Heart of the Raven

by Susan Crosby

  He heard the water shut off upstairs. She would be waiting for him.

  He schooled his expression as he went to join her, took off his clothes in his bedroom so that he could just slip in and not look at her face, not see the pain there.

  She’d found a candle and brought it into the bathroom, leaving the lights off, making it easier to avoid looking in her direction. Was this it for them? The end? Had they forged the beginnings of something powerful or had it been as ephemeral as Danny’s time with them?

  “I could get used to this,” she said as he settled behind her.

  “To what?” Me?

  “This tub. I think it’s bigger than my entire bathroom.”

  It wasn’t the answer he wanted, but what did he expect? They hadn’t known each other all that long, and their relationship had grown out of one common interest, Danny. “You’re a minimalist?”

  “I’m a cheapskate. Plus I’m not there enough to need more.”

  “Yet you want a house big enough to hold a lot of kids.” He leaned back, pulling her with him so that she rested against him. He didn’t know how he could feel so lost and aroused at the same time.

  “I’ve been saving. I’ll get it, not too far in the future, I think.”

  He didn’t want inane conversation. He wanted truth and reality—but he didn’t want it until tomorrow. Tonight he just wanted Cassie.

  He grabbed a bar of soap and worked up a lather with his hands then slipped them over her shoulders and down her breasts. She drew a quick breath and leaned more heavily against him.

  “You’re getting down to business,” she said, her voice shaky.

  “Pleasure.” He wanted her. Needed her. She’d had tears as an outlet for her pain. Tears weren’t an option for him. But holding Cassie, kissing her, making love to her—that would make his world tolerable again.

  He whispered her name as he bathed her breasts leisurely. She groaned his name as he teased her with his palms. Her back arched as he used his fingers, drawing out her nipples, making them even harder.

  He pushed a hand down her, between her breasts, down her stomach and beyond. A low sound came from her as he let his fingers delve and explore. His world turned hazy at the edges, but Cassie was in sharp focus in the center.

  “Turn around.” He wanted to see her face as he touched her.

  Water sloshed to the edge of the tub but didn’t quite spill out. The candlelight danced along her skin. There was a vulnerability he’d never seen before. Or maybe fragility, a word he never would have used to define her.

  He stroked her skin, traveled the curves of her body with his hands, then his lips. She straddled him, bringing herself closer, wrapping her arms around his head and kissing him, her tongue hot, her mouth wet, her need obvious. She was sound and motion, earth and fire, contradiction and compromise. Her mouth slid to his jaw, then around his ear, down his neck, licking water drops. His skin rose in tingling bumps.

  He put his hands on her head, stopping her as she reached his chest. He didn’t want to relinquish control, not for a second, not yet. He was doing this for her pleasure first, only hers.

  He eased her onto her back, lifted her arms onto the sides so that she could keep herself afloat as he pulled her hips higher and settled his mouth on her. She tasted of soap and Cassie, woman and want, present and future. Her heels dug into his back, raising herself even higher as he teased her, backing away, returning, backing away again. His thumbs made circles and dips, separating, searching, seeking what yielded the right sounds, sounds that told him she was headed for the point of no return.

  The water churned as she moved her head from side to side, her hair floating sinuously around her head. He slowed down, made her gasp, made her reach, made her beg. There was nothing more important than her pleasure, nothing more urgent than to satisfy her need. He took his time in arousing her and found his own infinity in her gratification, loud and flattering and memorable then fading to a quiet aftermath of shudders and sighs.

  Cassie lay there drifting, her eyes shut, her chest heaving until he pulled her into his arms. But she was still aroused and in desperate need of arousing him, satisfying him.

  “Let’s go to bed.” She stood, held out her hand, clasped his. They toweled each other dry, went hand in hand into the bedroom. As they neared the bed she turned around, walking backward, enjoying the sight of him. He’d gained a little weight since she’d first met him, weight he needed. His hair looked even longer wet, yet there was no question that he was powerful and strong. Tempting.

  She couldn’t wait to get her hands—and mouth—on him.

  She flung the duvet aside. Pushed back the bedding. Feeling like some kind of enchantress and not at all like herself, she put a hand to his chest and pushed. He let himself fall onto the bed.

  “Be gentle with me,” he said, his eyes sparkling.

  “No way.”

  The sparkle became a hard glitter. She knelt beside him, leaned down to kiss him, let her hand trace a path from his chest to his thighs and back up again, not touching the hard, thick ridge of him but flying her hand just barely over, enough to feel his heat, enough for him to feel a breeze. He jerked up and groaned. She pushed him back down, thrilled with her own power.

  “Cassie.”

  He said her name as if it were the last time, a question, a plea, a revelation. She wouldn’t give in to it. She would take her time, take her pleasure, give him his.

  “It’s my turn,” she murmured against his ear. “Don’t move.”

  His hands fisted the sheet. Oh, yeah, power was good. She ran her fingers all over his body except where it counted most. He opened his eyes and, well, not glared, exactly, but gave her a look that told her she was wreaking havoc. She smiled and continued the torture until he grabbed her hand and flattened it on his erection, lifting up and groaning. She explored with her hand, testing his endurance, then she explored with her tongue, testing his control.

  His voice lowered an octave as he uttered barely comprehensible words. She took him in her mouth, stopping all form of communication except movement. He didn’t let her linger, though, but sat up.

  “Stop,” he whispered harshly.

  “I’m not done.”

  “Yeah. You are.”

  He flipped her onto her back and plunged into her then stopped, buried deep, and made a low, guttural sound, his body unyielding. Then he moved, short, quick thrusts, his pelvis pressing hard into hers, his breathing ragged, matching hers. She wound her legs around him, pressed her heels into his thighs. The build to climax wasn’t slow or gentle but fast and hard and staggering. They came together fiercely, wildly, mindlessly. No thought, just feeling, exquisite, memorable feeling. Then the inevitable descent that took forever but not long enough.

  She curved her arms up his back, combed his damp hair with her fingers. Tears stung her eyes. Beautiful. He was beautiful. And breathtaking.

  And it hurt so much that this would be her last night with him.

  They fixed turkey sandwiches and ate them on the back porch while they watched the sky darken with black clouds, hiding the moon. The air smelled of impending rain, extremely rare for late September in San Francisco. Then after they went to bed the rain started to fall around midnight, no gentle, cleansing shower but a violent, pelting storm that rattled windows.

  Neither of them mentioned watching Letterman. They left the blinds open and watched the rain and wind hammer the night. Heath had lit a fire in the bedroom fireplace earlier. Now he burrowed his face in her hair, caught the scent of his own shampoo and had no desire to be anywhere in the world but there in his bed, with her.

  He didn’t want to say anything to upset the tenuous peace of the evening. Neither of them mentioned Danny or the future. It seemed the best choice for the moment. Daylight would bring reality back with a vengeance.

  But it left them with little to talk about. Exhaustion suddenly overwhelmed him. He needed to sleep, needed to empty his mind for a little while.


  “Tired?” he asked.

  “Very.”

  “Go to sleep, then.”

  She snuggled closer. A couple of minutes passed.

  “You can turn out the light,” she said.

  He hesitated. “Are you sure?”

  “I want to try.”

  He reached to turn off the bedside lamp and gathered her close again. The fire had died down to embers and offered little light. Without moonlight, the room was very dark.

  He kissed her cheek, her temple, her forehead, then rested his cheek against her hair.

  “My angel found me,” she said, a smile in her voice. “Thank you.”

  He stayed awake until he knew she was asleep, then he joined her.

  Sixteen

  Cassie left her luggage by the front door where Heath would see it when he came downstairs. She’d gotten up early and packed. He’d continued to sleep. She waited in the living room, and waited and waited.

  She knew the second he awoke. There was no noise to indicate it, but she knew. He didn’t get into the shower but came right to the top of the stairs and stopped. She pictured him looking at her suitcases.

  He came down, his tread measured, and walked into the living room. She stood. He’d pulled on a pair of jeans but that was all. She’d had her hands on that body, her mouth. She’d awakened him in the middle of the night by kissing his chest then moving down his body. “Ah, Cassie,” he’d said in a gruff, excited, pleased way. “Where have you been all my life?”

  She’d almost stopped, afraid of hurting him even more when she left in the morning, but unwilling to give up her last time with him.

  Plus she’d slept all night without a light on.

  Her fingers shaking now she shoved her hands in her pockets.

  “You’re leaving?” he asked, his voice neutral.

  She nodded. Because I love you. Because you’re ready to go out into the world again, and your life is going to change. And because I would be a reminder of Danny, of more loss. She knew he needed to do some living. He wasn’t whole. He hadn’t grieved, hadn’t shared anything about Kyle with her. That was how she knew for sure that he wasn’t ready for her.

  It had been an illusion, the happy family. She was afraid, too, because illusions are so easily shattered. But mostly she wanted him to embrace life again.

  “Why?” he asked after a long moment.

  “My job is done.” I’m cutting my losses. Surely he could understand that about her.

  A total and instant change came over him. His expression turned icy. “I see. So, are you charging me for last night?”

  She didn’t plan on charging him for anything. Not one cent. She didn’t know how she would work that out with her boss, but she would.

  “No,” she said. “I’m not.”

  “So it really was just Danny that kept you here. And some great sex. Been without for a while, have you?”

  The bitterness in his words stung. “I don’t want to hurt you—”

  “That’s a laugh.”

  “It’s true. You may not understand it now, but I hope you will sometime.” It was better to make a clean break now. If she lingered, he might see the truth behind her words. I’m doing this for you, she wanted to scream at him. For you.

  Her stomach churned. She needed to go. Now. This instant. How had she let herself become so vulnerable? She’d gotten so good at preventing that.

  She walked past him. “Goodbye, Heath.” Grabbing her things she opened the door. She wouldn’t look back at him. She wouldn’t.

  But she did. He stared straight ahead so she only saw his profile, saw how straight he stood, how his jaw flexed. It had been worse than she expected, leaving him. She’d thought she could have a conversation with him, but that would’ve been impossible. She had so much to thank him for, and yet she couldn’t.

  Live again, she told him silently. Love again. I will always love you.

  She closed the door quietly, made her way to her car without running. She didn’t feel his gaze on her as she had the first day she’d arrived. He hadn’t gone to one of the windows to watch her.

  Birds sang as she opened her car door. Sun bathed the house and yard, was reflected in the big glass windows. There was life here finally. Hope. A future. Things that had been missing the first day she arrived.

  She would have to be satisfied with that. It could only get better from here.

  Heath stood in the living room, his mind empty, staring at nothing. After a while he walked to the window. She was gone. Really gone. He’d been wrong about her.

  No, not really, he decided. He’d known that Danny was the reason she’d come and stayed, but hadn’t something else grown? He may not have been out in the world much lately but he didn’t think he was that far off in his interpretation of action and words. And here he’d given her credit for honesty. Wrong again, Raven. Wrong again.

  He fixed a pot of coffee then took a cup into the yard with him as he walked it. The rain had washed everything clean. Wet soil clung to his feet, dampened and muddied the hems of his jeans. He stood where he could see the city skyline. Was she home yet? Maybe she went straight to work.

  His coffee had gone cold. He tossed the remains onto the ground, then turned on the garden hose to wash his feet. He took off his jeans on the back porch before realizing the door was locked, that he would have to walk naked to the front of the house.

  Cassie would’ve laughed at him, her eyes sparkling. That laughter had filled his house with life. He’d been drawn to that first about her. Well, maybe not first but soon thereafter.

  Stop thinking about her. He would. He had to.

  He showered, stripped the sheets and washed them, not wanting her scent in his bed that night. He went into his office. Like he was supposed to work?

  Automatically he booted his computer and brought up e-mail. Nothing critical. He looked at the various project names and decided he would find himself a mental challenge. The insurance center in Sacramento? The successful dot.com in Seattle in need of a larger building? The twenty-story structure in Los Angeles?

  The dot.com, he decided, but as he went to click on the icon he saw the one next to it: Daniel Patrick. The digital photos he’d taken of Danny since the first day.

  His finger on the mouse, he moved the arrow over the icon. After what seemed like hours he double-clicked on the folder. He read the list of contents and clicked on the first one, taken when Danny was hours old, asleep in his bassinet. Cassie hadn’t even arrived yet. Heath stared at the picture. Danny had changed so much, no longer the red, wrinkly baby but a plumper, pinker one.

  One by one Heath viewed the pictures. One by one he forwarded them to Brad Torrance’s business e-mail address. Then he came to the last one, a picture he’d taken using the timer of Cassie, Danny and himself. He remembered the moment. They were outdoors. The background showed the cleared and tamed property and the view of the city and bay.

  It wasn’t Danny who had forced those changes in his surroundings, but Cassie. She’d pretended Danny was a little jaundiced and opened all the drapes and blinds. She’d forced Heath to look outside again. Danny was the catalyst, but Cassie was the instigator, sometimes subtle, mostly flagrant.

  She’d barreled into his life, turned it upside down, then left. Fury blindsided him. How dare she? How could she toy with him like that? She had to know how much she meant to him. She’d have to be deaf, dumb and blind not to know.

  Well, he could wipe her out of his life just as easily, with one keystroke, in fact. She could walk out? So could he, in his own way.

  His finger hovered over the delete key then froze there. After a minute it slid away, as if he had no control over it. He hit the print key, coded it for two copies, then hit Delete. He couldn’t forward that one to Brad, and he didn’t want it left on his computer, either. But he wouldn’t wipe out the memory altogether, as had happened with Kyle.

  He retrieved the two prints from the printer and stuck them in an unlabeled file folder th
en into his filing cabinet. He would never forget where they were.

  Now that he’d purged the photos he would get down to work. He returned to his computer. Distracted he stared into space, but there was no space, no view, only a huge expanse of windows still covered by closed blinds. He got out of his chair, put a hand on the cord, then let his hand fall to his side. Not ready yet.

  More determined, he sat again. He typed a command to open a file, but somehow it came out as “Kyle” instead of Kendall, the Seattle company. A file came up. A photo. One photo. Kyle.

  He remembered it. He’d just gotten a digital camera to take to New Hampshire on their upcoming trip. He’d been experimenting with taking pictures and downloading them. The file wasn’t on his screen usually but down where he would’ve had to scroll to it.

  He hadn’t seen it in three years.

  Heath dragged his hands down his face, set them in his lap. His eyes lost focus. He drew a deep breath and clicked on the file. The photo opened. Kyle. Kyle with the laughing eyes, green like Heath’s, and the blond, almost-white hair. He’d been singing “Itsy Bitsy Spider” when Heath snapped the picture. His hands were in the air making the motion of the spider climbing the water spout.

  Heath put his hands on the monitor and traced his son’s face—the impish smile, the white teeth, the jutting little chin. He ran his fingers over each eyebrow, the shell of each ear. His chest heaved, his breath stuck there. He leaned his cheek against the monitor, wrapped his arms around it, rocked back and forth. Tears flowed at last, at long last. Horrible, wrenching, racking sobs rose from him, the ugliest sound he’d ever heard. “Why not me?” he cried. “Why him? Why not me?”

  He gave himself up to it, to the guilt, to the self-contempt, to the old arrogance that had been his downfall. He stormed around the office, slamming books, throwing whatever was handy against the wall until he finally fell to his knees and just grieved for the boy, for his son, for the light of his life, long gone dark.