by Joan Hohl
Her gaze swung back to his. Why? She swallowed. Because you swim with sharks! Because you invade my dreams! Andrea clamped her lips together to keep from answering aloud. The concepts were too weird, too wacko, to be entertained, let alone spoken out loud. Unable to endure his piercing stare, she lowered her eyes. She rubbed her hand over the smooth fiber of the blanket. “Is this yours?” she asked in a none too subtle attempt to change the subject.
“Yes, it’s mine,” Paul said softly.
Andrea quivered. Inside her mind, she heard his voice whisper, “As you are mine.” Shaken, she glanced up quickly. He was sitting cross-legged, Indian fashion. His back was straight but not stiff, his head was tilted slightly. The warmth of his smile could have melted half of the polar region.
“You have nothing to fear from me, Andrea,” he murmured. “I will never harm you.”
For whatever strange reason, Andrea believed him; that frightened her even more. How could she believe, trust, a man she didn’t know? Her eyes betrayed her.
Paul sighed. “It will take time, but you will understand eventually,” he promised.
Andrea shook her head; she didn’t know what it was he wanted her to understand; she wasn’t even sure she wanted to know what he wanted her to understand. But she did understand one thing. Andrea recognized and understood the heat flowing swiftly through her veins; she recognized and understood the yearning urgency she felt deep within her body. The symptoms were familiar, she had felt them recently—on the afternoon she’d made love with her fantasy man in her dreams, and again yesterday afternoon on the beach. The recognition and understanding drove her off the blanket and away from him ... to the safety of numbers among her friends.
For the remainder of the day, Andrea stayed close by at least one other person at all times. Her feelings and suspicions about Paul frightened her, but what frightened her even more was the longing she felt to be with him... only him.
His eyes sought her out at odd moments throughout the day, and each time they did, Andrea had to fight against an inner command to go to him. And at those times, she found herself asking the question that had tormented her through most of the night...
What manner of man was this?
All the others in the group accepted Paul without question, more than accepted him; they accorded him a respect that Andrea thought bordered on adulation. It quickly became obvious to her that they didn’t think he was “different,” at least not in the same way she did.
He mixed well with both the men and the women. He laughed often. He never raised his voice.
Near sundown, Andrea got a few moments to talk to Melly in private while they were slicing the melons, and she casually remarked on the fact that she hadn’t once heard Paul raise his voice, not even during the exuberant game of touch football the men had played before supper.
“I’ve known Paul a year, and I’ve never heard him raise his voice,” Melly said, shrugging. She continued slicing a moment, then frowned. “Come to think of it, I’ve never seen him angry, either.” She laughed. “Maybe he’s not human.”
Not human. Andrea shivered.
“Are you cold?” Melly asked.
Andrea managed a smile ... a faint smile. “I felt a chill,” she explained. “Maybe I got too much sun today.” Or too much Paul Hellka, she added silently.
When the last of the sun’s rays drowned in the Pacific, Andrea had reason to shiver. The evening breeze wafting inland off the ocean was cool. Her shorts and sleeveless top offered little protection from the clammy nip in the air. Andrea was ready to go home, but nobody else was. Bottles of beer and soda were passed around. Andrea declined. The group began pairing off. Since she had made it clear from the beginning that she wasn’t interested in pairing, Andrea was left on her own—except for Paul, who also obviously wasn’t into group pairing.
She was sitting on Melly’s blanket, shivering, when Paul strolled across the sand to her. He had pulled a pair of cutoff jeans over his swim trunks and a sleeveless sweat shirt over his chest, and as far as clothes went, he looked much the same as the other guys. And yet, Paul Hellka was definitely not just one of the guys. Not by a long shot.
He was carrying his blanket in one hand and a long-necked bottle and two plastic glasses in the other. He didn’t ask for permission to join her. Setting the bottle and glasses by her side, he grasped a corner of the blanket in each hand, stretched his long arm out and then, crossing his ankles, he sank fluidly to the ground beside her. He draped one arm around her trembling shoulders, giving her the warmth of the blanket and his body. Firmly tucking the other end of the blanket under his arm, he coolly proceeded to pour a golden wine into the two glasses.
“One of your favorites,” he said, holding the bottle up for her inspection. “Isn’t it?”
Telling herself that the only reason she didn’t jump up and move away from him was because she was cold, Andrea accepted the glass and admitted, “Yes, I think I mentioned it yesterday.” She didn’t want to remember yesterday, but she couldn’t deny the pleasure she felt knowing that he remembered.
“You’ve been avoiding me all day,” he said, tilting his glass in a silent salute to her before testing the wine. “Delicious, you have excellent taste,” he commended.
Andrea felt warm all over, and not only from the blanket. “Thank you,” she replied politely. “I’m glad you like it. And, yes, I have been avoiding you,” she admitted candidly, surprising herself more than him. “You... you make me nervous, Paul.”
“But I’m making you warm as well,” he murmured, flexing his arm to draw her closer to his body. “Aren’t I?”
In more ways than one, Andrea conceded, but only to herself. “I... ah, wanted to go home,” she said, answering without actually answering. “But the others weren’t ready to leave.”
Paul turned to run a slow glance over the other couples, entwined beneath blankets, murmuring to each other words unclear but understood. He was smiling when he returned his gaze to Andrea. His eyes reflected the flicker of the dying fire. “Obviously,” he said, laughing softly.
How old was he?
The thought sprang into Andrea’s mind from out of nowhere—perhaps, she reasoned, because of his tolerant attitude toward the younger group. Celia had said that his credentials were almost awesome, which indicated a more mature man. Yet Andrea had watched him surreptitiously during the afternoon, and he had played as hard as the youngest member of the crowd and had been less winded at the end of the games ... and yet the only sustenance he took to replenish his body was a large wedge from each of the melons she and Melly had provided.
Strange, she mused, peering at him cautiously through the uncertain light provided by the low-burning flames. The other evening, Paul had seemed to be a true contemporary of Elaine’s, in experience as well as in age. Yet today he appeared almost as young as Mac.
In fact, she concluded, not too happily, Paul seemed ageless.
Having already succeeded in making herself uncomfortable by the implausibility of her own thoughts, Andrea started at the low sound of Paul’s voice.
“You’re very quiet.”
“I’m thinking.”
His arm tightened around her shoulder. “Would you care to tell me what your deep thoughts are about?”
Andrea gazed at him, wondering why, since his voice held a note of teasing, she had the eerie feeling that he already knew the answer to his question. Suddenly impatient with her own wild imaginings, she said bluntly, “I was wondering about your age.”
“What about it?”
Andrea gave him a wry look, but secretly appreciated his teasing. “How many years go into it?” she answered in a drawl. “Like, how old are you?”
Paul’s laughter waltzed along every one of Andrea’s nerve endings. “Is it important?”
Andrea was forced to wait until her senses settled before replying. “I thought only women refused to answer questions about their age,” she sidestepped his question.
Paul refille
d their glasses, again without spilling as much as a golden drop, before responding to her barb. “I haven’t refused to answer.” He smiled directly into her eyes. “I merely asked if it was important.”
Tired of sparring with him, Andrea said, “Yes.” Her stare dared him to continue whatever game he was playing.
“I am thirty-seven in years,” Paul said softly. “And ancient in experience.”
“Aren’t we all?” Andrea mumbled. “I mean, ancient in experience?”
“You’ve been hurt by life.”
It should have been a question, but it wasn’t. The gentle intonation in his voice made it sound as if he had no need to ask the question, because he already knew that answer.
“And I don’t want to talk about it,” Andrea said, scrambling away from him and jumping up. She’d had just about enough of his insight or intuition, or whatever it was that was making her feel so damned odd!
Paul didn’t try to coax her back. He didn’t say a word. He just watched as she stood there, looking around. Andrea took two steps, and then stopped. She didn’t have the heart—or the nerve—to interrupt the others. She sighed, then reluctantly turned to look at him.
“I’m tired, Paul,” she said. “Will you take me home?”
As if “tired” was the magic word, Paul sprang to his feet. “Of course,” he said, slinging the blanket over his arm. “All you had to do was ask.”
Andrea didn’t bother making the rounds of the blanket-shrouded couples to say good night; she figured they probably wouldn’t hear her if she did. But Paul searched out Mac and Melly. There was a murmured exchange; then he returned to her. After collecting her beach bag, Andrea followed him to the parking area. Her eyes widened when he led her to Mac’s open Jeep.
“I came with Mac,” he explained.
“You told Melly you were taking me home?”
“Yes.” Paul helped her into the high seat. “Here”—he wrapped the blanket around her—”you’ll need this.”
The rather loud sound of the Jeep’s engine limited all but a few shouted words between them during the short drive to Celia’s house. Andrea was glad; she felt out of conversation—and completely out of her depth.
Not waiting for his assistance, she leaped from the vehicle the minute he brought it to a stop in the driveway. “Thanks for the lift,” she said, cringing inwardly at the timid schoolgirl sound of her voice.
“You’re welcome,” Paul replied in a tone rife with suppressed laughter.
“You’re laughing at me,” Andrea accused him.
“Yes.” Stepping out of the driver’s seat, Paul strolled to where she was hovering uncertainly on the other side of the Jeep. Raising his hand, he stroked the curve of her jaw-line with his fingertips. “I can’t resist.” Lowering his head, he brushed his mouth over hers, then captured her lips in a whisper-light kiss.
It was only after Paul had walked her to the door, whispered good night, and left that Andrea thought to wonder whether it was laughing at her or kissing her that he found so difficult to resist.
* * *
Chapter 7
It was the first day of classes of the fall semester. Five days had passed, crawled, dragged by since the beach party, and since Andrea had seen Paul. But he had invaded her thoughts throughout every moment of every one of those five days.
On the surface Andrea appeared normal. She had returned to work at the boutique. She had spent an evening in Monterey with Celia and Blaine. She had whiled away an entire afternoon shopping for fall clothes with Melly, after which they had met two other women from the group for a pizza supper and a movie. She had had her hair trimmed. And she had enjoyed every one of the normal activities ... to all outward appearances.
Inside, however, the real Andrea was in a state of disorganization and confusion. As she had suspected, after that last dream she’d had of him waving farewell, her fantasy man had not returned to her. Andrea’s imaginary lover no longer came to her in her sleep. Her nights were peaceful, but in her waking hours Andrea was never completely alone.
When she was in the company of others—her aunt, Blaine, her friends, or customers and co-workers in the small specialty shop—Paul lounged at the edges of her consciousness, never interfering, content to keep her constantly aware of his presence with his soft smile and compassionate eyes.
When she was alone, Paul made his presence felt with whispering echoes of every word he had spoken to her and with the visions of every moment they had spent together.
In effect, since the beach party, Andrea had not known one solitary moment.
Paul Hellka haunted her mind.
In a way Andrea found impossible to comprehend, it was as if, by design, Paul had taken over where her fantasy lover had left off. It didn’t make any kind of sense, and yet a suspicion grew within her that Paul and her imaginary lover were one and the same man.
But, Andrea asked herself, if her expanding suspicions about Paul were true, how had he accomplished the feat of mental invasion?
Telepathy?
Andrea considered the obvious, rational explanation. Were there not documented cases of telepathic communication? And hadn’t her aunt and just about everyone else who knew him told her that Paul was considered brilliant to the degree of awesome?
Yes, and yes, Andrea answered herself. But, she immediately argued silently, were there any documented cases of telepathy powerful enough not only to intrude upon but to manipulate another’s unconscious, dreaming self? Could any telepathic mind be so awesomely powerful?
Positive that, if the scientific community had ever encountered a mind that powerful, the news media would have exploited the discovery worldwide, Andrea had to reject the possibility. As far as she knew, the ability of one mind to project itself into the sleeping, dreaming mind of another was beyond the capability of the human intellect.
It was at this point in Andrea’s mental scramblings that Melly’s casual remark returned to taunt her.
“Maybe the man’s not human.”
And it was at this point that Andrea had dismissed her suspicions as the spawn of her own longings. In simple terms, she unconsciously wanted Paul and her dream lover to be one and the same man.
It was the only answer that didn’t leave Andrea wondering if her mental wrappings were beginning to fray.
Andrea seriously considered flight, back to the safe, if unexciting, life she was familiar with. A life that excluded male companionship. A life as empty and barren as her body.
Would her fantasy man return to her in her dreams if she distanced herself from Paul? she wondered. Or would she be missing out on the chance of a lifetime by throwing away the opportunity to get to know him?
Andrea pondered her choices throughout every one of those five days between the beach party and the first day of classes for the fall semester.
In the end, Andrea decided that she was finished with hiding herself, her real self, from men in general, and from Paul Hellka in particular.
Paul interested her... No, her feelings ran deeper than interest: She cared for him . .. No, her feelings ran even deeper than caring. She ...
That was as far as Andrea ever allowed her thoughts to delve. She wasn’t sure exactly what it was she felt for him, but she had determined to explore those feelings.
The not-so-intrepid explorer approached the first of her earth studies classes arrayed in the material armor of one of her new outfits and the spiritual armor of skepticism.
The student body at Parker was small and select, and so there were less than a dozen students gathered in the lecture hall. Accustomed to throngs of students and overcrowded classrooms, Andrea was amazed and delighted with the limited size of all her classes.
Although this was the last class of the day, an anticipatory excitement still hummed on the air. Greetings were called back and forth between students who hadn’t seen each other all summer. Animated conversation and laughter bounced off the somber wood-paneled walls.
Being a part of the clas
s, and yet separate as a new member, Andrea relaxed and enjoyed listening to the boisterous exchanges of fraternity and goodwill. In truth, it sounded like bedlam. Then a low-pitched, calm voice sliced through the noise and brought an immediate silence to the hall.
“Shall we begin?”
Andrea hadn’t seen Paul enter the hall. Like every other student in the room, she sat up straight in her chair and gave him her undivided attention.
Dressed casually in neatly pressed slacks and a short-sleeved shirt, unbuttoned at the throat, Paul was standing loose-limbed beside a large desk in the front of the room. His tousled black hair had the look of having won a battle against a vigorously applied brushing.
For Andrea, the sight of him, after five endless days of deliberately avoiding him, was like the sight of a lavish banquet to a starving person. Every particle of her body, mind, and soul hungered for him. Her senses were attuned to the slightest nuance of his voice.
“Welcome to the earth,” he said in opening. “I am Professor Hellka, and I will be your guide to the abundant wonders the earth and nature have to offer.”
Andrea was enthralled. In four years of college, she had attended many first classes taught by an equal number of professors, yet never had she heard a more intriguing introduction to any subject. Before the class was half over, Andrea had reached the conclusion that Paul was not merely brilliant but an absolute genius of a teacher. And the truly amazing part was that he did it so effortlessly.
He would toss an idea into the minds of his rapt audience and invite open discussion. Then through the give-and-take of intelligent discourse would emerge the clarity of the subject.
As inspired as every other member of the class, Andrea joined in on all the discussions, at times taking exception to a comment Paul had tossed into the animated debate. At these times, he would single her out with his eyes, sending her silent messages of warm approval while they argued the point.
They were in the middle of one such argument, concerning atmosphere in relation to space travel, when the class ended. Her fellow students sat quietly while she finished stating her position. His dark eyes reflecting the late afternoon sunlight slanting through the long, narrow windows in the west wall of the lecture hall, Paul skimmed a smiling glance over the assemblage.
