by L. S. Scott
She trembled beneath his touch and tears welled in her eyes. “Do you want to stop,” he whispered.
“No,” she replied
He laid her down. “Hold on to me,” he instructed. She wrapped around him like a vine as he slowly pushed inside her and she cried out as he broke through her barrier.
The lights twinkled from the living room as he wandered down the hall. Peppermint tingled on his tongue. Lavender filled his nose as he gently rubbed the oil on her skin, forbidden place; pushing her to her limits until she trembled weak and helpless in his arms.
She ate spoonfuls of the rich icing until I thought she would be sick. She smiled, all day she smiled, surrounded by family, looking at me adoringly. Happy birthday dear Natalie…..
What, no, no. Don’t leave me. Please Natalie. We need to go home. Please…
It’s ok baby, you’re going to be ok. Blood everywhere. He loves you. I love you. Shut up Jaron. I love you. I love you. Noo!
“Fuck, fuck fuck! What the hell is wrong with me?” Blaine growled, pacing in front of the bathroom mirror, pulling at the back of his hair.
He only thought the faceless images in his mind were troubling, but now that they had a face it was much worse. How convenient it was of him to make the most beautiful woman he has ever seen the star of his fucked up movie reel memories. He didn’t know this woman, had never met this woman, and had never been to Las Vegas. Had he? How could he be sure? His sister had never told him about a woman, a relationship, yet he continually had visions of her. In his mind, her name was Natalie. He had to find out, was the lavender scented beauty from the restaurant Natalie, and if so, was she the missing piece.
Chapter Eight
“So, you are really thinking of expanding,” Natalie asked as she pushed a bite of pancake around her plate.
“I don’t know. It’s a little fishy to me. Dad’s the one who sold off the resort chain, now he’s pushing me to expand; in Mississippi no less.”
Natalie nodded dazedly, still pushing syrup around her plate.
“Are you okay? You’ve been a little off since last night.”
Natalie’s insides tightened, the massive butterflies beating her ribs and fluttering in her heartbeat. She almost started to shake. She looked up at Connor as he casually leaned against the counter, sipping his coffee. She took a deep breath.
“I saw Jaron,” she blurted out.
He placed his cup on the counter and squared his shoulders. “Are you having nightmares again?”
“No, Connor, I saw him, at The Flynn.”
Connor braced himself against the counter and his head dropped between his shoulders. He closed his eyes and tried to collect his calm.
“Say something Connor,” she demanded.
“Jesus Christ Natalie, what do want me to say,” his voice rose above its normal soothing tone. He closed his eyes and shook his head, biting his bottom lip to control the words that rolled out of his mouth. “The man’s been dead for four years.” He swallowed hard to push down the lump in his throat.
“I saw him!” She insisted.
He took a deep breath, rubbed his hands over his face, and looked to her with renewed composure. “We’ll get some help. I will make an appointment today. I’m sure the doctor can squeeze us in this afternoon.”
“Doctor, you mean psychiatrist? You think I’m crazy!”
“No, Natalie. But you obviously have some issues that have to be dealt with.”
“Un-fucking-believable! You asked me to come to talk to you! Way to be supportive Connor!”
“Are you kidding me Natalie?! Do you have any idea how many nights I have held you while you cried his name in your sleep; how many times I have come home to you passed out with empty wine bottles and his letters scattered all over our bed?! And I never said a word. I supported you.” His voice cracked. He sniffled and cleared his throat. “When it finally stopped, I thought you were healed, you were ready to move forward, that we actually had a future together.”
Natalie stared into Connor’s eyes, debating her own sanity. She looked down at her watch.
“You’re going to be late,” she said nonchalantly.
“I’m not going. I’ll call dad and cancel. I can’t leave you here like this.”
“Like what Connor, crazy, suicidal?”
“Stop it Natalie!”
Natalie rose from her stool and rounded the corner. “I’m fine. You’re right. I will make an appointment today. But you can’t cancel on Randall. You know how busy he is. He must feel like this is very important and who knows when he will have the time again,” she said, looking up at him with her arms around his neck.
He searched her eyes for what she was sure was signs of madness. His warm palms cupped her face. “Are you sure baby?”
“I am positive. I’m a grown woman Connor. You can’t babysit me for the rest of our lives.”
“Ok,” he said reluctantly. “But promise me you will call and please answer when I call.”
“I promise. It’s only two nights Connor. And I’m working this weekend, so I will stay busy.”
“I love you Natalie,” he said desperately.
“I love you too,” she answered and for the first time in a long time, he wondered if she were really talking to him.
Later that day, Natalie sat at her desk staring at her computer screen. Connor had already texted her five times and called her once. She replayed the bearded man in aviators looking at her and the snipit of conversation she heard as she passed him at the front desk. She closed her eyes trying to remember. Room 2903, that’s what the desk clerk had said as she handed him his room key.
2903? Her old suite. She pecked away at the keyboard and pulled up the information. Blaine Black, room being charged to Nicholas Cain. Nick!? Her mind was spiraling.
“Natalie,” a slightly panicked voice called from her office door.
She ripped her eyes away from the troubling information on her monitor.
“Yes Misty, what’s the matter?”
“We have,” she paused, “a situation.”
“What kind of situation?” Natalie rose and crossed to the door.
“A guest has fallen at the roof top pool, EMT’s are on their way, but they are demanding to speak to management,” she said grimacing.
“Ok, thank you Misty. I’ll handle it,” Natalie reassured, breezing past the nervous desk clerk to the elevator.
Dealing with difficult guests and situations was part of the job and Natalie was good at it. Usually, a willing ear, an understanding, apologetic smile and a free night’s stay was all it took to resolve most issues.
The familiar smell of chlorine blew into the elevator as the door slid open. Natalie quickly spotted the injured guest. A large sullen woman, spilling out of her one piece bathing suit, the back of her hand lain across her forehead; a couple other guests at her side.
Natalie approached the fussy trio. “Hi, I’m Natalie Mills. I was told there has been an accident and you needed management.” Natalie smiled her sweetest, caring smile and let the southern belle ease back into her voice.
The bull frog favoring woman refused to speak, but her companions were more than happy to relay the story. How she slipped on the wet pool deck because it was too slippery. How The Flynn should do a better job making sure the wet pool deck is not too slippery; how she could have broken a hip, busted her head open or worse. After the thorough scolding, Natalie assured the indignant guests that medical assistance was on its way, apologized profusely and conveyed her intense concern and relief that the lady had not been injured so severely. She insured that the slipperiness of the pool deck would be looked into promptly and offered to comp their stay, throwing in a free meal at the hotel restaurant. Natalie stayed at the women’s side, passing the time with lots of smiles and feigned interest while the EMT’s checked out the faller and determined that an aspirin for her bruised rump was all the medical attention that would be necessary.
Blaine, Nick and their team,
left the hotel for the fight venue Saturday afternoon. Nick peered up at Blaine, trying to assess his demeanor as he wrapped his hands.
“You good man,” he asked.
Blaine nodded, tight lipped as usual.
“I’m not going to pretend to know what goes on in that head of yours, but you seem a little more,” he paused, “troubled than usual,” Nick evaluated.
“You said you’ve been here a lot. You stay at The Flynn a lot,” Blaine asked.
“Yeah, that’s right,” Nick replied with brows raised with mild surprise.
“You ever met a,” Blaine stopped, debating on how much he wanted to share, how much he really wanted to know.
“A what Blaine,” Nick urged, excited about any open communication.
“Natalie,” he said simply.
Nick raised his head to look at the ceiling and nodded exaggeratedly, grinning.
“Pretty brunette,” Nick questioned, continuing his hand wrapping duty.
“Yeah, smells like lavender, I think,” Blaine mumbled.
“I do. I haven’t spoken to her in a good while, but I know her. Why, do you know her?”
“No, I..” Blaine’s sentence stalled and before Nick could probe for answers, the dressing room door opened.
Back in Black was already playing. A small rumble rose from the crowd. The MMA devotees that were already familiar with the vicious striker, brute, brawler, Blaine Black cheered. Blaine walked through the throngs toward the cage stone faced. The announcers touted Blaine as an up and comer, a dangerous man and an exciting fighter.
“Look at those eyes, he’s just stone cold,” one announcer said as Blaine stood stock still in the cage waiting for his opponent.
“Yeah, there’s nothing but bad intentions for sure,” the other announcer added.
“He’s a mystery. No one knows anything about him. That’s what makes him so dangerous. It’s hard to train for a guy who has no particular discipline, other than to take your head off,” said announcer one.
“Yeah, that and a jaw of steel and fists to match,” added announcer two.
The bell rang and the fight got under way. Nick sat behind the trainers that couched from Blaine’s corner holding his breath. First round was a nail biter as usual. Blaine pushed forward constantly attacking, taking more punches than his team would have preferred. Just as round two started, Nick’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He took a quick glance at it, with no intention of answering at such an intense, important moment, but when he looked down to see Natalie’s name on the display, his curiosity was peeked; what a coincidence.
“Hello,” he answered, phone to one ear, finger in the other.
“Hey Nick, it’s Natalie. You got a second,” she asked.
“Um, well, I’m kind of in the middle of something sweetie, but, what’s going on?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t want to bother you. I can call you later; you at a fight,” she asked hearing the back ground noise.
“Yeah, one of the fighters from my gym is fighting.”
“That’s great Nick, hey I will let you go. Just give me a call when you get a chance.”
“Are you sure? Everything ok?” he asked sincerely.
“Yeah, we’ll talk later.”
“Ok darling, bye for now.”
Chapter Nine
Natalie stood outside of suite 2903 from 8:15 until almost 8:30, before she mustered the courage to knock on the door. She knocked and waited, no one answered. She knocked louder, no answer. She pressed her ear to the door, silence. Convinced the occupant was not inside, she used the card key in her hand to open the door.
She swallowed hard as she slowly stepped inside. So many memories came rushing back; memories of her green, country bumpkin ass entering the room behind Connor Flynn, completely awestruck, by the room and by him; all the lonely nights, and the not so lonely nights. She walked slowly around the room, trailing her fingertips across the varied surfaces; hard shiny table tops, soft pillows and cushions, luxurious bedding, until she came to the desk. She stopped when her fingers moved across the leather bound journal setting in the center, pen placed on top as if someone had just finished an entry and closed it. She pulled her eyes away and peered out of the floor to ceiling windows. She couldn’t read someone else’s journal, but this wasn’t just someone else, this was Jaron. She knew it as well as she knew her own name. Under that fur lining his jaw was the face of the man she thought she lost. But, how could it be? There was only one way to find out.
She sat in the chair at the desk, said a silent prayer and opened the cover. Tears instantly filled her eyes when she read the first entry.
Who is Jaron Blake?
Following that was broken sentences, random thoughts, and confusing descriptions of mixed up memories, thoughts and feelings that he couldn’t make sense of. It was like a jumbled chronicle of their life together. By the last entry, from that very day, he had put a face to the woman in his dreams and when she read the very last line there was no holding back her emotions.
Who is Natalie?
“Dude! You just won your first professional fight. You can’t just leave now,” Nick tried to reason with Blaine in the dressing room after a hard fought battle ending in a win by split decision.
“Yeah, I can and I am.”
“Do you not want this,” Nick questioned aghast.
“I like to fight Nick, that’s it. All the rest of this shit, these people, I couldn’t care less. I’ll be at the hotel,” he said as he slung his duffle bag over his shoulder and headed for the back exit.
Blaine stared at his bruised reflection in the shiny elevator doors. He wished he hadn’t shaved off the beard before the fight, the extra cushion might have helped absorb some of the impact of the punches he had eaten. He rubbed his jaw reflectively.
The faint scent registered the second he opened the door to his suite, lavender. Two steps inside, it was clear why. He moved slowly into the room, his sore jaw slack with disbelief. Quietly, he left his duffle bag on the sofa, unsure of what to do next. His hands began to shake, his heart beat so hard it vibrated his bruised ribs and his mouth went so dry he couldn’t swallow.
He rounded the end of the bed to stand over her, curled on her side, sound asleep. He watched his shaking hand, as if it belonged to someone else, as it reached out and gently swept her hair away from her face. And there it was, his journal, clutched tightly in her hands; all his most private thoughts and feelings, things that he hadn’t shared with another living soul. Reflexively, he reached for it pulling it from her hands and waking her somewhat abruptly.
She rose to her hands and knees and crawled panicked off the opposite side of the bed. Her tear swollen, hazel eyes blinked rapidly.
“What are you doing in here,” he asked sternly.
Natalie rubbed her eyes as if she didn’t trust what she was seeing. Her lip began to tremble.
“Answer me,” he demanded. “What were you doing with this,” he hissed, holding up the journal and slamming it down on the bed between them.
“I know who you are,” she answered weakly, unsure.
He answered with a deadpan stare.
“I know you know who I am,” she said her voice pleading with him to acknowledge it.
He turned away, one hand on his hip, one hand tugging at the back of his hair. He began to pace.
“Talk to me, please,” she begged.
“What do you want me to say,” he snapped, battling to keep his head above the wave of emotions crashing down on him all at once.
“Say my name. Tell me you remember me,” her voice cracked. “Tell me!”
“Ok God Dammit! I remember you!” he started to break as tears pooled in the corners of his eyes. “I remember taking your virginity. I remember our first Christmas, and, God the smell of lavender,” he took a deep breath. “I remember holding on so fucking tight and you being ripped from my arms. I remember missing you, feeling so empty. I remember the Grand Canyon and I remember dying in your arms. Nat
alie.”
He dropped his head and his shoulders began to shutter as tears dripped from his eyes into the floor. Natalie stood staring in shock, her hand over her mouth.
“Jaron,” his name was a breathy gasp past the sobs wrenching her throat.
He raised his eyes to meet hers. They were full of clarity and relief. Neither one of them moved. Neither of them could. They stared at each other, separated by the king sized bed as if each of them was waiting to wake up from a dream.
“Are you really here,” she whispered through her sobs.
He pressed his fingers into his eyes to push away his tears and scrubbed his hand over his face. Slowly, he rounded the bed toward her, expecting any second for her to disappear, for him to be snapped awake. He moved until he stood right in front of her, but not touching. He inhaled her. Finally, he raised his hands to her face. One hand cupped her cheek the other hand gently encircled her throat as he tilted her face up.
“Yeah, I’m really here,” he whispered against her lips.
He could feel her lips tremble under his. “Where have you been,” she sobbed, her body shuttering.
“Lost,” he whispered back.
“But you found me,” she breathed.
He looked deep in her eyes. “I will always find you,” he answered with certainty.
“Jaron,” she gasped, finally sure.
When their lips touched their defenses crumbled. He savored the taste and feel of her on his lips. His tongue lapped hungrily at hers. It was a touch he was starved for, unwilling to kiss any other woman.
Their bodies wrapped around one another like vines. Natalie tugged at his shirt; Jaron pulled at her zipper. It was like the heat of a thousand suns when their skin came together. He cupped her ass and lifted her from the floor. Her legs wrapped around his waist, pressing the wet, throbbing heat between her legs into him. There was no waiting, he couldn’t. She didn’t want him to.
They fell onto the bed as one. Each stroke, each kiss, each touch painfully more pleasurable than the next. He rested on his elbows, his hands cradling her head, his lips touching hers, breathing in her breath, his body still, reveling in the sensation of being seated deep inside her, her soft heat wrapped snuggly around him.