She could see nothing in the infinite darkness, but as she was devoid of sight, her other senses sharpened. His spicy smell, his brandy taste, the slight tremor in his voice were all magnified in their appeal. But above all, her body seemed finely honed to the sense of touch. His breath was like the whisk of a feather upon her face, the dampness his kiss had left felt cool on her lips, the hard contours of his masculinity took on nearly visible form, the seeking conviction of his hands moving toward the clasp of her bra was felt as if from another supremely sensitive dimension.
She whimpered softly, lifting a shoulder. The clasp parted and her breasts were free. But Brian’s elbows remained at her sides, bracing him above her. Across her face he took soft, teasing nips with his teeth: chin, cheek, nostril, lip, jaw, even eyebrow—bone and all. The bites grew more evocative, tightening the coil of tension in her stomach. His hands splayed over her bare back. “Theresa ... so soft,” he murmured, knowing the full length and width of that vulnerably soft skin, then kneading it gently. “So innocent.” In one smooth motion his hands skimmed her circumference while his hips pinned hers securely. Sweater and bra were eased up by his hands. Then the objects of her long despair became those of her awakening sexuality as they were enveloped in his palms—skin on skin, warm on warm, man on woman.
It was so good, so right, and made her yearn for the forbidden.
The callused fingers that knew a guitar’s strings so intimately now plucked upon her, as one might surround and pluck the fragile seeds of a dandelion from its stalk, the span of his fingertips widening, narrowing, drawing upward, encouraging her nipples to follow and reach when his touch disappeared. And they did. Repeatedly her shoulders strained to follow, as if to say, please don’t leave me yet.
His hips lay still upon hers, but his flesh was at its fullest, thick and solid between their bodies. At the moment she scarcely gave it a thought, so taken was she by the sweet swellings of these first caresses on her breasts. He turned his head aside and gently rubbed his hair across the naked nipples. “Ohh ... ” she sang softly, in delight, entwining her fingers in the hair at the crest of his skull, guiding his head, experiencing the silken texture upon her aroused flesh. A turn of that head, and now it was his cheek where his hair had been. Her hands neither commanded nor discouraged, but rested idly in his hair while she waited ... waited....
And then it happened, the first wonder of his mouth upon her breast, a passing kiss of introduction—vague, soft—on her left nipple first, then upon her right. And she thought, hello at last, my love. Gradually, as he nuzzled, his lips parted until their sleek inner skin touched her. She felt the texture of teeth, closed yet, making her yearn for them to open, allowing entry. So still she lay, as still as a butterfly poised on a windless day—feeling, feeling, feeling. His silken tongue came to introduce her flesh into his mouth and lead her within where all was wet, warm and slippery soft.
“Ohhh ... Bri ....” His name drifted into silence, lost to the grander passion now building.
“Mmm ...” he murmured, a sound of praise, while the warm breath from his nostrils dampened the swell of skin beyond reach of his mouth. “Mmm ....” He was tugging now, sucking more powerfully until she twisted slightly in satisfaction. To each of her breasts he brought adulation, until it felt the threads of femininity seemed drawn from deeper within her ... up, up, and into the man whose mouth taught her pleasure.
Combing his hair with limp fingers she charted the movements of his head. “Oh, Brian, it’s so good ... ” she murmured. “All these years I’ve wasted ....”
He lunged up, dragging his hips along her thighs, joining swollen lips to hers. “We’ll make up for them,” he promised into her open mouth. “Shh ... just feel ... feel ....”
When his mouth took her breast again, it was with acute knowledge of her need, and just how far he could go to send her senses soaring without hurting her. He caressed with his palms while capturing a taut nipple between the sharp edges of his teeth, scissoring until a keen, welcome sting made her gasp. Then there came a point beyond which the arousal of her breasts alone would no longer suffice. It was painful in its yearning. It made her lift to him, made him press to her. He found her mouth in the dark; it had fallen slack in the throes of desire. His was hotter now, and as they kissed he undulated above her until her knees parted of their own accord, creating a lee into which his body arched, rocking against her.
No more difficult words had she ever spoken. “Brian, please ... I can’t do this.”
“I know ... I know,” came his rough whisper, but his mouth covered hers as he continued the sinuous rhythm along her body, bringing desire knocking upon her heart’s door, seeking entry, just as his body sought entry to hers.
“Brian, please don’t ... or soon I won’t be able to stop you.” Her hands clenched in his hair, pulling his head back. “But I must, don’t you see?”
He stilled. Stiffened.
“Don’t move,” he ordered gruffly. “Not a muscle.” They lay with their breathing falling hard against each other until with a soft curse he rolled from the bed and in the black void she heard him make his way into the bathroom. A line of light spilled, casting his shadow against the wall as he grasped the edge of the sink and leaned against it, his head hanging down.
She lay utterly still. Her pulse throbbed throughout her body. She closed her eyes until Brian returned and sank down on the foot of the bed, leaning his elbows on his knees while running both hands through his hair. Then, with a groan he fell backward, hands flopped palms up.
She laid a hand in his, and at her touch his fingers clasped hers tightly. He rolled toward her, pressing his face against her hip. When he spoke his words were muffled against her.
“I’m sorry.”
“And I’m sorry if I led you on and made you expect more.”
“You didn’t lead me on. You told me from the start that you weren’t coming here with sex on your mind. It was me who pushed the issue after promising not to. I thought I had enough control to settle for kisses.” He gave a soft, rueful laugh and flung an arm over his eyes.
But she had come into his room with sex on her mind, with at least as much as she’d experienced. She had wanted those precious moments because if she decided to have the surgery she might forfeit them forever. She felt a pang of guilt, for it seemed she’d used Brian for her own ends, and now he lay beside her apologizing for his very natural desire. She considered explaining to him, telling him about the surgery. But now that she’d known the rapture to be found beneath his lips, she was doubly unsure about proceeding with it. And furthermore, it was difficult for her to believe that when June came and he was freed to the civilian world, there would not be countless other women he’d find more attractive than herself. June was a key word often mentioned in their letters, but Theresa realized how easy it was for a lonely man to make plans for the future, but when that future came, how easily those plans could be changed. The thought hurt, but it was best to be honest with herself.
There were no promises made between them. And until there were, she must avoid situations such as this.
“Brian, it’s late. I should go back to my room.”
He rolled onto his back again, but his fingers remained laced with hers. “You could stay if you want to, and all we’ll do is sleep side by side.”
“No, I don’t think I have that much willpower.” When she sat up to straighten her clothing she felt him watching and wished the bathroom light was off, dim though it was. Her hair was tousled, her hands shaky.
“Theresa ....” He reached for her with the plaintive word.
Softly she begged, “Let me go now without persuasion ... please. I’m only one step away from changing my mind, but if I did I think we’d both be unhappy with ourselves.”
His hand fell. He eased off the bed, helped her up and they walked silently to the door. It yawned open, and they stood studying the carpet.
He looped an elbow around her neck and drew her temple to his l
ips. “I’m not disappointed in you.” The words rattled quietly in his throat.
Relief flooded Theresa and left her weak. She sagged against him. “You’re so honest, Brian. I love that in you.”
His eyes met hers, earnest yet troubled, and still with a flicker of desire in their depths. “Tomorrow will be hard enough, saying goodbye after being together like this. It would only have been harder if we’d given in.”
She raised up on tiptoe, brushed his lips with hers, then touched them fleetingly with her fingertips.
“I had begun to think I’d never find you in this big old world, Brian Scanlon ....” But she could say no more without crying, so slipped into the loneliness of her own room and closed the door between them.
Chapter Twelve
THEIR LAST DAY TOGETHER was bittersweet. They wasted precious hours silently pondering the lonesomeness they’d feel at parting. They suffered recriminations about the night before. They counted the weeks of separation ahead. Laughter was rare, and forced, and followed by long gazing silences that left them more unfulfilled than ever.
They checked out at eleven and drove aimlessly until 1:00 P.M. Brian was flying standby on his return flight, so she took him to the airport where they sat in the coffee shop at a table by the window, unable to be cheered or consoled.
“You have a long drive ahead of you. I think you should go.”
She lifted startled eyes to his. “No. I’ll wait with you.”
“But I may not catch a plane until late afternoon.”
“But ... I ....” Her lips started quivering, so she clamped them together tightly.
“I know,” he said softly. “But will it be any easier if you stay to watch my plane take off?”
Dismally she shook her head and stared at her coffee cup through distorting tears. His hand covered the back of hers, squeezing it hurting-hard, his thumb stroking hers upon the handle of the cup. “I want you to go,” he claimed, yet the unsteady words laced his request with depression. “And I want you to do it smiling.” The tears swelled fuller. He tilted her chin up with a finger. “Promise?”
She nodded, and the motion jarred the tears loose and sent them spilling down her freckled cheeks. Frantically she wiped them away and pasted on the smile he’d requested. “You’re right. It’s a five-hour drive ....” She reached for her purse, babbling inanities, making her hands look busy with important stuff, foolish words pouring from her lips while Brian sat across the table smiling sadly. She fell silent in midsentence, folded her lower lip between her teeth and swallowed an enormous lump in her throat.
“Walk me to the car?” she asked so low he could hardly hear.
Without a word he dropped some change on the table and rose. She moved a step ahead of him, but felt his hand at her elbow then sliding down to capture her fingers and hold them tighter. Then tighter.
At the car they stopped. Both of them stared at the metal strip around the driver’s door. A truck pulled up beside them, someone got out and walked toward the terminal. Brian lifted Theresa’s hand and studied its palm while scratching at it repeatedly with his thumbnail.
“Thank you for coming, Treece.”
She felt as if she were suffocating. “I had a g ... good ....” But she couldn’t finish, and when the sob broke, he jerked her roughly into his arms. A hand clamped the back of her head. Her fingers clenched the back of his shirt. His scent was thick and nostalgic where her nose was pushed flat against his chest.
“Drive safely.” His voice rumbled a full octave lower than usual.
“Say h ... hi to J ... Jeff.”
“June will be here before we know it.” But she was afraid to think of June. What if he didn’t come back to her after all? He was holding her so close all she could make out through her tears was the soft gray of his shirt. “Now I’m going to kiss you, then you get in that car and drive, do you understand?”
She nodded, her cheek rubbing a wide damp spot on the gray cloth.
“Don’t think of today. Think of June.”
“I ... w ... will.”
He jerked her up. Their mouths joined for a salty goodbye. His hand clamped the back of her neck as he pressed his warm lips to her wet cheeks, as if to keep something of her—something—within his body.
He put her away from him with a sturdy push, opened the car door, then waited until the engine fired. Resolutely she put the car into reverse, backed from her parking spot, then hung her arm out the window as she pulled forward. Their fingertips brushed as she drove away, and a moment later a turn of the wheel whisked his reflection from her rearview mirror.
__________
THERESA HAD EXPECTED her mother to be inquisitive, but oddly, Margaret only asked the most impersonal questions. How is Brian? Did he mention Jeff? Was there a lot of traffic? Both Margaret and Willard seemed to sympathize with their twenty-five-year-old daughter who mooned around the house as if she were fifteen. Even Amy, sensing Theresa’s despondency, steered clear.
On her calendar, Theresa numbered the days backward from June 24 and grew more and more irritable as she remained indecisive about the surgery.
May arrived, and with it hot weather and uncontrollable children at school. The kids were so antsy they could hardly be contained in the stuffy schoolroom.
Spring was concert season, and Theresa busily prepared for the last two weeks of school, when teas were held for the mothers of the younger children and a combined evening performance of the choir, band and orchestra was scheduled. After-school meetings were necessary to coordinate the programs with the directors of the other two groups. It was a hectic time of year, but at the same time sad. She was sorry to have to say goodbye to some sixth graders as they moved into junior high and a new building and three of these managed to find out about Theresa’s twenty-sixth birthday, presenting her with a birthday cake in class that day. The tenseness of the past days fled as she felt her heart brimming with special feelings for the three.
And the glow still lingered when she arrived home to find flowers and a note from Brian: “With love, until June 24th, when I can tell you in person.” The flowers created a stir within the family. Amy was awed and perhaps a trifle envious. Margaret insisted the flowers be left in the center of the supper table, though it was impossible to see around the enormous long-stemmed red roses. Willard smiled more than usual, and patted Theresa’s shoulder every time their paths crossed. “What’s all this about June?” he asked. She gave him a kiss on the jaw, but had no reply, for she wasn’t sure herself what June would bring. Especially if she decided to have the surgery.
At nine-thirty that night the phone rang. Amy answered it, as usual. “It’s for you, Theresa!” Amy’s eyes were bright with excitement. She anxiously shoved the receiver into Theresa’s hand and mouthed, “It’s him!”
Theresa’s heart pattered. Only inadequate letters had passed between them since Fargo. This was the first phone call. Amy stood close, watching with keen interest while Theresa placed the phone to her ear and answered breathlessly, “Hello?”
“Hello, sweets. Happy birthday.”
Theresa placed a hand over her heart and said not a word. It felt as if she’d been supping on sweet, sweet rose petals, and they’d all stuck in her throat. “Are you there, Theresa?”
“Yes ... yes! Oh, Brian, the flowers are just beautiful. Thank you.” It was him! It was really him!
“God, it’s good to hear your voice.”
Amy was still three feet away. “Just a minute, Brian.” Theresa shifted her weight to one hip, lowered the receiver and shot a piercing look of strained patience. Amy made a disgruntled face, shrugged, slipped her hands into her jeans pockets and grumbled all the way to her bedroom.
“Brian, I’m back. Had to get rid of a nuisance.” His laugh lilted across the wire, and she pictured him with chin raised, green eyes dancing in delight. “The kid, huh?”
“Exactly.”
“I’m picturing you in the kitchen, standing beside the cupboard, and Amy b
eside you, all ears. I’ve been living on memories just like those ever since I left you.”
Love talk was foreign to Theresa. She reacted with a blush that seemed to heat her belly and burn its way up to her breasts and neck to her temples. Her heart raced, and her palms grew damp.
“Oh, Brian ...” she said softly, and closed her eyes, picturing his face again.
“I’ve missed you,” he said quietly.
“I’ve missed you, too.”
“I wish I could be there. I'd take you to dinner and then out dancing.”
The memory of being wrapped in his arms, with her breasts crushed against his corduroy jacket came back in vivid detail and made her body ache with renewed longing to see him again.
“Brian, nobody’s ever sent me flowers before.”
“That just goes to show the world is filled with fools.”
She smiled, closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the cool kitchen wall. “And nobody’s ever plied me with flattery before either. Don’t stop now.”
“Your teeth are like stars ....” He paused expectantly, and her smile grew broader.
“Yes, I know—they come out every night.” She could hear his humor blossoming as he went on to the next line of the time-weary joke.
“And your eyes are like limpid pools.”
“Yes, I know—cesspools.”
“And your hair is like moonbeams.”
“Oh-oh! I never heard that one.” But by this time they were both laughing. Then his voice became serious once more.
“What were you doing when I called?”
She watched her fingertips absently smoothing the kitchen wall. “I was in my bedroom, writing a thank-you letter to you for the roses.”