The Stir of Echo

by Susan Gabriel

  "Oh really?” Echo replied. “Well, at least you're an honest thief, if there is such a thing."

  "I may be a thief of sorts, but you, girl, have terrible manners,” Flynn teased. “This is twice now I have tried to be neighborly and you have left me standin’ at the door."

  "Well, this is twice that you have taken me by surprise, so I consider us even."

  "You have a valid point.” Flynn confirmed.

  Echo wondered who made him the manner's police anyway. “Look, I don't know how it's done in the suburbs, but where I come from women not only do not invite strange men into their homes, they use a triple set of deadbolts to keep them out. I don't mean to be rude...

  "No, I was wrong. I'm not as familiar with your country as I should be. I'm not used to being regarded with suspicion. Where I come from, we don't even lock our doors."

  "Geez, that must be nice.” Echo couldn't imagine a place where they didn't have to be concerned about muggers and rapists and terrorists, or any of the other million and one fears that she had grown accustomed to living with.

  Flynn shoved his hands in his pockets, his eyes cast bashfully downward. “I guess I'll just be on my way then. I'm sorry to bother you. You know where I live if you would like to pop over for a cup of tea sometime. The door's always open."

  As he turned to leave, Echo realized that she didn't want him to go. He really did seem like a nice guy and despite his confidence, he appeared sort of lost. He had been so polite and she had acted like the Ugly American.

  "Wait,” she called out, grasping his elbow. “How about I throw caution to the wind and invite you in for a bit?"

  He turned, one eyebrow raised in a questioning look. “No, I don't want to be a pest,” he protested. “I'll just take off."

  Echo tugged on his elbow, directing him into the doorway. “I insist. Won't you please come in?"

  He smiled, his perfect white teeth contrasting sharply against his tanned skin. “If you insist ... I'll come in for minute, but I promise I won't stay too long.” Flynn had to turn sideways to get through the door so as not to crush the bouquet in her arms.

  As he passed, his scent mingled with the sweet, green fragrance of the flowers. He smelled unpolluted and wild, as if he had just emerged from some great forest with the aroma of earth and leaves and pine needles still clinging to his skin. The feminine atmosphere of Echo's house now crackled with testosterone.

  "Watch your step. Sor r y about the boxes,” Echo apologized. “I was just starting to unpack them when you knocked. I better put these flowers into some water. Would you like something to drink? An ice tea, maybe ... cup of coffee, shot of tequila?"

  "Seein’ as it's only three in the afternoon, I think I'll opt for the coffee, but you go ahead and have anything you like.” He sure was a sarcastic little bugger. “Thanks for the permission. Follow me to the kitchen and I'll take care of the flowers and you at the same time."

  Echo wanted to thrash herself in the head with the hydrangeas. What in the hell did I say that for? That sounded like a line straight out of a soap opera. Oh God, he probably thinks I was coming on to him! Just start walking, maybe he didn't catch it.

  As nothing never, ever got past Flynn, he had picked up on her Freudian slip and suppressed a laugh, but could not stifle a mischievous grin.

  "In truth,” explained Flynn as he took a seat at the yellow kitchen table. “I was thinkin’ that perhaps you might be needin’ some help unpacking and getting things set right around here. I drive a pretty mean screwdriver when I want to and I am not bad with heavy lifting either."

  "You don't say?” exclaimed Echo, setting the cup of coffee on the table. “Sugar?"

  "No trouble at all ... darlin'."

  For a split second Echo was confused, and then feeling foolish, she realized that he was teasing her. Why did she act like such an imbecile when this man was around?

  "You are quite the kidder, aren't you? Echo goaded. “You know the old saying, that the world can tolerate a dumbass but nobody likes a smart ass. Well, mister smartass, you're on. You have just snickered your way into a heap of manual labor."

  Flynn sipped his coffee, peeking innocently over the rim of the cup.

  "You can finish your coffee, and then come and join me in the foyer. I hope you ate your Wheaties today because I love to read, and I have lots of boxes of heavy books."

  Echo walked out of the kitchen door, calling over her shoulder, “Be careful what you wish for, Flynn ... you just might get it!"

  * * * *

  Echo detected his scent before she heard his footsteps in the hallway. Bent over a large carton marked “Bedroom” in fat red marker, she looked up as Flynn walked towards her. He had removed his shirt. The vision of unabashed virility put Echo in a state of suspended animation. Swelling pectoral muscles and wide, brawny shoulders sloped into the flat, undulating surface of his abdomen. A trail of small black hairs began just below his navel and traveled southward, vanishing beneath his belt buckle.

  Taken aback by the sight, Echo stared with mouth agape. Absentmindedly, her hand slackened, releasing a box cutter which fell to the floor, nicking her toe on the way to the ground. A stinging sensation throbbed in her toe, but it could not distract her attention from Flynn's sexy six-pack.

  "Hope you don't mind, but it's awfully warm today, and that is a new-ish shirt,” Flynn implored.

  Uncharacteristically speechless, Echo stared, spellbound by this specimen of sublime masculinity.

  "Well, it's white, too,” Flynn continued. “You know how hard it is to get a stain out of a white shirt?” Flynn's expression changed to one of surprise. “Oh, Jaysus, you're bleedin'!” He exclaimed.

  The urgency of his voice awakened Echo from her daydream. What was he talking about? She followed the direction of his gaze to where a pool of blood was forming under her lacerated foot.

  Flynn rushed to her and grabbed her by the elbow, pulling her to her feet. “Come on, come on, girl ... let's get a look at that!"

  Flynn hoisted Echo up, supporting her on his arm as he led her towards the kitchen. She leaned helplessly against him, feigning a pain that she did not feel, and gripped her hand around his flexed bicep for support. The muscle tightened and rippled beneath her palm. Echo squeezed the dense bulge, testing it for firmness. It was beautifully non-yielding.

  His arm encircled her waist, and scooped her off her feet, then deposited her atop the kitchen counter.

  "Swing your foot up into the sink,” Flynn instructed, turning on the water and testing the temperature with his hand.

  Echo placed her foot inside of the bowl. Flynn supported her foot in his hand as the water rushed over the laceration. She watched the ribbons of blood, first brilliant red then fading to pink, wash against the white porcelain and swirl in hypnotic arcs down the drain.

  No one spoke.

  She shifted her gaze to rest on his unclothed form. Her lecherous gaze spellbound, enticed by the droplets of water splashing on his naked chest. She had the urge to lick them, one by delicious one, from his damp flesh.

  Flynn leaned his body into hers. Echo closed her eyes, turning her face upwards in anticipation of their lips meeting in a kiss.

  "Excuse me there darlin',” Flynn cooed, “but could you skooch over just a bit so I can reach those paper towels sitting behind you?"

  Echo's eyes snapped open. Oh God I am such an idiot! Please tell me I did not just do that! I'm behaving like a hormonal teenager!

  Echo scooted to the right and Flynn retrieved the towels, wadding them up and wiping her foot dry. He dabbed at the cut until the blood began to clot.

  "There, that should hold it for a second,” he said, swiveling her around so her legs dangled off the edge of the counter. Brandishing a finger in front of her face he scolded, “Now you stay here. I will be right back with a bandage."

  For a split second, Echo thought he said that he would be right back with a bondage. Echo mustered a weak nod.

  Flynn dashed off to rummag
e in the bathroom for first aid supplies. Echo sat on the edge of the kitchen counter, absentmindedly chewing her fingers in a state of sexual tension. Not only was Flynn the hunkiest man she had ever met, but she was astonished to realize that she really liked him! He made her laugh, he made her think, he was thoughtful, and caring. So far he added up to the total package. She marveled that just the night before she had been sitting in this very same spot fantasizing about this very same fellow, and here he was right now, half-naked, and fixing her boo-boo to boot.

  A disembodied female voice boomed into Echo's ears. “This is not a man you will be able to wrap around your finger, Delores!"

  That was completely random—and a bit rude, too. Her blood simmered at the unseen interruption of her daydream.

  "If I see Delores, whoever that is, I will be sure to tell her,” Echo hissed to the ghostly visitor. “You don't have to scream."

  Flynn strode into the room proudly displaying mercurochrome, a cotton ball and a roll of white tape. Echo imagined playing doctor with him. She'd like to show him where it hurt.

  He stood between Echo's dangling legs, lifting her injured foot to his chest. His skin was comfortingly warm against the sole of her foot. A single drop of blood oozed from the cut and ran down the side of her big toe, sliding onto Flynn's chest.

  While Flynn busied himself with bandaging, Echo's eyes followed the path of the blood as it descended his torso. The thick crimson droplet coursed along his stomach, trailing a sticky scarlet ribbon over his rectus abdominus, dipping in and over the rolling hills of his muscles. It veered just to the left of his navel, and then silently disappeared beneath his trousers.

  A wave of internal heat caused miniscule beads of perspiration to blossom on her skin.

  "There you are. All bandaged ... oh, I almost forgot ... a kiss it to make it better.” Flynn lifted her foot to his lips and placed a kiss on the injured area. Even though his lips only touched the bandage, Echo did feel better, much better.

  He lowered her foot. He was standing between her legs, her knees touching his hips. His penetrating gaze honed in on her face, mesmerizing, but unsettling at the same time. What was he staring at her for? Was there something on her face? Echo wiped her cheeks, searching for the offending crumb.

  "I have the sudden urge to kiss you,” he said. “Would you mind if I kissed you ... on the lips?” On the lips, on the neck, Echo would have allowed his mouth to roam anywhere that he desired.

  "Oh, yes,” she breathlessly agreed. “I think I'd like that."

  Flynn lifted her legs and wrapped them around his hips, drawing her to his body. Before he could press his lips to hers, Echo's mouth lifted to his.

  She parted his lips with her tongue and explored his warm, open mouth. Her hands surveyed the anatomy of his back, ‘seeing’ the outline of his muscles with her fingertips. She felt his heartbeat drumming against her chest and hers pounding a refrain like a million fluttering birds. The dam, which had held back her hunger for so many months, crumbled and released the rising waters of her pent-up passion. She was glad her gauzy prairie skirt veiled the wicked secret of her sodden panties.

  Flynn's hands stroked her sides, his thumbs grazing the swell of her breasts enticing Echo's nipples to jut out against her tight-fitting tee. She knew Flynn could feel their hardness brushing his naked flesh, just as she could feel his hardness below, pressing against her pelvis.

  Unexpectedly, Flynn put the brakes on. He pulled away, sheepishly dropping his head. “I should go."

  Echo had been enjoying the kiss and didn't like it one bit that he had taken his mouth from hers. However, she had to admit that she was a little relieved. If he hadn't stopped, she probably wouldn't have either. Her admiration for Flynn grew. He had to have known that she was willing, and yet he held back. In her opinion, he showed considerable self-control.

  She didn't want him leaving on such an awkward and tenuous note.

  "No, don't go ... please.” She wiggled her bandaged toe in his direction. “My foot is banged up. My plans for the day are shot to hell. Let's forget about those boxes and just hang out for awhile."

  Sliding off of the counter, she lowered her feet to the floor, wincing as she touched the injured foot gingerly to the ground. Flynn reached to steady her, but she waved him off in a display of independence.

  "Look, I'm not sure what just happened here, but guess what—I like you. I don't know a single soul in this entire town, and I enjoy your company."

  A glimmer of a grin crossed Flynn's face.

  Echo's hands seemed to have a mind of their own. She wanted so badly to glide them around his naked waist and caress his flesh with her fingertips. Fearing the compulsion to grope him, she folded her hands in prayerful supplication. “Say that you'll stay for a little while. What am I going to do all, alone in this big house with this bum foot?"

  It was so quiet in the room that she could hear the soft scritch-scratch of whiskers as Flynn rubbed his chin with his hand in thoughtful contemplation.

  "Besides, it is your fault that I nearly amputated my toe!” Flynn's eyebrows arched in confusion. “If you hadn't walked in looking like,” Echo waved a finger up and down his body. “Well, you know ... how you look; I would have never dropped that knife."

  Flynn's eyes shifted to his shirt which hung guiltily over the back of a chair.

  "Another valid point,” Flynn conceded. “Alright, you win. I'll keep you company and do my best to keep my knickers on."

  * * * *

  Many hours and three bottles of Pinot Grigio later, the sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving only a trace of a harvest glow in the sky. Echo and Flynn were sprawled like comfortable old friends across the sofa. Both of them being Irish and well in their cups, they fell into a melancholy and reflective mood.

  "Ever thought about what you want from your life?” asked Flynn.

  Through bleary eyes Echo drank in the vision of the man sitting next to her. His hair was now a bit unkempt, his body relaxed into the sofa, his long legs stretched for a mile in front of him. He thoughtfully traced the rim of his wine glass with a long, tapered index finger. She was certain that what she wanted most from life at this moment was to pin him to the sofa for an extended snogging session, full of wet kisses and groping hands.

  Echo tossed her head back, chuckling. “I know exactly what I want,” she exclaimed. But no amount of alcohol could have loosened her tongue enough for her to confess that she wanted to jump his gorgeous bones. She decided, instead to lighten the mood and hopefully change the subject. Holding her wine glass aloft, she proclaimed, “I want to rule the world!"

  "Of course you do.” Flynn laughed, the deep rolling sound as infectious as his speech.

  She had made him laugh. He found her amusing. A warm sensation glowed inside her. She didn't often show her silly side, and it was nice to feel comfortable enough to let it out.

  "But, darlin’ I'm asking what do you want for yourself ... for your soul?"

  In emphasis, Flynn placed Echo's hand over her heart.

  Echo blinked, trying to better focus her eyes. The touch of his hand on her chest was so warm and tender; it filled Echo with a sentimental emotion. It had been so long since someone had touched her in that way. Now she knew exactly what she wanted from life. Her head buzzed with fuzzy concentration as she struggled to put it into words.

  "I suppose that in the end,” she began. “I just want to love and be loved ... although, I'm not exactly getting my hopes up. Things haven't worked out so well in that department. I hear that I am too picky.” Echo paused for a moment, reminiscing over the men in her past. She had drifted through a life of serial monogamy, finding reasons, or perhaps excuses, to discard them all.

  "Well, maybe I am too picky. But if I already know I'm going to be disappointed, why try anymore at all? Isn't that the definition of insanity, doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result? I think I may be ready to go the fuck ‘em and forget ‘em route. It sure coul
dn't be any more heartbreaking."

  Flynn wrapped his arm around Echo's shoulder and snuggled her to his body.

  She relaxed into his embrace. She was having trouble keeping her eyes open and it felt as if weights were attached to her lashes, tugging on her lids.

  "Don't give up the ghost yet, girl. In the words of John F. Kennedy, ‘what's the use of being Irish if the world doesn't break your heart?’”

  Wasn't that the damn truth? Echo's throat tightened and burned. Flynn's insightful words had worked their way through her tough exterior and struck at her soft, vulnerable center.

  Oh, God, she didn't want to tur n into a drunken, blubbering fool in front of him. Fighting the urge to feel sorry for herself, Echo quickly changed the subject. Wiggling her empty wine glass she asked, “Want some more?” and then answered herself. “Thank you, I think I will.” Echo sloshed the last of the golden liquid into their goblets.

  She had sat up too quickly and now her head swam. Whoa! Echo grabbed onto the edge of the coffee table, her hand slapping down sharply on the glass as she tried to regain her coordination.

  "You are positively circling over Shannon drunk!” hooted Flynn. “This could work to my advantage. Let's see ... what'll it be.... oh, I know ... since you can't hold your liquor like a proper Irishman....

  "Wine,” she interrupted. “We're drinking wine, not liquor."

  Flynn narrowed his eyes. “As I was saying ... since you are obviously an amateur Irishman, I challenge you to answer any one question that I ask."

  Echo realized that she had gone beyond being tipsy ... she was bordering on shit-faced. She put her wine glass on the table, vowing not to drink another drop. She straightened her spine and tried to appear sober.

  "Oh, you are an evil, tricky man!” Echo scowled. “Okay, Mister Smarty-Pants, give me your best shot."

  "Alright then, and you have to answer it honestly ... no fairy tales. I want to know your deepest, darkest, most erotic fantasy."

  Echo rolled her eyes and set her jaw. Of all the questions he could have asked, he chose that one! She doubted he was ready to hear what she had to say.