by Syrie James
It was a night she’d never forget. Just thinking about it made her pulse race with pleasure. They had returned from the island just before dark, still glowing from their passionate encounter on the beach.
“I could make love to you all night long, and it still wouldn’t be enough,” Kyle said later, after they’d taken a long, luxurious shower together.
She’d smiled alluringly. “Try me.”
And so he did. They made love again and again, and each time was better than the last. He carried her to heights of ecstasy she’d never imagined were possible, all the while treating her with infinite tenderness and affection.
Sometimes, afterwards, they’d looked into each other’s eyes and laughed, just as they had that afternoon, overwhelmed by the sense of pure joy that enveloped them. Other times they slept, enveloped in the warm cocoon of each other’s arms, only to awaken in the moonlit darkness more filled with desire than before.
“How was I lucky enough to find you?” he’d said as he cradled her against his chest.
“I’ve never known anyone like you, Kyle. It’s never been like this for me before.”
“For me either. My lovely Desiree...”
Never in her life had she felt so cherished, so adored. He awakened desires within her she’d never believed existed.
“Touch me,” he’d said. “There. Ahh, that’s it. If you only knew how good that feels…”
Her marriage bed, she saw now, had been chaste and routine compared to the loving she shared with Kyle. It seemed there was no part of her body left untouched by the warm pressure of his lips, the magic of his fingers.
“Your skin is so soft. So smooth. So feminine. I love the way it feels here. And here.”
“And you’re so hard. Everywhere. Especially…here.”
He chuckled softly. “Do you like...this?”
“Like it? Oh! Kyle...”
As she thought back over everything she’d said, every wanton thing she’d done, her cheeks flushed hotly. Was the woman who behaved with such unashamed abandon last night really her? Yes! And she’d loved every second of it.
Desiree threw off the sheet and darted into the bathroom. As she brushed her teeth, she grinned. She couldn’t remember when she’d ever so looked forward to a new day. She’d slept very little; she ought to feel exhausted. Instead she felt completely revitalized.
Hearing footsteps in the hall, she returned to bed and propped herself up with her arms, watching the doorway where morning sunlight filtered in through the sheer curtains. He stepped in quietly, wearing only his navy-blue bathing trunks and carrying a black leather garment bag. As she feasted her eyes on each well-sculpted muscle, each detail of the strong, masculine body she’d come to know so well, a shiver of pure delight ran through her.
All at once, it occurred to her that he was standing very still and was staring at her in much the same manner; and she blushed.
“Good morning,” he said, his voice so low and rough she barely caught the words.
“Good morning.” She glanced down briefly, suddenly aware of how she must look to him, with her tousled hair framing her face, her amber eyes still flushed with a sleepy-warm glow, and her naked body stretched out in full view. She reached for the sheet to cover herself, but he said:
“Don’t.”
His tone was soft, flattering, affectionate, disarming. She left the sheet alone.
He took a deep breath as if trying to reassemble his thoughts. Finally he said: “I hope you don’t mind if I hang up a few things. This has been sitting out in the car for two days.”
“Please, be my guest.” She swung her legs off the bed and crossed the room to him.
He opened her closet, hung his garment bag inside. Unzipping the case, he moved two suits and shirts out onto the closet rod. They looked hopelessly wrinkled.
Her arms encircled his waist. “You can’t wear those. We’ll have to iron them.”
“Don’t worry about it. I have every confidence that they’ll spring back to life by tomorrow.”
“You think so?”
He drew her closer. “I do.”
“But what will you wear today?”
“The same thing you’re wearing. Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Absolutely nothing.” He kissed her. “Mmmm. You taste minty.”
“You taste delicious. Like coffee.”
Kissing her again, he heaved a sigh of pleasure, then said, “By the way, I was right.”
“About what?”
“We made love all night long, and it still wasn’t enough.” With an animal-like growl, he picked her up, set her down on the bed, and leaped on top of her.
“Wait!” she cried. “Kyle! We haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday at the beach. I’m famished. I’ve got to eat something.”
He smiled wickedly into her eyes. “I can think of something I’d like to nibble on right now. But...I’ll settle for this.” He pretended to take a bite out of her shoulder.
She writhed with laughter beneath him, finally managing to roll away and drop off the side of the bed. Taking a few steps backward, she grabbed her hairbrush from the dresser and brandished it like a weapon, her eyes flashing dangerously. “Come near me again and I’ll strike where you’ll most regret it.”
He stood up and raised his palms. “Truce! I surrender. We’ll take a food break. But first, I have to run.”
“Run?”
He nodded. “Run. As in jog. You know, that’s where you move quickly, one foot after the other, like this.” He darted around the bed and grabbed her. Her scream ended abruptly as his mouth came down on hers. He kissed her soundly, then released her again. “Don’t you ever run?”
“Yes,” she said breathlessly. “Three mornings a week.”
“So do I—at least I try to, but it rains so much in Seattle, I can’t jog as often as I’d like. I want to make the most of your gorgeous weather while I’m here. Care to join me?”
His reference to his home town sent a stab of pain piercing through her, reminding her of how short their time together would be. Her smile wavered, but she resurrected it quickly. “I’d love to run with you. Let’s put on some clothes.”
They did warm-up exercises together on her living-room floor, then jogged through her neighborhood to a nearby park. She kept pace with him easily, enjoying the warm sunshine and the smell of the freshly mown grass. She gazed frequently at Kyle as they ran, trying to memorize the pleasure of this moment, to push the thought of his leaving out of her mind.
More than once during their lovemaking the night before, she’d wanted to burst out with a heartfelt I love you, Kyle.
She knew it now. She wasn’t falling in love with him. She loved him. She felt it in every fiber of her being, knew it as surely as she knew the sun would set that night and rise the next morning. But how could she tell him?
His own whispered endearments had made her feel that she was as special to him as he’d become to her. But he’d never said he loved her—and why would he? They’d only known each other a few short days. As he’d pointed out, everything had happened at light speed between them. She didn’t expect him to fall in love overnight, just because she had. Even so, that didn’t make her feelings any less real, or do anything to soften the pain of their impending separation.
Let’s just take things one day at a time, he’d said the other night. Was a few days together all he had in mind? After he left on Monday, would she ever see him again? Of course you will, she told herself. Don’t be ridiculous. But when? How often? And for how long?
It suddenly became a Herculean task to draw breath into her lungs as she ran. She wondered if he often spent weekends away from home this way. How many women had enjoyed the delights of his lovemaking, the passionate warmth of his embrace? Don’t think about it, she cautioned herself. Just enjoy the little time you have.
After they returned and took a shower, they made breakfast together in her cozy kitchen. Kyle, his bare back magnificent
above a pair of white tennis shorts, stood at the stove and cooked a fluffy omelet filled with mushrooms, cheese, and crisply fried ham. After throwing on a pale blue halter top and Hawaiian-print shorts, Desiree prepared freshly squeezed orange juice and toasted English muffins. They ate at her tiny kitchen table, crowded by the vase of red roses he’d sent three days before.
“Nice flowers,” Kyle said as he speared a forkful of omelet. “Where’d you get those? Some love-sick fan?”
“Sick is not the word. The man’s a maniac.” She grinned at him across the table. “He hasn’t let me sleep for the past four nights.”
“Four nights?” His eyes narrowed with mock jealousy. “I can vouch for the fact that you didn’t get any sleep last night. But what happened the three nights before?”
She reached across the table to caress his bare forearm. “Who could sleep after our first date, or after the way you kissed me the next night, when we got home from the beach? And on Friday, after our argument—”
“Let’s not talk about that. It’s past. Forgotten.” He seized her hand in both of his and squeezed it. For a long moment he was silent, staring down at their interlocked hands atop the table. Suddenly he drew back with a frown, tapping his fingertips on the table. “Why do you have this awful table, anyway? What’s it made of?”
“Formica.”
“Why on earth do you have a Formica kitchen table? Everything else in this house is a beautiful antique.”
He had a point. The table was stained, sported burn marks, and was cracked along one edge. Teasingly, she said, “You don’t like my fifties-era pink Formica? What’s wrong with you? It’s a classic.”
“Pink? What do you mean, pink? The table’s white.”
“It’s pink.”
He bent closer, staring at the tabletop. “Really? Pink?”
“Pink. Pale pink.”
“It looks white to me.” He shrugged, then shook his head. “Good grief, a pink Formica table. And I thought white was bad.”
She frowned with feigned indignation. “This table’s the height of chic. The epitome of class. Besides, it—”
“Was my great-grandmother’s,” they finished in unison. He rolled his eyes. She nodded.
“I think it’s great you were named after her,” he said, pointing his fork at her. “It’s a beautiful name. But you didn’t have to take every piece of furniture she had.”
She laughed. “It is hideous, isn’t it?”
“Why don’t you get a nice table? Mahogany, to match your living-room set? Your dining room is practically empty.”
“I never had any reason to buy another table. I don’t have people over for dinner very often.” She finished the last of her coffee and shrugged. “I’ve had to move so often, and I already have a lot of furniture. This table is sturdy, and I don’t have to worry if it gets slightly banged up.”
He frowned again, then said: “Does it bother you? Having to move all the time?”
“It comes with the territory. Radio’s a part of me I can’t give up. Moving is a condition I’ve had to accept.”
“What about now? They seem to love you at KICK. Do you think they’ll keep you on indefinitely?”
“There’s no such word as indefinitely in a radio station’s vocabulary.” She toyed with her empty coffee cup, finally lifting her eyes to his. “But I’m grateful to be here. I have a terrific job, and good jobs are hard to come by. I’ll stay as long as they’ll keep me.”
He opened his mouth to speak, then seemed to think better of it. All at once he stood, walked around to her side of the table, and gently pulled her to her feet, holding her hands in his.
“What do you love most about being a deejay?”
“Everything.”
“Everything?” He lifted one of her hands to his lips and kissed her palm. “Really?”
Considering, she amended her statement. “Well, admittedly, there is a burnout factor. After you’ve played and talked about the same song two hundred times, it’s pretty hard to think up something original to say. Even so, it’s—”
He dropped tiny kisses from her palm along the length of her arm, causing exquisite chills to shiver through her.
“It’s what?”
She was finding it increasingly difficult to think. “It’s...exciting, stimulating.”
His lips reached her shoulder as he pulled her closer. When his tongue flicked over the sensitive spot at the side of her throat, she drew a deep, wavering breath.
“Stimulating?” he said softy.
“Yes. I can be beautiful on the air. I can stir people’s imaginations.”
“You don’t need to go on the air for that. You’re beautiful in person.” He deftly untied her halter top at the nape of her neck and tugged downward. The top dropped and her breasts flexed out to his admiring view. “You’re stimulating,” he added, pulling her into his tight embrace. With a gasp she felt the solid ridge of his masculinity burrow into her abdomen.
“And you definitely stir my imagination,” he said as he covered her mouth with his.
***
“What do you do about clothes?”
“Clothes?”
Darkness had just descended. They’d spent the afternoon in and out of bed. Mostly in. They’d ignored the outside world, as if nothing existed but the two of them and the feelings they shared in this tiny, stolen moment in time. Since it had been too hot to cook, Desiree had made a chef’s salad for dinner, which she’d served with the bottle of Chablis she’d put in the refrigerator that morning.
Now, their appetite sated, they relaxed together in the redwood swing on her back patio. The cool night air, perfumed with the scent of orange blossoms from the tree in her backyard, felt delightfully refreshing. They’d each donned shorts and a T-shirt, and Desiree wore the songbird pendant Kyle had admired on their first date.
She tipped the last of the ice-cold Chablis into the stemmed glass in Kyle’s hand. “If you can’t see certain colors, how do you know what clothes go together?”
“I don’t. I have to rely on what the salesclerks tell me at the store, buy things as a set, and always wear them that way. I stick to gray, blue, and brown most of the time, so that even if I make a mistake about what goes with what, it won’t look too horrendous.”
She was silent for a moment, savoring the wine’s delicate aroma and dry, tangy taste as she pondered his dilemma. “It must be frustrating.”
“At times.” He grinned. “When I was a kid, my sisters used to laugh at me when I tried to adjust the color on the TV set. They’d mix up the clothes in my drawer so I wore things that looked ridiculous together. I still have a lot of trouble with socks, telling the dark browns from the blacks and blues.”
“You need a wife to help you dress.” The moment she said the words she regretted them. What a stupid thing to say!
His eyes opened wide. His eyebrows lifted. He studied her with earnest amusement. “Maybe I do.”
She averted her eyes, cleared her throat. “It wasn’t very nice, what your sisters did.”
“I made up for it. One night when I was a senior in high school, the oldest four girls were sitting around the living room in bathrobes and curlers, with mud masks plastered all over their faces. They were in their teens at the time. I called a bunch of my friends and asked them to come over, guys they all had crushes on.”
“Kyle! You didn’t.”
“I did.”
Desiree burst out laughing. “They must have died of embarrassment.”
“I was blacklisted for months.”
“I guess they deserved it.”
“I guess they did.”
He sipped his wine, watching his fingertip trail along her shoulder and down her arm. A quiet sadness filled his eyes and his voice as he said suddenly, “I’m going to miss you.”
His change of mood caught her off-guard and brought a lump to her throat. She looked away. Why was he bringing it up now? She knew this was their last evening together, but she’d avo
ided thinking about it, the way one avoids thinking about the inevitable end of a wonderful vacation. You know it’ll be over soon, and you’ll have to go home. But you put it out of your mind. You don’t let it spoil your fun.
“I’ll miss you, too,” she said softly.
“I wish things were different. I wish I didn’t live so far away, that we could—”
“It’s okay.” Suddenly the wine tasted bitter. She set down her glass next to the swing. “You don’t have to explain.”
“I do. I want you to know how much this weekend’s meant to me. You’re a very special woman, Desiree. I care for you a great deal. It’s not going to be easy going back, putting myself through the usual routine, knowing you’re over a thousand miles away.”
She pressed her lips together, not trusting herself to speak.
He drained his glass and set it down. Gently taking her into his arms, he caressed her shoulders and ran his lips over her hair. “I wish I could stay longer, but I can’t. I’ve got an important meeting tomorrow afternoon. I have to leave first thing in the morning.”
“I understand. I didn’t expect you to stay longer.” Her voice cracked and she inhaled a sobbing breath as tears welled up in her eyes.
“Don’t cry, sweetheart. Don’t cry.”
“I’m not.” She squeezed her eyes shut, swallowed hard, and willed the threatening tears to dissolve. “I knew we would only have a few days together. I tried so hard, at first, not to get involved with you because I knew it couldn’t last. But I—”
He pulled back and stared at her. “Who says it can’t last?”
“You know it can’t. You said at the beginning, ‘let’s take things one day at a time.’ So I did. But let’s be realistic. Where can it go from here? What kind of future could we build, with you firmly planted in Seattle, and me here?”
“We’ll make it work,” he said emphatically.
“How? How often could we see each other?”
“Weekends. Every single weekend. Plenty of couples who live in the same town don’t see each other more often than that.”
