He waited, staring fiercely into her face.
She gave him a tremulous smile. “I’m okay,” she whispered.
He leaned down and kissed her deeply, possessively. His tongue thrusting and twining boldly with hers. “Look into my eyes,” he said. “The entire goddamn time. Or else. Got it?”
She nodded. Speechless. Her throat was quivering, and her heart felt full, as she stared into his face, but she wasn’t panicking. No stabs of fear, no numbing black fog. Her heart pounded from excitement, not fear.
He was not gentle. She had not wanted him to be. He took her hard, his body challenging hers, and his face looked angry as he did it; eyes burning, mouth grim. Except that she knew him now. She could feel his concern for her, his tension, his need. His awareness of her.
And she was aware of him, too, on levels she’d never imagined. She sensed that the conquering hero pose excited him, and his excitement fed hers, in a confused feedback loop of emotion, sensation. No playacting. Her surrender was as real as his conquest.
She gasped for breath, jerking up to meet his hard thrusts. Staring with wide, tear-blinded eyes into his face. Struggling voluptuously against the implacable strength of his beautiful body, his steely arms, his gripping hands.
She could go there with him. She could go anyplace she wanted with him, as far as she could dream of going, and know that he would carry her back, completely safe, all in one happy, sated piece.
Afterward, they lay tangled together, limp and damp. They roused themselves at last to take a long, lazy shower, washing each other. Jack’s tireless cock rose to full salute, but Vivi laughed at him.
“Dream on, big boy,” she said. “I’m done for the night.”
He toweled her off, with his usual passionate attention to detail and herded her toward the stairs. “Food, then,” he said, resigned.
They made sandwiches in his kitchen. Devoured the rest of Margaret’s latest batch of cookies. And when they could find nothing else that was quick and easy to eat, they went back up the stairs, and into Jack’s bed, to twine their naked bodies as closely together as they could.
They talked, carefully. Tentative, groping conversations about their pasts, their histories. Circling around forbidden topics.
But she didn’t want dead zones and “danger keep out” signs in their conversations, either. Vivi sat up, pushing his hands away when he reached to pull her close again. “I have a question, Jack.”
“Ask away,” he said, his face hidden in the shadows.
“What happened after the bust?” She let her hair curtain her face.
He took her hand. “We’re having a beautiful time,” he said, his voice halting. “Don’t ruin it by asking me questions like that.”
“I’m not picking a fight,” she said gently. “I just need to know. Did you go to one of your other family members?”
He shook his head. “I couldn’t reach any of them. My mother was in India, meditating with some guru. My aunt had moved on, to some other boyfriend. They hadn’t stayed in touch.”
“So you just took off, all alone?”
“It wasn’t so bad at first. It was summer, and there was fruit and corn to steal. I ate a lot of hot dogs. Became an excellent shoplifter.”
She laughed, incredulous. “You?”
“I was unbeatable. I told you, remember? Fasting makes me crabby.”
He fell silent, then, and she reached out to stroke his shoulder. It was rigid. “And then?”
“I lasted about eight months,” he said. “I found the places where the runaways crashed. But the winter got cold. One night, I was in this flophouse in North Portland. Some guys picked a fight with me. It ended badly.” He touched the scar on his forehead. “That’s where I got this.”
She leaned down, and kissed his eyebrow, his forehead.
“That was it, for me. I found a phone. Called Margaret, collect.”
“Margaret? You mean, you knew her then?”
“Freddy knew her,” he corrected. “From when he was a kid. He’d told me about her. So I gave her a try. The operator asked if she’d take a call from Freddy Kendrick’s nephew. And she accepted the charges.”
“Wow,” she whispered. “So you went to live with her?”
“For a while,” he said. “She was good to me. I joined the military as soon as I was old enough. Didn’t want to be a burden to her.”
She ran her fingers through the sable texture of his hair, and thought about it all. “You think I’m going to be like them, right?” she said. “Like your family? Running out on you?”
He rolled over, clapping his hand over his eyes. “Oh, fuck, Viv. Don’t do this.” He sounded exhausted. “It’s so beautiful. Don’t wreck it for me. Just let it be what it is. Please.”
“But I just want you to—”
“Let me have this, okay?” He sounded angry again. “For however long as it lasts. Can’t we just stay in the moment?”
She hid from the revealing shaft of moonlight that illuminated the quilt as she considered it. There was something to be said for staying in the moment, hard though it was. She was a normal, flesh-and-blood woman. She craved the usual reassurances, promises, declarations of trust, faith. Love. She wasn’t going to get them from him. Period.
But so what? That did not mean that what he gave her instead was not precious. Or that she shouldn’t cherish it anyway.
After all. Suppose they stayed in the moment, for, say, thirty years? Forty? Fifty? Maybe when he was a grizzled old man, he would give in, laugh at himself. Finally admit that it had been love all along.
She slipped back between the sheets and into his hot embrace.
The image made her smile, but her eyes were wet.
Chapter
9
Vivi stepped back from the wall she was painting and surveyed the warm ivory tone with satisfaction. She adjusted an elegant earthenware vase on its stand with her pinkie finger, the only finger with no paint on it, and stood back to admire the effect. Classy.
Her store was shaping up. Her friends were coming in from all over the West Coast to bring her consignments. Stock was pouring in. Just that morning, Betty and Nanette had left an assortment of handblown bottles and stemware. Yesterday, Rockerick brought leatherwork. Brigid left a pile of jewel-toned handwoven silk shawls and throws. Miraben brought teapots, vases, jugs, dishes. With her own stuff, the shop would be a gallery of wearable, usable art.
The bells over the door tinkled. Jack walked in. A smile spread over her face. His answering grin made her toes curl.
He looked around with his usual reservation. He disapproved of her decision to open the shop. Vociferously
“Looking good,” he said, grudgingly.
Well, my. Unusually positive, for him. She gazed at him, savoring the glow of sensual energy that hummed between them.
“You look incredible,” he said, leaning toward her.
Vivi pulled back. “Let me wash my hands. Paint cramps my style.”
“Hurry,” he said.
Vivi ran to the bathroom and scrubbed paint off her hands. She stripped off her T-shirt and cutoffs, threw her green dress over her head, shook her hair down. They had been lovers for weeks now, and she still got swirling flutters in her stomach when she saw him.
Jack gazed at the snowy bulk of Mount Adams when she emerged. “Great view,” he commented, as she stood on tiptoe to kiss him.
“It’s a great location,” she said. “Ten days, and I’ll be ready for my grand opening. So what brings you here, Jack? I thought you were taking those larkspurs and veronica into Portland today.”
“I did. The truck overheated on the way back. It has a broken fan belt. I left it at the shop.”