Ecstasy

by Gwynne Forster

  “I’ve never found it easy to talk about myself, especially not with strangers—I mean, not with people I don’t know very well. You’re asking for personal information, and I’m not...”

  He’d moved to within inches of her, and tugged at her hand.

  “Strangers? Do you kiss strangers?”

  “Of course n... Oh, Mason. I’m not sure you’ve ever been a stranger.”

  “How about that night in Paris?” His hoarse voice had lost its smoothness, and a rasp of desire greeted her ears. Perspiration beaded on his forehead, and she wondered why he didn’t move. Where did he get that awesome control? She stood mesmerized as his eyes lost their blackness and took on the greenish-brown cast that signaled his arousal. Even as her breath shortened almost to a pant, his sexual heat bruised her nostrils. If she didn’t get him inside of her, she’d...

  “Come here to me, honey.”

  Somehow, her feet left the floor and the steel-like grip of his powerful arms crushed her to him. His tongue invaded her mouth and she sucked it feverishly. Hungrily. When he cupped her bottom, she let her long legs grip his hips and a spiral of hot darts shot to her feminine center when his bulging arousal pressed between her thighs. He rubbed her erect nipple and, at the sound of her frustrated moan, he set her feet on the floor, reached into her blouse, released her breast and bent his mouth to it. With one hand, she pressed the back of his head, while the other one squeezed his buttocks. His mouth and tongue sucked and tugged at her nipple, sending pulsations to her core. Nearly out of her mind now, she cried out, asking for more. He picked her up and sat on the sofa with her on his lap.

  His voice, still minus its natural tone and cadence, washed over her. “I don’t want to leave, but I can’t remain in here. I’ve already stayed longer than I should, and I can’t break my own rule.”

  “You mean you’ve got a rule that says people can’t make love on this tour?”

  His weak, forced smile tempered her annoyance.

  “That isn’t the rule, but it amounts to that. Our time will come, Jeannetta. A time when we needn’t worry about rules, beepers, intercoms and lack of privacy, and I’d as soon that time came when this tour is behind us and our desire for each other isn’t whetted by convenience and close proximity.” He shifted her from his lap and stood.

  “You’re important to me. Don’t forget that in the days to come.” He leaned over her, and she tried not to respond when he brushed her forehead.

  “I’ll let myself out. Lock your door.” With that, he left her.

  She’d known before he touched her that he didn’t want to start a raging fire, but she’d ignored the signals, had let her unappeased desire for him rule her. And she had nearly destroyed any chance she might have of getting his help. And even if he agreed, out of guilt, to operate, she’d lose him. What man would forgive a woman for allowing him to care for her, for making love with him, and then exacting a price? Not this one. She paced the narrow room, fell on the sofa, sat up and slammed her newspaper across the room, knocking over the bud vase. Her anger subsided, and she told herself she’d take whatever came, but she went to bed knowing that she’d toss all night, uncertain of the future.

  * * *

  Mason jumped out of bed at the first sound of his beeper, glancing at his watch as he did so. Twenty minutes past three. The train had stopped. What the...

  “This is Fenwick. What’s the problem?” He didn’t like the quiver in the conductor’s voice. He grabbed his Bermuda shorts and jumped into them before the man could get his voice under control.

  “Some soldiers, about eight of them, just boarded the front of the train. They blocked the track, so the engineer had to stop. We’re only a mile from the Bulgaria border with the former Yugoslavia, so we don’t know what’s going on. They’re not customs officers. I’m alerting the tour guides and the unescorted passengers.”

  “Are they showing their rifles?”

  “Combat-ready, sir.”

  Mason swore. “Thanks. Keep a cool front, pal. Never let a man know he’s got you down.” He flipped off the phone, hooked it to his belt along with a can of mace, grabbed his keys and raced down the corridor to Jeannetta’s compartment.

  “Open up, Jeannetta.” He hoped she didn’t sleep soundly.

  “Who is it?”

  “Mason. Soldiers on the train. Put on a dress and open this door. Now!” While she dressed, he alerted people in other compartments, getting a few surprises as he did so. In different circumstances, he might have found the evidence of bed-switching amusing. Two men and one of the women were sleeping in a bed to which they hadn’t been assigned. He dashed back to Jeannetta’s door.

  “Let’s go, Jeannetta. Hide your valuables and money, but bring your passport. Come on, babe.”

  She opened the door, her eyes wide and unblinking. He didn’t have time to allay her fear; later, if there was a later. He pulled her through the door, slammed it and raced with her to his room.

  “Wha...what’s going on, Mason?”

  “We don’t know, but we’re near the border and, European history being what it is, we may be in disputed territory. If they stop here, don’t volunteer information, and don’t discuss anybody but yourself. If those soldiers were friends, they wouldn’t have their fingers on the trigger.”

  “We always stop at the borders. What’s so different this time?” He wanted to hug her to him, but he needed his wits. He had to keep her safe, and nothing was more dangerous for a beautiful woman than sex-starved soldiers.

  “Customs officers don’t board these trains with rifles drawn.” His glance swept her unsteady form. He shook his head. She’d brought her most valuable possession with her—a little doll. He’d ask her about that later.

  “Button up your dress, honey. All the way to the neck. And pull your hair up on your head.”

  “Why?” He glared at her, partly in frustration and partly in anger at the situation into which he’d unwittingly put her.

  “Because those soldiers will see exactly what I see, and they may not be averse to taking it.”

  Her shaking fingers couldn’t manage the buttons, and he fastened her dress, his large fingers innocently brushing her soft mounds and threatening to disconcert him. If he got her safely to Istanbul, he was going to kiss God’s good earth. He twisted her hair on top of her head and knotted it. The knock on the door of his compartment was loud and brutish. His lips brushed hers quickly.

  “Don’t be afraid, honey. If they touch you, they’ll have to kill me.” With his best nonchalant air, he opened the door, raised an eyebrow and asked, “May I help you?” Only two of them. He hoped the rest weren’t busy intimidating the other passengers. They swaggered in without waiting to be asked.

  “What country you from?” He told them. The leader of the two examined their passports, and Mason couldn’t help expelling a long breath when the man returned them to him. The other man had his gaze fixed on Jeannetta.

  “Your husband?” Jeannetta nodded, the leader reminded her that her passport gave her status as single.

  “It’s over a year old,” she told him, referring to her passport. Mason shifted his stance, and icy tingles hurtled along his spine as both men’s gazes fastened on Jeannetta, their eyes ablaze with lust. His focus shifted from the can on his belt, and his mind adopted the attitude of the karate master that he was. He hadn’t applied those principles since college, but he knew he could depend on them.

  The soldiers must have noticed his change of demeanor, because the leader half smiled and told him, “If she was my woman, I’d leave her at home. She is black American?”

  Mason nodded. He couldn’t let himself be lulled into thinking they were safe, only to have the trial of his life.

  “You’re the tour leader?”

  Mason inclined his head.

  “Everybody in
this car is American?” the leader asked him.

  Mason nodded.

  The man appeared to have satisfied himself that whatever he sought wouldn’t be found in that compartment, but the other continued to drool over Jeannetta. The leader nodded toward the door and spoke in a language that Mason didn’t understand, but he didn’t doubt the essence of the message: “Leave it. We don’t have time for that.”

  The leader touched the door handle, looked back and asked Mason, “You see any soldiers with this on their sleeve?”

  He pulled a small emblem that Mason recognized as the colors of a flag out of his pocket. He hadn’t seen any soldiers except them, he said. The door closed behind them.

  “Oh, Mason. Do you think they’ve gone? I’m so scared.” He pulled her trembling body to him.

  “We’ll have to wait until the conductor signals. As sure as they see me alone in that corridor, one or both of them will make a beeline straight to you.” She moved closer to him, but he stepped farther back; until he knew the danger had passed, he couldn’t allow her nearness and patent vulnerability to scramble his wits. He pushed the buttons on his beeper and held his breath until the conductor answered.

  “Motorman, here. All clear.”

  “Any problems?” Still holding Jeannetta, Mason leaned against the wall. That had been close. The last time he’d been that strung out... He fought back the memory of his scalpel suspended over the lesion in Bianca Norris’s exposed brain.

  “Just a hundred thirty-three scared passengers. Excluding yourself, of course, sir. They’re after terrorists. We’ll be on our way shortly.”

  Mason thanked him and looked down at Jeannetta.

  “I’m sorry they frightened you.” He sat on the sofa with her cuddled in his lap.

  “I wasn’t afraid for myself, as much as for you,” she whispered. “If anything had happened to you because of me...Oh, Mason, you don’t know how scared I got.” He set her on her feet.

  “I can imagine. I’ll walk you to your compartment. You’d better try and get some sleep, because we reach Istanbul later this morning, and you won’t be near a bed again until we get to Singapore.”

  Her hot, welcoming kiss wasn’t something a man could easily shrug off. He had to marshal self-control to walk away from the invitation mirrored in her eyes. He wasn’t Superman, but if he could turn his back on his profession, work he’d dreamed of enjoying for as long as he’d known himself—if he could make himself do that, he could do anything. He headed back to his compartment, certain that he’d walked away from the loving of a lifetime.

  * * *

  Later that morning, Jeannetta sat in the observation lounge, trying to glimpse the sunrise. A fierce headache, much as her doctor had told her to expect, had kept her awake for the remainder of the night. Geoffrey ambled in, carrying a cup of coffee, and she welcomed his company.

  “You’re not your usual bright self this morning, Jeannetta.” He peered at her as though to verify his words.

  “Geoffrey, what holds a man back when he’s interested?” She had to wait while he blew the hot coffee until he could bear to sip it.

  “Married, engaged, misgivings. Why?”

  “Do you think Mason’s married?”

  His face creased into a half smile. “Nope. I sure don’t.”

  She liked Geoffrey, but his laconic responses sometimes got on her nerves.

  “Engaged?” She pressed.

  “No. Mason’s no cheat.”

  She took a deep breath and asked the obvious. “Misgivings, huh?”

  He let her wait while he finished his coffee.

  “I’d say so. A lot of ’em. ’Course it’s up to you to rid him of those. I’d best be getting on. Lucy gets spiteful when she sees us talking. Don’t you set her at ease, though. Women never act right when they get too sure of a man.”

  Jeannetta had to laugh. “That’s practically the advice you gave me about Mason.”

  Geoffrey Ames winked at her with his newfound sophistication. “It ain’t done you no harm, neither. Has it?”

  * * *

  In a few hours, the train would pull into Istanbul and, seven hours later, he and the tour would be on a plane for Singapore. Mason had dreaded this day as the most precarious of the entire trip; one hitch and he stood to lose a bundle. He headed down to the observation car, hoping to begin the day in the way he most enjoyed—watching the sun break through the clouds, spreading its kaleidoscope of colors across the horizon. He walked into the observation lounge, stuck his hands in his back pockets and gazed at the glorious pinks, purples, reds and blues that shot across the sky. A cup of coffee and ten minutes of this would get his day off and running just right. He whirled around at the sound of a steady, low drone. Jeannetta. She didn’t know he’d entered the car. But what...? She sat alone, dictating into an audio cassette a description of the sunrise and what she saw as the train whizzed past villages, farms and endless hills. He started to speak, thought better of it and stood quietly as she related the tiniest of details. Tremors in her voice lent an intimate quality to her dictation. Yes, and an eeriness, too. No one should eavesdrop on another’s soul; he left. So much for his visit with the sunrise.

  Alone in the dining room, he sipped black coffee and mulled over what he’d witnessed. Why didn’t she photograph the scenes? What was the advantage in describing them? Upon reflection, he realized that he hadn’t seen her with a camera. Among his tour guests, he’d seen all except her take pictures. He shook his head and his fingers brushed the keys in his right pants pocket. He’d let her have her privacy, but he would rather have begun his day buoyed by that exhilarating sunrise.

  A few minutes later Mason stood at the bar, checking the train’s Istanbul arrival time with Josh, his porter; Jeannetta strolled by without seeing them, humming a tune that he didn’t recognize.

  “Miss Rollins is in that lounge every morning at sunup telling that little machine of hers what she did the day before,” Josh said. “I’ve been trying to figure out why she does it if it makes her feel bad. Yesterday morning, she was making her recording and, man, you should have seen the tears. But she kept right on talking, like her eyes were dry. She’s strange, that one. Couple of minutes after I sneaked out of there, she came out and greeted me with the biggest smile you ever saw.”

  “Yeah,” Mason replied. “We’ve got forty-seven pieces of luggage and two crates of supplies to unload here and transfer to Singapore Airlines. I want this stuff at the airport by noon. No later. Got that?” He left the bar without waiting for Josh’s reply. He didn’t want men discussing Jeannetta. That was one of the problems with romances in groups like this one; you had to listen to things you’d rather not hear.

  “Hi. Remember me?”

  He whirled around. Lord, would he never get used to her eyes? Eyes that proclaimed the woman as a warm nesting place. He grinned down at her.

  “If we’d ever met, honey,” he drawled, “I’d remember it. My five senses are in flawless condition, and I’m a man in the prime of life. You know me from somewhere?”

  Her laughter wrapped around him, warming him and unsettling him. Her presence gave him a feeling of contentment, and his fingers automatically went to the keys in his pocket.

  “Need something?” he asked her, in his best low, suggestive tone. He could see the laughter starting to boil up in her. Laughter that said his question didn’t deserve an answer. As quickly as it started, it stopped.

  “Do I need something? How about tall, dark, handsome and male, with a habit of strumming his fingers on any solid surface near him?” she asked with feigned seriousness. Unable to resist touching her, he tweaked her nose.

  “All in good time, sweet thing.” Her smile—natural and sincere, but so powerfully seductive—reminded him of the lecture Steve had given him when he left for college. If he made low grades, hi
s brother had said, he’d lose his scholarship, be forced to work his way through and probably wouldn’t get his medical degree until he reached thirty; but a pretty woman’s smile could get him kicked out of college, and he’d never get that degree.

  She is as uncertain about us as I am, he told himself, watching her enter the dining room. Neither of them behaved consistently. Small children played the game, go-away-come-here; it had no place in his life. He followed Jeannetta to the dining room.

  “Remember that the plane leaves at six-forty and, please, for heaven’s sake, be there an hour and a half before flight time.”

  “I’ll do my best, but I’d love to see a little of Istanbul. I might not get another...well, I might not come this way again.” The childlike lights of eagerness that sparkled in her eyes endeared her to him; at that moment he could have denied her nothing.

  “Would you like to see Istanbul with me, Jeannetta?”

  “Oh, yes. I would.”

  He didn’t want her to see how much she affected him, so he walked out of the dining room. And nearly knocked Geoffrey to the floor.

  “Angry, or in a hurry?” Geoffrey asked him, adjusting his jacket.

  “Neither. Where’s Lucy? I want everybody in the dining room for briefing.” Sometimes he wondered if Geoffrey’s professed interest in Lucy might be a screen. The man spent a hell of a lot of time in Jeannetta’s company. Oh, heck, I must be getting paranoid.

  * * *

  Mason had leased a bus to drive the group around Istanbul before taking them to a hotel. He and Jeannetta struck out on their own.

  “I didn’t know anybody still mixed cement that way,” Jeannetta said as they passed a construction site. “Imagine, mixing that with a hoe. What if it gets hard before it’s used?”

  “This is a moderately developed country, but it isn’t rich, it’s... Say, this is the first time you’ve been outside the Western developed region, isn’t it? This one’s modern, compared to what you’ll find in Africa and most of Asia.” He realized that she no longer listened, but stood staring at... What was she looking at? A child dived into a large mound of sand, and another made a game of sifting sand through her fingers. In his book, that didn’t classify as spellbinding. Yet, she stared, immobile, her face drawn.