by Tara Mills
“Take me,” Ariela whispered.
Dylan drew her down to the floor, and together they removed her slacks. With her stretched out naked before him, all Dylan could do was kneel in gratitude and gaze at her for a moment. Then he reached out, his hands floating lightly above her, following her contours like a delicate whisper. Ariela broke out in goose bumps, her skin instantly chilled. He smiled when her nipples puckered tight, drawing her areolas into the action. Bending down, he took them into his warm mouth, one at a time.
She shivered. “I’m cold.”
“I think I can help.”
Dylan moved between her legs and kissed and stroked down her torso, across her stomach, before finally bringing his kisses where she needed him, wanted him most. Her knees fell open like butterfly wings on either side of him, and he slid an arm under her hips and dipped his head, tasting her with a careful tongue.
Ariela’s lashes dropped closed, though she never stopped brushing through his hair. Slowly, steadily, Dylan brought warmth back to her body. Every lap, every flick, and every thrust of his tongue intensified the heat spreading through her. The hand that had stroked his head just minutes ago now gripped him by the hair. No way was she letting him go now. He shifted to slide a finger inside her, and she groaned with relief. When he added another and latched onto her clit, her hips started moving in harmony with his hand. Her climax hit her hard and fast, but it wasn’t enough, not nearly enough.
“Now—please, I can’t wait,” she cried.
Her urgency was so great she didn’t allow him time to kick out of his pants before he pressed into her. Ariela’s muscles went weak with incalculable gratitude.
“Yes,” she said with a low moan.
Ariela rose to meet his kiss, their lips and loins fused. Being joined with Dylan was a shocking revelation, unlike anything she’d encountered—intimate, certainly; intense, no argument, but an overall sense of completion? It was as if he were returning a missing piece of her body. She gripped his sex, holding him possessively, reluctant to deal with the profound emptiness again. How had knowledge of that emptiness escaped her for so long? Ariela clung to him, reveling in how whole she felt in his arms.
“Where are you Ariela?” he whispered, brushing her face with the back of his fingers. The tenderness in his eyes, his question, penetrated her heart just as surely as his body did.
“Wherever you are,” she answered, shifting to wring everything she could out of his drives.
Then he stiffened over her, and not in a good way, his movements suspended.
“Dylan?” Squeezing his arms, she turned and followed his gaze. To her horror, Jean and Rob were standing in the open door staring at them, mouths hanging open in shock.
Ariela screamed and Dylan dropped on top of her, using his body to shield her from view. “Give us a minute, all right?” he ground out, his frustration clear.
The door slammed closed. They could hear hard footsteps beating a rapid retreat down the back stairs.
“Talk about stupid.” Ariela groaned and clutched her forehead. “We should have gone to my room. I can’t believe this. How embarrassing.”
Dylan exhaled against her shoulder and raked his hair back. They were still intimately connected, but the mood was over. He’d just had what amounted to a bucket of ice water thrown on him.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, seeking his eyes.
“Why are you sorry?” he asked, meeting them.
“They ruined your big finish.” She gave his cheek a sympathetic caress.
“I'll survive.” Then he muttered, “I can’t believe I didn’t hear them.”
“I didn’t hear them, either.”
Dylan gave her a kiss then withdrew and stood up. He took a second to sort out his pants and tuck himself in before reaching down to pull Ariela to her feet.
“How much time before they come back?” he asked, glancing at the door.
“I bet they’ll stay away for a while now. It’s been so long since I had to think about hanging a tie on the door, I completely forgot to do it.”
“Is that your signal?”
“Since college.” She sighed and flapped her arms helplessly at her sides. “Excuse me.”
Ariela went into her room. When she returned she was wearing her sky blue bathrobe.
“So, does this break your six month celibacy streak or not?” She tried to suppress her little smile, but it was no good.
Dylan looked up from buttoning his shirt and chuckled. “I think I broke up with myself tonight. What can I say? The relationship had grown stale and predictable. The passion just wasn’t there anymore.”
Ariela laughed softly. “Will I see you tomorrow?”
His face fell. “I wish, but I don’t think I can swing it. I have to drop in on my grandma for a visit with Max in the morning, after my jog. By the time we finally get home, I’ll have a lot of organizing to do for my trip. But I’ll call if I can.”
He held open his arms, and she walked into them and snuggled close. “This is your last trip over there, right?”
“Unless I hear something different from my editor, that’s where things stand.”
“Good.” Ariela pulled back to look up at him. “Because until you get back for good, this—whatever this is between us—can’t happen.”
He stroked the back of her hair, careful to avoid her lump. “I’ll call you when I get home. We have unfinished business between us now.”
***
The next morning, Ariela was fixing herself scrambled eggs and toast for breakfast when Jean wandered in, wearing the big, bunny slippers Ron had given her on her last birthday. Ariela stiffened, feeling as uncomfortable as Jean looked.
They both spoke at once then broke off just as abruptly.
Jean took a deep breath and started again. “I’m so sorry—”
“It was my fault. I should have taken him to my bedroom, or remembered the damn tie.”
“But I saw his car. It didn’t even register. We didn’t mean to walk in on you like that.”
“Stop.” Ariela held up a hand and gave Jean a pleading look. “I would feel a million times better if we pretended nothing happened last night, okay? You didn’t bust us. Just put it out of your mind.”
“I should have—,” Jean said, clearly desperate to explain.
Ariela cut her off. “You’re not hearing me.”
“—knocked,” Jean finished.
“All right. We’re both sorry. We’re both embarrassed. Can we move on now?” asked Ariela.
Please shut up.
“Yes.” Jean came over and looked at what Ariela was cooking. “Can you leave the pan on? I think I’ll have eggs too.”
“I need to keep busy. Why don’t you take these? I’ll make more.”
“You sure?”
“Yes. Sit down.” Ariela slid the eggs onto a plate and handed it over.
Jean grabbed the salt and pepper and headed to the table.
Quickly beating two more eggs, Ariela was just pouring them into the pan when she heard something odd behind her. She turned and caught Jean shaking with the giggles so hard she was having trouble keeping egg on her fork.
Ariela scowled. “What the hell is up with you?”
Jean waved off the question and looked down, avoiding Ariela’s eyes, but her shoulders were bouncing violently when she succumbed to another fit of giggles.
“You’re really mean sometimes. Do you know that?” Ariela snapped.
“I can’t help it.” Jean said, apologetically, if not necessarily sincerely. “I think I need a napkin.”
Ariela thrust a paper towel at her. “Tell me what's so flipping funny.”
“All of us.” Jean seemed to be fighting to get herself under control. “It was like slow motion.” She dabbed at the corners of her eyes. “Were you able to finish?”
“Are you insane? You guys standing there in the doorway, staring, was a real mood killer. Dylan went home right after you left.”
“
I’m sorry.” Finally—she looked it.
“Well, you didn’t screw up my climax, but poor Dylan was another story. I think it was pretty tough on him.”
“I can imagine.”
“Please don’t.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Sorry.”
“So, you obviously like him.” Jean was blatantly trolling for more details. Best friends were entitled.
Ariela turned off the pan and got a fresh plate out of the cabinet. “It’s worse than that,” she admitted with a heavy sigh. “I'm actually starting to care about Dylan already. I’m out of my element here. No one has ever invaded my mental and physical space like he has. I can’t get him out of my head. This trip of his is going to be torture when all I can think about is being with him again. It’s good he’s leaving. I need to step back and get my emotions under control.”
Dropping into her chair, Ariela stared at her plate. She could feel Jean silently studying her for a moment before she got up, squeezed Ariela's shoulder, and went to pour two glasses of orange juice. She set Ariela’s in front of her then returned to her own place at the table.
“Thanks,” Ariela said softly.
Jean allowed her to eat for a few minutes before her impatience burst. “Well? Are you going to tell me how good the sex was or not?”
Ariela looked up. “I didn’t know you expected me to.”
Jean kicked the leg of Ariela's chair.
Holding up her hands in surrender, Ariela laughed. “Okay, okay.” She could feel her face flare. “It was so good, so right. We connected.” She looked at her friend expressively. “Really connected, on every level imaginable. It felt right—incredibly, deliciously right.”
“Oh my god! You’re falling for him.” Jean stared, wide-eyed.
Ariela’s stomach gave a sickening lurch and she set her fork down and slid the plate away. “Hardly,” she lied, hoping denial made it true. “No. I’m willing to admit I have a very intense crush on Dylan, but that’s it.”
Jean shook her slice of toast at her. “A crush? You’re not thirteen anymore, Ariela.”
She picked up her juice, holding the glass in front of her heart like a shield. “That’s my point. I’m not going to confuse my feelings for something else, something more now. That stupid trusting kid is long gone.”
They looked at each other, both remembering how it felt to rush headlong into emotional confessions prematurely. It hurt, deeper than expected, when it didn’t turn out the way they’d hoped. Caution was a hard lesson to learn, even as a teen. It stayed with you.
Taking a much needed swallow, Ariela set her glass down harder than intended. “Why am I driving myself crazy over him right now anyway? He’s going back to Iraq tomorrow morning. Nothing, I’m serious, nothing is happening between us until he’s stateside for good. I’m not going to put myself through that.”
Jean glanced up from spreading jelly on her toast with the back of a spoon. “And he’s okay with your terms?”
“He said this is his last trip.”
“Then what are you so worried about?”
“I wish I knew.”
Chapter 7
Ariela didn’t expect Dylan to call her Sunday. He’d told her he’d be busy. Still, when he didn’t phone, she moped around the apartment. She’d never felt so unsettled, so restless and conflicted in her life. What was wrong with her? They’d seen each other twice! Three times if she stretched it to include the accident. Where was her backbone? Had she taken complete leave of her senses when she slept with him yesterday? That wasn’t her! She’d thrown all caution to the wind. Not good.
Deep in her gut, she knew it was wise to keep him at a distance. At least until he was working stateside permanently. He’d been so cavalier about wearing flak jackets and dodging bullets when he’d talked about his job. Bullets! That conversation, right there, should have been his elimination round. Instead, she was depressed because he hadn’t called.
The funk of misery and self-pity hung heavy in the apartment. Jean suggested they go out to lunch—her treat. Ariela declined then sulked over her peanut butter and jelly sandwich. That was apparently the last straw for Jean. She left.
When Ariela finally went to bed, earlier than usual, she kept her phone close on the off chance that Dylan might still call. She lay there, staring at the dark ceiling, arguing with herself. Of course, she knew she could have called him, but then she would have looked ridiculous. You can’t tell a guy he doesn’t have a shot with you then pursue him anyway!
Besides, there was something distasteful about chasing him, not to mention her grandmother’s old rules died hard. Ariela wasn’t about to make a spectacle of herself. She wanted Dylan to miss her enough to make the effort. It would be incredibly reassuring if he did. If he didn’t, well, then she’d know where she stood so she could adjust her expectations accordingly.
It was surprising how exhausting disappointment could be. When Ariela finally gave in to the pull of sleep—and she’d fought it hard—it was so deep, she might have been drugged.
Ariela slogged her way back to consciousness hours later, her phone pressed against her cheek. It was the soft yet persistent sound coming out if it that finally roused her. She cracked an eye open and saw the clock. A quarter to six in the morning? Shifting the phone to her ear, she mumbled incoherently.
“Ariela, are you there yet? Come on, honey. Wake up.” There was chuckling on the other end of the line.
“Dylan?” she croaked, her first word of the day.
“Yeah, it’s me. I realize there are a lot better ways to wake a woman from a sound sleep, but this will have to do for now. I couldn’t leave without hearing your voice again.”
“Where are you?”
“At the airport. I’m just about to board. Since this is the last chance I get to talk to you before international charges apply, I wanted to seize it.”
“I waited all yesterday for a call,” she whispered.
Dylan's tone softened with regret. “I’m sorry. I thought calling would be a mistake. I wanted to believe it was a good idea to slow things down a little, take a step back, and give us both time to breathe. It should have been easier not to call.”
“It wasn’t?”
“No.”
She smiled sleepily and hugged her extra pillow to her chest. “Good.”
“Listen, they’re kicking the doorstops out of the way, so I have to go. I’ll send you an e-mail. Watch for it, if not late tomorrow, the next day.”
“Okay. Be safe.”
The phone went silent in her hand. Ariela set it on the bedside table and drifted back to sleep, feeling better now that they’d talked. Her relief didn't last. Less than ten minutes later she jerked awake with a cry of anguish, her heart hammering in her chest. She’d dreamed Dylan’s plane was hit by rocket fire and sent into a dizzying spin before it crashed into the runway at the Baghdad International Airport.
Sitting up against the headboard, she pulled the covers close and hugged herself. It was no good. All she could think about were the daily reports of gunfire and suicide bombings wherever people gathered. She couldn’t stop herself from picturing Dylan waiting to be cleared through the busy checkpoints outside the International Green Zone when a bomber struck. She imagined him riding in a car en-route from the airport when another vehicle pulls alongside and gunmen open fire.
Weeping and rocking, she berated herself for her imagination, for her weakness where Dylan was concerned, and most of all, for not following her own rules. Idiot! This is why she’d sworn never to care for a man in a perilous occupation. Once was enough for one lifetime.
***
Down in their design studio several hours later, Jean closed the front door behind the deliveryman and hurried over to Ariela’s desk waving a large express envelope in the air. “Look, look. Our new software is here. Should we install it now?”
Ariela set her paperwork aside. “Let’s see what’s involved first.”
Jea
n pulled the strip off the edge and shook the contents onto her desk. She picked up a plastic-wrapped disk and pamphlet.
“Do you know what this means?” asked Ariela.
Jean looked up from her reading. “What does what mean? What have you got there?”
“Nothing. I just had a horrible thought. Mrs. Corley is going to want to revamp her kitchen yet again when she finds out what we can do with that.”
“Don’t tell her,” Jean said, scanning the pamphlet in her hands.
“There’s a thought. She doesn’t have to know, does she? Ugh, I’ve got to lock her down on something. She’s driving me crazy.”
“And we have bills to pay.”
“There’s that too.”
Jean looked up again and caught Ariela pressing her thumbs into her temples. “Headache?” she asked.
“No, just crampy and crabby. I’m just not into working today.”
“That’s right. Dylan left this morning.”
“Yeah.”
The way Ariela drooped back in her chair and met Jean’s eyes spoke volumes. Her unmistakable unhappiness brought on a rush of sympathy in her friend. “Why don’t you take a field trip?” Jean suggested.
“A field trip?”
“You need something to take your mind off Dylan, for a little while, anyway. How about running to the office-supply store for us? We’ve got quite a list.”
“Can’t I just mope instead?” Ariela dropped her cheek onto her hand.
Jean shook her head and smiled. “No. You moped all yesterday. Now you need to pull it together.”
Ariela groaned, but it didn’t change Jean’s mind.
“Fine,” Ariela moodily agreed. “Where’s the list?” She rolled her chair back and stood, throwing out her limp arm. Jean stretched across her desk and slapped the notepad into Ariela’s open hand.
With her purse slung over her shoulder, Ariela headed for the door, though she turned on her way out to say, “I’m going to kill a lot of time—a lot of time.”
“I hope so. Don’t come back with that dark cloud hanging over your head.”