by Ann Cristy
Zen reached out for him. "Damon, Damon."
"Yes... my own. I'm here. Let me love you." His mouth moved over her, sending heat through every part of her, making her gasp with pleasure, so that when he lifted his body over her, she was ready and welcoming.
All thought ceased in the onrush of sensation upon sensation that grew and grew until they tumbled together into the wild whirlpool of love, clinging to each other fiercely as shudders of release swept over them.
Zen whispered into his chest so that he couldn't hear. "Damon, I love you. I love you far, far too much to share you with anyone."
Chapter 6
After three days in Damon's company, Zen was feeling the strain. She felt as though she were walking across quicksand on stepping stones, with no firm ground anywhere. Every time she thought her feelings for him were under control, he did something to throw her off balance. Sometimes she wondered if he could read her mind, so effectively did he anticipate her moves and counteract them.
One afternoon, when the boys were napping in the loft, and Damon was resting his leg in bed, Zen decided to go down to the old dock and see if she could repair the broken slats. The day was very warm for May, so she decided to wear faded cutoff jeans and a short-sleeved cotton shirt that had been washed so many times it was almost transparent. She shrugged at her image in the mirror, aware that her breasts were barely covered, and started to pull up the zipper on her pants.
A sound stilled her hand. She turned to see Damon leaning against the doorjamb, his arms crossed on his chest. "I thought you were resting your ankle," she said.
"I was. It's tested."
"You're better, and you know it," she accused him, feeling her body tingle under his scrutiny.
"I'm returning to good health... under your care."
His sardonic look made her sputter. "I have things to do. I don't have time to chat."
"What are you going to do?" Damon blocked her exit from the room. "I wasn't asleep when you were creeping around gathering your clothes."
"No? Well, now you can rest." She shifted from one foot to the other in front of him. "I'm going to see if I can repair the dock."
"I'll help." He straightened from the doorjamb, looking down at her from his six-foot-plus height. "That's the sexiest set of work clothes I've ever seen." Before she could move, he hooked one arm around her and lifted her toward him to press his face to the opening of the blouse.
"I'm in a hurry," Zen protested. She swayed unsteadily when he freed her abruptly.
"You lead. I'll follow," he said.
Zen stomped past him down the hall and out the kitchen door to the enclosed back porch. She unlocked the tool cupboard and flung open the doors to reveal fairly well-stocked shelves. Some of the tools were beginning to rust but others were still shiny new.
Damon reached around her and hefted some of them. "Good ones. I'll have to clean some with oil. I think we'll be using this place a great deal once we're married. The boys like it, and so do I." He was studying the rust on a pair of pliers and didn't see Zen's stunned expression.
Damon Aristides liked a rustic cottage on a mountain lake? Remembering the pictures she'd seen of him in the gossip papers on the newsstands in Dublin, she couldn't believe it. Damon Aristides had squired beautiful women to the Riviera, to Nice, to Rome, to the Greek islands.
"Twaddle," Zen muttered, reaching for tools, nails, and a measuring tape.
"What?" Damon followed her off the porch, carrying clamps and wrenches. "What did you say?"
"Nothing." Zen flounced ahead of him down the incline, then paused. "I'd better check on the boys before I go down to the lake."
"Don't worry. I checked on them before I went to find you. Curly is up there with them, as usual." He paused, but continued to follow Zen. "You have the sweetest rear end, darling. Ummm, so nice."
"You are a crass low-life, Mr. Aristides," she retorted, angry at the secret pleasure his compliments gave her.
"Sweet buns, how you talk to your husband." Damon laughed, coming up to her side and putting his arm around her.
"Don't call me 'sweet buns'!" Zen fumed, trying to pry his arm from her middle. "And I am not your wife."
"I like it." Damon tightened his hold. "And you are my wife."
When they reached the narrow strip of shore near the dock, Damon released her and walked out onto the wooden structure.
"Damon, be careful. It hasn't been looked at in years," Zen called.
"I can see that." He squatted down to study the extent of disrepair. "Still, a great deal of it can be mended. It was well built."
Zen began to follow him out onto the dock, but he gestured for her to stay back. "Why can't I?" she demanded angrily.
"That temper of yours erupts at the snap of a finger, doesn't it?" He laughed at her glowering look. "Why don't you put some oil on the bolts? I'll start replacing the boards."
Zen agreed, though she was still irritated. She grimaced at the smell of the oil. "It smells like soiled kitty litter." Zen grimaced when Damon laughed at her. "Why do I put up with that man?" she muttered to herself as she coated the bolts and nuts of the supports, keeping her head averted to avoid as much of the odor as possible.
They worked on into the afternoon, Zen feeling safe and happy laboring beside Damon, delighted when she could see that the new pieces he had sawed and mitered by hand were beginning to transform the shabby pier.
"Aunt Zenooo!" David's voice called. "We want to come down with you."
"All right, dear. You and Daniel get some fruit for yourselves and a biscuit for Curly, then join us," Zen called back. She rose to her feet. She asked Damon, "Why don't I get us a cold drink? Are you thirsty?"
"I'd love some of that well water."
"Not Dom Perignon?"
"That's for later, love, when I'm peeling your clothes from your lovely body, a piece at a—"
"Stop it." Zen threw down the capped oil can and wiped her hands on her cutoffs. "I'll bring you a beer."
"That or the well water." Damon went back to sawing. He'd taken his shirt off, and his back glistened bronze in the sun.
Zen paused, watching the smooth motion of his shoulder and arm as he pushed and pulled the saw in rhythmic strokes. "I suppose you never get sunburned."
"Never. I have tough skin," Damon replied, cocking an amused eyebrow at her.
"Do you like to sunbathe?"
"Sometimes. But only after I've worked out in the water, or on it... and I never wear a suit, love."
"You must be arrested regularly."
"Darling, many of the beaches around the world allow nude sunbathing."
"Trust you to find them," Zen snapped, turning away when he chuckled.
"Yes, I think I have been to most of them."
"Viper," she whispered. She forced a smile to her face when she reached the boys, who were cavorting down the incline.
"We brung you an apple, Aunt Zeno. One for Uncle Damon, too."
"Thank you, Daniel, but say, 'We brought you an apple,' not 'brung.' Take them down to the lake, and I'll bring some fruit juice and crackers."
David thought it over. "And cheese. And maybe another biscuit for Curly, and—"
"I'll try to bring everything," Zen interrupted, hoping to cut short his lengthening list.
Zen washed her hands and face. Then, loaded down with the food David had requested, she returned to the lakeshore.
The boys were sitting on the end of the dock talking to Damon, and tossing a stick to Curly, who never seemed to tire of leaping into the cold water and retrieving it.
Damon took the cold beer she handed him and held the icy can to his forehead. "Any moment now I may join Curly in the water."
"Don't be foolish. You'd freeze," Zen admonished.
"Will we come up here later, when the water is warm, Uncle Damon?" David asked.
"Sure. We'll come up on weekends. We'll get a boat, too."
Zen opened her mouth to say that she wasn't sure she would be doing that
, but one look at the joyful expression on the boys' faces stilled her retort.
Zen spread a cloth on the deck and unpacked the things she had brought.
"I like it here," Daniel said. "I like being with you, Aunt Zeno."
Zen blinked back a sudden moistness in her eyes. "And I like being with you, too, love."
Damon leaned down into the water and washed his hands, then joined them. He startled Zen by lying down with his head in her lap. "Yes, I like it here. We'll come often," he agreed softly.
The days continued to grow warmer, but the evenings were often chilly.
Each night Zen slept in Damon's arms. She had stopped protesting when he reached for her in the dark, but each time they made love, she felt a sense of defeat. She would have to give him up someday. She would never be able to hold him. But it would be so hard, now that she had belonged to him so completely. For him the feeling would pass. He would go on to someone else. But for her there would be no one else—just Damon.
He seemed in no hurry to end their holiday, although Zen knew he had important responsibilities as director of the Aristides businesses.
One morning when the boys had gone out to play after eating breakfast, Zen approached Damon on the front porch, where he was repairing some screens. "I think we should go back now," she said.
"Do you, darling?" He put down the tack hammer and hooked his arm around her waist. "All right, we'll go home. I've missed two important meetings that I remember ... But we'll be coming back here. The boys thrive on the mountain air. I feel good myself. How do you feel? With that honey glow to your skin, why should I ask, right?"
"Right," she agreed out loud. But in her mind she shouted, I feel as if I've been emotionally drawn and quartered.
The boys didn't make a fuss about leaving, since their uncle assured them they would be coming back to the cottage during the summer.
The day before they were to leave, the weather turned cold, and work on the dock, although almost finished, stopped.
Damon bundled the boys up in winter coats and boots, and took them for a walk, Curly at their side. Zen stayed in the cabin and made chicken soup from scratch. She chopped every vegetable available, except the fresh cooked beets, which she intended to slice and marinate in oil and vinegar with onions and chives.
While the stock and vegetables were simmering, she packed some of the boys' things, to save time in the morning.
She was back in the kitchen stirring the soup, then lifting a wooden spoon to taste it, when Damon crooned in her ear, "Feed me." Startled, Zen jerked her hand and spilled some of the soup.
"Damon! We both could have been burned.'4 She frowned at him as she lifted the spoon to his mouth. "Where are the boys?"
"Mmmm, good. Ahh... hot! The boys are lying in front of the fire with Curly." Damon sipped the rest of the soup off the spoon, then kissed her, his mouth opening on hers* "Thank you... for the soup."
"Yes." Zen swung around to gaze down at the bubbling kettle, not seeing the vegetables floating there. Damon's face filled her mind.
That evening, Zen served dinner from a blanket spread out in front of the fire. Damon and the twins helped bring out the food, but with a great deal of teasing and giggling.
"Curly can eat with us," David decided. Daniel nodded.
"Curly will eat outside," Damon corrected. "Then, when we've cleaned up our dishes and taken our walk, Curly can join us by the fire."
David frowned at his uncle, but, seeming to decide that arguing wouldn't change Damon's mind, he nodded.
The soup and hard rolls disappeared like magic, and, to Zen's surprise, so did the beet salad. For dessert there were apples, grapes, and cheese, which they ate after Damon and the boys had cleared away and washed most of the dishes, as Zen watched from the doorway.
"Stop looking so surprised, Zen," Damon chided her. "I know how to wash dishes. I lived in Alaska for a time, up near Barrow. I learned how to cook and take care of myself. I also backpacked to Alice Springs in Australia with a friend. Dug for opals, studied the aborigines..." He shrugged.
"I never knew that." Zen took a chair in the kitchen and watched the boys dry the plates.
"Was it scary?" Daniel asked.
Damon shook his head. "Australia is awesome, not scary. I loved it... and I'm going to take Aunt Zeno there on a trip someday."
Zen felt her neck redden as Damon chuckled and both boys cried, "Take me, too."
After they went for a walk, the boys stretched out in front of the fireplace, and Damon held up a guitar he'd found in a cupboard. He raised his eyebrows at Zen.
"My father's," she explained, reaching for it. She twisted the string screws to see if it could be tuned after such a long time and after having experienced such extremes of temperature in the cabin. Several minutes passed before she decided it might be playable. She strummed a few chords and found it in fairly good tune. When she sang the mountain song "Shenandoah," the poignant words and melody carried her away. She was taken aback when Damon's rich baritone joined her lilting soprano.
It took all her courage to continue playing. His voice seemed to reach out to her and pull her into himself, as though now her blood ran with his.
The boys applauded and sang a song Daniel had learned in school and taught to David.
When the boys could no longer keep their eyes open, Damon carried them up stairs, Curly at his heels, Zen following behind them.
In no time the twins were asleep, the dog curled up on the floor between the beds.
"Let's have some wine." Damon went out to his car and returned with a bottle of French champagne. "A friend of mine, Marcel Daubert, has vineyards in Provence," he explained. "This is his family's wine."
"Did you meet him when you were at Oxford?"
Damon paused in opening the bottle. "How did you know I went there?"
"Eleni told me you were a Rhodes scholar." Zen was tickled that Damon seemed discomfited. "She said you were the brainy one of the family," Zen added, deliberately provoking him.
"And no doubt she told you I don't like to talk about it," Damon said dryly, watching her.
"She might have." Zen smiled. "But why wouldn't you want to talk about something as prestigious as being a Rhodes scholar?"
"My mother and grandmother and uncles all talked of nothing else whenever they were in my company. Finally
I convinced my mother to spread the word that I didn't want to talk about it anymore." "Poor baby," Zen soothed.
"Little demon." Damon reached and grabbed her before she could get away. He sat down with her in his lap, holding her with one arm while his other hand touched the pleasure points of her body. "Tease me, will you?"
Zen laughed, then gasped. "Stop it, Damon. The boys..."
He glanced up the stairs, then back at her. "All right. For the moment." He reached behind him and hefted the guitar. "Play a song for me."
Zen played and sang, and Damon sang with her. For a short time the real world seemed to fade away, and they escaped to another realm that contained them alone.
When at last they prepared for bed, Damon's arm curled around her waist; hers rested across his broad back. The champagne was gone, and the evening had taken on a luster that had nothing to do with wine.
"You may have dark circles under your eyes in the morning," Damon said as he began to undress her, keeping her standing in front of him. "No, don't cover your breasts... please." He leaned down to take her nipple into his mouth.
His touch made her body tremble. She closed her eyes as he released her breast and knelt in front of her to slide her jeans, then the bikini panties, down her legs.
"Naked or dressed, agape mou," Damon said in guttural Greek. "You are Venus to me." He pressed a kiss to her abdomen, then stood and flung off his own clothes and caught her to him again, leading her to the bed and sinking with her down into its comfort.
The night was long and beautiful. Zen could deny him nothing. But each time their bodies separated, she felt an overwhelming sense o
f loss that filled her with despair.
The next morning was sunny, crisp, and cold. The lake sparkled like a sapphire.
Zen packed quickly and easily. Though she tried, she couldn't smother the sadness that engulfed her at the thought of leaving. These days with Damon and the boys had been some of the happiest she had ever known. She might return to the cottage with David and Daniel, but surely she would never return with Damon.
"Now remember, Zen, I'll be right behind you," he said, pointing to the map. "This is the first leg of the trip. We'll stop there." He punched a point with his index finger.
She nodded, then looked up at him, trying to keep her face expressionless. "Fine. We'll see you at the restaurant near Johnsburg."
He smiled down at her, studying her intently. "You'll never be free of me, Xenobia. You're tied to me." He turned to call the boys and the dog, then checked once more to ensure that the doors and windows were locked and the pump shut off.
Zen stood frozen to the spot, watching him, wanting both to strike him and to cling to him. She hated their hot-cold relationship, the ambivalence that kept her emotions seesawing from high to low.
When both boys and the dog were settled in the Cherokee, she began to climb into the car. Then she felt herself being lifted into the seat.
"Are you sure this isn't too tough for you to maneuver? Wouldn't you rather drive the Ferrari?"
God, no, she thought, shaking her head. She needed the distraction of the boys—their laughter, bickering, and interminable questions.
Reluctantly Damon let her go and climbed into his own car.
The drive to the secondary road was uneventful, but, though the highway wasn't as busy as it would be on the weekends, there were still enough cars to demand Zen's full attention.
When they arrived at Harley's Garage, she turned in to fill up on gas.
"Hi, there. Nice to see you folks again." Harley squinted up the road as the Ferrari pulled in after them. "I see your husband found you all right."