by C. D. Hersh
“Have you decided what you want for dessert tonight? Tiramisu? Panna cotta? Cannoli?”
“Oh. Real dessert?” She heard the disappointment in her voice. “Tiramisu,” she said quickly. “I love tiramisu.”
“Real dessert?” he echoed. “Did you have something else in mind?”
She stared at the floor and whispered, “With your panty remark last night, I thought maybe . . .”
“You thought I meant sex?” His voice dropped to a husky tone. “Oh, Rose. If you only knew.”
She glanced at him. The smoldering expression he gave her could have caught her music score and wooden director’s stand on fire.
He moved toward her then backed off. “I didn’t think you wanted to. Not yet anyway.”
Her cheeks heated and her gaze drifted. She wanted to, at least that’s what her throbbing body screamed for.
“Look at me, Rose.”
Slowly she focused on his face.
“There is nothing I would rather do than make love to you, but I want you to be certain. You’ve just come off a breakup. And from what I know about you, you’re not one for casual sex.”
Her heart lurched, and warning flags cluttered her brain like accidentals on a music score. “Would this be casual?”
“Not for me. You’ve haunted my dreams for ten years. If you think I’m making love to you, then walking away, you’re nuts.”
Her sigh of relief echoed in the room.
“I just want you to be sure. You don’t know anything about what’s happened to me those ten years. For all you know, I could be an axe murderer on the run.”
“Not you,” she said, fiercely. “River, I might believe that about. But I think you’re still the good guy you were at Woodstock. The one who protected me. You’re still trying to protect me, warning me against rushing into—”
Susan Markham’s voice sounded at the entrance to the choir room. “You busy, Rosemary?”
Rosemary waved her in.
“We’ll continue this conversation tonight,” he said, “if you want to. I’ll make tiramisu. You’ll get no pressure from me. I can wait.”
Her heart sank. She didn’t want to wait.
Susan gave Anthony a big smile as he passed. She watched him leave. “That is one gorgeous man.”
A spike of possessive jealousy stabbed her. Had Melody felt this way when she saw her with him? She swept the thought away. This was different. He just told her he wanted to make love to her. She had every right to be jealous of Susan’s lust for him.
“What do you want?” The words came out sharper than she intended.
“Meeeooow.” Susan made a clawing motion in the air. “What’s got you in a snit?”
“Sorry. Long day.” Rosemary scooped the music off the director’s stand and placed the score in the file cabinet next to her desk. “What’s up?” She forced her voice into a friendly tone.
“I thought you might want to know I overheard Patrick talking to one of the school board members about the music program.”
She swung around to face Susan. “About?”
“Getting stricter control over what the department does.”
“So he’s not planning to can me because I broke up with him, just strangle my creativity.” She wasn’t sure which one was worse.
“Not just you. The band program, too.”
“He’s going after Anthony?”
Susan’s brow rose at her use of his first name. Rosemary ignored the expression.
“That’s not fair. I’m the one who broke up with him.”
“From what I just saw, I’d say it might be fair. You and DeMarco had a pretty intense conversation going on there.”
“You heard us? Were you eavesdropping?”
“Nope. You didn’t have to hear anything to see the sparks flying between you two.” Susan propped her hands on her hips. “Did you really break up with Principal Patrick for the reason you told me?”
“Yes.”
“And DeMarco had nothing to do with it?”
She averted her face so Susan couldn’t read her. “Jeez, you’re like a dog with a bone.”
“And I’ll chew on that until I get a straight answer. Something’s going on between you two. If you don’t tell me, what I’d imagine might be more damaging.”
Rosemary stared pointedly at her. “Is that a threat?”
“No, just a fact. The principal’s been a pain in the butt since you broke up. People are talking. The way I see it, when little Hitler Patrick turns on you, you’re going to need a friend in your corner. I don’t see anybody else rushing to your defense. They’re all scared witless of the principal.”
“And you aren’t? Why not?”
“I’ve got dirt on him.”
Dirt? Did she know his revisionist secret?
“It seems as if he’s getting ready to declare war on you, DeMarco, and the music department. If what you said earlier is true, he might be coming after the art department next. We artsy types need to stick together. I’m willing to be your friend. Keep your back safe.”
Trying to see into Susan’s heart, Rosemary contemplated the woman before her. She had no friends in the faculty, at least no girlfriends. Anytime she’d seen Susan around town, it had always been with men. Did she really want friendship? Or was her proposal about protecting herself?
“We’ve got more in common than the other teachers,” Susan continued. “You were a free spirit in the Sixties. I’m a free spirit of the Seventies.”
Not an accurate comparison, but if Susan thought she had a reason to protect them from Patrick’s tricks, why argue it?
“I like that about you, and I like you, Rosemary. So give. Tell me what’s really going on so I can help squelch the rumors.” When Rosemary didn’t speak, Susan gently touched her arm. “I mean what I said. I want to be your friend.”
Rosemary studied the art teacher. Her eyes held a sincerity she hadn’t seen before. Had she been too busy cutting her down over her promiscuity to recognize the lonely woman inside? Maybe they weren’t so different. After all, they had both been searching for love in all the wrong places.
“Did you cheat on Patrick with DeMarco?” Susan pressed.
“No! Not like you’re thinking.”
Susan’s eyes widened. “So you did cheat?”
“No. I’d already broken up with him, before I kissed Anthony, or rather, he kissed me.”
“You kissed him?”
“Patrick and I fought and I told him we were through. In a snit, he left me at the restaurant. Anthony was there and offered to bring me home. Then Patrick returned and apologized. I accepted his apology for stranding me. I could see he was upset over Anthony’s offer, so I agreed to let him bring me home. I told him, again, we were finished, but he wouldn’t listen. Anthony came to check on me, and well, it just sorta happened.”
“You kissed a guy you only knew for a couple of days? Sheesh, and you think I’m loose.”
“I never said that.” At least not out loud.
“Didn’t have to. I see it in your eyes every time you mention the men I date.” Susan clapped her lightly on the shoulder. “Welcome to the Scarlet Woman Club. I’m a bit torqued you snagged the guy I wanted, though.”
“It’s not that way. I knew Anthony before he came to the school. We met at Woodstock.”
“I knew it!” Susan squealed with glee. “Jimi’s Star Spangled Banner gave him away. We have three free spirits now. If we work together we can take on the principal and bring this school into the twentieth century.”
“I love my job. I don’t want to take anyone on. I just want to live my life.”
Susan frowned. “Fine, but we need to have some sort of plan. If Principal Patrick really wants to strangle the ar
ts, then we’re all on the chopping block.”
She had a point. If he’d managed to rewrite history and get by with it when he didn’t have the power of being a principal, then convincing the school board the arts departments weren’t necessary could be easy.
“What do you have on him? Maybe it will help us.” When Susan remained mute, she continued, “I shared with you. Now you share with me. That’s what girlfriends do.”
“We were a thing in college. He was a graduate teaching assistant with access to student grades. While we were together, he changed his test scores so he would be a more attractive hire.”
Oh, my gosh! He revised his own history! No way would she let him take control of the arts departments and destroy their futures.
“We are definitely going to fight, but you have to promise to keep away from Anthony. He’s mine. Understand?” She gave Susan a look she hoped expressed her determination, all the while feeling a bit like Melody. She didn’t care for the negative emotions at all.
Susan made an X on her chest. “Cross my heart. We should plan. Can you do dinner tonight? A girl’s night out?” Her eyes held a light of anticipation.
“Sorry, I’ve already got something going.”
“With DeMarco?” Susan smiled, her voice chiming up in enthusiasm.
Rosemary nodded and blushed as she gathered her briefcase. “You and I will do something soon.”
The promise seemed to placate Susan. “Okay. Have a great weekend.” Her smile grew into a wicked grin. “And do everything I would do,” she called over her shoulder as she left the music room.
Susan’s reputation didn’t leave much to wonder about what she would do, since rumors placed her coming out of the local hotels at all hours of the night. Why she didn’t entertain her gentlemen in her own apartment made no sense. When she and Anthony decided they were ready, they would not be in a hotel where the nosy townspeople could see.
The soul mate tree had promised her this man, and she wanted her first time with him to be special.
Chapter 14
With an apron tied high on his chest, Anthony appeared the part of perfect domesticity. Rosemary set the kitchen table with her best china and wine glasses while fragrant tones of garlic, basil, and oregano floated on the air. From the living room the sounds of her Woodstock album filled the house with music that took her back in time.
He removed the bread from the oven, fumbling the hot baking sheet between his mitted hands.
She shoved a potholder on the counter. “Put it there before you drop the bread on the floor.”
He set the pan on the potholder then saluted her with his oven mitt. “Aye, aye. Wouldn’t want to lose the bread and not get to see you orgasm over it. You are going to orgasm, aren’t you?”
“Over the bread, yes.”
For a split second, he looked disappointed.
“Anything else is up to you.” Her face heated at her bold come-on as a lascivious expression flashed over his face.
She slid the rolls into the breadbasket. Wrapping his hands around her waist, his lips nibbled on the back of her neck. “Rose,” he groaned against her skin, “I have wanted to do this to you for years.”
She held the basket, pretending she couldn’t stop him. Not that she wanted to. She tipped her head to the side, giving him open access to her flesh. His mouth traveled along the side of her neck to her exposed shoulder. She’d worn a boat neck blouse in hopes he’d kiss her there. Shivers of delight ran over her flesh, down her back, across her hips, and straight between her legs. She leaned against the counter to keep upright, raising her shoulder a fraction to loosen him before she lost all control. The oven timer buzzed, rescuing her.
Anthony’s hands slowly trailed off her body.
When she faced him, he smiled and traced the line of her jaw. “Seems as if I don’t need the bread.”
She closed her eyes. If she looked anything like he did, she couldn’t deny the passion he’d raised in her. She took a wobbly step backward, nearly knocking the breadbasket to the floor. He scooped the container off the counter and set it on the table. Then he shut off the wailing timer. “Sit,” he commanded.
Rosemary took her place at the table. He poured their wine and served the lasagna while she filled their salad bowls.
“Smells heavenly.” She waited for him to pick up his fork.
“Go ahead. You taste it first,” he urged.
She took a bite of lasagna. “This is wonderful!” She took another bite. Her eyes closed as she groaned with gastronomic ecstasy. When she opened her eyes, his elbows rested on the table, chin propped in his hands. He stared at her, a big grin splitting his face.
“I love a woman who loves my cooking.” He peeked under the table. “Are your panties still on?”
“Barely,” she retorted. “Where did you learn to cook?”
“My grandmother. She’s from the old country. Italy.”
“And your mother is from the South.”
He cocked his head at her. “I don’t remember telling you that.”
“At Woodstock,” she said around a mouthful of lasagna.
“That’s a ten-year-old conversation.”
“You’re not the only one who’s been thinking about that time, Dakota.”
At the use of his hippie nickname, a sheepish look crossed Anthony’s face. “Stupid name, and a stupid reason for having it. River convinced me I should have a nickname so I could have free love without entanglements. I think he changed his name depending on who he planned to have sex with.”
“Did you?”
“No. I actually dropped that name after Woodstock. If I’d been me, maybe you could have found me. If you wanted to.”
“Oh, I did.”
“Why were you called Rose?”
“My friend Willow named me. She thought Rosemary sounded too grandmotherly. The only thing I liked about the whole scene was my hippie name. That and the cool threads.”
“So you weren’t . . .” The empty space held a question she felt sure was about her Sixties sexuality, or even her virginity.
She concentrated on buttering her bread. “Into free love?”
She raised her gaze to him. He seemed anxious. Would he think less of her if she wasn’t a virgin? Or feel freer to make love to her?
“Not much. I tried it once. He wasn’t my soul mate. Besides, it just didn’t feel right.”
A whoosh of air sounded as he let out his breath.
Uncertain of how he’d taken her answer, she pressed him for his own confession. “What about you? Were you into free love?” Her stomach knotted as she waited. If his life had been full of casual, meaningless sex, would she want to continue a relationship with him? She’d told him she didn’t want to know about his past relationships, but now, facing the real possibility they might make love—tonight—she wanted to know. Not names, but how many.
“Melody pretty much cured me. I learned quickly there were no such things as casual relationships. Someone usually got hurt. I did have one serious relationship.”
She held up her hand. “Stop. I don’t want to know.”
He appeared puzzled. “You ought to know about her, Rose. It’s important. There’re complications.”
“No, I don’t want to know.”
“Why don’t you want to know?”
“For ten years I’ve been unable to get you out of my mind. Now you’re here sitting across from me and I don’t want to break the magic of the moment. There will be plenty of time to share our history. Right now, all I need to know is we have the same philosophy about love and sex, and that you’re not married. These are not things to be taken lightly. Right?”
She held her breath waiting for his answer.
He grasped her hand across the table. “I’m n
ot married and, yes, I’m taking this relationship with you very seriously. Like you, I want my soul mate. If I’m not mistaken she could be sitting across from me this very second.”
She inhaled even deeper as lightheadedness threatened to overcome her. Anthony thought she was his soul mate? A sudden urge to rush into the hallway, rip the leaves from the frame, and touch them overwhelmed her. Claim their promise right this second and demand Anthony be the one they give to her.
Without loosening his grasp, he rose from his chair, came to her side, and pulled her to her feet. Wrapping his arms around her, he lowered his lips to hers. She moaned and interlocked her fingers around his neck, returning every caress and nuanced touch his lips and tongue lavished on her mouth.
When his hands roamed above her waist, caressing her breasts, then lower to her bottom, her legs buckled. Only his hands tucked tightly under her backside kept her from falling to the floor.
“Have I knocked your panties off yet?” he whispered hoarsely.
She pulled away, staring into his passion-filled eyes. “Almost. If you take me into the living room, I’m pretty sure they’ll come off.”
The words were barely out of her mouth before he swept her into his arms and carried her from the kitchen. As he laid her on the couch, the sound of the phonograph record swishing on the end of the LP broke through her dazed brain.
“Put side six of the Woodstock set on the record player, please, Anthony. For our first time, I want Woodstock in the background.”
He eased his arms from around her and did as she asked. The pounding rhythm of ‘Love March’ wailed from the record player. When he returned to her and began undressing, her heartbeat ramped up, echoing the hammering sound of the drums. She rose from the couch and imitated him as he shed his clothes; blouse for shirt, skirt for pants.
When they reached their underwear, he leaned over and hooked his finger in the elastic of her lace lingerie. “Your panties haven’t been knocked off yet,” he whispered in her ear.
