Wild

by Jill Sorenson

  “You do,” he said in awe. “You want a family.”

  “Is that so hard to believe?”

  “No.”

  “Don’t lie.”

  “I thought the elephants were your family.”

  She didn’t correct him this time. Whether she treated the animals like family was beside the point. She’d been at the park since college graduation. She was dedicated to this herd, and she loved her work. Leaving after ten years would be incredibly difficult. The Denver Zoo didn’t have a pachyderm program, so her expertise would be wasted there. Assuming they were willing to hire her, she’d have to start over in another department.

  Two years ago, when their relationship had been solid, she might have considered it. Then everything fell apart.

  “Before Mitch got laid off, I was working around the clock,” she said, dragging a hand through her hair. “Shani was about to give birth, and it’s a difficult process. Some nights, I slept on a cot in the elephant barn. Then Mbali was born, and I worried about her. Newborn calves are very susceptible to illness.”

  He waited, listening.

  “I had a few dizzy spells and I was extremely tired. Mitch joked that I was pregnant.”

  “Were you?”

  She shook her head. “I took one of those at-home pregnancy tests. When it came out negative, he was so relieved. That’s when I realized…I wasn’t.”

  “Did you tell him that?”

  “No. It was clear that he wasn’t going to change his mind about kids, even though I had. A few weeks later, he lost his job.”

  “This is all the more reason to end it, Helena.”

  She swallowed hard, uncertain. “I need to talk to him in person and see how I feel. After six years, I owe him that much.”

  Josh absorbed this information without reacting, but his body language suggested that he accepted her words. He seemed calmer now, less volatile. No longer ready to pounce on her. “When are you going to talk to him?”

  The prospect made her nauseous. “Soon.”

  “And then you’ll go out with me?”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

  “What would he say if you told him about us?”

  “He’d want to kill you,” she said bluntly.

  He nodded and rose from the chair, putting his shirt back on. He was so confident that he assumed this would all work out in his favor. She’d break up with Mitch and fall at Josh’s feet. They’d have lots of sweaty, enthusiastic sex.

  Until he got bored and moved on.

  She didn’t press her luck by admitting that she’d never date him, even if Mitch wasn’t in the picture. Josh was everything Mitch wasn’t. Young, hungry, careless, fun. His touch felt like an antidote for the problems in her relationship.

  But it came with a killer hangover, and she was already beginning to suffer from the effects.

  She couldn’t explain all of her issues with Mitch to Josh. Their sex life was none of his business, and it wasn’t fair to throw Mitch under the bus. Mitch had been a caring, generous partner. They were a good match on a physical level. But they’d hit a snag after her pregnancy scare, and another after he lost his job. His libido had flagged, along with his confidence. He’d stopped initiating contact, and she hadn’t wanted to take the lead every time. They’d gone weeks, then months, without intimacy.

  The offer in Denver had revitalized him. He’d made love to her for hours before he left, as if he was afraid he’d never see her again. Although she’d appreciated his attempt to keep their romance alive, it had felt more like a goodbye than a fresh start.

  And—this was the kicker—she’d been happier without him. She’d relished the freedom of their empty apartment. She’d spent the following weekend with her vibrator. It had been sadly neglected during Mitch’s unemployment. He’d been home every day, and she hadn’t wanted to pleasure herself while he was moping on the couch. As terrible as it sounded, she’d preferred the device to him.

  She’d talked to Gwen about her troubles with Mitch, expressing doubts about their long-distance relationship.

  “You need to be single for a while,” Gwen had said. “Go out and have fun.”

  Although Gwen had meant well, Helena had disregarded this advice. Gwen was a social butterfly. Helena wasn’t. She had no interest in playing the field or being single again. What she really longed for was comfort and stability.

  After Mitch had been gone a few months, she’d started to miss him. Maybe not him, specifically, but someone. A man in her bed, sharing her space. Shaving in front of the mirror, sitting next to her in the evenings.

  Josh had been right about her vibrator. It wasn’t enough. She wanted more. A sex toy couldn’t give her companionship, and Mitch wouldn’t give her a family. If Josh thought he could fill in those gaps, he was kidding himself. Since when had he held a woman all night? Probably never. He wasn’t the steady-guy type. He didn’t have a serious bone in his body. It was sweet that he loved his sister and niece, but that didn’t mean he was ready to settle down. Some men were too wild to tame. Her father, for example.

  The thought triggered a stab of panic in the pit of her stomach. It felt like a plane buzzing through her chest, spiraling out of control.

  “Are you hungry?” Josh asked, studying her face.

  She let out a slow breath and nodded.

  “Let’s find that soup you were talking about. When this is over, I’ll buy you the best steak in town.”

  That sounded great. Too bad she’d never take him up on the offer.

  They went back to the staff area to heat up the soup in the microwave. She used the restroom and grabbed a sweatshirt from her locker.

  Josh charged his phone and turned on the radio while they ate. There was some new information about freeway closures and evacuation routes. Basically, every major road in the downtown area was impassable to vehicles.

  Her appetite was off for several reasons. She was overwhelmed and on edge. Her favorite stress reliever was out of the question. She hadn’t slept well the night before, and she felt too jittery to rest tonight. A thousand concerns vied for her attention. They’d seen a few planes and helicopters today, but she had no idea if any of the pilots had noticed their SOS signal. The radios were silent and the cell phones showed no activity.

  “Do you want the rest of your soup?” he asked.

  “Go for it.”

  He picked up the cup and forked out noodles. She hoped they’d get some assistance tomorrow. The zoo animals had never gone without food or fresh water. Even though they were capable of surviving without both for extended periods, they weren’t used to it. Many had been born in captivity. Their needs had always been catered to by humans.

  The honey badger was a case in point. She’d gone searching for food. Other animals in damaged enclosures would do the same.

  “Stop,” Josh said, tossing the empty soup cups in the trash.

  “Stop what?”

  “Worrying so much. You don’t have to carry the world on your shoulders.”

  “I’m responsible for the entire park right now.”

  “We are,” he corrected. “You and me.”

  “You’re not a wildlife expert,” she said. “You can’t fully appreciate the extent of the problems.”

  “It’s not healthy to stress out over things you can’t control.”

  “Oh, okay. I’ll just rewire my brain then.”

  He smiled at her sarcasm. “You could try to focus on what we accomplished today. We got a lot done.”

  She sighed, raking a hand through her hair.

  “You cured your fear of heights with that awesome stunt on the tram.”

  “I thought you cured me with your magic ear.”

  “I helped.”

  She wasn’t cured, and he knew it. But she’d taken a step in that direction. Talking about her father hadn’t killed her. Neither had riding on the tram. Both seemed like small potatoes compared to the other dangers she’d faced.

  “I a
lso tackled a wild badger for you and saved you from a dangling hose,” he said, thumping a fist against his chest. “Semper fortis.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Always courageous.”

  She laughed, reassessing his performance today. All joking aside, he’d been indispensable. He’d darted Tau from the tram, and that wasn’t an easy shot. He’d assisted her with moving the lion into a cage and dragging Greg’s body to shelter. She couldn’t have completed those tasks on her own, or even started the fence repair. Josh wasn’t just a strong back, either. He had a strong mind.

  “We make a great team,” he said, reaching under the table for a whiskey bottle in a black-and-gold box. “Let’s drink.”

  “Where did that come from?”

  “The director’s liquor cabinet,” he said. “This is good shit.”

  “Is it?”

  “It should be. He’s filthy rich.”

  She rarely drank wine or beer, let alone hard alcohol. Never pilfered hard alcohol, straight from the bottle. But she was tempted. It had been a long day. She’d survived a number of horrors, including a Komodo dragon and a runaway tram. She’d dragged her boss’s body into a shed. Helped Josh build a fence. Been attacked by a rubber hose. Treated Josh’s wounds and smothered her desires.

  She’d never needed a drink more.

  He tilted the bottle invitingly. “Come on, Hellie. Take a walk on the wild side.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHLOE DUCKED INTO the bathroom with the oversized dress.

  Mateo had put a candle on the sink to illuminate the space. She studied her bright eyes and flushed cheeks in the mirror.

  What was she doing?

  She was making herself available, that’s what she was doing. She was painting a fuck-me sign on her forehead. He’d be a fool not to assume she’d welcome his advances. And she would, if her daughter wasn’t in the room. Then again, Emma slept like a rock. She probably wouldn’t wake up until morning. They had plenty of time.

  Should she…? Would he expect her to…?

  No, she decided. He didn’t expect anything. He was just finding a way to have fun in a terrible situation. Trying on strangers’ clothes was the same to him as doing a flip into the pool. It wasn’t a date, or an invitation for sex.

  It felt like a date, though. He’d brought wineglasses and candles.

  She scolded herself for being ridiculous and hooked the dress on the back of the door. Removing her T-shirt and yoga pants, she put on the dress. It was gorgeously made, if voluminous, with a long skirt and delicate cap sleeves.

  She wished she had the body to fill it out. The cups of the bodice sagged against her thin chest like two empty bags. She looked like a little girl who’d been playing in her mother’s closet.

  There was a makeup case on the counter. She found toothpaste, which she used, and a hint of lip gloss. Then she smudged on some charcoal eye shadow and surveyed the results, ruffling her short hair. Not bad.

  Butterflies in her stomach, she went out to greet him. He was standing in front of the full-length mirror on the opposite wall, wearing a white button-down shirt and baggy pants that were several sizes too large. Without the belt, his pants would have fallen down. There was a black silk tie hanging around his neck.

  He turned to check her out, his eyes appreciative. When he saw the ill-fitting bodice of her dress, he laughed.

  She flushed, feeling self-conscious.

  “Que bonita eres,” he said, his gaze on her face. Clearing his throat, he donned the suit jacket and spread his arms. “Y yo, cómo te paresco?”

  She guessed that he was asking her how he looked. The clothes fit him about as well as the dress fit her, but she couldn’t fault his form. His dark coloring made a striking contrast to the snowy white shirt. She also liked the juxtaposition of his formal attire and Mohawk hairstyle. “Very handsome,” she said.

  After a moment of wrestling with the tie, he tossed it aside. Chloe picked it up, struck by inspiration. She secured it around her chest and formed a bow. Then she scooted the bow around to the back and adjusted the bodice, tucking in the extra material. The result left a lot of skin showing, including the lacy edge of her bra.

  “Mejor,” he said, nodding.

  He needed help with his outfit, too. She divested him of his jacket. Then she rolled up the loose sleeves of his shirt, exposing his forearms. Much better.

  They stood side by side in front of the mirror. Her hemline was too short and his pants were too long. But they were kind of cute together. She was pale champagne next to his stark black and white. Barefoot, he topped her by about two inches.

  “Mira estos guapos,” he said, putting his arm around her.

  Although she had no idea what that meant, his pleasure was so infectious she laughed, sharing it with him. When she moved her gaze from their reflection to his face, he turned his head toward her. Their mouths were inches apart. Her heart pounded with anticipation. She could kiss him again. Slower this time, with more feeling.

  She froze, struck by uncertainty. This morning, she’d acted on impulse to put him at ease. He’d had his hand in her bra and his erection against her bottom. He’d initiated contact, albeit unwittingly. They’d both been half-asleep.

  Now they were wide awake, with a bed nearby. Kissing him might send the wrong message.

  Emma made a babbling sound in her sleep, shattering the spell. Mateo dropped his hand from her lower back. Chloe crossed the room to check on Emma. She was fine, if a bit warm. The curls at her hairline were damp. After touching Emma’s forehead, which was cool, Chloe removed the thicker blanket and tucked the sheet around her.

  Mateo watched from a distance, his hands in his pockets. She went back to the table and sat down, resting her foot on the nightstand. It felt good to elevate her injured leg. “Sit down,” she murmured, gesturing to the chair opposite her.

  He sat, sipping lukewarm Perrier. They listened to more music. Tragic, romantic songs of star-crossed lovers.

  “Tell me about your brother,” she said. “If you don’t mind.”

  He shrugged.

  “When did he die?”

  There was a notepad and a pen on the nightstand. He wrote 18 on it.

  “He was eighteen?”

  “Yes.”

  “What happened to him?”

  His pen hovered above the paper. The question was too complicated.

  “Car accident? Illness?”

  Instead of answering, he set down the pen and reached for her hand. Grasping her wrist, he turned it over and pointed at her faint scars. She pulled her hand back, feeling the blood drain from her face.

  “Suicide?” she whispered.

  “Sí.”

  She didn’t know what to say. He must hate her. His own brother—his twin brother—had committed suicide. She’d sort of attempted the same, and lived. She was sitting here instead of his twin. What strange twist of fate had swept Mateo toward her, of all people? She was ashamed and humbled in his presence.

  “Why?” she asked. “Why did he do it?”

  He brought his fingertips to the center of his chest and then spread them out, like an explosion.

  “Broken heart?”

  After a short pause, he touched his temple, as well.

  Broken head. Mental illness.

  Her eyes filled with tears. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Ay, mamita,” he said, pressing his fingertips to his eyelids. “No me hagas llorar.”

  “You must think I’m terrible.”

  He frowned and lowered his hand. “No. Nunca.”

  She tried not to cry, but it was too much. He’d done everything in his power to help her and Emma. Chloe owed him their lives. Tears spilled down her cheeks and splashed on the surface of the table. He handed her a tissue.

  “Thank you.”

  He didn’t give his usual response. His gaze moved to the dark cityscape, which glowed orange in several places, like hot embers. Chloe looked with him, her chest aching. It
was as if they were watching the world die.

  A song came on the radio that he seemed to recognize. Another ballad, beautifully sad. He glanced at the face of the alarm clock, which blinked 12:00. They hadn’t set the time, having only a vague idea of what it was. After a moment of contemplation, he rose to his feet and held out his hand to her, palm up. “Bailamos?”

  She inferred by his body language that he was asking her to dance. He said something else, gesturing to her injured leg. It was a great excuse for her to decline, but she didn’t want to. She hadn’t slow-danced with a man…ever. Pulse racing, she eased her foot off the chair, grasped his strong hand and stood.

  It was awkward, at first. He held her waist with a light touch, keeping distance between them like a boy in junior high school. She stiffly rested her hands on his shoulders. They shuffled back and forth on the carpet without rhythm. When she stepped on his foot, it was warm and alive, jarring her senses. He smiled at her blunder, which broke the tension. She settled into the music and the sway of his body.

  The song changed but they stayed together. Twining her arms around his neck eased some of the pressure on her sore leg. At least, that was her initial justification. Then it just felt too good to stop.

  She was aware of the low neckline of her dress, and how her raised arms lifted her breasts higher. The slippery satin draped over the legs of his suit pants. Her belly rubbed against his in a delicious slide. His hands felt hot at her waist, searing through the fabric.

  She lost track of how many songs they danced to. They melded together, clinging to each other for comfort and support. Everything else drifted away. The devastation outside. Her sleeping child on the bed. The barriers between them.

  Dancing so close had a predictable physical effect: they both got aroused. Her breasts plumped against the constrictive tie, her nipples tingling. The flesh between her legs felt swollen and sensitive. His erection was unmistakable. He could pretend he didn’t notice her reaction. She couldn’t do the same.

  He stopped dancing, his fingers flexing at her hips. He wanted to let his hands roam all over her body. She saw it in his eyes. But what he said was something polite and quiet, like “maybe we shouldn’t….”