He sighed against her mouth and pulled her tight against him, kissing her back with an expertise that was almost annoying, so she stepped away, took back control, and pulled her sundress off over her head. It’s just sex, she told herself. I’m doing this to save the world. Then she stripped off her underpants, dropped her bra, and stood naked in the dark, thinking, This is just like Joan of Arc. Or something.
“So,” she said, turning toward the stairs, and he caught her around the waist and pulled her through the archway into his bedroom and toppled her onto the bed—her head swam as she fell—and as she struggled to sit up, she heard him strip his own clothes off. The room swung around and she didn’t know if it was from drink or lust, but then he was beside her, huge in the darkness, his body hot on hers as he pulled her to him and rolled so that she was on top. She pushed herself up to straddle him and almost fell off (he was broad and she was dizzy) and he caught her again—he’s always there to catch me—and guided her down to the bed beside him.
“I’m a little clumsy,” she said.
“You’re beautiful,” he said as he ran his hand up to her breast.
“I bet you tell all the girls that,” she said, closing her eyes at his touch.
“I do,” he said. “They’re all beautiful.”
She caught his hand. “So not the right answer.”
“What difference does it make?” he said, bending over her. “They’re not you.”
She opened her mouth to protest the lousy line, and he kissed her, slipping his tongue into her mouth as his hand tightened on her breast, and then she lost her place in the conversation as he explored her, touching her everywhere she wanted to be touched—“a little higher, nope, not there, oh, oh”—making her breath quicken and her body glow, and she forgot to be careful not to come and shuddered against him over and over again as he stroked and licked and invaded her with fingers and tongue. Finally, she pushed him away, not too far, and heard the ragged rasp of his breath, knew he needed her, and felt the thrill of that power through her. She pulled his mouth to hers again, feeling as savage as the death goddess she’d descended from, no, more savage, because she was going to take him forever and make him hers. She raked her fingers through the thick hair on his chest, making him flinch, and then went lower, making him suck in his breath as his hand slid over her hip, caressing the curve there, and she slid her knee up to his waist, curving against him, feeling him hard against her as she wrapped her legs around him, rolled to straddle him, and said, “Now.“
He shifted under her, lifting her until she felt him push against her, and then she sank down over him and jerked at the shock of him impaling her, filling her, at one with her as he rocked under her and she tightened everywhere, shaking with heat, trying not to slip into another mindless orgasm because this time was different, this was Sam and he was her finish, he’d end her, and there would never be anyone after him, anyone but him.
He pulled her down and kissed her, solid and sure and right, becoming part of her, slowing his breathing as she slowed hers, time suspended, and then he brought her hard against him, rocked up into her, and she blurred into him, felt him everywhere as she clenched around him, heard the gasp and the choke in his throat as she felt everything twist and clench, and she said, “Finish me,” and bore down on him. He surged against her, breathing against her skin, tight around her, hard inside her, and she became part of him, muscle and sweat and blood and something that made them glow as everything in them twisted and turned until they broke, all the colors in her head exploding as their bodies tightened and jerked together, again and again, until she was left sobbing in his arms and he buried his face in her hair.
Then he began again, touching her everywhere, and she lost herself in him again in the blur of heat and passion and wildness as a god surged below her, above her, inside her. They made love through the night, their bodies sliding and shuddering until they finally slept, tangled in the sheets and each other, waking again to fall together, kissing and biting, twisting and crying out, rising and falling to each other’s rhythm, finishing each other and beginning again, making love like gods. And as exhaustion turned to dreams and visions, Shar expanded into the universe, saw light gathering, spinning, arcing, shattering, and then fell again into his arms, half dream, half real, rising and breaking and gasping, “Again,” as the night rocked by.
I’m changed, she thought as the sun rose, and then curled herself against him in the shelter of his arms and fell asleep again.
FOURTEEN
Thursday morning dawned bright and clear, which Abby knew, as she’d been baking cookies since four in the morning. For two days she’d left the kitchen only to catch a few hours’ sleep on the big, comfortable bed that she now hated. She looked around her and realized that the old kitchen had become her sanctuary, her temple, the great copper-clad island her altar, flour and sugar and honey her communion, and that damn tonic recipe her Holy Grail. But it wasn’t enough. She couldn’t stop thinking about Christopher’s long, deft hands touching her, his unsmiling mouth on hers, his bleak eyes softening, looking into hers with something like love
Oh, hell no. It was probably gas. Or annoyance. Or a facial tic. Or—
Whatever. She needed to Get Over It. She needed to get dressed for Vera’s funeral, be ready when Shar came by to pick them up; she needed to concentrate on the tonic; she needed…
The front door to the coffeehouse slammed, and a moment later Gen ran into the kitchen, Ziggy at her side, both of them dressed for a funeral, which depressed Abby even more. She reached out for a cookie. Then pulled her hand away. Step away from the cookies, Abby.
“There are bees,” Gen said, looking anxious, Ziggy pressed against her leg. His usual camo kerchief was now a subdued black. Camo.
“Yes,” Abby said. “Did you doubt their existence?”
“No, I mean there are bees everywhere. Swarms of them. I got dive-bombed on my way over here. Bun called me to tell me they’re putting off Vera’s funeral till tomorrow, to give them time to get the bee population under control.”
“Shit,” Abby said. “Did you get stung? I’ve got baking powder.…”
“I’m fine. I just … wanted to talk to you.”
Abby moved to the French doors, looking out over the back courtyard. There were bees all right, dark clouds of them, swarming the deep red flowers that had sprouted everywhere. “Sure. What about?”
For a moment Gen didn’t move. “I’m scared,” she said, her voice flat.
“Scared?” Abby pulled out the counter stool for her. “I’m sure the local beekeepers will get the situation under control.”
Gen hesitated. “Not the bees. Mina.” She sat down as Ziggy edged over to say hi to Bowser. Gen looked pale and serious, no giggles left. “I think Mina killed Vera and I think she’s coming after us next. All of us. You, too.” She put her hand on the countertop and Abby saw it was shaking.
“How about some tea?” Abby said, and put the kettle on.
“I’m not crazy,” Gen said. “She has this thing she does with her hand. She reaches out and makes a fist…”Gen made a fist and held it out, her arm shaking— “… and things … die. She killed Baby that way, but Kammani brought her back.”
“Kammani couldn’t bring Vera back,” Abby said, but it was a hollow argument. She knew Gen was probably right.
“Mina didn’t let go of her fist,” Gen said. “I saw her. She didn’t straighten out her hand. I didn’t get it at the time, but I’ve been thinking about it, and I think Kammani couldn’t raise her because Vera’s heart couldn’t beat. Mina was squeezing it.”
“Oh, god,” Abby said, horrified.
“So I was thinking, maybe I could stay here,” Gen said, carefully not looking at her.
“Here,” Abby said, startled.
Gen gave up on being cool and tried for pleading. “Bun has her family to look out for her. I can go there if I want to, but they make me crazy, and since you’re practically family—”
&n
bsp; “Whoa,” Abby said.
“—what with my cousin Christopher and everything—”
“I don’t know where you got that idea,” Abby said firmly, “but there isn’t anything going on with us, and if there had been anything, it would be over. But there wasn’t. So it’s not.”
Gen blinked. “He doesn’t think so. When I told him you were in danger, he freaked. Well, it was Christopher, so he didn’t scream or anything, but I know Christopher and he freaked. He said you should call him.”
“Right.” Abby popped a sugar cookie in her mouth. She’d been trying to cut back, but even going cold turkey wasn’t keeping Christopher out of her daydreams, and they were just so damned good. “I’m not going to call your cousin and I’m not going to answer if he calls me. And tell him not to call me.”
“I don’t think he’s going to listen. He’s very stubborn. He said he’s there if you need him. Actually, he said to call him anyway.”
Well, I’m not going to, Abby thought, and put a cup in front of Gen, got out a peppermint tea bag, and picked up the kettle just as it whistled. She poured the hot water over the mint and the smell wafted out, gentle and soothing. Maybe she should call him just to say she wasn’t in danger so he didn’t need to call again. Just to tell him not to call—
“Tea in the summer?” Gen said.
“I’ll tell you what.” Abby put a plate of cookies in front of her. “You can move into the vacant apartment upstairs if you help me down here. I need an extra pair of hands to bake while I work on this damn tonic recipe.”
Gen nodded, her mouth full of cookie, and said a crumb-muffled, “Sure,” and Abby reached for the basket of boozles and pulled the Grand Marnier out while she definitely did not think about Christopher, who was irrelevant and absolutely not part of her life.
The bittersweet orange might just be the source of the faint citrusy taste of Kammani’s tonic, she thought, and she poured three drops into the current batch, which so far consisted of Hawaiian Punch, Earl Grey tea, and rosewater. She sniffed it, but it wasn’t quite right. Much like the rest of her life. She shoved back from the counter in frustration.
“Have a cookie,” Gen said. “They’re making me feel better. More purposeful.”
“I’m trying to cut down,” Abby said, reaching for the plate of butter cookies. Each bite was like taking a bite of Christopher, and if she had any sense, she’d be on bread and water.
She had no sense.
“So when are you going to talk to Christopher?” Gen said, reaching for another butter cookie.
“When hell freezes over,” Abby said genially.
Gen looked past her. “I think Satan’s gonna need mittens.”
Abby turned around.
Christopher was standing in the doorway to the courtyard.
Her reaction was instant. She didn’t stop to think; she was halfway up the stairs, moving so fast, Bowser sat up and barked, “What’s up?” She tried to keep going, but Christopher was too fast for her, and his arm clamped around her waist as she tried to scramble out of the way, so that she had no choice but to give up or they’d both fall down the stairs.
He released her, stepping back, but she didn’t make the mistake of thinking there was any way she could escape. She sat down on the stairs, yanked her skirts down over her knees, and managed to keep her expression stony. “What are you doing here? Besides manhandling me?”
“I think I’ll go get my stuff,” Gen said, sidling out of the kitchen before Abby could voice a protest.
“I’ve been trying to talk to you for days now and I’m not manhandling you,” he said in a mild voice. “I just didn’t want you running away, which you appeared to be trying to do.”
“I don’t want to talk to you.”
He shoved a hand through his already rumpled hair, looking distracted. “You can’t just ignore what happened.”
“I certainly can. You called it. Irrational lust. You should be grateful I don’t intend to make a fuss about it, or show up at your door, or expect any kind of—”
“You were a virgin.” His voice was flat, interrupting her.
Color flamed her face. “Could you keep your voice down? You don’t have to announce it to the world.”
“Then talk to me. Stop playing games.”
“I’m not playing games. We had sex. I simply hadn’t gotten around to having it before, but it’s no big deal. You got up and disappeared, which I figured was my signal to leave as well.”
“So fast that you pulled a Cinderella?” He held up her abandoned sandal. “I told you to stay.”
“I’m no Cinderella and you sure as hell aren’t Prince Charming, and I’m not very good at obeying orders,” she said, and snatched the sandal away from him. “Thank you. And now you can go.”
“I’m not going anywhere until you talk to me. We can talk here and Gen can eavesdrop, or we can go somewhere quiet like your apartment.”
“That’s not going to happen.” She pushed up from the stairs, and he took a step back. Bowser was sitting up, looking at them both worriedly. “We can talk in the courtyard.”
“Haven’t you heard? We have a bee infestation.”
Abby growled, “The coffeehouse then.” There was a tray of sugar cookies cooling on the counter, and he reached a hand out for one.
“Don’t touch those!” she snapped. The last thing she needed was for Christopher to get back in touch with his appetites.
The coffeehouse was dark and cool, the shades still drawn, and Abby took one of the bentwood oak chairs and sat. “Okay, say what you have to say and then go away. I’m really not into rehashing ancient history.”
“Ancient history is Mesopotamia, not five days ago,” he pointed out, ever logical. “I need to know what the hell is going on. If you don’t want to talk about the sex, tell me about Mesopotamian goddesses and what they have to do with my cousin. She’s scared to death of something and she’s not talking.”
“Someone in your family is showing some sense then. You could take a lesson from her.”
He was being annoyingly patient in the face of her hostility. “So explain this to me again. You and Gen and the others are the reincarnation of Mesopotamian goddesses and you’re here to do what?”
Abby closed her eyes for a moment. He almost sounded like he believed her. She was half-tempted to try to convince him, to explain exactly what was going on, but better to keep her distance; otherwise she might throw her flour-dusted body all over him. “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “It’s none of your business.”
“I disagree. You came to my house to tell me about it in the first place and I want to know why. I’m worried about Gen. And I’m worried about you.”
Crap. That was the last thing she needed to hear. “Is Milki-la-el still talking to you?”
“Loud and clear. Which makes me think that maybe you’re not delusional.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said, feeling desperate.
He was looking at her, puzzled. “It matters to me. Why did you come to my house? Why did you let me—”
“We’re not going there!” she said. “We’re not talking about it; we’re not referring to it ever again.”
“I can’t promise.” There was clear concern in his blue eyes, concern and something a little more elemental. Like he wanted her.
“Go away, Christopher,” she said wearily. She was too tired of fighting, and she was reduced to begging. “I have work to do.”
“So tell me this. Are you going to let Gen move in? I could let her stay with me, but I don’t have any furniture, and I think having an undergraduate underfoot would drive me crazy. But I don’t want her alone right now. She’s scared of something, even if she won’t tell me what it is, and she seems to think being around you will make things better.”
“I’ve already told her she can. She’ll be perfectly fine.”
“I’m sure she will. There’s safety in numbers. In the meantime, Sam will help me move her stuff in, probably this
afternoon if they’ve got the bee problem taken care of.”
“How do you know Sam?” Abby said, confused, and then the other shoe dropped. “You’re going to move her?” It was nothing more than a horrified squeak.
“Unless you’ve got goddess powers that can transport things.”
“Very funny,” she muttered. Maybe she could tell him to just let Sam do it. Sam was strong enough that he could probably move her on his own. But then, Christopher was strong, too, deliciously so, and…
Goddamn cookies.
“And I’m very fond of my cousin,” Christopher went on. “I intend to keep an eye on her, just to make sure she’s all right.”
“We’ll keep an eye on her,” Abby said. “You don’t need to worry.”
“I’ll be checking in anyway,” he said. “You’re just going to have to get used to seeing me. Talking to me. And besides, I’ve developed a taste for your sugar cookies.”
How a stuffy math professor could make such a simple sentence sound sexual was beyond Abby’s comprehension, but she’d about reached her limit. “All right,” she said. “I’m sure Gen appreciates it.”
“Even if you don’t.”
“I don’t care one way or another,” she said airily.
“Liar.”
She wasn’t sure what would have happened next, but thankfully Gen pushed open the front door, with Sam looming behind her. “I’m ready, Christopher,” Gen said. “That is, if you’re finished—”
“He’s finished,” Abby said, rising. “Believe me, he’s finished.”
Christopher looked down at her, unimpressed. “We’ll have to see about that.”
And she stood alone in the deserted coffeehouse, watching them go, telling herself that that odd feeling in the pit of her stomach was dread and not joy; indifference, not desire.
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