Teaching Willow: Session Two

by Paige James

  It’s almost two hours later when I get a response from Sage.

  (Sage) I think so. I still have some over time to take. Why?

  (Me) I want to take you away this weekend. Leave in the morning. You game?

  (Sage) Of course I’m game. What kind of a question is that?

  I laugh. Just what I wanted to hear.

  (Me) Pick you up at 8. Be ready.

  (Sage) I’m always ready.

  “Oh, you’d better be, sweet thing,” I mumble to myself.

  Now, to make reservations…

  And try not to get distracted by Willow’s pages…

  SIX- WILLOW

  When my phone rings later, right as I’m packing a bunch of Sage’s clothes into my own suitcase (since she took all of hers), I leap to answer it, hoping that it’s Ebon saying that he doesn’t want to spend the night without me and that he’s coming over. Even though that would be a logistical nightmare, trying to explain where Willow is all night and the next morning, I still wish it was his voice I hear when I answer.

  But it’s not. It’s Tiffany’s.

  “Hey, Tiff. What’s up?” I ask lightly.

  “Just making sure we’re still on for this weekend.”

  I draw a blank. A complete blank. “What’s this weekend?”

  “The movies. Remember? Your rain check?”

  Damn, damn, damn!

  “Oh, god, Tiffany, I’m so sorry! I forgot and I…I made other plans.”

  She’s quiet for a few long, tense seconds. “What is it with you lately? Is there something that you’re not telling me? You act like someone who’s started using drugs or something.”

  Sometimes I feel that way, like I’m in the Ebon Daniels haze all the time and I never want to leave.

  “I’m not on drugs, Tiffany,” I say, exasperated that she’d jump to that conclusion.

  “Then what is going on with you? Are you seeing someone?”

  “Would it be the end of the world if I was?”

  “Of course not, but I would think that’s something you might tell your friend.” Her tone is bitter now. Understandably so. It seems my life is nothing but secrets now. Secrets and lies. And evidently my relationship with Tiffany is no different.

  “Well, then there’s no reason for you to worry because I’m not.”

  “You know, Willow, if you are seeing someone and he’s having this effect on you and you’re having to lie to people about him, then something’s wrong. It’s not a good thing. You realize that, right?”

  “I told you I’m not seeing anybody. Jesus. What’s with the third degree?” I jump right into defensiveness, hoping it will get her to back off.

  “This isn’t the third degree. This is concern. You’re my friend. And something’s going on with you. I’m just worried. That’s all.”

  I sigh, my hackles lowering with her tender response. Tiffany is my friend. That’s all this is. No reason to get defensive. “There’s no reason for you to be worried, Tiffany. I promise.”

  “I just hope you’re not doing something stupid, Willow. Like seeing that teacher you ran into at the play.”

  Alarm streaks through my body like a bolt of electricity. Tiffany is more perceptive and observant than I gave her credit for. Not only did she pick up on something from Monday night, but now she’s putting two and two together, no matter how far-fetched it is.

  Mainly because, in reality, it’s not far-fetched at all. But I can’t tell her that.

  I laugh, pleased when the sound seems genuinely amused and not the least bit strained. “Girl, to be a science geek, you sure do have a big imagination. I told you, he’s dating my sister. What you saw was nothing. Nothing at all.”

  “Don’t treat me like I’m stupid. Or blind. You didn’t see the way he was looking at you.”

  “Ummm, yes, I did. I was there, too. Or are you forgetting that part?”

  “I’m not forgetting anything,” she says, her tone ringing in my ears like a warning bell. “I’ll see you Monday, Willow.”

  After Tiffany hangs up, even though it seems that she let me off the hook, something about her parting comment makes me believe that her words carried a double entendre. I get the impression that Tiffany is far from forgetting any of this.

  And that worries me.

  ********

  When I hear the faint knock at the door Friday morning, my concern over Tiffany melts away like ice cream on hot asphalt. Even though he’s nearly a half hour early, my smile is light and excited when I open the door to Ebon.

  “Good morning,” I say quietly, wishing my cheeks wouldn’t betray me like they do. I feel the heat and I know they’re pink. I’d love to be composed and a little more mysterious around Ebon, but evidently it’s just not in my physical makeup. “Shhhh. Willow’s sleeping,” I tell him, tipping my head toward my own closed bedroom door.

  Ebon’s sparkling eyes don’t follow. They remain trained on me, sweeping me from the top of my head, my hair still held up in a ponytail, to my feet, which are still bare as I finish getting ready.

  “Good morning to you, beautiful,” he says in a hushed voice, turning toward me rather than passing me to enter the living room. He stops when his chest is brushing mine and I have to tilt my head back to see his face. He wraps his fingers around the base of my ponytail and then winds the tail around his hand. His eyes are hot on mine when he gives it a sharp tug to further tip my head back. Chills break out down my arms as I picture him pulling my hair like this while he’s doing rough and dirty things to my body. “I love this look,” he says, bending to brush his lips over mine. “Fresh. Innocent. Why don’t you bring this casual girl with you this weekend?”

  I don’t really know what to think. I’m not even entirely sure I know what he’s asking. “What do you mean this ‘casual girl’?”

  Ebon’s other hand is stroking my cheek, rubbing my arm, curving around my waist. It seems to be everywhere at once. And I love it.

  “I just mean that you don’t have to worry about bringing fancy clothes or makeup. All I want is you. We don’t even have to leave the bedroom if you don’t want to.”

  His voice, the slow way he’s annunciating each word—it’s like the Ebon Daniels drug is kicking in all over again. I’m caught in the foggy world between reality and pure bliss. I cling to the bliss, happily. Unabashedly.

  I lean into him, wishing I could absorb him through the contact. “Whatever you’d like this weekend, anything you want, it’s yours. I’m yours,” I say softly, honestly. “I just thought you liked the way I look.”

  “You’re gorgeous no matter what you do, but this natural beauty is my favorite.” His voice drops and his lips move to my ear where he whispers, “It’s the way you look when I’m fucking you. Sensual. Sexy. A little bit sweet. And a little bit naughty.”

  An achy heaviness invades my limbs and my belly. It’s desire. Desire for Ebon. It seems to be a need I battle perpetually.

  “Well, I aim to please.” Ebon growls in my ear and I feel his grip tighten around my waist. I love that I can be this free with him, that I can tease him and banter with him. I love being someone else, the liberty that comes with it. It’s like consequences are suspended. Even if it’s only for a little while. “Just let me rearrange my suitcase. It will only take a minute.”

  After I replace some of Sage’s nicer clothes with the few things she owns that I might wear, Ebon loads my bag into his car and we hit the road.

  “Where are we going, by the way?”

  “To the beach,” he says vaguely, his lips curved in a wicked grin.

  “Good thing I brought a swimsuit then.”

  “Well, you didn’t have to.”

  I smile. “Yeah, I think I did. Otherwise I’d be swimming naked.”

  “Exactly. Maybe you can accidentally ‘lose’ it. Ya think?”

  I lean my head back against the rest as I watch Ebon. His eyes are twinkling, his smile is playful, his expression open. I can smell his soap in the air around me a
nd I can feel the warm sun on my face. The moment is oddly perfect. There is an intimacy between us that’s so easy, so addictive, I wonder briefly what in the world I’m going to do when this is over. How I will survive the loss of this, the loss of him.

  I could stare at him forever, basking in this simple, heart achingly beautiful flash in time. “I lo—” The words start to tumble right off my tongue—so effortlessly, so sincerely—before I stop them. I jerk my head upright, my eyes widening in alarm.

  “What?” Ebon asks, his brow furrowing as his smile fades. “What’s wrong?”

  I scramble for a suitable excuse, anything but the truth—that I was getting ready to tell him that I love him. “I was just going to say that I love the thought of swimming naked in the warm ocean with you, but then I realized that we can’t be doing that at a public beach.” I poke my lip out in an exaggerated pout, hoping it sells my impromptu explanation. Ebon’s smile returns and I know it worked. My lie worked. Just as they all have. Because, in my desire to have Ebon to myself in all the ways I’ve wanted him, I’ve become the world’s best deceiver. That’s how I got what I wanted. Not the honest way. No, I got it the wrong way, the criminal way. I stole it.

  “Well, if that’s what it takes to give you an enjoyable trip, then I’ll make sure it happens. I mean, I’m the host. I should be bending over backward to give you everything you want, right?” He’s back to teasing me, that dark, sexy light in his eyes again. “Or maybe I should be bending you over backward.”

  Heat races through me. Like always, everything else—no matter how serious or dangerous or stupid or dishonest—gets burned up in the fire that rages between us. I’m helpless to prevent it. And the worst part is that I don’t even want to.

  I lean my head back again, putting troublesome thoughts away in favor of enjoying every nanosecond of my time with Ebon. I embrace the mood, the day, the heat, giving Ebon a coy smile as I flutter my lashes. “If you bend me over, what will you do with me?”

  “Better yet, what won’t I do with you?”

  In his eyes is a promise, one I will hold him to. Happily.

  The notes of a familiar song drift through the speakers of the radio, further elevating my spirits. I gasp in excitement. “I love this song,” I declare, reaching for the volume knob and turning the music up louder. The tune of Over the Hills and Far Away by Led Zeppelin pumps through the speakers. I pick up, right in the middle of the song, and start to sing. I don’t really think about how I’ve never felt happier or more carefree, even though I’ve never felt worse about the type of person that I am, but I feel it. I feel it with every ounce of my being. I’m happy. And in love. And, for a while, I can let that be all that matters.

  I laugh when I look over to find Ebon staring at me like I’ve grown a third eye. “What?” I ask, bobbing my head to the beat.

  “You like Led Zeppelin?”

  I roll my eyes. “I know, I know. It’s far from the popular, socially-acceptable thing, but yes, I really do. I’ve loved them for as long as I can remember. My dad used to listen to them when I was little. S—Willow always hated them, but not me.”

  Ebon doesn’t seem to notice the way I stammered over the name, nearly citing Sage as the person who hated Led Zeppelin, which she does. Instead, his expression turns incredulous, but pleased at the same time. “Are you serious?”

  I laugh lightly, asking, “Is it really that bad?”

  Finally he starts to smile again, shaking his head. “No, it’s not bad at all. Do me a favor and open the glove box,” Ebon says. I wonder at the way he’s watching me, but I say nothing.

  When I open the compartment, I see a stack of CDs. Old CDs. I pull them out, rifling through them. In total, there are eight. Four of them are classic rock bands. The other four are Led Zeppelin albums.

  I turn to look at Ebon, who is smiling broadly now. “Are you kidding me?”

  He shakes his head. “I never would’ve figured you for a Zeppelin fan.”

  I feel like a kid at the candy store. I know almost every song on every album by heart. I grin over at Ebon. “May I?”

  He chuckles. “Hell yeah, you may!”

  I pop in Houses of the Holy and wait for the music of the first song to start. When it does, I look at Ebon and he looks at me, and something vital happens. I’m not sure what, but I can feel it, just like I can feel the vibrations of the bass rumbling beneath my arm where it rests on the console.

  I almost don’t hear Ebon when he speaks. His words are soft and they fill me with both happiness and dread. “I’m so glad I finally found the real you.”

  I hold my hand to my ear like I didn’t hear him. He waves me off like it wasn’t important. But I know it was.

  We sing together, laugh together, enjoy the day together—all the way to Destin. I know that’s where we’re going because when we’d been on the road for over two hours, I knew we weren’t going to Crystal River.

  “Where are you taking me, by the way?” I asked as I changed CDs.

  “Destin. Beautiful beaches for a beautiful woman,” he’d answered.

  God, how I love the way he talks!

  Four and a half hours from the time that we left, Ebon is pulling into the lot outside a beach rental agency. “Be right back,” he says, leaning over to give my lips a peck before exiting the car.

  I wear a smile the entire time he’s gone. I can’t seem to help myself. There’s such an easy way between us. Familiar. Relaxed. And, for me, loving. It’s so easy to love Ebon.

  When he comes back, he’s jingling keys and whistling like he’s up to something.

  “Everything okay?” I ask.

  “Everything is perfect,” he replies with a wink that makes me feel damp and anxious.

  Another fifteen minutes later, we are parking in the ground level garage of a beach house. I get out and walk to the front of the car, taking in the incredible view of a stretch of white sand beach and turquoise water beyond. “Are you kidding me?”

  “What? Is this too shabby for a fancy girl like yourself?”

  I turn and give him a dubious look as I point down at my cut off jean shorts and flip flops. “Oh yeah. I’m the room service type all right.”

  Ebon eyes me with a mixture of amusement and consternation. “I would’ve said so before, but I can see how wrong I was.”

  I walk back to him, stopping only when I can feel his strong thighs against mine. “Is that a bad thing?”

  Ebon reaches around me and slides his hands into my back pockets, lightly squeezing my butt. “No, that’s the exact opposite of a bad thing.”

  I never have to fake a smile around Ebon, so I give it to him full force. “Good. I don’t want any complaints.”

  “Oh, you won’t be getting any complaints from me,” he mutters suggestively, pulling my hips against his. Heat puddles between my legs. It seems like forever since I’ve felt his touch, when in reality it has only been a little over twenty-four hours.

  Addicted. That’s what I am.

  “Let’s take our stuff upstairs and get some lunch. And then…” Ebon’s voice drops to that sexy growly timbre that I love. “Then, I’ll take care of your appetite.”

  He lowers his lips to mine. His kiss isn’t casual and relaxed, like the day. No, it’s hot and serious. It’s meant to inflame. And that’s exactly what it does. I almost ask to skip lunch. Or at least to put it off until later, but before I can, Ebon is releasing me and hauling our bags out of the trunk.

  We fall into an easy rhythm that spans the entire weekend. We eat, we lounge, we make love, we swim, we sleep. And then we do it all over again the next day.

  The beach is private, so we have it to ourselves for the most part. True to his word, Ebon takes me into the ocean both days and peels off my bikini to make love to me in the gently-swelling, crystal-clear water. He holds me against him, moving my body on his, with his eyes glued to mine. Of all the moments we have enjoyed, those might always be my favorite. It’s like we share something much deeper than
words, something so profound that speech would only spoil it, so we keep quiet and let the memory imprint itself on our minds. And, hopefully, on our hearts.

  Late Saturday night, after eating fresh oysters on a blanket on the beach, Ebon and I lie twisted around each other in one of the two lounge chairs by the lighted pool. The night is quiet, the stars are bright and the world is simple perfection in its blackness. Ebon is stroking my arm, his fingertips moving slowly back and forth. An air of intimacy has developed over the last two days. Slowly, it has thickened into an impenetrable bubble of blissful closeness that I know Ebon feels, too. I can see it in his eyes when he looks at me.

  When he speaks, his chest rumbles beneath my ear.

  “I brought what I wrote for you,” he says.

  I lift my head to look at him. “You did?” I’m inordinately pleased and trying very hard not to show it. This isn’t something that Sage would get as excited about as I would. And I’m sure Ebon knows that. “Can I read it?”

  “You can read it to me.”

  The warmth that is becoming as familiar to me as my own skin blossoms in my stomach, heating my limbs and my core. “Here?” I ask, leaning up onto my elbow.

  Ebon’s expression is serious. “No. Inside.”

  I wonder if he’s remembering the last time I read something to him. Or if maybe he read the last pages I gave to him and this is his response. There’s only one way to find out.

  I sit up as Ebon comes to his feet, holding out his hand for me. There is no smile on his face. There is no trace of the lighthearted man I’ve spent the weekend with. This person is different. Intense. Ravenous.

  A little shiver works its way through me. “Are you cold?” Ebon asks, draping his arm around my shoulders as we make our way inside.

  “No. I just…no.”

  Already, my anticipation is climbing at an alarming rate. I’m dying to know what he wrote, and how it will play out tonight. Because I have no doubt that it will. It’s why he wanted to be inside. He needed privacy, more privacy than the outdoors provides us. More privacy than we had when we had sex in the water and on the beach and in the pool and in the lounge chair. This kind of privacy makes me nervous and excited and achy. And hungry. So, so hungry.