by Ruth Wind
He looked at her, as if letting her decide. Sarah put her hand on his crooked elbow to brace herself. Then she swayed, and inclined her head, and brushed a kiss over his mouth.
"Is that what you want, Sarita?" He didn't move, his dark eyes suddenly liquid. "To kiss me?"
"Yes," she said simply, and kissed him again, shifting so she could reach him more easily. He tasted of cinnamon and coffee and a thousand lost dreams, a flavor that was nostalgic and promising at once. She paused, and lifted her fingers to touch his lips.
"I love your mouth. I didn't know how much when I left here. I didn't know it was so rare."
He said nothing, only slid his long, slim hand beneath her hair, around her neck, and kissed her again. Heat and restraint mixed in his touch, in the firm but loose way he held her. As he kissed her, in that way that he had, so intensely and skillfully at once, Sarah tasted all the seasons that had passed while they were apart, tasted the falling leaves of autumn, and the wood smoke of winter, and the dampness of spring. But most of all, she tasted summer, the summer that was now, with both of them in it, and the summer of their lives – their youthful days together.
It made her feel supple and strong, that taste, and she wanted to give it back to him. She sat down again, then leaned back, pulling him with her, so their arms and hands would be free, so they could touch each other. He came with her, and they flowed into a single twining vine, outstretched on the bed of the truck, the blanket below them, their legs tangled, their arms embracing, their torsos pressed close.
Sarah made a sound of pleasure, a sigh and a cry together, without ever taking her mouth from his, for she couldn't bear to stop drinking of his kisses. But she raised her hands to his thick, wavy hair, renewing her memories of the way it slid through her fingers, and she clasped his head, so she could shape her palms to his skull. She moved her hands down, over his neck, his shoulders, down his back, to his hips, and all the area between, touching all of it.
As if he had the same need, he opened his hand and gauged the shape of her chin, her ear, her neck. He touched her shoulder, her arm, her breast, her waist, her thigh.
He raised his head then, to look at her, touch her face. Twice it seemed he might speak, but he did not, only passed his fingers across her brow, kissed her, touched her chin, kissed her, moved lower. He held her gaze as his hand fell upon the buttons of her blouse, and he began to open them, one by one. Only when he could not reach the last one did he look away, so he could find it, and undo it. He pushed the fabric away, and put his hand around her breast, encased in ordinary cotton, then raised his head to look at her again. "It feels like a dream to touch you," he said, his voice raw.
Sarah ached at the stillness of his fingers over her, and she lifted a hand to his, and pressed him closer, moving her hips into him to feel him in return. "No dream," she said.
He uttered a fierce oath, and this time when he kissed her, she knew there was no turning back, not for either of them. The kiss tasted of blood and fire, of sorrow and anger and loneliness. She arched against him, welcoming it, meeting it, her hands bringing his shirt up so she could touch his back even as his hands pulled away her bra and bared her breasts.
It sounded like wind roaring, like thunder cracking. She was mad with her need of Eli, and when he bent his head to her breast, she cried out and arched into him, her fingers gripping his shoulders.
In that wildness, in that heat and need, she shifted, and pushed at him so she could reach his shirt. He rose to his knees and took off his shirt as Sarah reached for his belt, adroitly managing buckle and buttons to free him, and it came to her that she'd never seen him, not this part of him. She'd always been too shy to look.
But now there was no room, no time, no ease for looking. She pushed his jeans from him as he freed her own buttons and snaps, and she lifted her hips to help him skim her jeans from her body.
And then they were clasped together, flesh to flesh, mouth to mouth, and Sarah tasted the salt of tears on their lips, on their hungry tongues, and even before they joined, they melded, as they always had, him to her, and her to him, and then he grasped her hips, and Sarah reached between their bodies to guide him, and they were one, body to body, soul to soul.
It was so fierce she knew she would be bruised and scratched, that both of them would be, and not only physically. She felt a shoulder bruise, felt the click of teeth and a quick pain. They bumped chins and a knee got trapped, and it didn't matter, none of it mattered as Eli held her close and thrust himself into her, and she met him, feeling whole again. She held him fiercely as he met his release, and clasped his head between her hands and whispered his name, over and over.
Elias. Elias. Elias.
And then she was set free, her soul tangling with his, as she soared into the completeness that she had found only with him. She held him as tightly as she could, her arms and her legs wrapping him close, wanting to somehow make him part of her, so he could never be torn from her again.
* * *
He didn't notice it had begun to rain until they had lain together, spent and entwined, for a long time. It began lightly, a few drops over his shoulders, on his hair. It gained strength quickly, wetting his back and thighs, and in his joy, he lifted his face to it, taking it as a blessing.
Sarah laughed, opening her mouth to it, but when he would have moved, she looped a leg around his and would not let him. "You're my umbrella," she said.
He shifted and let the rain fall on her breasts, a cold rain, big drops of it. She tipped back her face, exposing her neck, and opened her mouth again, her eyes closed. As he looked down on her, feeling rain on his shoulders and back and buttocks, a wave of intense emotion washed through him, engulfing and unnameable.
Sarah.
Like a man drinking from a holy well, he bent his head to her throat and sipped the rain. He drank from rain-beaded freckles on her shoulders, and from the swell of a breast. But the rain fell harder, and it was cold.
He lifted his head, feeling water drip from his nose and chin. "Let's get inside the cab."
As if to underscore the urgency, a flash of lightning struck somewhere close by, and a deafening crash of thunder followed much too quickly. Sarah sat up and gathered her clothes in a bundle against her chest, then grabbed the blanket and pulled it over her head. "Hurry!" she cried.
He jumped from the truck, feeling half-dry dust beneath his bare feet, the rain on his head and shoulders, the brush of a wind over his belly and thighs. Impulsively he lifted his face and closed his eyes, and raised his arms to embrace the night and the desert, sending thanks to the forces that had let this night come about. He felt the rain wash over his flesh, and felt it was a baptism, a fresh beginning, and he laughed, opening his mouth as Sarah had done, to bring some rain inside him, too.
"Elias," Sarah said, her voice hushed.
He looked at her, wondering for a fleeting moment if he should feel foolish. Impossible. He was too full for foolishness, and what he saw on her face was a kind of wonder. All the bitter and wary hardness was gone from her features, making her eyes guileless, her skin fresh. Her eyes fell, touching him, all of him, and he saw desire flare her nostrils. "I never looked at you, back then," she said, and slipped from the truck to put her free hand against his belly. "You're so beautiful."
He captured her, swung her into his arms, then bent a little. "Get my clothes."
She snagged the jeans, but the shirt was too far away, and he felt her shiver a little against him. "That's enough."
He carried her to the door, and when she opened it, he put her inside. From her arms, he took his jeans and standing in the rain, put them on, wet and heavy. "Now I'm cold," he said. He closed the door and carefully moved around the truck, watching for goatheads and prickly pear. He climbed in his side and started the engine, turning all the heater vents to high. Sarah huddled in the blanket, wrapped in it from head to toe. He slid over and kissed her nose. "Let's go somewhere warm, huh?"
"Okay. My house?"
He shook his head. "Mine. You'll like it there."
A flicker of hesitation. Then, "All right."
A little swell of something painful and sweet filled his belly. "Don't bother to get dressed," he said wickedly.
She laughed. "It hadn't even crossed my mind."
This time, as he drove, she moved in close to him. There seemed no need to speak with words until they reached the gate of Santiago Farms. A light shone from his mother's house, but Eli was glad to see no other vehicles parked in her driveway. He drove by, then past the fields and the plant, and she put her hand on his arm. "Promise you'll bring me out of here before dawn."
He chuckled. "Afraid of the angry hordes?"
"I'd just rather start my day more peacefully." Her grip tightened. "Promise, Eli."
"I promise."
At his house he parked and told her to wait while he came around. "I'll carry you," he said.
"Don't be silly. I can walk."
"There are stickers."
"You don't have your shoes on."
"I'm a macho guy, though. You're only a delicate female."
"Move," she said, and pushed him out of her way. When her feet hit the ground, she halted. "Yeow!" she said mildly, and bent to take a sticker out of her foot.
He chuckled and swept her into his arms. Sticking to the flagstones, he carried her to the porch, breathing hard. "You're heavy," he said.
"Hey, you're the macho guy. I'm just a delicate female."
He put her down, putting his hand over his heart as if he was going to have a heart attack. "Yeah, real delicate."
Sarah laughed, then shivered as a wind slammed into the house. "I'm freezing."
"I know just the thing." He took her hand and led her inside, through the living room, down the hall, into the bathroom. Feeling anticipation fill his chest again, he closed the door and turned on the hot water to fill the room with steam.
Then he turned to her and deliberately pushed the blanket from her, and stepped back. Her hair was stuck to her head, and she lifted her chin a little, almost defiantly. "I can't believe I'm here," she said, and took a breath. "I can't believe how much I want you again."
He kissed her, but as steam filled the small room, enveloping and warm, he stripped the heavy denim from his legs and moved in close again, putting his hands on her shoulders and letting their naked bodies brush. "Let me wash your back."
But they did not make it that far. Sarah lifted her hands and touched him boldly, and they were making love again with the same fierce, rushed intensity of the first time, cloaked now in steam instead of cold, their mouths and flesh slick and slippery.
Only afterward did they get into the shower and wash each other gently, taking time to see, murmuring in pleasure and surprise and apology for the small marks they had left, bruises they'd made on each other. Sarah made him kneel, and washed his hair, and he returned the favor. When the water ran cold they wrapped themselves in towels and went to his bed, without pausing to turn on the lights, just curling together to make love again, this time slowly, gently, sweetly.
Eli's last thought before he slipped into a dizzy, sated sleep was that she still fit his arms exactly. And what a luxury it was to make love to her in a bed, and go to sleep holding her.
* * *
Chapter 11
«^»
Sarah dreamed she was flying through a sun-drenched sky, her body light as the wind. Below her was the city of Taos, the adobe walls taking the light and reflecting it back, making the town look like Cibola, the mythical city of gold that had drawn the Spanish conquistadors. It was beautiful from here, she thought as she flew, so peaceful.
She became aware that she was not alone, and she looked over to see that Eli, too, was flying with her. He wore no shirt. His shoulders gleamed with copper lights from the sun, and his black hair blew back from his face, showing the high, broad brow. She smiled at him.
He pointed behind him, and there was a young girl, her black hair very long, floating out behind her like streamers. She looked like Teresa, but more like Eli, and she had Sarah's gray eyes. With a swell of happiness, Sarah said, "I've been looking for you! I'm so glad you found us."
Her daughter smiled. "I didn't want to hurt my other mother's feelings, but I wanted to see you." In her dream, Sarah wanted to say something else, but she was so happy at seeing her daughter that she forgot to concentrate on flying, and she suddenly found herself plummeting toward the earth, crying out Eli's name.
She awakened with a jerk, her arms braced to break her fall. It took a moment to understand that she had been dreaming. She struggled to hold on to the images, but they faded too fast – she couldn't remember what had awakened her. All that lingered was a sense of happiness undercut by loss.
Blinking, she let go of the struggle to reclaim the dream images. But it took several moments longer to understand where she was. In Eli's bed.
With Eli in it.
His windows had no covering, and the first fingers of sunlight were creeping into the room. She looked at him, lying asleep beside her, and her heart gave a wild thud. He sprawled carelessly on his side, his head on one outstretched arm. A sheet covered him to the waist, but she knew he was naked. As she was.
It hurt, looking at him, hurt in a pleasant way, all through her stomach, and hurt in a painful way, like a sword in her chest. In that sleeping face, in that particular arrangement of features, that splay of lashes, that fall of blackest hair over his arm, were contained all the dreams she'd once had.
The night they had spent together now seemed blurred and wild, and yet she could not regret it. This morning her heart felt full for the first time in more years than she could remember. Not satisfied. Not warmed. Overflowing.
"Eli," she whispered, and touched his face.
He stirred and his hand moved, as if he sought something. She caught it and kissed his fingers, saying his name again.
He came awake suddenly, and his dark beautiful eyes fell upon her face. A mix of bewilderment and joy blazed suddenly in his gaze, and he reached for her, pulled her under him and kissed her. "I thought I dreamed it."
He smelled of himself, and of sex, and of shampoo, and Sarah could happily have lain all day right there in his arms, but the need to flee Santiago land was more urgent. "You have to take me home," she said regretfully.
"In a minute," he promised hoarsely, "let me just hold you a minute, to remember this. So if—"
"If?"
"If you don't come back, I will still have this in my heart."
"Oh."
He stroked her face. "It was never us that was the trouble, was it? We always had this—" His fingertips brushed her eyebrow, smoothed the line of her cheek. "Our world, apart from them."
She smiled up at him, put her hand on the shelf of his shoulder. "Sarah and Eli's Magic Place
."
"Yeah." Soberness filled his eyes. "And it's still there, isn't it?"
Pierced, she could only nod. Then she put her hands on his face, kissed his mouth. "Yes," she managed finally, and closed her eyes. "It's still there. Still here."
He shifted to put his weight on one elbow, and pushed the sheet from her body. Unselfconscious, Sarah allowed it. With one finger he traced the branching, faint scar of her stretch marks, scars she had never minded, because they helped her to remember. He said nothing, but Sarah knew what he was thinking.
"She was almost nine pounds when she was born," Sarah said before she knew she would. It wasn't as hard as she thought to let the image come back. "I went into labor at six o'clock one evening, and didn't have her until almost midnight the next day. She was so big."
Sarah could feel his stillness, and pressed on. "They usually didn't let the girls hold their babies when they were giving them up for adoption, but there was one Sister who disagreed with that. And because it was so late at night, she let me…" Her voice gave out as the images returned. "Hold her."
"If it makes you sad, Sarita, don't." His strong hand brushed her
hair back. "I don't have to know right now. Just tell me a little at a time."
She shook her head, feeling heat behind her eyes. "It does make me sad," she said, and looked up at him, unashamed of the tears that welled in her eyes. "But you have a right to know."
He nodded slowly, his hand moving on her brow.
"She was red and tiny and squished, from being born. But she had so much hair I could have braided it. And she looked—" she took his hand "—exactly like you. Your eyes. Your hair. Your mouth. Even these long limbs. I'm sure she's very tall by now."
Eli simply moved close and put his face into her neck. "I'm so sorry."
"So am I," she whispered. "There has not been a single day since she was born that I didn't think about her. Not one single day." At last she turned to him. "Eli, I did want her. It wasn't you, or us, or anything. I just didn't know what to do."
"It isn't your fault."
"That's not true," she said. "It is my fault. I was the one who signed the papers. I'm the one who made the decision. I didn't have to give in, but I did." The smallest, meanest kernel of truth worked its way to her lips. "Sometimes I think I did it to get even with my father. Because I knew someday he'd be sorry that he made me do that. And it was the only way I could get even with him."
"Oh, no, Sarah. No." He put both hands around her head. "It was because you were lost. Because he broke you. Don't blame yourself."
She closed her eyes. He would never understand. He would never know what it was like to have a child move inside, feel the tiny feet and the little hands, and then feel it move through you, come into the world. She didn't blame him, but she knew without a doubt that it was her fault.
He kissed her ear. Her eyes, her mouth. Tiny butterfly kisses meant to impart comfort. "One day, you will heal, Sarah. One day, you'll forgive yourself."
"Maybe," she said.
An alarm went off, obnoxious beeping, and he jumped up to run across the room and shut it off. "Sorry," he said, turning, comfortable in his nudity.
A pulse of hunger came alive in her belly as she admired him. "Will you come to my house tonight? For supper?"