Sisters of Spirit, Pure Romance Set

by Nancy Radke

  “I don’t see why not,” he declared, acting ready to try anything, positive he could make it a success. “They should be as effective as stars. Go ahead.”

  She closed her eyes tightly and wished that the enchantment she was beginning to feel toward her mystery man would continue to grow. She opened her eyes to look up into his laughing ones which suddenly became serious.

  “I’ve a wish, too,” he declared. “One that I wished last time I was here. Do you think you can grant it this time?”

  The kiss...she knew instantly what he was talking about. Her feeling towards him had taken so many abrupt turns. Right now she trusted him, but who knew about tomorrow?

  Should she or shouldn’t she? If she let him kiss her, would he think her more serious than she was? She bit her lower lip, frowning slightly. Logan was still a stranger...yet she wanted to kiss him...badly.

  In the end her longing to see what it would be like overrode her good judgment and she answered, still hesitant, “I guess so. Once at least.”

  6

  Her uncertainty was pronounced enough that he put a finger to the side of her mouth and asked, “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” Even as she said it Alison became more convinced. She did want to kiss him, very much. The desire to do so was stronger than she remembered ever feeling before...perhaps fueled by the loneliness of her self-imposed isolation.

  He stayed apart from her and lowered his head tentatively, his warm lips gently touching hers in a kiss that was more like a whisper, then stopped quickly as if he was leery of frightening her away. That one hardly counted and she was surprised at how disappointed she felt.

  His blue eyes glowed deeper, as if she had given him a prize. Considering that she had used Mace on him two meetings ago, it was quite an accomplishment.

  “Is one going to be enough for you?” he asked, quickly pressing his advantage when he saw how clearly disappointed she looked.

  “No,” she answered truthfully before she had time to consider how bold that answer might sound.

  “Me neither. How about kissing me back?”

  She could no longer deny her attraction to him. Senses heightened by the beauty surrounding her, every nerve alive to his touch, she nodded, and when he took her gently in his arms and pulled her up against him, her whole being cried out excitedly in anticipation. She pressed herself closer against him as this time his lips boldly claimed possession of hers, kissing her with an emotional intensity and a thoroughness that left them both trembling.

  She returned his kiss, as he asked, but the giving was something she would have done anyway, caught in his spell, swept up in the fierce passion that flared out of him. Fire responded to fire as his arms crushed her closer yet. This time it was still over too soon, their ragged breathing and dazed eyes attesting to the depth of their mutual response.

  It had continued to rain as the sky gradually darkened, the water penetrating the branches. “You’re soaked,” he gasped, and she followed his eyes downward to where her light cotton blouse clung. Some of the water she’d soaked up earlier, some was from him. The rain that was beginning to find its way through the needles overhead was finishing off any dry spots left. She could feel it trickle down her back and drip off the ends of her hair.

  “Look,” he said, his breath coming in deep droughts as if he had run a long distance. “I’m late already...if you would drive me all the way to the airport this time...we’ll have a few more minutes here...?”

  “Of course” What was wrong with her? What was she saying? She mustn’t act too eager; he’d get the wrong idea about her.... “Anything, wherever—”

  He lifted her up a little ways, standing her on a root that extended downward so that she was taller, in a better position; she wouldn’t have so far to reach....

  He held her face, one hand on each side, and pressed her bodily against the unyielding trunk—a position shattering any resistance she might have somehow thought up against him. Exquisite sensations exploded within her and mindless to all else, she met his lips touch for touch, reaching, dredging deep into his inner being as he reached into hers, trying desperately to assuage the sudden hunger for more of each other. There was a roaring in her ears, blackness before her eyes as the kiss prolonged so that she clung to him out of necessity; and out of greed...she didn’t want this to end, ever.

  When he stepped back finally she would have fallen, collapsed at his feet, her legs wobbly; the rough bark imprinted into her back, his form imprinted in her memory where it had pressed against her. He swung her up into his arms, carrying her out into the rain which beat down on both of them and cooled off the results of their meeting.

  The pungent smell of pine was strong in the air and she breathed deeply of it while her eyes sought his in startled wonder. The look he returned was full of triumph, fiercely possessive, mingled with a hint of genuine amazement on his own part.

  “Wow” she exclaimed.

  “Like you say...wow”

  She slid her arms up around his neck, the water running from his wet hair downward to drip off her elbows. She studied his rugged features from her new viewpoint. His dark brown hair was black and spiky, his wet face looked like he had just finished swimming. A strong chin, firm lips. But his eyes, these were what caught and held her gaze—they glowed deeply with admiration? Appreciation? Happiness?

  They were alert and warm; not the eyes of a murderer and Alison cast that thought out. Would they someday be the eyes of the man she loved? Judging by what had just happened, that was a definite possibility.

  It was a short distance back to the car but he carried her slowly, seemingly reluctant to put her down, even though the rain soaked them both. She laid her head on his shoulder, gazing her fill at his dripping features...the width of his forehead, his eyes sunk deep under heavy brows, the full and firm lips that had exploded away her reserve.

  When he sat her down on the hood their lips met once more, lingering for a timeless moment before he opened the door and they got inside. They sat for a minute inside, speechless, he appearing as shaken as she.

  “My purse.” She pointed to it, still under the tree where she had dropped it. He jumped out, retrieved it and came back inside.

  “Here you go. Is that bulge your can of Mace?”

  “Of course. I carry it just for you.”

  Logan started the engine and drove to Alderwood Mall. Stopping outside a combination hardware-nursery store, he got out, then reached in and removed her keys. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.”

  She wouldn’t have gone anywhere right then, anyway, so he needn’t have taken her keys. Her emotions were still doing cartwheels in response to the joyous feel of him. She wanted to kiss him again without stopping; to feel again the answer to her heart’s deep searching.

  And yet these emotions were insane; they had to be She barely knew him...had just begun to start to trust him. She didn’t dare start a relationship with him when she knew so little about him. But that one kiss—a long one for sure—was all it had taken to overcome her cool reserve and shake the habit of years of holding men off at a distance.

  Was this what happened to her mother?

  The barrier between herself and Logan had been breached; he had torn it down easily with that kiss. Always a lady, cool and reserved; she had been known as “Unflappable Ali.”

  If her friends could only see her now. Wet, bedraggled, steaming up the windows of the car—still fired up emotionally, passionately longing for the man who had just found the way to ignite the inner flame she had never suspected even existed within her.

  Was this why her mother had married four times, each time with complete confidence in the man she married? Had she fallen so completely, so emotionally for a man that she had not questioned their characters? And, Alison sternly reminded herself, had been divorced thrice because those hasty marriages had not lasted.

  The words from “The Song of Solomon” came to Alison; words that had been explained but never full
y understood until now. “Do not arouse or awaken love until it pleases.” The country maiden was nobody’s fool; she didn’t want Solomon’s sensual love forced on her; she wanted love to come to her naturally because she realized the emotional power it had.

  Alison had wondered why the country maiden hadn’t checked out Solomon further before returning to the shepherd she loved. Well, now she knew. She, Alison, was now awakened. Her whole body was awake. And if this man Logan wasn’t the right one for her, how long would it take to dampen down the fire he had kindled?

  It wasn’t in her plans to fall blindly in love with any man. That had been her mother’s pattern, and Alison was not going to repeat it. Slow and cautious; that was her motto. Plan carefully, then nothing would go wrong. But this glow, this radiating warmth she felt was not to be denied.

  Okay—she tried to convince herself—he could move her emotionally. That didn’t necessarily mean she was falling in love with him.

  Alison had managed to settle down a little when he rejoined her in the car, giving her a knowing glance, his satisfaction evident. He knew he had aroused her, but she was unable—and unwilling—to hide it from him. She was not a person to resort to subterfuge, and honesty demanded that she acknowledge the attraction that was between them. Her whole body was aching now, wanting more of his gentle touch, and it showed in the way she held herself under rigid control. Her body felt soft and yielding and full of desire—and if it felt that way to her; what did its body language convey to him?

  Smiling with that crooked sideways grin of his, he handed her a red rose, a single flower, just beginning to open out of the bud, its strong perfume easily captured by her heightened senses. It was a lovely gift, totally unexpected, and she breathed its heady scent in deeply, delighted, her glance of appreciation telling him more than words how much she liked it.

  They drove south down the freeway, enjoying the stillness of each other’s company, she holding the rose up close to his nose from time to time so he could smell it also. Surprisingly, he stopped at the smaller Boeing field instead of going to the main airport at SeaTac.

  “This will do. Thanks.” He slid out and she hopped over to the driver’s seat. He held the door open and leaned in so that just their lips touched, moving gently, teasingly, stirring her emotions again. “Your eyes are all misty green, soft and beautiful like rain-swept Tennessee mountains,” he murmured, talking as he kissed her softly. “Bedroom eyes. Remember me, dear, till I get back again. Good-bye.” Their lips met again, briefly, and reluctantly she let him go.

  “Good-bye, Logan. Thank you...for the rose.”

  “Thank you...for the kiss.”

  He turned and walked to the terminal and she started the car and drove away, determined not to show, by waiting for him to leave, how much she was going to miss him.

  Oh, yes, she was going to miss him. Her body ached with longing for him all the way home. She put the rose in a vase, took a shower and fixed supper, her mind a turmoil of questions. While he was with her, she was in too much of a daze to think of any. But now they arose, intruding upon her euphoric state of mind.

  Where did he go after he left her? What was the big secret all about? Was he married? Or in trouble with the law? Here she was in danger of falling in love with a man and she still didn’t know some vital information about him. Restlessly pacing the floor brought no comfort and television proved not a strong enough distraction.

  The inconceivable had happened. She had vowed never to pay any attention to any man who was just out for her body, whose eyes followed her movements the way Logan’s did, who was arrogant, cocky...and able to knock her for a loop every time he kissed her. That last she hadn’t been ready for. He had stormed her defenses, assaulted her barriers, taken her captive. And what a line he had. Bedroom eyes indeed! She had better keep her feet planted firmly or that would be where he’d have her next.

  The restlessness invaded her dreams, so that she awoke several times, her mind possessed by the memory of him, her body demanding the feel of him. The next morning she began to understand what the term “lovesick” was all about. She felt wonderfully miserable.

  After school she called Chantal and arranged to meet her for supper. Another long night stretched in front of her and she didn’t know if she could stand it.

  Chantal took one look and said, “When did you see him again?”

  “Why, yesterday, but how can you tell?’

  “Ha! Look in the mirror. Your eyes are still dreamy-looking; and your mouth looks like—”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, let’s say you look like you’re waiting to be kissed again. What on earth did he do?”

  “We drove out towards Alderwood, and we talked for quite a while.”

  “Talk’s nothing. What else did he do?”

  “He kissed me in the rain.” The memory softened her lips into a slight smile. “We got soaked.”

  “That must have been some kiss.” Chantal’s dark eyes were gently teasing, and Alison knew she was enjoying the bewilderment of her friend who had always seemed unruffled by any mere male. Finally Alison was finding out how other people felt. Chantal had often said that she would love to feel enough at ease with a man that she could untangle her tongue and talk with them the way Alison did. “I’d like to meet the man who can bowl you over so completely.”

  Alison’s defenses rose at her friend’s teasing. “I hope he catches pneumonia.”

  “Coo...you’ve got it bad.”

  “Oh, Chantal,” she wailed, on the downswing of the emotional roller coaster she’d been riding all day, “I don’t know anything about him. He won’t tell me where he lives—”

  “Did you ask him?”

  “Yes,” she said, disgusted, “and he said ‘Around.’ What kind of answer is that? And I asked him again about his bruised hands, if he’d been in trouble, and he grinned and said, ‘You could say that.’ It made me think of all sorts of far-out possibilities. It’s not fair that he should know so much about me and I so little about him. Trust can’t be built on ignorance.”

  “I agree.”

  “I still don’t know if Logan is his first name or his last. And he always seems pressed for time. Maybe he’s on parole.”

  “Did your mystery man say when he’d see you again?”

  “No, just that he’d come back. What am I going to do?” she fretted, torn between longing for him and wishing he’d never entered her life.

  Chantal shrugged, the answer simple to her. “Wait.”

  But for how long? It had been a week and a half so far, the days piling up, one on top of another and still Logan hadn’t come. During the last week Alison looked for him each afternoon when she left the school and the pang of disappointment hung heavily when she saw he wasn’t there.

  She had heard from him once, a short call saying he wasn’t going to be able to come for a while. He had been injured, not seriously—not to worry—but the doctor wouldn’t let him fly. He asked her to keep busy and think of him; that he would come out as soon as he could. Then there were no more calls from him.

  It hadn’t been any problem keeping busy. There was a week-end workshop for Photoshop artists at the Washington State Convention Center and she went as an interpreter for an artist who was deaf, learning quite a lot about Photoshop as she passed the information on to her employer. The next weekend she attended a three day technical convention for opticians, standing next to the two deaf men and privately interpreting the speaker’s words. So far she had avoided accepting a job where she would have to stand up front beside the speaker and interpret to a large group. She felt at ease working for these men because she had worked for them before. These jobs were in addition to her interpreting at school in the mornings.

  And at least three nights a week she jogged with Ross. He had taken her to a hockey game and once to a restaurant. He was undemanding, usually talking about the different sports he played or awards he had earned; sometimes about the work he was involved in...al
l she had to do was sit and nod her head now and then and interpose the odd question. He had asked her out several more times but she’d refused as she did not want their relationship to grow beyond the casual.

  Chantal was not much company, as she was upset about the Wolverines running back, who had been hit by a car and put out of the game for at least a year. He was lucky he hadn’t been killed. His replacement was good, but not likely to have the outstanding year the injured player had had. All Chantal could talk about was his condition, so Alison refrained from going there.

  Tonight when Alison arrived home, she dumped her things just inside on a chair and walked out into the park while there was still light left, kicking her feet dejectedly through the golden layers of fallen maple leaves. She was missing Logan, very much. How badly had he been hurt? And how had it happened? So many questions left unanswered. If she had thought, she would have told him to call her more often. This waiting was making her restless and lonely.

  She should call.

  Maybe he had changed his mind and decided it was too far to come out here from wherever he came. This could be the start of a gradual slackening of interest on his part...yet somehow she couldn’t accept that. Not after the kiss...and the rose. The latter she had kept alive for as many days as possible, cutting it’s stem back, but eventually it was gone. The kiss lived on in memory, but even it was slowly fading.

  As it grew dark she gathered some of the huge maple leaves to brighten her room, some of them large enough to make a place mat. In different shades of gold and red and green, they would be as effective as a bouquet for a couple of days, then would turn an ugly shade of brown as they dried out. She had left her apartment locked and had to use her key to get back inside, so was completely astonished upon walking into her bedroom to get an empty vase to see Logan, on his back on her bed, sprawled out sound asleep.

  He looked exhausted, his face drawn from pain. He had removed his shoes and had his left leg elevated on a pillow. It must have been the one he injured. He was wearing a tailored suit in a steel blue-gray wool complete with white shirt and tie. It looked superb even while he lay asleep in it, the front of the coat unbuttoned.