Summer Breeze

by Nancy Thayer

  “It suits you,” Slade said, and he ran his eyes up and down her body.

  She knew she should pull away, stand up, grab her glass of ice water and hold it to her burning cheek, but she only croaked, “Hah. First time anyone’s equated me with luxury.”

  “I think you’re very luxurious,” Slade assured her. Angling his body toward hers, he lightly touched her hair, which she’d pulled up in a high ponytail to keep it out of the way when painting. “Such thick, glossy hair. Skin like satin.” He drew the tip of one finger down the side of her face, down her neck, stopping at her collarbone.

  “Slade.”

  “Did you know this old settee is long enough for most people to lie down on? To sleep on? Or … whatever?”

  She could feel his warm breath on her cheek. He looked like some dark prince materialized from one of the gothic romances she’d read as a teenager.

  And he had said what no one else in the world had ever said about her. That her skin was like satin.

  Turning, she rammed her face at his before she could change her mind, and smashed a kiss on his mouth. Taken by surprise and by the force of her lunge, Slade fell backward, but he was quick enough to wrap his arms around her and pull her with him. On top of him. They tangled together on the white satin, adjusting arms, torsos, mouths. Slade was too tall to get all of his long body onto the couch, so he had to keep his legs turned sideways, and Morgan slipped onto her side, only the embrace of Slade’s arms keeping her from falling to the floor. His mouth was salty, hot, and much more knowing than any other mouth she’d ever kissed. As she pressed forward, Slade gently brushed his lips along her cheek, her jaw, the pulse in her neck, the tender tip of her ear. She arched upward, eyes closed, surrendering to a kind of lust she couldn’t even remember.

  “This isn’t working.” Slade struggled to sit up, forcing her to sit up, too.

  “It’s not?” Morgan’s hair had come out of the band and hung down on one side of her face and against the back of her neck. “It’s working fine for me,” she panted.

  “I mean, the settee. It’s long enough for a short man, but not long enough for me and not wide enough for two people.” Slade’s eyes were half closed, his lips wet with her saliva, his cheeks flushed with heat. His chest was heaving. He was as vivid as a poppy, as breathtaking as a thunderstorm.

  Morgan understood what he meant. He didn’t have to say that if they were going to continue what she had started, they’d have to move to a bedroom.

  She couldn’t do that. She was married. To that irritating jerk Josh.

  “Slade,” she apologized, pulling away. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed you. I don’t know what came over me.”

  Slade’s grin was crooked, astute. “Beauty queen, we’re just getting started.”

  Beauty queen. Morgan had never been that. His words, and the desire in his eyes, tugged at her, pulling her into the force field of his sexuality. Morgan had never been sexually wild. She’d never surrendered, she’d never been taken. She had always been interested in safety.

  She still was, if only for Petey’s sake.

  Morgan stood up on trembling legs, walked to the coffee table, picked up a glass, and held it out to Slade. “Ice water?”

  His laugh exploded. “Yes, please.” He stood up, arranging his clothing.

  Morgan slugged back her own ice water as if it were an anesthetizing Scotch. “We should get back. Help paint.”

  “Right.” Slade walked away, carrying his empty glass out of the living room, down the hall, and into the kitchen. He returned. His face was blank, his posture stiff. “I’ll wait for you in the van.”

  Morgan carried her own glass to the kitchen. Petey’s toys were on the floor. No sign of Josh, not even a coffee cup in the sink. He’d left so quickly he hadn’t even taken time for the coffee he loved. What the hell was Josh doing?

  She locked the house and climbed into the passenger seat of the van. Slade wasn’t there. For a moment, her heart stopped—she had no idea why. Then she saw him coming out of his aunt’s house with a portable CD player in one hand and a pile of CDs in the other. He tossed them in back, then slid into the driver’s seat.

  “Natalie called,” Slade told Morgan. “She wants some music.” He didn’t look at Morgan.

  “Slade.” Morgan’s throat was raspy. She cleared it. “I’m not sure what to say—”

  “No need to say anything,” Slade told her. He seemed to have recovered, and the smile he sent her was gentle, even kind. “It’s like it never happened, okay?”

  “Okay, Slade. Thanks.” Morgan smiled, but she was all at once on the verge of tears. As if it never happened? Was she sure that was what she wanted? Could the sheer power, the deliciousness, of those few moments be erased from her memory?

  Slade blasted the radio as they drove back to Bella’s. He didn’t speak again; his mind seemed to have retreated into a privacy she could sense he did not want invaded.

  The van turned into the parking lot. Dennis, Brady, and Ben were up on ladders, painting one wall, and Aaron was squatting by a gallon of paint, prying the lid open with a screwdriver.

  Saying “I’ll help the men,” Slade was out the door before she could speak.

  Morgan jumped down from the van. “Right. I’ll go inside.”

  Bella, Louise, and Natalie waved at Morgan with their paintbrushes.

  “Look at what we’ve accomplished!” Bella called triumphantly.

  “Well, I’ve got a great new piece of furniture,” Morgan told them. As she headed toward a ladder, she experienced a bubble of relief in her chest: She hadn’t done anything stupid. She was glad to be back among her friends.

  17

  Inside the shop, Natalie and Bella started painting the walls. Bella had chosen an umber shade to give the place an antique aura. They would have to do at least two coats to cover Louise’s murals.

  She noticed Morgan going off in the van with Slade, and she noticed Bella noticing. Honestly, her brother. But she was glad for a few moments alone with Bella.

  Trying to sound nonchalant, Natalie said, “Morgan told me she had lunch with Ben the other day. On campus.”

  Bella was squatting next to a gallon of paint, stirring it with a wooden stick. Preoccupied, her only reply was “Hmm.”

  “With Dr. Takamachi,” said Natalie. She opened the sturdy metal ladder, pulled down the shelf, and slowly mounted the steps, lugging her own paint and brush.

  “Doubt it,” Bella said. “Ben would never mix work with pleasure.”

  Pleasure? Natalie wanted to shriek. Ben would consider being with Morgan pleasure?

  “I don’t know much about what Ben does,” continued Bella, “but I do know there was a conference Ben had to attend. Takamachi’s visit to campus is a very big deal. Morgan is a scientist, true, but she’s in a different field. She wouldn’t speak their language.”

  “Well.” Natalie couldn’t think what else to say. She was all too familiar with the experience of girls being her friend so they could attract her brother’s attention, and she didn’t want to go anywhere near that sort of thing. She liked Bella for herself. It would be too childish, anyway, too high school, to whine, Bella, Ben kissed me and said he’d call me and he hasn’t called, what can I do? Plus, Morgan had lunch with him. No. Natalie was a grown-up now. If Ben hadn’t called her, it was her own problem to deal with.

  Although she was glad to hear about the conference and that Dr. Takamachi’s visit was a big deal.

  She began to paint, swiftly, with great concentration.

  “Morgan and Slade are certainly taking their time,” Bella remarked from the other side of the room.

  “Don’t worry,” Natalie mumbled. “I don’t think even my brother would mess around with a married woman.”

  “Oh, well, that’s not what I mean,” Bella hastily replied. “Damn. Got a big glob on my shirt.”

  “We should have brought some music,” Natalie said. “I’ve got a portable CD player and some good discs.
I’ll phone Slade and tell him to pick them up and bring them over.”

  “Great idea!” Bella agreed.

  Natalie carefully backed down the steps; crossed the floor, which was covered with protective plastic sheets; and went into the back room, where she’d dumped her purse. She dug her cell out and hit Slade’s number. As she waited for the phone to ring, she leaned against the door jamb and let her eyes rest on the windows and open door. She could see Dennis, Aaron, Brady, and Ben crossing back and forth, carrying ladders, paint cans, rags, hammers. She’d been inside when Ben’s car pulled into the parking lot this morning, and she hadn’t wanted to rush out, all dewy-eyed and eager, to say hello, and he hadn’t come inside. Ben and the other men were talking and laughing, their voices low, rumbling, and lighthearted. She couldn’t hear their words, but Natalie knew they weren’t discussing personal relationships.

  Slade picked up his cell. She told him what she wanted; he said he’d bring it and grab some CDs of his own from his van. She didn’t ask him why they were taking so long, and he offered no explanation. She tossed her cell phone into her bag and went back to her ladder.

  “Did you get Slade?” Bella asked.

  “I did. He’s going to pick up my CD player, and they’ll be here soon.”

  Natalie had carefully edged in one wall before she heard the crunch of tires on gravel: Finally Slade and Morgan were returning. She heard the van doors slam. Morgan and Slade called to the men working outside; Natalie strained her ears to hear whether Morgan was chatting with Ben, but could detect no exact words. Finally, Morgan swept in, lanky and flushed.

  “Damn, it’s hot! Bella, don’t you have air-conditioning?” Morgan demanded.

  “I do,” Bella replied from the top of her ladder. “But it doesn’t seem fair to use it when the guys are sweltering away outside.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Morgan said. “They can deal.”

  Slade sauntered in, carrying the small portable CD player. “Here you are, Sis.” He put it in the middle of the floor and hit a few buttons. Heavy metal guitars screamed.

  “HEY!” Natalie yelled.

  Slade hit the volume control. “Sorry.” He took out the CD. “That was one of mine.”

  “Surprise,” Natalie said.

  “What do you ladies want?” Slade asked.

  Morgan was looking through the discs. “Let’s hear some ABBA. That should get us moving.”

  Natalie wanted to say, snippily, Bella and I have been painting for an hour. But she kept quiet.

  Slade left. Bella climbed down her ladder, closed the door and windows, and turned on the air conditioner. Morgan opened her gallon of paint and set to work on her own wall. ABBA sang “Take a Chance on Me.” Occasionally Natalie caught a glimpse of Ben passing a window. He’d taken off his shirt and put on a baseball cap to shade his face.

  They broke for lunch around one o’clock. The women had finished the walls and were beginning the doors and baseboards. With the air-conditioning pumping into the big room, the first coat would dry soon enough for them to add a second coat after lunch.

  Bella had made sandwiches, macaroni salad, potato salad, and coleslaw. Her father and brother lugged out a cooler filled with ice and soft drinks and another one filled with ice water. Natalie had brought chips, brownies, and cookies, and Morgan had added cold spicy fried chicken. The picnic table wasn’t big enough for all of them, so they tossed a couple of old blankets from the trunks of their cars on the grass. Everyone was craving salt, and conversation was at a minimum as they ate and drank.

  Natalie had taken her loaded paper plate to the blanket under a tree and arranged herself there as alluringly as possible, hoping Ben would join her. So far, he hadn’t even looked at her. He’d gone straight for the food, sat at the table, and eaten like a starving man. She wondered if he cooked for himself. She wondered a lot of things about Ben—most of all, why he wasn’t talking to her. He could at least say hello.

  “This chicken is amazing, Morgan,” Natalie said, watching Ben out of the corner of her eye to see if he sent any kind of glance at Morgan.

  “Thanks,” Morgan said. “I got the recipe off the Internet.”

  “I do that all the time,” Bella chimed in. “It’s easier and quicker than using a cookbook. But when I’m relaxing, I love to look at cookbooks.”

  “Me, too,” Natalie agreed, and then no one else spoke.

  The group seemed rather out of sorts today, Natalie thought as she ate and looked around. Morgan was not flirting with Ben or Slade; she seemed sunk in her own thoughts, and didn’t look happy. Bella and Aaron weren’t sitting together; they weren’t even talking to each other. All the men looked tired after painting outside in this heat. It had to be in the nineties, and the humidity was killing.

  Still, it was just so strange how Ben wasn’t paying any attention to Natalie at all. It was as if he had amnesia. As if he hadn’t kissed her. She’d never had an experience like this, so she had no idea what to do. She wasn’t going to sidle up to Ben and wiggle her shoulder and give him a sexy hello. The more she thought about it, the angrier she got, and it was a relief when the group decided lunch was over. Time to get back to work.

  Of them all, Bella, not surprisingly, was the most determined. “Natalie, since you’ve got such a steady hand, how about you start on the trim while Morgan and I give the walls a second coat?”

  “Fine with me,” Natalie agreed.

  The smaller brush was lighter, and the trim required concentration and an unfluctuating line. She couldn’t allow even one bristle to touch its drop of cream paint against the umber of the wall. Bella put on the Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper’s album; soon all three women were singing along, and Natalie’s spirits rose.

  At three o’clock, Bella’s father came into the shop.

  “That’s it for today,” he announced. “I’ve made a unilateral decision.”

  “The windows—” Bella began to protest.

  “—can wait,” Dennis decreed. “No arguing. It’s just too damned hot and muggy. Anyway, we’ve all been working so hard, if we keep it up, we’ll get sloppy, and you don’t want that. I’ll come over tomorrow and help you with the final bits, Bella.”

  “I’ll come, too,” Morgan added.

  Natalie felt obligated to pitch in. “I’ll come—”

  But Bella preempted her. “No, Natalie, not you. You’ve got to work on the charcoal of Aaron so I can hang it in the shop.”

  “Well, anyway, ladies,” Dennis interrupted, “let’s quit for the day, okay? Go home, take a swim. Or a nap.”

  “Or a shower,” Natalie said, grinning.

  “It’s looking good, don’t you think?” Bella asked. “Kind of elegant?”

  “It will once the plastic drop cloths are gone,” her father told her as he went out the door.

  The men carried in their ladders and laid them on the floor. They brought in their cans of paint and various tools and set them inside. The women tapped the lids on their cans, wiped their hands on rags, and took turns rinsing the latex paint off their brushes under the tap in the bathroom sink.

  By the time Natalie came out of the building, she saw that Ben’s car was gone. She drove home, saw Slade’s van parked in the driveway, did not see Ben’s car parked in the Barnabys’ drive.

  “I hate him,” she said aloud to no one.

  Slade was already in the guest room shower. Natalie showered in the master bedroom, put on clean shorts and tee, and immediately felt better. Looking out her window, she saw Morgan playing with Petey on their beach. Aaron and Bella were swimming out to the raft they’d moored in the lake. Dennis was lying on the chaise in the shade of a beach umbrella, the Sunday newspaper over his face. Natalie felt drowsy, too lazy to work, too grumpy to try to swim. She shut her bedroom door, sank onto her bed, and fell asleep.

  “Hey.”

  She opened her eyes to see her brother standing there. “Hey, what?” she yawned.

  “You’ve been snoozing forever. It’s di
nnertime. We’re all going in to Mama’s for some crazy cocktails and dinner.”

  Natalie scooched up in bed and stretched. “All who?”

  “What am I, your social secretary? Bella, Aaron, Morgan, and Petey, I guess.”

  “What about Josh? And Ben?” She rubbed her face, as if trying to wake up, not wanting to let her brother catch a glimpse of anything. He could read her so well.

  “Josh is still MIA. Bella phoned Ben; I don’t know if he’s joining us or not.”

  “Listen, I’ll stay and take care of Petey,” Natalie decided.

  “Suddenly you’re Mother Teresa?” Slade asked, puzzled.

  “No, I’m an artist, and eccentric and sometimes reclusive. I’ve been with people all day and I want some time to chill.” Natalie swung her feet off the bed and stood up. Outside, the sun was low in the sky, gilding the green leaves and bronzing windowpanes all over the lake. “Besides, Morgan should have a chance to enjoy herself, and Petey would be miserable at Mama’s.”

  “You’ve got your period,” Slade said.

  “How did I deserve such a sensitive genius for a brother,” Natalie shot back, knocking his shoulder as she left the room.

  They clopped down the steps to the living room and then into the kitchen.

  “Aren’t you hungry?” Slade asked.

  Natalie shrugged. “I don’t know. Not really. I had a huge lunch.”

  Yawning, Slade said, “Well, I bet Morgan would probably love to have you take care of Petey. I know Bella suggested that she leave Petey with Felicity, but Morgan said no, Felicity had Petey all day.”

  Natalie slammed the refrigerator door shut. “Let’s go over to Morgan’s.”

  Morgan’s front door was open. They let themselves in and wandered through the house.

  Slade pointed. “There’s the settee I sold her. Sharp, isn’t it?”

  Natalie cocked her head. “Slade, it looks amazing there. You really have an eye.”