by Peggy Bird
She could feel her body shiver.
“Or from this?”
Now he moved to her neck, to the soft spot near her ear she’d never realized was so sensitive. She was finding it difficult to stay still, her back arching against him, her hips grinding into his.
“I bet this is where we can take you over the top.” He’d reached her breasts and began to swirl his tongue over the nipples still sensitized from his earlier attention. The combination of his words, his erection pressing up against her clitoris, and his mouth on her breast produced another climax so strong she wasn’t sure she would ever come down from it.
He held her while she came back to earth. “I didn’t think it was possible, but you’re even more beautiful when you come.” He reached under the sheet for the condom. “Put this on me, and let’s see if we can do that together this time.”
• • •
She seemed exhausted from the second orgasm; he wasn’t even sure she heard him when he asked her to cover him. But in seconds she had the packet open and the condom ready to put on him. He gritted his teeth when she touched him, afraid he might have been foolish to believe he could survive the pressure of her hand on him without completely losing it.
Somehow he did. When he was covered, he rested on his forearms and used his knee to separate her legs. She moved restlessly beneath him, ready for him, as ready as he was for her.
He didn’t want to be rough, but the scent of her, the feel of her skin on his, the softness of her lips drove him over the edge. With one thrust he was all the way inside her. Then she wrapped her legs tightly around him, rocked her hips, and pulled him in deeper. Her body was arched against his, her head back. Their mingled sweat allowed his body to slide easily against hers. She made a soft sound in the back of her throat with each thrust. Afraid he was hurting her, he slowed down, but she whispered, “No, don’t stop. Harder. Harder.”
It almost undid him. He was trying to pace himself, trying to prolong the feeling of her snug channel enclosing him, but he didn’t have a chance in hell to slow down. She moved under him in an increasing rhythm, her nails bit into him as she urged him on, with her body, with her words. Words like “yes” and “more” commanded him on a subconscious level, and he responded by moving faster, harder until he felt her inner muscles clamp around him, milking him as she came. He poured himself into her with only one thought: Mine.
She was his. For this one night, Juliet belonged once more to Romeo.
When he could make his body respond to his will, he rolled off her. He took a few minutes to suck in enough oxygen to unscramble what little was left of his brain then left the bed to get rid of the condom. That accomplished, he returned to her. She was still in the same position as she’d been when he’d left, her eyes closed, her breathing more normal.
He lay down beside her and took her hand. Neither one spoke for what seemed like an eternity. Finally she said, “I better leave.”
He pulled her against his side, “No, not yet.”
Her body was stiff, her attitude resistant. “I can’t stay.”
“I’m not asking you to stay all night. Only for a while longer.” He smiled up into the dark room. “You never know. I might decide the night’s not over yet.”
“Bragging about your prowess?”
When he chuckled, he could feel her body relax a little. “Not really. But a guy can hope.”
“Okay. I’ll stay for a little while.”
He closed his eyes for a moment, only a moment, to appreciate his luck in having this woman in his bed.
Chapter 6
Julie had hoped that by telling him she would stay, he would relax and fall asleep. It seemed to be working. His breathing had become shallow and regular. Now he was snoring softly. This was her chance to slip away, to avoid complications or awkwardness. If she didn’t leave now, she might give into whatever part of her, or part of him, was tempting her to stay. But she knew she couldn’t—shouldn’t—stay and face daylight, the stranger in the mask, and all the people who would see her when she left the motel. It was simply not a rational option.
As if anything tonight with this man had been sensible.
Easing her way out of his embrace, she had a moment of panic when her braid caught under his arm. If she could have pulled the damn wig off she would have, but her friend’s belt-and-suspenders approach was working only too well. After what seemed like an eternity, she eased the braid away from him and slid off the bed.
Fumbling around in the darkened room, she found her shoes, her thong, and the costume. She had a second fright when tugging and pulling failed to get the nightgown over her head, caught on the mask she’d forgotten to remove. When she yanked the mask off, the dress slipped smoothly down her body.
She sat on the unoccupied bed and put on her ballet flats. Then she took one last look at the stranger who now knew her better than most of the men she’d been with for months. He was sprawled across the bed opposite her, his gorgeous body in stark relief against the white of the sheets, his face darkened more by the mask than the lack of light. One last look became the temptation of take off the mask and finally see his face.
He seemed to be sleeping soundly. She inched carefully to the other bed, making sure not to trip on the corner of the bedspread, which had slid onto the floor. Her hand was shaking as she reached for his face, touched the mask, and began to lift it.
Then he moved. She pulled her hand back as he swatted at her as if she were a bothersome insect. Another panic moment.
It didn’t matter what he looked like or who he was anyway. What was done was done. She backpedaled to the door, waiting to make sure he was settled again before opening it. Now all she had to do was get out of the motel and home without anyone seeing her.
Another panic attack occurred when she got to her house and couldn’t find the house key she’d pinned into the thick, lacy border on her sleeve. Relief had her breathing normally again when she realized it wasn’t missing; she was looking in the wrong sleeve. Finally, safe in her living room, she sagged onto the couch. She was home free. Time to get out of the costume and get back to being Julie.
The first thing that had to go was the wig, which wasn’t easy. It hurt like hell to pull it off, and she was sure some of her own hair and maybe even some skin went with it. But when it was gone she began to feel more like herself.
Ignoring the party detritus scattered everywhere on the first floor, she headed upstairs. She wanted to strip off the costume, leave Juliet behind, and scrub away her sins in a flood of hot water and scented soap. Maybe if she took a long enough shower she could rinse away the guilt she felt about her foolish, careless, and potentially dangerous behavior. Behavior that had nevertheless resulted in the most unforgettable night of her life.
She tried, letting the hot water run over her until it began to get chilly, but it didn’t work. There wasn’t enough water in Ashland to wash away what she’d done. She turned the shower off before she got too cold and toweled herself dry. Once in clean pajamas, she pulled down the quilt on her bed. Sleep. Perhaps sleep would help.
As she crawled into bed she noticed the Juliet costume and wig in a heap on the bedroom floor where she’d dropped them. More guilt. She shouldn’t treat such a lovely costume so badly. Her behavior wasn’t the poor nightgown’s fault. It shouldn’t suffer because of her.
Getting out of bed, she did her best to smooth the now-messy wig. She’d have to come up with a story for her friend about exactly why it looked the way it did. She certainly couldn’t tell him it was from a night of hot sex.
But it turned out that wasn’t the only problem. “Everything” wasn’t there. She was missing the mask. After searching her bedroom and the living room downstairs where she’d ripped off her wig, she remembered pulling the mask off so she could get dressed.
The last panic attack of the evening occurred when she realized her mask was still in Romeo’s motel room.
• • •
The sound of the
alarm on his phone wakened Trace at six, as it usually did. But it wasn’t a usual morning. For starters, there was something over his face blocking out the light, almost like a blindfold. It took a few seconds to realize the stupid mask he’d worn the night before was covering his eyes. For a few more seconds he was puzzled at why the hell he still had the mask on, when he could feel he was otherwise naked.
Then he remembered. He ripped off the mask, hoping he’d find Juliet sleeping peacefully at his side. Of course he didn’t. Like an idiot, he’d fallen asleep, and she’d left. The pillow and the place where she’d been were cold. It had been awhile since her luscious body had warmed the other side of the bed.
He closed his eyes, and images of her played like a PowerPoint presentation in his head. The way her eyes glowed when he caught her watching him from across the room. The sight of her on the street, alone, under the streetlamp. Her surprise when he called her “Juliet.” His surprise when he’d uncovered the secret dragonfly tattoo on her shoulder. The way she’d reacted to his intensity when he’d stripped off her costume. How beautiful she was when she came. And came. And came again.
Jesus, what had he done? This was not how he operated. He’d had his share of sex with beautiful women in a number of places and a number of ways. But usually after a few dates and always through a conventional way of being introduced. The list of what he’d done the night before for the first time was anything but conventional, although admittedly impressive.
Sex with a woman whose name he didn’t know? He could check that off his bucket list. Ordering a woman around like she was his to command? That one, too. Lights out, masks on sex? He lingered over each of those items as he checked them off also. Wanting the woman even more the next morning than he had the night before? Check. A sneaking suspicion he could fall for her in the light of day and outside a bedroom? Check.
Fear he’d never see her again? Check and double check.
He’d think this through while he drove home to Portland. He had to get away from Ashland. He needed distance to make sense of it, to understand what had happened, to figure out a way to find her again.
If he packed now and left without breakfast, he could be home by noon. Except, shit, he had to return the damn Romeo costume, and he’d promised Fred he’d hike with him. He’d better show up, or Fred would know something had happened. And Fred was the last person he wanted to know about the night before. At least, until he figured it out himself. Reluctantly, he got out of bed and headed for the shower.
Twenty minutes later, he was shaved and dressed, sitting on the edge of his bed. Bent over to tie his athletic shoes, he noticed something peeking out from under the other bed. Curious, he reached for it. It was Juliet’s white mask trimmed in feathers and gold glitter. Even if he hadn’t seen it in his mental PowerPoint a while ago, he would have recognized it from the smell of her exotic perfume on it. If he knew who his Juliet was and where to find her, he had in his hand an excuse to see her again, to return what was hers. And maybe get back what she’d taken from him—a part of his soul he didn’t know could be taken.
Or was it a part of his heart he’d lost?
Other than his mental slide show, she’d left little with him. Just the mask, the scent of her perfume, and the memory of the dragonfly tattoo on the shoulder he’d kissed when he’d held her on the street. He’d never seen her whole face or heard her voice clearly. They hadn’t talked much, and when they had it had been in whispers.
Not a lot to go on to find her again. But he was determined he would.
• • •
Amber answered the door when he knocked at eight. “This is a nice surprise. Fred didn’t tell me you would be here for breakfast,” she said. “Come on in, coffee’s about ready.” She stepped back and motioned him in. “Did you have a good time at the party last night? We kinda lost track of you when everyone went out for the parade.”
“I … uh … yeah, I enjoyed the party. Didn’t stay around for the parade. I went back to my room early. It’s been a busy week for me, and I was tired.” He wanted to talk about anything other than the night before. “Where should I put the costume?” He held up the garment bag he was carrying.
“Just put it anyplace. Fred’ll get it back to the costume shop.”
“Where is he, anyway?”
“He’s in the shower. He’ll be down in a minute. Speaking of the party, I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you about the women dressed as Juliet. Someone said she was involved with one of the theaters in town, but I didn’t get a name.” She led him to the kitchen and selected two mugs from a shelf above the counter. “If I’d known whose party it was I would have tried to track down the host and ask him, but I was never introduced. A friend of a friend told me about the open invitation. Said it was a pre-parade open house. I guess you could tell that from the crowd. I think a good portion of the town was there. Did you ever meet the host?”
“No I didn’t. But it’s okay, not to worry.” He picked up the coffee pot and filled the mugs. “Are you going hiking with us?”
“Hiking? Fred? What gave you that idea? I’ve never known Fred to go outside unless he was headed to another building.” She sipped at the coffee. “Or to get into a car.”
Trace laughed. “He promised to show me around today. Mentioned hiking even.”
“His idea of a hike is to climb up the ladder to check the follow spots in the theater.”
Fred appeared in the kitchen door. “I’ve been outed. I figured you’d stay over if I dangled hiking in front of you. But I hoped once we got talking you’d forget about it and I’d be off the hook.” He dropped a kiss on Amber’s forehead and took a sip from the mug of coffee she was holding. “Where did you disappear to last night, bro? We looked all over for you.”
“I went back to my room early. I told you I was tired. What happened to Kev?”
“Last I knew, he was about to have his fortune told or his tea leaves read or some other clever metaphor for getting laid.”
“I thought he was staying with you.”
“In theory. But he’s a big boy, and he has a key.” Fred handed the coffee back to Amber. “Let’s all go out for breakfast, and I’ll tell you where I hear the good trails are. Talking about hiking is much more my speed this morning.”
“Or any morning,” Amber said. “Why don’t you two go without me? You have a lot to catch up on, and I have some things to do to prepare for the performance tonight.”
Fred kissed her on the cheek. “If you’re sure.”
“I am. I’ll see you at the theater.”
“I know a place you’ll love,” Fred said. “Brothers’. My favorite breakfast place in town.”
“My treat,” Trace said, “to thank you for your hospitality.”
• • •
Julie didn’t get to sleep until after two AM. Between beating herself up about doing something foolish enough to wreck her new life in Ashland and shivering with recollected passion at the night she’d had with Romeo, it was a hard sell convincing her mind to shut off. And once she’d gotten to sleep, dreams of a lover with no face and a gorgeous body made for a restless night.
In spite of her lack of sleep, she woke at her usual seven AM to a gray, rainy morning. Perfect. Between regrets and seeing the mess she had to clean up downstairs, she was definitely in a rainy-day mood. She put on a pot of coffee, cued up her pity-party playlist that hadn’t gotten much air time since she’d been in Ashland, and began the cleanup she had planned to start last night after the parade.
Busying herself collecting paper plates, empty beer bottles, and crumbled napkins, she tried not to think about him … about what they’d done … what she’d done. But she couldn’t. She saw him standing in her living room looking like an Elizabethan god. Heard his whispered commands as he stripped her naked, body and soul. Felt his hands on her body, his mouth on hers. He was a presence that wouldn’t go away.
Wouldn’t go away. Suppose he couldn’t go away. The fear he was from Ashland
floated to the surface again. Then another thought occurred. Maybe he took her to a motel because he needed to hide his identity. Maybe he was married. She’d never done anything like that, never would. Except, if he were married, wouldn’t it mean he wouldn’t want anyone to know what had happened any more than she did? Talk about a two-edged sword. Maybe she should try to find out who he was, to prepare herself. She remembered the room number. She could call the motel, ask who was in the room. Would they tell her? She didn’t think so, but if she really wanted to know, she could try. Maybe she didn’t want to know.
By the time she’d worked through all the “maybes” she could think of, she’d gotten most of the trash collected, and the coffee cups and serving plates into the dishwasher. Time for a break. She was hungry but didn’t want to cook. Brothers’ it was.
One look in the mirror, and she grabbed an Oregon Shakespeare Festival baseball cap and a large pair of sunglasses. They should cover the disaster the wig had made of her hair and what a night of little sleep had done to her eyes. The disguise might not be necessary—with any luck, she wouldn’t see anyone at the restaurant she recognized or who made her blush. But a little bit of insurance was still a good idea.
• • •
“So, you think you’ll take the job?” Fred asked after they’d ordered their breakfast.
Trace was looking around the small restaurant. Mask or not, his night with Juliet was so intense, he was sure he’d recognize her as soon as he saw her. If only he could find her before he headed back to Portland. Maybe talk to her over a cup of coffee. See if she felt the same way he did about what happened.
“Earth to Trace. You here with me or someplace else?”
“Sorry, Fred. I didn’t get much sleep last night. Too wound up from the week, I guess.” Trace concentrated on his water glass, hoping his friend couldn’t read the truth on his face. “What were you saying?”
