Dream Keeper (Indigo)

by Gail McFarland

  Turning the corner, he caught her reflection in the dressing room mirror before he entered the bedroom. Rissa sat in the middle of the bed with her legs crossed. His T-shirt tented around her slender form, the short sleeves ending at her elbows, and his gray sweats were rolled up at her ankles, leaving her bare feet exposed. No makeup and her uncombed hair completed the picture and made him sadder. Should have kept playing cards. At least I would have had a chance.

  “Hey, baby.” He walked into the bedroom and she barely turned her head as he sat on the edge of the bed. “What are you watching?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Mind if I watch it with you?” He ran the pad of his thumb along her leg.

  “You can if you want to.” She moved the leg a millimeter—just enough to lose the contact.

  “Rissa…”

  She kept her eyes on the television.

  “I want us to get back to being us.”

  She dropped her head and inhaled deeply. When she looked up at him, her eyes were brighter. “I want that, too.”

  “You have any idea about how we should go about it?”

  “This is hard, Dench.” On her knees, she scooted close enough to look into his eyes. “Can we go slow? Real slow?”

  “Whatever you want, baby.” He opened his arms to her and she came to him. Stiff at first, the closer she came, the more fluid and graceful she became. All warm curves and soft flesh with a scent he knew as her own, she slipped into his lap, fitting like a key to a lock. Her gentle hands were dry and warmer than they’d been in weeks as they lightly framed his face. When he leaned to kiss her, her lids fluttered nervously before her mouth met his.

  The kiss began slowly, quiet and sensuous, gifted with patience. His lips were a warm and gentle contact as they felt their way around the kiss, demanding nothing. Nearly a month of sleeping in the same bed and never touching had a cost and a passionate penalty. Without warning, he felt a desperate craving for more of their simple shared human warmth roaring through him. She felt it, too, and her body stiffened in his arms. The pain of threatened rejection was instantaneous, but he’d promised to go slow and, as his hands slipped from her face to her shoulders, he held onto the promise.

  “I’m sorry,” she said softly.

  “Nothing to be sorry about.” Dench cursed himself. She isn’t ready for this, and neither am I.

  Her hands covered his and she studied his face. “I should have listened. I should have called the other doctor. I should have been more careful, Dench.” Her lips trembled, but no tears fell. “I’m sorry.”

  Wrapping his arms around her felt like the only right answer, so that’s what he did. Then he lost track of how long they sat together, and if she’d asked he would have had to confess that he held her because he was afraid to let her go.

  Rissa rested her cheek on his shoulder and sighed. “I’ve been hiding out in here long enough,” she said. “I really am going to go back to work tomorrow. I promised to finalize the BeaconGreen contract for Jimmy and Sierra.” She turned her head and pressed her lips to a place beneath his ear, sending a shivering echo of need quivering through him.

  Her lips pressed again. “I’ve missed you so much. I just thought…I was afraid that…”

  ‘I will bend like a reed in the wind.’ The quote caught him off-guard, but it was right. Now where did that come from? Then he remembered: it was from that movie AJ made me sit through the other night—Dune. But the words were so right. Whatever it takes. “It’s okay,” he soothed. “I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”

  “But I…”

  Dench closed his eyes and moved his cheek against her hair. Inhaling deeply, he caught the scent of jasmine and honey and something else that was uniquely her. He loved her smell and knew that he would willingly sell his soul to hold onto her if he had to. Whatever it takes.

  Her arms tightened around him. “Dench, I am so ready to get back to us, to what we had.”

  “That’s all I want, Rissa.”

  Moving enough to watch his eyes, her gaze consumed him. “Can you really love me after this?”

  “I always have and I’ll never stop. You know I love you like…”

  “Jesus loves the church,” she whispered against his lips.

  “It’s true,” he told her. “Do you have any idea how important you are to me? What I would do to keep things right with us?”

  “I do.” Her eyes suddenly filled, glittering with unshed tears. She sniffed and her lashes dropped, curtaining her eyes. “See what ‘for better or worse’ will get you?”

  “I could never ask for more.”

  Scooting deeper into his lap, Rissa curved a long leg around his hips and pressed her hands to his face. Her thumbs traced his lips. Her eyes searched his face and his heart soared when she smiled.

  “What?”

  I was thinking.” She cocked her head and giggled. “Ever thought of shaving your head? How sexy you would look?”

  “Shave my head?” He passed a hand over his close-cropped hair and looked at her. “I can honestly say that it’s never occurred to me.”

  “Simply studly.”

  Her voice poured into his ear so sweetly that he nearly bought it. “Wait a minute. What’s in it for me?”

  “A new start, for both of us. Shave your head and I’ll let my hair grow out.” Her fingers flitted over the razor-cut ends of her hair. “I’m overdue for a cut, so I’m a little ahead of you.” She arched an eyebrow and his imagination went into overdrive, serving up images of her romping naked with flowing tresses.

  Rissa pushed her other leg around him, binding him to her. “How about it?”

  We need a new start, he reasoned, and this was as good a way to begin as any other. “Okay,” he said, hitching her higher and into his arms, making her scream. “Let’s do this.”

  Rissa clung to him when he stood, laughing all the way to the bathroom. When her feet touched the floor, she was still laughing, the sound soft, intimate, and healing. Dench laughed with her as they collected shaving supplies.

  Pulling a small wooden stool from beneath the curving granite vanity, Rissa slapped the seat. “Sit! I want to do this before you change your mind.”

  With so much at stake? There will be no mind changing up in this camp—not today!

  Draping a thick white towel over his shoulders, she flipped a hand towel over her own shoulder and tried to look competent, as if she did this every day. When she stood behind him, appraising the task at hand, Dench felt promise shimmer between them. This is right. He knew it as surely as he knew that he loved her.

  Her hand brushed his head lightly as she picked up the electric clippers and found his eyes in the vanity mirror. “Are you sure?”

  Holding her eyes, he nodded. “Do it.”

  He sat patiently, accepting her ministrations as she used the clippers to cut his already short hair closer. She hummed softly, absorbed in her task, as she applied hot towels to his scalp to soften his hair. Dench closed his eyes, listening to Rissa whipping creamy soap into rich warm foam. He swallowed hard and vowed not to flinch when her fingers pressed his head forward.

  Lord, what the heck am I doing, offering my neck to a depressed woman with a razor in her hand? Have I lost my damned mind? Opening his eyes slightly, he saw her in the mirror and she looked more like herself than she had in over a month. Thinner, maybe, but definitely Rissa and he swallowed panic and decided not to run. Trust, he thought. I’m going to trust us to get through this.

  Taking her time, artfully playful, she lathered his head. Stepping back to admire her beginning, she told him, “You are going to be so beautiful.”

  He tried not to match the smile he heard in her voice. “I hope so.”

  He felt her hold her breath when the razor touched his skin. Starting from the rear, she tenderly worked across his scalp. “It is beautiful. Baby, you should see.” Head down, Dench reached for a hand mirror. She slapped his hand and giggled. “I said you should see, not that you could s
ee. No peeking.”

  “When you do the front, I’ll see.” He raised the mirror to inspect his head and she caught it in the air.

  “No. I have a plan.” Rissa stepped from behind him with the razor in her hand. “Watch.”

  Even with the sagging shirt and baggy sweat pants, he found her compelling as she draped a long leg across him and settled into his lap. Without thinking, he reached for her, one lucky hand sliding beneath the shirt and homing in on the mellow globe of her breast. They both looked down, but Rissa spoke first.

  “Guess you’re going to try to tell me that’s an accident.”

  “No,” Dench looked innocent. “It’s just nature taking its course.”

  She looked down, then back at him. “Then maybe I should get this big shirt out of nature’s way, huh?” She laid the razor on the counter and pulled the shirt over her head, letting it drop at Dench’s feet. “Think that will satisfy nature?”

  “I hope so.” ’Cause it’s definitely working for me.

  “Fair is fair.” Rissa’s fingers made quick work of the buttons of the shirt she pushed from his chest and shoulders. Not trusting himself, Dench sat still as she leaned into him, pressing herself close. Her breasts pillowed against his chest as she squeezed him. “I’ve missed this, my skin touching yours.”

  Me, too.

  “Dench?”

  He stirred slightly, not wanting to surrender the moment.

  “We need to finish.”

  “You’re right.” His hands slipped beneath the band of the sweatpants, cupping her.

  She squealed and pulled at his hands. “Don’t start something I’ll have to finish. I meant your head.” Her fingers traced the remains of his hairline, lingering near his ear before she reached back for the razor. “Remember?”

  “Right.”

  He settled for locking his hands behind her bare back as she completed her task. Blotting streaks of soap with her towel, she finished and leaned back to admire her work. Her eyes held him even when she twisted slightly to find the hand mirror. She held her breath when his fingers closed over hers on the mirror’s handle.

  “It’s different.” Guiding her hand, he angled the looking glass and moved his head slowly for a full view. “Looks like you got it all.”

  She nodded and watched him when she released the mirror’s handle. His eyes rose to the vanity mirror and he tilted his head. The hand mirror caught the sculptured curve of his head, and subtle light stroked his bare scalp. Satisfied with his inspection, he settled the mirror on the vanity. When his breath rolled smoothly against her cheek, Rissa began to breathe again.

  “I like it,” he said.

  “I’m glad.” Trusting him to bear her weight, she relaxed, her eyes finding his and agreeing with everything she saw there. He leaned toward her, his red-touched skin catching the afternoon sun and she met him halfway—giving as much as she took. He covered her neat hand with his own and felt their heat stamp his soul.

  “I love you.” Her lashes fell against his cheek.

  Still holding her hand, he nodded. “I know.”

  Her hips moved against him and her fingers tightened on his. “I want to love you.”

  “And I want you happy.”

  “Then you need to take me to bed.”

  “I can do that.” If he hadn’t been sitting, Dench would have fallen to his knees as quickly as the towels fell to the floor. A grateful man, he blessed everything he could think of. Scooping up his wife, he forced himself to walk with her in his arms when what he really wanted to do was whoop with triumph and take her right there on the bathroom floor.

  But this was a new start and she’d asked for the bed. He could give her that.

  Lowering her to their bed, he slipped her low on her back and found the drawstring holding the sweatpants and the tease of her bikini panties. Loving that her eyes stayed tight on his, he pulled the pants low, revealing the deliciously golden skin he craved. Dench quickly lost his clothes, and heard her moan as he framed her body with his own. Mindful of his promise, hungry and determined to save something for later, he lost focus when she traced the lines of his back, her long fingers memorizing him as much for comfort as seduction.

  His mouth against the strong hot pulse of her throat tested restraint, not wanting to take too much too soon. Tasting her, filled with the sweet scent of her, he tangled his flesh with hers and slid deep. Her quick catch of breath answered as her back arched and her hips rose, straining to follow him. Filling her drove thought from him. There was no room for anything more than the heat, the need, and the fulfillment. He plunged deep, accepting all that she was, almost like being swallowed alive, and he heard her cry out as she fell with him.

  Cool air on steamy skin led them to drift back, with Dench still buried deep within her. Rissa turned to her side, separating them. The corners of her mouth lifted when her husband’s warm arm fell across her. Spooned comfortably in their bed, his cheek pressed hers, Rissa curved her arms over his and enjoyed being satiated.

  “It feels good to be us again, doesn’t it?” When Dench hummed assent, she smiled. “A new start is good for us. Everything is going to be fine from now on. Everything.”

  Dench bent his head and kissed her shoulder. Rising on his elbow, he reached for the edge of the comforter and pulled it over them as Rissa’s fingers loosened their grip on his arm. Her breathing deepened as she drifted into sleep and rolling onto his back, he pulled her close. One hand went to his newly shaved head.

  I hope you’re right, Rissa. I hope that this is our new beginning and not some kind of sucker bet, because I don’t bet on things I can’t win.

  Chapter 8

  Rissa watched the numbers change as the elevator rose. She was grateful to be riding alone and eyed the red emergency button on the panel beside the door. I could push that button and stop the elevator, get off, and be back in my car before anybody knew the difference. I could be back at home and it would all be okay. Her fingers itched to touch the button. Then she thought of Dench. He would know the difference, and I promised…

  But damn, when I promised our new beginning, I didn’t take all of this into consideration. She raised her eyes to the console above the doors and read the numbers—my floor is next. Her stomach turned on itself and she looked longingly at the emergency button again.

  The last three days were hard enough. I don’t know why I’m going in there to subject myself to this again. A quick flash of frustration threatened to become anger as the elevator slowed. I walk in there, and I know that it will start all over again.

  Every time I think of how it was when I walked in there on Monday, I could just scream. You would think that since I helped build this agency, I could have a little privacy, but no, there they all were, so solicitous and busy. It’s a wonder I got anything done at all. And it was precious little, at that.

  And Yvette is the worst. She needs to remember that she’s my partner, not my mother. I don’t know why she just insists on treating me like an invalid. She shuddered and could almost hear her partner’s voice. ‘Honey, you look thin…Honey, are you all right? Honey, you just take it easy…’ That crap is going to make me lose my mind!

  The elevator stopped. Last chance. Rissa stood there, still wanting to run, as the tall doors opened. Inhaling deeply, she stepped off and faced her office. I can do this. I promised Dench and myself. I owe it to my clients to be here for them. I can do this, one day at a time. She lifted her head and stood taller—didn’t her mother always say that if you acted like you knew what you were doing, nobody could ever prove different? Gripping her briefcase, she pushed her purse higher on her shoulder and pasted on a smile—they would all feel better if she smiled.

  Pushing through the steel and glass doors of her office, she forced gaiety that she didn’t feel into her face, eyes and voice. All I have to do is get past Karee and Yvette, and I’m in my office. Safe.

  “Hey, superstar. You can take off the shades, we all know who you are.”

&n
bsp; Damn, Yvette! Turning with her smile ready, Rissa waited for her partner to stroll closer. Knowing that she was being inspected, she decided that the best defense really was a strong offense and popped the collar of her rose-colored silk shirt. “Don’t hate. You’re just wishing you looked as good in them as I do.”

  “Huh, I wish I looked as good as you do in a lot of things.” Yvette scooped up a bundle of mail and waved it in front of her. “Those glasses may look good on you, but I’ll bet you can’t read all this mail through them.” She walked closer, her tapping heels marking her progress. “I know you needed some time, but do you ever plan to get all of this read? Believe me, it didn’t multiply like this just because it has a sex life.”

  Façade dented, Rissa pulled the glasses off and jammed them into the pocket of her jacket. “Satisfied?” Blowing hard, she snatched the rubber-banded bundle, muttering. Flipping through a few of the pieces on top, she dropped random advertisements into Karee’s wastebasket and started toward her office with the rest of the mail tucked under her arm.

  “Hey!” Yvette watched Rissa’s steps slow, and she waited for her to stop and turn. Propping a hand on her hip, Yvette didn’t hesitate to radiate attitude—it was expected. “If you’ve got something to say about me, be adult enough to say it to my face. If you have something to say to me, come to my office. But if you need me to listen, I’m always here—don’t forget that.”

  “Yeah, sure.” Lips tight, Rissa turned and stepped into her office. Pushing the door closed, she pressed her back against it and closed her eyes. Her heart was pounding and sweat beaded her forehead and upper lip. Made it, but I could have gone all year without Yvette throwing a pity party for me. It’s not supposed to be this hard, she told herself again.

  Not liking the tremor that shuddered through her body, making her knees weak, Rissa pushed away from the door and headed to her desk. Draping her jacket over the back of her chair she sat with her briefcase and purse at her feet, grateful that she’d had the foresight to check the Weather Channel before returning to work.