by Loc Glin
She opened the bathroom door. She was toweling herself dry. Steam billowed out behind her, and her skin was pink and rosy red from the heat of the water. “You look good enough to eat,” he said. “There’s nothing sexier than this just-showered woman.” He patted the bed. “Come over here.”
“I thought you said you needed to recuperate,” she said as she sat on the bed.
“I did, and I do, but nothing says I can’t do that holding you in my arms. I want you close to me.”
She turned and looked at him. The smile she gave him warmed his heart. “You really know how to turn my insides to mush,” she said as she rolled into bed beside him.
He wrapped his arms around her and threw his leg over her hip. He hugged her tightly and realized she needed some room to breathe. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t usually try to suffocate my partner. I’m just so taken by you. I forgot myself.”
“It’s okay, because I can’t seem to get close enough to you, and that is very unusual for me. Normally I’m slinking out of bed in the middle of the night. I don’t want to do that with you. I want to have breakfast, and lunch, and maybe dinner with you. After that I want to go to bed with you, and then I want to begin the cycle again.”
“That sounds like a brilliant plan. No wonder you’re a corporate executive. I would follow that plan any day of the week.”
“Are you making fun of me?” She scrunched her eyebrows, creating wrinkles in her forehead.
“Maybe just a little.” He kissed those wrinkles. “What you do for a living has no bearing on how I feel about you. You could be a cocktail waitress, a teacher, or the corporate executive that you are. It makes no difference. You are a woman, and I am a man. We come together and create a whole. I don’t know how you feel…but tonight I experienced something more intense, and more meaningful, than anything I’ve ever felt before. For the first time in my life I feel complete.”
“Like we were one,” she whispered.
“Yes, like we are one.”
“I felt it, too. It was wonderful.” She tilted her head up to him.
“It was wonderful. It is wonderful.” He captured her lips in a sweet kiss. “Are you hungry?” he asked.
“A little,” she said.
“You stay in bed. Take a little nap. I’ll be right back with some of that rabbit food you put on your plate earlier. Rest up because after we eat, if we have time, I’m going to make love to you again.”
“Promises, promises,” she said as she watched the door close. She snuggled down into the bed feeling happier than she could ever remember being. She closed her eyes.
* * * *
Stephen opened the door and stepped into the dark room. He’d been delayed in the cafeteria. “Rowena,” he said, balancing two salads in his left hand. He fumbled for the light switch. “I like fun and games as well as the next person, but I’m going to spill our snack,” he muttered.
His fingers found the switch, and the light flicked on. “Rowena,” he said as he made his way to the table where he put the salads down.
He looked around the empty room. She was in the bathroom, he thought. An uneasy feeling began to swell in the pit of the stomach. He opened the door to the empty bathroom. He shook his head. “No, I don’t believe she would walk out on me.”
He looked at his watch. The time slot was almost over. He would not believe she’d left without a word. He searched the room for some sign that she had been there. He searched for note. He looked for anything, any clue about where he could find her.
A half an hour of frantic searching revealed nothing. He went to the office.
“Come in,” the office manager said in answer to his knock. “How may I be of service?” the man asked.
“Has the woman from room number twenty-three signed out?”
The manager reached for clipboard on his desk. He scanned the first page with his pudgy finger. He lifted that page and turned it to the back of the clipboard. His eyes followed his pudgy finger up and down the second page. He flipped the first page back over the clipboard and looked up at Stephen from behind his desk. His spectacles were at the tip of his nose. His bleary eyes gazed over them. “No one was scheduled for number twenty-three tonight, sir.”
“No one was scheduled?” Stephen was as confused as he sounded.
“No one has checked out from any room, just in case you got the number wrong.” He put the clipboard down and folded his hands over it.
“Are you sure?” Stephen raked his fingers through his hair.
“Quite.”
“Thank you.” Stephen was bewildered, but he turned and left the office.
“It was twenty-three. I know he said twenty-three.” He pinched his forehead trying to bring the man’s face to mind, but couldn’t succeed. No folder had been on the door. Why had he gone to twenty-three? The more he thought about it, he realized he couldn’t remember being told to go to twenty-three. He’d just followed some silent order from fate or destiny. He didn’t know, and he didn’t care about the how or the why of it. It had happened. He would follow the few scraps of information he’d gleaned from her. He would try to find her. He would find her. He made that promise to himself.
Chapter 7
Rowena stretched lazily in the bed. The satin sheets caressed her sensitive body. She reached her arm out, searching for the body she expected to find next to her. Finding the bed empty, she sat upright. She slipped the night mask away from her eyes. “No,” she whispered when her familiar bedroom took form before for her eyes. “It can’t be. I don’t want it to have been a dream. Please, no.” Tears began to stream down her cheeks. “It was too good to be true,” she sobbed. She grabbed her pillow, curled up in the fetal position, and cried. She poured her heart out into her pillow. After what felt like an eternity, she left the bed. She went into the bathroom and flipped on the light switch. Shielding her eyes, she staggered to the sink. She splashed water onto her face and then toweled her face dry. She stood in front of the mirror. “It wasn’t a dream. It was too real to have been a dream,” she whispered, trying to convince herself.
Rowena looked at her reflection in the mirror as she patted her neck dry with the towel. She rested the towel on the sink while squeezing it in her hand making a fist. She leaned forward and stared hard and long into the red bloodshot eyes of her mirror image, her inner turmoil apparent. “It wasn’t a dream,” she repeated in a defiant whisper. She touched her cheeks and lips. Her lips still felt swollen. She stared for long moments into the mirror. Her eyes finally found and rested upon, the thing she had been unconsciously searching for. The hickey Stephen had given her when he’d said she was his. She’d been angry about it then, but she was ecstatically happy about it now. It had happened. She hadn’t imagined it. It was real. He was real. She would find him.
* * * *
Three weeks of relentless searching had turned up nothing. She’d hired detectives, but they had nothing to begin a search with. The museum said the painting had been donated by an anonymous party. All they would tell her was it had been shipped from California. She’d asked for the bill of lading to narrow her search. Minerva would not give her the information. “If the universe is willing, he will come to you.” That was what Minerva had said. It made absolutely no sense to her. She’d been furious. So now, a month later, she stood in front of that painting, just as she had every night since she’d talked to Minerva. She stood there hoping, and praying, and remembering.
* * * *
Stephen had been in New York for three weeks. It was a very big city. He’d Googled her name and had come up with a few leads, but they’d turned into nothing.
He’d finally found the museum she’d told them about, Minerva’s Mystic Museum. It was a long shot, but he would try everything and anything he could to find her again.
He’d found the painting his friend René had done of him. He’d been frustrated when, for three nights, he’d been called into work. Now in the middle of his fourth week in New York, he would
go to the museum and wait, hope, and pray that she would visit that picture again.
From the shadows he watched the sophisticated woman approach the painting. He knew it was Rowena, but she seemed so cold and untouchable, so businesslike and superior. She had an air of command and authority about her. She was the cold bitch in chains he’d walked in on at the club. A miniscule shadow of fear and doubt made him pause and wait.
She stood in front of the painting. An hour later she was still standing there. She’d never taken her eyes off the painting.
He moved behind her. He heard her inhale deeply.
“Stephen,” she said as if in a dream. “I miss you. Please come back to me.”
He smiled. She did want him. “Mon amour,” he said in his French accent.
“Philip?”
“Yes,” he said as Stephen. “You owe me a shower, Rowena.”
“Do I?” she asked in a dreamy soft voice.
He stepped closer to her back and encircled her with his arms.
She seemed to become aware of the arms around her, but she remained relaxed as if in a dream. He felt her become aware of her surroundings. She tensed and seemed disoriented and dazed.
“Si, mi amor. You owe Enrique a turn with that beautiful body of yours. I am jealous of Philip and Stephen.” He squeezed her gently.
“Enrique?” She sounded confused. He imagined her forehead wrinkling.
Stephen turned her in his arms. He kissed her. “You are the woman of my dreams, Rowena. Let me, let us, make your body purr.”
“Stephen,” she said as she clasped his face. “I thought I’d lost you.”
“And I you, my love.”
“Is it really you?” Her thumbs caressed his cheeks. Her face was a lovely mix of joy and disbelief.
“Yes.” He smiled into her amazed face.
“I tried to find out who sent the painting, but I came up with nothing.” Her eyes expressed the disappointment and pain that that had caused her.
“And you are not as important as you may think you are, Rowena Milestone. Thank God you told me the name of this museum.”
Tears were streaming down her face.
“Don’t cry, my love. I am here. Against all odds we have found each other.”
“Yes, that is true.” She wrapped her arms around him. “Never let me go.”
“Never,” he said.
“Do Philip and Enrique feel the same?”
“Yes they do.”
“Good…because I can’t wait for the three of you to do wonderful, and nasty things to my body.”
He lifted her feet off the floor. He cupped her knees in the crook of his elbow and carried her away from the painting. “Good, because I can’t wait to fuck you until you are soft and pliant in my hands.”
“Am I supposed to fall in love with the three of you?”
“I believe you already have.” He touched his lips to her neck. “Rowena, I am a linguist. Believe me when I say…I have a few more voices that you will come for. I promise you that. Each one will have something new to offer.”
The museum door closed behind them.
“Take me home and introduce me to them. I want to make love with you, and every one of your voices, Stephen.”
He carried her down the steps. He let her feet touch the ground as he hailed a cab yet he still held her tightly in his arms. She rested the side of her face on his chest and breathed in deeply.
“It’s you. You’re really here. I’m not dreaming,” she whispered as her fingers explored his chest. “I can feel and hear your heartbeat.”
He shared her feelings of amazement. How they’d met was a mystery, but he knew why they’d met. He’d always believed in destiny and fate. His heart told him she was the woman he was meant to spend the rest of his life with. He needed to find out if she felt the same way.
The cab pulled to the curb. He opened the back door of the vehicle and gently guided her into the seat.
“Where to?” the cabbie asked through the wire and Plexiglas separation.
“Where to, Rowena?” he asked as he looked into her limpid blue pools of warmth.
“112 Fuller Street,” she replied loud enough for the cabbie to hear. Her eyes were locked with his.
“112 Fuller Street.” The cabbie clicked to start the fare. He pulled out into traffic.
“I want to spend the night with you. I want to have breakfast with you,” he said, remembering their conversation.
“And lunch,” she added.
“And possibly dinner.” He smiled. She remembered, too.
“Definitely dinner, and then I want to do it over again.”
“Is that an executive decision?” he teased.
“Maybe it could become a corporate merger if you play your cards right.” She moved her hand to his crotch.
“That sounds very interesting. Will it be a hostile takeover?” He chuckled.
“A girl will do what a girl has to do. It’s a man’s world out there.” She sighed and smiled sweetly. “But I was hoping for a mutually enjoyable arrangement.”
He slipped his hand under her skirt. She wore a garter belt. His fingers touched the soft skin above her stockings. He moaned. “I believe it will be a mutually enjoyable arrangement. I’ll do my best to hold up my end of the bargain.” His fingers moved northward along the lacy string of material holding up her stockings.
She opened her legs, allowing him free access. “As will I. But I will admit that this type of negotiation is quite new to me.”
“Have no fear. I will teach you everything you will need to know. I want this to be a seamless merger.” His finger slipped under the thin strip of material of her thong. He could feel moisture beginning to form.
Her breath hitched. “Stephen,” she whispered. Expectation and anticipation made her chest rise and fall rapidly. Her face flushed.
The cab pulled over next to the curb. “112 Fuller Street.”
Stephen groaned and removed his hand from the warm spot he’d been seeking. He looked at the meter and passed the money through the small opening. “Keep the change,” he told the driver. He opened the cab door. He stepped onto the curb and turned, extending his hand to Rowena.
She clasped it. “I see you are a gentleman, too.” She looked very pleased.
His eyes roved over her as she extended her leg to exit the cab. Her skirt had hiked up showing the top of her stockings, and those stiletto heels were sexy as hell. “You’re killing me, Rowena,” he said with a groan.
She looked down at her skirt, following his gaze. That pleased expression turned into a very naughty and sexy smile. “What goes around comes around. I aim to give, as good as I get.”
“Promises, promises,” he said with a smile. He pulled her out of the cab and into his arms. He squeezed the cheek of her ass. “I can’t wait to lay my palms across this again.”
She gasped, seemingly affronted. After the space of a heartbeat, she leaned into him. “Neither can I.” She reached behind him and squeezed the cheek of his ass. “I may even try a little of that myself.”
Her head was tilted back. Her eyes sparkled with delight. Her lips were parted. “I want to kiss you, but I think we have already given your neighbors enough of a show. I believe you have an image to maintain,” he said.
“Unfortunately you are right. You make it difficult for me to concentrate. All I can think of is you.” She moved out of his arms with a sigh.
He felt bare as she moved away from him. A subconscious twinge, expressing his fear of losing her, danced through his belly. But she was still here, and she was clasping his hand. Apparently she felt it, too. She tugged gently, and he followed without hesitation.
Chapter 8
Rowena smoothed the deep-green cocktail dress over her hips. She twisted her body in front of the mirror to get a better view of the very low-cut back. While doing so, she glimpsed Stephen leaning against the bedroom doorjamb. “You like?” she asked, smiling coyly.
“You know I do.”
It was hard to believe they’d been together for a year. Six months ago they decided to take the relationship to another level. They’d gone apartment hunting and were lucky to find this beautiful loft. Together they’d decorated it and turned it into their home.
Her entire life had been career oriented. Even as a little girl she dreamed of being the important corporate executive that she was today. As an adult, she relished living that dream come true. She was proud of her accomplishments and happy with her life. She was respected in her field, and for a long time that had been enough. A year ago she’d discovered that it wasn’t.
A year ago Stephen introduced her to the woman she really was. A year ago she’d begun a second career. She’d discovered that sharing her life with someone could be just as challenging as creating a business career. Sometimes she felt it was even more difficult. Their joint decisions were sometimes more complicated than some of her business mergers.
She remembered furniture shopping with Stephen. She glanced over at the brass bed they now shared. That had been an easy decision. They didn’t bother to remove the handcuffs from it anymore.
“Why do you put them away after we use them?” Stephen had asked.
“So the maid won’t think we’re perverts.”
“Do you think we’re perverts?” he asked, laughing, but she could tell the laughter was hiding something. He’d been looking at her intently.
“No, I don’t think we’re perverts, but I don’t want her to think we’re weird.”
“Are you embarrassed by what we do?”
“No, but it’s personal. Outsiders don’t have to know.” She remembered feeling uncomfortable talking about it.
“It’s been my personal experience that women like to be tied up. Maybe the maid would be envious.”
She’d given that tidbit a little thought and realized that he was right. From that day on the handcuffs stayed in place.
Some things were easily worked out. Others weren’t. The living room furniture had proven to be difficult. She just couldn’t understand his fascination with black leather. In the end they’d compromised. Now, she didn’t mind the black leather recliner at all. In fact, it was part of what made this their home.
