Maybe she was right. Maybe he stressed out too much.
She lay still beside him, but after a moment, Elliot thought he heard her stifling a giggle. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the ceiling some more. Alys rolled on her side and tickled under his arm.
He resisted twitching but couldn’t resist lowering his gaze to her face. “What?” he demanded. “I’m trying to rest here.”
“No, you’re not. You’re shooting holes through the ceiling. The roof is likely to fall on our head any minute now.”
He captured her tickling fingers with his arm. She spread her other hand across his chest and rubbed where he’d been rubbing. Her caress was more soothing. “I don’t know how to play charades,” he told her.
“You don’t know how to play. Or rest. Close your eyes.”
He shut his eyes, but his body was as tight as a bowstring. If she thought rubbing his chest would relax him, she came from a different planet than his.
She curled up beside him until he couldn’t resist putting an arm around her and tucking her head against his shoulder. She hummed happily under her breath and continued her gentle, circular rubbing.
“What is the most restful place you can think of?” she asked.
Her bed. After sex. But he might not ever see that again, so he thumbed through his memories to make her happy. He couldn’t remember too many restful ones. Studying late at night? The lab at midnight when there was no one there to bother him?
Mame’s kitchen before his brothers woke up? She would warm up a biscuit just for him, and he’d take it out on the porch to watch the sun rise before he set out on his paper route.
Watching Alys play with Purple on a sunny playground. Alys laughing and leaping to pick a leaf off a tree. Alys.
“A fishing boat,” he said, giving her the expected response.
She ran her fingers through his hair, stroking his brow. “Imagine the fishing boat bobbing on blue waters, dawn sparkling like diamonds on the waves.”
He liked that picture if he included Alys in the boat. He could see her turning her face to the sun, lifting her arms to embrace the day. But she would be wearing a swimsuit, and his mind’s eyes drifted downward to her breasts, and he wasn’t very relaxed anymore.
“Focus on just one small part of the image. Is there a branch dangling over the water? A leaf drifting back and forth? Do you feel the waves bobbing up and down?”
He’d focused all right. He could see her breasts bobbing up and down with the waves. He mentally rearranged his image to lay his head in her lap. But then he had to close his mental eyes, too, or he’d be looking up at her breasts instead of down.
“This isn’t working,” he complained.
“No, not yet. Give it time. Have you ever been snorkeling? I hear watching the fish float is restful. Would that work?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never been.” In some ways, his life had been as limited as hers. He hadn’t climbed any mountains, swam any seas. He ought to see what he’d been missing.
“Does your boat have a comfortable seat? Can you tilt it back and feel the sun beating down on your hair?” Her fingers continued their rhythmic stroking.
Focus, Roth. “Okay, I’m leaning back, watching a butterfly over the water.” He was lying in her lap, leaning back, smelling that exotic scent she’d worn the night they’d first made love. If there was a butterfly in this picture, he wasn’t seeing it, but she didn’t have to know his real space.
“Good.” She spoke softly, in rhythm with her fingers. “Focus on the butterfly. See the colors on his wings. Are they blue?”
“Red.” He pictured the kind of swimsuit Alys might wear. “No, orange, with gold stripes. And black spots.”
Amusement laced her voice. “Where does the butterfly land? On a flower? A tree branch? Your finger?”
His lap. Wrong answer. His erection rose against his zipper. If Alys was paying attention, no wonder she was laughing. Elliot fought his rampaging libido back down again and tried to picture butterflies and flowers. They weren’t working any better than fish.
“Think about a heartbeat,” she suggested, massaging his temples.
How the hell was she reaching his temples? He didn’t want to think about it. He was thinking about heartbeats—beneath an orange swimsuit with full breasts spilling over the top. “Heartbeat,” he murmured agreeably.
“Just close your eyes and listen to the beat. It’s slow, in time to the gentle drift of the butterfly wings, up and down.”
Up and down—with her breathing. He could feel Alys breathing. He steadied, concentrating on matching his heartbeat to hers. “In and out,” he murmured hoarsely. “Up and down.”
“Back and forth?” she asked dryly, in not quite the same voice as earlier.
“Yeah, that, too.” Grinning, realizing they were on the same wavelength even when he wasn’t telling her where his mind was, he continued picturing heartbeats and bobbing waters. He was beginning to like this boat.
“Relax now. Your little storm is over. No more up and down. Just peace, and a gentle wave, lifting, lowering, rocking ever so slightly. You’re completely relaxed. Soft breezes caress your brow. You’re warm, satiated.”
Kind of hard to be satiated when he had a stiff one poking at his pants, but he liked the warm, soft breezes part. He should take up fishing—in warm waters. Or skinny-dipping. Now there’s an extracurricular activity he could enjoy. He could see Alys running into the waves, laughing, her bare breasts bobbing up and down, up and down.
“If you grin any wider, you’ll crack your face.”
The massaging fingers slapped his cheeks. Before he could come back from the Hawaiian lagoon and blue waters, agile fingers had his fly unzipped. She was good. She was real good.
She was even better when her lithe tongue stroked his straining erection.
He shouted something incomprehensible and grabbed her hair. Fighting the urge to just lie there and let it happen, Elliot flipped her over on her back, climbed on top, and hungrily attacked her mouth.
Alys instantly went slack, flinging her arms to either side, and closing her mouth.
Elliot sat up and stared at her in confusion. “Why the hell did you stop?”
“Because I’m the one in control here.” She tucked her hands behind her head and smiled up at him—an evil gamine messing with his mind.
He eyed her skeptically. “You won’t be once I get started.” But he’d have to pry off her sweater and sweatshirt, then wiggle her out of her jeans. He didn’t want an uncooperative woman.
“We’re not getting started until you tell me I’m the one in command,” she warned. “We’re practicing relaxation techniques and taking charge is not one of them.”
“Yeah, it is,” he growled, flinging himself back down against the lousy mattress. “I feel a lot better when I’m in control.”
“You feel a lot better after you’ve lost control,” she reminded him. “Think about it, and tell me when you’re ready to leave it to me.”
She lay there beside him, looking up at the ceiling as if they weren’t both raging out of control. Or he was, at least. He didn’t think she was as calm as she looked—until she stretched and then consciously set her feet slightly apart, turned her palms upward at her sides, and took several deep breaths. He could swear he saw her visibly relaxing one part at a time, from shoulders down to toes. She had her eyes closed and didn’t seem to notice when he leaned over her.
“What the hell are you doing?”
She didn’t respond but continued taking even breaths, becoming one with the sagging soft mattress. She looked so blissful, he was jealous.
He debated fastening his pants again and saying to hell with it. Maybe he could chop a few trees or jog to the highway and back. But he’d have to be a real stupid chump to give up when temptation lay right there at hand, just begging to be taken.
“Okay, you’re right. I’m relaxed after I’ve lost control. But sex is not always available, so you
’re not teaching me anything useful.” He lay back down and didn’t look at her. She was probably already asleep.
“But giving up control before sex is new, isn’t it?” She popped up as if she hadn’t become one with the mattress. “Find your fishing boat,” she commanded.
“Slave driver.” But he did as she said, re-creating the mental image, except this time he gave himself a yacht and he was lying on a big air mattress on the deck.
And in this new picture she was massaging his chest. While kneeling over him.
“You are at one with the boat and the sea and the air,” she told him.
He was at one with anything she told him as long as she was removing her jeans and sweater. Elliot peeked to be certain that’s what she was doing. He didn’t like surprises.
“You’re peeking.” She shimmied back into the sweater she was in the process of removing.
Elliot closed his eyes. “No, I’m not.” She’d straddled his legs but she still wore jeans, to his disappointment.
“I am the wind and the sun,” she informed him. “You cannot command me. I will shine and make you warm, if you let me. Or I’ll freeze you and blow you off course if you insist on taking over. Just lie there and let me take care of you.”
He thought taking care of him might be the last thing she needed to be doing, but he could correct her impression another time. Right now, he really, really wanted whatever she thought she was doing. The day had left a bad taste in his mouth and a pain in his heart and he wanted her to make it all go away. If this was how she chose to do it, he could try.
“Very good,” she said approvingly when he closed his eyes and attempted to relax.
After that, he just let it happen. He rocked on his yacht in his mind while she removed their clothing and massaged his chest. He sunbathed in her warmth even though the cabin was heated only by an old woodstove. He muffled a shout when her “wind” blew salt water over his arousal and brought him to the brink of climax.
But then she whispered, “I’m here,” and sank down on him.
She was as wet and aroused as he was. Elliot grabbed her hips, positioned her where he could do the most good, and pumped into her until she cried out in the same frenetic ecstasy as he achieved.
In the aftermath, she tumbled on top of his chest, her silken hair brushing his chin, and he held her against him, letting their hearts slow to a matching rhythm.
“If I get any more relaxed, this ship will sail off into the sunset without a captain,” he murmured.
“Good.” Pulling the covers over them, Alys curled at his side, and they sailed off to the land of Nod.
Chapter Twenty-one
Alys fastened the center seat belt of the old pickup around Lucia’s waist and settled Purple into the child’s lap. “Hold on to the kitty, if you can, or we’ll have to leave her here,” she murmured. “We only have a few more hours to go.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Lucia piped. “Will we see Dulce?”
Still amazed to hear the child speak, Alys smiled down at her. “I certainly hope so. And your grandmother.”
Elliot threw their luggage into the battered truck bed, protected by an old camper top. Purple’s cage joined it, but Alys had overruled putting the kitten back there. She let Elliot tie the orchid near the back window, but the cat would be miserable in the cold.
The weather had already warmed up enough to melt the ice of yesterday. Another night of just the two of them in that cabin, and she would never strike out on her own.
Yesterday, Elliot had actually let her take charge. A medical doctor with a national reputation, and he’d listened to her silly relaxation techniques. And they’d worked! He hadn’t rubbed his chest once since then. And they’d both slept like babies all night. After napping half the day. Maybe they’d both needed to unwind.
Of course, the kind of unwinding they’d practiced when they weren’t sleeping might have a lot to do with it. Elliot had a fertile imagination once he indulged it. After his Hawaiian fantasy with her as a hula dancer and him as a surfing champion, she probably didn’t have to ever bother visiting the islands. They’d never compare.
She’d never laughed so hard in her life. Which was why she had to leave him the instant they hit Albuquerque.
Watching him tuck Lucia’s red backpack into the camper, Alys heaved a sigh and climbed into the cab. Lucia had her doll and her camera in the seat beside her. Alys hoped that was enough to keep her entertained for the morning. If she thought about the mundane, she wouldn’t have to break her heart thinking about leaving all this behind. It wasn’t as if she could spend her life riding around in a pickup with someone else’s child and Doc Nice, after all. Life went on.
Elliot slid behind the wheel, and they all waved at Sam and Kaya as he backed the truck out of the drive. Sam had ordered one of his hired hands to follow them into Las Vegas to be safe, and the other truck fell in behind them as they rattled up the dirt road to the highway.
“We should check my voice mail once we have cell reception again. If Mame’s been trying to reach us, she’ll be worrying,” Elliot said, hanging onto the bouncing steering wheel.
While Purple roamed from lap to lap and Lucia played with her doll, Alys checked the rearview mirror. The only other vehicle on the empty highway belonged to Sam’s hired hand.
Last night had been moments outside of time. Today, they were back in the real world. “Maybe we should be worrying about Mame. Do you think the trucks have been following her? Should we call the police?”
“I want to talk to Mame first,” he said grimly. “I think we might be missing a few details.”
Knowing his aunt, Alys was inclined to agree. She didn’t want to think Mame had actually kidnapped Lucia. She’d rather believe Lucia had been rescued. The authorities might not concur.
On the outskirts of the small New Mexican town of Las Vegas, Sam’s employee beeped his horn and pulled into a parking lot. They waved farewell, and Alys checked the cell phone Elliot had slid into the slot where a tape player should have been. “We have reception. I don’t know how to check your messages.”
Kaya had fed them a huge farm breakfast even Elliot had eaten, so they didn’t need to stop for food. But traveling with a child and a cat required rest rooms and exercise time. He pulled into a shopping center parking lot, and Alys snapped on Purple’s leash while Elliot checked his voice mail.
“It’s Mame!” He listened intently to his phone while Alys froze, watching his expression. “She’s fine. She expected to meet us last night in Santa Fe. She’s worried about us.”
Alys waited, her stomach clenching as he frowned, continued listening, then snapped off the phone. “What? What else did she say?”
“She’s on her way to Albuquerque.” He glanced at Lucia, who watched him almost as intently as Alys. “Your aunt is anxious to see you.”
Lucia brightened. “She said we will see great big balloons.”
“Yes, lots and lots of them. So let’s hurry.” He climbed from the truck and held out his arms for Lucia and Purple.
Alys climbed down to follow them to a grassy area where they let the kitten romp. Purple wasn’t ecstatic about the leash. “I don’t see any purple cabs,” she murmured for Elliot’s ears alone, eyeing the parking lot.
“If the crooks are looking for Beulah, we’ve lost them this time,” he agreed. “I don’t see how they can possibly follow us now. That truck looks like every other truck in the lot.”
Alys looked around, and he was right. One old pickup looked like any other. Theirs had a camper on top, but so did several others, all in the same battered state of repair. It wouldn’t be as comfortable as Beulah, but it would be safer.
“We might want to keep Lucia out of sight, just in case,” he said in a low voice so the child couldn’t hear. “I’m trying to block the view, but there’s only so much I can do.”
She hadn’t realized he’d hidden Lucia between a stand of trees and a Dumpster; anyone casually glancing from the lot wouldn’
t know she was there. “We’ll have to take her in to the rest room.”
Frowning, Elliot scanned the shops. “Let’s take her into the café instead of the store. I’ll carry her and cover her head with your hat. We’re all dark-haired, so she’s not too noticeable, but let’s not take chances.”
He was behaving as if they had the Mafia after them, but Alys figured she would do whatever it took not to experience any more terrifying incidents. She’d wanted to experience life, not die of it.
Wearing his Stetson and boots, Elliot looked like half the other men out here, except tougher and leaner and more aware of his surroundings as he waited outside the rest room while Alys ran in with Lucia. Only the kitten on its leash diminished his Clint Eastwood stance.
She was starting to adjust to this tough side of Doc Nice. She supposed truly bookish physicians didn’t achieve what Elliot had achieved in such a short time. The man had grit and determination. And a bad heart, she reminded herself.
They emerged from the café with cookies and fruit drink and returned to the truck. Purple settled on the floorboard to take a nap, and Alys crossed her legs in the seat to accommodate him. Placing her hands palm-up on her knees, she tried to locate her center while Elliot steered the truck out of the lot.
Maybe she should change her mantra from Love is the power that heals to something involving peace. She desperately needed peace for her frantic heart. And they needed a peaceful ride to deliver Lucia to the reservation.
And love was a very dangerous topic. It was quite impossible to love someone after just six days, she told herself. But they’d spent those six days living in each other’s pockets, through stress and sex and beauty. They knew each other’s idiosyncrasies by heart, right down to what they preferred to eat and why. It was possible.
It just wasn’t probable or very smart to love another man who could check out on her far too soon, leaving her alone again.
For some reason, she had difficulty remembering Elliot was ill. He was too vital.
Deciding if he didn’t want to think about his health, neither would she, Alys scanned the view out the windshield. “We really are in the mountains,” she exclaimed as they drove onto the interstate.
California Girl Page 22
