She asked at the reception desk for his room. Without warning, as if time fast-forwarded, she was in front of a door, knocking. The door slowly inched backward and a gorgeous Latina woman with long, black, wavy hair answered, her skin the color of fine, pale silk, her red lips lush with smudged makeup and chafed from activity.
Next she saw her own reflection in an enormous mirror edged with color, her eyes wild and mouth twisted in a tortured expression, a chandelier glittering in the backdrop. But the face wasn't hers; it was a small-boned blond woman, with red-rimmed China-blue eyes and a sharp jaw, her wet hat hanging on an unkempt hairdo by a loose pin. Her heart slammed in her chest and she clawed at her collarbone, digging through the fabric of her bodice to find air.
Suddenly she was running back down the street, holding up skirts with her tiny hands and thin wrists, struggling on the cobblestones, running and not caring that she made a scene as onlookers stared. Tears streaked her face and she found a small park bench many blocks away and sat and cried until a small child with a crossed eye placed his filthy hand on her gloved arm, offering her a sweet in his other hand.
A ragged sob filled her lungs, choking her into consciousness. That was the point in the dream when Jill woke up every night. This night was no different, and she found herself awake in mid-cry, her pillow soaked with drool and tears, her heart racing. The room was still and the air choked her, stifling and warm. Red electronic numbers blinked 12:00 and she heard sirens in the distance, closer to the city center. The electricity must have gone out again; she reached for the nightstand lamp, pulled the chain, and was relieved when the light came on.
A deep breath, measured and careful, in and out, helped restore some calm. That damn dream had been plaguing her since the spring of her senior year of college. The day after she received her acceptance letter to grad school it started, and not a night had gone by without Jill's waking in a panic, crying, the scent of wet stone and smoke filling her nostrils, the sob so mournful it felt like someone dear to her had just died.
It seemed to have deepened in the past month, as she'd ramped up her presentations at school and her research came together nicely, tying up loose ends. And the dream had changed, the man morphing into someone new sometimes.
Seth.
Figuring out why her brain inserted Seth into her dreams wasn't rocket science. Understanding why he was the man in the hotel room was a puzzle, though. She'd spent the past month trying not to turn into a puddle of goo around him. He was just a friend. A colleague. She didn't want to be one of those grad students, who turned doctoral studies into a sexual merry-go-round.
A familiar warmth started to build in her. No! Go away. Snuffing out desire was becoming a full-time job.
With no benefits.
She got up and checked her phone. It wasn't midnight, but closer to 5 a.m., as she'd suspected from the muted light creeping across the city skyline outside her window. Sighing, she walked into the kitchen and made herself a coffee. As the machine gurgled and bubbled she looked around the tiny room, noting the low counters and fake brick linoleum. So boring.
Stifling a yawn, she added creamer to her mug and logged in to email. It was going to be a long day.
Then she remembered the department meeting and smiled.
Chapter Three
HE FELT LIKE A BEAR riding a child's trike, knees poking up near his armpits as he rode the damn contraption. “Bicycles and brick roads should never marry,” he groused, and she laughed next to him, her blond hair flowing behind her as she rode, defying convention and straddling her vehicle like a man. The wind worked its lift under her loose hat and ripped it from the pins that held it in place and it cartwheeled through the air. She stopped, set down her bike, ran back for the hat and put it in her basket.
“Race you!” she shouted, jumping on the bicycle like a young boy off to a swimming hole on a hot day. She would win, and she knew full well her tiny body was made for this sport, while the fifteen inches and 100 pounds he had on her made him as nimble as a mining car full of coal going up a hill. He laughed and threw himself into the challenge regardless, thick legs powering the wheels as fast as he could while her laughter floated back to him, so full and rich he could nearly open his mouth to the breeze and eat it.
She looked like a debutante, innocent and free though she neared her third decade, and the stirring within him could be triggered by no mere virgin. He followed her with abandon through the brick road to a rutted dirt road, trusting she would find a suitable place where they could rendezvous. The dirt road narrowed into a path through secluded woods, opening into a wildflower-filled field, the daisies turning their faces to greet them, the Queen Anne's Lace accepting and tolerant.
She dropped the bike and ran through the field, arms outstretched and tagging the tops of the flowers, hair tagging a second time as the green stems folded back in to hide her path. He struggled to follow, lumbering through the same plants, wondering how nature could conspire with her to give her the advantage in their lover's game.
Power won out, his legs and heart pumping him toward her, and he grabbed her hand, pulling her toward him. A pixie face with eyes like sapphires turned to him, like a daisy, and her lips were roses that tasted like cinnamon. She returned the kiss and gave him entry, his tongue tracing her teeth, her eager tongue, gently exploring and promising what they both wanted next. Their centers touched as he held her closer, the buttons of his pants pressing painfully against his obvious arousal. Boldly, she reached down and brushed against it, as if confirming its presence, and then flashed a wicked smile with those sapphire eyes, all trace of propriety and virtue willed away.
He reached for her breast, and—
Beep. Beep. Beep. His cell phone alarm went off and Seth lunged, half-asleep, for the alarm clock on the nightstand. It blinked 12:00 and he reached over the edge of the bed for the jeans he'd worn the day before, finding his phone. A few taps later and he'd shut off the alarm, which fortunately was correct. It was 6 a.m. What happened with the power?
He lay back in bed and began to stretch. His boner stretched with him, like moving through a yoga position. The horny asana. A flash of a daisy in a field, then a bicycle, and then—ah. The dreams.
He'd be stiff as a board until he could take care of things, but he was getting tired of this. Sex dreams were one thing. But he wasn't even getting the sex—the dream was the same, over and over. One big tease that was the erotic version of Groundhog Day. Minus the comedy. The dream had started about two years ago, and try as he might, he couldn't figure out why. Something subconscious. By the time he figured it all out, he hoped, his real sex life would be better than his dream sex life. For now, he was dating his own right hand.
A few cups of green tea and a bowl of cereal later, he was ready to ride his bike to school for a crazy day in the department. Smiling to himself, he threw on some shorts, a t-shirt and shoes. Teaching first, then a meeting that he looked forward to attending. Grabbing his backpack, Seth locked the door and went to unlock his bike from the apartment complex rack.
“Damn!” he muttered when he reached his bike. Flat front tire. He didn't have a spare; money was tight. His watch read 7:13 a.m. The next bus came through in two minutes. If he sprinted, he could make it. He took off as fast as he could, running through the complex's two-story buildings, past the kiddie playground, down the block to the bus stop. The bus was just closing its doors as he waved and the driver opened them slowly, the pneumatic wheeze music to Seth's ears.
Breathing heavily, his heart rate recovered fast and his legs felt tingly and warm. The sprint woke him up and dissolved his morning hard-on. Two-fer, he thought. Whew. As he settled into a seat and stuck his backpack under his legs he looked around and was startled to find a familiar face across the way, ignoring him completely....
If love never dies, then where does it go? Are Seth and Jill the reincarnation of James and Lilith? How do these star-crossed lovers find their way to each other – or will they? Read Legs (A Re
incarnation Romance) now.
About the Author
HARPER ALIBECK IS A FORMER history professor who has published eight books and whose work has appeared in seventeen others. She is also a National Book Critics Circle member, with reviews published online and in academic journals. Her work has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize twice, once in non-fiction and once in fiction. In recent years her interests turned toward contemporary and historical romance — but with a twist. Research for Legs and Unfinished included a trip to Santiago, Chile; Alibeck maintains that the best meal comes from a street vendor selling empañadas after a night of dancing and pisco sours in a Santiago jazz club.
Email: [email protected]
Blog: http://aromanceofthebody.blogspot.com
Twitter: @HarperAlibeck
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/people/Harper-Alibeck/100002278382786
Acknowledgments
Edited by Leslie Truver, whose unfailing eye for everything, especially all words in their proper chronological home, made Unfinished and Legs as free from anachronism as possible. All errors remain mine.
The author wishes to thank a great many people for help with formatting, editing, critiquing and helping to make this and future books better. You know who you are.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Unfinished (Historical Fiction) Page 13