More Lipstick Chronicles

by Emily Carmichael

  A vortex, Sedona style, was a hypothetical well of spiritual energy, catalyst for spiritual growth and enlightenment. Hikers in Boynton Canyon had reported floating above the ground, all sorts of psychic phenomena, and one woman had even told of having the bottoms of her feet burned by the vortex energy when she dangled them over the edge of a rock ledge.

  “I think those hikers may have been drinking something other than H2O,” was Dana’s wry comment.

  Kieran merely smiled.

  Next they visited the Chapel of the Holy Cross, built in the 1950s as a place for people of all faiths to seek God. Abutting a massive cliff, the simple little chapel with its huge stone cross was a powerful place, Dana had to admit. As they exited the chapel, Kieran told her it was built at the intersection of three of Sedona’s vortices. “For whatever reason,” he said, “the place has a primal energy. Close your eyes and feel it.”

  Dana obligingly closed her eyes. As she swayed in her own personal darkness, Kieran’s hands landed on her shoulders to steady her. There was energy in the place, all right.

  “The energy I feel comes from you,” she admitted, and opened her eyes to be caught in the depths of his.

  “There’s nothing wrong with that,” he said with an enigmatic smile. “We are all of us channels for the energy of the universe.”

  “The universe gets personal, eh?”

  “Sometimes very personal.”

  They drove the short distance to the Village of Oak Creek, a bustling little town that guarded the entrance to red rock country. Bell Rock, another vortex site, hovered over the town.

  “The Native Americans call Bell Rock the Home of the Eagle,” Kieran told her. “It’s a very masculine vortex.”

  “Does it watch football every Sunday and go out drinking with the boys?”

  He laughed. “I like you. I live among too many people who are afraid of irreverence. You’re a breath of fresh air, Dana.”

  “You approve of irreverence?”

  “Sometimes. It’s as necessary to life as laughter.”

  “I thought you believed in all this stuff!”

  “I believe in some of it. Some of it is pure claptrap.”

  She had to laugh. “Which part is claptrap?”

  “You have to decide that for yourself.”

  “You’re no help!”

  He just smiled. “No one knows the whole truth of the universe, but I wanted you to see this beautiful world, Dana, so when you’re back in your own world you can draw it from your memory and feel some of the peace that most of us find here.”

  She felt no urge to scoff. “Kieran, you are . . . you are a very nice, sincere man.”

  For a moment his eyes seemed to look straight into her soul. Then he broke the spell with a boyish grin. “Aren’t I?”

  In the Village of Oak Creek they stopped for lunch at the Wild Toucan. The weather was warm enough to eat on the patio that looked out on a golf course where the duffers “braved” the sixty-degree weather to play their eighteen holes.

  “The place we’re going to see next has been painted at least a thousand times. It is the home of a feminine vortex, nurturing, creative—”

  “Shops at Lord and Taylor’s and wears three-inch heels.”

  He grinned. “It’s a special place. You’ll see.”

  It was also a very high place. “The Mother of the Red Rocks,” this one was called by the peoples native to this land. The white man had named it Cathedral Rock. It towered above Oak Creek in a scene of such spectacular beauty that no camera or painting, Dana mused, would ever capture it. She was a bit less appreciative of the stately landmark, however, when they began to climb. And climb, and climb, and climb. Only determination to appear competent in Kieran’s eyes enabled Dana to make it to the end of the trail, where steep hill became sheer, vertical rock. They could go no farther, thank God!

  “Sit,” Kieran commanded. “Catch your breath, then look around you.”

  He wasn’t even breathing hard, Dana noted resentfully. He could probably climb to the top of the Washington Monument without stopping for a breath.

  He sat down close beside her, so close their shoulders touched. A fluttery sense of joy made Dana go soft inside. She liked to think of herself as a hard-boiled woman of the world, an unsentimental sophisticate who wasn’t easily fooled or impressed. But right then, with this man beside her and some of Mother Nature’s most stunning artwork spread before her, Dana felt positively teary-eyed. She didn’t even know what brought on the tears. Uncontrolled emotion boiled up from somewhere inside her, where it had hidden for a long, long time.

  She turned her face away, not wanting Kieran to see the tears. But his hand landed comfortingly on the back of her neck and kneaded.

  “The Mother of the Red Rocks affects many people this way, Dana. She shows us the splendor of the world, and in comparison, our own lives look very small.”

  Dana shook her head. “You can’t really believe all this nonsense.”

  He nodded obliquely. “I believe the spirit behind it. I believe the things that feel right to me, and I know that this place is special.”

  “I love my life. There’s nothing wrong with my life. This isn’t the real world—sitting on a mountaintop and ohhhhing and ahhhhing over Mother Nature. You have no idea how irrelevant this is to the real world. My world.” She suddenly sounded defensive and sullen, even to herself.

  His hand kept kneading, stroking, comforting. Working up a good fit of indignation and scorn was tough with him touching her in such a way.

  “I lived most of my life in New York City,” Kieran told her. “I was a partner in a very successful law firm. Entertainment law, mostly. Actors, dancers, singers. Lawyering a few multimillion dollar lawsuits for the stars of stage and screen can make an attorney very wealthy.”

  Dana’s mouth nearly fell open. She tried to picture Kieran in a three-piece suit. It didn’t work.

  He went on, sounding as if he spoke about someone else. “I worked sixteen-hour days, six days a week. Drove a Ferrari. Had a town house with a harbor view.” He chuckled. “Dated only the hottest women.”

  “Part of the jet set.” Dana was impressed in spite of herself. “What happened?”

  His eyes were dark and serious, lost in the past. “I drank too much, slept with too many women, had a good start on an ulcer, and my blood pressure could have launched the space shuttle. Then I came here on vacation, here to this very spot. And something here told me my life was bogus, that there was something more important for me to do.”

  “So you gave it all up?”

  He laughed. “Oh no. I was troubled, but not stupid. I sold out my partnership and came away with around five million. Then I went on a search for what I was supposed to do.”

  “And this is it?”

  “This is it,” he said with certainty. “I studied yoga, meditation, religion, philosophy and everything from the Koran to the Bible. It occurred to me that similar searchers without my resources needed a peaceful place where they could study.”

  “The Gardens of Oak Creek.”

  “It’s a special place, I hope. I wish I could spend more time there, but lately I’ve been making tracks from one end of the country to the other, lecturing, giving classes.”

  “But you live here.”

  “Sometimes. I have a house in New England where I spend a lot of time also. I like the sea. But, the point is, sometimes the lives we make for ourselves are not what we need, and even though it can be frightening to take an honest look at ourselves and where we are in life, the result can often bring happiness.”

  Dana shook her head. “This is like another world to me. Another planet even, nice to visit, but not . . . not me. Yet when I think of going back to Washington and falling into the same old routine—work, clubs, dating . . . yuck. I’m not like you were. I don’t drink too much, my blood pressure is perfect and I certainly don’t have an ulcer. But everything in my life is shallow, on the surface. My relationships last—well, t
wo weeks is some kind of a record.”

  “Maybe that’s because you don’t know yourself and don’t truly know what you’re looking for.”

  “I can tell you’re leading up to an advertisement for meditation.”

  “You need to wipe the slate clean, Dana. Go back to the beginning and start new and pure. Present yourself virgin to the universe and then see what fits and what doesn’t.”

  She laughed loud enough for the rocks to laugh with her, an echo of her own rather cynical merriment. “Oh, Kieran—present myself virgin to the universe? Believe me, that ship has sailed! And I don’t think it’s coming back.” In spite of her attempt at insouciance, she blushed.

  He didn’t laugh with her. “The physical doesn’t matter, Dana.”

  That was news! Dana thought. For most guys, the physical was all.

  “A mating without spiritual joining”—he touched a finger to the center of her forehead, and then to her heart—“here, and here, is no mating at all. You must find the spiritual virginity which you probably never lost, then keep yourself pure for a man who is truly the other half of your soul. Then you will be able to recognize the right man when you meet him.”

  She wanted to joke in the face of his seriousness. She wanted to make a smart crack like “But superficial sex is so much fun!” But she looked into the deep pools of his eyes and kept her mouth shut.

  “If a meaningful relationship is what will make your life right, Dana, then that is what you must do. When the right mate comes along, he will touch your spirit, your soul, your heart and body, and beneath his loving hand, you will be touched for the very first time.”

  Back in her room, Dana tried to be cavalier, tried to pretend that her senses weren’t stunned and her body wasn’t on fire with longing for something she couldn’t have. She groaned as she pulled off her sweater and peeled off her jeans, the very jeans that Kieran had claimed were too tight. Jeans were supposed to be tight, she thought resentfully. They were supposed to show off her long dancer’s legs and sleek hips, but apparently he wasn’t impressed, with all his stupid talk of spiritual virginity. Virginity, my foot! she scoffed. What world did he live in, anyway?

  Maybe a better world than hers, the honest part of her whispered. Face it. You’re disappointed that he didn’t put the moves on you. You’ve fallen for the guy. Head over heels. Positively panting. You are so not smart!

  I could care less, she tried to tell herself.

  Are you kidding? You’ve been drooling like a dog whenever you see the guy. So obvious.

  I’ll forget him once I get back home, Dana comforted herself. He won’t be a blip on my memory.

  The agony of taking off her shoes cut short her discussion with herself. Nikes really weren’t meant for climbing mountains. And her legs and back weren’t taking the activity too well, either. She ached in places she’d never ached before. The hotel spa seemed the logical solution.

  Ten minutes later found her lying naked beneath a sheet on a massage table, with a cheerful masseuse kneading her sore legs and lubricating her abused muscles with oil of arnica. Dana felt herself drifting into fantasy, wishing, wishing, wishing . . . Then a deep voice invaded her dream.

  “Good evening, Judy. I see my friend Dana was wise enough to seek your healing touch.”

  “Kieran! My brother in Atlanta says hello. Says your talk there really made him think. Anyone who can make my brother think is a miracle worker. The slave driver CEO of his company heard you, too, and he’s even thinking of coming out for a workshop.”

  “I’m glad. I enjoyed meeting your brother. I will take over here. Why don’t you take the rest of the evening off.”

  “Thanks! Dana, you don’t mind if Kieran takes over, do you? He’s a certified therapist, and he’s great with abused muscles.”

  Dana mumbled something that must have been assent as she realized Kieran’s voice was real, not a dream.

  And then his big hands, warm and soft with oil, were upon her.

  Chapter 4

  Sometimes a woman’s body simply rages out of control, and for Dana, tonight was one of those times. Not a single muscle listened when she told her sore body to get off that massage table, bid Kieran a chaste good night and march up to her room. He was the wise guy who told her she should reclaim her virginity. He was the one who advised her to reserve herself for that once-in-a-lifetime special man who would be the magical Right One.

  Well, a newly born-again virgin definitely shouldn’t allow a sexy guru turned masseur to knead her bare body into a rapturous, incoherent collection of muscles and nerves that were far along the road to pure ecstasy. Who would have thought that mere fingers and hands, touching nothing more sensual than her neck and back, could fan such a flame inside her at the same time they turned her to jelly.

  She should definitely get up and leave. Very definitely.

  But there were problems with getting up. For one thing, she was totally naked beneath the sheet. Not that Dana was a prude about her body. Far from it. But the words Kieran had spoken high up on Cathedral Rock had fallen on fertile ground, making Dana take stock of herself and her future. She wasn’t anxious to reveal all her stripes to the man who told her to bridle her inner tigress. Born-again virginity aside, if Kieran took in her charms and showed the least spark of desire, she was going to be all over him like a cat on a heap of catnip. Some things were simply irresistible.

  Another problem was that her physical self had firmly separated itself from any high-minded resolve of her mind. Every muscle had been seduced into bliss; her nerves caroled the “Hallelujah” chorus. Even her mind was fast sinking into a state of animal pleasure.

  Back in the real world, Dana occasionally indulged in a therapeutic massage to relieve stress, but none had been quite so therapeutic as this one.

  Kieran’s voice rumbled above her. “Is this doing the job?”

  If he only knew.

  “Tell me if I hurt you. Sometimes I go too deep.”

  All Dana could do was sigh in delight as his thumbs blazed a road on either side of her spine and his fingers spread warmly over her ribs. The sheet now barely covered her backside, but she forgot the issue of nakedness, forgot everything but the feel of Kieran’s strong, supple hands coaxing the soreness from her back. He traced a line of tenderness down her buttocks, pausing at every tangle of painful nerves, penetrating the pain with gentleness and warmth.

  “Breathe into the pain,” he advised her softly. “Soon it will be gone.”

  He promised truly. Everywhere he touched surrendered and relaxed.

  Born-again virgin, Dana reminded herself. Her body simply snickered.

  Kieran next worked the muscles in her neck, traveling them to the knot at the back of her head where she was always sore and stiff. His touch sent waves of something very like orgasm from her head to her toes.

  “Ah! You store all your worries here, Dana? Right here?” He challenged a muscle that screamed only briefly before capitulating in quivering ecstasy. His fingers then worked their magic on her scalp, tangling into her hair, caressing in slow, rhythmic circles that made her want to gasp with pleasure.

  “Oh, don’t stop,” she practically begged when his hands left her.

  He chuckled. “We aren’t even close to stopping. I want you to turn over.”

  At that point she would have stood on her head if he’d asked. She didn’t even worry about the sheet as she flipped over on her back, but he conscientiously kept her covered. Was the Enlightened One having a bit of trouble respecting her newborn virgin state? Dana wondered. Served him right. Then she stopped thinking when his hands went to work once again—on her scalp, then gently on her face, at pressure points she didn’t even know she had. Her arms and hands surrendered next. Each one of her fingers seemed to sigh with delight. Her palms tingled to his touch. When the master turned his attention to her legs, the calf muscles turned to warm putty, and tired thighs yielded their knots one by one. Then there were her poor abused feet. Kieran laved warm
, fragrant oil onto his hands before gently kneading her heels, instep, and each individual toe. Dana felt the heat of his attention through her whole body.

  “Do you know that almost every system in your body has a reflex point in the foot?”

  Dana could well believe it. The particular physical system that was responding most had nothing to do with her feet, but it certainly had a trigger point there. But the slow, lazy burn of desire was muffled in a cocoon of relaxation and well-being. Dana felt as though she were floating on wonderfully warm clouds, limp as a silken doll. Pampered. Coddled. Even loved.

  “Let go,” was Kieran’s soft advice. “Let your body go, Dana. Here you’re safe. No troubles can find you.”

  In her state of half awareness, Dana believed him. Kieran would protect her. Kieran would never hurt her, never let her be hurt.

  With his hands still upon her, Dana drifted into sleep.

  Reality is stubborn. It can be pushed aside for short periods of time—moments or sometimes days—but it inevitably snaps back into place. For Dana that happened somewhere over Kansas. Or maybe Oklahoma. Wherever it was, the land was very flat. State boundaries were hard to see from thirty thousand feet in the air.

  She had awakened that same morning in her hotel room, in spite of her last waking memory being on a massage table with Kieran performing sorcery on her toes. She didn’t remember going to her room because she’d fallen so soundly asleep that Kieran had carried her, sheet and all, to her bed. He had knocked on her door at six A.M. with a reminder that she had a three o’clock flight from Phoenix’s Sky Harbor Airport. They had eaten breakfast together, but in silence. Dana was overwhelmed by the sense of a new person liberated inside her, and that new person couldn’t quite accept that her time with the Great Guru Kieran, aka sexy, funny, gentle and smart Joshua Gellis, could be over so soon. She’d known him only a few days, yet he seemed a necessary part of her. Her life in Washington, DC, along with its fast-track ambitions, priorities and lifestyles had blurred around the edges.