Eden's Dream

by Marcia King-Gamble

  “Stop dwelling on Noel Robinson. Stop thinking about him,” she admonished out loud. Squeezing her eyes closed, she focused on the weeds. After a halfhearted attempt to get the better of one resistant shrub, she gave up, glanced at a sky heavy with clouds, and anticipating the deluge soon to follow, scooped up her tools, and raced back to the house. She avoided the rain by seconds.

  On the kitchen table, yesterday’s mail remained unopened. Eden shuffled through the pile, discarded circulars and obvious junk and dumped the vast majority into the garbage. Slowly, she reviewed the three remaining items: a card from her mother, a manila envelope from work, and a magazine with a yellow forwarding label.

  She chose to read her mother’s card first, delighting in the thought that her brother, Bill, his wife, and kids would be visiting the United States shortly. Next she scrutinized the magazine with the yellow forwarding label, muttering when she realized it wasn’t even hers. It belonged to 4907. The mail carrier had made a mistake.

  Eden struggled to remember whether the numbers went up or down. She was 4905. Her elderly neighbors lived in 4903. That would make 4907 Noel’s house. A thorough perusal of the magazine’s cover confirmed her suspicions. It was his all right. Two senior citizens would hardly be interested in Flight International magazine.

  Intrigued, Eden scrutinized the yellow label closely. The name Noah Robbins came clearly into focus. She repeated the name out loud. It was so familiar. Too bad her brain wouldn’t cooperate. “Noel Robinson. Noah Robbins,” she mumbled. “Coincidence?”

  To satisfy her curiosity, Eden inserted a thumbnail under the edge of the label. She peeled it back, revealing the original white label. She grabbed a pen and quickly jotted down the Maryland address. It would be a place to start. A dab of Super Glue took care of affixing the yellow label back in place.

  She looked out floor-to-ceiling glass walls, noting the rain had eased; the downpour now reduced to a steady drip.

  Acting on impulse, she grabbed her grandmother’s bright yellow oilskin from the closet, slipped the hood over her head, and buttoned the coat. Picking up the magazine, she headed out. Time to confront Noel Robinson or whoever he was.

  In a matter of minutes, she was at Noel’s front door.

  Hand balled into a fist, she paused before knocking. In a purposeful delaying tactic, she dropped her hand to the snaps of the oilskin, and peeled the coat off.

  A myriad of thoughts converged. What now? What would she say when he answered? How could she explain why his identity mattered? And what if he replied that none of it was any of her business? He could well accuse her of snooping, and he would be right.

  Taking a deep breath, Eden banged on his door.

  Noel squinted into the peephole, waited for the face to come into focus, and then threw the door wide.

  “Eden, what brings you here?”

  “Nice welcome,” she said, shaking a bright yellow slicker in front of his face, showering him with raindrops. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

  “Of course.” He took the raincoat and stood aside to let her pass.

  As she headed for the sofa, he noticed that she carried a rolled-up magazine in one hand.

  Jutting his chin in the direction of the periodical, he asked, “Are you trying to train Kahlua or me?”

  She flashed a teasing smile, crossed one long leg over the other, and made herself comfortable on his couch. “Do you need training?”

  “Some think I do.”

  Another smile transformed her face. Given time, he could lose himself in those huge brown eyes. The crazy thought surfaced. He wanted this woman forever and ever. Obviously he’d lost his mind. Years ago, he’d made that costly mistake, marrying someone who looked like her, acted like her too. You’d think he’d know better than to get involved with wild, perpetually restless airline types. Travel to exotic locales made them think they were special. A mere man couldn’t possibly satisfy their needs, not when they were on a constant quest for bigger thrills. He shook his head to clear it, dismissing the vision of Eden’s perfectly toned body beneath his, her tousled mane of hair on his pillow. The smell of wildflowers in his nostrils.

  “Noel.” Eden said, waving the magazine to get his attention.

  That motion snapped him back to the present. “Sorry, can I get you something to drink?”

  She shook her head. “No thanks. If I have another glass of anything, I’ll float away.” She clutched the rolled-up magazine in one hand, twisted a lock of hair with the other, and changed the direction of the conversation. “What did you decide to do about last night?”

  Noel flopped onto the couch beside her. He draped an arm around her shoulder and nuzzled her neck. “Last night? Did I miss an invitation?” The comment was followed by a mock leer.

  Eden shifted her position, and his mouth grazed her shoulder. “That wasn’t a proposition.” Her tone grew serious. “Last night your vehicle was almost destroyed, either one of us could easily have been hurt. The driver of that car slammed into us intentionally. I don’t understand how you can sit idly by and let a hit-and-run driver go free.”

  Noel decided not to address the last part of her tirade. Hoping to distract her, he wove his fingers through her mass of wild curls, and bought time. He yawned. “The hit was probably intentional. This close call has at least made me resolve to pay my insurance tomorrow.”

  Eden jabbed his middle with a pointy elbow. “Don’t you dare patronize me. I’m not some little moron you can give a trumped-up story to. You’re intentionally letting this person get away. I want to know why.”

  Even if her eyes weren’t flashing dangerously, he would have known by her tone she was spitting mad.

  “Eden, be reasonable,” he pleaded. “We never saw the driver, nor were we able to get a license plate. Even if my insurance were current, what would we say to the police?”

  “You could say…”

  “Yes?”

  She remained silent, but he could see the wheels turning. Eventually she tossed the magazine on the coffee table, slapped her hands against his chest and conceded. “All right, already. You win.”

  He seized that opportunity to take possession of her hands, flip them over and kiss her soft palms. “Anyone ever tell you you’re one foxy mama when you’re mad.”

  “Puh-lease.” She pulled her hands away and jammed them into the pockets of her jeans.

  It was time to steer the conversation in another direction. Flattery wouldn’t get him anyplace, except in trouble. He’d have to try another ploy. Anything to divert her line of questioning. He hated to lie, but if it came down to it, he had no choice. He couldn’t tell her who he worked for and why he was in Washington State. The last thing he needed were the boys involved, strutting their stuff, alerting everyone he was hiding out in Seattle.

  “Talk to me about Flight 757’s delay,” he said instead.

  “Why is it so important to you?” she countered.

  His arm circled the back of the couch, centimeters from the nape of her neck and all that lustrous hair. “I told you why. I’m just following another unexplored avenue.”

  He could tell a cutting remark was on the tip of her tongue, but somehow she refrained from voicing it. “What more would you like to know?”

  Her question was an excuse to shimmy out of his reach and fix those glorious eyes on him. Her skittishness only made him sidle closer. He wanted to touch her, smell her, love her. His fingers plucked the wisps at her nape. Her feminine scent pulled at him. Damp skin and soap. He loved it.

  His voice was more gravelly than ever when he framed the question. “How long was the flight delayed?”

  Visibly she went back in time. He could have sworn she forgot he existed. “Some of the papers said an hour. In reality, it was more like two.”

  She’d gotten his attention. “You sure?”

  She blinked once, twice and then focused on him again. “Yeah, I’m sure. I sat in on the crew’s briefing. I’m the person who sent the flight a
ttendants on board to complete their safety and galley check.”

  His questions came like bullets now. “What was the official reason for the delay?”

  Eden thought for a moment. “You know, I don’t know. I don’t recall. Air traffic, I think.”

  “You think?”

  She winced. In his excitement, his fingers pinched her shoulders. “Ouch, you’re hurting me.”

  “Sorry.”

  She leaped from the couch, rubbed at the spot where his overeager fingers must have left an imprint, and finally said, “Come to think of it, Rod mentioned something about waiting for a delivery. I’m positive that’s what he said.”

  “Delivery?”

  “Yes. They were holding for a box containing a cooler with dry ice.”

  Slowly it all came back. All the gory details she’d subconsciously suppressed. Rod’s telephone call to the briefing room. His whispered plea to meet him upstairs for coffee so they could talk. When she’d turned him down, he’d kept her on the phone, pleading his case. She’d told him his hormones had done his thinking for him. He’d made his choice and would have to live with the consequences.

  Eden felt the familiar tightening in her chest. The sudden need for air. The feeling of light-headedness. Now was not the time to have a full-fledged panic attack. Not here. Not in front of this man. She’d been doing wonderfully well these past few days, up until his prying questions had made these painful memories resurface. Now look what he’d done. Right now she’d kill for a cigarette. Not so much for the nicotine, but for something to do with her hands. It had been five whole days since she’d last smoked.

  Taking deep breaths to regain her equilibrium, she suddenly realized that smoking wasn’t even an option. In her haste to get to Noel, she’d left her purse behind. She concentrated on her reason for being here. She’d had a purpose. Noel’s distracting questions had caused her to forget her goal. At last she snapped a finger, remembering. Ah yes, the magazine!

  Conscious of Noel hovering, she made a U-turn and almost slammed into him. Then like a running back evading his reach, she successfully retrieved the magazine and thrust it at him. “Who’s Noah Robbins?”

  His face betrayed his surprise. She pressed her advantage, simultaneously regaining her composure. Pointing an accusatory finger in front of his nose, she jabbed air. “And don’t even try to lie your way out of this one. This,” she waved the magazine, “isn’t the first piece of mail I’ve seen with Noah Robbins’ name on it. But this time it’s addressed to you. Explain yourself.”

  Noel’s face welded into the studied blankness she’d quickly grown used to. He didn’t blink an eye. “I’m Noah Robbins.”

  “You’re who?” she sputtered. She’d expected him to lie, issue a feeble protest, and quickly concoct a story.

  “Noah Robbins is my real name.”

  “Who’s Noel Robinson, then?”

  “That’s also my name. It’s the name I use for business.”

  This time he’d really confused her. “Why would you need a pseudonym to run a furniture-design business?” she asked skeptically.

  His voice, gravel on velvet, formed a smooth reply. “Who’s talking furniture design? I’m also a journalist by trade.”

  A journalist! Who would have thought? Rendered speechless by his revelation, she admitted it all suddenly did make sense. The details he’d known about the crash, his ability to afford an expensive home on Mercer Island, his insatiable curiosity about the disaster. Even the unrelenting questions thrown her way. Hallelujah. The mysterious aura surrounding him was explainable. He was researching a story. And using her to do it. “You lied to me, Noel…” she said, pointing her finger at him.

  Cutting off her protestations, he pulled her into his arms. “No, I didn’t. I just omitted telling the whole truth. I’m sorry, Eden.”

  Before she could get another word out, his head dipped to devour her mouth. Her hands pushed against his chest. Both hands dropped to her side. Noel’s kiss was sweeter than she’d ever imagined. Despite her anger, she gave in to his hungry tongue as it danced, circled, and danced again. The connection was electric. Her response so unbelievably passionate, it would have been pointless to check. She’d been so wrong about him, and his kiss felt so right.

  Noel made noises in the back of his throat as he gathered her even closer. She could feel every masculine inch of him pressed against her thigh, and God did she want him badly. As his kiss deepened, his hands circled the column of her throat, fingers caressing the hollows before traveling downward to settle at her breast.

  The thin cotton of her blouse proved an ineffective barrier for the heat of his hands. He molded the nipples gently. She wanted to leap out of her skin. In seconds, he’d worked the buttons free, and a cool air-conditioned breeze blew against her bare skin, stiffening her nipples. In a quest to be free, her breasts pushed against the restricting confines of her bra. She wanted his hands all over her.

  Against her lips, Noel groaned, “Oh, Eden, let me love you.”

  Love her? A nightmarish reality returned, and with it sanity. She wasn’t ready for love, carnal or otherwise. She’d given it once, and look where it had gotten her. She’d been betrayed, her trust violated.

  But this isn’t Rod, the little voice in her head shouted. You want this man. You’ve been bonded to him from the moment you first met him. And though she’d felt that way, truth was, she barely knew Noel Robinson. Up until now, he’d kept his dual identity a secret. What else hadn’t he told her?

  Eden stepped out of Noel’s arms, determined to deny the feelings he’d aroused. She raised a tentative hand to touch her bruised lips while the other fumbled to secure the buttons that had come undone.

  “It’s too soon, Noel,” she said, ignoring the plea in his eyes and her pulsating treacherous body.

  “Eden,” he rasped, scooping her into his arms again.

  “Tell me you don’t want to make love with me.”

  “Don’t say it. You’re a lousy liar.” He silenced her with another mind-altering kiss, quickly undid the buttons she’d secured, and shifted his attention to her breasts again. Her heart welcomed his touch, but her head said he should stop. Common sense told her nothing good would come of a one-nighter with Noel Robinson. And silly as it sounded, she didn’t just want a quick roll in the hay. She wanted him forever.

  Her cotton shirt remained bunched around her breasts while Noel’s free hand fumbled with the snap of her jeans. She needed to stop him now before things really got out of control. They could easily live to regret this moment.

  “Uh, Noel.”

  “What, baby?”

  The endearment made her feel special. Cherished. It had been a long time since she’d been held in a man’s arms and caressed. Apparently too long, or she wouldn’t be reacting like this—like a foolish teenager in heat.

  “Noel, I think we should stop.”

  Immediately, his hands ceased their roaming. He held her at arm’s length and stared deeply into her eyes. “Do you really want me to?”

  She was never good at lies. She didn’t necessarily want him to, more like she needed him to. She paused a beat too long.

  “Oh, baby, I’m taking you to bed.” His warm breath seared her skin. He scooped her into his arms and headed in the direction of what must be his bedroom

  You Tarzan, me Jane, she thought, deciding to go with the flow.

  In Noel’s bedroom, she got a fleeting impression of champagne walls, oak floors, cathedral ceilings, and an old pot-belly stove. He set her down on a cream-colored comforter and got in bed beside her. Holding her close, his warm hands created patterns against her exposed flesh, stroking, probing, exploring. She no longer thought of the consequences, simply opened up to him.

  Noel’s hands were at the clasp of her bra, working the hooks free, releasing her aching breasts. The confining scrap of material he pushed high against her neck. His lips suckled her breasts, and the tip of his tongue traced a sleek path from breasts to belly b
utton. Eden squirmed against him, letting his hands cup her buttocks, pulling her closer. At last she could feel the full, glorious length of him. He was as excited as she was. She brushed her hand against his groin to let him know she wanted him.

  His hand cupped hers, trapping further movement. The bulge she held in her palm served to make every nerve ending throb. Her body was on fire, and only this man had the salve to ease that burn. She pressed her body even closer.

  Noel’s hands moved upward to cradle her face. She opened her eyes and found him looking at her, his expression unreadable.

  “God, I want to love you, baby,” he said in a husky voice.

  “Love me then.” She’d thrown down the gauntlet.

  Noel paused, apparently surprised by her brazenness. “Help me undress.”

  She helped pull the polo shirt over his head, found the zipper of his Dockers, and when it was undone, lowered his shorts and briefs simultaneously.

  The expression on her face must have been priceless because he said, “Like something you see?”

  She chuckled, embarrassed to be caught staring. “Very much.”

  Who was this gasping hussy? Certainly not her.

  Noel’s hands made short work of the open blouse and dangling bra. He practically pried her jeans off. She was left only in rose-colored lace panties. In seconds he straddled her, supporting the bulk of his weight on powerful arms.

  Eden inhaled the clean, fresh smell of soap and subtle aftershave. Drakkar. She’d know that scent anywhere. Nothing smelled better on a man. Combined with Noel’s own personal fragrance, she would need no further aphrodisiac. Slowly, he eased himself down the length of her, his hands performing magic on her body, making every sense come alive, every tiny inch of skin long for his touch. She let her mind go blank and from some far-off spot, registered his fingers inching below the elastic of her panties, stroking, probing and loving. In response; her hand grasped his shaft, hips bucking against him in a sensual dance.