Elizabeth Stewart - Stray Thoughts (Ellora's Cave)

by Nicole

  1:30 p.m. - Book signing

  4:00 p.m. - Book signing

  6:00 p.m. – Publisher’s cocktail reception

  7:30 p.m. – Dinner with representatives of the local media

  9:00 p.m. – Airport

  10:30 p.m. – Flight to Miami

  That meant that even if there weren’t any last minute changes, she wouldn’t see bed again until midnight. Of course, she hadn’t been to bed before midnight since she’d started this merry-go-round from hell so why should this be any different. And they were only a little past halfway through the tour. Sheridan had given up hope that she would ever see her little apartment again.

  The phone rang again and Sheridan sighed heavily. It was Warden Mary making sure she was actually awake.

  “Good morning, Mary.”

  “Just checking,” she announced. “Have you showered yet?”

  “No,” Sheridan replied, trying to stifle a yawn. “I thought I’d have a cup of coffee first.”

  Silence.

  Sheridan could see the matronly face pinched into a disapproving frown. “Yes, well don’t dawdle. The car will be here for us at seven-fifteen. We need to go all the way across town and the driver told me last night that commuter traffic is always bad at this time of the morning.”

  “I should think forty-five minutes is overkill,” she replied, a tad more tartly than she’d intended. As usual, Miss Baxter went right on, apparently oblivious to everything but the task of getting her charge from one place to another.

  “Perhaps,” she agreed shortly, “but we don’t want to be late. I’m sure there will be introductions before breakfast.”

  “No doubt.”

  “Well, I’ll let you go. I’ll come by your room at seven sharp. We need to run over the day’s schedule. And if I might suggest, Sheridan, you wear the white, long-sleeved dress shirt with the small ruffles, navy gabardine pantsuit and matching pumps.”

  “Fine.”

  Dragging into the bathroom, Sheridan flipped on the coffee maker as she passed the vanity, being careful not to glance at herself in the mirror. Standing in the hot shower, she tried to rouse herself. Even her special “energizing” mandarin shower gel failed.

  True to her word, Mary appeared at Sheridan’s door at seven straight up. Meticulously dressed, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, she sat down at the small table, opened her ever-present briefcase and produced a piece of white paper.

  “I assume,” she began briskly, “that you’ve looked over today’s schedule of events.”

  Sheridan took another sip of coffee. Even though it was her second cup, the caffeine just didn’t seem to be kicking in.

  “Uh-huh,” she muttered. “Not that it makes any difference. The only thing that changes is the name of the city and the bookstores.”

  As usual, Mary ignored her. “Here’s the list of names of the officers of the Literary Guild. I’ve gone over them so I’ll introduce you. There’ll be a few minutes of mingling before the actual meal. Just smile and nod.”

  “I know the drill.”

  “I’ve made sure they understand that we have to be at Crosley’s Books by nine-fifteen for introductions and publicity photos. They’ve promised to start breakfast promptly. Fruit cup, bacon and eggs, cottage fries, toast and coffee. Then you’ll be asked to say a few words to the group. I think the speech about encouraging reading and an early appreciation of literature in the schools is your best option. Short and on point.”

  Looking up, she quickly scanned Sheridan from head to toe. It was clear from her expression of mild disapproval that the author had again failed to pass muster, but there was nothing she could do but bear up courageously.

  “If you’re ready, Sheridan, I think we should go.”

  Goody, she thought as she set her cup down on the table and reached for her tote bag, another shitty day in Paradise.

  *

  “But you promised!” Sheridan wailed. “It’s on the schedule.”

  “Don’t whine,” Miss Baxter replied calmly, “it’s not ladylike. And besides, you know that the schedule is not carved in stone.”

  “I need to rest,” she insisted. “This is the first lunch hour…the first lunch minute I’ve had since we started this torture marathon. I’m exhausted.”

  “What you need is publicity.” There was a hard edge forming on her words. “In case you’ve forgotten, selling books is the whole point of this little exercise. This radio show reaches people all over the state and being invited for an interview, even at this late moment, is important.”

  Knowing she was beaten, Sheridan sagged back into the car seat and glanced out the window at the passing city skyline.

  “How long is this going to take?”

  “Approximately a half hour, on air. He’ll ask you about the book and a little about yourself and then take some calls. Nothing you haven’t done before.”

  “With travel time, that pretty much eats up my entire lunch.”

  “Unfortunately, yes.” Baxter sounded annoyed, not regretful.

  “Then what am I supposed to eat?” Sheridan pouted. “Or do I have to give that up for the duration too? I mean, just think how many more book signings and interviews I could do if I stopped eating. And sleeping. You could just wind me up in the morning, stick a pen in my hand and off we’d go.”

  “Granted,” she agreed icily, “that would makes things considerably easier, especially my job. However, since that’s not possible, I suppose we’ll just have to muddle through as best we can. I shall personally make sure that you have a turkey sandwich on whole wheat, no onions, no mayo and a side of cranberry sauce, a bag of sea salt potato chips and a large ice tea waiting for you in the car so that you can eat on the way to the interview. I trust that will satisfy you and conclude this tantrum.”

  “I’ll bet no one treats Danielle Steele like this,” Sheridan muttered under her breath.

  “I would imagine not,” Baxter said, gazing out the window, “but you are most certainly not Danielle Steele.”

  *

  They’d spent three days in San Francisco, using it as a sort of home base to travel all over the Bay Area, towns and stores and people having long since blended into a sort of continuous blur. After three grueling days in Los Angeles, though, Sheridan could finally see the finish line. Two more days and it would be over. Sunday night would find her sleeping in her own bed.

  “My fingers are killing me,” Sheridan moaned softly, waving her fingers a little in front of her. “I think I have terminal writer’s cramp.” Lying back on her pillow, she closed her eyes and felt the thump in her hands keeping time to the beating of her heart.

  “You need a hot bath and a good night’s sleep.”

  Miss Baxter was seated at the table across the room, poring over the next day’s schedule.

  “Probably. Only problem is I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in almost two months.”

  Unexpectedly, she heard the other woman chuckle.

  “What?” Sheridan asked, opening her eyes and propping herself up on her elbows.

  “I was just thinking how excited…how positively giddy you were that first morning when you found out about the tour.”

  “Oh. That.” She lay back down.

  “Yes, that. You seemed to think it was some kind of pleasure jaunt instead of a business trip. A very long, trying business trip.”

  “I suppose I was pretty naïve,” Sheridan admitted. “But boy have I learned.”

  “Well that’s the important thing, isn’t it?”

  The other woman’s voice was suddenly soft…kind almost. Immediately, Sheridan turned her head and looked at her. She was actually smiling.

  “I don’t understand.”

  Getting up, Miss Baxter came and sat down on the bed next to her. “I’ve watched you these last fifty-eight days, Sheridan Phillips. When I first met you, I thought you were a silly little girl. Especially in light of your age and…well, the circumstances of your life. More than once, particularly
in the beginning, I was sure you were going to fold. That you just didn’t have what it takes to hang in there when the going gets tough. In fact, I fully expected you to call the publisher and have me removed after that radio interview incident in Cincinnati. You just didn’t seem to have a clue.”

  “I didn’t,” Sheridan told her, feeling a shameful blush coloring her face. “I thought the publisher would put the book in the stores and people would trample each other to buy it and success would just sort of shower itself on me. Writing’s a solitary pursuit and writers tend to live in their own little world. I had no idea how competitive, how downright cutthroat, the real world of publishing is. Or how fortunate I was that my publisher was willing to gamble so much on me.”

  The smile got wider, warmer. “That’s what I meant about learning, Sheridan. It’s been a real pleasure to watch you grow these last few weeks. Like seeing a beautiful plant bloom into a magnificent flower. I look forward to seeing what you’ll produce in the future.”

  “I know now that I couldn’t have done it without you. When I think of the hotel and plane reservations, coordinating the book signings and the personal appearances. All the endless details that I didn’t have to worry about because you were doing it for me. I feel more like a spoiled brat than a beautiful plant.”

  “Well, it’s almost over now. And as long as we’re on the subject of changes in the schedule, I guess now is as good a time as any to let you in on another one.”

  “Go ahead,” Sheridan laughed. “I’m steeled for anything.”

  “Good. Because our last stop has been canceled and we’re leaving a day early.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  “You don’t think I’d kid about something this important, do you?” Miss Baxter laughed too.

  “Oh God,” Sheridan shouted, “How? What happened?”

  “Well, I’m not exactly sure, but from what I could gather, a disgruntled former employee of the chain which owns the bookstore where you were scheduled to be, burned down the main warehouse, including all several hundred copies of your book which hadn’t yet been delivered. And because the warehouse was gone, the other stores in the chain were understandably reluctant to let the store have any of their remaining stock. So, no book signing.”

  “That’s wonderful. Oh, I mean that’s awful. I mean…”

  Both women dissolved into gales of laughter. Holding each other, they laughed for several minutes, the pressure of the tour now past and a new friendship forged.

  Finally, Sheridan reached over and pulled a handful of tissue out of the box and handed some to Miss Baxter.

  “At any rate,” she told Sheridan, “I’ve already changed the reservations. You’ll be home by Saturday evening.”

  *

  “Sheridan.”

  “Mmm?” she mumbled into her pillow.

  “Sheridan.”

  The voice was nothing more than a whisper, as if a soft summer breeze had murmured her name.

  Turning toward the sound, she opened her eyes.

  Seated on the edge of her bed, was the phantom of her dreams, leaning over her so closely she could practically feel his lips on her cheek. In his hand he held a single, long stemmed rose, the color of fresh blood.

  Instead of the surprise she’d felt before at her mysterious night visitor’s appearance, Sheridan felt immediately warm and safe.

  “Hello,” she told him gently, reaching up to run her fingertips lightly along his face.

  “Hello, my love,” he whispered in response, slowly drawing the flower down the curve of her cheek and across her lips, laying it finally in the hollow of her throat. “You are so beautiful.”

  The delicate scent seemed to envelop her, the feel of the petals on her skin like warm silk. Around the bed was an aura of soft, muted light, like candles or the moon, but she couldn’t see any source for it. As before, she became aware that her nightgown was gone and that they were both naked.

  He put his lips on hers, tasting the warm flesh like a hungry man savoring a fine meal. Quickly, her lips parted, her tongue dancing with his as he searched every corner of her mouth.

  “I knew you’d come,” Sheridan said breathlessly between kisses.

  “I’ve missed you so much.” His voice was already hoarse with building passion. “The feel of your skin. The musk of your body. The taste of you. You can’t know the torture of being so close to you but not being able to hold you. Kiss you.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “There’s no need,” he assured her, playing the rose across her breasts, breathing in the scent as he bent to her. “The waiting’s almost over. It’s almost time. Soon we’ll be together. Forever.”

  Whatever thought she may have been trying to form disappeared in a burst of pleasure as his mouth found her nipples, each in turn, his tongue darting over their sensitive tips, suckling like a contented baby. Her back arched and she felt his hand slide beneath her, tenderly cradling her ass.

  “Feel the pleasure,” he coaxed. “Know what it is to be loved…in all the ways that two people can love.”

  She felt the hardness of him as he rubbed against the hard bone at her crotch. It made her temperature climb, her pulse quicken.

  “Tonight is a celebration. Not just of our love and our bodies, but of you, my darling. You’ve been like a sad, ugly little caterpillar, crawling on the ground with the rest of the insignificant creatures, never knowing or even suspecting the secret inside you. In your dark chrysalis, you thought you’d died. That your life was over. You didn’t realize that your life was only just about to begin. And now, see what a magnificent, beautiful butterfly you’ve become. You can have anything you desire. The whole world is laid out for us, my love. All you have to do is spread those remarkable wings and fly.”

  Gripping him tightly, Sheridan raised herself up slightly and they rolled over, her lover now on his back.

  “All right,” she grinned down at him, “if this is a party and I can have anything I want, I’m going to start with you.”

  “What would you like?” he chuckled.

  Leaning down on him, she rubbed her breasts over his bare chest as her tongue sought out his mouth.

  “I don’t know,” she panted, pulling away just enough to speak, “but I’m sure we can think of something.”

  Beginning at his mouth, Sheridan planted small, delicate kisses over his chin and down the front of his throat. At the hollow, she paused, sticking the tip of her tongue into it and tickling him. Moving to the side, where his neck joined his shoulders, she nipped him lightly, using her mouth to form a vacuum and suck furiously.

  “Oh…oh…” he sighed, squirming a little under her.

  “You can show that nice hickey to all your dream friends,” she told him, giggling and nibbling at his ear.

  Resuming her trip, she traced a line to his chest, stopping to fondle and kiss his nipples, feeling delight and her own growing passion as they responded to her touch. More kisses brought her to his erection, straining at attention in the nest of his black pubic hair.

  Slowly, lovingly, she took his shaft in her mouth, using her tongue to make tight, quick circles around the head, tasting the slight salt of him.

  “God, Sheridan,” he whimpered as her attentions turned up his own heat. “You make me feel so…” She heard him moan again, felt his body quivering under her.

  “Not just yet,” she laughed as she released him and traveled back to his mouth.

  Carefully, gently, she straddled him, taking him inside, feeling his hardness fill her completely, the heat of him radiating out.

  “You feel so good,” she sighed, gazing down at him. Almost by itself, her body began moving slowly up and down, rubbing the most sensitive parts of her over him, every movement rippling exquisite pleasure through her.

  Through half-closed eyes, he watched her, his face a mirror of her own dreamy bliss. For long, sensual moments they moved together, like two pieces of an intricately entwined puzzle.

  It
was, she thought, the most intimate, most intense encounter with this dream creation yet. As if she could simply wish anything and have it instantly granted.

  “You’re thinking again,” he teased, taking her breasts in his hands. “Just be here, right now. Surrender yourself to the moment.”

  Moans and small sounds of animal lust were all that she could manage in answer.

  Their movements quickened as she felt the first shivers of climax. Inside, she him nearing the end too. Laying down on him again, she took his head in her hands, kissing him hard and furiously, their rhythm escalating.

  “God…oh God, Sheridan…” he called, his body writhing under her.

  He met her passion with equal intensity, throwing his arms around her, kneading her ass into his body as they fought to bring their bodies closer. Passion exploded into heat, sending tidal waves of ecstasy racing through them. Like a bolt of lightning suddenly erupting and cooking earth into glass, it fused them for a moment into one being, their bodies and spirits joined in a perfect moment of shattering bliss.

  For a long time they lay together, not moving, bathed in the exhilaration and exhaustion. She felt him all around her, inside her. His fingers lightly brushing her back, his lips occasionally touching hers.

  “I love you,” he whispered.

  “I love you,” she replied, snuggling against him like a small child.

  “Good night, my love.”

  As she drifted into satisfied, peaceful sleep, Sheridan thought she felt something small and wet lap quickly across her cheek.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sheridan arrived home just as dusk was settling in. Pushing her large tapestry bag with the toe of one foot and shifting her heavy computer shoulder bag, she managed to pull her key out of the door. As soon as it clicked shut and locked, she slid the computer case and handbag carefully to the floor, heaved a sigh of relief and headed for the kitchen to put the teakettle on.

  Dear Mrs. Farnsworth, true to her word, had collected her mail and piled it in neat little stacks on the coffee table. She’d even gone through and thrown out the flyers that had expired. Fortunately, her newly acquired business manager had attended to the mundane details of the rent and her monthly bills. A sealed manila envelope bearing the manager’s return address sat by itself, her name and “paid bills” printed in a thin, precise hand on the front.