Something in the Water...

by Jule McBride

  Then she quickly averted her gaze and he felt his heart skip a beat. He’d seen those old wounds again, ghosting in the irises of her eyes. They were so clear and crystal, but just like the springwaters, they seemed to hold secrets, and they were too expressive, too revealing. She wasn’t a person who could always hide her emotions.

  “Hard to imagine the local kids calling this place Terror House,” he couldn’t help but say, looking away from her and studying the house, keeping his voice low, since her grandmother continued to entertain guests.

  No place could have looked less menacing. From this angle under the moonlight the dark, fresh white paint of the house gleamed, and the lemon-and-mint gingerbread trim made the house look like something decorated at Christmastime that any kid would want to eat. The grounds were extensive; they sprawled all over the mountain, in fact. And there were bike trails, as well as a pool, tennis courts and a barn full of horses.

  “Now it looks inviting, but the winters are different,” she said, as if reading his mind, wistfulness in her voice. “Desolate. We close the third floor, which is where most of the guests are staying, and even a wing of the second floor. The landscapers don’t come back until spring. And because we’re in the mountains, we get a lot of snow. The courts are covered, and the pool’s under a tarp. Sometimes, weeks go by and you can’t get off the hill.”

  He frowned. “What about school, when you were a kid?”

  “Oh,” she said. “I was always happy not to go.”

  “That bad, huh?” he said, echoing her earlier words.

  “Worse.” She shrugged. “Sometimes, depending on the ice, we’d walk down the mountain steps to the dock, and someone would take me over in the outboard. I’d catch the school bus in front of Jack’s Diner.”

  He shook his head. “It’s hard to believe the place is this transformed in the summer.”

  She eyed him. “Didn’t you see The Shining?”

  “You can’t compare your bed-and-breakfast to that closed-down hotel.”

  “Sure can. Remember the opening…when Jack Nicholson and Shelley Duvall drive up the long, endless, snowy driveway, and the whole place is blanketed in snow?”

  “You don’t have any ghosts, do you?”

  “No, but they say there’s a graveyard in the woods where the Teasdale-Anderson women have buried bodies of all the men they’ve killed.”

  His eyes widened. “That’s a hard one to live with. Uh…should I watch my back?”

  She laughed, and the movement jarred him, sending tiny ripples from her back to the aching space between his legs. The vibration hummed like a lulling current. “I promise not to kill you tonight,” she said. “But I admit, I didn’t get many dates.”

  “You don’t sound crushed.” But judging by her exchange with the sheriff, maybe she had been. “Was the sheriff…”

  “The only one to care for me?”

  Now she looked amused, but he nodded.

  She shrugged. “He wished.” Craning her head, she settled her eyes on his once more, and she looked particularly beautiful in the firelight, with shadows dancing across her cheeks like fairy wings; the depth of feeling in her eyes stirred him like a fire.

  There was such a hot core in this woman. “You do look worthy of Matilda Teasdale,” he couldn’t help but say.

  “How so?”

  His eyes twinkled. “Like you might have a line on some dangerous brews. Stuff that could drive any usually reasonable guy insane.”

  “Are you usually reasonable?”

  “Not anymore.”

  “He made up all those stories,” she said simply. “Every thing you heard. He’s been doing it for years.”

  He was surprised to feel the gentleness of his own hand when it smoothed her hair once more. It was a silly thing, but he liked the shape of her head, how it felt beneath his fingers, which molded to it perfectly. Probably, he should have guessed. His throat tightened as he thought of her upstairs, prancing around him naked, furious and wanting to taunt him, and all in payback for how an ass like Studs Underwood had made her feel. “Want to tell me about it?”

  “I just did.”

  He supposed she had. But he wanted…more details. Hell, maybe he wanted to get riled, so he could head down the hill, find the sheriff, and punch him. So the jerk had spread stories all over town and everyone had believed them, even though none were true. He suddenly felt he’d happily harm anyone who bothered Ariel.

  “Who’d you hang out with?”

  “Myself, myself and myself.” Abruptly, she laughed, but he could hear the pain. “And the witches.”

  “You seem to get along with your folks.”

  “There are some glitches, as in all family relationships, I guess. But we do all right.”

  “What about your dad?”

  There was a long silence, protracted enough that he was sorry he’d asked. She stared into the fire, then glanced over her shoulder once more. Everything around them seemed to disappear. He might well have just gotten punch-drunk on a gallon of the local water.

  “He left,” she finally said. “And Mom and I never really talk about it. It just didn’t work out between them. You know, I can think of plenty of other things I’d rather do on your only night in town than talk about all this.”

  He was game. “Such as?”

  She rolled her eyes in answer.

  “Then we’d better get out of here.”

  She smiled. “What say we live dangerously and take a dip in the spring.”

  “Not afraid of infection?”

  “Your samples are already in.”

  “If I get love-struck, I might never go home.” Gliding his hands over the backs of hers, he dropped his fingers between hers, then rose, pulling her up with him.

  “Why do I feel like a guinea pig?” she asked.

  “Because I’m a born scientist. I need to explore every inch of my subjects.” Snaking his hands around her waist, he smoothed her dress down, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath, the soft curve of her belly. “If Romeo’s in the water,” he promised, nuzzling his face against her neck as they began to walk toward the stone steps carved into the mountain, “the outcome could be very dangerous.”

  “That’s my hope,” she said. “And because you’ve already gathered all your samples, and the rumors about the bug seem to show that it only stays in the bloodstream for a week, things could work out perfectly….”

  Rex knew he was acting uncharacteristically, but surely that was only because she was so gorgeous. “A week of sexual bliss,” he murmured.

  “Yes,” she whispered simply.

  7

  “C’MON,” REX CALLED from the opposite end of the dock, “don’t tell me you’re going to chicken out and not get wet.”

  Oh, she was wet, all right. She’d already walked to the dock’s end, and now she turned from the water and peered through the darkness. She was just able to make out the shore and the outline of his body as he took off his shirt and tied the sleeves around a tree branch. He kicked off his shoes. Because being here with a man had been something about which she’d always dreamed, her throat tightened as he slowly came toward her.

  “It looks nippy,” she called.

  “Dipped in a toe yet?”

  She shook her head. “Not yet. But I grew up here, so I can tell you that the water’s hot on top, cold in the middle, and then as warm as fire.”

  “Then let’s stay near the surface then.”

  Nodding, she glanced upward, toward the house. She loved this place, mostly because of the fun she’d had with guests during the summers, and she’d always known that other kids in town would have loved nights like tonight, if she’d given them more of a chance. But she hadn’t. And they hadn’t tried to befriend her, so she’d never had a boyfriend in Bliss, no more than she’d tried to defend herself against the rumors Studs had started.

  Maybe it had been stupid not to. But then, that was the road untraveled, so she’d never know. Even if she’d told her
side of the story, no one in town would have believed her, she’d figured, both then and now. Besides, in addition to coming from a long line of tight-lipped women who wrapped secrets around themselves like well-worn shawls, Studs’s accusations had hit a deep nerve that had made Ariel feel she’d be damned to grace him with a response.

  Still, she’d suffered because of that decision. Sure, she felt she’d never want to know people who didn’t give her the benefit of the doubt, but eleven years after leaving Bliss, she still felt shell-shocked whenever she returned. Had she really lived through high school with so few friends while Studs had tortured her?

  Old habits had died hard. She hadn’t exactly jumped into the social scene after she’d moved out of state, either. Her growth had been slow and hard-won. She’d started with small dips of her toes into the waters of the Pittsburgh social scene, meeting people for drinks after work, then joining clubs and accepting coffee dates. She’d met people through a barn, where she rode, and had even taken up swing dancing. Success at work had built her confidence, and occasionally, she’d felt a backlash of anger, as she’d realized how easily people in the new town had opened up to her, and therefore, how senselessly she’d been hurt in Bliss.

  Maybe if she were growing up in Bliss today, things would have been different, she supposed, still watching Rex approach. In the past, Bliss had been even smaller. More provincial, if possible. It had grown in population since Ariel’s day—not much, but some—and nowadays people were influenced by the open-minded ideas touted on TV, by people such as Dr. Phil and Oprah. Maybe now somebody would have guessed at the truth of her innocence.

  Anyway, as far as she was concerned, history was vindicating her, as it often did those who suffered silently. All grown up, Studs Underwood definitely resembled the pig he really was. On another level, Ariel hadn’t totally minded her lot, anyway, if the truth be told. She’d learned to love solitary pursuits, which had led to a promising career. Growing up, her job around the house had been to care for the horses, which she’d loved, and during the winters, when the guests weren’t there, she’d ride all day. One by one, she’d taken the horses deep into the woods, sometimes pretending she was Matilda, crossing the mountains for the first time with an amorous Cherokee medicine man by her side.

  “Deep thoughts?” Rex queried. As he stopped in front of her, he slipped his arms easily around her waist, and her arms rose to wreath his neck. She felt her backside warm to the touch as he dipped his hands lower.

  She smiled into his eyes. “Can’t shake them.”

  “Then don’t try.”

  She liked that, too…that he was accepting of moods, not trying to shake her out of them, the way some men would. He was taller than her, by at least half a foot, and while she sometimes had resented her petite stature, probably because aspects of her life in Bliss had made her feel so powerless, she didn’t mind it now.

  Instead, hovering in his shadow only made her feel more feminine. His skin felt nearly hot, and as she touched his neck, she reached on tiptoe, brushing her lips to his chin. Slowly, she let her thumbs explore the shells of his ears as she feathered kisses on his neck, lightly pinching the lobes with her teeth before licking a trail to his collarbone. She reveled in the smoothness of his skin and the feeling of the strong muscles that rippled like a breeze.

  Turning her cheek then, she simply lay it against his chest, feeling warmth seep onto her cheek, and she sighed, enjoying his closeness. He hauled her all the way into his embrace, and after a silent moment, he began to sway, slightly rocking her. As she drew a deep breath, something edgy and male rode to her lungs, piggybacking on pine and apples—and maybe even stardust. The pads of his bare feet shifted on the silvered wood beneath them, seemingly in tandem with a whir of crickets, coming from berried thickets by the bank.

  She didn’t know how long they stood there, simply swaying, and if the truth be told, she hardly cared. It could have been minutes, or hours, but when she finally felt his fingers find her chin and lift her mouth for a kiss, something had changed. No one had ever held her like this, no more than anyone had kissed her like this.

  No, no one would ever kiss her like this again, she thought; this was a one-time event. A one-of-a-kind kiss. A fleeting moment of luck, never to be relived. He wasn’t hungry, like before. Nor hurried. His mouth hovered, the breath nothing more than a teasing flicker of shivery warmth. His lips brushed hers—once, twice, thrice—barely touching for an eternity, before firm lips offered increasing pressure that threatened to do her in.

  Yes, it felt like nothing, yet the kiss brought more than mere arousal…even more than the explosive response he’d wrenched from her upstairs.

  His lips parted farther, urging hers open, and his tongue darted, seeking hers. He was making more than just her body ache. Her heart was tugging as he probed farther. What he sought was as timely, old and mysterious as the Teasdale house itself, and he was patient in the pursuit, deftly rolling his tongue, then flickering languorously.

  Memories unleashed in a stream of images that seemed, however absurdly, to have been solicited by that sweet probing, and by the hands that dropped over her buttocks, cupping her flesh, squeezing as he moved her against him. His upper body drew back, just enough so their lips barely touched once more, and now, her moan was caught in the open-mouthed kiss; it hovered unheard in a realm of shared fire that jetted between them, and she felt sensations building, turning edgy, wanting…release.

  How many times had she stood on this dock, imagining she was Matilda? Or that she was about to be ravished by Running Deer? This was so much better than any lonely, teenage fantasy. Arching, she sought the erection pressuring the fly of his shorts. He was so big there, already hard for her. Yes, he wanted her, and she could use him for any pleasure she wished.

  He deepened the kiss once more, and gasping, she fought the impulse to turn away; the deeper contact with the hard ridge of him suddenly seeming too intense. She could love this man, she thought, marveling at that….

  Somehow, she’d rounded a corner—driven into Bliss and then everything had changed. Her feelings for him had come suddenly, arriving with the force of a premonition. “I think I might need one of Matilda’s teas to calm my nerves,” she whispered against his lips.

  “I’d rather drink an aphrodisiac.”

  She felt she already had. “That’s what her teas are.”

  “Then pour me a drink.”

  “Do you really need an aphrodisiac?”

  “No,” he whispered. Then adamantly he added, “God no. Ariel…” He leaned away a moment, looking into her eyes. As if at a loss for words, he murmured, “You feel so good.”

  Maybe that’s why she felt relieved that he’d be leaving in the morning. She’d wanted something like this to happen for so long, true. What woman wouldn’t? He was a dream man, the perfect lover, and he’d come out of nowhere, into her life….

  But she knew better than to get attached. Instead, she’d be everything she’d always wanted to be with a man. Brazen. Flirtatious. Serious…Anything. He’d proven himself to be so easy to be with, so nonjudgmental. Almost instinctively, he’d seemed to grasp how she felt about her past. With a few simple words, she’d been able to communicate how life had been for her, and he seemed to want to show her what she’d craved during her loneliest years….

  He kissed her again, long and hard, then leaned back, breaking the kiss, keeping his hands cupped possessively on her behind. He stroked. “C’mon,” he said huskily, “get in the water with me, Ariel.”

  She considered, since the heat coursing between their bodies was arguing for simply turning around, heading to the house and to her bedroom. Or his. But she nodded.

  “I don’t want to get my dress wet,” she managed to say, trying not to notice the tingling spreading through her. She glanced toward the house. “And I hope no one comes down.”

  “People looked tired,” he said, tracing his hands down her arms, catching her fingertips and bringing them to his ch
est. Leaning, he kissed the tips, one by one, and she had a fantasy of heading for the shore. She could almost feel the dark, damp earth beneath her, the softness of it on her backside as he plunged deep inside her.

  But the condoms were upstairs.

  “Here,” he murmured, sounding equally affected. Leaning deftly, he caught the hem of her dress, lifted it and brought the fabric over her head. She shuddered as cooler night air hit her exposed chest, the already tight buds yearning for the salve of his mouth.

  “You’re beautiful, Ariel.”

  It seemed stupid to say it, but she did, anyway. “You, too.”

  He didn’t even smile. It was too magical out here to make light of such a moment. He was facing bright stars scattered across the jet sky and a full glowing moon, the pale dress in his dark hand seemed to catch light, refracting it, and reflecting beams back to his face. The air seemed strangely, impossibly moist. The night was so clear and yet dense, too, as if shrouded in a fog. Strange, she thought again. Uncanny.

  She barely recognized her voice when she finally spoke. “Just wrap my dress around the dock post. I’ll wear panties.”

  “Don’t,” he whispered.

  Her throat tightened once more as she watched him take off his shorts. They dropped to the deck with his briefs, and as he stepped toward her again, she exhaled on a soft whish, trying to steady the mad hammer of her heart. A second later, his hands were on her waist again, circling it, drawing her closer, and she melted when she felt the engorging length of him pressing the panty silk. He brought his head lower. She thrust her fingers upward, drawing his head into cleavage.

  Something crashed inside her—jumbled and fused—as she felt the lick of his tongue and heard him groan with need. He hadn’t shaved since morning, and stubble roughened her skin, shooting awareness through her, making desire darkly spin in her veins. She remembered other burns he’d marked her with today…burns of his suckling mouth on her neck…burns on her back from the carpet where she’d lifted her hips to take more of his intimate kiss. But, she longed to feel what she hadn’t then—his hard, steely length pushing her higher and higher until she tumbled over the highest edge into unknown depths of ecstasy.