by Tina Donahue
No one had opened the door. No one had come inside. A wave of disappointment swept through Regina, followed by confusion.
What is the matter with you?
Carly’s chair made a brief, squeaking sound. The girl had slung the purse’s strap over her shoulder but hadn’t left her desk. Instead, she stared at Regina.
“What’s wrong?” Carly asked.
Regina managed to speak far more calmly than her bewilderment should have allowed. “Nothing.”
“You sure? You seemed kind of happy for a second, almost excited, then…” She paused, as though struggling for the correct words.
“Did you feel it?” Regina asked.
Carly’s slender brows shot up to the edge of her dark bangs. “Feel what?”
The surge of heat. The sense of someone watching.
“Nothing,” Regina answered, then added quickly to the girl’s troubled expression, “I’m fine. Really.”
Carly didn’t appear convinced. “Look, I can stay if you want. Maybe I should. Your last patient’s really strange. The vibes I get whenever she’s here. Ugh.” Her narrow frame shuddered. “You probably shouldn’t be here alone with her. She’s obviously not using her real name.”
Regina arched one brow. “Some people are named Smith.”
“Not her,” Carly argued. “She doesn’t look like a Smith. And what’s the deal with not telling us her first name?”
Regina stated the obvious. “Could be she’s embarrassed to be here.”
“Uh-uh. I think she’s hiding something. She pays in cash. Who does that? And she talks funny—when she does talk. Haven’t you noticed her odd accent?”
Regina crossed her arms over her chest. “How many of my patients speak English as a second language? How many of your neighbors are from other countries? And as far as Smith is concerned, maybe it’s her husband or ex-husband’s name.”
Carly’s brow wrinkled with her worried frown. “Even if it is, there’s something deeply weird about her. Something I can’t put my finger on.”
“She’s anxious,” Regina explained.
“No, it’s way more than that. Do you notice how she never looks at you directly?”
Few of Regina’s patients did. Humiliation over their problems made them timid and withdrawn. “That’s not unusual, Carly.”
“Maybe not. But more than a few times I saw her staring at me when she didn’t think I’d catch her. Before she glanced away, she had this really bizarre look on her face.”
“Could be she envies you. Could be she’s noticed the pictures of Hank and Emma on your desk and would like that for herself, rather than being alone all the time, living half a life.”
That took the steam out of Carly’s argument. Thankfully, she didn’t seem to notice Regina had been talking about herself.
Sucking her lower lip, Carly turned pensive, as though she was recalling her encounters with Ms. Smith. At last, she shrugged. “Yeah, well, maybe.” Pushing out of her chair, she backed to the front door, grabbing her black leather jacket from the coat tree. “You’re certain you’ll be all right?” She pushed her right arm through her coat sleeve. “Want me to go downstairs and grab a snack for you before I leave? Maybe a danish or—”
“I’ll go down and get it, okay?”
Carly pushed her other arm through its sleeve, shrugging her shoulders into the garment. “Sure. I’ll come in early tomorrow to make up for the time.”
“See you then.”
The door clicked closed on Regina’s words. Minutes after Carly’s hasty departure, Regina remained in her outer office, expecting, hoping for the previous warmth to return.
It did not.
Frustrated, she went into her office and paced, too restless to sit, her anxiety beginning to match that of her patients. Dammit. Get a grip. Unable to take her own advice, Regina pulled her purse out of her desk drawer. With a ten-dollar bill and her office keys in hand, she dropped her purse back into the drawer, locked the outer door to her office and hurried down the hall to the elevator, not wanting to spend the next hour alone. Not wanting to wait for something that made no sense…that probably hadn’t happened at all.
Although it was only mid-November, the building’s coffee shop—Cup-a-Joe—was already festooned with Christmas decorations. Large red bows embellished the decorative gas lamps at the two entrances. Dainty lights in bright red, green, yellow and blue blinked around the establishment’s service area and its numerous arched windows facing the street. Throughout the day, the weather had continued to deteriorate. Currently, a steady rain fell, the sodden clouds making the hour darker and drearier than it should have been.
The pungent scent of freshly brewed coffee, coupled with the sweet fragrance of baked goods, drew Regina into the cozy, packed space. Couples occupied all of the seats near the windows. Solitary diners had taken most of the tall pedestal tables where one had to stand while enjoying the fare. A relaxed, dreamy quality permeated the room. Muted conversations lulled rather than disturbed. An occasional chuckle enhanced the festive décor, heightening Regina’s loneliness. A month ago, she’d refused to notice, suppressing her aching solitude beneath countless cases, patients who had their own problems.
Tonight, though…
She couldn’t help but notice the couples, many young, others approaching middle age. The psychologist in her studied their comfort level with each other, their quick, easy smiles, carefree conversations, contented silences. She could see these people belonged together, whether through romantic love, friendship or family ties.
Yearning she couldn’t seem to shake continued to hound her.
Six months before, she’d lost her mother—her best friend—after a grinding bout with breast cancer. The road to death hadn’t been easy, nor had the woman’s life. From the time Regina was small, she’d watched her mom worrying about them having enough food, a place to sleep, and had vowed to make things better for them. She’d worked tirelessly to earn her PhD and build her practice, doing all that she could to avoid making any mistakes, especially when it came to men.
Her mother had fallen hard for Regina’s father, an older boy in her neighborhood, with that leading to no end of grief. He’d abandoned them when Regina was two, unwilling to accept any responsibility, wanting to hang with his friends and work just long enough to be eligible for disability. Without a high school education or family support, Regina’s mother had taken whatever menial jobs she could get, supplementing her meager earnings with state aid, leaving her daughter too afraid to take a risk on any guy.
A young man near one of the wood-paneled walls slung his arm around his girl. She leaned into him, saying something that made him throw back his head and laugh.
Regina couldn’t stop staring, envying them.
“Ah, ma’am?”
She turned. The ponytailed barista arched her brows, waiting for Regina’s order. Neither thirsty nor hungry, she couldn’t bring herself to leave for her empty office, so she selected a white hot chocolate with extra whipped cream and a blackberry scone.
Patrons from behind discussed what movie to see tonight—the new Brad Pitt flick, which critics had likened to Se7en, or the more in-your-face action-adventure starring Matt Damon.
Just as the group decided where to go, the barista delivered Regina’s order. Glancing around, she took her items to the last empty pedestal table and forced herself to go through the motions of setting up her fare, something she would have advised her patients to do. Stay with it. Don’t run. The bad will end.
She wanted to believe it but couldn’t. Rarely had she felt more alone. She licked at the whipped cream on her decadent hot chocolate, then took a sip. The sensuous taste sparked momentary pleasure many women would have claimed, or joked, rivaled an orgasm. For Regina, it was a poor substitute, unable to replace the thrill of a lover’s kiss or his impassioned caress.
Mechanically, she took a bite of her pastry. Flakes from the buttery dough fell to her napkin, while the aroma of sweetened blackb
erries brought to mind a homey kitchen filled with extended family. A Norman Rockwell portrait of a time long gone. What family ate together anymore? What family had ever been perfect?
Arching a brow at her sentimentality, determined to push it aside as she’d done all of her life, Regina swallowed, then took another bite. Mid-chew, a sudden flush of warmth washed over her, permeating her limbs, oiling and loosening them.
Within seconds, she sensed it again…someone watching.
Anticipation made her look up; life experience made her wary. Peering right and left, Regina noted that no one glanced in her direction. Conversations continued. Patrons consumed their food and drinks.
Disconcerted, she glanced behind herself, seeing nothing different. No one acknowledged or even noticed her.
Heat continued to travel to her pussy, lingering there. It climbed to her throat and cheeks. A picture scrolled across her mind of large hands on either side of her face, gentle and caressing, lips brushing her skin, the rush of warm breath tickling her cheek, her lids closing on a lusty moan, her body sagging against hard male flesh scented with musk.
Where are you? Regina’s mind asked before she knew it would.
At the establishment’s street entrance a knot of people stood in the open doorway, shaking water from their umbrellas, brushing beads of moisture from their coats.
The edge of her napkin fluttered in the dank breeze. The patron closest to her, a young guy in a beautifully tailored suit, called out, “Hey, close the door. You’re letting in the cold.”
Regina experienced only building warmth. She rested her fingertips on the top of her table, noting how cool the polished wood was to her touch.
Her attention swung from the baristas behind the serving area to the individual facing it. A man who must have arrived shortly before those who’d left the door open. Tall, with a powerful build, muscled yet lean, he wore a black crewneck sweater, jacket and a dark blue topcoat. The ends fluttered above his similarly colored pants. Combed away from his forehead, his thick raven hair was wavy and worn longish in the back. Strong masculine features, ruggedly handsome, complemented his olive complexion.
Regina knew she was staring openly but couldn’t help herself. She guessed him to be in his mid-thirties and of foreign descent, possibly Greek or Middle Eastern ancestry.
Did he work in this building? Where? What floor? Who was he? Why hadn’t she ever noticed him?
He certainly wasn’t a man a woman could ignore.
The barista who’d waited on Regina delivered his order with a suggestive smile, clearly interested in him. He seemed not to notice her flirting as he handed over a twenty. Regarding him closely, Regina saw that the shoulders of his coat weren’t damp from the rain. Neither was his hair. Had he bought the coffee to take on his drive home? Did a wife and children await him in one of Seattle’s countless suburbs?
Chewing her lower lip, Regina checked out his large hands and long fingers. Naked. No ring.
She was unbelievably pleased, an obviously crazy reaction. It was possible his culture didn’t believe in the men wearing wedding bands. Even if he was single, she didn’t know him. Other than being in this coffeehouse at the same time, their paths would probably never cross again. They would never speak or touch.
To Regina’s surprise, brutal reality didn’t stop her. Fevered and wanting, she considered going up to him and starting a conversation. About what? With lightning speed, her mind considered and rejected numerous topics—the delicious pastry in the display case, the depressing weather, what films currently played. Through it all, persistent warmth engulfed Regina, a curious sensation of desire and well-being that continued to grow and draw her to him.
With his order in hand, he turned, looking directly at her. No one else.
Regina’s body softened with a rush of delight…an invisible connection between them. The psychologist in her knew it was ridiculous to consider such a thing. The woman in her didn’t care. She held his gaze, as dark as his hair, his irises sparkling in the tame lighting.
A whimper of pleasure bubbled in Regina’s throat.
Behind him, a middle-aged woman knocked his arm as she moved past to place her order. His focus remained on Regina, his manner composed yet commanding, his expression unguarded, filled with what appeared to be wonder.
Around them, people laughed and spoke, lights blinked, rain tapped the windows, the sounds resembling drumming fingernails. An instrumental piece flowed from the sound system, a tenor sax wailing sensuously.
Locking her knees, Regina leaned against her table for support.
He didn’t break their unspoken attachment. With an easy stride, he approached her table.
A current of expectation tore through Regina, tightening her nipples. She lifted her face, helpless in his presence.
He smiled.
At its comfort and beauty, her heart turned over.
He gestured toward her table. “Do you mind if I join you?” Regarding the area past her, he added, “It’s very crowded tonight.”
In his smooth, deep baritone, Regina caught the trace of an accent. Not Greek or Middle Eastern as she’d suspected but from some unknown locale. Managing a swallow, she cleared her throat and murmured, “Not at all. Please do.” Really, please.
Again, he focused on her. Only her. As if no one else existed.
Something inside Regina shifted, magnifying her sense of sight and sound, her pressing need to be close. She ached to touch him, wondering if he suspected as much and had noticed how her words caught. She had no doubt he saw her desire.
“Thanks.” He rested his cup on the table.
Unwilling to stop herself, Regina offered her hand, their fingertips nearly touching. “Hi. I’m Regina Page.”
Tell me who you are.
Nikoli glanced at Regina’s hand, chiding himself for having followed her here, for wanting to be near her before Sazaar arrived. A foolhardy act that wouldn’t change anything. It wasn’t as though he could tell Regina what to expect. A horror she wouldn’t believe until it unfolded before her.
Fearful of behaving inappropriately, of running her off and losing his only chance to be this close, Nikoli lifted his hand. After weeks of fantasizing about touching her, he cautioned himself to temper his reaction.
The warning did little good.
Longing he’d never experienced stole his breath as he clasped her exquisitely soft fingers, his thumb stroking hers.
Lids sliding down, Regina parted her lips on a quiet sigh. Color rose to her cheeks, the same as it had this morning in her bath when he’d watched her, hungering to touch and taste every inch of her flesh. To smell it. A pleasure unknown in his dimension.
On E2, sterile air replaced all fragrances, a matter deemed necessary to keep the populace disease-free. Here, the scent of food, drink and muggy rain bombarded Nikoli. Even so, it wasn’t enough to keep him from catching Regina’s fragrance. Light and faintly sweet, it reminded him of what her people called vanilla and peaches.
Blood rushed to his groin, pooling in his cock. Another word from her realm. A language Nikoli had learned over the years as he’d monitored the spontaneously occurring portals, never realizing he’d someday cross through one he had created into a dimension more electrifying than he could have ever imagined.
Time passed more swiftly here than it did on his plane. As people moved about, their bodies seemed to blur. The vibrant colors dazzled when compared to his realm’s somber hues, making Nikoli slightly dizzy, the same as touching her.
“Regina,” he repeated, enjoying the sound of her name. He glanced at her fiery red hair, gold earrings—the color of stars on his side—soft gray sweater and black pants.
Gently, she squeezed his hand, her expression soft with arousal. “And you are?”
There was no need to lie. Tonight would be their only time together. Tomorrow, Regina would be safe, and he would surely be dead. Even if he escaped harm from Sazaar, Andris and the others, death awaited him on his return to
E2. Fear or sorrow should have overwhelmed Nikoli. Instead, gratitude for this small slice of time, this moment of unrestricted joy, quickened his answer. “Nikoli Zorr.”
Regina moved her lips as though testing his name. Her resultant smile said she liked it. “Nikoli.” Her iris’s green tint was darker now, lushly verdant in the room’s scant light. She studied his features. “It sounds Russian. Were you born there?”
Prepared for her questions, he continued to lie. “My parents emigrated from a small isolated village in Romania. They brought me over when I was twelve. I’m afraid our accent is quite unique.”
“It fits you,” she said. “Do you work here?” She glimpsed at his shoulders. “Are you on your way home?”
“Sir?”
Nikoli glanced over at the young woman who had waited on him. She regarded Regina’s hand in his, then flashed him a hungry smile.
Unmoved by her seduction, growing cautious, he said, “Yes?”
“You forgot your change.” She rested a series of bills and circular coins near his cup, then regarded him, her expression expectant.
Nikoli wasn’t certain how to respond. Of the currency he’d stolen, he hadn’t known how much to offer for the drink. Overwhelmed at seeing Regina, at being close enough to hear her speak, he’d watched her hand over a bill for her order but hadn’t noticed if she’d received anything back.
“Thank you,” he said.
Brows drawn together, the girl glanced at the bills.
Nikoli sensed she wanted them back. Why, he didn’t know. Taking a chance, he slid the one on top toward her to see what would happen.
“Thank you,” she said, pocketing it. Ponytail swinging, she hurried back to her station.
“Wow. You’re a good tipper,” Regina said, arching one brow.
Nikoli wasn’t certain what she meant. His only answer was the truth. “I wanted her to leave.” He smiled. “It was the only way I knew to get rid of her.”
Regina laughed.
The carefree, tinkling sound stroked Nikoli’s soul. With great care, he squeezed her fingers.
Regina’s expression grew distracted, her smile fading as she glanced at their hands, her fingers hugging his. Not caring if he acted recklessly, Nikoli held on to her for a few seconds more.