Yet, she recalled the deep intensity in Rory when he’d asked her to trust him, and if not him, then in herself. If she asked him to take her home, she would never know where their fantasies might lead.
When they passed Fort Ord with its huge dunes buffering the shore, Rory lifted his hand from the steering wheel and placed it on her thigh above the knee. His thumb moved over her yoga pants lightly, but she felt the touch as though her skin was bare.
As always, his slightest caress sent the familiar deep warmth that flushed her chest, tightened her nipples into peaks, and set up a melting glow at the base of her stomach. And her images shifted from past to future … to this night when they would finally be together after eight lonely years.
Fire winked back at Mariah from the jewelry store window in Carmel’s shopping district. Of the collection of opulent gems on black velvet, she had eyes only for the showpiece, a rare pigeon’s blood ruby. The oval center stone was clear, the purest of reds. Triangle-cut side diamonds glittered and flashed.
The kind of piece a woman sported in her fantasies but would never buy for herself.
She caught the quick look Rory gave her before he left her in the spring dusk and went inside the brightly lit jewelry store. Through the glass, Mariah saw him gesture the saleswoman to the front window. Pinpoint spotlights gleamed on his dark hair and reflected off the sunglasses he’d shoved on top of his head.
With a glance around the street to make sure no news crew trailed them, Mariah followed him inside. “What are you doing?”
The saleswoman shoehorned into a leopard print skirt rummaged in the front window and offered the ruby ring. “Three point five carats in the center stone, the finest natural color from Burma. The side diamonds are E color, VVS1, one point two carats total weight.”
The ring was breathtaking. Rory turned it in his hands and asked for a jeweler’s loupe. Squinting, he studied the stones at ten-power magnification.
He couldn’t be thinking of buying it? The new jeans, leather jackets, toilet articles from a modern day apothecary, along with the mystery purchase he’d made from a fine lingerie store … all had been in the spirit of their weekend getaway. This was something else.
Lifting her left hand, he slipped the ring onto her finger where it fit as if it had been custom made. From his breast pocket, he withdrew the credit card they’d been trying to wear the numbers off. “She’ll keep it on.”
The saleswoman produced a tiny pair of manicure scissors and cut off the tag dangling from a silk thread. Though she held the scrap of cardboard so the price was not visible, Mariah knew the ring must be very expensive.
“Rory, no,” she said.
He had decreed they were not to think of their shared history or an uncertain future. Therefore, it was her misfortune for noticing he’d slipped the ring on her third finger, left hand. He might be having fun playing make believe, but in every store, she’d imagined they were a couple out shopping on a Friday evening, with a home and a life to share.
Palming the credit card, the saleswoman seemed to think of something that needed doing in the rear of the store. Left alone with Rory, Mariah looked up at his shining eyes and almost believed he shared her vision.
But … “You mustn’t do this.” Each time she looked at the ring, she would wish its meaning were real.
Something swelled in his chest as Rory took her hand with the ring on it. “We can do anything we want. We’ve left the world behind.”
“The bill will come next month.” Mariah’s troubled golden eyes held his.
“My fantasy is to buy you this,” he insisted. She’d been so happy earlier, laughing while they tried on clothes, playing peek-a-boo while he made his secret purchase of something special for her. This ring was special, too; he’d seen her pupils dilate at the sight of it.
She did not renew her protest but stared at their clasped hands.
“Please,” he said. “I want to.” He could see by her face that there was something he wasn’t getting across.
Another moment of hesitation and her gaze seemed to penetrate his skull.
At last, she spoke. “All right, Rory … if it makes you happy.”
This was all wrong. From her rapt expression upon seeing the ruby, he’d figured it would be a hit. Feeling at a loss, he called the saleswoman and finished signing the charge slip. He passed the empty red velvet box lined in white satin to Mariah; she stowed it in her purse.
Outside, he walked with her down Ocean Avenue. The Friday evening bustle was in full swing, people gathered at patio tables for drinks and dinner. They could have a meal here in town rather than waiting until they reached the inn on Big Sur, shop more … what could he do to put the magic back in the evening?
There. Beside the steep front steps of the landmark Pine Inn, he spied a young man with a white sidewall haircut selling flowers out of a bucket.
Grabbing Mariah’s hand, Rory detained her to make a transaction, a single long-stemmed red rose. He presented it with a smile, hoping to get back the euphoric mood that seemed to have gripped her as well as him while they shopped and wandered through galleries.
Leaving the lights of the merchant district behind, Mariah walked ahead of Rory downhill past ivy-covered fences until the street ended at Carmel Beach. Kicking off her new sandals, she hooked them with two fingers and set off though a grove of cypress with heavy needles. Beyond the steep hill of powdery sand, salt mist and the long curve of the bay beckoned, glassy swells rolling in and breaking with loud hollow booms. She followed the slope down onto damp, packed sand and stopped at the verge.
As an expiring rush of wave washed her bare ankles, she asked herself why she wasn’t floating on a cloud. Here she and Rory were on the perfect romantic getaway, he had bought her a beautiful ring, not wedding jewelry, but a start. Yet, she could tell by the unsettled feeling in her chest that a fantasy weekend wasn’t enough. She wanted to be able to believe in him, the way she once had.
Rory approached and stood tall and lean beside her, his own shoes in his hand as he sucked in his breath at the chilly water. “Tell me what’s the matter.”
Another comber crested and broke toward the shore, sending them both backing away from the incoming tide. They stood on the packed sand together, and she imagined how they must look to the older woman walking by with her Greyhound, a pair of lovers wordlessly taking in the beauty of night falling over the sea.
When they were once more alone with the surf, Rory nodded toward the ring she wore. “When I saw you looking at that, I wanted you to have it. I’m sorry it was the wrong thing to do.”
Watching a breaker crest and collapse, she fingered the rose stem and tested a thorn with her thumb. “You talked about make-believe. Well, my fantasy isn’t about jewelry or flowers.”
“Mine is,” he insisted. “I never bought you flowers when you deserved a garden. I never gave you a ring.”
As she had before when Rory spoke of the past, Mariah closed her eyes. An afterimage of Pebble Beach Club’s sparkling lights danced on her lids. “Please,” she pleaded, “don’t say things like that.”
Unless you mean them.
Rory turned away before she could see his expression. “Shall we go, then?”
They walked in silence up to his car. She wondered if he would head back toward San Francisco or continue south to the country inn he’d told her about … if he also felt torn between backing out before they could hurt each other more and wanting to go forward?
They approached the intersection with scenic Highway 1, and he put on his turn indicator to go to Big Sur. The town lights illuminated his profile as he dealt with traffic and joined the weekend exodus south.
The roller coaster road mirrored Mariah’s emotions. The Porsche’s headlights revealed arched concrete bridges spanning gorges that appeared bottomless in the night. Cliffs loomed, deeper shadows against the dark sky. Inside the leather cocoon of the passenger compartment, she and Rory were as isolated as two people could be. And tho
ugh together at last away from prying eyes, their silences spoke louder than the words intermittently exchanged.
The road wound down into a valley where trees overhung it. A rustic wooden sign said they entered the Ventana Wilderness. Rory turned onto a smaller road and began a steep climb, leaving the ocean below. Finally, with a spatter of gravel, they stopped in the drive of the inn.
Mariah looked out through the windshield, acutely aware of the gold band circling her ring finger.
Rory cut the engine. “Having second thoughts?”
She’d imagined them together like this so many times … always in her version, they’d been pledged to each other.
“How about thirds?” She swallowed. “Oh, Rory, what are we doing here? We can’t just escape from everything without thinking about it.”
He took her hand and rubbed his thumb over the smooth metal of the ruby ring. “We can sure as hell try.”
Mariah should have been starved, but she ate lightly of succulent sweet abalone and grilled artichoke, with vintage local Riesling. Rory put away a rare filet of beef, mixed green salad, and a deep red Cabernet.
Over a dessert of fresh strawberries and luscious bran-died cream, Rory finished his story of a recent sailing excursion. “It was the first time I raced her and won. All because I was able to loft the spinnaker before the other guy at the downwind mark.”
Although Mariah hadn’t been in a sailboat race since their summer together, she could picture the triangular racecourse, sleek hulls flying huge colorful sails as they drove for the finish line.
“I’ll take you as crew for the next one,” Rory said.
His words sent a gust of hope through her, but she merely smiled and told a story of snorkeling kelp forests, golden fronds swaying in cerulean water. She wasn’t ready to believe that hiding out with her in a remote inn would translate into defying his father openly. Nor was she certain she’d done the right thing in telling her father she was with Rory.
Dinner wound down, and Mariah became more aware of the bracelet of illumination that lighted the way across the mountainside to their secluded bungalow. With butterflies beginning in her stomach at the thought of the broad bed, she spoke of blue flowers in a window box. Was the mellow, aged brandy better than the more aromatic younger version? Did she want decaf espresso or high test?
When they left the restaurant, their distance from the city was underlined by the waning moon’s light, not too bright to subdue a blanket of stars. She looked up into the sky and wondered how many times she had studied the few stars visible in L.A., thinking that somewhere Rory gazed up, too. There were too many sparkling gems in the firmament tonight to single out a wishing star, but she sent up an entreaty for what was happening between her and Rory to be real.
They entered the deep forest, their feet making no sound on the soft mixture of earth, needles, and bark. Redwood scent rose on the damp air, and small lights cast shadows amid the towering giants. In deference to the stillness, neither of them spoke. Yet, her thoughts whirled down corridors past and present. She’d never been able to resist Rory, not as an innocent, and not within the circle of his arm tonight.
He stopped on a wooden bridge where a small stream’s music defied the silence and his arm came around her. Looking down at garden lights sparkling on the water, she said in the same light tone they’d used during dinner, “I’m glad we came. This place is lovely.”
He pulled her tighter against him. “Stop it, Mariah.”
At the emotion in his voice, she began to tremble.
“Quit making small talk.” His hands roamed her back. “Quit pretending to act casual.”
“You said in Sausalito that we weren’t to think.”
“I know I said not to think, but that was crazy. If I’m honest with myself, and with you, I have to admit I’ve been obsessed about this, one way or another, since I saw you again.”
His urgent tone led her to expect the crushing embrace he’d given her the night of the accident at Grant Plaza. Instead, he turned her to him slowly, barely brushing her lips with his.
It was like coming home, their connection immediate and vital. Had she ever known a man whose breath melded so sweetly with hers? Sliding her hands up into his hair, she caressed the back of his neck with the boldness she’d dared at eighteen. At this simple touch, she felt him shudder.
Their kiss deepened, escalating from exploration to his tongue seeking hers with bold authority. He snugged her closer and let her feel what she was doing to arouse him. Joy surged while the melting warmth in her expanded. Wicked images warred with propriety; he would make love to her here in the dark woods, up against the wooden rail … someone could walk down the path at any moment.
Rory kissed the side of her neck then moved his lips to the hollow at the base of her throat. Her head tipped back, and she gasped at the pleasure needles shooting hot and cold through her.
“Admit it, Mariah,” he whispered. “There’s never been anybody who did it for us like each other.”
The last of her reservations fell away like water tumbling to the pool below. There was no telling where they would end up, but she would seize this moment, this now.
The thin high tone of a cell phone made them jerk apart.
“Dammit!” Rory reached to his belt and unclipped the small device.
Another tinny ring sounded out of place in the deep forest.
What would be his answer to the real world’s summons? Did Sylvia Chatsworth wonder why he was late coming over? Had his father discovered through some clairvoyant sense that his son was AWOL?
On the third ring, Rory flipped the phone off the bridge. With a gulping splash, it sank into the dark pool.
When they arrived at their secluded bungalow, housekeeping had prepared a love nest. In the entry floored with black granite, spiky ginger and bird of paradise graced a crystal vase. On the granite bar top, an iced bottle of champagne rested beside a brandy bottle with appropriate balloon glasses. Chocolate and assorted cheeses promised to satisfy a late night appetite.
Rory went to the hearth and put a match to the prelaid fire. Then he reached for the bag containing the mystery purchase he’d made in Carmel. “I hope you like it.”
In the top of the sack, Mariah saw black velvet. Smooth and plush in her hand, the floor-length robe unfolded as she drew it out. “It’s fabulous.” Opening the sash, she uncovered the lining of crimson silk.
He grinned. “Sedate, but with a bit of wickedness beneath.”
True to the spirit of being wicked, she took the robe with her into the bath. Staring at her reflection in the mirror, she found a woman transformed. Her eyes appeared huge, soft. Golden hair spilled over her shoulders, making her look like the younger woman who had gazed into the glass in the master head aboard Privateer, the last time she and Rory were together like this. The night Davis had discovered their secret, she’d brought along a silky robe from home. Brushed her hair and gone out to find Rory turning the cabin into a candlelit fairyland … an idyll that lasted until the tread of his father sounded on the companionway stairs.
Brushing aside the nagging sense that running away from the city had solved nothing, she focused on the fervor in Rory’s voice when he told her there’d never been anyone for him like her.
Slowly, she took off her clothes and wrapped herself in Rory’s gift. The silk was the same hue as the ruby sparkling on her finger, black velvet an elegant foil. She picked up the brush Rory had bought her in Carmel and tamed her hair. With care, she removed the Band-aid covering the cut on her forehead. The reminder of the accident, still lined with sutures, reminded her that life was precious and ephemeral, and if she dared tonight, hers for the taking.
Feeling like an infatuated teenager, Rory waited for Mariah on their private fenced patio with a sunken Japanese-style bath. Barefoot on the slate tiles and naked under one of the hotel’s white terry robes, he swirled a snifter of brandy and imagined the dark ocean, more than a thousand feet below. On impulse, he opene
d the gate and saw a small path, no more than a tantalizing swath of flattened grass, leading away into the Ventana wilderness.
Tomorrow the high country beckoned, with spring hills green and wildflowers in bloom. He and Mariah would walk for hours … and talk. Did she still like peanut butter crackers? What movies could she quote? He couldn’t remember her favorite color; was it red like his?
Breathing the scent of evergreen from the nearby woods, he closed the gate. The bath steamed in the deep forest night, its heat inviting. He decided to wait for Mariah.
A smile curved his lips, and his stomach tightened, his sex stirring with anticipation. He’d told the truth this evening beside the stream where his cellular phone rested in peace. No one had ever made him feel this peculiar mix of thrill and ache.
Not his well-loved wife Elizabeth, with whom he’d had affectionate sex that left him warm yet not quite satisfied, or any of the women he’d tried on and discarded publicly courtesy of “On The Spot.” His first few months of the divorce crazies still had the power to make him ashamed. And not Sylvia Chatsworth.
No, it was Mariah, his first, and the only one he could imagine being with tonight.
Clad in nothing but the silk and velvet wrap Rory had given her, Mariah opened the sliding glass door to the patio. She felt a swell in her chest at the sight of him, bronzed skin against the white of his robe, his hair curling over the collar.
She started to speak, but he put a finger to her lips. “Let’s not spoil it with talk; things go wrong when we talk.”
There was much unsaid between them, yet he was right about the minefields awaiting them should they start discussing reality. Reinforcing her decision not to think but to feel, she accepted the pact by pressing her finger to his lips in turn.
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