by Liz Durano
“Yet you’re willing to have me come over and work,” I say slowly. “Wouldn’t that interrupt your flow?”
“No, but I thought we talked about this already, Dax. The Pearl accommodates six people. Six. It can hold meditation retreats and yoga classes. Well, small yoga classes,” she says before adding. “Look at me. I already sound like an ad for the Pearl, and you’re the owner. You can always say no.”
“I didn’t say I was.” I eye her for a few moments. “Have you explored Taos at all since you’ve been here, outside of the Taos Plaza and all that?”
Harlow shakes her head. “I just got here a few days ago and have only checked out the shops at the Plaza.”
“Want me to show you where the locals go?”
“Like where?”
“Local wineries, parts of the Rio Grande, even a private hot springs.” Her eyes brighten, and she leans forward, resting her elbows on the table. “It’s a short hike to get there, and there are even petroglyphs if you know where to look.”
“I’m sure you’ll show me where they are,” she says, laughing before her brow furrows. “But I don’t think I brought a swimsuit with me.”
“You don’t need one. A lot of people skinny dip. Honest, they do! Just wear comfortable clothes for hiking and when you’re in the mood for a quick dip when we get there, I promise to turn around and look away. How about that?”
“Where are these hot springs exactly?”
“It’s called Manby Hot Springs. Google it if you have to, but it’s a fun place to go for us, locals. Nothing fancy. It’s named after this Englishman, Arthur Manby, who bought up pieces of land around Taos including the springs. He figured he’d make money from it so he built this big bathhouse but he ended up losing the land later on when he couldn’t pay his creditors. Plus, there were doubts that he even acquired the land legally, and so after he passed, the land went back to Taos and we Taoseños hang out there—for free.”
“Taoseños,” Harlow murmurs. “Is that what you call yourself?”
“Pretty much, just like you call yourself a New Yorker.”
“To hell with New York. Right now, call me a Taoseño then, because I love this place,” she says, the sound of her laughter hitting me in my solar plexus. Shit, what the fuck’s happening to me?
“So, yes or no? We could start tomorrow and then drive a bit farther and check out Vivac Winery another day. They even make their own chocolate.”
“Really?” Harlow bites her lower lip, and I have to force myself to keep my gaze on her eyes. “Lucky for you, because I’m a chocolate girl.”
“Alright, chocolate girl, you game or not? We may take two days to hit the hot springs and then the drive up to the winery, but I don’t know about your schedule—“
“My schedule’s in your hands for the next two days, Mr. Drexel. Just make sure it’s as fun as today, okay?”
I grin, my gaze moving down to her hands that lie on top of mine. When Harlow’s guard is down, she’s a touchy-feely type of person, and I like that. “Dax Drexel at your service, Dr. James. I promise to make it fun.”
“Where does your name come from, by the way?” she asks.
I chuckle. “The Adventurers. Ever heard of it?”
Harlow shakes her head.
“Harold Robbins. He was an author in the late sixties… early seventies, I think, and he was known for writing some pretty trashy novels, but Mama obviously didn’t think so. She named me after the protagonist. Diogenes Alejandro Xenos, or Dax for short.”
“It suits you, Dax. Danger and fun all in one.”
Her phone beeps just then, and she frowns, pulling away from me and reaching for her cell from her jeans pocket. When she sees the name on the display, she frowns even more. “Sorry, but I’ll need to get this,” she says as she taps on the screen and excuses herself from the table.
As Harlow makes her way to the outdoor patio, I signal for the check, conveniently forgetting that she’d wanted to pay for dinner. But there’s no way I’m letting someone who just paid seven grand to rent the Pearl by herself pay for dinner, too. And though I know I’m not thinking straight, how can I possibly remember such details when jealousy hits me like a freight train?
Is that her ex-boyfriend? Current boyfriend? The one she wrote the note to? Husband? Ex-husband?
When she returns, she glares at me when she sees me signing the bill. “You can take the next one,” I say as I sheepishly hand the credit card slip to the waitress.
Harlow is quiet on the short drive to the Pearl, her attention clearly elsewhere as she gazes outside the window where there’s only darkness. After spending the whole day with her and loving every minute of it, the last thing I want to do now is to leave her.
“Everything okay?” I ask as I turn the truck into the Greater Earthship Community, the high beam illuminating nothing but sagebrush. Even the air in the cab has become thick as if the phone call zapped all happiness from her whole being. I want to punch whoever it is who took that away from her—well, and from me.
“Everything’s fine,” she says, turning to look at me and smile. “Thank you so much for dinner, and for the whole day. I had a lot of fun today. Guess I’ll be seeing you tomorrow.”
I reach for Harlow’s hand resting on the edge of her seat and squeeze it. “Yes, you will. Maybe nine. The hot springs will be perfect if you’re feeling sore after today. Thank you for coming with me, Harlow. It means a lot to me,” I say, pulling my hand away as I turn into her driveway and shift the truck into park.
As I walk her to her door, I wish I could hold her hand all night. Hell, I wish I could hold her all night and make love to her. Harlow James laughing in the sun, in her pink sleeveless top and khaki pants does things to me that I’m not too happy about. I feel like I’m in uncharted territory, my mind begging for me to stay away, but my heart says, to hell with it, I’m jumping in anyway.
But something is bothering her tonight, that fucking phone call acting like some midnight tolling of the bells and suddenly, everything around us that was the perfect fairy tale returns to normal. She’s a woman who could be on the run from something—or someone—and here I am, just another man wanting to get into her pants.
*
When I get home, Nana is still up, watching one of her favorite Mexican TV shows that she’s pre-recorded. She looks up when I walk in and pauses the show.
“You don’t have to do that. I was just heading straight to the shower and then to bed,” I say as I give her a peck on the cheek.
“Did you have fun with Miss Harlow?” she asks, a knowing smile on her face.
“I did, and she’s now a bona fide fan of Nana’s special chorizo con huevos y papas y frijoles. That alone was a mouthful for her to say, but I think she’s got it memorized now. I’m taking her to the hot springs tomorrow, and maybe even the winery.” Usually, I’d sit with Nana and watch her shows, just like I did with Mama, but not tonight. I’m too jittery to sit down, and the memory of hearing Harlow saying the words as she studied the burrito this morning makes the butterflies in my belly flutter again.
There I go again. Fuck, what is happening?
“I got a call this afternoon from some lawyer,” she says and I sit down across from her, frowning.
“Someone is suing me?”
“No, he wasn’t calling for you, mijo. He was looking for Harlow. He wanted to know how to get to the Pearl. Something about papers that needed to be signed, legal stuff. He would have sent a courier, but seems like there’s a rush with the documents.”
So that’s the courier Harlow was talking about, the one she hadn’t been keen on running into when I first showed up at the Pearl.
“Did you tell him?”
Nana scoffs. “Of course not, but I think he’s going to find it, anyway. It’s not like the Pearl is a big secret around town. I left her a message on her phone, and that’s all I did. You know how I don’t like meddling in other people’s business.”
I get up from the couch
. “I’m sure she’s checked her messages by now.”
She nods, her gaze distant. “I think she needs a friend, and I’m glad you’re being one to her. Being out there all by herself has got to be lonely. I know I can’t do it, and I live here.”
“Yeah, but it’s what she wants, Nana. And if she needs a friend, we’re here if she needs us.”
“But you don’t want her to be just a friend, mijo. Do you?”
I pause. I don’t need to look at Nana’s eyes to know that she’s right. There’s no way I want Harlow to be just a friend. I want her to be more than that, but I also don’t want her to be just another fuck buddy, which is how most women in my life have ended up becoming, remembering me only for my prowess in bed but nothing else. No, Harlow’s special—special in a way that I have never experienced a woman before, and it’s leaving me confused.
True, that primal part of me wants to fuck her like crazy, but I also don’t want to fuck her up in the process, if that even makes sense.
Chapter 11
Harlow
Count on Jeff to ruin what was a beautiful day. A phone call telling me—no, demanding—that I sign away my share of the Hamptons estate because I never wanted it in the first place was beyond comprehension. The nerve of the man to assume I didn’t want it! But how could I want to live in a vast and empty house then, devoid of the laughter of children? Only then would it have been a home to me.
Home. The thought makes my knees grow weak as I watch Dax’s truck turn left on the main highway, back to the city. Why do I feel like I’m home whenever he’s near? Dax makes me think of early mornings in bed, snuggled deep under the covers, of the smell of piping hot coffee, and long, hungry kisses that last forever. He makes me yearn for things I’ve long forgotten before my ambition took over and now here I am, alone and thinking of a man who’s way too young for me.
But then, is he really too young? Or am I just using that as an excuse to stay away from him and not get hurt? But even if I were using his age as an excuse, then why did I just spend the last twelve hours with him, laughing and smiling more than I’ve ever done in years? Hearing my lawyer’s message asking me to call him as soon as possible didn’t even bother me the slightest.
Because you like him, Harlow James, that’s why. You like him so much that even Jeff yelling on the phone like he did the last time didn’t make you break into tears and crumble this time. This time, as you turned to look at the young man sneakily paying for dinner, you hung up on your ex-husband as he told you he was sending someone with the papers he expects you to sign.
I lock the doors and make my way to the master bathroom. I hate what I’m about to do, but I need it. In an area that gets only nine inches of rain a year, I shouldn’t be filling my tub with enough water to provide for six people, but whatever water I use is going to end up in the grey-water system anyway, watering the plants and filling up the toilets. Besides, what’s the point of the most beautiful bathtub I’ve ever seen? Lacquered wood that I’ve been dying to use since I came here?
As the tub fills with water, I undress and gaze at my reflection in the mirror. The light in the bathroom is kind, revealing my body to me with an almost dream-like quality as the steam rises from the bathtub. Even though I devoted much of my time to work, I took care of my body in a vain attempt to look as good as my achievements on paper. I worked out three times a week, enjoyed my monthly facials and body treatments, and stayed out of the sun. I took care of myself, and it shows.
But I see the imperfections, the ones brought on by time. I know there are lines on my face, especially between my eyebrows for I have this terrible habit of frowning as I work, whether I’m typing a research paper on my laptop or suturing an incision. My breasts still fill more than their share of my 36C bras though they’re not as firm as they used to be. But they’re real, Harlow. And you’d be lying to yourself if you weren’t aware that Dax couldn’t keep his eyes off them the whole day. My waist is narrow, my belly flat although I see the stretch marks that look like notches marking time spent carrying that one fetus to term.
Stop it, Harlow! Focus on the positive for once!
I turn around and look back at my reflection, suddenly feeling silly and realizing the tub is ready, but not before my gaze settles on my firm buttocks and I smile.
Well, whoever my birth parents were, they blessed me with a hell of a firm ass.
*
Three days later, I’m in bed watching the sunlight stream through the multi-colored glass bottles embedded in the dividing wall of my bedroom. I don’t need to get up to know that Dax is already at the Pearl. I can almost feel his presence permeate through the space though I wish he were permeating more than just space. I laugh out loud at how horny I am, but after spending the last two days with Dax and catching sight of his package as he was changing out of his swim trunks at the hot springs, I haven’t been able to think of anything else. He’s big.
He did get my mind out of the gutter by keeping me too preoccupied with other things, like showing me Taos only a Taoseño could. First, we stopped by the Taos Mesa Micro Brewery. Tasting various brews loosened me up and being the designated driver, Dax happily settled for apple cider before we drove to the hot springs. It was almost an hour-long hike down to the pools where I was ready to jump right in, but not before we explored the remnants of the stone bathhouse that Arthur Manby built in hopes of turning it into some world-class resort. Luckily, I did find a swimsuit in my luggage, and it was such a relief to sit in the hot springs after that hike, listening to Dax tell more stories about Manby. It was certainly no accident that our legs kept brushing against each other the whole time, something that became a game between us for the pool we had chosen was wide enough to fit five people.
We spent the second day at Arroyo Seco where we hiked to a part of the Rio Grande known as a local fishing spot before Dax took me to a winery to sample the wine and the locally made chocolate that had me moaning with bliss as the pieces melted in my mouth. We ended the day with a trip back to Nana’s house to pick up my car—or at least, that was the plan. When Dyami insisted I hang out and play Operation with him and then Monopoly, I obliged and ended up drinking so much of the wine we’d bought that day that I didn’t care whether I owned Park Place or ended up in jail, with no chance to pass Go. By eleven, long past Dyami’s bedtime—and probably everyone else’s—Dax drove a tipsy but happy doctor back to the Pearl. Driving over the Gorge Bridge didn’t even scare me at all.
At least now, I know that we’re both flirting with each other. But damn if Dax is taking his sweet time because it’s driving me crazy. I’ve had the best time of my life since I left New York six months ago, and I can’t wait to experience more of Taos. But if I were to be honest, the only thing I want to enjoy about Taos right now is in the man cave on the other side of the Pearl while I lie here in bed daydreaming of the things I want him to do to me—and me to him. The possibilities are endless.
But thanks to rational me ruining all the fun, Dax is keeping true to whatever we talked about—or rather, what I talked about—that he stay on his side of the Pearl, and I stay in mine… well, sort of. I hate having set boundaries because now I know that if anyone is going to break them, it’ll be me.
By the time I’m in the kitchen brewing coffee, I feel it—that jittery feeling that has my heart beating so fast it’s making me wonder if I might have developed some type of cardiac condition overnight. I can almost feel the blood coursing through my temples. With trembling hands, I fill two earthenware mugs with coffee and take a deep breath.
You brushed your teeth, washed your face and mussed up your hair. You’ll be fine. Now bring him coffee and say hi.
I see Dax before he sees me, but I don’t say anything. As far as I’m concerned, the last three days spent with him are equivalent to the sum of a lengthy foreplay and right now, I’m on fire. I’m just glad that he’s too busy to notice me as I stand awkwardly by the door, acting as calmly as I can although inside, I’m bounci
ng all over the place.
What is wrong with me?
Dax is pulling something that looks like a wood planer though he uses it differently, pulling it towards him instead of away from him, the way I’ve seen carpenters do it. Instead of short slivers of wood, I see a paper-thin strip unfurl from it gracefully before Dax flicks it away and returns the planer back to the opposite end of the board. Then he does it all over again.
Through his thin white shirt, I see his muscles tighten with every movement. I could name them all if I wanted to—latissimus dorsi, triceps brachii, deltoid, infraspinatus and teres major—but I want to do more than that. I want to touch them all, run my fingers over them and feel them ripple beneath my skin. And I know I won’t stop there. I want my hands to move lower down his back, feel my fingers rake against his smooth tanned skin. I want—
Suddenly Dax stops whatever he’s doing, straightens his back and turns to look at me.
“Good morning, Harlow.”
“Hi,” I stammer, hoping my face doesn’t betray my thoughts. “I… I brought you coffee.”
“Thanks,” he says, and that’s when I see that he’s brought a Thermos with him, and I feel like an idiot. Of course, the boy scout would bring his own coffee. I made the rules, didn’t I? I wasn’t going to entertain him, nor was he supposed to entertain me.
Oh, but do I want him to!
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you brought your own,” I turn around before he can say anything but Dax is a fast mover. Suddenly he’s standing in front of me, and he takes one of the mugs from my hand.
“Thank you,” he says, his gaze moving from my face down to my lips, and then the front of my robe. I didn’t even bother to get dressed. And why would I? I don’t want to get dressed, not with this man standing so close to me, his cologne and that man-smell of his sending my hormones into overdrive. I lick my lips.
