Welcome to Paradise

by Rosalind James

  He came back from the bathroom, put an appraising hand under her chin. “Bruising’s coming out pretty good there,” he said. “How does it feel?”

  “It hurts if I touch it,” she admitted. “Not too bad otherwise.”

  “Head still hurt?”

  “Nope.” She looked up at him hopefully.

  “Anything still hurt?”

  “A little achy, that’s all.”

  “Would a massage help?”

  “A massage?” She couldn’t have been more surprised.

  “Yeah. Here’s something you didn’t know about me. A fun fact for you. I’m a certified massage therapist. At least, I used to be.”

  She eyed him suspiciously. “I thought you were a landscaper.”

  “I am a man of many talents. And much early poverty. Come on,” he said, pressing her down gently. “Are you OK on your stomach, if you put the good cheek down?”

  “Yeah,” she said, trying it out, her voice muffled against the pillow. “OK.”

  “Then stay there. Let me make you feel good.”

  She heard him getting up again, then felt the dip in the mattress as he joined her again. Smelled the familiar honey-almond scent of her body lotion.

  “Lift up,” he instructed. She pushed herself up on her hands, felt him pulling her short nightgown up, easing it gently over her head, and tossing it aside.

  “Put your arms down like this.” He moved them so her hands were lying by her sides, palms up. The air on her skin, then, as he pulled the sheet and blanket all the way back, the weight of him settling astride her thighs.

  “Too cold?” he asked.

  “No,” she sighed. No, cold was the last thing she felt.

  His lubricated hands stroked slowly from the base of her spine to her neck. And he was right. He really did know how to give a massage. He seemed to sense exactly where she was tight, where she ached, because his hands unerringly found the spot, worked it.

  “How can you tell?” she asked drowsily as his hands continued to move over her.

  “What?”

  “Where it hurts.”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “It’s like my hands know. I can usually tell where people are hurting anyway, see it somehow. And when I touch somebody . . . yeah. Then I can really tell. That’s what makes me a good doctor. Haven’t you noticed that I know how to touch people? I was kind of hoping I’d impressed you already, a time or two.”

  “Mmm,” she sighed. “Maybe you have. Maybe once or twice. I forget, though. Maybe you can remind me.”

  “Maybe I can.” She could almost feel his smile as his hands continued to move. “You just lie there and enjoy it. And let’s see if I can remind you.”

  When she was all but purring, he shifted his position. “I’m going to take off your underwear now,” he told her. “Purely for therapeutic purposes.”

  He was lifting her hips, pulling the cotton bikinis down her legs and over her feet, settling her back down again. And massaging the muscles of her buttocks, her thighs, moving down to her calves. His hands on her feet then, gentle against the sensitive arches, rubbing more strongly over the ball of her foot, her heel. Pulling on each toe in turn, and she was drowning in bliss.

  “I thought,” she murmured, “this was going to be one of those guy back rubs. You know, where they rub your back, and then they rub your . . .”

  “Don’t worry,” he promised. “We’ll get to that. I’ve got all morning to rub you. Time to turn over for me.”

  He settled her on her back, began to work on her shoulders, her arms. She could almost have thought he was detached, except that what she was seeing inside those boxer briefs was very much attached. And very much aroused. She reached out the arm he wasn’t working on, ran her hand down the length of him, felt the instant response, the way he seemed to leap into her palm. And the rigidity in his muscles, his hands stopping their movement.

  “I haven’t done your thighs yet,” he objected. “Stop it. No touching till I say.”

  “Mmm. Bossy,” she sighed.

  He smiled. “You know it.”

  By the time he had her legs apart, his strong hands working her thigh muscles, she was ready to scream. She shifted again, felt his hands, slick with lotion, kneading and stroking. His thumbs gliding up her inner thighs, stopping just short. Again, a little bit higher this time. And still not quite where she needed him to be. She squirmed, looked at him, saw the concentration on his face. Then caught him casting a sly glance at her, and knew.

  “You’re teasing me,” she groaned. “You’re doing it on purpose.”

  “Just trying to build anticipation,” he said, letting the smile loose now.

  “OK,” she said crossly. “I’m anticipating. And you’re a great masseur. I’m really, really impressed. And if you don’t touch me, or kiss me, or something in the next ten seconds, you’re . . . you’re going to be sleeping with your brother tonight.”

  “Now who’s bossy?” He brought his hands up a third time, the thumbs moving up slowly. So slowly. Almost there.

  She grabbed his shoulders. “Touch me.”

  “No,” he told her. “No. I’m going to kiss you.”

  And he did. Over and over again. His tongue, his mouth on her, in her, over her. His hands gripping her thighs, moving them farther apart, holding her. Her hips trying to rise off the bed, unable to move against the restraint of his mouth, his hands. Her hands clutching the sheet beneath her, grabbing and twisting the white cotton. And as he went on, a little harder now, a little faster, her palms beginning to beat against the mattress like wings. Trying to fly.

  His mouth was on her, and it was exactly the right spot, the only spot, and he had one palm under her, lifting her into him, the fingers of the other inside her, thrusting into her. It was hard, and it was urgent, and it was almost too much to take. And she was soaring. Her hands were beating, beating. Until they rose into the air, stretched taut to either side of her. And she flew.

  “Gabe,” she gasped. “Gabe. I . . . I . . .” She was pulling at him. “Up here. Up with me. I need you inside me.”

  “Condom,” he groaned. Grabbed for it, somehow got his underwear off, got the thing on. Looked down at her, stretched out beneath him, the orgasmic flush on her chest matching the red on her inner thighs, where his beard had scraped. She was right, not shaving had been the right choice. Because seeing that . . . God help him, it was exciting.

  He grabbed a pillow, lifted her hips and pushed it beneath her. Looked at her, lifted for him, and grabbed another, so she was stretched over the height of them, offered to him. Raised himself on his hands, looked down to watch as he entered her. Felt her stretching to take all of him, closed his eyes as the sensation threatened to overwhelm him. He dropped to his elbows, reached for her hands, threaded his fingers through hers, and began to push into her, keeping it slow, hearing the little moan she let out at every thrust. Kept on, felt the softness and the strength of her, the way her excitement was rising again to match his own.

  “I’ve got you here,” he told her, his breathing shallow with effort. “Open your eyes and see.”

  Her lids fluttered open, her beautiful eyes shining nearly gold in the early morning light, her pupils dilated. Her soft mouth open, panting.

  “This is me,” he said as he moved, long and slow. “This is how I feel inside you.”

  “Gabe,” she whispered.

  “That’s right. I’ve got all of you now. You’re all mine.” He was starting to move faster now, driving deep, the angle increasing the penetration, and she was gasping with it. He released one hand, reached down, lifted himself a bit off her, and began to rub in time with his thrusts. Felt her respond to the increase in the stimulation, saw her tensing again.

  “Come for me,” he told her, breathing hard with the force of it. “Come on, baby. You’re so beautiful. Show me you’re mine. Come for me.” He increased the tempo of his hand, his hips, his other palm flat against the bed now. And felt her beginning again, th
e beautiful contractions drawing him tighter and tighter, higher and higher, until they overtook him and he was coming too, long and hard, the groan it pulled from him mingling with her wail, like the cry of an ocean bird, filling the morning air.

  They were a little late to breakfast. Chelsea and Alec were still missing too, Gabe noticed.

  “Pancakes are gone,” Alma told them from her spot at the end of the table, where she was finishing a cup of coffee and chatting with the others.

  “It’s OK,” Gabe said. “You mind if I fix us some eggs and toast? Sound good to you?” he remembered to ask Mira.

  “Sure,” she said with surprise, pausing in the act of pouring them each a cup of coffee. “I didn’t realize you could cook.”

  “As long as I don’t have to do it on a wood stove, I can cook just fine. I’ve been taking care of myself for a while now, you know. I can cook, and do laundry, and clean the toilet, and all sorts of wonderful things.”

  “Want to come over to my house, then?” Zara asked. “I’ve got a few jobs you could take care of.”

  Gabe laughed. The truth was, anything would have made him laugh this morning. He was feeling good. The only blot on his happiness was the sight of Mira’s bruised face. He’d have to get her to put that icepack back on after breakfast, he thought as he headed into the kitchen to see what he could rustle up.

  He was just turning bacon and pouring scrambled-egg mixture into the hot frying pan when Alec appeared in the doorway, then came across to join him at the big six-burner range.

  “How about adding a few more?” Alec asked hopefully.

  “Forget it.” Gabe gave the eggs a flip with a spatula. “I’m almost done here, and Mira’s hungry. Make your own.”

  “You know I’m a lousy cook,” Alec complained.

  “Then you should have got up earlier, shouldn’t you?”

  Alec sighed with resignation. “I’d ask Chelsea to cook, but she said all she wants is coffee and a slice of toast. Figures.” He watched as his twin turned the fire off under the eggs and lined a plate with paper towels for the bacon, began to butter toast. “So was the stove hot?” he asked innocently.

  Gabe glanced up at him in surprise, registered the smirk, and caught on. “None of your business, and you know it,” he growled.

  “Too bad I know you so well, then. Because that stove was on fire.”

  “If you already know,” Gabe said irritably, “why do you ask?”

  Alec laughed. “Just messing with you, that’s all.”

  “And I take it you’ve been heating up the stove a bit yourself,” Gabe said. “Judging by appearances this morning. Who was it who promised me he’d keep it in his pants for the duration?”

  Alec snorted. “That’s rich, coming from you. And the duration’s over. It was over the minute you shoved Jay out of that truck. Now it’s about my consolation prize, and Chelsea’s too. She’s bored out here. Just helping a lady out.”

  “I’d tell you to be careful, not to get in too deep, but you never do, do you?”

  “Yeah, right,” Alec scoffed. “I don’t think I’m the one in danger of losing my heart. And hey, I am being careful. Did you see the look on Melody’s face this morning, when you got in here?”

  “She didn’t look too happy,” Gabe said. “Barely said hello to us. What did you do?”

  “I didn’t do anything. That’s the point. That was me being careful. We could all have had even more fun if I’d put in just a little more effort. They’d have gone for it, bet you anything. But,” Alec sighed, “I’m being conservative, so as not to embarrass Mr. Purity.”

  “And that’s me?”

  “Yes,” Alec agreed. “That would be you.”

  “One of these days,” Gabe warned, “you’re going to crash and burn. You do know that, don’t you?”

  “Well, until that happy day . . .” Alec stretched. “I guess I’ll see if I can manage to cook a couple eggs without any industrial accidents. Since apparently not even a million-dollar sacrifice merits a little help from my loving brother.”

  Picnic

  “Good place to stop for lunch?” Gabe asked Mira almost a week later. They’d reached the top of the ridge, the view of rolling hills spreading out before them like some kind of idyllic painting. They’d gone for a hike, just like, Mira thought with amusement, they’d done almost every day. Sometimes picking huckleberries, sometimes just walking and talking. Well, you couldn’t spend the whole day in bed, and they were both used to being active now.

  “How about over here?” He walked over to a shady spot under a big old oak.

  “Yeah, right,” she said wryly. “We’ll just pull into this diner. I’ll stop for a minute, though.”

  “Hey,” he protested. “You don’t think I’m capable of providing lunch?”

  “Really?” she asked, ridiculously pleased. “I didn’t know you’d brought food. How did you manage that?”

  “Had a little talk with Alma last night,” he said smugly, dropping to one knee to pull a rolled blanket from his pack. “But first . . .” With her help, he spread the blanket out on the grass. “Madame, your table is ready.”

  “Is it really a picnic?”

  “You said a walk and a picnic would be a good date,” he reminded her. “Well, not to mention that it’s the only kind of date I can actually manage right now. So that’s what I’ve got for you. With adult beverages, even.” He reached back in for a bottle of white wine, a corkscrew, and two plastic glasses. “I can’t guarantee that it’s top of the line,” he cautioned. “Hazards of not being allowed off school grounds. I don’t think John’s a big wine shopper, in the normal way of things.”

  He dealt with the metal wrapping and the cork with his usual economy of motion. “Also not as cold as it was an hour ago, but such as it is . . .” He handed her a glass. “Here you go.”

  She took an appreciative sip and sighed in contentment.

  “Hold this a moment for me,” she decided after a few quiet minutes, handing her glass back to him. “If we’re going to be here for a while, I’m going to take my shoes off. I think that’s one of the things I missed most, being barefoot. Worrying about those splinters.”

  “That’s right. The splinters,” he said thoughtfully. “Seems to me I had a plan for getting those out of you.”

  “Your plan sounded a little painful,” she protested. She finished pulling off her shoes and socks, crawled across to him. “But I’ll get you barefoot too, how’s that?”

  “You have permission to take off as many of my clothes as you like, anytime you like,” he assured her as she untied his shoelaces, pulled off first one shoe, than the other, set them next to the blanket, and went for his socks. “Keep going, if you want.”

  “It’s funny about that,” she said slowly, sitting up on her knees between his legs, putting her hands on his thighs and looking down at him where he lay sprawled on his elbows beneath her. “We’ve had sex quite a few times now.”

  “Yes,” he agreed solemnly. “I remember.”

  “And it’s been good, right?”

  “No. It’s been great,” he corrected. “For me, anyway. And if you have any suggestions, feel free. Always happy to improve.”

  “Well . . .” she began, then stopped.

  He sat up a little straighter, set both glasses of wine carefully down on the grass next to the blanket. “You really do have a suggestion. Go on.” His eyes were beginning to burn now, the intensity of his dark-blue gaze, as always, awakening her every nerve ending. “Let’s hear it. I can’t wait.”

  “Wasn’t it kind of amazing that first time? When we were outside, by the creek,” she elaborated. “A little worried that Danny would come. And we had to keep some clothes on. Especially when you held me, that time, and you . . . told me things. Or was that just me?”

  “No,” he assured her. “That wasn’t just you. You told me a few things too, if you remember. And I enjoyed hearing them. Almost as much as I’d enjoy having you do them.”

/>   She smiled slowly. Wriggled up a little further between his legs and reached for his belt. “I’m going to do them,” she promised.

  He reached for her wrists, held her fast. “On two conditions.”

  “Oh, yeah?” She tossed her head a little at that. “Pretty cocky, aren’t you? Giving me conditions for this?”

  “Very cocky. As you know. First, unless your underwear today has a slit in it, you’re going to take it off right now. Keeping that pretty dress on is one thing. But I need access.”

  She shivered. Reached under her dress and pulled down the purple cotton panties, wishing they were something more exotic. If he had any complaints, he didn’t share them, watching as she lifted one knee, then the other, pulled them over her feet, and tossed them next to her wine glass.

  “What’s the next condition?” she asked him, already feeling the throb and pulse of arousal, just from the look in his eyes, the knowledge that she was naked under her dress.

  “Take off your bra. Because I’m going to be going there too.”

  She didn’t answer, just reached for the front clasp and unfastened it. Shrugged out of one cap sleeve at a time, then replaced them on her shoulders before dropping the cotton racerback next to her panties. “Anything else?”

  “Reach in my right front pocket,” he said. “I’ve got something for you there.”

  “It’s not in your pocket,” she said saucily. “And I’m planning to reach for it. You don’t have to worry about that.”

  “Getting pretty sassy again, aren’t you? I warned you that smart mouth was going to get you in trouble. And that’s just about to happen. Reach on in there, now.”

  She reached where he told her, got a little distracted by the bulge she encountered during her search, but finally managed to pull out the little packet.

  “Hey,” she said, setting it aside. “I clearly wasn’t the only one with this idea.”

  “I was a Boy Scout, remember?” His voice seemed to have deepened somehow. “Be Prepared.”

  “Yeah, well.” She gave him a shove in the chest with both hands that put him on his back. “Prepare yourself for this, then. Because you’ve just run out of conditions.”