A Man for Megan

by Darlene Scalera

  “Make love to me,” she whispered.

  The movement of Gino’s mouth stopped. His lips lingered for a forever moment on the slender cord of her neck. Then he pulled away and sat up, his hands still holding the circle of her waist. For one mad minute, she thought he was going to refuse but then, she saw the smoke of desire clouding his eyes, choking his breath.

  His head began a dreamlike descent, and unable to wait, she rose to meet him. His answer was the barest touch of his lips grazing the delicate O of her mouth, tormenting her with the mere taste of a kiss. His hands moved slowly from her midriff, up her rib cage, curving around the shape of her breasts beneath the cotton layers.

  He pulled her up, gently drawing the T-shirt out of the waistband of her cutoff jeans and up over her head. His hands shaped the bare rounds of her shoulders. His finger traced the naked line of her spine, the soft puffs of flesh at the scalloped edge of her bra. He unhooked the garment in the back, easing down the shoulder straps until the bra fell away. He sat back, admiring her. Her breasts, glazed smooth by the sun’s farewell golden light, felt full, heavy. Her nipples were tight, tawny circles.

  He gathered her breasts in his hands, holding the weight of them in the warmth of his palms. She arched toward him, giving a breathless cry as his mouth covered one coppery tip, then the other, back and forth, as shooting darts of pleasure fired down her spine. He eased her back onto the grass, his mouth shaping her, suckling her. Her hips rose and moved against him in a primitive dance of passion.

  “Please,” she groaned as desire mounted.

  He sat back up, a fingertip lightly circling the puckered tips of her breasts, brushing the fine down of her abdomen. His head dropped to taste the stretch of her stomach. Down, down his hands rode the curve and line of her bared legs, finding the tender skin behind her knees, the hard point of her ankle. Then, up again, his fingers stroking the frayed edges of her shorts, seeking the flesh underneath. His mouth kissed the soft inside of her thighs. She lifted her hips as he unzipped her shorts, anxious to be rid of heavy denim. He drew down the light cotton of her panties, his mouth kissing a line across her lower abdomen as her hands entangled in his hair and her body squirmed against him. Suddenly his touch left her and, totally naked, a chill washed over her body. She opened her eyes, seeing the sky above shadowed by the coming night. Her gaze dropped, finding Gino, naked also, and she smiled adoringly, delighted by the spans of smooth flesh to taste with wet kisses, to touch with admiring hands. She reached for him.

  He came back to her, his weight warm and welcome on her. He kissed her gently, his tongue brushing back and forth, whispering desire across the inviting softness of her lips.

  His fingers touched her everywhere, stroking her until, again, she squirmed beneath him, crazy with pleasure, crazed with need. Still he caressed her with a master’s patience, the weight and heat of his body blanketing her in warm flesh and hard muscle, his mouth always moving on hers in a slow, persuasive tremble.

  Her hands balled up into fists against his back. Her body arched like a bow strung too tight. There was no more thought, only sensation, only his mouth melting against hers, only a sudden soundless gasp of delight as his fingers fondled her, only a need so strong and elemental it had to be met.

  She opened herself to him and in the collision of their flesh, heaven and earth came together. His body plunged deeply into her, his tongue thrust into her quivering mouth. The gentle touches were gone. The movement of his body was fast and hard and full of the passion he had enticingly promised. His tongue drove into her, repeating the same potent rhythm, reaching deeper, hungry for the part of her no man had ever touched. His arms pressed her body against him, carrying her with him as heaven and earth fell away.

  She was no more. He was no more. There was only the motion propelling them, hurtling them through the universe. There was only the moment so exquisite and endless, so unbearably brief.

  Their cries of passion sounded as pleasure flooded every part of their bodies, jolting their muscles, then leaving them limp, releasing upon them in wave after wave until the two lovers could cry out no more.

  They remained still in each other’s arms, their mouths opened on each other. Their breaths, ragged and sweet-tasting, were in perfect rhythm. Peace and contentment flowed over them like the evening song of the birds above.

  Megan sighed, moving her mouth lazily along Gino’s jaw and settling on the smoothness of his throat. Her hands absently stroked his back, combed through his hair. She didn’t open her eyes, still lingering in a limbo of ecstasy. Her muscles twitched, remembering the joy.

  She heard his sigh. Smiling, she looked up. He smoothed the hair away from her face, kissed the tip of her nose.

  “Now, I truly believe you’ve supernatural powers,” she teased.

  He shook his head, his smile equally affectionate. “I’ve never met anyone like you,” he said.

  She touched his cheek, her smile becoming wistful. “Hey, that’s my line.”

  She buried her head in his chest, wanting to stay there forever. She inhaled, memorizing his smell of exotic winds and far-off places. Her arms tightened around him, holding fast to this man, who with a slow blink, could turn into thin air and be gone.

  She’d always known one day, he’d go. But now, she didn’t know if she could bear it.

  “Megan?” He tucked a finger under her chin and tipped her face to his. “Are you sorry?”

  “Oh, no.” The vehemence of her voice gave no doubt as to her sincerity.

  “Are you scared?”

  “Yes.” Her voice was now small.

  He placed his forehead on hers, his eyes big, close, staring into hers. “It’s taken me two thousand years to find you. How am I ever going to live without you? I’m terrified beyond belief.”

  In the distance, she heard the sharp call of an owl as if reality was trying to intrude.

  “We still have tonight,” she told him. “Let’s go home.”

  And they were. The grass beneath Megan’s body became the stuffed cotton of her comforter. The trees around them were antique white walls; the moon above was replaced by a ceiling fan.

  Still in the circle of her arms, Gino gazed down at her. “You have to admit, there’re some advantages to sleeping with a genie.”

  They crawled beneath the cool cotton sheets and held each other. There were a thousand things they wanted to say, needed to say, but words seemed like such poor vehicles. What words could describe the sheer wonder of a woman’s mouth glistening with her lover’s kisses or the mysterious marvel of a man’s collarbone so straight, strong, yet broken as easily as a twig snapped beneath a single footfall? No words could equal the blending of their beings, the melting of their mortal skins, the marrying of their immortal souls. How could they express the joy, the bliss, even the terror? Silently they clung to each other.

  Slowly the gentle strokes turned to longer, deeper caresses. The kisses continued, finding soft spans of flesh to explore, new stretches of skin to christen. Words weren’t necessary as the lovers spoke their own language, the banked fires flaring, the gentleness giving way to elemental passion, and the true joy of life found in another’s barest touch.

  They stayed in each other’s arms all night, and if they slept, it was only to dream of the other. Megan awoke as the first gray finger of dawn sliced through the room. The night was over. Morning had come.

  Gino’s arm and leg made a clumsy arabesque across her body, his limbs heavy and comforting.

  She watched him sleep, marveling at the miracle of two eyes, a nose, a mouth. She kissed the air above his lips, not wanting to waken him. He slept deeply, his breaths full and long.

  He’d said it would be easier in the morning to grant the last wish. She’d naively agreed, thinking in the bright, stark light of day, she could be brave.

  She wasn’t. The coming light only too clearly outlined her lover’s proud brow, the black cap of his crown, the sensual shape of his mouth. She wouldn’t be able to sa
y goodbye in the day, the bright sun mocking the gray cloud closing over her heart. She wouldn’t be able to say goodbye in the night when darkness dropped, laughing at her tears and fears.

  I’ve one wish left, she thought with a possessed woman’s greed. I’ll wish to wake every day with his kiss on my brow. To sleep each night, his words of love whispering in my ear.

  Yet, even as she plotted, she knew it wasn’t possible. Her last wish belonged to the people at Crelco.

  Ashen-faced, Arnold had come into Q.C. yesterday from the department heads’ meeting. Crelco had been sold to a rival company in North Carolina, he’d said in a flat monotone. The new company only wanted Crelco’s customers. The plant would close in ninety days. Arnold had shaken his head, saying the company president had broken down and cried like a baby when he delivered the news, but the stockholders were holding firm. The official announcement was to be made today. Then, Arnold had sat the rest of the afternoon staring at the blank screen on his computer.

  Even if the jobs of her friends, her colleagues weren’t at stake, she still couldn’t wish for Gino to stay. Not that she didn’t want him to stay. She did—more than life itself. But he had given her happiness. She couldn’t ask him to give up his. She looked at the man sleeping so peacefully beside her.

  “I love you, Gino.” Her voice barely reached a whisper. “If we only had one minute of complete happiness together, the moment, the memory would live forever inside me. Yet, you gave me hours, days—”

  Her voice broke. She rolled away from him, her forearm covering her face, ashamed of her own tears, her own cowardice, her own greed How was she ever going to live without him?

  She forced herself to get up and go toward the bathroom. It was just another day, she told herself. She’d take a shower, go to work, come home, have dinner, save a company, then say goodbye to the only man she’d ever love. Tomorrow, and each day after that, she’d rise again, not thinking farther than each forced step.

  She almost made it to the bathroom door before turning and finding her way back into the warm bed. She slipped effortlessly into the waiting circle of his arms, then cried soundlessly on his chest as the morning grew lighter and he slept unaware.

  GINO SLEPT for the first time in four days. He slept so long and soundly that when he woke he was completely disoriented. While he stretched like a lion with a full belly, his eyes scanned the brown walls circling him. Slowly memory returned. He remembered last night. He remembered loving Megan. He loved her still. He’d love her always.

  She must not have wanted to wake him when she left for work in the morning. As soon as she was over five hundred feet away, he’d been returned to the crock pot.

  He stretched again, almost fully awake and aware of a gnawing in the pit of his stomach. Another day, it would be hunger. But he’d known hunger, and this sensation was sharper, more piercing. He sat up now, completely conscious.

  He’d been alone his entire life, but, for the first time, he knew what it was like to feel loneliness. He also knew the ache would now be his constant companion unless Megan was by his side.

  BY THE TIME MEGAN finally forced herself to leave the house, she was already an hour late for work. When she entered the plant, she saw the shell-shocked expressions of her co-workers, their motions more mechanical than usual as the endless parade of parts climbed up the conveyor belts, then fell into heavy plastic bins with the regularity of a death knell. She knew the announcement had been made. Wanda came toward her, the old woman’s face more tightly lined than usual. She looked at Megan with a vacant stare.

  “I know,” Megan mouthed against the heartless clatter and clash of the presses.

  She wondered how Elliot had taken the news. A stony stare he’d given her when they’d passed in the plant had been their only communication since the night at Kitty’s. She had tried to talk to him once in the warehouse, but he’d only stepped too hard on the pedal of the forklift and gone whizzing down the aisle, nearly knocking over a skid of wire spools that were seven feet high.

  She had decided then he needed a little more time to cool off, but she wanted to go to him now and explain he didn’t have to worry. She knew he needed the support of a friend right now. No matter what had happened between them, she wanted to be that friend.

  She saw him through the wide glass windows of the recycling supervisor’s office. He was standing by his boss’s desk, separating invoices. She was glad to see he was alone.

  She knocked lightly on the door and entered. “Hi.” It came out a squeak. She closed the door behind her but kept one hand on its knob. “How’s it going?”

  He glanced at her before continuing to concentrate on the piles of thin slips across the desk. Still Megan had seen the flash of surprise before his face had become curtained with cold pride.

  “What do you want?” His voice was toneless.

  “I wanted to see, that is, make sure, you’re okay.” She fumbled for the right words.

  He briefly looked at her again then went back to the piles he was creating. “I’m fine.”

  She focused on the swift motion of the papers being sorted, trying to figure out what to say.

  He paused, granting her a condescending look. “Was there something else?”

  “I wanted to tell you, well, I thought you might be worried.” She took a tentative step toward the desk. “And I just wanted to say, you don’t have to.”

  “I don’t have to what?” Elliot asked in his trademark tone of endless patience.

  “Worry,” she blurted. “You don’t have to worry.”

  “Well, thank you.” His tone turned sarcastic. “I won’t now.”

  She moved closer, wanting to make him understand. “What I mean is, the plant hasn’t closed yet.”

  He looked up at her sharply before the mask of indifference could fall on his emotions. She saw anger so deep it made her step back.

  “Anything could happen between now and ninety days.” She smiled encouragement.

  “Of course. How did I forget?” Elliot slapped his forehead, his expression again sublimely sufferable. “You—” he pointed a finger at her “—have the genie.”

  She stopped smiling.

  “And you’ve another wish left, don’t you?” He was now smiling, the curl of his mouth too broad.

  Megan stared down at the desk, away from Elliot’s sneering gaze.

  “This is great.” He rounded the desk and pulled out the chair, aiming it toward her. “Sit down. C’mon. Sit down.” His voice took on a manic tone.

  She slowly sat down. She’d made a mistake coming here.

  He pushed her behind the desk. “Here’s a pad and a pen.” He stood behind her. “We’ll compose a memo. After all, why should anyone worry? How should we begin? I mean, do you want to go all the way back to the crock pot, or can we skip the background and bring on Ali Baba?”

  She started to get up.

  “Sit.” Behind her, Elliot put his hand on her shoulder and pushed her down. He spun the chair so she faced him. He gripped the chair arms and leaned down, close to her face.

  “Don’t you understand, Megan? You’re sick. Kimberly called it delusional. You need help—professional help. Kimberly’s specialty isn’t psychiatry, but she’s done a rotation in the area. She’s offered to talk to you.”

  “Kimberly?” Megan asked. “Your old girlfriend?”

  Elliot straightened. “We had dinner together last night. No big deal.”

  The flush creeping up the stiff edge of his collar said otherwise.

  “Just two old friends getting together,” he went on. “Talking about old times.”

  “And your psychotic ex-fiancée,” Megan added.

  He visibly bristled. “What would you’ve preferred? That I told you Kimberly floated into my bedroom in a bubble like Glenda the Good Witch?”

  Megan smiled. “Elliot, you naughty boy.”

  His flush turned magenta. “Don’t make light of this. You’re sick.”

  She swiveled
back to the front of the desk. “Actually I’ve never felt better.” She was about to stand up when the black, bold letters ACK on an invoice stopped her.

  Elliot was saying something else, but she wasn’t listening. She was reading the bill on the top of the stack, then she read the one below it, and the one below that.

  “Elliot.” She stopped him midsentence. She stood up, clutching the thin sheets of paper. “What are these?”

  Chapter Twelve

  Elliot took the bills from her hand. “These are the monthly charges for ACK disposal.” He threw the papers back on the desk. “Now, as I was saying, Kimberly could refer—”

  “ACK disposal?” Megan asked.

  Elliot’s features pulled tight. “Are you listening to me? I’m trying to help you.”

  “What ACK disposal?”

  The long-suffering expression returned. “A waste-hauling company from Canada gets rid of ACK and our other hazardous materials. It costs Crelco big bucks, but we can’t just dump the stuff on the ground.”

  Megan looked down at the papers, then back up at Elliot. “But we are.”

  “What’re you talking about?”

  “There’s a pit out behind the plant. I saw them dumping tankers of ACK only three days ago.”

  Elliot’s eyes narrowed. “You were in the pit behind the factory three days ago? Why?”