Sparked by Love

by Peggy Bird

  He increased the intensity of his thrusts and Shannon felt her own body respond with a rhythmic release, until they both dissolved into a climax leaving them breathless, sated, and silent.

  Eventually, he broke the silence. Stroking her cheek he said, “I think this is where I thank you for the new underwear.”

  “You barely looked at it.”

  “Didn’t have to study it for long to see it was covering a very sexy lady.”

  “I’m not sure a lady would wear black lace lingerie, but I’ll tell Powell you appreciated it.” She snuggled into his chest. “I have more for tomorrow. Not quite so minimal but still kinda sexy.”

  “Hmm. This is shaping up to be the best weekend I’ve had in forever.” He kissed her on the forehead.

  “Same for me.” She looked up at his brilliant blue eyes. “I’ve never met a man like you before.”

  “Is it a good thing or a bad thing?” He was grinning now.

  “It’s a very good thing.” She returned to snuggling against his chest. The silence returned as she drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter Eight

  In Shannon’s dream she could hear an odd thumping sound as something wet and warm caressed her hand. She shook it off, but whatever it was, moved to her arm. It wasn’t unpleasant. It was, however, weird. Finally she opened her eyes.

  No dream. Walter was sitting beside her, licking her as his wagging tail hit the floor.

  She groaned. “Walter, Leo’s on the other side.”

  In a sleepy voice Leo said, “He wants out. I’m sorry he decided to ask you.”

  “It’s what I get for feeding him treats last night. Go find Leo, Walter.” The dog didn’t move.

  By the time she turned toward him, Leo had put on his jeans and was tying his shoes. “I’ll take him out and be right back.”

  She sat up, holding the sheet over her breasts. “I’ll make coffee while you’re gone.”

  The grin he aimed at her was the most wicked thing she’d ever seen. “Stay right where you are. I have plans for how I want to start the morning. And they don’t include coffee quite yet.” He made a clicking noise and Walter came to his side. “And I’ve already seen your beautiful breasts. You don’t have to hide them.”

  She dozed off again so she wasn’t sure how long he was gone. All she knew was the next time she woke it was to a much nicer sensation than having her hand licked. Her body was being stroked. It was sensuous, seriously sexy. Leo was spooned around her back, one arm somehow under her neck and the other around her waist. The beginning of an erection was pressed against her bottom; his hand was busy bringing her nipples to hard peaks.

  “Mmm. Feels good. I like waking up to you better than to Walter,” she said as she rolled over to face him.

  “I hope so. I’d hate to be in second place behind my dog.”

  “You said something about plans?” She rubbed her fingertips over his morning stubble.

  “Yeah. I thought we’d start with a little of this.” He kissed her gently, his lips soft and satisfying, at the same time making her want more. He gave it to her with tiny nips to her mouth and quick little licks with his tongue. “Then, maybe this.” His hand returned to her breast, stroking, massaging, finishing the task of bringing her nipples to hard, pebbly points.

  “Would it upset your plans if I added this?” she asked as she reached between them to stroke his penis, feeling it harden under her touch.

  He groaned his approval before taking possession of her mouth again, tangling his tongue with hers in a kiss now moving from sweet all the way to sexy.

  “Condom,” she managed to say in a raspy, breathless voice. She heard the rip of the packet behind her back and then it was in her hand.

  She quickly covered him and was about to lie on her back when he pulled her leg up over his hip and entered her.

  • • •

  Although it was only the second time they’d made love, it felt like he’d found the place he belonged. Shannon was so receptive, so passionate in her response. Leo couldn’t imagine anyone being more in tune with him.

  He wanted this to last, as he had the night before, but the taste of her mouth, the smell of her skin when she was aroused, the slip and slide of their bodies moving on mingled sweat, the feel of her inner muscles already beginning to pull at him were more than he could fight. With one last deep thrust he poured himself into her as they found their release together.

  He touched his forehead to hers then kissed her there. “So, how’d you like the plan for starting the morning?”

  A soft breathy laugh cooled his neck. “You’re a marvelous planner. You should work for the city. We’d all have a lot more fun if you made plans like this for us every day.”

  “Thanks for the offer but there’s only one person in city hall I want to plan for and she’s right here.” He skimmed his hand down her side.

  “You don’t have to flatter me, Leo. We’re just having fun.”

  “I’m not flattering you; it’s true.” He kissed her forehead again before he sat up. “It’s also true I’m hungry. Let’s go someplace and eat. I’ve heard for years about Tommy O’s great breakfasts but I’ve never been there.”

  “I have eggs and turkey sausage and fresh orange juice and morning buns … ”

  “You fed us last night. It’s my turn.”

  “Nope. It was my idea to spend the weekend here so it’s still my turn.” She jumped out of bed. “Dibs on the first shower.”

  Half an hour later, both of them had showered and were in fresh clothes and had made their way to the kitchen. They were finding their rhythm there as Leo fed Walter, then made coffee, and Shannon fried the sausage patties and eggs. When it was all put together, they ate, the comfortable camaraderie of the table from the night before still evident in their conversation.

  Breakfast finished, the dishes done, and the coffee pot empty, Shannon said, “So what’s the planner got in mind for the day?” In response to his smirk, she said, “Other than the obvious.”

  “There was a promise of a walking tour of Vancouver for Walter and me.”

  “Let’s do it, then. I think Walter would like to see some of our public art, don’t you?”

  “Definitely. Walter’s really into public art.”

  • • •

  The three of them—Leo, Shannon, and Walter, one of them on a leash, two of them holding hands—started west, across the I-5 overpass, heading to Esther Short Park. Along the way Shannon pointed out the tower of brightly colored metallic umbrellas on Main Street, one of the latest additions to the city’s collection of public art, and he asked to see the child with the glass balloons his friends at Firehouse had worked on.

  Leo had already seen the park’s clock tower and water feature with the salmon running when they’d had lunch outside a couple weeks before so Shannon led him to the pioneer mother statue, one of the city’s oldest pieces of public art. He did point out she was facing north, which made her seem a little lost, unlike the pioneers in front of the Justice Center in Portland who were frozen in place perpetually facing west, their goal from the day they left their homes in the east. Shannon suggested the pioneers in the park here might have realized they’d taken a wrong turn and this wasn’t Vancouver, Canada, and re-aimed their sights north.

  The tour continued past the statue of Captain Vancouver for whom the city was named, although only his statue and not the man himself had ever been in the area. From there they went toward the Columbia River, past the Boat of Discovery, which commemorated the exploration of the area.

  He loved her enthusiasm for her city and told her.

  “You haven’t seen the best yet. I’ve saved it for last and then we can head home.”

  Leo looked around the area where Shannon had led them but saw nothing more than trees, two restaurants, and an assortment of parking lots. “I’m not sure I look at cars, a road, and an embankment with railroad tracks on top as art.”

  “The berm for the tracks hides what I want y
ou to see,” she said as she continued to walk, “but there’s an entrance right … ” She pointed to an opening. “Right there.”

  Before Leo could say anything, Walter went after another dog ahead of them and pulled Shannon, who was holding his leash, onto the north side of the berm. Leo jogged to catch up.

  “Before we go any further, you have to give obeisance to the Old Apple Tree,” Shannon said. “According to legend, John McLoughlin planted the tree when he was living here and in charge of the Hudson’s Bay Company. It’s well over 150 years old and may be the oldest apple tree in the west.”

  Leo bowed to the tree. “I always respect my elders. But even if it’s impressive for a tree to live so long, it’s not public art.”

  “Look to your right,” Shannon ordered.

  What Leo saw when he did was a two-story cedar log gate topped with crossed canoe paddles and what appeared to be a silvery glass mask. Beyond it was a wide, paved path curving around and up, leading to something not completely visible. “It’s beautiful but what is it?”

  “It’s the entry to the Land Bridge. The Confluence Project built it. It’s one of seven art installations along the Columbia River interpreting the intersection of environment, culture, and history. It’s my favorite piece of public art. Come on, let me show you the rest.”

  “Wait, I want to look at the mask.”

  “Lillian Pitt did it.”

  “I’ve seen her clay and mixed media pieces, but I didn’t know she did glass.” Leo pulled out his phone and took a picture of the gate, then called Shannon’s name to get her to turn around so he could capture an image of her with Walter.

  “Did I look as dorky as I felt?” she asked.

  “Oh, did I take a photo of you? I was going for a photo of Walter. Can’t have too many pictures of your pet, can you?”

  She shook her head. “Yeah, right. Okay, if you won’t tell me how dorky I looked, let’s walk up to the top. I want you to see the metal sculpture baskets Lillian Pitt did for the bridge itself.”

  “So, what’s the story about this? If it’s your favorite, you must know a lot about it.”

  She did. And she told him all of it as they walked up the ramp to the top of the bridge crossing over Highway 14. Covered in native grasses and plants, it represented the prairie lifted up over the road, reconnecting the Fort Vancouver site with the Columbia River. The site was part of the old Klickitat Trail, a meeting place for Native Americans long before Lewis and Clark arrived or the Hudson’s Bay Company laid claim to the land.

  “But after the art, my favorite part,” she said, as they arrived at the overlook on the south side, “is this.” Her grand gesture showed off what must be, Leo thought, the best view in Vancouver.

  To the south was the Columbia River, which formed the northern border of both Oregon and the city of Portland. To the west lay the I-5 Bridge and the downtown core of Vancouver. To the east, situated at what appeared to be the end of the river, was Mount Hood, still clad in winter snow.

  Even Walter seemed to understand this wasn’t a moment for running after other dogs. He sat quietly at Shannon’s feet.

  Leo put his arm around Shannon’s shoulders. “This is amazing. I heard about it on the local news when it was dedicated but I never thought to come here.”

  “Like I said, it’s my favorite place in Vancouver.” She smiled up at him. “I’m happy you like it.”

  As they walked over the bridge to the grounds of Fort Vancouver, Walter re-met the dog he had briefly chased on the south side. He was a mastiff and Walter was much more interested in him than he was in Walter. In fact, Arno—his owner introduced him—hid, tail between his legs, behind his mistress. He was, she explained, more a Ferdinand the Bull animal than the furry monster he appeared to be. Walter walked away from the encounter looking quite cocky about his intimidation of a larger dog.

  He also seemed happy with the rest of the day. Shannon and Leo tossed a ball for him on the parade grounds in front of her home and followed him around while he chased squirrels. When they’d worn him out—or vice versa—they took him back to Shannon’s house where they cooked dinner together before going to a midnight show of an old movie at the Kiggins Theater so Leo could see the renovations in the Art Deco-style theater. On Sunday they went to the restaurant Leo had heard about for breakfast.

  Oh, and they made love. Any chance they got.

  Chapter Nine

  Monday morning’s staff meeting was the usual—Randy Andy venting at his staff in his normal management-by-intimidation style. This Monday, however, Shannon really didn’t care who said what to whom. She was still on a cloud of … something. She didn’t want to analyze it; she wanted to enjoy it.

  However, when her boss asked her to stay after everyone else was dismissed, she knew she had little chance to make her good mood last.

  With a slight smirk on his face, he began with, “So, I hear you’ve worked things out with our star artist.”

  Shannon had a minute of panic. Had Larson heard somehow about her weekend with Leo? Where was he headed with this?

  “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “Worked it out. You got the permits and permissions taken care of and he signed off. What do you think I meant?”

  “Yes, I have everything signed and filed with the appropriate departments.”

  The smirk disappeared to be replaced with an expression Shannon knew meant he was about to rip into her. “It’s about time. I have to say, Ms. Morgan, I’ve been disappointed in your performance since you moved to my department. You’ve certainly not lived up to the hype I heard from the mayor’s office when they recommended you. Or were they trying to prune dead wood by sloughing you off on me?”

  Shannon took a few seconds to compose herself before she answered. Her automatic response was to tell him to get stuffed—or worse. But she knew she would only inflame the situation. Which, she suspected, was exactly what Larson was counting on.

  “I’m sorry you’re disappointed in my work. I’ve tried to uphold the standards of the department.”

  “Well, you haven’t succeeded. And if you don’t pull it together over the Independence Day event, you may find yourself outside looking in.” He handed her a sheaf of papers; in them, she noticed, were phone calls unanswered for days. “Take care of this. They’re mostly from potential vendors. We make money off the vendors. They’re important.”

  Then why didn’t you give me these phone messages when you got them? Oh, wait, because then you’d have nothing to harass me about.

  “I will.” She stuffed the papers into her notebook. “Anything else?”

  “No, I think I’ve covered it. But make no mistake, I’m watching you.”

  Like a hawk watches prey. But I’m not going to let you have me for lunch, buddy.

  She left the conference room with her head held high, determined to get back the good mood her weekend had put her in.

  Less than five minutes later, Powell showed up at the door to her cubicle, which was even less of a surprise than her conversation with her boss had been.

  “So what did Randy Andy want?” her friend began.

  “The usual. I’m not living up to expectations. I better straighten up or I’m gone. Nothing new.”

  “Didn’t he know you got the art installation taken care of?”

  “Yes, but not the vendor phone calls he hadn’t given me yet.” Shannon showed her the stack of phone messages.

  “Son of a bitch. He’d do anything to make you look bad, wouldn’t he?”

  “Yeah, and ruin my morning when I was feeling pretty good.”

  “I’d say more than pretty good. You have the look of a woman who has been well and truly fucked,” Powell said. She plopped down in the chair across from Shannon’s desk. “My weekend felt like one long meditative session with Buddhist monks—silent, celibate, and boring. Let me live vicariously, please. I need specifics.”

  “Powell, can you keep it under the decibel level of a fighter jet, pleas
e? I’m not interested in having my social life spread all over the office like peanut butter.”

  “Social life? Who cares about your social life? I want to know about your sex life, since you actually have one now.” She leaned across the desk. “On the time-honored scale of one to ten, with one being the worst sex you’ve ever had and ten the best, where did the weekend rank?”

  “About twenty.”

  “Oh, my God, I am drooling here. He’s that good?”

  “I don’t know what your criteria are … ”

  “How many times did you come?”

  “It would be oversharing to tell, Powell.”

  “You asked what my standards are. I told you.”

  Shannon made a shooing motion. “Begone, woman. I have to get some work done today.”

  “When do you see Studly-Do-Right again?”

  “We’re spending next weekend in Portland at his place. He said it’ll take him a week to get it cleaned up enough to allow me to see it.”

  “The man cleans, too? Honey, you’ve got hold of a real gem.”

  Two minutes of talking with Powell about her weekend and her good mood made a rapid return. She went back to her work with renewed energy and tore through her to-do list, making the phone calls her boss had given her to answer, handling emails, and drafting the minutes from her meetings the previous week. She even managed to soothe a couple angry phone callers about parking fines.

  The day flew by. She was about to wrap things up so she could leave for home when she glanced up from the desk. A man was standing in the doorway to her cubicle. The good feeling disappeared again; this time she was afraid it was permanent.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked. She could feel her shoulders tighten and her throat clench.

  “I came by to see if you’ll have a glass of wine with me after work,” her ex-boyfriend Jeremy Vincent said. “I need to talk to you.” He’d lost weight since she’d last seen him. He was leaner, tougher looking. And he had a tan so dark his skin looked like aged leather.