Elizabeth Stewart - Stray Thoughts (Ellora's Cave)

by Nicole

  The red light on the answering machine was blinking an angry, insistent red. With a sigh, she dropped onto the sofa. Screw it, she thought wearily, they’ve waited this long, they can wait a few minutes longer.

  When the teakettle began singing, she was almost too tired to answer. Rousing herself, she’d just opened the cupboard and pulled out her favorite mug, when she heard the noise.

  At first, she wasn’t sure she hadn’t imagined it. Flicking off the burner and moving the kettle, she stood perfectly still, straining into the darkness outside.

  It came again. A distinct scratching at the window.

  Her mind whirled. She’d waited, hoped, for so long. No, it wasn’t possible. After long, lonely months, she’d forced herself to face the fact that Nick was…and even if he wasn’t, it’d been so long…how could he possibly know where she was? But then, how had he known where she was the first time he’d found her?

  Bolting to the living room window, she threw back the curtains and flung it open to the small veranda beyond.

  Surprised, she found herself looking into a dark blue chambray shirt.

  “I…I’m sorry,” said a tenor voice above her head, “I didn’t know anyone was home.”

  Looking up, Sheridan saw a slightly abashed stranger grinning shyly down at her. At least six feet tall, long, oval face, dark sapphire eyes, a lean, strong look about him.

  “I…I heard the scratching…”

  He held up a small wire brush. “Painters were here today to finish this side of the house. Left about an hour ago. I’ve been nosing around to make sure they did the job right.”

  His nose wrinkled up slightly, like he’d smelled something bad. “Think because Maude’s an elderly woman alone, they can get by with anything. I noticed there was paint splatters on your window. I’ll have the painters come back and take care of them tomorrow.”

  “Thank you,” she mumbled, trying not to stare into those beautiful eyes.

  “No problem. That’s what you pay your rent for.”

  He grinned a lopsided, boyish, impossibly sexy grin.

  “If I’d known you were going to be home, I’d have used the front door,” he laughed. “I thought Maude said you’d be gone until Sunday.”

  “I was supposed to, but the last stop on my tour was canceled, thankfully.”

  “Tour?”

  “Uh-huh. Book signing tour. Fifty cities in sixty days.”

  “Sounds interesting.”

  “Brutal, yes,” she replied sourly and rolling her eyes, “interesting, no. Mostly it’s plane, hotel, store, store, store, hotel, plane. Talk shows and rubber chicken dinners just in case you should actually have six minutes to yourself when you’re awake. You get where you have to check the name on the towels in the hotels to remember where you are.” Feeling somehow at ease and relaxed with this stranger, she leaned against the window frame.

  “I thought you looked familiar,” he told her, those amazing eyes twinkling down at her like two evening stars in a twilight sky.

  And now that she looked at him more closely, she had an eerie feeling of familiarity too. Not so much the face or the body, but his manner, his being. For a moment, she had a feeling of déjà vu. As if they were repeating something.

  “You’re the woman who wrote that book, about the cat. Sharon Something.”

  Immediately, she felt a flush of embarrassment. “Yes, that’s me, Sheridan Phillips,” she admitted shyly.

  “Yes, Sheridan. Sorry for the mistake. I saw you on one of those morning talk shows about three weeks ago, I think. I’m sorry, I haven’t read the book yet. The station house was supposed to get a copy when it first came out but you know how it is, getting anything from the bureaucracy.”

  “The station house?”

  “Yeah, I’m a firefighter/paramedic. Station Four, two blocks down on Webster.”

  “And a house inspector in your spare time?”

  “This?” He glanced at the wire brush and dropped his hand. “Oh no, I’m just doing Maude a favor. She and Mom were best friends when I was growing up. I spent many a night in your turret.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh, hey,” he continued hurriedly, “I mean when I was a kid. Before Ralphdied and Maude had to convert the house to apartments or lose it.”

  He looked wistfully across the room to the alcove where Sheridan’s computer desk sat. “Many’s the night I dreamed I was a knight in shining armor, riding up to this castle on my white steed to rescue the fair princess trapped in the tower by the evil dragon. I used to look up sometimes and even imagine I could see her face in the window.”

  “That sounds very nice.”

  “Yeah. Later I thought I wanted to live here. Get married and raise six kids.”

  “Six?”

  He laughed again.

  “I come from a big family. Seven of us. Four boys and three girls. Maude used to say we were so close we were like a litter of kittens. Guess that’s why I wanted so many myself.”

  A few more moments went by and then he seemed to snap out of it. “Yeah. I really loved this house when I was a kid. In fact, next week I’m finally taking the plunge and moving into the flat right across the hall from you. If I hadn’t been away in Alaska on a fishing trip when this one came up, I’d have grabbed it. You’re lucky. Personally, I think this is the best flat in the place. Maybe the whole city.”

  “I know. But I’m sorry, I mean about you not getting it.”

  “Don’t suppose you’d consider a swap?” he teased.

  “Not on your life,” she shot back, now feeling very comfortable.

  “Well, I’m glad to have met you,” he told her, “since we’re going to be neighbors and everything. Sorry I scared you though. Next time I’ll ring bell and come through the door like civilized people.”

  “I’m very glad to meet you,” she assured him. “And don’t worry. You didn’t scare me. Just sort of startled me is all.”

  The conversation lagged for a few moments.

  “Well,” he sighed, “I guess I better let you get back to what you were doing. Hope I didn’t catch you in the middle of dinner.”

  “Oh no, I was just making myself a pot of tea. Too tired to cook. Probably call out for a pizza later.”

  He grinned again. “You know, I was just thinking about a pizza myself. Supreme. Everything on it.”

  Sheridan smiled too. “Except green peppers and anchovies. I loathe green peppers and anchovies. Extra cheese though. And Parmesan to sprinkle on top.”

  “Pineapple?”

  “Mmmm.”

  “Look, I know this really great little place down on Third….”

  “Willie’s,” she added.

  “Yeah, Willie’s.” He seemed genuinely delighted that she knew the place. “Since we’re both in the mood for pizza and we’re practically neighbors, what say we split a Jumbo Supreme with everything…”

  “Except green peppers and anchovies.”

  “Right. Except green peppers and anchovies.”

  After everything that had happened, this should have been the place where all Sheridan’s fears and embarrassments reared their ugly heads and she suddenly came to her senses.

  She’d let Brian into her life because he was a friend, and he’d betrayed her. Who knew what kind of person this stranger was. The prudent thing was to say a polite, “no thank you” and get rid of him as quickly as possible. And Sheridan had always prided herself on doing the prudent thing.

  But looking into those kind, beautiful eyes, she knew in her heart that not only was she safe, but she was doing the right thing.

  “Sure,” she answered cheerfully.

  “Terrific. Can I come in and use your phone to call Willie’s?”

  “Help yourself. Phone’s on the end table by the sofa.”

  Nimbly, he folded his tall, slender frame through the window, landing on the carpet like a feather.

  “What would you like to drink?” he called after her as she went into the kitchen.<
br />
  “Iced tea, please. The biggest they have.”

  Sheridan heard him on the phone as she put away her tea things.

  Coming back into the living room, she tripped on a small throw rug, lurching forward and catching her leg on the sharp corner of the end table.

  “Damn!” she screeched, forgetting her company.

  In an instant, he was beside her.

  “Here,” he ordered firmly, “sit down on the sofa and let me look at that.”

  “It’s all right, really,” she countered. “I’m such a klutz.”

  “You can never be too careful,” he insisted, taking her arm and guiding her to a sitting position on the sofa. “It’s the little things that always turn out the worst.”

  Squatting down, he put out his hand and began gently stroking her calf with his fingertips. A delicate, soft, circular motion that both surprised and soothed her. Again, that feeling of déjà vu rolled over her. And she felt a small but distinct flutter down her spine.

  “Looks like just a good, solid whack,” he told her, gazing up. “Red mark. Probably be a bruise and sore tomorrow.” Those fingers on her skin were making her positively giddy.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” she finally managed to get out, “I think I’ll go and change. I feel like I was born in these clothes.”

  “Sure,” he said, standing up and stepping back so she could rise too. “Pizza won’t be here for another half-hour. Take your time.”

  Quickly Sheridan changed out of her traveling suit and into a pair of comfortable old blue jeans and her favorite red tee shirt. She was also careful to brush her hair and put on fresh lipstick.

  When she came back into the living room, he was standing by her desk looking through a copy of her book.

  “Sorry,” he apologized again, “incurably nosy. My mom used to tell me, ‘Curiosity killed the cat.’ I don’t know, though, I’m still here.”

  He held the book up and pointed to the picture on the back of the dust jacket. “Sheridan? I don’t think I ever knew a Sheridan before. Especially not a good looking woman.”

  That blush came creeping back and she hoped he couldn’t see it from across the room. “It was my mother’s maiden name. Family tradition.”

  “It’s nice. I like it.”

  “Well maybe if you tell me your name, I’ll like it too.”

  Putting down the book, he crossed the room to where she was standing in a few long strides.

  “Sorry. I forgot we haven’t been formally introduced. My parents were from Russia and being the oldest son, I got a traditional family name, too. I’m Serge Feodor Nescovatnovich.”

  Surprise must have registered on her face because he laughed.

  “Don’t worry. Even I still have trouble pronouncing it.”

  “That’s quite a mouthful,” she agreed, shaking her head slightly. “How do you say it again? Slowly.”

  He laughed once more, those dark eyes glistening and beautiful.

  “Skip it. Just call me Nick.”

  Epilogue

  “So Mrs. Nescovatnovich,” Nick teased, “isn’t this the place in the novel where the hero turns to the heroine and says, ‘alone at last’?” He watched her with love-filled eyes as she put down the phone.

  Sheridan shook her head as they embraced. “Only in those gooey, bodice-ripper romances,” she laughed.

  “Ripping some bodices sounds like a great idea. After all, I didn’t bring you to this romantic suite in this fabulous tropical paradise hotel so that you could spend our honeymoon on the phone to your publisher and lawyer. Let them get their own women.”

  “Yes, well,” she countered between passionate kisses, “when you see all those zeros on the check from the movie company, you might not begrudge me a few minutes out of the rest of our lives.”

  “I thought you took care of all that before we left.”

  “I thought so, too. Even my publisher was surprised when the bidding war for Cat started. He thought the movie rights would go relatively cheap. And for me to be asked to adapt it for the screen, especially being a first-time author, is practically unheard of. I mean, just think. This time next year, I could be standing up on national television saying, ‘I’d like to thank the Academy…’ ”

  “Wrong,” he nuzzled her neck. “This time next year, you’re going to be holed up somewhere with me saying, ‘I’d like to thank my husband for the best sex I’ve ever had’.”

  “Mmmm…” was all she could muster as a reply.

  “So, let’s get this honeymoon on the road.”

  Without another word, he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

  “Hey!” she shrieked, caught somewhere between laughter and surprise. She was even more surprised when she felt his hand caress her raised ass.

  “This is how we firefighters do it,” he told her, turning from the living room of their suite, carrying her quickly through the bedroom and into the bath.

  Sheridan gasped as he set her back on her feet and watched with pleasure as she surveyed the scene.

  “Oh, Nick. It’s…it’s unbelievable! Gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous!”

  The two-person whirlpool tub sat sunken as in a Roman bath, whirred jets and streams of bubbles churned like a boiling cauldron. Around the rim, candles of all colors, shapes and sizes threw a warm, romantic glow over the room and a bouquet of exotic scents filled the room. Through the rectangular window, a huge yellow moon seemed painted against the black night, illuminating the tops of palm trees below.

  Gently, he reached for the sash of her light satin robe, sliding it down her arms and into a raspberry-colored heap on the floor. As he kissed her deeply, his fingers found the spaghetti straps of her pale burgundy baby doll negligee, dropping it on top of the robe. She hadn’t bothered putting on the wisp of lace that served as underpants.

  Without parting from him, she opened his thick, white hotel robe to reveal his naked body underneath.

  “After that long plane ride and talking so much on the phone,” he whispered as his robe was shed too, “you must be exhausted. What you need is a good relaxing massage and a soak in the tub.”

  He took her hand and they stepped carefully into the roiling water, finding seats so that they could look out the window.

  “That moon is beautiful,” she sighed, laying her head on his chest and running her fingers along his smooth, lightly tanned skin.

  “It should be,” he replied softly, brushing the top of her hair with his fingers. “I ordered it especially for you. I told God that everything had to be perfect for my Sheridan. I’m glad you approve.”

  “You’re spoiling me,” she laughed.

  “Nothing could ever spoil you, my love,” he responded seriously, looking down into her face. “I just want the chance to spend my life seeing that you get the perfection you deserve.”

  They shared another long, passionate kiss.

  When they parted, he slid away from her a few inches and she saw a bottle of champagne chilling in an ornately decorated silver bucket sitting on a silver tray along with two tall, slender, delicate flutes. As she watched, he held the flutes between the fingers of his left hand and poured the champagne with his right.

  A fragment of dream flitted through Sheridan’s mind and again she was struck by an odd feeling of déjà vu. As if she and Nick were repeating something she knew they hadn’t shared before. After all, it had only been six whirlwind months since Nick had appeared at her window until this morning when they’d stood together in Maude Farnsworth’s front parlor, Pat sniffling at her side, and taken their vows.

  “You’re thinking again,” he chided gently as he handed her a glass. “You think too much. You should just relax and let it be.” He kissed her tenderly. “What shall we drink to?”

  “I don’t know…” she mumbled self-consciously. “I…I’ve never been very good at that sort of thing.”

  “Then let’s just drink to us.”

  They clinked glasses lightly an
d drank deeply.

  “I have a little present for you,” he announced, setting his glass down and reaching behind him.

  “Oh, Nick,” she began. “You’ve already given me…”

  “Not nearly enough.” He produced a small velvet box and held it out to her. “For you, love.”

  “Oh, Nick,” she gasped as the box opened to reveal a square-cut emerald of several carats set in a wide, gold band. It was simple, elegant and perfect. “It’s magnificent! Emeralds are my favorite, even more so than diamonds. How did you know?”

  Taking the ring from the box, he held it up for her and smiled. “I know everything there is to know about you, my love,” he told her tenderly. “The diamond was for our engagement. But this is special. This is a token for you to wear against your skin and know that I’ll never be any farther from you than this ring. And look inside.”

  Squinting in the candlelight, she turned the ring until she could make out the tiny printing inside. “Sheridan. Always, Nick.” Overcome with emotion, tears welled up in her eyes.

  “Don’t cry, Sheridan,” he said anxiously, wiping a tear with his thumb. “I can’t stand it when you cry.”

  “I’m only crying because I’m so happy,” she assured him, kissing his cheek and smiling limply. “I always do. Obviously there’s at least one thing you didn’t know about me.”

  “I guess you’re right.” He slid the ring onto the third finger of her right hand. “That makes it official. Now, why don’t you turn around and let me rub those beautiful shoulders of yours?”

  Turning, she settled back against him as his strong, gentle hands began to manipulate the muscles in her neck and shoulders. It was heavenly and she closed her eyes, sinking into the massage like a fluffy cloud.

  “You are so beautiful,” he murmured, his lips brushing the nape of her neck ever so gently. “Your velvet skin. Perfect breasts. Your scent. The feel of your round, firm butt.” She felt his growing erection against her lower back and instinctively responded by pushing herself harder against him.