ROOM...BUT NOT BORED

by Dawn Atkins

  "I want to…" Kiss you, fall crazy in love with you.

  "What? You want to what?"

  "This," she said and she kissed him, putting all of her heart in it.

  "Oh, that," he murmured, breaking off for just a second. "That's not very professional," he said, glancing around the bow of the boat—empty now.

  "I don't care. There's just the guy from Chick's Fun-Time Diners. I can call him later." She stood on tiptoes to mash her lips on Jake's.

  This time he kissed back, making her tremble and nearly drop to the boat deck in weak-kneed surrender. They kissed for a long time, the only sound a gasp for air, a moan, a sigh. Finally, they separated, sucking in air, looking into each other's face with wonder.

  "Are you sure?" Jake asked. "This is what you want?"

  She nodded slowly, hoping she wasn't deluding herself. But look at Jake's face! This was no fling for him.

  "Let's beat it out of here then, before I lose all control."

  Ariel was almost willing to risk it. Her wild side was shouting and leaping for joy, completely out of control.

  "I know a place I want to take you," Jake said.

  Ariel nodded and they hurried to the stern of the boat to thank their host and leave. In a fever to be in Jake's arms, she was impatient when Jake stopped on the way home to buy a bottle of champagne, frustrated when he stopped at the house for a blanket, irritated when he searched for plastic cups—though she did take a second to yank off her panty hose.

  At last, they walked the empty beach, arm-in-arm, toward Jake's place, Ariel so excited she was numb to the itch of sand on her instep. Her heart pounded so hard she was scared Jake could hear it over the wash of waves. She began to shake.

  "You cold?" Jake said, pulling her more tightly to him.

  "Not at all," she said. "It's just nerves."

  He gazed at her. "I know. I feel it, too. I don't think I've ever wanted a woman as much as I want you right now."

  She saw they were headed toward a rocky outcropping. She had a painful thought. "I don't want to go where you've … you know…" Been with another woman.

  "I come here to be alone," he said, leveling his gaze to hers. "And now with you." Exactly what she needed to hear.

  Jake led her to a beautiful rock cave, sheltered from wind, the sand beige and smooth as powdered coffee creamer. The ocean spread out before them—nearby, but not close enough to reach them—shushing rhythmically, making the cave seem a cozy shelter from some storm.

  Together they shook out the blanket, then sat face to face on it. She should have changed her clothes, she realized distantly. It wasn't like her to risk damaging something as delicate and expensive as this dress, but she hadn't wanted to waste a second at the house—barely thought of taking off her panty hose—and that just to have her toes free. This thoughtless behavior should trouble her, she knew, but then Jake popped the champagne cork and the sound echoed against the stone chamber like a shot—stopping all thoughts except those pertaining to here and now and the two of them together.

  He poured the frothy liquid into two plastic glasses, letting it spill freely over the sides—a waste of what she recognized as expensive champagne, but it felt right. Everything was spilling out tonight—their feelings for each other, their hopes, and the possibility of so much more…

  "To you," Jake said, clicking his glass against hers. "To your success and your happiness."

  "To … you," she said, faltering because she wanted to say to us, but didn't quite feel ready.

  They each took a solemn drink, staring into each other's eyes. The bubbles stung and flicked Ariel's face, like the little jolts of arousal zipping along her nerves. She felt a surge of panic—what was she doing?

  Reading her mind, Jake tossed his champagne cup to the sand—hers, too—and pulled her into an embrace. Smart man. The kiss was slow and soft, coaxing her, opening her, obliterating her doubts with heat.

  She welcomed the kiss and Jake's skilled tongue that slid into her, tasting, exploring. She used her tongue in his mouth, loving what she tasted and felt.

  Her strapless dress took Jake barely a second to lower to her waist and he unhooked her bra, baring her breasts to the night.

  She felt embarrassed to be nearly nude, but then Jake breathed the word, "Beautiful," and cupped both breasts, admiring them like a work of art or a gift, and it felt right to be naked in his hands.

  She held her breath as he lowered his mouth to kiss the top of one breast, then the other, then to take one nipple between his lips, while gently squeezing the other between his thumb and a finger. The mixed sensation forced a half moan from her, harsh and primitive. Jolts of electric lust pulsed through her body and she had to feel Jake's arousal, to know he was as excited as she was.

  Through his pants, she felt his rock-hard erection. He groaned, pushing against her palm. He had too many clothes on, she realized, and fumbled at his shirt buttons, wanting his chest warm against her own, his caged heart pounding against hers.

  Jake stopped her hand, grabbed his silk shirt by the hem, yanked it over his head and tossed it carelessly to the sand before pulling her against him. His heart thudded and his lungs heaved just as hers were doing.

  He lowered them gently to the blanket. Sand scraped Ariel's skin and she was aware of the blanket's wrinkles, the swells and lumps of pebbles and driftwood underneath, but all she cared about was the lovely weight of Jake's chest on hers, the delicious friction of his hair teasing her skin. They kissed for a long, long time.

  Finally, Jake broke off the kiss. "I have to see you," he said and rolled them onto their sides so he could reach her zipper, open it and push the rest of her dress and panties off and away.

  Modesty threatened at first, but no man had ever looked at Ariel with the desire she saw in Jake's eyes. She felt like a fairy-tale mermaid who had suddenly been given legs—uncertain and amazed, and oh, so grateful. Jake's hands slid down her hips, curved hungrily around her bottom. She was naked and open to the night and the sea air, feeling everything—the breeze, the sand, Jake's body, his fingertips, her own ticking desire.

  Jake's erection pushed at her through his pants, which had to go. Now. She went for his belt. He helped her, then tossed off his pants.

  Ariel gripped him hesitantly—he was smooth velvet over steel. She wasn't very good at stroking men like this, she knew, but Jake groaned and trembled, pushing upward through her curved fingers as if her touch was perfect. She heard Jake's words in her head. Things work out. For once, she'd believe that, she decided, and relaxed, moving her fingers the way she felt was good. "Is this okay?" she asked.

  "Okay? If you don't stop, I'll go off right now and spoil everything." Then he surprised her by sliding a finger between her curls, giving her a jolt, as if she'd been touched by a frayed wire. She froze, riveted by the sensation.

  "You're so wet," he murmured. "And swollen. For me?"

  She nodded, gasping for air, hyperventilating, no doubt, but she couldn't stop. She writhed against his fingers, afraid she might pass out.

  "So, this is good?" he asked, watching her reactions closely, the way he always watched her.

  She nodded violently. Good. Yes, good. Good, good, good. She ached, throbbed, tingled with how good it was.

  While his fingers explored her, Jake's mouth moved down her neck—kissing, licking, sucking—then reached her breast and its eager nipple, damp from his earlier caresses.

  That was wonderful, but she was so far gone she wanted him inside her now, filling her, moving deep, really deep, inside all the way.

  Then she remembered something dreadful. Protection. In her haze, she'd spaced it out. So not like her. Ariel thought these things out—had bedside condoms or a supply in her purse. "Do you have … what about…? Birth control," she gasped in despair.

  Jake released her nipple, gently removed his finger, struggling for breath. He patted his pants, which lay beside her cheek, then reached inside. She heard a crinkling sound. Thank God. He must have gra
bbed condoms at the house.

  But of course Jake would do that. This was a familiar situation for him. She wouldn't think about that, wouldn't even picture the women before her.

  He'd never brought anyone here, though, she reminded herself. And he said he'd never wanted a woman so much. And there was closeness in his eyes. She could feel his heart thudding with as much power as her own. She clutched at him, desperate to hold on to this confidence that what they were sharing was special, unique.

  "Hang on," Jake said, tearing at the package, which flipped from his fingers. "Damn."

  Gratified that smooth Jake was so hot he was fumbling things, Ariel retrieved the wayward condom, tore into the package with her teeth and handed it to him.

  He grinned. "Teamwork." He kept his eyes on her while he applied the condom. She felt so primal—gushing with wetness for him, reveling in this urge to mate, to unite with him. Then Jake parted her legs and pushed gently at her entrance.

  She reached for his buttocks to force him in fast, but he held back, inching in, bit by delicious bit. She moaned and squirmed and tried to push him into her, but he maintained his slow approach, above her, arms extended, touching her only with his penis.

  His slowness forced her to relax, to become aware of other things—the way the moonlight silvered the planes of his body, how the waves shushed and withdrew in an ancient rhythm that Jake seemed to match, how good he looked above her, stroking into her, as graceful as a dancer, pushing her closer and closer to a climax she knew would come like the waves surging beyond their bodies.

  This would not be like the nervous times when her orgasm was elusive. She would reach the peak and go over, she knew, in Jake's arms, under his care. The throbbing need pulsed along her nerves, building and building to that coming leap of pleasure, like the waves of the moonlit ocean.

  Feeling it approach, she reached up to pull him on top of her. She wanted his body tight against hers when she came.

  Jake dropped to his elbows and his mouth met hers, hot and hungry. She lifted her hips, to give him more access to her, dug her fingers into the muscles of his behind, which were working madly for both their pleasure.

  I'm yours. You're mine. She told him that with her body and her heart. And she was sure she saw that message on his face, in his smoky, gleaming eyes.

  He pushed hard once, twice, three more times, called her name in a groan, and pulsed inside her like the helpless heartbeat of desire. Her own body let go, too, and she hurtled over the edge. They surged and bucked, slowing down gradually, until Jake released a heavy breath, tucked his arms around her and squeezed her tight. "My Ariel," he whispered in her ear.

  Goose bumps raced down her body. My Jake. But she didn't have to say it out loud. They belonged to each other.

  They breathed together for more long moments. She was about to remark on what had happened, but Jake sat up, pulling her with him. "Let's hit the waves," he said. Before she could object, he'd tugged her to her feet and they were running toward the dark water.

  It wasn't even cold, and how could anything be more exquisite than moving her sexually relaxed muscles in the silky sea? The salt of their own juices joined with the salt of the sea in a primordial mix that felt carnal and right.

  They held each other loosely, mermaid and man, effortlessly floating, legs tangled, waves surging under them. Ariel looked across the ocean. It seemed huge and alive, a giant beast with slowly rolling muscles. She thought about all those metaphors about eternity and tides and waves…

  Before long, under the white moon, in the gleaming water, they joined their bodies again, their mutual cries floating in the air like a night bird's song.

  How had she become a woman who would make love on a public beach in the ocean? But she stopped that thought. For once she wouldn't think, she would feel. And she felt everything—the sand and stones beneath her feet, the brush of seaweed along her thighs a greeting, not an annoyance, the slosh of water, the green smell of life and always, Jake's body, his arms holding her, his legs twining with hers, his penis finding her, finding its place in her.

  At the right moment, Jake pulled out and released himself into the sea—as she knew he would—still touching her, until she rocketed over the edge, clinging to his wet shoulders, letting him hold her until she was still.

  * * *

  Chapter 10

  «^»

  Jake was awakened by the light smack of female fingers across his face. He opened his eyes and realized Ariel had whapped him one in her sleep. Thanks, I needed that.

  They'd ended up in Ariel's bed after making love most of the night. He'd been surprised when she threw herself at him on the yacht, but glad. Watching her practically quiver with joy about snaring the AutoWerks guy, he'd been pleased he'd helped her, made her happy. And he realized he wanted to keep making her happy.

  And what better way to make her happy than in bed? Not to mention the mind-bending pleasure it had given him.

  Except now, in the clear light of day, he had to wonder if maybe he'd been selfish. Maybe she hadn't been in her right mind last night. Maybe he should have put on the brakes.

  He looked down at her. She lay naked beside him, her hair smelling lightly of the sea, her legs twined with his. It was as if he'd dragged one of those enchanted creatures from an Irish folk tale—woman by day, seal by night … silkies, right?—into bed with him. Any minute, she'd turn back into a woman who wore pink night-gowns to bed instead of this creature who slept nude in a sandy twist of sheets and sea smells, a peaceful smile on her face.

  He'd called her his Ariel. And meant it. At the time. Making love to her had been different than with other women. Something about the way she gave herself over to him, feeling everything with such intensity. It seemed to mean so much to her.

  It meant something to him, too, but that much? He wasn't sure. He could envision her daytime expectations grimly gathering over him like a storm cloud over a sunny morning. His chest tightened, making it hard to breathe, and he had to get out. Gently, he extracted his legs from hers. She smacked her lips sweetly in sleep and turned over.

  He'd go get breakfast. Yeah. That would clear his head. As he headed out the door, he grabbed his board—just in case the waves were good. Ariel would be out for a while anyway. After all that lovemaking, she'd need to catch up on some sleep, and he needed to think. He left her a note, so she wouldn't freak.

  * * *

  In her dream, Ariel was rolling around in a cement mixer. She woke with a yelp and found herself twisted into a sheet gritty with sand. When she closed her teeth, they ground in dirt. She was in her own bed, she realized, where she and Jake had ended their lovemaking in an exhausted tangle at 3:00 a.m. Now she was clammy and scratchy with salt and sand. When she sat up, pebbles rained down her arms. Gross.

  And Jake was gone. She listened hard. He wasn't in the house, either. Was that a bad sign? She dragged herself out of the bed, pulled the sheets around her body, and stumbled out to see what happened to her lover.

  For that matter, what had happened to her? She felt like one of those enchanted people who spend their nights as hawks or jaguars or deer and wake up unable to remember what animal acts they'd committed.

  But she knew what she'd done, all right. She and Jake had made love over and over—on the beach, in the ocean, and then in her bed. And now here she was and he was gone. Had he fled from what had happened?

  Then she saw the note on the kitchen table. "Bringing back breakfast. Jake." He'd gone for food. Her heart rose. She'd been ready to assume the worst, but he'd been looking out for her. On the other hand, he hadn't signed the note "love." And why go out for breakfast, when he was so adept at making it?

  He probably wanted something celebratory. She forced herself to stop worrying and headed for the shower. She was sore and foggy from all the sex, but she knew she had to get on the Net to collect preliminary information about AutoWerks before her meeting with Myron Becker this afternoon. But she couldn't help wanting to fall into b
ed again with Jake. She couldn't get over how good they were together—how much a part of her he'd seemed.

  She took a quick shower, then forced herself to get to work. That way, when Jake got back, she wouldn't feel guilty about a lovemaking break.

  An hour later, Jake still hadn't returned. He could have driven to San Diego and back with breakfast by now. He was avoiding her. Sick inside, Ariel rummaged in the refrigerator for a muffin, fighting the urge to dissolve into tears.

  Adams women keep on keeping on, she told herself, munching on the tasteless pastry. Jake was telling her something—don't count on me. Okay, she wouldn't. She couldn't stand the pain, and she sure as hell wasn't going to yell about promises she'd read only in his eyes, tasted in his kisses, felt in his body.

  She had to protect herself. By the time Jake returned, she'd explained it all away as an excess of sexual tension and her excitement about AutoWerks. But her heart seemed frozen, as if ice water had trickled into her chest.

  * * *

  He was really late, Jake realized with a jolt of alarm. He'd hit some great waves and needed the thinking time. But when he looked at his watch and saw he'd been two hours, he knew Ariel would be mad.

  Great. She'd probably cry and carry on. Women like Ariel expected you to be on time. She'd probably want to talk about their relationship and their feelings and their future together. Things that gave him a headache.

  But he hadn't promised her any of that, had he? he asked himself, standing in line at the deli. Dammit. How could she expect so much? He would just calmly explain that they cared for each other, but they couldn't pressure each other. All the same, he bought two extra flavors of cream cheese and some expensive lox to make up for being late.

  As he drove home, he kicked himself for writing that note. He hated to be pinned down. But he'd known she'd panic when she found him gone. And now she'd hassle him for being late. All because he'd been thoughtful enough to leave word where he was.

  Still fuming, he reached home, marched in, braced his board against the wall and plopped the deli bags on the table—two huge ones—he'd overdone it on the bagels. "Sorry I'm late," he said belligerently.