A Man for Megan

by Darlene Scalera

  She passed him a plate and filled one for herself. They didn’t speak, as if suddenly shy. Neither ate, as if knowing their hunger would not be so easily relieved.

  Megan leaned back on her elbows, the sunlight shifting across her features. “This is the first time I’ve ever brought anyone here.”

  “It’s beautiful,” Gino said.

  “There are no diamond trees.”

  He gave her a rueful smile. “Point taken.”

  “Did you take all your masters there?” She plucked a grape and rolled it between her thumb and forefinger. “To seduce them?”

  Gino was unabashed. “You weren’t the first.”

  “But I’ll be the last, won’t I?”

  “Yes, you will.” He took her teasing gaze and turned it solemn.

  She looked past him. The sun was halfway toward the horizon. “Are you ready to go home?”

  “It’s my fate.”

  It wasn’t the answer she’d expected. Would it be easier if he acted as he had before—amusingly anxious for her third wish, offering ludicrous suggestions, urging her on to the point of exasperation? No, nothing would make it easier.

  She sensed he was waiting for her reaction, waiting for her to say the things that should not be said. What purpose were pledges of affection, overtures of emotion? Words were not the weapons she needed now. Words were as meaningless as the katydids’ constant call. Saying nothing, Megan stood and walked slowly toward the swiftly running stream.

  From the grass, he watched her. She was turned toward the sun lowering in the west. Two squirrels chattering above caught her attention. Her head tipped back. Her breasts pushed forward, shaped by the thin fabric of her T-shirt. Gino felt his muscles contract, his throat go dry with longing.

  All around them, glazed golden by the setting sun, summer spread her finery. The leaves in the trees above gleamed green and smooth, naively unaware they would soon be no more than a dry rustle underfoot, grieved for only by the boughs left barren. The grass was softer than a newborn’s fuzzy cap, only many times longer. But, beneath the down bed beckoning for bodies, there lay the hard, cold earth.

  And in their midst, Megan stood posed. Her head angled back, her hair stretching toward her waist, its colors more splendid than the peak plumage of the birds above. She breathed, her breasts barely moving, swelling against cotton. Her weight rested on one leg. The other leg angled in, showcasing a delicate calf perfectly curved and colored by the sun. Her knees met but did not touch. Her thighs were spread slightly as if whispering secrets to each other. Her arms folded across her waist, her fingers curling around her rib cage in an old maid’s embrace. She breathed and shifted her weight, causing every perfect part of her to realign. Gino watched in amazement as one masterstroke of movement had created an entirely new, wondrous work of art ready for his eyes to memorize, his senses to immortalize.

  MEGAN STOPPED at the water’s edge. She heard Gino come up beside her. She didn’t look at him.

  She’d brought him here to say goodbye. She knew from the beginning, he would leave one day, and it would be she who had set him free. Even knowing that, however, she had foolishly imagined the time would not come so soon. Yet, Fate had conspired against her. It was time for her to break the spell.

  While every atom of her being cried otherwise.

  She had to let him go, free him of the curse and mortal masters, and so unfettered, triumphantly ascend the steps to his rightful throne. She told herself it was for the best the end came so quickly. She would say it to herself again each morning, when she woke to his image. She would say it at night, as the memory of him put her to sleep. She would repeat it every day for the rest of her life.

  But, she would never, ever believe it.

  “Gee.” Beside her, Gino kicked at a pebble. “I thought this is where you brought all your genie slaves.” When she looked at him, his lowered lids lifted just enough to expose the sparkle in his dark eyes. “To seduce them.”

  She only meant to playfully shove him, but she misjudged the slipperiness of the rocks. She lost her footing and was almost in the water when Gino’s hand found hers and pulled her upright.

  Their hands clasped, and she steadied herself. They didn’t let go. His fingers, his palm lay against her skin in a quiet, concentrated presence. She felt his pulse beating beneath her fingertips with the same steady intensity. Her hand tightened on his.

  He started to pull her toward him, she no longer knowing who was the master and who was the slave.

  “I didn’t know you wanted to go swimming,” he said. Too late she saw that the devilish glint still dominated his eyes.

  Before she could get away, he bent and wrapped an arm around her knees. Effortlessly he lifted her and draped her across his shoulder.

  “Put me down,” she half cried, half laughed as he waded into the water up to his knees.

  She pounded on his back, meeting only hard muscle. The stream had reached his thighs, turning his denims black. She felt the water wet her bare feet. The rest of her body knew only the sheer power of the man carrying her.

  “No, no,” she cried, laughing with such desperate delight, the katydids stopped their song to listen to her strange joy.

  “Put me down,” she commanded. “No, wait, no, I didn’t mean that. I meant—”

  The last of her words were lost in a gurgle of water. Just as swiftly, Gino pulled her up and against him, his hands tight on her upper arms.

  She flung wet waves of hair out of her face, splattering water across his amused expression.

  “I should, I should,” she sputtered indignantly.

  “What?” he taunted. “What would you like to do to me?”

  “This!” She pushed him, the resulting splash music to her ears. He was back on his feet before she was out of reach. As she turned to run away, his arm grabbed hers.

  He pulled her close to him once more and through the useless barrier of wet cloth, she felt every long, powerful inch of his body. She pressed against him, her body obeying its own desire strengthened by the sun and the soft breeze and the man washed naked by the rippling water.

  This isn’t supposed to happen. No good will come of this. Still she lifted her face to him like the summer flowers straining toward the morning sun.

  He whispered her name as if it were a prayer. “Megan. Megan.” It became a plea, and she heard in his voice the same fear fighting inside her own mind. It was spoken in the last breath on his lips before they came to hers, then fear turned into wonder.

  Their mouths mated and spoke, saying silently all the things desired, not even allowed to dream of. Megan’s lips opened wider, bidding Gino to enter, to come closer. He answered, his tongue touching hers, exploring the dark, sweetness of her, careful caresses giving way to fierce need.

  She clung to him fast like the damp cloth against her body. His touch filled her mouth, her senses, her soul. His hands smoothed her skin, shedding fear and doubt. He touched her everywhere, the dip beneath her earlobe, the cord of her backbone, the slope of her hips. And as he touched her, he took her loneliness with him, clinging to his fingers like cobwebs.

  Come inside, her mouth said, separating, seeking him further. Her hands learned the steel line of his neck, as tight as a twist of baling twine. Her fingers crossed to his shoulders, their width filling her palms. She followed the strong, proud square of his back, resting where his spine sunk in a hard hollow, her fingers stopping only briefly before retracing the path they had just forged.

  Her tongue followed the line of his teeth, went farther and was stunned by the soft inside of his mouth. Her fingers rose and came home against the contrasting line of his jaw.

  He was more than a man. He was magic. She’d seen him rise from nothing more than a cloud; she’d seen him disappear into spaces too small. He would leave her like no other.

  Even beneath the molten drape of need and passion, she knew all this. Still, she wrapped her legs around him, her tongue taking his, telling him to touch her, to h
ave her, to come inside. For as much as he belonged to her, she belonged to him.

  Carrying her, he started toward the water’s edge. She felt the rock of his body against her, and wanted him only, more than anything before or to come. Her legs tightened, her wantonness a revelation, a release. Her mouth held his, their heads moving in a graceful sway, echoing the easy rhythm of Gino’s walk, contrasting the beat of two hearts pressed tight.

  He laid her on the grass where it was cool in the shade. Then, he stepped back. She looked up at him, seeing that the dimming sun had dropped low beneath his shoulders, reminding her of time’s cruel quickness.

  She looked up into his eyes, finally admitting to herself what she’d known since the beginning. She loved him with a feeling beyond fairy tales or magic. Her love for him was an emotion past all others, not created by genie powers nor condoned by her pragmatic point of view. Yet, it existed, without mother or father, a power self-sufficient, bestowing wishes not dared to be spoken.

  A power demanding she tell Gino the truth now before they went further, before their heedlessness turned this great gift she’d received into no more than a mockery.

  He kneeled beside her. His hand traced the oval of her face, the contour of her brow as if she were the supernatural being. His head burrowed lower, his breaths bathing her.

  “Gino,” she whispered. His fingertips were soft along her body. She saw the throb of life beating in a vulnerable vein along the length of his throat She pressed her cheek against that thin thread, feeling her tears wetting his skin.

  “Megan?” He leaned back, drawing her up with him. The dark desire in his eyes clouded. “What’s wrong?”

  She couldn’t look into those eyes and say the words she knew she must. She looked past him, straight into the traitorous sun, now no more than a haze above the horizon. It was only then she could pass the sentence.

  “I’m ready to make the third wish.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “No!” The denial was so full inside him, it took Gino several seconds to realize he’d spoken out loud. Once aware, however, he said it again, one strong syllable of refusal. His gaze lifted, and he was no longer talking to Megan but to the heavens.

  Not yet. Tomorrow would be soon enough for her to save the world and he to rule a kingdom. Tonight let him make her happy. His eyes looking upward, he forgot his pride, surrendered his arrogance, presented himself as no more than a humble servant to the powers above. One night, he begged. One night, he pleaded.

  His gaze found Megan once more. He touched her cheek where a tear had left a trail.

  He might not be able to stay with her forever, but let him stay with her tonight. Let him give her his love for this night. For they were here together now, as they should be, as they had to be. Let it be, he begged.

  His other hand gripping her arm tightened. He wasn’t sure what to do, what to say. He didn’t know if it was wrong or right. All he knew was he didn’t want it to end—not like this with Megan’s tears wet on his fingertips.

  “No magic tonight,” he said, reminding her of her earlier request.

  She looked at him, her eyes overly bright with surprise and unshed tears. “You misunderstand,” she decided. “I know what I want for the third wish. The last wish.”

  His hands cupped her face, his eyes inventorying where her pupils lightened and blended into halos mixed green and gold and amber. He made a similar study of her nose, lips, cheeks, brow, hair, simultaneously idolizing and memorizing. Finally he returned to those eyes that had first looked at him three days ago and borne him anew.

  He no longer needed the gods and their mercy; he no longer needed a throne and a crown. His heaven, his kingdom began and ended in the woman before him. “Let us have tonight.”

  In the cradle of his hands, he felt her jaw muscles go slack, then her entire head moved slowly side to side, pressing into one palm, then the other. “Aren’t you hearing what I’m saying?”

  “Yes.” His gaze steadied on her upturned face, stopping its slow swing of confusion, denial.

  “You could go home.”

  There was pain in her eyes when she said the words, the gold tarnishing, the amber dulling to brown.

  He bowed his head, kissing lightly, reverently her mouth. Her lips trembled beneath his touch.

  “I am home.”

  New tears fell along her cheeks, as warm as holy water against his fingers.

  She came to him, her body as delicate and light as a bud shook free by the first evening breeze. He drew her up, up into his embrace, for the first time in his life, grateful for the humanness he’d been bestowed by birth. Finally freed, it filled his chest, warmed his center, warred with pain, swelled with pleasure.

  He clung to her, his hands crushing the thin cotton of her sleeves, and he drank deeply, her sweetness steeping his soul. He wanted to know every inch of her—the hollow below her ear, the frail bone at the back of her knee, the soft billow of flesh where her thigh met her hip. He wanted to gather her hair in both his hands and bring it to his face, rubbing its gentle texture against his brow, his closed lids, the rough, undeserving rounds of his beard until he was washed clean.

  It was his newborn heart, which had brought him this far, that stopped him. He pulled back, his body instantly becoming belligerent against the denial He knew his desire for her would be everlasting, his longing endless. But, no matter, they had been given tonight—one night and nothing more. Except a forever after of pain.

  Megan stood before him and even the small space separating them was too much.

  “Gino?” she questioned. Her eyes were wide with vulnerability.

  “We don’t know what we’re doing. We’re living only in the moment.”

  “Moments,” the least reckless woman he had ever met said, “Moments are all we have.”

  Her body was motionless as if she’d stopped breathing. But he looked into the fine-lined set of her face and knew if he reached out and touched her chest, he’d find a heart beating as hard as his, its rhythm echoing the same plea he’d offered the gods earlier: one more night, one more night, one more night.

  “It’ll only be for tonight,” he had to tell her once more.

  She stepped forward, coming back to him like a forgotten dream. “It is more than I ever wished for.”

  Like the moon calling the tide, they came together. They touched faces, lips, brows above watching eyes, the rushing waters inside them rising, threatening to drown them in desire.

  Megan lifted up higher, her mouth following the path blazed by her fingertips. “Gino,” she whispered against his parted lips.

  With only a taste of his breath, her mouth moved on, savoring the firm warmth of his flesh, the uneven texture of his cheeks. She kissed each eye closed, then her mouth slid down the rough planes of his beard, her tongue scoring a line across his jaw. Her fingers spread across his chest, delighting in the feel of muscle. Her tongue stroked the silken inner curve of his ear. Beneath her hands, she felt his chest swell with a sharp gasp of breath. She pressed her opened mouth to the arc of his neck. She heard a moan, the muscles beneath her fingers went lax.

  He gathered her in his arms, drawing her across his thighs, draping her softness across the steel support of his body. Her fingers clung to the bunched muscles of his back. The wide set of his shoulders shielded her from the sun.

  Her lips were already opened, waiting for him. His tongue swept their curves, then plunged into the reaches of her mouth, his touch full and fierce, its appetite insatiable.

  Her eyes were closed Too breathless, she couldn’t sigh. She didn’t hear the groan from the man holding her tightly in his arms. She was deaf, dumb and blind. Her other senses had surrendered to the sensation of touch, the satisfaction of taste.

  He pulled her closer, the contours of his chest pressing against the yielding softness of her breasts. Against her, she could feel his hardness, his desire. His tongue probed deeper, sweeping the sensitive insides of her cheeks, its sharp tip savorin
g the hard ledge across the roof of her mouth. She spread her legs, making a cradle in which her lover lay.

  His hands slid down her back in a powerful caress, molding her to him. A pulse began to beat where his thigh met her hip. An echoing ache throbbed deep inside her. Her heart pounded, matching the savage rhythm of his mouth. She opened her lips wider, hungry. She could taste the faint bite of alcohol. She was drunk on the taste and the touch of the man.

  His mouth moved away from her lips, kissing the curve of her cheek, the hollow at her temple. He buried his face into the dip of her shoulder, his breath hot on her neck.

  “Megan.” He exhaled as his lips anointed the line of her throat, the length of her hair.

  “Gino,” she answered, her eyes closed, her voice sounding far away. She was spiraling toward oblivion, propelled by the heated movement of Gino’s mouth along her throat, across her brow, on each closed eye, each cheek, then finding once more her mouth.

  Time fell away. It was no longer day or night, summer or winter. Months had no consequence; years didn’t matter. All was darkness and now, defined only by the rhythm of her heart answering Gino’s pounding, powerful beat.

  Cupping the back of her head, he lifted her up, his mouth never leaving hers. Her back arched, the hardened tips of her breasts rubbing against his chest. He drank deeply, as if he were a depleted man trying to saturate his spirit. Her hips moved against him in a long, slow shiver of need. Her hands found his hair, and she held her mouth to his, drawing him in, bidding him to drink from the wellspring that is woman.

  He lifted his head, forcing her to open her eyes. In his eyes, dark with desire, there was a rare light illuminating an emotion so pure, so strong, there could be no doubt as to its name. She reached up her hand and touched his face.

  He instinctively turned to the curve of her palm, kissing its soft center. “I love when you touch me,” he murmured.

  Her other hand came up in response and played across the marble slant of his cheek. She drew his face down to hers, her lips meeting his with reverent desire. His lips parted at her touch. Her tongue searched deep into the dark recesses, suffusing herself with the mystery of man. Her fingers tangled in his hair. Her body pressed unashamedly against him, her blood thick with desire, the thunder inside her, growmg louder, blocking out all but the taste of him, the touch of him. Her head fell back, offering him the satin length of her throat. The roar became unbearable. She needed more than the velvet magic of his mouth or the blinding pleasure of his hands as they stroked her hair, her back, the curves of her waist. She needed him inside her, taking away the separateness of their worlds.