by Bird, Peggy
If the thought occurred to ask him why he was carrying condoms around, it was smothered in a kiss. And in the thrill of having him run hands down her body until his fingers found the top of her lace thong. When he’d helped her wriggle out of the last barrier of clothing between them, she pulled him close to her, their arms and legs twined around each other. She rocked her hips against his and walked her fingers down his stomach to his thighs, touching the velvety tip of his erection, but he caught her hand, raised it to his lips and kissed her fingertips.
“Let’s take this slow, baby. We’re in no hurry.”
As if to prove his point, he didn’t touch her anyplace but her face, tracing around her mouth, her nose and eyes with his forefinger, then kissing each place in turn. “You’re so beautiful. Even in jeans and a T-shirt with dust streaks on your face you were beautiful.”
“You don’t have to say that, I’m already in bed with you.”
He gave her a mock serious look. “There are a few rules with me. The first is when I tell you you’re beautiful, you say, ‘thank you, Sam’ and you don’t give me attitude.”
“Thank you, Sam.” She suppressed a laugh. “Any more rules?”
“Later.” He went back to exploring her with his fingertips and mouth, back again to her throat, her collarbones and her breasts. “Right now, I’m busy.”
This time she couldn’t keep the laugh under wraps. “So, you like rules, do you?”
“Hell, yes. I’m all about rules. Why do you think I’m a cop? Rules, regulations, laws. I’m in my element.”
“And do you always make your women laugh in bed?”
“Yeah. Sometimes, even on purpose.”
She was still smiling when he turned the conversation serious again by making love to her mouth, slowly and sweetly at first then fiercely, demanding she join him in the passionate play of lips. As their tongues explored and played feint and parry, their hands roamed over bodies hot with desire, discovering the texture of skin, finding the places where pleasure lay, warmed by the heat they were generating.
When he finessed her legs apart and slid one of his legs between hers, she urged him on with her hips, wanting him, ready for him, needing him.
But he only skimmed the palm of his hand over her again creating a tingle that spread down her belly. His hand seemed instinctively to follow the path to the place between her legs where the feeling pooled.
He stroked her with his thumb; his fingers slid inside her, moving in a slow and sensual rhythm until the tingle became a burn, then an intense fire. Just when she thought she couldn’t bear it any longer, he withdrew his hand and she moaned, wanting it back. He seemed to ignore her little sounds of protest as he moved down her body until he was between her legs. His hands on her hips, he began an agonizingly slow progress of kissing her from her knees to her thighs.
When he reached her sex, just the feel of his breath on her was almost enough to make her come. With his fingers he gently parted the folds protecting her clitoris and kissed her there. She moaned again, this time with pleasure as he licked and sucked, circling her most sensitive place with his tongue and nipping gently with his teeth until he took her over the top.
As the waves of climax subsided, he moved back up along her body until he could kiss her again. She tasted her own arousal on his lips as he ravaged her mouth. Aching for him, her body craving his, she shifted restlessly against him. When he finally handed her the foil packet so she could cover him, she wanted him inside her so much she had a difficult time opening the condom and fumbled putting it on him, her hands shaking.
He took it from her and, guiding her hand, helped her unroll it over him. Then taking his time, he entered her.
“Christ, you feel good,” he said into the ear he was kissing.
“You have no idea how good I feel,” she said, “I didn’t know I could feel this good.” She rolled her hips against him, groaning with pleasure as she finally felt him fill her. He felt so hard, so hot, so amazing.
“Don’t move,” he whispered, his voice thick with desire. “Stay still.”
“But … ”
“Not yet. Let me just feel how good it is.” His hips didn’t move as he nibbled at her mouth, first her top lip, then the bottom. He explored inside her mouth, caught her tongue with his teeth, gently sucked on it.
She caught fire again. “Oh, God, Sam, please … ” She covered his face with kisses, urging him on.
But all he did was go back again and again to the pulse in her throat and to the hard tips of her nipples, tonguing them, raking his teeth across the sensitive skin.
Just when she thought the delightful torture would never end, he brought her legs up around him and slowly, deliberately, began to rock their bodies together, gradually increasing the tempo, moving to another climax. With their bodies joined, their breathing synchronized, they climbed together until first Amanda, then Sam took the roller coaster down the slope to the other side.
They held each other afterwards, trying to make the journey back to being two separate people. After his breathing had returned to normal, Sam tilted her face up so she was looking at him.
“Any way Seattle can wait?”
“Even if I was willing to turn down a residency at the best glass school in the country, I need time away from Portland, from everything that happened last year. Besides, I’ve shipped most of my studio to Seattle so I can work after my stay at Pilchuck and I have a house sitter who … ”
“Stay with me then until you can unwind everything. Go to Pilchuck later. We’ve been dancing around this … ” he indicated their entwined naked bodies, “for months now. Stay and let’s see where it takes us.”
“This is like my conversation with my parents. They want me back in Shaker Heights so they can help me see where the next phase of my life takes me, to quote my dad.”
He ran his fingertips down her flank. “This isn’t more convincing than a telephone conversation with your parents?”
Laughing, she took his hand and kissed it. “Yes, Sam, it is. You’re considerably more tempting, I admit. But it doesn’t change the answer. Whatever the next step is, I have to make the decision, not someone else, no matter how well meaning. Besides, you deserve a woman who … well, who’s not me right now. I don’t know how I feel about anything.”
“Suppose I told you that doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me. I could hurt you and I’m not going to hurt the person I owe my life to.”
“You don’t … ” He stopped. She assumed he saw the stubborn set of her face because when he spoke again, he tried another tack. “Okay, how about we make a deal? You have your time in Seattle. I’ll come visit you after you get out of your residency, just so you don’t forget what I look like. Then, when it’s over, you come back to Portland so we can see if we can work it out between us.”
“I haven’t decided about coming back to Portland yet.” The disappointed look on his face made her hurry to get to the next sentence. “But absolutely come see me after Pilchuck. And I promise I’ll talk it over with you before I decide what’s next after the six months. That okay?”
“No, I like my deal better. But I’ll take yours if that’s all I can get.”
Tracing the lines around his eyes and mouth with her finger, she said, “You’re the most incredible man I’ve ever met. And I’m probably the biggest idiot on the planet for walking away from you.” She put her arms around him and held him, nestling into his chest. “But I have to get my life back together, prove I can take care of myself. And going away is the only way I can get it done.” She rolled over and looked at the clock. “And it all starts very early tomorrow morning when the movers arrive to pick up what goes to Seattle.”
“Is that a hint for me to leave? Thought it was the man who wanted to be alone after sex.”
“Is it? I don�
�t know. I’ve never had a one-night stand before.”
He pulled himself up on one elbow and took her chin with the opposite hand. “I don’t know what tonight is. It could be the beginning of something or the end. But it’s no one-night stand. Not for me. And I don’t think for you either.”
“You have a lot of experience with one-night stands, cowboy?”
“Enough to recognize that this wasn’t one.”
“Okay. I’ll take your word for it. We’ll figure out what it is — was — later.” She kissed him lightly on the lips and slid out from under the sheet. “For now, how about I get dressed and walk you downstairs. We can say good-bye there.”
When they got to the front door, he held her and made her promise she’d be in touch as soon as she got to Seattle. After he released her from his embrace, she picked up a large, cardboard box from the table in the entryway and handed it to him.
“I was going to have this delivered to you. Not that it’s close to paying you back for what you’ve done for me — I’ll never be able to do that — but I want you to have it.”
He opened the box. Inside was a bubble-wrapped package with a metal stand taped to it. “Is this what I think it is?”
“If you think it’s a piece of my work, it is. It’s the first piece you ever saw, the night we met.”
“I don’t know what to say. Except thank you.” He looked inside the box. “Does it have the title anyplace on it? I don’t remember what you called it.”
“It’s called ‘Hope’, the piece is called ‘Hope’. Which is exactly what you gave me at the worst time in my life.”
• • •
She didn’t find the small box he’d left on her kitchen counter until the next morning. In it was a glass charm on a fine gold chain. On the charm was a delicate brush painting of bamboo. The note with it said: “Amanda — This is from the Chinese Garden. You said once it’s your favorite place in the city. I’m told the bamboo represents strength, resilience, and grace — exactly what I’ve seen in you over the past months. I hope you’ll wear it occasionally and think of a beautiful place in Portland. And me. Sam.”
Chapter Two
Four and a half months later
Goddamn traffic. How did people put up with it every day? Sam hadn’t been able to leave Portland until three in the afternoon, which meant he ended up right in the middle of Seattle’s famous rush hour traffic. At the rate he was going, he’d miss the whole opening. Which, given what the past few months had been like, shouldn’t have surprised him.
Amanda’s last night in Portland had been better than anything he could have hoped for but the time since had been a goat fuck. For three months, they talked, emailed and texted while she was tucked away at the Pilchuck Glass School. Then, when she moved in with her best friend from college so she could continue her work, they began to talk about getting together in Seattle.
For six weeks, they tried to make it happen. But three of the weekends were out because of his every-other-weekend with his sons. On the weekend they’d finally nailed down plans, he pulled a seventy-two-hour shift on a messy double murder. Then she was out of town celebrating her friend’s birthday. Nothing had worked. So, when she mentioned the opening at the Erickson Gallery for an exhibit of the work of Pilchuck students that included her, he decided he’d take a couple vacation days and just show up without telling her he would be there. What could screw that up?
Apparently, the traffic, which had him at a dead stop, looking at Boeing Field, not at her or her work.
• • •
Amanda couldn’t decide which was more uncomfortable, feeling hot and sweaty or nervous and twitchy. On one hand, she was miserable from the very un-Seattle-like ninety-degree heat. On the other, her anxiety level about being on public display for the first time since her trial was too high to measure. The only thing pushing edgy-anticipation-of-catastrophe out of gold medal contention was, when it happened, at least it would be over. The TV weatherman said the heat would hang on for a few days.
For what seemed like half an hour, Amanda had been trying to get through the crowd to the back of the room where Cynthia Blaine, her best friend and current roommate, along with Cynthia’s boyfriend, Josh, were waiting with cool water and soothing words for her. But people kept stopping her to congratulate her on her work.
She envied Cynthia and the other artists with work in the exhibit. They were enjoying the evening. Of course, all they had to do was sip wine, make arty small talk and flirt. Amanda had to enthusiastically discuss her new work while staying on high alert for some unknown calamity.
Finally she made her way to the back of the gallery. Kicking off her platform sandals, she took the paper napkin her friend offered her, blotted her forehead and sighed. “I’m hot.”
“You certainly are,” Cynthia said. She handed a glass of ice water to Amanda. “By the number of pieces you’ve sold tonight, you’re about the hottest glass artist in Seattle and that, my friend, is saying something.”
“I was talking about the weather, but thanks.” She wiggled her toes on the cool tile floor and gulped down the water. Glancing around at the crowd she said, “It feels like something weird’s going on, doesn’t it? I mean, nothing terrible has happened so far but … ”
Cynthia rolled her eyes. “Everything’s going great. Try to relax and enjoy this, will you? God knows you’ve earned it.” She reached into her purse and, with a “ta-da” flourish, brought out Amanda’s favorite Dagoba chocolate bar. “Here, see if this helps.”
Amanda swapped the now-empty glass for the candy. “You’re wonderful. I was too nervous to eat before I came here and my stomach’s paying me back by growling.”
As she nibbled on the sweet she continued to inspect the crowd. Surely there were people here who remembered what had happened in Portland. Who would resurrect the scandal first? That woman over there who looked kinda reporter-ish? The man who kept staring at her? Would it happen here, tonight, or would she have to wait for the newspaper tomorrow? What if … ?
Dear God, she had to stop this. Not only was she driving herself crazy, but she was sure her friend found her way past “annoying” on the Richter Scale of Irritating Emotions. Starting soon after the five o’clock opening, Amanda had forced Cynthia to accompany her around a conversational loop that quickly rutted from wear as she begged to hear over and over that the evening was going okay.
Now, more than two hours later, somewhere in the middle of the eighth, or maybe tenth, circuit of the reassurance loop, Cynthia’s attention wandered, mid-sentence, apparently caught by something she saw over Amanda’s shoulder.
Amanda felt the blood leave her face. “What’s wrong? What did you see?” Cynthia only smiled, still looking into the distance. Amanda tensed, what remained of the chocolate melting on the fingers she clutched around it. “Tell me. Please!”
“Calm down. It’s nothing bad,” Cynthia said. “This sexy guy just sauntered in, out of a Levis’ ad if the jeans and cowboy boots are any indication, and he’s staring in this direction. When I smiled at him he didn’t respond. So, unless he’s all Brokeback Mountain over Josh, that leaves him looking at you. Do you know him?”
Jeans and cowboy boots? Amanda swallowed hard, trying to shift gears from panic to a feeling she didn’t recognize at first. A flicker of optimism? A little shiver of anticipation? She shook it off. It couldn’t be. He wouldn’t. Besides her gut told her nothing good was in store for her tonight, only something bad.
And she was tired of waiting for it. She wanted the ax to drop, the sword of Damocles to fall, the roof to cave in. Pick a cliché, make it happen, and be done with it. Then she could say, “I told you so” and go back to Cynthia’s apartment where — please, God — it would be cooler.
But, no, she wasn’t headed out of the gallery. She was staring at her friend who was grinning about some random guy in
Levis. She knew Cynthia would pester her until she looked, so Amanda turned around, her eyes down. If this was the messenger of doom she’d been expecting all evening, it was time to get it over with.
When she looked up, however, her breath stopped for a heartbeat or two. It was no stranger or harbinger of disaster. It was Sam; all 5ꞌ11" of him, broad shouldered and slim hipped, in a white shirt open at the neck and boot-cut jeans with his ubiquitous cowboy boots. He was standing near the front door, people streaming past him like water around a rock, looking directly at her.
He’d starred in so many of her fantasies while she was in Seattle, she would have sworn she remembered every detail about him. But seeing him now she realized she’d forgotten just how flat-out sexy he was even standing still, his feet shoulder width apart, his hips tipped forward, his shoulders squared, his thumbs hooked into the front pockets of his jeans.
And how could she have forgotten that she could feel the warmth of his eyes across a crowded room?
His mouth she remembered, pressed against hers, turning her insides to liquid. The sun-streaks in his sandy-brown hair and the tan forearms showing under the rolled up sleeves of his shirt, she remembered, too. They reminded her of the horseback rides they’d talked about but never taken.
Cynthia was right. He was sexy and delicious — and staring, waiting for her to acknowledge she’d seen him. He nodded hello when she did. When his smile became a grin, a flutter of something light and free flew from the middle of her chest, released the breath in her lungs and untied the knots in her shoulders.
“Oh, my God, Sam … ” The candy bar slipped from her fingers, leaving Cynthia to lunge for it as Amanda deserted her for the front of the gallery.
When she got to him, all Amanda could say was, “It’s really you.” When he touched the glass charm she wore around her neck, she clasped his hand to her chest where she was sure he could feel her rapidly beating heart.
“I hear a rising young star in the art glass world is here tonight. Know anything about that?” he asked.