VirtualDesire

by Ann Lawrence

  She gave the Tolemac warrior an affectionate pat on his chest as she passed his poster. Women flocked to the shop to play his game. They made no effort to hide their addiction to the eerie experience of donning a headset and entering the handsome warrior’s world.

  “Hope you’re ready for business, buddy,” she informed the warrior. “Mrs. Hill’s getting anxious.”

  Neil ran back into the shop, accompanied by a blast of salty wind. “Are you talking to me?”

  Gwen shook her head. “No, I’m talking to this guy up here.” She jerked her thumb at the poster.

  “If he ever starts talking back, I’ll know you’re working too hard.” Neil hefted an armload of recyclables.

  Gwen frowned as she plugged in the vacuum. Her fingers traced a jagged tear across the bottom of the Tolemac Wars poster. “Oh, no, Neil, look at this.”

  Neil came to her side. “I guess someone tried to steal the poster again. What is this? The fourth one this month? Must be those nutty women from the game convention.”

  “More like Mrs. Hill. These posters are so hard to come by,” Gwen complained, but Neil didn’t answer. The door banged shut behind him.

  Gwen swore aloud. She looked up at the warrior, who glowered at her as if blaming her for the desecration of his poster. His silver-blond hair blew back from his magnificent face. His black leather breeches and elaborately embroidered white tunic molded his body. Gwen always imagined he stood foursquare to the wind so that his fans could admire the honed contours of his body and the straight, noble lines of his profile. “Vanity, thy name is not woman. Or at least not in Tolemac,” she muttered.

  Abandoning her vacuum, Gwen leaned over the service counter and dug up a roll of tape. As she plastered the poster back on the wall, she spoke to the warrior. “Don’t blame me if every Tanya, Dawn, and Helen tries to steal you off the wall. If you weren’t so damned perfect and beautiful, they’d leave you alone. Maybe a few scars and scuffs would wipe that haughty sneer off your face.” She laughed and patted the warrior on a well-muscled thigh, tossed the tape onto the counter, and returned to her vacuum. “Of course, Mr. Tolemac Warrior Snob, if you weren’t so beautiful, you’d be just another game—and I’d be poor.” She sniffed. “Whew. Whatever it is, it reminds me of a wet sheepdog—or maybe just the wet sheep.”

  She stepped into the entrance of the freestanding chamber that housed the Tolemac Wars game. It was formed of four matte black walls with an inner chamber, also with walls of unrelieved black.

  The classical music rose to a crescendo behind her, masking something else, something close and furtive. A rustle. A soft, mousy sound that tickled her spine with apprehension and froze her fingers on the light switch.

  Gwen stood poised, her ears straining. The sound was not repeated. She ran to the counter and hit the eject button on the CD player.

  Silence pounded in her head as she listened. Had she imagined the sound? Had a trick of wind playing over the roof carried in the sound of a distant foghorn? Trembling, Gwen tiptoed farther into the virtual reality chamber and flicked the switch. Light filled the game chamber.

  A polar bear was her first thought. A huge, dirty polar bear lay sprawled in her game chamber, filling the space with its body and wet-animal scent.

  With a scream in her throat, Gwen turned, tripped over the vacuum, and ran. She skidded on the smooth carpet and lunged out the back door.

  Rain pounded the wooden boards of the back steps. Wind lashed cold drops against her face. Salt air and low-tide smells choked her as she gasped for breath and fought the panic that welled within her.

  Lightning pierced the sky. Neil stood next to the trash dumpsters, black against black, and frowned at her.

  Gwen felt suddenly foolish. Shame that she’d panicked and run made her press her hand to her pounding chest and take a deep, steadying breath.

  The back parking lot held only her car, the trash containers, and Neil. “What is it?” he called. Water lapped over the sidewalks and gushed in gutters.

  “I-I-I heard something.” She rubbed her cold hands on her arms. Her fleece top and jeans were getting soaked.

  Neil bounded up the steps two at a time. “What?”

  “In the game booth.” She omitted what she’d seen. Something made her hold her tongue. Let Neil see for himself. Together they went back into the shop. As they entered, she caught a whiff of sweat. It underlaid the wet-animal scent as well as the salt and sand smells that were such a part of a shore community that they went unremarked.

  Gwen held up a hand to Neil for silence. Not far from her front door, the Atlantic Ocean snarled. Wind rose and fell with a whine. Nothing else stirred. She tiptoed to her counter and pulled out a long metal bar that was supposed to be locked onto her car’s steering wheel. She just couldn’t remember to use it. As she brandished it like a sword, she slipped cautiously into the game booth, Neil right at her elbow.

  The game booth was really a small room inside another. The inner room held a raised platform and a wide screen for spectators to view the game while it was being played. The players had no use for the screen. They wore a headset that covered their eyes and ears; they experienced the game as if living it.

  Gwen took a deep breath, poked the bar around the curved wall, and followed slowly after.

  Neil shoved past her and stood with his hands on his hips. “These gamers!” he said in disgust. With his work boot, Neil prodded the mountain of fur that lay half on and half off the control platform.

  Gwen relaxed at Neil’s apparent unconcern.

  After all, she thought, polar bears did not wear leather boots.

  Neil gave the lump a harder kick. “Yo, bud. Up and outta here.” The small mountain didn’t move. “Should I call the cops?”

  Gwen frowned. And say what? “A polar bear in boots is snoozing in our shop.” Now that Neil had demonstrated the thing’s harmlessness, she grew brave and made a few fencing moves at the mountain. She prodded and poked and circled.

  “Or maybe we should call the exterminator.” Neil bent over, hands on knees. “Come on, bud. This isn’t the Seaview Motel.”

  The offending gamer shifted. Gwen squeaked and danced away. The disgusted look Neil aimed at her made her straighten up and justify herself. “Well, it moved.” She feigned nonchalance, but she did not lower her “sword”.

  While Neil cajoled, Gwen took in the small details. Dirty fur, like a matted bath rug, swathed the figure from head to foot. Boldly, Gwen poked the pile again.

  Nothing happened. She prodded the flat, scuffed sole of one boot. The furry mountain abruptly shuddered. Gwen jerked away, her back coming up against the wall. The pile shifted and rolled off the platform onto its back on the floor.

  It flopped back like a beached whale and snored—a decidedly loud snore.

  “Sound asleep,” she whispered in disgust.

  “Maybe drunk,” Neil whispered back.

  “At this time of morning?” Gwen held the metal bar in both hands, ready to whack the man if he stood up.

  “He probably sneaked over from Atlantic City.” Neil reached down and dragged the furs open in the center of the long form. “How the hell’d he get in here, anyway?”

  Gwen dropped her bar. She hated it when Neil was right. Under the furs, the man was garbed exactly like the warrior in Tolemac Wars II. Costumes were de rigueur at the game convention as well as at the ball scheduled for that night. A dirty, blond beard covered the lower half of the man’s face, yet his features were hauntingly familiar. “Boy, lose the beard and he’d win the prize in any Tolemac warrior look-alike contest, wouldn’t he?” she asked.

  Neil grunted. “Not unless he takes a bath before the final judging.” Then he frowned. “Did you forget to check the back door last night?” His implied “again” didn’t need to be said.

  She winced and busied herself examining the man. He opened his eyes and licked his tongue over dry lips. “Come…warm…me.”

  Gwen found herself staring. His eyes were as b
lue as a northern fjord, his voice low and seductive. His eyes fluttered closed. A smile curved his mouth.

  “Oh, great. A rude Tolemac impersonator,” Gwen muttered. “What should we do with him?”

  Neil scratched his chin. “I don’t know. If you call the cops he might get thrown in jail.”

  “Gamers are not criminals,” she said.

  “You’re right. They also spend tons of money in shops like ours.”

  The man rolled his head and snorted like a large boar. It was then that Gwen noticed a long gash that extended from his right eye nearly to his chin. Dried blood matted the front of his furs. “Oh, Neil, he’s hurt.” She dropped to her knees at the man’s side. He was a long, tall mountain of fur. “And he’s really dirty. It’s his fur coat we’re smelling. He must’ve swiped it from a bear. A wet, muddy bear.” She wrinkled her nose in disgust.

  Yet despite the coat’s condition, where Neil had separated the furs, she could see an elaborately embroidered shirt. She’d seen that pattern of black and gold on white so many times, she could not fail to recognize it now. “His coat might be dirty, but his costume is beautiful.” She reached out cautiously and touched the man’s shirt.

  Heat zinged up her arm. She snatched her hand back.

  As if his body had become aware of his surroundings, the man began to shiver. He tucked his hands into his armpits and curled onto his side. The small chamber once again filled with his harsh, growling snores.

  “We could at least clean his cut,” she said. Neil frowned. “He’s shaking; he must be cold. Shouldn’t we at least get him upstairs? I could clean his cut.”

  “Yeah, I guess we don’t need him lying here when we open up.”

  “Kered?” the man whispered. His eyes remained closed, but his hand groped toward her.

  Involuntarily, she took it. He shivered. His hand was hot—feverishly hot. While she held it, the heat seemed to flow up her arm. The hair on her nape stirred. With difficulty, she extracted her hand from his hard grip.

  She stripped the furs open all the way down the man’s body. The garment revealed itself to be a long fur parka with a deep hood. The man’s dirty, matted hair lay plastered against his skull��it could be any color from dark blond to white. His beautifully embroidered tunic, once soaked in sweat, now lay stiff against his skin. Yet he was the image of the man from the poster. “This might be the guy the agency hired for my ball, Neil.”

  The man’s breath whistled through his nose.

  “Looking like this?” Neil shook his head. “Let’s call the police instead.”

  In her mind’s eye, Gwen saw herself locking the back door and checking it. “I know I didn’t leave the door open. I just know it.”

  “Then he sneaked in while we were busy with customers yesterday and hid in the bathroom. No, that’s ludicrous. How could a guy this big sneak past us?”

  “Regardless of how he got into the shop, we can’t leave him lying on the cold floor. And if he’s from the agency, I can’t exactly turn him over to the police either. The agency would never supply another event for me.” No matter how imprudent it might be, she decided to help the stranger. She rose to her feet. “Let’s get him upstairs to my apartment.”

  “Are you sure?” Neil asked. “He could be dangerous. He was reckless enough to break in here.”

  Gwen took one more look at the man. “You know, Neil, I think he just needed somewhere to sleep. Maybe he was broke and couldn’t afford a hotel room.” She put her hand on his forehead. It was cool. She grabbed his arm. The same zing of heat pulsed through her hands, but this time she ignored it.

  Neil jammed his hands on his hips. “Are you sure?”

  She tugged and pulled. The man did not budge. “I’m sure. After all, the ball’s tonight. What’s a few hours? Come on. Help me.”

  As Neil continued to catalog his protests they hefted the man to a sitting position. “Yikes,” Gwen said with a gasp, “he’s a deadweight.”

  “Smells dead, too,” Neil quipped.

  The man’s eyes rolled in his head, then seemed to focus on them. “I was…not…quitting. I was just…resting,” he said through perfect white teeth.

  “Anything you say.” Gwen grabbed one arm, while Neil grabbed the other. After several false starts, they succeeded in hauling the man to his feet and propping him against the railing of the game platform.

  She was five-foot-seven. The man was almost a foot taller.

  “I’ll unlock the back door to your apartment.” Neil dashed from the chamber, leaving Gwen in sole possession of a very large male.

  Her hands planted in the center of his chest, Gwen took a deep breath and staggered as the man’s weight sagged forward. “Hurry, Neil, he’s heavy,” she shouted, looking up at the man who now towered over her. He began to list to the side. “And huge!” She wrapped her arms around his waist.

  The man opened his eyes and stared down at her. Gwen could not have looked away if ordered. His beguiling blue gaze swept over her face and hair.

  “I dreamed of you.” His hands stroked up the column of her spine. His long fingers slid along her neck.

  Hurry, Neil, she thought as the slow caress of his fingers wandered to the hair at her nape. The zing had settled to a warmth that flooded her system.

  “You…disappeared.” He closed his eyes and began to slide. She accepted the inevitable and tried to ease his collapse to the floor. He fell to his knees, his arms loosely clasped about her waist.

  He nuzzled his face against the soft fleece of her top and sighed. In moments he was snoring again.

  Gwen buried her hands in his matted hair and pulled his head back. His eyes fluttered open. She swallowed hard. She had never seen a man so dirty—or so handsome.

  “I dreamed of you. Your…taste. Your scent.” His hands moved over her hips. Heat pooled where his hands journeyed. A memory of long-buried sensations coursed through Gwen’s body as the warmth of his hands penetrated her jeans.

  Drunk gamer or warrior wannabe, he was providing an unwanted reminder of how a man’s hands felt on a woman’s body. His hands stroked down her legs.

  He gasped.

  His fingers gripped her tightly just above the knees and shoved. She squealed at the pain and landed on her bottom.

  He lurched to his feet, stumbled backward, and gripped the game platform. He swayed and stared down at her.

  An expression of confusion crossed his face. The cut on his cheek oozed bright red blood. Then his features settled into the haughty lines she recognized from the Tolemac Wars poster. Disbelief filled his voice. “You are a boy!”

  Chapter Two

  “I’m not a boy!” Gwen stifled a laugh. Then heat swept up her face. Maybe it wasn’t so funny to be mistaken for a boy. She scrambled to her feet. “Who the heck are you? How’d you get into my shop?”

  “Shop?” The man’s body tensed. He swept a trembling hand across his brow.

  A wave of sympathy made her soften her voice. “Yes,” Gwen said, “my shop. How’d you get in here? Who are you?”

  “I crossed the ice fields?” It was a question.

  Gwen sighed. He was going to act out the part for which he’d dressed. He was definitely into Tolemac Wars. She’d met all kinds. From the small—she perused the war gamer from his black leather boots to his matted hair—to the tall. “Yes. Yes,” she said, playing along. “You’ve crossed the ice fields. You’re in Ocean City, now.”

  “Ocean…? The place of legend with sea creatures three times the size of dragons?”

  She pressed her lips together to remain as serious as he was. “Yes, that’s the one. Now, who are you?”

  He straightened to his full height and stared down his perfect nose at her. “Vad.”

  Of course. If she looked so much like the Tolemac warrior, she’d call herself Vad, too. “Okay, Vad. How’d you get in here?”

  A look of real consternation settled on his face. “I do not remember.” He staggered. His hand shot out to the game platform.r />
  “No. Don’t touch that!” Gwen lunged for his hand. She grabbed his arm and jerked him away. He’d come dangerously close to leaning on the game controls. “I don’t need any accidents. Do you understand?”

  “Uh, Gwen?” Neil spoke from the entrance to the game booth. “Your back door’s unlocked, but Mrs. Hill and some friends are lined up out front.”

  “Gwen?” The man said her name very distinctly. In fact, he sounded as though he belonged on the public television station, maybe in one of those British mysteries she watched on Thursday nights.

  “Come on.” She tugged at the man’s arm. “Let’s get you out of here. If the women outside see you, they’ll strip you naked in a minute.”

  A look of sheer terror crossed the man’s face. Gwen grinned. “Yep. Less than a minute. Maybe in ten seconds.” He scooped up his fur parka. She wrinkled her nose. “You’d better get your coat to the cleaners, pronto.”

  He swayed. His hand settled heavily on her shoulder. Slowly he removed it and forced himself upright. “Forgive me. Perhaps you might take me to your master.”

  Gwen opened her mouth to make a sarcastic remark, then realized he was just staying in character. “Sure. Right after I rescue you from Mrs. Hill.”

  He jerked his arm from her hand. “I do not need a pathetically small female to rescue me.”

  Gwen settled her hands on her hips. “Look, Vad. You’re on thin ice here. You broke into my shop. Play all the games you like, but keep your insults to yourself.”

  She did not wait for him to follow her. She hurried from the game booth. If he wanted to be attacked by Tolemac fans, that was up to him.

  Behind her, Vad slowly straightened.

  He felt as weak as a spring lamb. He took a cautious step. Then another. At the chamber doorway he staggered. Lights and sounds and smells assaulted him. Drums pulsed and beat in his head. Pain shot from one side of his skull to the other. Bright colors burned his eyes. He bumped into a table. A slither and clatter of glittering objects made him jump. A man grabbed him. He pulled away.