“Hey,” I echoed him. I patted the side of the bed. “Come on in.”
“Okay.” He climbed under the covers and wound his arms around me. In the darkness we lay facing each other, our heads on one pillow the way we used to lay as children.
I reached up to brush the damp hair out of his eyes, delighting in its silky texture across my fingertips. “Remember how you never wanted to cut your hair?” I asked softly, my hand lingering on his forehead in an unconscious caress. “Mom ordered you to do it that one time—she even gave you money for the haircut.”
“And I used it on comic books instead.” He laughed gently and shook his head. “Boy, she let me have it that time.”
“Only because Dad wouldn't. He would never lay a finger on either one of us,” I mused, twirling a piece of his hair between my fingers.
“You stuck up for me, remember?” He reached out to caress my hair in turn. “You told Mom if I cut my hair, you'd cut yours. We faced her down together and she finally gave in. I think she couldn't stand the thought of her little pixie without all this beautiful blonde hair.” He stroked it back from my face and cupped my cheek, his thumb tracing my lips gently.
I felt suddenly shy and pulled away from his touch. “Hey, do you remember 'spider hunt?'” I said, reaching for conversation.
“How could I forget?” He grinned at me in the dark. “Nobody could do 'spider hunt' like you, Rache. Hey—do it on me now, would you? It's been years.”
“Okay, roll over.” I got up on my knees, moving the oversized night shirt I had on so I wasn't kneeling on it, and bent over the smooth expanse of his broad, muscular back. Although I hadn't done this since childhood, the words of the old incantation came back to me easily as I traced the pattern on my adopted brother's back.
“Goin' on a spider hunt, X marks the spot,” I intoned, drawing a wide capital X across his shoulder blades with my finger. “Three big bumps and a question mark.” I drew a question mark and dotted it in the muscular hollow of his lower back. “Spiders crawlin' up your back…” I made my fingers skitter in a ticklish little pattern from his lower back to the back of his neck. “Spider bite!” I pinched the back of his neck suddenly, making him jump, although I knew he was expecting it.
“Blood rushin' down…blood rushin' down…” My fingers tickled their way down his spine and shoulders again, miming the flow. “Break an egg on your head…” I knocked the back of his head gently with my fist. “Yolk runnin' down your shoulders, yolk runnin' down your spine.” I made ticklish swirls across the breadth of his wide shoulders and fluttered my fingertips down the long groove of his spine, drawing out the tension as long as I could.
It was time for the big finale, and I felt Richard tense ever so slightly beneath my hands. “Cool breeze,” I whispered, leaning forward to blow a cool stream of air over the vulnerable back of his neck. “Tight squeeze.” I pinched him again, just where I had blown. “Now you've got the chillies!” I pounced on him, tickling his sides, feeling the hard muscles roll and bunch beneath my fingertips as I never had when we played this game as children.
Richard roared with laughter and pinned his arms to his sides, trying to protect his sensitive ribcage from my prying fingers. Then he flipped suddenly, grabbing both my wrists in one of his large hands, and began to give me a taste of my own medicine. He tickled me unmercifully until I howled with laughter and begged him breathlessly to stop.
“Oh, Richard! Please, not…no, no!” I moaned, trying to draw my own arms in tightly as we rocked the bed with our game. With all the creaking and banging, I was sure my next door neighbors would get the wrong idea about what was going on in my house, but I frankly didn't care. I was having too much fun.
Richard stopped tickling me just when I thought I would never be able to get a deep breath again. I collapsed, panting in his arms, little snorts of laughter still escaping my lips as I tried to recover my composure along with my breath.
“I…forgot what a…dirty fighter…you are,” I managed to say at last, between giggles and pants.
“Dirty fighter? Me?” He put a hand to his bare chest and tried to look wounded. “You were the one that started it, Rache. You know that's not how 'spider hunt' is supposed to end.”
“That's the way you always ended it when you did it to me,” I said indignantly, sitting up to poke him in the chest. “Every single time, buster. You always said you wouldn't tickle me and then you always did. I don't know why I kept trusting you.”
“Trust me now,” he said, suddenly serious.
“What?” I searched his face, confused at the abrupt shift in his mood.
“Trust me—go on.” He was urging me to lie down on my stomach. “Let me do this, Rachel. I promise I won't tickle you.” His voice was deep again with that unspoken promise, but I tried to ignore it.
“Do you cross your heart and hope to die?” I asked, trying to keep the child's game going so I didn't have to face any adult uncertainties.
“Cross my heart and hope to die,” he repeated softly. “Lay down, Rachel. Let me touch you.”
His words sent shivers down my spine, but I lay down on my stomach as he asked me and buried my head in the cool cotton side of my pillow. Then I felt a chilly breeze along my spine—he was lifting up the oversized sleep shirt I wore to expose my back.
“Hey, wait a minute!” I reached behind me, halting his progress.
“Can't play 'spider hunt' unless you've got a bare back. Don't you remember?” His voice was soft and soothing, making my fears seem foolish.
“Well…” I let my hand drift back to my side, not really answering him but not stopping his actions anymore, either. I shivered as I felt the cool wind circulated by the ceiling fan caress my bare back with ticklish fingers. I expected Richard to stop when he reached my neck, but instead he pulled the shirt over my head and all the way off me, leaving me bare except for my white silk panties. I didn't protest, but I drew my arms in tight to my body, covering the sides of my breasts, all that was visible since I was lying on my stomach.
“Relax, I'm not going to hurt you.” Richard's deep voice was so soothing, so gentle that I did feel my arms relaxing somewhat, despite the awkward position. After all, it wasn't like he could see anything with me lying face down.
“Goin' on a spider hunt. X marks the spot…” he began, his fingers warm on my shivering skin as he drew the patterns with great deliberation. He continued with the regular words, but when he got to the first “spider bite,” I felt not his fingers on the back of my neck, but his lips instead.
“Richard…” I half rose, then remembered my state of undress and lowered myself hastily to the bed again.
“Shh,” he whispered, his breath warm on the back of my neck. “New rules. No tickling—just kissing. All right?”
“I don't know,” I said fretfully, hugging my arms tight to my body. “It doesn't seem right, Richard.”
“But it feels right,” he said, and kissed me again, this time right between my shivering shoulder blades. “Doesn't it?” he asked, withdrawing after a moment.
“I…don't know.” I felt confused—a swirling mixture of emotions. On one hand, his touch burned me like fire—that one simple kiss to the back of my neck was like a brand on my body that would never fade. On the other hand…well, the other hand was obvious, but I didn't like to say it out loud. “We shouldn't,” I said at last, knowing it sounded weak and inadequate.
“Just your back,” he whispered softly. “I just want to touch you a little bit, Rachel. It's been so long…”
“I know.” At his words, the years seemed to roll between us like waves, and I could feel the longing within me that matched his own—to touch and be touched—to never let go and lose each other again. So what if his request was a little unorthodox, I argued to myself. It wasn't like he was asking to kiss my breasts or anything like that…The thought gave me an odd shiver, which I pushed quickly away.
“Rachel?” His voice was still questioning, waiting to see what
I would decide. I understood that he wouldn't do anything without my permission and that gave me the confidence to allow what he wanted.
“All right,” I said at last. “All right, but just my back. Nothing else. Okay?”
His answer was a soft, slow kiss at the small of my back and then a trail of tender bites and licks up the groove of my spine. When he reached the back of my neck, I turned my head to one side, giving him access to the vulnerable side of my throat. Richard straddled me, and I could feel the heat from his broad chest against my bare back, covering me. He fastened his mouth to the skin there, sucking and lapping, teasing the sensitive spot where my shoulder met my neck. I writhed beneath his touch, pressing my thighs together as I felt an unfamiliar heat course through me.
I had had several boyfriends before getting engaged to Charles, but none of them had kissed me like this. And none of their kisses had made me feel this way—breathless, aching, wanting something I didn't even dare to name to myself. I could feel myself losing control.
“That's enough!” I pulled away from him suddenly, sitting up in bed, heedless of the fact that he could see my bare breasts. “Don't, Richard,” I told him, holding up a hand when he would have gathered me into his arms. “Don't. We can't—it's wrong.”
“Sorry…I'm sorry.” He shook his head and ran a hand through his thick, dark hair, his eyes glowing green in the darkness of the room. “It's just that I…I missed you so much, Rache.”
I knew it was more than that—more than missing—more than longing for whatever it was that we had had as children that was now perhaps lost to us forever. But I didn't want to admit it to myself or to Richard.
“Let's just…just go to sleep.” I fumbled for my nightshirt, suddenly aware of my state of undress.
“Wait…” He put out a hand to stop me. “Let me just…let me look at you for a minute. You're so beautiful, Rachel, so absolutely gorgeous. I just want to look, I swear.”
“All—all right,” I said at last. Lowering my crumpled nightshirt to my lap, I let him see me, let him drink in the sight of me bare-breasted in the dim light of my room.
“Goin' on a spider hunt,” he said softly, trailing one long finger over my full breasts and down to the shivering cup of my navel. “X marks the spot.”
But instead of marking an X on my trembling flesh, he cupped my naked breasts in his hands, rubbing gently over my tight nipples with his thumbs until I had to bite back a moan.
“You said…you said you just wanted to look,” I accused him in a breathless whisper. I wanted to pull away from him, but somehow I didn't feel able.
“I can't help myself,” he murmured, still stroking the tight nubs of my sensitive nipples. “I need to touch you, Rachel. Even if it's just to play a child's game.”
I don't think it was lost on either of us that what we were doing was much more serious than any game we'd played as children. From somewhere deep inside of me, I found the strength to pull away from him and slip my nightshirt back over my head.
“No more 'spider hunt' tonight,” I said. “Okay?”
“All right.” He made as though to leave the bed, but I pulled him back, unable to let him go no matter what forbidden thing had just happened or almost happened between us.
“Just hold me,” I told him. “Hold me and let's go to sleep.”
Richard lay with me cupped in the curve of his body in the old familiar way. But when his hands traveled under my nightshirt and cupped the bottom curves of my breasts, I somehow couldn't stop him. Even when he stroked my nipples with gentle fingers, I didn't say a word, although I told myself I would if he tried anything else. To my mingled relief and disappointment, he didn't try to go any further. But I felt a hot hardness pressing against the back of my thighs, reminding me that the innocence of our childhood was gone forever even as he stroked me to sleep.
Chapter Eight
What happened that second night had frightened me, but not enough to forbid Richard my bed. As wrong as what had happened between us seemed to me, somehow I just couldn't give up the comfort of his arms. From then on when he slept with me, he held me and we talked for hours of the past. Sometimes he reached beneath my shirt and stroked my naked breasts, but we never talked about that, pretending it wasn't happening even as my breath grew short and I felt him harden against my thigh. Several times I had asked him what he wanted to tell me the first night, but he always put me off, saying that I wasn't ready to know.
I thought about that in court as I packed my things to go and said goodbye to my colleagues absently. Richard and I never discussed what had happened between us that second night and what was still happening to a certain extent—was that what he wanted to talk to me about? Or was it more about the Amon-kai and the “teachings” he had referred to the first night at my house?
Still debating with myself, I drove home and opened the door of my little purple house with some apprehension. A delicious aroma wafted through the front room, and I followed my nose to the bungalow's tiny kitchen where Richard was stirring something in a frying pan. Today he had on a pair of tight, faded blue jeans that hugged his narrow hips and firm ass lovingly and a short-sleeved black T-shirt that showed the bulge of his biceps when he stirred. He was making a lot of noise, but he didn't appear surprised when I came up behind him.
“Mmm, smells delicious,” I said, looking around his shoulder at the contents of the pan.
“You're just in time. It's almost done.”
“I can't wait.” I leaned over to give him a peck on the cheek, but he turned his head so that my kiss landed on his lips instead. I felt a familiar tingle rush through me and drew back quickly, blushing. Why did my heart pound so hard when we touched? I knew I couldn't blame it on my excitement at seeing him again after so long anymore—after all, he'd been staying with me for nearly two weeks now.
Richard had gone back to cooking, and it was impossible to tell if he had turned his head on purpose or not. I wondered briefly if he felt the same way I did when we touched, but I wasn't about to ask him.
“How was work?” he asked casually, pouring some soy sauce into the pan and stirring vigorously. Bright green snow pea pods glistened with a light coating of oil. Beside the stove on a china plate were some long, thin strips of almost raw meat that had obviously barely touched the pan.
“The usual,” I said, trying to sound casual myself. “Mostly petty stuff. I'm not involved in any really big cases right now.”
“Lucky for me,” he said, smiling at me. “Or I'd never get to see you.”
“How about you?” I asked. “Get much done?”
“I'm almost finished with the bank's system. A few more days oughta do it.” He gave me a sidelong look. “Then I guess I can get out of your hair, if you want me to.”
“No,” I said at once, putting a hand on his arm. I didn't understand the sudden wave of anxiety I felt at the thought of Richard leaving me, but it was undeniable. Just the thought of him getting on a plane and going away from me made my stomach clench in knots.
He smiled down at me, stilling his motions at the stove for a minute. “All right, I'll stay for as long as you want me to.” His dark face became serious. “Only…”
“Only what?” I prompted him, troubled by the doubt I saw in his clear green eyes.
“Only you may not want me to after you hear what I have to say.” He sighed. “Let's eat first though, okay? Hard to talk on an empty stomach.”
I didn't think so, but I nodded mutely and began getting plates from the cupboard to set the table. What in the world did Richard have to tell me that was so bad he thought I would want him out of the house when I heard it?
I could scarcely eat for worrying, though the food was delicious. The snow peas were crisp and tender and the almost raw beef seemed to feed a craving inside me that I'd been suppressing for years. Across my tiny kitchen table, Richard was barely picking at his food as well. When he looked up and saw me watching him, he gave a rueful laugh.
“I guess
maybe we'd better talk now, Rache. Neither one of us seems to be eating much.”
“I'm sorry. It's really delicious.” I ate a crisp green snow pea to prove my point and tried to smile at him.
“Come on.” He pushed back from the table and extended his hand. “Let's sit on the couch.”
Feeling like a lost child, I took his hand and allowed him to lead me to the small, lumpy loveseat in my living room. We sat for a minute, then Richard took a deep breath, squeezed my hand, and let go.
“Okay, where to begin?” he mused aloud to himself. He looked at me. “I know Mom didn't tell you anything about our people or pass down any of our beliefs, so I feel like I'm starting from scratch.”
So he wanted to talk more about the “Amon-kai” thing. “Just begin at the beginning,” I urged him.
“I will, but I want you to keep an open mind. Some of what I tell you may sound, well…a little strange.”
“I'll try,” I told him honestly. I felt like he was about to try and convert me to another religion but I loved him, so I'd attempt to keep everything in perspective no matter what he said. I promised myself that.
“Listen then, to the legend that has been passed down for generations—the origins of the Amon-kai—night's children.” Richard closed his eyes as he spoke, and his deep voice took on an almost orator-like quality. I watched him, fascinated by his change in tone and demeanor.
“Long ago, Anubis, the Egyptian god of death and the afterlife, was lonely and desired a wife. He had the head of a jackal but the heart of a man, and he longed for love and for someone to share his life. He searched throughout this life and the next, but no woman pleased him so well as the goddess, Bast. She had the head of a cat but the heart of a woman, and when Anubis asked her, she agreed to be his wife.”
He opened his eyes and looked at me briefly to see how I was taking this, but I only nodded for him to go on.
“Anubis and Bast loved each other, and from their union were born the Amon-kai—night's children. From their father, the sons of the Amon-kai inherited their strength and speed and from their mother, the daughters inherited their clarity of vision and inner wisdom. Both sons and daughters are gifted with Bast's pale green eyes that pierce the night.”
Eyes Like a Wolf Page 9