California Wishes

by Casey Dawes

He unwrapped the present before him by rolling her suit off her shoulders and down her chest. After the fabric released her breasts, he moved his attention to them, thumbing the hard nubs, lifting her breasts to feel their soft weight in his hands. He cupped them. “Perfect.”

  “They have … ” she began.

  “Hush.” He covered her lips again with a kiss. When he finished, he looked her in the eye and repeated, “Perfect.”

  Her eyes widened a fraction and he wasn’t sure if the drip down her cheek was from the shower or a tear. To cover all possibilities, he kissed both her cheeks before demanding her lips again. He lingered on this one, his tongue probing again for her acceptance.

  She gave it.

  He moved back to her suit, continuing to roll it down and off of her. He heard her gasp when he removed it totally, tapping her calves to get her to step out.

  Quickly he stripped out of his own suit, his member fully erect. He felt, rather than heard, Elizabeth’s intake of breath. He moved closer to her, ready to experience her curves against his hardness. She came willingly, lifting her face up to receive his kiss.

  Primeval lust forced his hips forward, his penis a hard rib between them. She removed her lips from his and reached up to bring his head lower. She began her own exploration, nipping and kissing the ridges of his face, up his jawline where she took a small, but explosive nip from his earlobe.

  He groaned and spun the dial to turn the water off. He led her from the shower, pulled a thick towel from the bar and began to dry her from top to bottom. As he rubbed her skin with the soft cloth, he continued to worship her body with his mouth.

  Her hands rested on his shoulders when he reached the nest of curls between her legs. As he moved in to search for the hard knob with his tongue, she clenched him.

  “No, please, it’s embarrassing, I’ve never … ”

  He pulled back and looked up at her. “Don’t think. Experience. I enjoy doing this, pleasing you. You will give me joy if you will allow me.”

  She looked at him, eyes wide with conflicting emotions of desire and fear. Finally, she nodded once again.

  He returned to his exploration, his tongue flicking the musty folds. He encouraged her to spread her legs a bit so he could go deeper and get his mouth around her clit. Licking and sucking it brought a shuddered response from Elizabeth and his satisfaction increased.

  After her legs were dried, he dashed the towel around his own body before leading her to the bed and pulling the covers back. He picked her up and deposited her in the middle.

  “Oh … ” she said. “Soft.”

  “Isn’t yours?”

  “Yes … but different … somehow … ”

  He grinned at her. “I love that you feel a difference. It is my bed and you are in it — for me to experience and pleasure.”

  “But … ”

  “Hush … I will not hurt you.”

  But as he turned to pull out a condom from his suitcase, he had a momentary flash of unease. Could he really keep her from harm? They lived worlds apart. What if he did something that would be fine in Italy, but destroyed her faith in him?

  God willing such a thing would not happen.

  He put his fears away and returned to the bed, placing the foil packet on the nightstand.

  Elizabeth lay on her back, a bemused expression on her face.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Trying very hard not to think.”

  He laughed. “I have been neglecting my job then if it is such an effort.” He knelt over and traced his finger on her skin, drawing shivers of pleasure from her. “You skin is so soft, cara.” He lowered his lips once more and followed the route his finger had made.

  She grabbed his head. “You are making me crazy!”

  “That is the idea.” His mouth moved to the underside of her breasts. “I like that I get to see these, a view very few people get.” He drew her nipple into his mouth and suckled.

  Her moans increased.

  He wanted her, he was ready for her. Only one thing was missing. And he was afraid to ask for it. If she said no …

  “Please, Marcos, now. I need you now!”

  No need to ask. He reached for the foil wrapper.

  They never made it to dinner.

  • • •

  Marcos woke early the next morning, peace and contentment enveloping him as surely as he wrapped Elizabeth in his arms. They’d made love twice during the night, each time finishing in a mutual climax.

  As he woke further, he worried about the challenges of the day. The morning after was always a tricky navigation.

  His stirring must have awoken Elizabeth.

  “Isn’t one of the three great lies, ‘I’ll respect you in the morning’?” she mumbled.

  He grinned. “You always come straight to the point, cara. I like that.” He raised himself on an elbow to look down on her. “I do respect you. It is important, this respect.” He traced a finger down her cheek. “Respect, trust, love. You need the three to make a relationship work. I believe we can do that.”

  “But neither of us have had that in the past.” Her eyes closed. “I’m sorry your wife did that to you, Marcos. I didn’t know what to say when you told me. But I know how betrayal feels — burning agony.”

  He let the silence dwell for a few moments, but continued to run his fingers over her face, admiring the classic bone lines and full, sensuous lips. He bent to kiss her and her eyes reopened. They were damp with moisture.

  “Don’t cry, cara. It is the past. We cannot change what has happened. We can only place it in our hearts and remember not to inflict that pain on anyone else.”

  She tilted her head. “I’ve never heard anyone put it that way before. I’m not sure it’s possible. At least not for me.”

  “That,” he said, in between kisses, “is because you think too much.”

  His kisses became more intense and his hands moved beyond her face to explore the rest of her body.

  She moaned and put her arms around him, drawing him closer. “I’m not thinking now.”

  • • •

  Once again, the breakfast table was groaning with food. Several quiches, each with different flavorings, as well as hot platters of sourdough pancakes anchored small bowls of seasonal fresh fruit: figs, persimmons and small Asian pears. Their overly gracious host once again made the coffee rounds, but Marcos and Elizabeth were oblivious to his presence.

  After breakfast they sat by the pool, enjoying the last of the late fall warmth and the San Francisco Chronicle. Their conversation remained light, or as light as the politics of the day could make it.

  “It sounds like Italy,” Marcos finally said. “Too many laws that conflict. People who have lost the ability to talk with each other without shouting. The people who think they understand financials have made a mess. That is why I like the vine. I understand it.”

  “Speaking of vines, should we be out tasting wine?” she asked.

  “I am enjoying this time with you, Elizabeth.” He grasped her hand. “Let us simply be together right now. We have a long ride back to Santa Cruz and my plane leaves too soon tomorrow. If we see something we like on the way back, we can stop. Otherwise … ” He shrugged. “The wine will wait.”

  He hesitated to mention what would happen after he went back to Italy. She’d told him her daughter was coming home for the American Thanksgiving, so he knew there was no hope of getting her to Italy in November. Then there was her shop and her product launch.

  He sighed. The new year would need to ring in before he would see her again.

  “What’s up?” She touched him on the arm.

  “I am thinking of when we can see each other again.”

  “Oh.” She picked up a bottle of lotion and rubbed it on her
skin, looking out over the valley as if she were peering into the future. “I think we need to attend to our own business for a while. Holidays are my busy season and I want to see if I can get that bank loan. We shouldn’t make too many plans.” Her lower lip trembled. “Remember, we agreed to enjoy the weekend and leave it at that.”

  He sat up from the lounge chair. “You want to pretend this never happened?” He heard the anger in his voice.

  “No, Marcos. I couldn’t forget. Last night was beautiful. You made me feel more of a woman than I’ve felt in many years. But, it’s too complicated.”

  “Nothing is impossible. Nothing.” Why was she drawing away from him again?

  She shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about it now.” After she glanced at her watch, she added, “We’d better pack and check out.”

  In his room, Marcos threw clothes into his suitcase, not caring whether they were folded neatly or not. After last night, he thought he’d broken through her damn wall. Per l’amor di déi, the woman was stubborn!

  Should he give up? No. He could be as mule-headed as she was. He knew they were right together. With each other, their businesses could be stronger. She was an angel in person and had the touch of the devil in bed. He was not going to give up.

  He zipped the bag closed, pushing unruly clothes out of the way, grabbed the handle and went out to the hall to wait. The door slammed behind him.

  When Elizabeth came out a few minutes later, she looked cool and refreshed. After quietly closing the door behind her she said, “Someone’s in a snit.”

  He buried his hot feelings. “Not at all.”

  “Hmmm.” She started down the stairs to the lobby.

  It wasn’t until they were out of Napa Valley proper that he believed it was safe to speak again. “We need to talk. I care for you, Elizabeth. Can’t you understand that?”

  “Yes, I understand. But I have to be realistic. I have a daughter to think of.”

  “A daughter who is in college. She is starting her own life. You need to create your own.”

  Elizabeth was silent and he feared he’d gone too far.

  “I’m not ready,” she whispered, her voice aching with fear.

  He put his hand on hers, tempted to try to convince her, but it knowing it was a decision she’d need to make on her own.

  He kept the conversation light after that, telling her about what he wanted to do to the vineyard over the winter, and stories about his family and his daughter. His mind was a jumble, trying to figure out the right way to say what needed to be said without pushing her away forever.

  “When you come to Italy next, I will make sure you meet my daughter,” he said as they pulled into her driveway.

  “That would be nice.”

  Awkward silence filled the car. They’d grabbed a bite to eat on the way down to the coast, so there was no real reason to continue the evening.

  “Let me help you with your suitcase,” Marcos said. He got out of the car, opened the trunk, and pulled out her bag, her champagne, and the few bottles of wine she’d purchased. She’d walked to the door and opened it. He breezed past her and deposited her things on a spare chair in the living room.

  The silence returned as they turned to each other. He stepped across the room and gathered her in his arms to kiss her. She responded, but the passion from the morning was lacking.

  He drew back. “What is it, cara?”

  “I … I can’t do this.” She spread her hands, palms up. “We are impossible.”

  He resisted an urge to slam his fist into a wall in frustration. “Nothing is impossible if you want it badly enough. We only have tonight before I must return to Italy. We don’t know when we’ll see each other again. Let’s not waste our time thinking things are impossible.” His voice became louder with each sentence.

  She put her hand on his arm. “Last night was wonderful, Marcos, a dream. I’d like to keep the memory the way it was.”

  He took her hand off his arm and took a step back. “I will not force myself on you. It will be a long time before I will be able to come back to America. I was hoping you might come to Italy around Christmas time. There are many beautiful festivals and it would be a good time to meet my family. I can show you how our lives can work together.” He kissed her briefly. “Give us a chance to love again, cara. We both deserve it.” His throat hurt with raw agony.

  She sighed. “I wish I could. But I don’t see how we fit.” She lifted her hands in a gesture of hopelessness. “I can’t even learn to make ravioli.”

  “Maybe you think too much when you try.”

  She laughed.

  He was struck with a sudden inspiration. “Will you make me a promise, Elizabeth?”

  She looked at him warily. “Maybe.”

  “When you successfully make ravioli, you will come to Italy and stay with me for a week.”

  She looked at the floor and shrugged. “I think that’s safe enough. You’ve obviously never seen me with flour, egg, and a rolling pin! Agreed. If I learn to make ravioli, I’ll come to Italy.” Finally, she looked at him again. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears.

  “Not if, cara, when … I know your determination. I look forward to seeing you.”

  He stood and reached his hands for hers, pulling her into his arms. He lowered his lips to hers, looking for the kiss he knew was there. She softened under his mouth and he tasted the bittersweet texture of loss and promise. He put himself into the kiss, hoping to leave a lingering mark on her memory to bring her home to him.

  Hoping was all he could do. The rest was up to Elizabeth, God and ravioli.

  Chapter 22

  Elizabeth dumped the sodden mess in the garbage can for the third time that day. She plunked into a chair, covered her face with her flour-covered hands and bawled.

  Why had she ever tried to make fresh pasta? It was hopeless. She was hopeless. Nothing had ever gone the way she wanted. She’d been miserable since Marcos left.

  Soon she was indulging in a full-flung pity party.

  And it felt good.

  At least until the phone rang.

  She looked up at the kitchen clock. Shit. Her coaching call.

  She picked up the phone with the least sticky part of her hand and said, “Hello?”

  “Elizabeth, it’s Carol. Are you okay? You don’t sound well. A cold?”

  “No. Ravioli.”

  “Oh. Um. Okay. Is it still a good time for our call?”

  Elizabeth was about to reschedule when it occurred to her that this was probably the best time for a call. “My kitchen is a mess, I’m a mess, and my life is falling apart. If you’ll give me a moment to wash my hands, I think we better have that call. I’ve got decisions to make.”

  A moment later Elizabeth picked up the phone. “I’m back.”

  “So tell me about these decisions.”

  Elizabeth scanned the flour-strewn kitchen again. “I don’t know why I’m making ravioli … or trying to make it … so far what I pull together looks more like one of Sarah’s grade-school science projects than ravioli.”

  Carol chuckled. “Why don’t you ask someone to teach you?”

  “No one would want to do that.”

  “Really? Why not?”

  “Who has the time? And why would a stranger want to help me?”

  “Why not?”

  Elizabeth grimaced. Annie had been right. When she worked with Carol in the spring, she said that the coach could be annoying.

  “Because they don’t know me,” Elizabeth said.

  “They’d get to know you.”

  “Ha! Then they really wouldn’t want to teach me.”

  “Why?”

  “Ugh … I don’t know why. Maybe because I’m such a klutz and keep making mistakes,” Eliza
beth said, not thinking about her answers, merely firing off retorts to the coach’s questions.

  “Do you make lots of mistakes?”

  “No … but when I do, they’re whoppers!”

  “Give me an example,” the coach prodded.

  “The obvious one is getting pregnant with Sarah … ”

  “And … ”

  “And … Joe … he was a mistake?”

  “Is that true?”

  Elizabeth had a flash of irritation before saying, “It’s not true. I just wonder if I could have done better. Or if he could have done better.”

  “Better than?”

  “Better than me.”

  “Oh. Who could he have found that was better?”

  “Well … he did find someone, didn’t he?” Elizabeth wasn’t sure where this conversation was going, but she was starting to get a queasy feeling in her stomach. “So, obviously I wasn’t good enough for him.”

  “Ah. Is that true?”

  “It must be. I was good enough to have under the bleachers, but not good enough to be faithful to.” A bitter taste rose in Elizabeth’s mouth.

  “What about Bobby?”

  “What about him?”

  “Were you good enough for him?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, I suppose so, but he had different dreams. He wanted to be a big shot commissioner and I didn’t want to get married. I didn’t think someone in government needed to be sleeping with someone who wasn’t his wife.”

  “So, as an unmarried woman, you weren’t good enough.”

  “Right.” God, she was beginning to feel depressed.

  “Is that true?”

  Elizabeth studied the question. Bobby had hammered her to get married, but he’d told her he loved her and wanted to spend the rest of her life with him. She hadn’t wanted to marry him because she wasn’t sure she wanted to spend the rest of her life with anyone, particularly Bobby.

  “Noooo. I guess not. The truth is, I simply didn’t want to get married.”

  “At all? Or to him?”

  Elizabeth hesitated. “A combination of both, I think. He was a good companion, decent enough lover.”