Ecstasy

by Gwynne Forster

  She wished she could figure out what he was thinking. He managed not to communicate anything but the words he spoke.

  “I’m going over to Columbus Avenue, to find a sidewalk café and do some people-watching. It’s my favorite hobby and provides me with a lot of material for my books. Have you ever done it?” She thought he stepped closer, or maybe it was a sensation. He seemed everywhere.

  “A little. What I’ve done, I’ve liked.” She could swear that his eyes changed to that brownish-green color with its hot, come-hither gleam. She couldn’t help taking a step backward. “I like you, too, Jeannetta, and I wish I had time to join you. I’m sure I’d enjoy it.”

  “It would be nice to have company.” What else could she say, she asked herself, needing an excuse for having encouraged him. She stepped away, preparing to leave him.

  “May I call you?”

  Flustered as well as delighted, she ignored the warning of her conscience. “Y...yes. Well, I...Mason, it’s... Well, alright.”

  “You’ve got misgivings?”

  “Yes, I do, but...I’ll be listening for your call.” He appeared to mull that over. Then he squeezed her arm lightly and, for a minute, she thought he’d kiss her. Instead, he brushed her cheek with the back of his hand and winked. As she walked off, she knew that he scrutinized every movement of her body.

  Chapter 2

  Jeannetta strolled into the Scandinavian Airlines lounge at John F. Kennedy Airport, dropped her bags, sat down and pulled out her writing tablet. Airports afforded wonderful opportunities for people-watching, and she had found several of her most intriguing fictional characters among the sometimes tired, sometimes excited, but always unsuspecting creatures who waited there. Her glance caught the tall, dark man who leaned with the support of his elbows against the airline crew’s desk. Loose. Casual. Quickly, she tore her gaze away, but his had already captured her, and she knew he’d seen her admire him.

  He straightened up and headed toward her.

  “I could have sworn you’d be late.”

  She couldn’t help laughing; she had expected him to say something like that.

  “That’s why I made it a point to arrive early. Can’t afford to let you think you can predict my behavior.” His eyes darkened, and his glance swept over her. He nodded, as though putting his seal of approval on what he’d seen.

  “A man who’s foolish enough to think he can predict any woman’s behavior shouldn’t be allowed out of the house by himself. Woman has perplexed man since the beginning of time.”

  Her delight in his company had to be obvious, so she didn’t try to hide her pleasure in their bantering.

  “Then ‘man’ ought to grow up.” She laid the tablet aside, unconsciously inviting him to join her. He didn’t accept the invitation.

  “We’ve got nearly an hour before boarding time,” he said, after glancing at his Timex watch. “Would you join me for a drink?”

  The word yes sat on the tip of her tongue, but she remembered her doctor’s advice and said, “I’d love to, but I’m not...I mean, I don’t drink.”

  His face framed a set of flawless white teeth when his lips spread in a mesmerizing grin. She knew who’d win that one.

  “Then we’ll have coffee,” he stated. She let him take her arm and usher her over to the bar. Their tour offered first-class accommodations, apart from the business-class seats. She put a few finger sandwiches on a salad plate, and he poured two cups of coffee.

  “Let’s sit over here where we can see the planes land,” he suggested. When she declined cream and sugar, a curious expression that she couldn’t fathom spread across his face. He reached for a sandwich.

  “Caviar on cream cheese with black coffee, when the world’s best champagne sits over there for the taking!” he exclaimed with a frown.

  She remained silent while he stretched out his long legs on either side of the tiny table and pinned her with a penetrating stare. He always seems to want to dig inside of me, she thought, and put herself on guard.

  “Why didn’t you return my calls?” She had been expecting that question, but not the twang of bitterness that laced his voice. She’d thought he would shrug it off and forget about a personal relationship between them.

  “That ought to be obvious.” The blank expression that she now recognized as self-protection covered his face, and he pushed the coffee aside.

  “Obvious to you, maybe. You told me I could call you. If you had changed your mind, one word would have been sufficient.” She couldn’t tell him that the sound of his deep, melodious voice would have drained her of her resolve to avoid an entanglement. That admission would be as good as a confession.

  “I should have returned your calls. I apologize.”

  “Tell me who you are.”

  Jolted by the low vibrancy of his voice, she repeated her name.

  “I know that, and it tells me nothing. What makes you laugh? Cry?”

  “Just about anything. It depends.”

  He nodded. “You’re one vague woman. What do you want out of this tour?”

  “I told you. I want to see the world.”

  “So you did.” He stood. “Can I get you something?” She shook her head, and he strode to the bar and returned with a glass of club soda. She hoped her discomfort didn’t show. She sat back in her chair and dropped her hands in her lap in pretended serenity, but her fingertips clutched the fabric of her green chambray slacks.

  “Somehow that Timex doesn’t fit the rest of you,” she said, in an attempt to shift the conversation to him.

  He looked at his wrist. “I’ve lost at least ten of these things. I always used to lay them aside when I walked into the op...”

  Thank God he’d been looking at his watch and not at her, because recognition had to have been plain on her face. She waited for him to continue.

  “Once you get in the habit of removing your watch when you’re doing something delicate, you should buy the cheapest one you can find.”

  Nice cover, she thought, for the first time experiencing anger at his charade.

  “What do you do that’s delicate?”

  “Wood carving. My favorite pastime.”

  “What do you carve?”

  His deep breath and narrowed left eye told her to ease up, that he disliked personal questions. Tough, she decided; he didn’t hesitate to dig into her life.

  “Animals, people, whatever strikes my fancy. I like using my hands.” He pushed his chair back from the table and looked at his watch. “Boarding in about fifteen minutes. I’d better round up my gang.”

  This man’s got everything I want, she admitted to herself, and cautioned herself that if she didn’t get her emotions under control, she’d damage her cause beyond salvaging, and she needn’t even get on that plane.

  He pinned her with a steady gaze. “You haven’t told me what you’re expecting from this tour.”

  She resorted to a half-truth. “The experience of a lifetime. We’re still strangers. Perhaps if we get to know each other better, I...”

  “We will,” he interrupted, “put your life on it.”

  “How can you be so certain?”

  He leaned forward. “We’ll be spending eight weeks together. By the end of the tour, I’ll know every one of my guests better.” He leaned back in his chair, tilting it on its back legs and let his gaze sear her with potent intimacy, its sensuality captivating her. Exquisite shivers pummeled her insides.

  “You’re so sure of yourself.”

  He raked his right hand over his hair, exposing his strong wrist and long-fingered lover’s hands.

  “No. I’m not, so you’re wrong on that one. But life is short, Jeannetta, and I’m not going to spend it lying to myself or doing what makes me uncomfortable. I’m interested in more than pleasant chitch
at with you.” He paused as though seeking precise words, and let his chair rest on all four legs. “I don’t like stewing over what might have been, so I try to avoid it. You interest me, and I’m probably going to pursue that interest.” He stood. “See you in a few minutes.”

  Jeannetta avoided eye contact with Mason when he checked off her name as she passed him before boarding the plane. She stacked her carry-on luggage and found her seat, pleased that the entire business-class section had been sold to the tour. Minutes later, he touched her arm.

  “Ignoring me won’t make me go away,” he told her. She looked up into his solemn face. “I’ll try to make the trip as pleasant as I can but, if you still have doubts, I’ll break my rule and refund your money. You have about three minutes to decide.”

  The investigator’s report had described him as a man of honor, and she’d found no reason to disagree. “I’m taking the tour.”

  His smile, warm and genuine, flooded her heart with joy. His hand grazed her shoulder. “I’m glad.”

  * * *

  Some mornings later, shortly after sunrise, Jeannetta strolled along the beach of the Tyrrhenian Sea, knowing a peculiar freedom as the warm May breeze whipped around her thin, wide skirt. Fresh, salty air invigorated her, and she released her cares and enjoyed her first view of the Lido di Ostia, southwest of Rome. Mason had scheduled one day there for the beach lovers. She had loved every minute of the week they’d stayed in Europe, but she’d gladly have spent most of the time in Italy. No other European country could match it for the sensual experiences it offered: great art; unforgettable food, music and scenery; and, not to be overlooked, the adoration of the handsome Italian men.

  She removed her sandals and strolled along the nearly empty shore, occasionally digging her toes in the warm sand, lifting them and watching the sand drift downward through them. The early morning sun cast the shadow of her slim silhouette the length of a city block. She studied it as she did all the things that she found pleasing to her eyes and, in her scrutiny of it, she nearly passed without seeing the figure stretched out before her.

  She edged closer, glancing back occasionally to judge her chances of escape. A man lay sprawled supine in the warm sand, his bronze body glistening with beads of sweat as his pores soaked up the sun. She stared down at Mason Fenwick, his flawless physique bare to her eyes but for a tiny red string-bikini swimsuit. His closed eyes and deep breathing suggested that he slept. She gaped at him in open admiration and whispered, “Thank God for my eyes.” If she never saw anything else in her life, she had seen human perfection and reveled in it. Her tongue curled into the roof of her mouth, and she swallowed with difficulty. What would he say? What would he do if she fell upon him and took him right then and there? Shocked at her thoughts, she gasped aloud and ran.

  * * *

  His years as a resident had trained him to sleep lightly, and Mason awoke at the sound of Jeannetta’s gasp. He sat up quickly, and watched her run down the beach until she reached the bathhouse and disappeared from sight. Josh, the porter whom he’d hired to attend to the luggage, approached.

  “That was Miss Rollins, wasn’t it?” he said, making certain that it was she.

  “Yes, sir,” Josh confirmed. “She seemed kinda upset. You know, excited-like, but she spoke to me like she always does.”

  Mason got up and dusted the sand from his hips and legs.

  “Sure hate to leave here,” Josh told him.

  “Yes, but you’ll like Rome,” Mason called back to him as he headed for the hotel.

  * * *

  Jeannetta stumbled into the bathhouse, breathless and confused about her reaction to Mason. She couldn’t afford to fall for him. From the day she’d met him, she had questioned her ability to carry out her plan. Falling for a man made a woman vulnerable to him and put her at a disadvantage, no matter how you viewed it, and to lust for him as she had—only lust described what she’d felt—made her a pushover.

  “Good morning, dear. You’re looking fit, as usual,” Geoffrey Ames confided to her in a near whisper. He had retired at age seventy-eight and had won the lottery the next day. By now, all of his touring companions knew how he regretted having no one with whom to share it. He’d treated himself to the tour, the first pleasure he’d known.

  Jeannetta smiled, relieved that it was Geoffrey who had joined her.

  “I didn’t swim, but the weather is priceless.”

  The man appeared flustered, but she understood his embarrassment when he asked her in a tentative voice, “Would a lovely young lady such as yourself care to have dinner with me when we get back to Rome tonight?”

  “Oh, Geoffrey, I’d love it. Rome at night. It will be wonderful.”

  “Then I’ll find a place where we can eat under the stars. Would you like that?” She assured him that she would, collected the beach clothes that she had stored there, and trudged off to the hotel for breakfast.

  * * *

  Mason wrapped his beach robe tightly and slid into the booth beside her. Her refusal to look at him while she pretended to read a shaking menu and then attempted to drink the water before the glass reached her lips—with obvious results—told him what he wanted to know. She’d run away to avoid temptation. He hadn’t tried to breach the wall she’d raised between them since their plane landed in Copenhagen, but he planned to put an end to the foolishness. Beautiful and statuesque, with an indefinable quality, she had a feminine something that he felt clear to the marrow of his bones every time she came near him. He had made it a point not to impose on his guests, and she’d indicated a desire to have space between them, but she would be his exception.

  “Enjoy your morning walk?” He ignored her discomfort and considered himself entitled to do that. After all, she hadn’t leveled with him; he was certain of it. Her eyelids closed for a second and furrows marked her brow, but he refused to let her discomfort sidetrack him. He repeated it. Her composure restored, she answered in a tone that belittled the importance of his question.

  “Yes, but the sand wasn’t as thick as I’d hoped it would be. I love to sink into it halfway to my knees.”

  “You’ve been avoiding me,” he said, dispensing with preliminaries and small talk.

  “Why would I do that? You’ve been the perfect host.”

  A muscle tensed his jaw, and he pushed back the irritation he felt. “You don’t know what kind of host I’ve been, because you’ve managed to stay out of my path.”

  Her lips twitched, and he thought her breath quickened when he slid closer. “You’re imagining that.”

  He caught the fingers of her delicate left hand in his right one, sensed a quick, involuntary movement of her body and watched her lower her eyes and moisten her glistening bare lips with the tip of her tongue. He squeezed her hand.

  “Am I imagining this? Am I?” It didn’t surprise him that she jerked her hand from his, but he wouldn’t have expected the expression of pain mirrored on her lovely brown face.

  She turned fully to face him. “Mason, be satisfied with things as they are. I can’t give more.” Her luminous eyes belied her words, and her obvious reluctance to say them fueled his hunger.

  “You wrote on your application that you are not married. Are you engaged?” She shook her head.

  “Alright. I want to know you better, and I think you want that, too, but I won’t force myself on you or any other woman. Tell me you don’t want anything to do with me, and I’ll honor your decision.” His fingers skimmed the back of her hand. “But could you walk away not knowing what might have been? Could you?” Encouraged by her silence, he let go of her hand, raised his own to her shoulders and tugged her closer to him. After a minute or two, she looked at him and released a quick breath, and he knew that she’d seen the tenderness he felt and the need simmering in his eyes. He lowered his head and kissed the corner of her mouth and, when her lids f
lew open to reveal a hot woman’s desire, he swore inwardly for not having picked a more appropriate time and place to begin their intimacy.

  * * *

  Jeannetta looked at herself in the long mirror, shrugged, picked up her purse and started toward the door of her hotel room. Satisfied with the way she looked, but not sure why she’d put on that sexy, lemon-yellow silk sheath for dinner with Geoffrey Ames, she considered changing into something less provocative. She hadn’t bought it as a fashion statement, but because the color became her and the style suited her figure. Her hand rested on the doorknob. No point in lying to herself; she dressed with Mason Fenwick in mind. He socialized with tour members in the lounge at cocktail time, and she hoped he’d see her leave the hotel with Geoffrey. She leaned against the door, wondering when she had become a schemer. She could have been with Mason right then if she’d been honest and told him that she shared his feelings. She slapped her right cheek as though to knock sense into her head, opened the door and headed for the lounge.

  She looked from Geoffrey, bedecked in his dark blue suit, white shirt and blue tie, to Mason, who rested casually against the end of the bar wearing what even a child would identify as a mocking smirk. It was that obvious. Geoffrey greeted her in a manner that belied his modest education and humble background, and his pleasure at being with her shone on his countenance. They got into the waiting taxi for the trip across the Tiber River.

  “Buona sera, Signor, Signore,” the driver sang in a proud operatic voice.

  “Son, I’m lucky I can speak English,” Geoffrey told the cabby. “These foreign words give me a headache. We want to go to Trastevere.”

  “Okay. Dove in Trastevere?” the driver asked. Geoffrey told him. The driver took them on a hair-raising ride down the Corso and stopped to give them a view of St. Peter’s and the Vatican lit at night. Jeannetta thought his lecture in Italian unforgettable, as he used all but his feet to make them understand. She appreciated his effort, though neither she nor her companion could comprehend a word. Jeannetta couldn’t suppress a gasp when they got out of the taxi at the restaurant, Alfredo’s in Trastevere.