The sapphire lakes of the Alexandria area gave way to the undulating farmland of Fergus Falls, then the earth gradually flattened as the vast deltaland of the Red River of the North spread as far as the eye could see: wheat and potato fields stretching endlessly on either side of the highway. Moorhead, Minnesota, appeared on the horizon, and as Theresa crossed the Red River that divided it from its sister city, Fargo, on the Dakota side, her hands were clammy, clutching the wheel.
She pulled the car into the parking space before the
Doublewood Inn, then sat staring at the place for a full minute. It was the first time in her life that Theresa was checking in to a motel by herself.
You’re only having last-minute jitters, Theresa. Just because the sign says Motel doesn’t mean you’re doing anything prurient by checking in to the place.
The lobby was beautiful, carpeted in deep, rich green, decorated with Scandinavian furniture of butcher-block coloring and a plethora of live green plants that seemed to bring the golden spring day inside.
“Good morning,” greeted the desk clerk.
“Good morning. I have a reservation.” She felt conspicuous and suddenly wished the clerk were a woman instead of a man—a woman would sense her honorable intentions, she thought irrationally. “My name is Theresa Brubaker.”
“Brubaker,” he repeated checking his records, handing her a card to sign. In no time at all she had a key in her hand, and to her surprise the clerk told her brightly, “Oh, Miss Brubaker, your other party has already arrived. Mr. Scanlon is in Room 108, right next to yours.” She glanced at her key: 106. Suddenly it was all real. She felt her face coloring and thanked the clerk, then turned away before he could see her discomposure.
She drove around to the back of the motel, wondering if their rooms faced this side, if Brian was watching her from one of the windows above. She found herself unable to glance up and peruse the spaces on which the draperies were drawn back. If he was watching her, she didn’t want to know it. Inside, she stopped before room 108. Staring at the number on his door, her heart thudded. The suitcases grew heavy and threatened to slip from her sweating palms. He’s in there. I’m standing no more than twenty feet from him right now. It was odd, but now that she was here she was suddenly reluctant to face him. What if either of them had changed in some way since Christmas? What if the attraction had somehow faded? What will I say to him? What if it’s awkward? What if ... what if ....
Her own door was only one foot away from his. She opened it and stepped into a room carpeted in tarnished gold with a queen-size bed, a dresser, console, mirror and television. Nothing extraordinary, but to Theresa, experiencing independence for the first time, the room seemed sumptuous. She set her luggage down, sat on the end of the bed, bounced once, walked into the tiled bathroom, turned on the light, switched it off, crossed the long main room to open the draperies, switched on the TV, then switched it off again at the first hint of sound and color, unzipped her suitcase, hung up some garments near the door, then looked around uncertainly.
You’re only delaying the inevitable, Theresa Brubaker. She stared at the wall, wondering what he was doing on the other side of it. Just a minute more and my nerves will calm. I’d better check my makeup. The mirror revealed everything fresh and unsmudged except her lips, which needed color. She dug out her lipstick and applied it with a shaking hand. It tasted faintly peachy and contained flecks of gold that glistened beneath the light when she moved. You don’t put on fresh lipstick when you want a man to kiss you, Brubaker, you dolt. She jerked a white tissue from the dispenser on the wall and swiped it swiftly across her lips, removing all but a faint smudge of remaining color. The tissues was rough and left her lips looking faintly red and chapped around the edge. Nervously she uncapped the silver tube and reapplied the peachy gloss. She met her own eyes in the mirror. They were wide and bright with anticipation. But they were not smiling. She glanced at her breasts beneath the baby blue blouse she’d bought new for this occasion. She wore no sweater today, but felt naked without it, though the tiny blue heart-shaped buttons went from the waist of her white skirt up to the tight mandarin collar that was edged with a blue ruffle. The short gathered sleeves of the blouse had a matching miniature ruffle around their cuffs. Suddenly the puffy sleeves seemed to accentuate the size of her breasts but she forced herself to look instead at her very tiny waistband into which the blouse was securely tucked.
All it takes is a knock on his door, and this uncertainty will be over.
A minute later she rapped on 108 twice, but at the third flick of her wrist her knuckles struck air, for the door was already being flung open.
He stood motionless for a long moment, one hand on the doorknob. She, with her knuckles in the air, stared at him wordlessly. Theresa saw nothing but Brian’s face, the searching green eyes with their dark spiky lashes, the lips open slightly, the familiar nose, short hair, cheeks shaven so recently they still shone. Then she became aware of how accentuated his breathing was. The form-fitting baby blue knit shirt fit his chest like liquid, hiding no trace of the swiftly rising and falling muscle beneath it.
Her body felt warm, thrumming, yet uncertain. She wanted to smile but stood immobile, staring at the face before her as if he were an apparition.
“Theresa,” was all he said, then he reached out a hand and caught hers, drawing her into the room with firm certainty. And still he didn’t smile, but only found her free hand, gripping both palms with viselike tenacity while gazing unwaveringly into her eyes. He swung her around, then turned his back to the door and closed it with his hips. “You’re really here,” he said hoarsely.
“I’m really here.” What had happened to all the charming greetings she’d rehearsed for days? What had happened to the smooth entrance with all its urbane chic, meant to put them both on a strictly friendly basis from the first moment? Why wouldn’t her lips smile? Her voice work? Her knees stop trembling?
Suddenly she was catapulted into his arms as he thrust forward, hugging her body full against his and taking her mouth with a slanting, wide, possessive kiss. Nothing gentle. Nothing hinting at easing into old familiarities, but the familiarity arising magically between them with all its stomach-lifting force. She found her arms around his trunk, hands pressed against his warm back. And, wonder of wonders, his heart was slamming against her so vibrantly she could feel the very difference between its beats. Her own heart seemed to lift each cell of her skin, sealing off her throat with its solid hammering. His hands at first forced her close, as if he couldn’t get close enough, but then as their tongues joined in sleek reunion, Brian’s palms roved in wide circles on her back, and as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he drew them up both her sides simultaneously, pressing her breasts, reaching inward with two long thumbs to seek her nipples briefly. His left arm returned to her back and he angled away from her slightly, cupping one breast fully, then exploring it through her blouse and brassiere while his tongue gentled within her mouth. Shudders climbed her vertebrae and raised the hairs along the back of her thighs while the pressure on her nipples continued in faint, sensuous, circular movements. It was so natural. So right. Theresa had no thoughts of stopping his explorations. They seemed as much a valid part of this reunion as the looks of reaffirmation they’d exchanged when she first stood before him.
The kiss went on unbrokenly as his hands clasped her narrow hipbones and pulled her pelvis securely against his. He rocked against her, undulating, weaving from side to side, pressing his most masculine muscles against her acquiescent stomach. Without realizing it, she found herself meeting each stroke of his hips, pressing against him, lifting up on tiptoe because he was so much taller and she yearned to feel his hardness closer to her point of desire.
Still clasping her hips, Brian ended the kiss. His warm palms pushed downward until her heels again touched the floor, then he held her firmly, so she couldn’t move. He rested his forehead against hers while their strident breaths mingled, and their moist lips hov
ered close, swollen and still open.
Her hands were still on his back. She felt the muscles grow taut with resolution as he pressed firmly on her hipbones. It suddenly struck her how easily these things happen, how readily she had lifted against him, how opportune was the hand of Nature in making a body thrust and ebb when the circumstances called for it.
She was chagrined to think that now he might believe she’d come here with sex in mind. She hadn’t, not at all. But how fast her body had dictated its wishes.
“I was so scared to knock on that door,” she admitted. He lifted his forehead from hers, bracketed her cheeks with his palms and studied her at close range.
“Why?”
“Because I thought ....” His eyes were as stunning as she remembered. They wore an expression of ardency that surprised her. “I thought, what if things aren’t the same between us? What if we imagined ... this?”
His thumbs brushed the corners of her mouth. His lips were parted and glittered with fragments of gloss from her lipstick. “Silly girl,” he whispered, before pulling her face upward to meet his descending one. Again she raised on tiptoe, but this time their bodies barely brushed. The peach-flavored kiss was bestowed by his tongue and lips in a testing circle around her mouth, tugging, wetting once again while his hands drew upon her jaws, first lifting her, then letting her recede as if she were drifting in the surf, mastered by its rush and release. “Oh, Theresa,” he murmured while her eyes fell closed, “Nothing’s changed for me. Nothing at all.” He pressed her away only far enough to gaze into her eyes. “Has it for you?”
How incredible that he should ask. He, who emerged so flawless in her loving eyes. When she studied him again, reality seemed to buckle her lungs and knees. The expression in his eyes said he’d been as uncertain as she had. Theresa ran her hands from his elbows along his hard arms to the wrists. “Nothing,” she whispered, allowing her eyelids to close once more while pulling first his left hand from her jaw to kiss its palm, then doing likewise with his right. “Nothing.” She looked into his somber eyes and watched them change, grow light, relieved. Her gaze dropped to his mouth. “You have more of my lipstick on than I do.”
He smiled and hauled her close, speaking against her mouth so that she could scarcely discern the words. “So clean me up.” Her tongue seemed drawn to his by some magical attraction, and she learned a new delight in taking command during a kiss.
“Mmm ... you taste good,” she ventured, backing away only slightly. She ran her nose along his jaw. “And you smell good, just like I remember, only stronger.” She backed away and ran a fingertip over his jaw. “You just shaved.”
He grinned, his hands now on her back, holding her against him, but undemandingly. “Just like a teenager getting ready for his first date.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Twenty minutes or so. How long have you?”
“About ten minutes. I was in my room, putting on fresh lipstick, then wiping it off, then putting it on again and wondering which was the right thing to do. I was so nervous.”
Suddenly it struck them how funny it was that they’d been so apprehensive. They laughed together, then gazed into each other’s eyes, and without warning simultaneously answered the compulsion to hug. Their arms went about each other—tight, tight—reaffirming. His hands roved her back. Hers touched his hair. When he backed away, he looped his hands around her hips until she rested against his again.
“What do you want to do first?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Just ....” Her heart pulsed crazily. “Just look at you some more.” She shrugged shyly. “I don’t know.”
He moved not a muscle for a long, silent moment. Then he nudged her backward with his thighs, directing her shoulders with his hands. “Come here then. Let’s indulge ourselves for a while.” He lifted a knee to the bed, then fell, tugging her along till they lay on their sides, each with an elbow folded beneath an ear. He rested a hand on her hip. Their eyes locked, their feet trailed off the end of the mattress.
Incredible. She had been in his room less than five minutes and already she was lying on the bed with him. But she had no desire to get up or to protest at his taking her there. His head lifted slowly. His mouth covered hers, urging her lips open once again, his tongue delving into the soft recesses, tickling the skin of her inner cheeks then threading its tip along her teeth, as if counting each. Her body came alive with desire, and her breathing grew fast and harsh, as did his. But when he’d explored to his satisfaction, he lay as before, head upon elbow, his hand still resting on her hip, but undemandingly.
It seemed best to set things straight immediately. Timidity brought color rushing to Theresa’s face and made her voice unnatural. “Brian, I____ ...” His eyes were so close, so intense, burning into hers. “I didn’t come here because I was ready to go all the way with you.”
His hand left her hip and fell to the hollow of her waist. “I know. And I didn’t come here to force you to. But I want to. You know that, don’t you?”
“I’m not ready for that, Brian, no matter what I ... well, I might have led you to believe something else when we first kissed.”
“I think we’re both in for a hell of a weekend then. It’s not going to be easy. Obviously your conscience and your libido are at odds.” His hands left her waist, squeezed her upper arm gently, then caressed its length until his hand rested on the back of hers. “And my libido ... well, there’s no hiding it, is there?” Then, unceremoniously, he carried her hand to the zipper placket of his white brushed cotton slacks. It happened so unexpectedly she had neither the time nor inclination to pull away. One moment her hand rested on his hip, the next it was flattened along his zipper, and he’d raised his upper knee as he gently forced her fingers to conform to the ridge of hot, hard flesh within. His hand disappeared from atop hers and he rolled closer, letting his eyes drift closed as he spoke gruffly against the hollow of her throat. “I’m sorry if I’m too direct, but I want you to know ... whatever you choose is what we’ll do, as much or as little as you want. I’d be a damned liar if I said I wasn’t thinking about making love to you ever since last January when I left you crying in that airport.”
While he spoke, his body undulated against her palm, then she reluctantly slipped her hand up his shirtfront and pressed it against his chest. Beneath her palm his heart thudded crazily.
“Shh ... Brian, don’t say that.”
He backed away, pinning her with a distracting, direct gaze. “Why? Because it’s true of you, too?”
“Shh.” She rested an index finger on his lips. He stared at her silently until at last the fires in his eyes seemed to subside. He clasped the back of the hand at his mouth, kissed its palm, then threaded its fingers through his own. “All right. Are you hungry?”
She smiled. “Ravenous.”
“Should we go and find something to eat, then hit all the highlights of Fargo, North Dakota?”
“Let’s.”
With one lithe motion he was at the foot of the bed. one foot on the floor, the other knee on the mattress. He hauled her up against him and she landed on her knees with her arms around his neck, and his hands on her buttocks. He kissed her fleetingly, then rubbed the end of her nose with his own. “God, it’s good to be with you again. Let’s get out of here before I change my mind.” With a squeeze and a pat he turned her loose.
They were walking hand in hand along the Broadway Mall in downtown Fargo when they suddenly stopped and stared each other up and down, then burst out laughing.
“You’re wearing—”
“Do you realize—” they said in unison, then laughed again, standing back, assessing each other’s clothing. They were both wearing white slacks, and the baby blue of her ruffle-necked blouse closely matched that of his knit pullover. She wore white tennis shoes on her feet and he white leather sport shoes with a Velcro-closed strap across the arch of his foot.
“If we dressed to please each other, I think we both did a good
job,” he said with a smile. “I like your blouse.”
“And I like your shirt.” Again they laughed, then caught hands as they moved on, exploring the entire three-block length of the mall from Main to Second Avenues. At its south end they studied the Luis Jimenez sculpture depicting a prairie farmer behind a pair of oxen, breaking sod for the first time. Sauntering northward they discovered that the curving mail was designed to represent the pathway of the Red River, and that carved granite markers of red, gray and brown had been set into the concrete on either side of the street to represent the cities flanking the great river as it coursed the length of North Dakota from Wahpeton to Pembina. As they sauntered, they read the names of the towns on the North Dakota side and the dates of their founding: Hunter, 1881; Grandin, 1881; Arthur, 1880. The stones were set varying distances from the street to depict the setback between the actual towns and the great life-giving river that fed the area.
The sun was warm on their backs, the sky overhead flawless cerulean. They had a sense of calm and an ever greater one of delight in being together, swinging hands, watching their white-clad legs matching strides. The mall was dotted with redwood planters in which geraniums and petunias had been set out, and all along the mail’s length ash trees were beginning to break into first leaf. At the Old Broadway Cafe, they peered into the twin oval windows on the front doors and decided to give the old landmark a try. Inside, the booths were the high private cubicles of another era, dark-varnished and set with stained-glass panels. The floor was ancient oiled hardwood that creaked and croaked as the waitress delivered their plate dinners of thick-slicked beef, potatoes and gravy and golden, buttered carrots.
“You haven’t mentioned your mom and dad,” Brian said, studying Theresa across the booth. “What did they say when you told them you were coming up here to meet me?”
She met his serious green eyes and decided to tell him the truth. “Mother assumed the worst. It wasn’t a very pleasant scene.” She dropped her eyes to her plate, drawing circles on it with a piece of beef.
Sweet Memories Page 19