on the bed, rotating with her until he was on top.
He knelt beside her and peeled her jeans and panties off together in a single slow motion. The smile on her face seemed more a dare than permission.
He grabbed her ankles and pushed them upward and outward, the heels close to her hips, and pushed her elevated knees apart. He lowered himself to her and decided to dispense with any of the preliminary intimacy they’d experienced last night. He sensed her agreement and matched her dare.
CHAPTER 44
The GTO eased past Eddie Hahn’s cabin and made the turn toward Inverness. The morning fog had nearly burned off. Tendrils still clung to the tops of trees, holding on in the building breeze. The on again–off again sun presented a strong case for a clear afternoon.
Agnes guided the powerful car through the serpentine turns as if it were an extension of her mind. She looked over at Jason. “Your car will be fine. No one will even know it’s there.”
Imola Page 21
