by Pearl Jones
"Not putting in the eggs, I promise.” He turned to his cooking for a bit, as though to give her time to process what he had said. Quite likely, that was, in fact, what he was doing. Nice of him. Not that it'll do much good—that's one quest I'm not joining in. Even Carrie-Anne isn't that far into ... well, yeah, she probably is. She just never told me so.
Telepathy? With beefy-boy? The mind boggles. There were times she wasn't sure the body-builder had any thoughts to hear, but that wasn't the point; the idea of being that close just seemed wrong somehow. Great way to spoil a good time, too, trying to do something with it. She shook her head quickly, to dislodge the forming image of her partner and the beefcake engaged in some odd practice. “Um, can you—people who study that, I guess—do you ever have sex just to, well, you know, to enjoy it?"
"Still can't believe Carrie's happy with what's-his-name?"
Sudden anger bloomed. “Stop that! I don't need you to read my mind!"
His shoulders slumped; he shrank into himself, as much as such a giant could. “Sorry."
Guilt rose as swiftly as her temper had. What had he done, after all, but be perceptive? “No, I'm sorry. I know it doesn't exactly take a telepath to tell how I feel about that pairing, and I guess it's probably pretty clear when I'm thinking about them.” I hope. “A little startling to have someone notice, though, but I guess I can get used to that."
She swallowed as best she could around the lump in her throat, shaking with the beat of her heart. Telepathy? Carrie-Anne and the walking side of beef? No, surely not.
What if they were? Did it matter? Really? It wasn't any of her business; she'd known Carrie-Anne for years, and trusted her to make whatever choices were best in her own life. More than that, I'd trust her with mine! Muir, she didn't know that well, but she trusted him, too. She did. I do. “It's just ... it's not an idea I'm really comfortable with, you know? For anyone, not just them. Telepathy. On purpose?” Her heart still pounded in her chest, though softer now. ” ... to answer prayers..."
"Mmm.” Muir shifted in place, lifting each heel in turn, then setting it down again. Not shuffling, not pacing, just...
Jackie, watching, thought she could almost see dirt falling away from a redwood's roots. An uneasy tree. What was he so uncomfortable about? She was the one who'd just had a bomb dropped in her lap. Telepathy, my God.
He frowned down at his feet, glanced at her, went back to looking floorward . “I think I might have misled you a little. I'm not—it's not ... It isn't what you think. I'm not a very good student, some ways. Proper study's all about joining the self to the universal, not about two people joining as people, you understand?"
He waited for some response, the anxiety he felt clear. She nodded, slowly, though she wasn't sure she really did understand, simply because she could see he would not go on until she made some sign.
"I fell in love with the idea of maithuna as its own end. A union of two; only lovemaking to join two spirits. Soulmates. Got so damned stuck on the idea that nothing else appealed. Yoga's supposed to be all about harmony with the All, but all I wanted was to be one with one other. I just, I've always known there was someone out there who completed me, and I thought, for a long while, that yoga was going to help me find her. When I realized it couldn't...” He slumped like he did everything else, with his whole body, all his energy.
"Thought about giving up the study altogether, but that didn't feel right. So, I—” he cleared his throat “—went celibate instead. Stopped practicing those parts of the discipline that concern sex, if you care to be technical."
She didn't, particularly, but figured she'd let him yammer on however he wanted to. It was interesting, what of it she understood. Celibacy seemed very much a physical-only term, to him. Well, to her as well, she guessed, more or less.
He might have read her thoughts. Again. “No, not just physical. There are aspects, like standing mudra—no, no reason to get into all that, you don't want a lecture. There are practices that are inherently sexual, though not physical. I stopped doing all of that. It wasn't what I wanted anymore."
"O-kay.” She looked into his shining, sky-blue eyes and felt a chill. Again, that odd impression of him as a child, solemn and determined and so very unprepared for the cold, cruel world, an impression she had of her partner sometimes, too, and probably as unjustified. There was a difference between innocence and ignorance, between wanting to believe in good and being vulnerable to evil.
Still, despite the sheer size of him, and his undeniable strength, she had to fight against a sudden upwelling of fear—not of him but for him. She was no innocent in the ways of the world, and the thought of him sharing her mind nearly brought her to tears.
There were too many things in there a child should never have to see. Nothing to shock the vast majority of the human race, she wasn't any worse than most, it was just that he, like Carrie-Anne, seemed so much cleaner. Untouched by all the petty grime that made her mind unfit for company. She didn't want to be the one to soil his soul.
Paul Bunyon shouldn't seem so vulnerable! But Muir's not the axeman, is he? He's the tree. And trees don't know about sin. She shivered. No, she wasn't going to be the one to teach him. Even if he probably would fail to understand, the same way her partner managed to refuse existence to unpleasant things—so strongly that her vision often became real.
So, he'd probably be all right, no matter what he found in her. Would she, if he could really do what he said? Not that I believe in all that stuff, of course. Imagine the horror, having someone hear her every unexpressed thought! Bad enough dealing with Carrie-Anne, who plucked facts from midair. Had he really considered what it would be like? “Telepathy?"
"Would it help if I told you it probably wouldn't mean what you think it means?"
"No,” she groaned. “Yes. Maybe. Try it and we'll find out."
This time his laugh was soft, a little sad. He set tea, an omelet, and fruit before her, and a second plate beside her, but he did not sit down, instead retreating to the stove with his mug, to stand there and simply look at her.
She looked at the breakfast foods—wouldn't lunch have been more appropriate, given the hour? Though she'd far rather eat eggs than tofu!—then at the empty chair, finally at him. “Why?"
"Got the feeling I was crowding you a little."
"Maybe. But that's no reason to let your food get cold. Or hot, depending.” She took a bite by way of example, and her eyes fluttered closed at the taste of fresh fruit married with a light, tangy sauce. “Tamarind."
"Not just for planter's punch anymore."
"You use tamarind in planter's punch?"
"Sure. I'll make it for you sometime, if you'd like."
She hadn't realized her tree could sound so wistful. “I'm not going anywhere.” Hadn't realized that, either, until she said it, but it was true. Tantric telepathy and all, she was staying. Such an odd mix of strength and ... Not weakness, there's nothing weak about him, but he needs me. Maybe not for the reasons he thinks, but he needs me. And I guess that's enough to make a start. “Um, that is, I am leaving—I really do have to go to work—but I'm not going away from this. Did that track at all?"
"No,” his hand smoothed her hair from her face, a gentle, intimate caress that stole her breath, “but that's all right."
All she could think to say was, “Your fruit's getting warm."
* * * *
Brunch over, she did the few dishes without really thinking about it, though she knew it wasn't exactly proper behavior for a guest. “I'm still not sure I get it. Why you studied, okay, but not all of why you stopped. Or what your plans are now, I guess. What is it that you want?"
His smile was slow, a dawning emotion that seemed to start somewhere deep in his chest and move outward past his skin, warming the air between them. “You are."
I am ... What am I? What he wants. To study? No, he told me before. Union. Gulp. Worse than telepathy. Soulmates, he said. Other words of his filtered up from memory. That he
was sure, though he hadn't, at the time, explained just what he was sure about. That he was like Carrie-Anne, who believed things that couldn't be seen. And the very first thing he'd said to her, repeated often: There you are. What he'd been seeking, found.
Am I really ready for this?
She looked at him, his every emotion so impossibly clear to her, almost as though she were reading his mind. He hoped he hadn't scared her, wanted to reach out, to touch her, was waiting for her to respond. Knew there was a chance she wouldn't, that she'd run screaming from the room—and risked it, for the chance that she might stay.
No, I'm not ready, not even close. But if the earth isn't ready for the rain, does that keep it from falling?
She'd worry later about what she'd meant by that. For now ... Smiling, she turned one hand palm up, made the slightest curling finger gesture. It was enough.
Chapter Four
He drove her back to her office in the van, grumbling that he'd had to leave her embrace for even the short time it would take to return the company vehicle.
"Yes, well. I need to check my messages anyway. Maybe do a little work. You know, the reason I called?"
"Was that it?"
"Anyone ever told you you're a very arrogant tree?"
"Not that I can recall.” He took advantage of a stop sign to kiss her quickly, hard. “But you're unique in all the universe, you know."
Her heart kicked in her chest. If they hadn't pulled up to her office building, she might have caused a wreck, throwing her arms around him like that.
"What's that for?"
"Being you. You arrogant redwood."
"I love you too.” He leaned down, supremely confident, to kiss her.
I didn't ... She hadn't. She was sure of it. She hadn't said that, hadn't even thought it, really, not in words. He just knew. It's too soon! Well, too soon for declarations, certainly, but could she help it if he had flocks of little birds to come chatter in his branches and tell him every least bit of news?
Bet he's a bitch to buy presents for.
His lips soon teased such thoughts from her. They were well on their way to a brief reprise of the morning when his beeper sounded. He growled, pawing at the button to shut it off, but she only laughed.
"You might as well give in; the world won't stop just because we want to play all day."
"I intend to play a good deal longer than the day, you know."
She knew. Might even feel the same way, though it was too damned soon to say such things. So instead of saying anything, she fished his phone from off his belt and hit the rapid-dial button for him.
He groaned at whatever it was he heard. “Another X-series service call,” he told her once he'd hung up. “Worst design ever, without a doubt."
The faces he was making charmed her, and she gave in to the urge to kiss the tip of his nose. How long had it been since she'd felt so free to be silly? Too long. “Hey, don't knock that phone too much,” she said. “It brought you to me, after all."
He chuckled. “Hate to tell you this, but we'd have met some other way. Fate has a way of doing that—no matter that you don't believe in such things."
She looked away, not wanting him to see her thoughts on her face, but it did no good. How could someone she'd known so short a time see her so completely?
"Oho!” He didn't laugh all that much, but she felt heat flood her cheeks. “Sorry, love, but you have to admit, it is funny. What happened to your scepticism, your tests? Only what you can see and hear and smell and taste and feel, wasn't that what you said? Yesterday? And if you come over to the light, who'll deal with the plodding bureaucrats?"
"I'm not signing up for the rainbows-and-unicorn brigade, thanks just the same.” The punch she aimed at his bulging biceps somehow became a slow, sliding caress. “I just think you might be right that we would have met. You're a friend of Carrie-Anne's, after all..."
One of these days, she decided, she really was going to take lessons in lying; she didn't do it at all well. “Oh, hell. Kiss me and shut me up, would you?"
He didn't bother to respond—in words.
See and hear and smell and taste and feel. Oh, yeah.
A phone rang, hers this time. She reached out and touched the side, turning the ringer off. And then she reached for him.
The End
If you enjoy romances with heat, we invite you to visit www.AspenMountainPress.com and try out our any of our Del Fantasma stories. Del Fantasma features erotic romances with shapeshifters in the warm climate of Southern California. For contemporary erotic romances, try our Plain Brown Wrapper line of short stories.
* * *
Visit www.aspenmountainpress.com for information on additional titles by this and other authors.