Window on Tomorrow

by Joan Hohl

  Already heading for the door, Andrea smiled as her aunt’s musical voice wafted through the house to her.

  “Good morning, gorgeous.” Blaine greeted Andrea with a broad grin and a kiss on her cheek. “Don’t tell me, let me guess,” he drawled as he stepped into the house. “Our beautiful Celia just this minute ran into her bedroom to finish dressing.” He raised his dark brows. “Right?”

  “As rain,” Andrea concurred, shutting the door. She grimaced as she turned to face him. “Whatever that means.”

  “It means I’m right,” Blaine said, his grin growing. “Okay, what did our sweet lady tell you to do to keep me company?” he asked dryly, revealing how very well he knew and understood Celia Trask.

  “Give you a cup of coffee and a strawberry muffin,” Andrea replied, swinging away and heading back to the kitchen, confident he’d be right on her heels.

  “That woman knows me much too well,” Blaine observed in a rueful but amused tone, falling into step with Andrea.

  Andrea tidied the kitchen while Blaine devoured two muffins and drank two cups of coffee. The room was spotless, and Blaine replete, before Celia breezed into the kitchen. Dressed in pale green slacks, high-heeled strappy sandals, and a white overblouse splashed with flowers in mauve and rose, she presented a picture of casual elegance.

  Blaine’s eyes glazed over at first sight of Celia.

  Standing by the sink, feeling like a fifth wheel, Andrea felt a twinge of envy. Blaine’s love for Celia blazed, unconcealed and unchecked, from his dark eyes.

  A yearning ache filled Andrea’s being, and though she was genuinely happy that her aunt had at last found a love she could openly declare, Andrea couldn’t help wondering how it felt to love and be loved that devotedly.

  The ache lasted but an instant. A bubble of laughter rose to smother it. Her laughter erupted as Blaine whisked Celia out of the house ... while she was in the middle of giving her niece last-minute instructions.

  “I’ve left dinner in the fridge, Andrea,” Celia called over her shoulder.

  “Don’t look for us until you see us, gorgeous,” Blaine shouted, shutting Celia’s door and then his own with solid-sounding thuds.

  Andrea was still smiling as she returned to the kitchen. Her smile vanished when she glanced at the clock. Paul would be arriving in less than half an hour! With a soft yelp, she dashed out of the room.

  She was frowning into the full-length mirror on the back of her bathroom door when the sound of the doorbell pealed through the house.

  Paul!

  Andrea’s throat went dry as his name sprang into her mind. Her teeth caught her bottom lip as her eyes flashed to the door, then back to her reflection.

  Suddenly the French-cut one-piece swimsuit she’d worn confidently all summer seemed much too skimpy. Her nervous fingers tugged at the edges of the material where the suit arched over her hipbones, revealing the long expanse of her slender, shapely legs.

  Andrea groaned.

  The doorbell pealed again.

  In desperation, Andrea pulled on a cover-up and tied it snugly around her slim waist. She raised her eyes and groaned again. The terry-cloth robe barely covered her thighs.

  Once again the doorbell pealed.

  Andrea sighed. The robe would have to do. Making a face at herself in the mirror, she rushed from her bedroom to the front door. She was panting when she reached the door . . . but at least she was breathing. Becoming entangled with the sudden increase of her heartbeat, her breathing ceased altogether when she pulled the door open.

  Looking too handsome to be real, Paul was leaning against the door frame, his body relaxed, his expression patient. His attire consisted of a loose stark-white shirt, which brushed the tops of his thighs. Andrea assumed the garment concealed his swim trunks. His long, smooth legs were exposed. His narrow feet were barely covered by leather sandals.

  “Hi.” His voice was low and attractive; his smile was slow and devastating. “Ready to face the beach?”

  She could face anything with him.

  The startling thought jolted Andrea, but she was breathing again ... too rapidly, but breathing.

  “Hi,” she responded in a throaty voice she hardly recognized as her own. “Yes, I’m ready. I just have to get my things. Would you like to come in?”

  “No.” Paul shook his head briefly. Sunlight glinted blue sparks off the ruffled strands of his black hair. “I’ll walk around and meet you at the patio steps.” His eyes delved into the hazel depths of hers.

  “Ah . . . fine.” Andrea felt the effects of his stare to the very depths of her soul. “I... I’ll meet you there.”

  He pushed away from the door frame.

  She backed away from the doorway.

  “Go,” he whispered, releasing his visual hold.

  Freed from the bond of his eyes, and confused by the crazy quilt of sensations leaping pell-mell along her nervous system, Andrea swung the door shut as she spun away at a run to collect her beach bag and the muffins she’d transferred to a plastic storage bag.

  The descent to the beach wasn’t arduous, just a bit tricky. With a blanket slung around his neck, and toting a cooler chest, Paul assisted Andrea over the rough spots with his free hand, leaving her skin tingling with awareness of him.

  The day was perfect. A cloudless blue sky arched overhead. Sunlight, like gold coins, skimmed across the deeper blue of the ocean. A gentle breeze wafted mistily off the water, robbing the sun’s rays of their burning sting. Seabirds squabbled and swooped to pluck tidbits from the shore.

  The zephyr played with Andrea’s hair, swirling the shoulder-length strands around her face. Too aware of Paul, and hiding it by staring out over the water, she absently raised her hands to anchor the mass to her head.

  “Don’t.”

  Andrea stiffened when his long fingers encircled her wrists to pull her hands away.

  “Leave it free,” Paul said softly, close to her ear. “Let it fly.”

  “It gets in my mouth,” Andrea said in a hoarse, barely discernible voice.

  “Lucky hair.”

  His voice was so low Andrea wasn’t sure she heard him correctly. “Wh-what?” she asked shakily.

  “Nothing.” He was standing so close she could feel his breath whisper over the back of her neck. “Stand still, I’ll fix it for you.”

  He released his loose grip on her wrists. Andrea felt him move or bend, and then he brought his hands back to her head. Her scalp tingled as he raked his fingers through her hair, and she shivered when they brushed the nape of her neck. A sigh of protest lodged in her throat when he dropped his hands and stepped back.

  “There, that should hold it.”

  Curious, Andrea raised her hands to the back of her head. Her eyes widened as she examined his handiwork with her fingers. He had neatly braided her hair! She couldn’t feel as much as one errant wisp. And he had secured it... how? Frowning, Andrea turned to stare at him.

  A tender smile curved his lips. “There’s a question?” he asked quietly.

  “How did you do that?” Andrea demanded.

  “The braiding?” he teased.

  Andrea shook her head. “How did you fasten it?”

  He stooped, and when he rose he was holding a curled string of dried seaweed between his thumb and forefinger.

  “Everything we require can be found somewhere in nature, Andrea ,” he said, swinging the plant stem gently.

  He had bound her hair with a dried weed! Indignant, Andrea glared at him. “A weed?” she yelped.

  Paul smiled at her, revealing hard teeth that glistened a glaring white in contrast to his burnished skin. “That weed is harmless and as much a part of nature as you are.”

  Andrea’s indignation melted in the warmth of his smile. “Well, if you say so,” she muttered, offering him a tentative smile tinged with teasing. “Just so you never ask me to eat any of that gloppy wet stuff.”

  Paul tilted his head back and roared with laughter. “Gloppy wet stuff?” he
repeated when he could finally speak. “Don’t you know that kelp is one source of iodine?”

  Andrea looked unimpressed. “I’ll take mine in salt, thank you.”

  “Oh, I can see I’m in for a very interesting semester with you in my class,” Paul said, laughing as he turned to spread the blanket out on the sand.

  “Scared, Professor?” Andrea taunted, not even aware that she had lost her nervousness about being alone with him.

  “No.” Paul slanted a grin at her. “I’m looking forward to it,” he returned her taunt. “Aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” Andrea admitted. “But right now I’m looking forward to whatever lunch you’ve brought.” Her expression turned mock-fierce. “And it better not be seaweed.”

  The meal Paul provided was almost as perfect as the day. There was fruit salad to begin, crisp vegetables cut into bite-size pieces, a long loaf of crusty French bread, which they ate with chunks of a cheese Andrea didn’t recognize but thoroughly enjoyed and of course there were the strawberry muffins. Between bites, they savored the delicate flavor of chilled California chenin blanc. While the food slowly disappeared, they talked of this and that—what she thought of California, the fast-approaching fall semester, her preference for white wine, his preference for strong cheese—inconsequential in sound, considerable in insight.

  Without being aware of it, Andrea laughed often. But she did notice that each time she laughed, Paul’s eyes seem to glow from within.

  When they were finished, they worked together, swiftly, competently, not fumbling, never bumping, as if they intuitively knew their individual tasks, repacking the cooler and smoothing the blanket.

  Replete—stuffed, actually—Andrea lay back on the blanket, surrendering her body to the sun. She felt Paul move and raised her arm to shade her eyes. He was standing beside the blanket, his arms stretched over his head, tendons and muscles rippling as he pulled off the white shirt. His body gleamed a burnished gold in the direct rays of the sun.

  For an instant, Andrea forgot to breathe, her heart forgot to beat. He was the most breathtaking, heart-stopping thing she had ever had the privilege to gaze upon.

  Strangely, in contrast to the shock of wavy black hair on his head and the silky forest of curls on his chest, the rest of Paul’s body was hairless and smooth. His shoulders and chest were broad and yet, as Andrea had noticed the day before, were free of the pumped-up bunched-muscled look. His waist and hips were narrow, his belly not merely flat but concave. His long arms and legs were perfectly formed.

  His overall appearance had a riveting effect on Andrea, but what claimed her unwilling attention was the narrow scrap of white material that swathed his loins.

  The sight made her blood run cold, then hot. She felt chilled, then flushed. He was little more than a stranger to her, and yet, it was as if her body knew him in the most intimate way possible.

  Feeling shaken, confused, disoriented, her eyes seeing nothing, and everything, Andrea lay breathless and immobile, staring, staring.

  “Andrea.”

  His low voice was a soft caress and a rude awakening. Flustered, embarrassed, Andrea flicked her eyes to his, and immediately shied away from the understanding she read in the soft blue depths. She turned her head away when he sank to his knees beside her.

  “There is no shame in admiring the human form,” he said, not touching her, but stroking her with his tender tone. “I’ve been admiring your body ever since . . . ever since we met.”

  Andrea heard and wondered at his brief pause, the slight break in the even tenor of his voice, but then the question in her mind was drowned by the flow of his voice washing over her senses.

  “Your body is beautiful. Your skin is soft and silky,” he whispered. “I feel no shame in admiring the gentle contour of your slender hips, the delicate curve of your breasts and the appealing cast of your lovely features.” He lay on the blanket beside her. His voice was the only part of him that touched her. “And what shame should I feel in admiring that most feminine part of you, that exquisite mound of utter beauty and ultimate, infinite pleasure?”

  “Stop!” Andrea cried in a raspy whisper. “Paul, please stop! I can’t bear any more. I can’t.. .”

  It was too late. Though he had not touched her, Andrea’s body had felt, and reacted, as if to a lover’s caress, to every whispered word he’d spoken. Her mind was on fire; her body responded in the most natural of ways to the consuming conflagration.

  Her sensibilities cringed in embarrassment.

  Her body rejoiced in release.

  * * *

  Chapter 5

  “I’m sorry.” Paul’s soft voice revealed sorrow... but not regret.

  They were lying side by side on the sun-warmed blanket, close but not touching.

  “I’m not.” The utter truth of her reply struck Andrea as she spoke. She still felt slightly embarrassed, but she was not sorry for the thrilling effect his words had had on her.

  “I don’t want you to feel that I set out deliberately to manipulate you ,” he murmured. “My only wish was to ease the embarrassment and shame you were suffering.”

  “I know.” A faint smile curved Andrea’s soft mouth. “I’m not a child, Paul. I do understand willing reception.” Her smile slanted wryly at the analogy that sprang to her mind, then to her lips. “What I experienced was not unlike hypnosis, in that one absolutely cannot be put under if the conscious mind refuses to be submerged.” Gathering her courage, she turned her head to look at him.

  “I like that.” His soft tone was loud with approval.

  Incredibly, to Andrea’s surprise, she blushed with pleasure at his praise.

  Paul laughed softly, but spoke seriously. “And you were not alone. I shared every one of those sweetly ecstatic moments with you, Andrea.”

  Andrea’s thoughts splintered, then regrouped in fragments.

  He didn’t…

  He couldn’t have ...

  Could he ... ?

  Had he ... ?

  “No, Andrea.” Paul stared deep into her eyes.

  Andrea blinked. Had he read her mind? Alarm shivered through her. His eyes spoke to her with eloquent silence. No, of course he hadn’t read her mind, she thought with relief. Reading her mind hadn’t been necessary; her fractured thoughts had probably been written clearly across her face. When the cloud of uncertainty dispersed from her eyes, he continued speaking in the same soft, reassuring tone.

  “The sensations I experienced were psychological, not physical, in nature. But my experience was no less intense than your own.”

  “I... I...” Andrea had to swallow against a tightness in her throat before she could go on. “Nothing like this has ever happened to me before.”

  “Then I feel doubly honored.”

  Andrea frowned. “Doubly?”

  “Yes.” Paul smiled. “Honored to have been the one responsible for your experience, and honored to have shared the beauty of that experience with you.”

  Tears misted Andrea’s eyes. What manner of man was this Paul Hellka? she asked herself in wonder. She had never met any other man with the depth of understanding, compassion, and sensitive empathy this man possessed.

  The moisture clinging lo her lashes weighted her eyelids. Drained by the physical experience she’d been through and by the mental groping she’d muddled through, Andrea hardly noticed the downward pull of her lashes.

  She sighed and relaxed. A lulling voice from beside her whispered into her slumberous state of mind.

  “Sleep, Andrea. Rest. You have nothing to fear.”

  * * * *

  There was no mist. Brilliant sunshine bathed the earth with warmth and light.

  Calm, serene, and happy, Andrea strolled along the familiar path. She was alone, and as she walked she hummed softly to herself.

  As she approached the twisted tree in the clearing, a gentle smile of remembrance curved her lips. She paused a moment to glance at the grassy floor of the clearing beneath the tree. Then, without a backwar
d glance, she continued on along the path.

  The scent of the sea grew ever stronger as she neared a curve in the path, On sight of the bend, Andrea’s heartbeat quickened, her pulse raced, her spirit soared.

  She was almost there.

  Increasing her step, she hurried along the gently curving path. The scent of the sea was now pervasive.

  She was almost home!

  Overhead a seabird swooped. As it came out of its dive, the bird sent forth a mournful cry.

  * * * *

  Andrea’s eyes flew open, then immediately narrowed to slits in defense against the glare of midday sunlight. Overhead to her left, a seagull squawked its raucous cry.

  Shaking the dream-webs from her mind, Andrea sat up and glanced at the expanse of blanket beside her. She was alone. Paul was gone.

  Where was he? Andrea was startled by the anxiety that accompanied her question. Suddenly, inexplicably uneasy, she scrambled up off the blanket. The sunbaked sand burned the tender soles of her feet.

  The uneasiness growing inside her, Andrea glanced around the small crescent-shaped beach. Natural rock jetties thrust into the ocean at either end of the beach, forming a small U-shaped cove, the left stroke of the U shorter than the right. It would have been impossible to miss seeing him if he’d been strolling along the shore.

  Raising one hand to shade her eyes, Andrea gazed out over the restless water. Beyond the protective confines of the cove, the Pacific rushed toward the shore, slowly building waves that crashed against the rock jetties, spraying sun-sparkled water high into the air.

  And out farther, beyond the curling waves, Andrea spotted the bobbing head of an intrepid swimmer.

  Paul! His name erupted from her throat even as it sprang into her mind.

  “Paul!” Andrea knew it was impossible for him to hear her, but still she called out again. “Paul!”

  To her astonishment, he thrust one long arm into the air and waved. The action struck a familiar chord inside Andrea, but she ignored the odd sensation in her eagerness to call him in. Shouting, she raced toward the shoreline.

  “Paul, come in! Please come in closer to shore!”