by Ann Cristy
"That'll be the day," she replied breathlessly as she turned her face away, gasping for air.
When Damon nipped her buttocks, she squealed. "Do your worst with me, Xenobia," he challenged. "I won't fight back. I just won't let you leave me." He flipped her over again and buried his face in her abdomen. "Not ever."
"Crazy man," she whispered, taking hold of his thick hair and pulling him up to face her. "We're so different."
"We're one," he said with a growl. "I'm yours, and you'll never get rid of me."
Zen moved restlessly against the sheets. "Damon!"
"Yes, Xenobia, yes!" He caressed her parted thighs with gentle fingers, then with moist lips. Zen arched her back in astonished delight as measure upon measure of emotion twisted and burned inside her, building into white heat.
Her own hands laid claim to his body as he possessed hers. Memories of their previous lovemaking flooded back, guiding her hands as she touched him, making him groan and shudder. With growing urgency she sought to please him, her exploration of his virile form an erotic impetus to her own delight. She nibbled at his neck, then slid her mouth down his chest until she was tasting his nipples as he had tasted hers.
"Zen... Zen, darling..." Damon folded her closer, his chest heaving against her. All at once his control had broken.
He entered her, her body moist and ready for him, welcoming him, demanding him, embracing him. She held him in deep and loving incarceration; he became her slave just as she was his.
For long minutes they climbed the heavens together, gasping at the peak with pleasure that was theirs alone. The stars were laid bare before them as they gloried in sensual fulfillment.
"Damon, Damon," Zen moaned, long moments later, knowing that he had taken more than her body, that she had given more than her flesh.
"Yes, my darling wife?"
"Engaged," Zen gasped.
"Married," Damon insisted against her mouth.
Under his soothing hands her racing heart calmed, her heated skin cooled. She snuggled closer, reveling in his strength and warmth after being so very long apart.
They heard the clatter in the loft at the same time.
Zen leaped from the bed and sped across the room to the tall dresser, pulling out clothes helter-skelter, then running for the bathroom.
Damon leaned against the headboard of the bed, watching her. "Have I told you how much I love your breasts?"
"Stop it," Zen scolded, slamming the bathroom door on his laugh.
She unlocked the other door to the bathroom, which led to the hall, and called out to the boys that she was just changing her clothes and would join them in a moment. She gritted her teeth when she heard Damon chortle in the bedroom.
Before he was dressed, Zen hurried out to the boys and asked if they would like to go on a hike.
"Sure, Aunt Zeno," David agreed, delighted with the idea of putting a pack on his back with a box of graham crackers inside it.
Zen was relieved that the old canvas backpacks that had belonged to her and Eleni were still usable. She strapped a second pack on Daniel and added two cans of fruit juice.
Curly was only too glad to lead the way into the piney woods surrounding the cabin, and, although Zen was fairly certain of her direction, she marked the trees with a jackknife as her father had taught her. She explained what she was doing to the boys.
"It's very important that you guard against getting lost in an area as large as the Adirondacks," she said. "So you two must promise never to go out into the woods alone, okay?"
"Yes, Aunt Zeno," they chorused, round-eyed with excitement.
"Didn't you think I would want to come, Aunt Zeno?" Damon quizzed behind them, making Zen jump and the boys squeal. She turned to see him leaning against a maple tree.
"It's Uncle Damon," David pointed, grinning.
Daniel nodded, his smile wide.
"I-I thought you needed your sleep," Zen said stiffly, pausing at the top of a gully.
The boys followed Curly, heeding Zen's warning to stay close.
"Don't get too tired, darling," Damon whispered close behind her. "I don't want you to be worn out tonight." His chuckle sent tingles along her skin.
"Balloon-head." Zen pushed hard against his chest.
To her surprise, Damon staggered. He struggled to regain his balance, but his feet slipped on the wet mat of old leaves and pine needles, and he tumbled down the side of the gully, gathering momentum until he crashed against a tree. His leg was bent under him at a crazy angle.
Zen heard his grunt of pain even as she leaped after him. "Damon, are you all right?" she cried, aghast. She reached him in seconds, and, hearing the boys run back, she called up to them, "Stay where you are. Uncle Damon fell."
"You pushed me," he accused, regarding her with exasperated amusement. "And if you say it was an accident, I'll strangle you."
"Does anything hurt?" Zen asked anxiously as he grasped the tree trunk and rose slowly to his feet. He seemed to be favoring one foot. "You didn't break it, did you?"
"Wrenched it." Damon winced, then glanced at her with one eyebrow arched.
"You aren't faking, are you?" Zen watched him closely, suspicion and concern warring within her.
"Xenobia, that's unkind." Damon flinched and laughed as he inched back up the gully, one arm curled tightly around Zen's shoulders.
"I know you," Zen mumbled, breathing heavily as she made the short ascent to where the boys were watching, wide-eyed.
"Will Uncle Damon have to have his dinner in bed?" Daniel asked as David ran off to get a long stick he'd seen.
"No, of course not, dear," Zen began.
"Maybe." Damon gave a woeful sigh.
"Not likely, you malingerer," Zen retorted as they began hobbling back to the cabin. "Must you put all your weight on me?" she complained, trying to mask her delight at holding him.
"I hate to be a burden." Damon's eyes glinted with deviltry as her face grew warm. "You're so cute when you blush," he cooed.
"I'm going to kick you in the other leg." Zen fumed, manipulating them past some low-hanging branches.
By the time they had covered the short distance back to the cabin, Zen was red-faced and sweaty, out of breath and out of sorts. Though he was still limping, Damon seemed in high spirits.
"Do you want to get into bed?" Zen asked as she helped him through the door and into the main room.
"No, I'll rest on the couch, maybe play crazy eights with the boys."
"Goody," Zen responded sarcastically, but her heart flip-flopped when he smiled at her.
As she chopped the vegetables for poor-man's stew, she couldn't help noticing how well Damon got along with the boys. Only a fool would fail to see the growing rapport among them, or the unfeigned affection the boys expressed for each other and for their uncle. Zen knew that she, too, shared their love. "I'll end up marrying him... and then that chauvinistic Greek will put me in my place," she muttered.
"Not Greek, darling, American, like you." Damon kissed her neck.
Startled, Zen lost her grip on the knife. It slipped and she cut her finger. "Look what you made me do! Are you going to call that an accident?" She swallowed hard, trying to slow her pulse.
Damon nodded and took her bleeding thumb into his mouth, sucking gently.
"Don't do that," Zen said, trying to free her hand. "I'm fighting infection." The lazy heat in Damon's eyes sent languid warmth through her limbs.
"Indeed," Zen replied. "I have to finish cooking." She jerked away from him and sprinted for the back porch, where the barbecue utensils were stored. After filling the outdoor brick broiler with enough hardwood to cook the foil-wrapped dinner of meat, potatoes, and carrots with herbs, and spices, she lit the fire.
"Don't run away from me, darling." Damon stood behind her as she fanned the flames.
"Aaaah!" Zen jumped again. "Stop doing that. You're supposed to be resting. You can't walk."
"Yes, I can. I found a polished maple root that looks like a lon
g shillelagh."
Zen smiled. "Daddy bought me that shillelagh at the CooperstownFarmersMuseum when I was a little girl."
"Very handy when you've sprained an ankle." Damon leaned around her to peer at the fire.
"I still think you should be resting your foot," she said.
"It's all right. I've done worse on the ski slopes."
"In Lausanne, I suppose," Zen snapped, thinking of all the beautiful women who frequented the resort.
"Gstaad, actually. We have a house there. Had you forgotten?"
"Yes." Zen turned away from him. "I'm going to slice some fruit while the fire burns down to coals."
Damon remained nearby, chatting with the boys as they played cards, then sitting on the step stool in the kitchen from where he could watch them in the main room.
By the time Zen had cut up apples, pineapples, oranges, and grapes and tossed them with a mixture of plain yogurt and honey, the fire was ready.
Dinner was a success, the fresh mountain air ensuring their good appetites.
The boys helped clean up, then joined Damon in the living room. He fingered a book on his lap. "Would you like me to read the story of the Ancient Mariner?" he asked. "It's a poem I used to like when I was a boy."
Zen's eyes widened in surprise at his selection. How strange that they should share a special fondness for that poem. "You're my albatross," she muttered, polishing the glass in her hand and putting it in the cupboard. "If I hurt you, all bad things will happen to me. If I keep you, all bad things will happen to me." She sighed, feeling sorry for herself.
"What did you say about the albatross, Zen? Do you like Coleridge?"
"Sometimes," Zen admitted grudgingly, shaking out the towel after drying the last dish and draping it over the counter, joining Damon and the boys.
Damon began reading, and though much of the poem was lost on the boys, they seemed to enjoy it. Then he closed the book and began to explain.
"The Ancient Mariner is about a sailor who, many years ago, killed a bird that had been flying around his ship. The bird was an albatross, and after its death, the ship and the sailors on it began to have bad luck. The wind didn't fill the sails, people became ill." Damon spoke in slow, measured tones, holding the boys in thrall even as their eyes dropped with fatigue. "Many people refer to a person who has troubles as one who has an albatross around his neck. But I think the story tries to tell us to take care of the world around us—the earth, the animals, and the people."
"Like we take care of Curly?" Daniel asked yawning.
"Yes." Damon watched Zen lead the boys from the room, his face expressionless. He said good night before they climbed up the stairs, but Zen accompanied them to make sure they brushed their teeth and to listen to the prayers their grandmother had taught them to say each night.
When Zen came down from the loft, Damon was not in the living room. Assuming he was in the bathroom, she went to get fresh bedding for the couch. She was tucking in the sheets when Damon said behind her, "Forget it. We're sleeping together."
Startled, she whirled around. His dark scowl made him look like Lucifer. She drew herself up. "Now, you listen to—"
"Xenobia, please don't argue with me. Not after this afternoon."
"I'm a restless sleeper," she said, voicing the first excuse that came to mind.
"We won't be sleeping much anyway," he countered. "Damon—"
"I am not letting you sleep without me. Even if you don't want to make love, I will not sleep without you... and that's the way it's going to be for the rest of our lives."
"Just like that."
"Exactly like that."
"We'll argue," she warned, taking a different tack.
"Don't underestimate us, Xenobia. We will no doubt argue every day. But that won't change anything. We'll still be in each other's arms at night."
She stared mutely up at him, unable to muster a rebuttal, her mind blank. Her sharp repartee had deserted her.
"Shall we go to bed, darling?" Damon urged softly, watching her from the bedroom doorway.
"But, your leg... ankle, that is. We don't want to do any damage—"
"Xenobia..." Damon's voice rose almost imperceptibly.
"What is it, Aunt Zeno?" David's sleepy voice drifted down the staircase.
"Nothing, dear," Zen answered, trying to keep her voice light. She glared at Damon.
"We're just going to bed, son," he called to the boy.
'"Kay. 'Night." David's voice faded.
"You said—" Zen cleared her throat. "You said that if I didn't want to... to make love... we wouldn't."
"Right." Damon leaned nonchalantly against the door frame.
"All right, then. I'm tired," Zen announced.
"So am I." Damon straightened and went into the bathroom.
Zen rummaged through an old chest of her mother's, looking for a flannel nightie. She found one packed in mint leaves and potpourri and held it up, frowning. She hated to give up the delicious sensation of sleeping naked, but she wasn't willing to risk accidentally touching Damon. One brush of his skin against hers and she would go up in flames.
She collected her soaps and the other paraphernalia she would need and when Damon opened the door, she slipped past him into the bathroom.
"Are you in such a hurry, honey lamb?" he crooned, sending shivers down her spine.
"I'm tired. Remember, I told you I was tired." Zen slammed the door on his grinning face.
She had intended to take her time preparing for bed, but when she washed her face and her body, her trembling hand slowed her even more.
When she returned to the bedroom, all was in darkness.
Taking a deep breath and fixing her eyes on the bed, she shut off the bathroom light. It was like stepping into a deep well.
She stubbed her toe against the foot of the bed. Muttering imprecations, she grabbed hold of the offended limb and hopped around on the other foot.
"For God's sake, Zen..." Damon switched on the light over the bed and scowled at her. "Now can you find your way?"
"Yes, and—"
"Then come to bed. And for God's sake, take off that horse blanket you're wearing. You'll suffocate."
"Not on your life." Zen humphed, then eased under the sheet, clinging to her side of the bed as if it were a life raft.
She closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but the nightgown twisted around her legs and pulled at her neck. She grew unbearably warm. Finally she couldn't stand it anymore. She sat up, pulled the gown over her head, and tossed it to the end of the bed.
"Even that slice of moon gives off enough light for me to see your lovely breasts, sweet," Damon murmured.
"I have a headache," Zen mumbled.
"Of course you have," Damon soothed, lying still.
Zen's head sank down on the pillow, and she stretched out, as straight and stiff as a ramrod.
"Good night, Zen."
'"Night." She swallowed dryly, her eyes wide and staring up at the darkened ceiling, where a bar of light was reflected.
She had no idea when her eyes closed. She was preoccupied with surprise and disappointment because Damon hadn't kissed her good night.
It grew colder in the wee hours of the night. Zen awoke groggy and cold in the predawn, wondering if the boys were warm. Stumbling out of bed, she pulled on a robe and went up the stairs. Curly woke up and wagged his tail, but the boys continued breathing deeply, tucked up warm in their quilted sleeping bags. Zen retraced her steps, shivering, and resolved to keep on her robe when she went back to bed.
But when she crawled under the covers, Damon's strong, warm arms came around her, unwrapping the robe from her and pulling her tight to his hard body.
"Your headache must be gone," Damon said, his lips feathering light kisses across her forehead.
"How do you know?" Zen asked, straining to keep from curving into his warmth. When he rested the flat of his hand on her buttocks, she sighed and gave in, closing her eyes in delight as his heat penetrated to her v
ery core.
"You were cold." Damon's voice was gruff as he folded her even closer, his body sheltering hers.
"Not cold now," she mumbled. "Toasty." Her words ruffled the curling black hair on his chest.
"I'm a little more than toasty, darling," Damon crooned, rhythmically stroking her bottom.
"Living with men can be complicated," Zen observed, cuddling into his warmth.
Damon's body stiffened. "Oh? How many men have you lived with?" he asked with a casualness that failed to hide an underlying tension.
"Huh? Me?" She stretched to look up at him. His dark, brooding gaze startled her. "Purely hypothetical," she murmured and put her head back on his chest.
"Who is Seamus—that man David keeps mentioning in connection with Dublin?"
"Actually, he talks about his friend Robbie—"
"Zen, I want to know about Seamus."
"I told you, Seamus Dare is a co-worker at Deirdre's salon. He's an incredible photographer."
"I don't give a damn what he does," Damon said with a growl, his embrace tightening. "Did you live with him?"
Zen's head snapped up. "You have no right to know what I did with my life when we were apart. Have I asked you about the women you slept with while I was in Ireland?"
"Ask away." Damon's face took a grayish tinge in the pale dawn light.
"Were you celibate while I was in Ireland?" "No," he snapped.
"My answer is the same," Zen lied without thinking, despair engulfing her. Once again his embrace tightened, crushing her. "Owww, Damon, you'll break my ribs," she cried softly.
"Damn you, Xenobia," he said gently. Then his mouth swooped down onto hers, tearing it open at once, his tongue taking ardent possession.
As his mouth trailed down her body, Zen was sure she could hear him cursing, but soon her senses were focused in another direction. A white-hot heat was coursing through her, twisting and turning, building in an intense, overwhelming crescendo.
Damon was every bit as tender as before, but this time Zen sensed a new urgency in him, a purpose, a determination that had been missing the first time. It fired them both to greater heights of passion.
Zen felt as if she were falling into a whirlpool. Part of her struggled to resist the pull. Another part of her knew it was no use. Damon held her in silken fetters. Their three years apart had not broken the bonds that united them. Three thousand miles had not separated their spirits. Something that defied time and distance and their own willful hearts held them enthralled, one to the other, for all time.