Eric reached over to daub a raindrop from the end of her nose with the tip of his finger. "As far as I'm concerned," he said, a warm smile in his eyes, "the sun never stopped shining."
"Aw… what a nice thing to say." He loved the way she looked—her cheeks flushed from the dash for the car, her eyes dancing with excitement, her mouth slightly open in innocent invitation. His thoughts strayed to the wondrous way those lips had felt when they'd been pressed against his own last night and earlier that day. He reached over to take her hand in his. "Are you hungry yet?"
"Starved."
He thought a moment. "Since it looks like we'll be having our picnic indoors, the least I can do is provide a pleasant view." He touched his lips to the back of her hand before starting the car.
From anyone else, Janet would have thought a kiss on the hand corny. From Eric it seemed natural and unaffected. "Where are we going?"
"Buena Vista Winery, where a Hungarian count by the name of Haraszthy planted California's first vineyard. There's a pretty little creek that runs along the side of the winery, and the eucalyptus trees that grow there are some of the biggest in the state."
"How do you know so much about this area?" Eric had displayed a native's knowledge of the region and of the historical buildings they had gone through.
"Your family's not the only one that had a cabin where they went for weekends and holidays. Ours is about ten miles from here, up in the Napa Valley hills." He chuckled. "The facts and figures I have used to dazzle you with today, however, are due to my grandmother's persevering nature. Whenever we all happened to be at the cabin at the same time, she would insist Susan and I tramp around the countryside with her. She had decided we should have an appreciation of our heritage whether we wanted it or not."
Janet felt a twinge of envy. Her grandparents lived on the East Coast, and she had rarely seen them as a child. "Would she quiz you later?"
"She didn't have to. Susan and I were like sponges." Eric smiled at the memory. "You'd have to meet the grande dame to understand how she managed to pull it off. Grandma didn't just do show and tell, she made us touch and absorb and insisted we try to imagine ourselves as the original occupants."
"She sounds like an incredible lady."
He grinned. "Grandpa sure thought so… still does, as a matter of fact."
They turned onto Old Winery Road, a narrow twisting country lane with farm houses and trees along either side. By the time they had traveled two miles to the end of the road, they were at the winery. The cellars were housed in a large stone building, and picnic tables were scattered around the grounds. Eric stopped the car beside the creek. Because they were the only visitors, they had wonderful privacy as they looked around the rustic setting.
"Did you arrange for us to be here alone?" Janet asked in a joking voice, but believing it was entirely possible.
"I'd like to take the credit, but I think it was probably a combination of the season and the weather." He twisted sideways in the seat so that he could reach in the back to open the basket.
Listening to the soft sounds of rain and the ticking of the engine as it cooled, Janet felt cozy and content. It had been such a long time since she'd taken a day off to do anything as carefree and spontaneous that she had almost forgotten how good it felt. She leaned forward to stare out the window, trying to see the top of the tree in front of them.
"Huge, isn't it?" Eric handed her a napkin.
"You were right. I've never seen eucalyptus trees as big as these before." She opened the napkin and spread it across her lap, her hunger increasing in direct proportion to the nearness of the food. "By the way, I meant to ask you how you managed to get to the store this morning without cab fare."
Frustrated by the cramped quarters and his repeated failures to keep the can opener attached to the can, he momentarily bypassed her question. "Are you any good with can openers?"
"A whiz."
He handed her the can and the opener. "I talked the driver into taking me to the delicatessen and waiting outside while I cashed a check."
Janet licked a trickle of sauce that had spilled on her finger when she accidentally tipped the can. She made a face. "What is this?" she asked suspiciously, trying to recognize familiar words on a label written in French.
"Escargot," he said, obviously surprised that she didn't recognize the taste. "The shells are back here. I even brought a fondue pot and sterno to cook them with."
Janet fought to keep from gagging. "Snails?" she choked. "We're having snails for lunch?"
"Not only snails," he said proudly, too occupied with the basket to notice her reaction. "I brought caviar and lox and bagels and cream cheese—"
"And potato salad and hard boiled eggs?" she added hopefully.
"No…" he said, looking up in time to see the panic on her face, "but there's crackers and liver pate." He suddenly realized his selection of food had been a horrible mistake. He had thought to make the picnic wildly elegant and nonsensically fun and had even put a couple of candles and a pair of silver candlesticks in the basket. He hadn't once considered the possibility that his choice of food might be alien to her. Unwilling to let his mistake put a damper on their day, he took the partially opened can from her, wrapped a piece of plastic around it and tossed it back in the basket. "This stuff doesn't look nearly as appetizing to me now as it did when I was in the store. What say we go someplace and get ourselves a couple of nice juicy hamburgers?"
She looked down at her lap. "Oh, Eric, I feel like a—"
He caught her chin in his hand. "Stop right there," he demanded, his heart going out to her. He felt like kicking himself for creating a situation that had caused her embarrassment. He ran his thumb along the line of her jaw, his gaze caressing her. He could pretend no longer. "I absolutely refuse to let anyone say anything bad about the woman I think I'm falling in love with."
Janet's heart skipped a beat; she struggled to catch her breath. She couldn't believe she had heard him correctly. Unable to look at him or to let him see the flush of pleasure that had stripped away all her pretenses, she glanced out the side window while she fought to regain her composure. Finally she turned back to look at him. "Think?" she asked softly.
A slow, glorious smile lighted his eyes. He leaned forward and tenderly kissed her. "Damn near positive," he whispered against her mouth.
"Me, too," she murmured. What was she saying? This couldn't be happening; the timing was all wrong. Where, how, was she ever going to be able to fit Eric into her life? While her mind shouted denial, her arms came up from her sides and wrapped around his neck. The reality of him holding her was far superior to her dreams. The solid feel of him, the way the musky smell of his cologne filled her senses, the way his lips melded against her own in a silent message filled with longing—all were more intense, more poignant than she had been capable of imagining. She felt as if she had been calmly floating along a quiet stream before she had met him. In coming to know him, she had been pulled into rushing water, and then, with his touch, she had been tossed into a cascading rapids, from which there was no escape. "Eric…" She put her forehead against his shoulder and tried to catch her breath. "What are we doing?"
His hand trembled when he reached up to smooth her hair. He looked at the foggy windows and smiled. The image he had of himself as a fairly sophisticated man had just been shattered. The windows and the gear shift poking him in the leg were perfect representations of the way he felt—like a randy teenager at a drive-in movie. "When I thought about what we should do together today, I tried to create a situation where it would be impossible for this to happen—never once did I consider how impossible the situation would become if it did."
"Now what do we do?" she sighed.
He grasped her shoulders and gently pushed her away, then caught her chin with his hand so that she would have to look at him. He wanted to be able to judge her reaction to what he was about to say. "The cabin I told you about earlier is only about twenty minutes away from here." W
hat they would do at the cabin was understood. It seemed forever before she answered.
A battle raged inside Janet. Her body ached for the release he offered; her mind cried out a warning that it was only a temporary solution. The frustration that would haunt them later would be a hundred times as sharp as the pleasure they would know now. But even as she was forming the words to tell him no, she said, "Yes."
Eric drew her to him. Her mouth parted in welcome, in invitation. A deep moan sounded in his throat. His lips caressed her, coming to know the feel of her eyes, her nose, her chin. She tilted her head to the side, and he traced a line down her neck. He pressed a kiss to the hollow behind her ear, inhaling the smell of her hair, tasting the sweetness of her skin, taking heady pleasure in the demanding beat of her pulse.
The way he felt, the ten miles to the cabin might as well have been a hundred. He tried to pull himself away to get started, giving her what was to be one last kiss. But it quickly turned into another and then another, with each becoming deeper, more demanding as they teetered on the brink of losing control.
Finally, with a supreme effort, he released her. He took a minute to regain a semblance of composure before he reached for the napkin on her lap and wiped the fog from the windows. When he finished, he started the car and pulled back onto Old Winery Road. "Talk to me, Janet. Say something that will make the miles go faster."
She tucked her trembling hands under her legs and gave him a lopsided grin. "We could always sing ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall."
"Tell me a joke instead. A funny one."
"I'd never be able to remember the punch line." She nervously glanced down at her lap and then at her shoes and then outside. The sky had changed from an ominous gray to a shimmering white that held promising patches of blue. Her gaze softened and she drifted into private thoughts again, comparing her dreams of Eric to the real man.
"Why the smile?" Eric asked, curious about the transformation he had just witnessed.
"Oh… I was just thinking." As always, she was hesitant to reveal too much of herself.
"About?" he prodded.
She glanced over to him, trying to judge how he would react if she were to tell him the truth. She decided to take a chance. "Last night when you found me asleep on the couch…"
"Uh-huh."
"I was in the middle of a dream."
He had guessed as much.
"You were in that dream."
He had guessed that, too, but he liked having her tell him. "And?"
"I was just thinking how different this… how different today is from my dream."
"Tell me about it."
"I'd rather not."
"Why?"
"It would embarrass me."
"Then how about if I tell you my dream first?"
She eyed him suspiciously.
Eric reached over and tugged on her wrist until her hand was free from beneath her leg. He held it while he talked, as if needing the contact. "Every dream that we're in together is a little different than the last, but the time and place are always the same. We are alone on the ocean on the deck of a sailboat, and it's nearing sunset…" His voice grew wistful. "You're wearing white shorts and a loose top, and your skin is tanned to a golden bronze color that glows in the lingering sunlight. I finish working on the sails, and you come over to me…" What came next was too intimate to share.
"And?" she softly prodded.
He could feel a warmth spreading through him. "And you put your arms around me… your body tastes salty…"
When he hesitated again, Janet haltingly told him about her own dream, which with minor variations was always the same. She described the filmy white dress, cut low in the front and with a full skirt that caught in the lightest breeze and gently caressed her legs. He was dressed in a tuxedo, and they were in each other's arms, dancing to soft music.
Then they were alone, standing on a balcony overlooking the ocean, sharing a glass of wine. They stared longingly into each other's eyes, their desire heightened by purposely not touching.
Later they walked along a beach, silhouetted by a glorious orange-and-pink sunset. Eric's tie hung loose, and the top three buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a light matting of dark hair. His pants were rolled up to midcalf, and he carried his jacket flung over his shoulder, hooked on two fingers. Janet walked beside him, her stockings in his coat pocket, her heels dangling by their straps from one hand, her other hand clasping Eric's. Then they turned to gaze at each other, communicating their growing need without exchanging a word.
Soon they started walking again, continuing until they reached a sheltered area where cypress grew close to the softly lapping surf. Eric laid his jacket and her shoes on the now moon-bathed sand and reached for her, drawing her into his arms…
Too embarrassed to go on, Janet's voice faded to a whisper and then disappeared altogether.
Eric smiled knowingly as he turned off the main road onto a narrower country lane flanked by vineyards. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "When we come back here next year, you won't recognize these fields," he said, gracefully changing the subject. With no branches growing along the wires strung over the gnarled plants and leaves, the fields looked barren. Only twisted stumps were left behind, a reminder of the glorious richness that would return the next spring.
Janet felt a moment of panic. Everything was happening so fast between them. Where were they going? What were they doing? What kind of relationship were they establishing between them today? She looked at Eric. The overwhelming hunger that controlled her refused to recognize the possibility that they might be making a horrible mistake.
"Here we are."
They had stopped in front of a Queen Anne style, two-story house that looked out over the valley with a regal air of authority. Steep gables and a corner turret capped the ornamental shingle work on the second story, and a wide porch ran three-quarters of the way along the front of the first story. The grounds surrounding the house were meticulously tended, and the flower beds were filled with masses of fall color. "What do you mean, cabin?" she gasped, looking around her at what any normal person would have called a mansion.
"I guess summer home' would probably be a better description," he answered, reaching for the car handle, oblivious to her stunned reaction to the opulence of a home he had always taken for granted.
"Who takes care of this place?" She joined him on the path that led to the front door.
"A couple who live in that brown-and-white house we passed on the way up. They've been here for as long as I can remember."
After climbing the front steps up to the porch, Janet walked over to the railing. Her gaze swept the acres of vineyards. "I suppose all this land is yours, too?"
Eric joined her. "Actually, it belongs to my grandparents. A long time ago my grandfather had a yearning to have his own winery. He changed his mind when he discovered he couldn't grow the quality of grapes here that he needed to produce the valley's best wine, and since he refused to settle for anything less, he gave up the project. Still, he couldn't quite bring himself to sell the place, but he couldn't let such choice land lay fallow, either. So he leases it out." He stuck his hands in his pockets. "Would you like me to show you around the place?"
She gave him a slow smile. "Could it wait until later?"
"It could even wait for another time." He slipped his arm around her waist and drew her near.
Running her hands down his jacket lapels, she looked up into his eyes. "However, I wouldn't mind seeing the inside."
He unlocked the front door, and they went in. Janet was delighted to see that the interior held a warm and welcoming mixture of old and new furniture and was not—as she feared it might be—a showplace for precious antiques that demanded more attention than the guests.
Noticing what he was afraid were second thoughts in her eyes, Eric took her into his arms again. "You don't have to go through with this, you know," he told her.
"I know," she answered, the las
t of her reservations melting under the warmth of his concern.
He reached for her hand and silently led her up the spiral staircase to the room that had been his since he was a child. A double bed, covered by a navy-blue goose down comforter, faced a pair of dormer windows that overlooked the valley. In the far corner a worn-out first baseman's glove hung from a baseball bat. On the wall was a poster of a ship in full sail. Janet liked the idea that someone's sentimentality had dictated leaving touches of Eric's childhood in the room. She walked over to the window and pulled the sheer curtain to the side. Shafts of sunlight had broken through the clouds to form brilliant circles of green on the valley floor.
Eric shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it on the dresser before he went over to stand behind her. His arms encircled her waist. Slowly they moved up her sides until they were touching the fullness of her breasts. Janet sighed and pressed herself against him, resting the back of her head on the side of his neck. With deft fingers he released the tiny pearl buttons that ran down the front of her sweater. Pulling the soft knit aside, he unclasped her bra and cupped her breasts, letting them fill his hands.
Janet leaned into him, feeling the tension in his muscles as he responded to her pressure. She turned her head to meet his questing mouth and was lost in the unleashed hunger of his kiss. Never had she been swept so completely into the uncompromising world of passion.
Eric removed his own clothing and took her over to stand beside the bed. Slowly, as if time were a gift to be spent lavishly, he finished undressing her. When everything was gone but the wisp of silky material that hugged her hips, he caught her to him, reveling in the singular pleasure of her nearly naked body against his own. Moving his hands the length of her back, he slipped them beneath the elastic of her panties and cupped her buttocks. He trailed kisses down her neck and across her shoulder, then slowly dropped to his knees as his lips moved lower.
A Week from Friday Page 11
