With her eyes closed, Jennifer could not see him. She felt only his breath as he leaned across her body, using his full weight to bring pressure to his strokes. His fingers were warm and oily and lovely. When he touched her breasts, she felt her breath catch in her throat. Then he moved his hands up to her neck and, with his fingertips, massaged the tender skin at the base of her throat.
“Am I hurting you?” he asked.
“No,” she whispered, her eyes still closed.
Again, he moved down the length of her body, silently stroking her flesh, as if her body were nothing more than an instrument for his use. This was what true submission was, she realized as she lay there. This was what real emotional slavery meant.
Jennifer knew now that she would give her body to him.
She would surrender simply and gladly. She wanted to be his lover, if only once. This had nothing to do with Tom, with her life in New York. This moment in the dark room had meaning only to the two of them. It did not matter that Simon was Kathy’s lover. They were all of the same soul; Habasha had told them. They were all connected in another life.
She opened her eyes and lifted her arms to take him into her embrace, and he smiled and whispered, “No. Not yet.” Then he leaned over and slowly, lovingly kissed her breasts, then gently pulled a warm blanket over her. “Lie here a moment,” he whispered, and then he was gone.
She lay still, as he had instructed, stunned by his unexpected refusal. He wanted her to wait. Wait. She was alone in the small room, warm and close under the heavy blanket, with voices coming to her from deep in the house, and the sharp Minnesota wind whipping against the walls. She thought of his lips touching her breasts, his warm cheek brushing against her aroused nipples, then she came.
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
JENNIFER OPENED HER EYES. It was already evening, and she heard voices in the other rooms, laughing and talking. It must be time for predinner drinks in the living room. Later, Jennifer knew, Kathy Dart would be channeling Habasha.
Naked, Jennifer slipped off the table and quickly put her clothes on, pulling her thick navy blue turtleneck over her head and sliding into her leather pants. Her fear had made her jumpy, and as she left the small clinic, she glanced through the curtains of the windows, half expecting to see Simon’s face there, watching her from the darkness. But there was only a vast expanse of frozen snow, glistening from the outside floodlights. She saw a car swing into the small lot. Its lights swept across the fields before it pulled in.
She was afraid of Simon now, afraid of his power over her. She remembered vividly the past-life regression, how he had condemned her to death as the Grand Inquisitor. She had to get away from him, from this farm, before something else happened to her, before Simon tried to make love to her.
In her bedroom, Jennifer grabbed her parka from the back of the chair, then quickly threw her clothes into her bag and hurried out of her room and down the hall and into the night. Only when she reached the cold did she realize she didn’t know how she would escape the isolated farm.
She glanced around. No one had followed her from the house, and the yard was silent and dark. She ran at once onto the road and waved at a passing car, which slowed for a moment, then sped away. Just as well, Jennifer thought. The driver had been a man, and she didn’t want to tempt fate.
Another car swung out of the farm’s driveway, and for a moment she was pinned in the bright headlights. The car came straight at her, and she backed away from the highway, looked to see where she might run, but there was no shelter, no woods, only miles of farmland and open fields. The car slowed, and she saw the driver lean over and open the passenger door. When the interior light came on, she saw it was the reporter who was doing the article on Kathy Dart.
“Hi!” he said, grinning. “Car break down?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so.” She smiled back. “A rental car. I need to get to the airport in St. Paul. Could you give me a lift in that direction?” She stared at him. Her heart was pounding, and she was suddenly afraid that he was lying, that he knew she was trying to get away and had been sent to get her. He was one of them, not a reporter at all.
“Sure, hop in.” He reached over and moved a stack of audio tapes from the seat. “Where’s your friend?”
“Eileen?”
“Yeah, that’s the one. I met you in Washington, D.C., right?” He was watching her, still smiling.
Jennifer nodded as she tossed her bag in the back and slid in beside him.
“She’s staying longer?” he asked, starting up the car.
“Yes. Yes, she is.” Jennifer took a deep breath and glanced around. No one else had come out of the farm’s parking lot. “I saw you at the Habasha channeling session the other night. Is the article done?”
“Yeah, just about. I’ve got all of my research done on Kathy Dart. You had some reaction to old Habasha last night, didn’t you?” the reporter commented.
Jennifer glanced at him again. He wasn’t quite as young as she had first thought. And she hadn’t realized how good-looking he really was.
“Are you going as far as the airport?” she asked, avoiding the question.
“Yes, I’m going back to Chicago. My name, by the way, is Kirk Callahan.”
“Yes, I remember.”
“And I remember you didn’t want to be interviewed.” He kept smiling.
“I didn’t have anything to say. I’m not into channeling.”
“But you’re here now.” He gestured toward the farm.
“Well, I was.” She kept staring ahead at the dark highway. Each mile, she realized, was taking her away from the farm. What would Kathy do when she discovered that she had left? She glanced again at the dashboard, thankful that Kirk was driving so fast.
“Where are you going?” Kirk asked, and she jumped, startled by his voice.
“Hey, I’m sorry.” He slowed the car.
“Oh, New York. I’m going to New York City.” She glanced out the rear window.
“I’ve never been to New York,” Kirk said. “I’d like to visit sometime, to see a Broadway show or something.”
Jennifer had forgotten what clean-cut, Midwestern kids were like. It was as if he were from another planet.
“You live in Manhattan?” he asked.
“No, Brooklyn. Brooklyn Heights, actually. It’s right across the river.” Still no headlights behind her.
“No one is following,” he said, frowning.
“I’m sorry. I just keep thinking
you know, you’re driving so fast. I’m worried about cops.”
“It’s okay. I’m keeping an eye out. We have nothing to worry about.”
Jennifer nodded. “That’s a nice notion, saying we have nothing to worry about. I wish it were true.” She forced a smile.
“You like some music or something?” Kirk asked.
“Sure.”
“Here.” He handed her a box of tapes.
“No, you pick something you like. Anything.” Jennifer noted with satisfaction how her smile flustered him.
“Okay, how ‘bout a little John Cougar Mellencamp?” He slipped in the tape and hit the play button.
“Great!” Jennifer said. She had no idea whom he meant.
They drove without speaking as they both listened to the music, and Jennifer began to relax. The music helped to distract her, but it was really the car, speeding through the dark night, that did it. She was driving away from the farm with this attractive young man, and she took a perverse pleasure in the knowledge that no one—not Eileen, not Kathy Dart, not Simon, no one—knew where in the world she was.
She slipped down farther in the soft bucket seat. “This is a nice car,” she said. “What is it?”