While She Was Sleeping...

by Isabel Sharpe

  They sat on the screened-in porch outdoors in cushioned Adirondack chairs, enjoying the breeze, protected from mosquitoes, drinking beer, eating the picnic Sawyer had packed: cold chicken flavored with soy sauce, ginger and garlic, Asian slaw, peanut noodles, watermelon and butterscotch brownies, then more beer, sitting with their feet up on the low table, sharing stories of their childhoods, enjoying the view of the setting sun turning the calm lake pink. Utter contentment.

  “So…Alana.”

  “Mmm?”

  “Just wanted to warn you, I’m planning to get you naked again very soon.” He gestured toward her with his beer bottle. “Because looking at you in that T-shirt and panties has been pure pleasure, but it has also been pure torture.”

  “I see.” His low, husky voice made her shift on her seat, nipples hardening under the soft cotton, which he immediately noticed and appreciated, which made her shift again.

  “What do you think?”

  “I think…” She sent him a smoldering come-hither look. “I need to powder my nose first.”

  He chuckled. “Second door on the right. The bedroom is the door on the left past it. I’ll meet you.”

  “Deal.” She kissed him and went into the bathroom, simply designed but top-quality like the rest of the house, from the enormous claw-foot tub to the stone vessel sink, to the toilet that barely made a sound when she flushed. A look in the mirror showed a very, very relaxed and happy woman. Today had been so perfect, from breakfast in bed to the museum, to lunch, to the, ahem, basement, then beach and now lake house.

  Had she mentioned she could get used to this?

  Three more days, give or take. Three more days to fall harder for this amazing man, and then she’d get to rip out her heart and leave it with him when she left.

  Florida. Most people thought of it as paradise. Right now it felt like jail.

  She emerged from the bathroom into the dimly lit hallway and followed his directions toward the room with the glow of light spilling from under the nearly closed door which she lost no time in pushing open.

  Candles. She stood and took in the scene. A dozen at least, at various locations behind and to the sides of the beautiful iron bed. On the polished wood mantel, on the bedside table, on the bookcase at the far wall, arranged on the low window seat. Her delighted laughter died the instant she looked at Sawyer.

  He’d stripped to his boxers and stood by the bed, feet planted, hands loosely on his hips, chest and muscled arms lit to a golden glow. Shadows played on his cheekbones and strong jaw, his hair was carelessly tousled after his shower, but his gaze stopped her…from moving, from breathing. He watched her quietly, no grand gesture, but in his eyes she saw everything she’d ever wanted to see in a man’s heart.

  Come here. He didn’t say it aloud, but held out his hand. She moved forward, feeling as if she were starring in one of her most perfect fantasies, except this was real. Even understanding that, part of her kept wanting to know for sure she wouldn’t wake up and find out she’d been dreaming.

  She stood opposite him. He put his hands to her waist and pulled her close, laid his cheek against her hair while she slid her fingers up the hard landscape of his arms. They stood like that she didn’t know how long. His skin was warm on her temple, rough where his beard had emerged. Her breath was audible, catching occasionally, his deep and regular.

  Then his lips touched her hair…her cheek…the corner of her mouth. Alana turned her face toward him and up; his lips brushed hers, drew back, brushed them again, making them tingle. She closed her eyes, trying to capture every sensation—his male scent, the hard heat of his muscles under her fingers, the warmth of his body so close, the soft tenderness of his lips, the acceleration in his breathing. His tongue drew a slow path across her mouth; he caught her lower lip between his, pulled gently, grazed it with his teeth. A shiver caught her, not from cold but from a necessary release of the building tension.

  He pulled away; she opened her eyes and suddenly understood how it felt to drown in someone’s gaze. Emotion swelled to the familiar point where she’d have to look away or be lost. A second before she gave in, he bent and kissed her, gently, then lingeringly, then harder, then with possessive passion that made her whimper and push close, feeling his erection bulging through the thin cotton of his boxers.

  She loved the silence, loved the communication only through their bodies, loved the way she could immerse herself in sensing instead of speaking. He turned her toward the bed, arms locked around her, and supported her slow fall back onto the soft sheets, still kissing her, body wide and secure on top of hers. He lifted to help her out of the T-shirt; her breasts reacted to the cooler air in the room, which made his warm mouth warmer on them; her hands traveled the expanse of his back, solid under smooth masculine skin.

  This man. This man. Everything about their time together was so much more. More romantic, more fun, more intense and so much more meaningful.

  He slid her panties down her hips, helped their leisurely long journey off her legs by encouraging every few inches with gentle kisses, down her thighs, knees, calves, the soles of her feet. On the way back up, he stopped to explore with his tongue, slipping his finger inside her, bringing her to helpless gasps of pleasure while she alternately stroked and gripped his hair.

  Then his boxers were gone. He rolled on a condom and lay back over her, supported on his elbows. His penis moved between her legs, anxious to gain entrance, but he took his time, patiently kissing her face and mouth again. She wound her hands around his arms, over his taut shoulders and not at all patiently pushed up her hips in silent invitation.

  He accepted, slid inside her an inch at a time, pulling out in between advances so she really felt him stretching her, filling her. Then the final smooth slide to the hilt, and he started a slow and steady rhythm that made her clutch his biceps and grit her teeth to keep from crying out that he should go harder, get her to that peak she was so desperate for. She wanted their lovemaking at his pace, to satisfy his need, whatever he wanted. He’d given her the best day of her life. He’d given her candles and a bed with clean sheets. Everything else should be hers to give back to him.

  He kept his pace leisurely, occasionally closing his eyes, pausing, then back to the easy gentle rhythm. Gradually she relaxed, arousal staying at a steady high simmer, stopped straining for her climax, loosened her grip on his arms and began a slow, sensual exploration of his body, stroking him everywhere she could reach.

  In and out, in…and out, his buttock muscles contracting and releasing under her fingers. She resisted urging him on, opened her eyes and locked into his gaze. In spite of the intensity of their connection, physical and emotional, in spite of the feelings surging through her, or maybe because of them, she was finally content to watch him watching her, not a trace of panic, experiencing his slide inside her, the gentle friction he maintained by rolling and twisting his hips.

  She had no idea how much time went by, maybe five minutes, maybe half an hour, maybe more. She could have stayed there forever, joined to this man so intimately, candles flickering, soft lake air caressing them through the open windows. Was this love? It didn’t seem that it could be anything else.

  Then he kissed her again, gentleness that soon gave way to the inevitable passion she both wanted and didn’t. With desire’s rise, his pace quickened, his thrusts became longer, harder, deeper. Ecstasy seemed to come at her from a great distance, like a storm’s inevitable approach, closer and closer, more and more power evident, until that second of held-breath anticipation before the roaring rush of wind, thunder and rain.

  She didn’t think she’d ever come down, the orgasm went on and on, staying at its peak for an impossibly long time, during which she said his name in her mind over and over, aware of him inhaling sharply and coming to his own release.

  When the intense pleasure finally let her go, she lay under him clasped in his arms, becoming dimly aware again of sounds and shapes and light around them.

  “
Alana.” His voice was deep, quiet, full of longing.

  She nodded. She understood. I love you, too.

  She couldn’t say it. Not yet. Too much at stake, too much still to work out. She hoped she’d shown him how she felt in every possible way while they were making love, so tenderly and so silently.

  “That was…” He blew out a breath. “I hate the cliché, but I didn’t know it could be like that.”

  “Me, neither.” Afraid of love? No. She wasn’t. The knowledge sat inside her, precious and shining, she hugged it tightly.

  “So…Alana.” Something about the way he said her name this time interrupted her dreamily relaxed mood. “Yeah?”

  He rolled off her, grabbed tissues and got rid of the condom with a perfect three-pointer into the trash can across the room, then lay back down and gathered her against his chest. “I’ve got a proposition.”

  The rest of her beautiful afterglow fantasy shattered. Oh, no. Not this argument again. She sighed and faked a return smile when he grinned at her. “Okay. Let’s hear it.”

  “I was going to wait to tell you, but you should think this over for the next few days while you’re here. If I let you out of bed long enough.”

  She didn’t need to fake the next smile. “O-kay…”

  “If I take the job as director of the foundation, which it looks like I will, and if I can get the board of directors to go along with the low-rent studio idea, which I don’t see why I wouldn’t be able to, and if Debbie’s partnership is amenable, which I’m sure they will be…” He lifted his eyebrows comically. “You with me?”

  “Lots of ifs. I got that much.”

  “Lots of ifs.” He pushed a hand through his hair, a lock of which ignored his efforts and tumbled back onto his forehead. “The new building…will need a manager.”

  It was suddenly hard to breathe.

  “You’re not only perfectly qualified for the job, but you’d be around working artists, and, I hope, get some of your soul fed in the process.” His gaze turned sly. “At least better than managing condos in Florida.”

  “I’ve already committed myself.” The protest was automatic. How many times had she made it?

  “I know. Just think it over. Everything is in the planning stages so far, which accounts for all the ifs. For one, the building wouldn’t be ready to manage for quite some time. It still needs buying and renovating. We’re probably talking over a year. But if you stayed, I could find you work at the foundation. I spoke to my dad. He said the outgoing director is taking staff with him to his new job.”

  “I can’t do this.” She struggled onto her elbow. “Gran and Grandad—”

  “Are healthier than you think.”

  “Even if that’s true, they’re not getting younger.” The argument felt stale and false. Was she really thinking of them? Or was this knee-jerk self-protection?

  “I thought they were in their late eighties the way you talked about them, but your Gran sounded about sixty on the phone.”

  Alana swallowed. “She’s seventy. Grandad is seventy-three.”

  “They could live another twenty years in perfect health.” He narrowed his eyes but his voice was gentle. “If you don’t want to do it, if there’s some other reason, just say so.”

  “It’s not that.” She gestured meaninglessly and let her hand drop on his chest. “I just can’t…I owe them so much. And you and I have known each other such a short time.”

  “I know. I’m asking a lot. A whole lot. All the risk would be on your side and that’s not fair. I’m probably being selfish even bringing it up. I just want you to know the option is there, and that nothing would make me happier than if you agreed to stay.” He kissed her, and she responded a little desperately, wishing they could go back to when they were making love and the rest of the world didn’t exist. “I probably should have waited, but I’m so…excited I guess. Like a kid Christmas morning with a present he can’t wait to give someone.”

  “That’s very sweet.” She hardly knew what she was saying. He’d been working hard behind the scenes to get her to stay. It felt wonderful…and also invasive. Was this how Melanie felt when Alana tried to guide—aka control—her life? She didn’t like it, no matter how wonderful his intentions.

  “But now maybe the present is the wrong size. Or you already have one. Or like the racing car I bought my mom when I was seven, maybe it’s not something you want so much as I do.”

  She laughed through the growing anxiety. How could she make a decision like this? Pitting a man she loved but barely knew against grandparents she owed her life to. Ditching important plans she had in place on the whim of a too-new emotion? One thing to decide to stay on an extra day or two. But forever?

  “Sawyer, I really don’t see—”

  “Shh.” He covered her mouth with her favorite Mute button—his lips. “Don’t think, don’t worry, don’t feel pressure to decide. Just let the idea settle for a while.”

  “But I—Mmph.”

  He kissed her again, rolled her under him, kissed her some more, long sensual kisses that blotted out any hope of continuing to reason.

  But sooner or later she’d need to face up to this decision. She couldn’t keep putting it off by spouting the same arguments for leaving while she’d continued to prolong her stay.

  Either way she decided, she’d be choosing happiness, pain and also regret, possibly for the rest of her life.

  14

  “OH, COME ON, Alana, have a double.” Melanie was already licking her two-scoop turtle sundae frozen custard cone: vanilla custard shot through with gooey thick threads of caramel and hot fudge, mixed with roasted salted pecan pieces. Her sister’s insistence on denying herself pleasure made her insane. “Skip dessert at dinner, it all evens out.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Alana turned to the teenager behind the counter at Gilles frozen custard stand, a Wauwatosa institution since 1938, which claimed to be the area’s oldest fast-food restaurant. “I’ll have a double special flavor, too.”

  Melanie stopped mid-lick. “You will?”

  Holy crapoly. They’d gone through the oh-have-a-double, no-no-I-couldn’t charade for years. Alana had never given in. Sometimes she’d agree to share a sundae, but she always gave up a third of the way into it, boo-hoo, she might put on an entire ounce and a half. Melanie would shrug and inhale the rest herself, annoyed and betrayed. Woman’s code of honor: if you decided to indulge in something bad for you with a friend, you had a solemn responsibility to hang in there to the bitter end.

  Today Alana had barely hesitated before giving in. “Wow, what’s gotten into my big sister?”

  She shrugged, as if changing a lifetime habit overnight was no big deal. “I just felt like it.”

  “So…?”

  “So what?” She accepted her cone, paid for hers and Melanie’s.

  “So what is different? You’re eating more, looking absurdly happy, humming nonstop, gazing starry-eyed at nothing, gee, let me guess.” She tapped a finger against her cheek. “Tonsilitis?”

  “Hmph.” Alana grabbed a few napkins, which Melanie always forgot to do, and they went outside to lean against Alana’s car and enjoy the evening air with their million calories.

  “So?”

  “Melanie, if you have a question, ask me.” She sounded severe, but couldn’t stop smiling long enough to be convincing.

  Melanie was delighted. Envious, but delighted. The Ice Princess had fallen. “You’re finally in love.”

  “Finally?” She made an I-don’t-think-so face. “Come on. I’ve been in love before.”

  “Nuh-uh.” Melanie caught a drip on her tongue. “Not like this.”

  “It’s the infatuation,” Alana explained patiently, as if she was some kind of expert. “Love takes time to emerge from it. I’ve known Sawyer what, a week? Not even?”

  “It doesn’t take time when it’s right.”

  Alana, predictably, made a face. “Look who’s talking. You’ve fallen ‘in love’ a million times, usual
ly in the first three minutes knowing a guy, and every time you’re sure it’s ‘right.’”

  Melanie shook her head. She’d done a lot of thinking in the past few days. A lot. “No, I’ve never been sure.”

  Alana deflated midrant. “What do you mean? You always say you are. You even had yourself half-engaged to Sawyer.”

  “I know, I know. But deep down? Really deep? I knew they weren’t right. I’ve been thinking about this constantly, Alana, after Edgar brought it up. It makes so much sense. I go for deliberately inappropriate men to keep from having to be serious about any of them. You do it, too.”

  Alana started to make her protest noises, the kind she made when she needed to waste time faking outrage while thinking of a comeback. Then, incredibly, she stopped and sighed deeply. “Okay. Maybe.”

  Melanie nearly choked on her bite. Maybe? This was serious progress. “If you understand that about yourself, why are you still planning to move to Florida?”

  “I agree that I’ve have dated men in the past who couldn’t touch me. But Sawyer isn’t one of them. I’m not moving out of fear. It’s just…bad timing.”

  “It’s miraculous timing. It’s meant-to-be timing. You weren’t even supposed to come up here. How many men like him do you think you’ll meet in your life?”

  “Oh, and you’re an expert because…”

  “Not because of him. Because of you, how you’re acting. I’ve never seen you like this. You’re smiling—”

  “I smile a lot.”

  “—you’re happy—”

  “I’ve been happy plenty.”

  “—you’re eating a double cone.”

  “Oh, that’s concrete proof. How’s this?” She held up her custard like a beacon, which Melanie loved because Alana was down over one scoop already, and was on course to finish her entire double without a single panic over calories. “I swear by the sacred double cone that I’m not afraid of love.”

  Melanie chuckled. Her sister was positively giddy. “Then stay and enjoy it.”