Window on Tomorrow

by Joan Hohl

  “Yes,” he replied. “I was visiting my parents “

  “In Texas?” Andrea glanced at him.

  Paul shook his head. “No. My parents no longer live in Texas. They returned to my father’s homeland several years ago.”

  “Oh.” Andrea was quiet for a moment, lost in visions of the blue waters of the Aegean Sea and the dazzling, sun-splashed Acropolis. The vision faded when they came to the clearing. “No wonder your skin is so bronzed,” she murmured.

  Paul laughed. “Yes, my father’s homeland is bathed in sunlight.” He eyed the gnarled trunk of the tree and then, laughing again, dropped easily to the ground.

  Sitting down beside him, Andrea went into his arms. “Your parents are both scientists, aren’t they?” she asked, snuggling close to his lean body.

  “My mother is a biologist,” he answered, rubbing his cheek against her hair. “My father is a ... naturalist.”

  Andrea didn’t notice his brief pause. She was too busy noticing the shivers running rampant from her head to her toes. Loving the sensation, she held him closer.

  “Are you cold?” Paul drew his head back to look at her. “We are close to the warmth of my home, Andrea.”

  Andrea suddenly did feel cold—a quivery cold—inside her. For reasons she couldn’t name, she felt hesitant about going with him to his house. “No!” She cleared her throat, then said more calmly, “No, Paul, I’m not cold at all.”

  Paul exhaled a sigh. “You’re not quite ready yet, are you, my Andrea?”

  Andrea had a strange feeling that he was referring to much more than her not being ready to enter his home. Pushing the notion away, she answered, “No, not yet, Paul. Please be patient with me a little longer.”

  “As long as I can be, my heart,” he murmured, confusing her even more. “You’ll like my house,” he went on. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, he added, “It’s an exact replica of the house that’s waiting for me in my father’s homeland.”

  Andrea jolted back in surprise. “Waiting for you?” she repeated, staring at him. “I don’t understand. Are you saying that you are planning to move there someday?”

  “Yes,” he answered. “It’s where I feel most at home.”

  Trying to deny the feeling of desertion seeping through her, Andrea cried, “But what about your work? Your career?”

  Paul drew her against him again. “I can work there, my heart,” he assured her. “I can love there, also.”

  Love. It was the first time the word had been mentioned between them. That word and others joined the feelings seeping through her.

  Love.

  Trust.

  Betrayal.

  Suddenly frightened and not even sure why, Andrea clung to the reassuring strength of his body. “Hold me, Paul,” she pleaded. “Hold me.”

  “I intend to, my Andrea,” he said. Tilting her head back with his hand, Paul lowered his mouth to hers. “I intend to hold you, and never let you go “

  With the touch of his mouth to hers, the inexplicable fear inside Andrea turned into understandable passion. Feeling a deeper hunger for him than she would have believed herself capable of feeling for any man—any physical man—Andrea curled her arms around his neck and returned his kiss with abandon.

  His mouth as hungry as hers, if not hungrier, Paul deepened the kiss, tasting her sweetness with his lips and his probing tongue. His hands moved over her back, sending cascading thrills through her when his fingers brushed the outer curves of her breasts.

  Receptive to the feelings and needs deep inside her that only he possessed the power to arouse, Andrea responded with an equal heat to his kiss and matched the caressing movements of his hands with her own.

  “Andrea, Andrea.” Repeating her name in an aching whisper, Paul slowly lowered her to the bed of grass and covered her trembling body with his own.

  Instinctively, Andrea parted her thighs, making a cradle for his body. Pushing himself back, away from her, Paul stared into her eyes, then carefully slid her skirt up, revealing her legs. The tremors inside Andrea intensified to a quake as he settled his taut body in the valley of her silken thighs.

  The rough denim of his jeans brushed, then pressed against the soft silk of her panties, creating a sensuous friction that shot sparks of fire into the depths of her passion, causing her to cry out in unexpected pleasure.

  “Paul!”

  In response to her cry, Paul moved his body forward in a restrained thrust, making her fully aware of the extent of his arousal, feeding her own expanding excitement.

  Instantly obeying an inner command from her senses, Andrea grasped his hips and pulled him more tightly against her, while simultaneously arching her hips into the denim-constrained fullness of his body. The results of her actions were both inflaming and frustrating. Needing to feel him, touch him, she released her grip on his hips and moved her hands up his body to the buttons on his shirt.

  As if Paul had once again read her mind, he pushed himself back and away from her. Chilled by his withdrawal, Andrea gazed up at him in confusion.

  “Paul... I want—”

  “Yes, my heart,” he whispered over her gasping voice. “I want... too.” Grasping her gently by the shoulders, he drew her up with him. When she was seated in front of him, he lifted her hands and returned them to his shirt buttons.

  Andrea stared at him a long moment, hesitant to begin what had years ago always been an awkward, embarrassing exercise. Chilling memories stormed through her, challenging the strength of her desire for Paul. Caught between the then and the now, she gazed at him, her hazel eyes beseeching his help.

  Paul smiled and raised his hands to her shirt, transforming her hesitancy into immediate willingness. With his guidance, Andrea discovered the erotic thrill that could be derived from slowly, sensuously undressing a man while he lovingly undressed her.

  After each piece of clothing was discarded, they devoted infinite time to the tactile exploration of the exposed area of each other’s bodies. There was no groping or clutching or grabbing, only exquisite, senses-stirring caresses. And with each successive caress, each new sensation, Andrea’s body became more alive, more vibrant, and more deeply attuned to her own needs and to Paul’s desires. Her senses fully awakened for the first time in her life, Andrea shivered in anticipation as Paul again carefully lowered her to the bed of grass. This time when he moved into the cradle of her thighs, there was no barrier between them, material or spiritual.

  “Now, my Andrea, we are truly free to express all our feelings,” Paul whispered, arching his body against hers in a teasing thrust.

  “Yes!” Andrea cried out in a raspy whisper. “Oh, Paul, yes ... yes!” As before, her hands slid to his hips to urge him into the ultimate caress.

  Paul moved against her once more, inciting her passion. Fire leaped from one nerve end to another throughout Andrea’s body, then gathered to form a blaze in the deepest part of her femininity.

  Murmuring softly, incoherently, Andrea flexed her fingers, sinking her nails into his flesh in a silent plea for his possession.

  Paul responded immediately. Leaning over her, he covered her open mouth with his and then, simultaneously, thrust his tongue into her mouth and his body into hers.

  Tension. Tension as she had only dreamed it spiraled through Andrea. But now, in reality, the coiled ribbon of tension was even tighter. Clinging to him, sobbing his name into his mouth, Andrea pursued the tension on its flaming upward spiral to the gates of paradise. When the gates flew open, the coil of tension snapped, flinging Andrea into a universe blazing with brilliant, pulsating lights.

  “Paul!” Andrea cried his name.

  Her own name echoed back to her in his hoarse cry of release.

  “Andrea!”

  Their shuddering bodies locked together in the most intimate embrace known to lovers, they descended from the realm of paradise into the aftermath of utter completion.

  Ecstasy.

  To Andrea, “ecstasy” had always been a word wi
thout meaning, a word she had, moreover, strongly suspected had no actual meaning. Now, with Paul at rest but still vibrant and alive inside her, Andrea’s tingling body defined the word “ecstasy” for her.

  Intuitively seeking to enhance the definition, Andrea smoothed her palms over Paul’s body, the instrument of her delightful edification. He stirred, murmured, and responded to her exploration of his body by pressing his open mouth over the crest of one of her breasts.

  Inspired by the electrical thrill she experienced from his reaction to her caress, Andrea reciprocated by tasting his love-moistened shoulder with the tip of her tongue. This time his stirring movement came from within her body, while Paul, in turn, drew the crest of her breast into his mouth and suckled delicately.

  Love play.

  The phrase was yet another Andrea had believed existed only in the minds of dreamers and wishful thinkers. Yet now, having had that phrase also defined in reality, Andrea became an avid seeker of truth.

  At times murmuring inciting love words, at others laughing together, Andrea and Paul took turns giving pleasure to each other.

  While buried deep inside her, Paul supported his body on one forearm and examined her form with his free hand. Beginning at her forehead, he outlined her features with his fingers. He minutely inspected every plane and hollow before his hand moved lower. He doubled the intensity of his attention by caressing her breasts with both his hand and his mouth. Andrea was barely breathing by the time he slid is hand down the sloping incline of her midsection to her flat belly, and she gasped a quick breath when his fingers ascended the mound of her desire to gently probe the area where their bodies were fused.

  In her turn, Andrea stroked every inch of Paul’s body she could reach. Like him, she began with his perfect features, marveling anew at his masculine beauty. From his face she slid her hands to his neck, then measured the width of his shoulders. As he had, she gave particular attention to his chest, returning to him the thrill he’d given her by suckling on his flat male nipples while tangling her fingers in the silky whorls of black hair on his chest. His breathing grew rough and shallow as she slid her palms down his torso, and he arched his back to give her access to the lower half of his body. In comparison to the thick black mane on his head and the curls on his chest, which tapered in a thin line to his loins, the rest of his body was completely smooth and free of hair. Fascinated with her discovery, Andrea stroked his flanks and thighs. His skin was taut but pliant and as sleek and gleaming as warm satin. As she stroked him, Andrea had a fleeting image of a dolphin leaping from the water, its skin sleek and smooth and shimmering in the sunlight.

  The vision was intriguing and Andrea might have pursued it, but at that instant she felt Paul’s life force leap inside her. Her half-closed eyes flew open and she gave a little cry of surprise.

  “Yes, my Andrea,” he said in that soft tone that sent shivers tumbling through her. “The pathway to paradise beckons once more.” Lowering his head, he whispered against her parted lips, “Will you ride the pathway with me?”

  In answer, Andrea curled her arms around his neck and her legs around his hips and arched her body into the increasing tempo of his movements.

  Once again the ribbon of tension unfurled inside Andrea until, soaring free, her rejoicing spirit attained the beauty of pure ecstasy. But this time when she cried aloud it was not to utter his name but to speak an inner accepted truth.

  “I love you! I love you!”

  And this time the echo that returned to her was not the sound of her own name but the hoarse sound of Paul’s voice repeating the binding declaration.

  “As I have always loved you.”

  Always? The word flashed through Andrea’s mind, then was gone, erased by the intensity of the sensations pulsating through her entire being.

  Exhausted, replete, Andrea surrendered to the warmth of Paul’s body protecting hers. She fell asleep stroking the satin-smooth skin beneath the hair on his chest.

  “Andrea.” The soft sound of Paul’s voice drew her from the depths of dreamless slumber. “Wake up, my love. It’s getting late, and Celia might be worried.”

  My love.

  Into Andrea’s sleep-fuzzy mind came a memory of a dream and of her imaginary lover whispering that he was her love, as she was his love, had always been his love, from the moment of her creation. But she had created him! Andrea thought in hazy confusion, struggling to shake off the clinging tendrils of sleep. And he had left her dreams to merge his essence with that of his physical duplicate. And her love had loved her, had made passionate, exquisite love to her, in her dreams and hi her physical reality!

  Were they one and the same man?

  The inner voice of renewed doubt drove the last cobwebs of sleep from her mind. She needed to be awake, had to be awake to prove that he was real. Andrea opened her eyes and gave a heartfelt sigh of relief.

  Appearing very real and wholly physical, Paul was smiling at her. “You sleep deeply after you release your concealed inhibitions, my Andrea,” he murmured. “It’s growing dark and the evening breeze carries a chill.”

  Until he mentioned it, Andrea hadn’t noticed. In addition to giving her the protective warmth of his body, Paul had covered her with his shirt.

  “I’m not cold,” she said, raising her eyes to his. “But you must be. You’re completely exposed to the wind.”

  Paul shook his head. “No. I seldom mind the cold. But it is getting late. Celia will be concerned.” He smiled and then reminded her of their vigorous exercise. “And you must be starving.”

  “Aunt Celia won’t be worried, because she’s not home,” she said, raising her arms over her head and stretching luxuriously. “But you’re right. I am starving.”

  Paul’s eyes darkened, and as if he couldn’t resist the lure of her body, stretched out so invitingly close to him, he drew his hand slowly down the entire length of her form.

  Andrea shivered receptively and whispered his name.

  Paul proved himself the stronger of the two of them. With a last lingering look at her, he put her away from him and stood up. Then, bending over her, he lifted her high in his arms for one last kiss before releasing her to reach for his clothing.

  Later, sitting close to each other in a corner booth of a fast food restaurant, laughing and murmuring, they devoured a large pizza and two side orders of salad for dinner.

  It was late when Paul drove Andrea home. As they neared the house, Andrea sighed. “I won’t be able to be with you until Saturday. I have to work tomorrow and Friday.”

  “I know.” Paul sighed, too. “And tomorrow night you have to attend Celia’s lady-bachelor party. And Friday night I have to go to Blaine’s bachelor party.”

  “And then the wedding on Saturday,” Andrea said.

  “Yes.” Paul slanted a blatantly sexy smile at her. “We can slow-dance at the reception.”

  He reluctantly left her at the door after a long, deep good-night kiss. Hugging the memory of his thrilling kisses and even more thrilling lovemaking, Andrea showered, slipped on a nightshirt, and fell into bed. Refusing to think of the possible consequences of her actions, she drifted off to sleep with a tiny smile of satisfaction on her love-softened mouth.

  * * * *

  The wedding was solemn and beautiful.

  Standing beside her aunt, listening to Celia exchange vows of marriage with Blaine, Andrea recalled another wedding the previous spring. Mingled with the voices of Celia and Blaine were the memory voices of her friend Alycia and her bridegroom, Sean, and she felt a sudden yearning to see them and Karla.

  The yearning persisted throughout the brief ceremony, but dissolved when she encountered the warmth in Paul’s eyes as she glanced at him after it was over.

  Andrea did slow-dance with Paul during the wedding reception. And she fast-danced with Mac and did the tango with Blaine. Flushed and laughing, she visited the buffet table with Paul and pondered the wide and varied selections offered. In the end, she passed up the meats for a co
mbination of seafood. While they were eating, Andrea noticed that Paul had passed up both the meats and the seafood.

  Frowning, Andrea rifled through her memory images of every meal she’d shared with him. As far as she could remember, she had never seen Paul eat meat, poultry, or seafood.

  Taking note of her frown, Paul raised his eyebrows. “Is there something wrong with your meal?” he asked.

  “No.” Andrea shook her head. “I was wondering about your meal.” She glanced at the assortment of vegetables and pasta salad on his plate.

  Paul followed her glance with his eyes. Then he, too, frowned. “What were you wondering about?”

  Andrea sighed. “I guess I was wondering if you are one of those California vegetarian health-food nuts.”

  His lips twitching, Paul slowly shook his head. “No, Andrea,” he replied, laughter threatening on his voice. “I assure you I am not a California vegetarian health-food nut.”

  “Do you eat meat or fowl or fish?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “Because, my Andrea,” Paul answered softly, “in my father’s homeland, we do not eat flesh.”

  * * *

  Chapter 10

  Andrea puzzled over Paul’s calmly stated reason for not eating flesh during the remainder of the reception. While dancing, talking, and just generally being sociable, she examined his claim, looking for hidden meanings in it. Perhaps, if she could have accepted his words at face value, she might have been able to shrug off his assertion.

  But as Andrea was swiftly coming to the realization that everything Paul said could be taken as literal fact—regardless how incomprehensible those facts were to her—she couldn’t just accept it at face value. Yet another explanation didn’t make sense. She knew that the people of Greece did eat meat, fowl, and fish.

  Andrea considered asking him to elaborate on his statement, but rejected the idea, simply because she felt intuitively that she wouldn’t particularly like his explanation. In the end, she decided to forget the whole thing ... which she had been doing a lot lately, in relation to Paul.