And that wasn’t the end. He didn’t even withdraw, but lay there nuzzling her ear, her neck, the hollow between her breasts, the swell of one, then a nipple— and that quickly he was hard again. But, oh, he was good. He knew how to hold back, allowing only that hardness and the quiet sounds deep in his throat show how turned on he was.
Casey loved those sounds, and not only the ones deep in his throat. She loved the way he sucked in a breath when her mouth reached the hollow beneath his ribs, loved the way that breath shook as it left him when her tongue traced the thin arrow of hair beneath his navel. The pleasure she took from these sounds was a conscious one. She might have been proud of herself for arousing him this way, but that wasn’t what she felt. Nor was there a sense of power. What she felt—
all
she felt— was the pleasure of knowing the pleasure he felt.
He climaxed first, then brought her there with his hand— again, inside her all the while, something Casey had never experienced. Nor had she ever experienced one bout of lovemaking so soon after the other, and then came a third. This one was more mellow, an eternity of the kind of gentleness that was at the same time firm, fast, and hard. She didn’t know how he did that, but it was what she felt. The bottom line was yet another orgasm, this one deeper and even more satisfying than all the ones that had come before it— because what she felt from him had gone past physical to emotional. He made love to her like it mattered.
Like the orgasm, the contentment was deeper this time, too. Exhausted at last, they lay on the bed with their bodies entwined, and Casey was at peace. Thinking about it, listening to the leveling off of his breathing as he drifted to sleep, she imagined that she had landed in a place that was rooted and strong. She didn’t know if she could stay there long, but for now it felt really good.
She either dozed or simply zoned out on serenity. When she finally opened her eyes and turned her head, Jordan’s face was inches away. His eyes were closed, his features at rest. Studying them, she felt rootedness and strength again, and was inspired.
Careful not to wake him, she eased off the bed, tied on her robe, and tiptoed into the hall. It was a short walk to the other end. Once there, she opened the door only enough to slip through. The room was dark. It was a minute of groping against the wall by the door until she found a switch. It lit a lamp that stood on the table catercorner from the old leather sofa and the overstuffed chair.
Bathed in soft light, the room was less imposing. It smelled of leather and dark wood, and was actually quite homey. She looked first for Angus, checked on and under every possible perch, even gave the bathroom a quick look inside, but other than a bowl of water, a half-eaten bowl of food, and the litterbox, there was no sign of the cat. So she explored. She opened one armoire and found it filled with the kinds of slacks, sweaters, and blazers that Connie most frequently wore, along with several more formal suits and a tux. She opened the second armoire and found the opposite extreme— a collection of Gore-Tex jackets and pants, fleece pullovers, turtleneck jerseys, and wicking tees of the type that a hiker would wear. Casey would never have pictured Connie in these. Most looked new. Some still had tags from the store.
She thought of the brochures she had found with his canceled checks, applications for trips that had been filled out but never sent. It struck her that Connie might well have had dreams, too, at least some of which had never been realized. She wondered if he had ever had dreams of a relationship with
her.
Since there were no brochures for that, no applications to fill out and leave unmailed, she might never know.
Closing the left armoire door on the sadness of that thought, she opened the right door. There were drawers here. She hesitated for just a minute with her hand at the ready, aware that this was perhaps the most personal space and not sure she wanted to violate it. But if not now, when? she wondered. Besides, she wasn’t looking for intimate items. She was looking for a large manila envelope with journal pages inside. If it was here, even hidden under socks, she would see it.
She began opening drawers. They contained socks and boxer shorts, undershirts and handkerchiefs. She found pajamas in one drawer, wool scarves and flannel shirts, neatly folded, in another. She found a drawer filled with loose change, collar stays, and cuff links. She found nothing resembling a large manila envelope.
Closing the armoire door, she went to the table where the lamp stood. Beside the lamp was a stack of professional journals and books. She glanced through, recognized most, picked up two to thumb through later. A lower, smaller shelf was built under the first, but there was no large manila envelope there, either. She went into the bathroom and searched the stack of reading matter on a corner of the tub. Here was vicarious living at its best—
People
magazine, along with
Field and Stream, Outdoors,
and
Adventure
. That was it.
The only thing left to search was the nightstand. Intent on looking there, she emerged from the bathroom— and Angus was there. He’d come out of nowhere to sit straight by the bed and stare at her. She wondered if he had been wandering through the dark house and just returned, or whether he had been here in the room all along, watching her search. He seemed as elusive as Connie’s affection.
Whispering his name, she went up to him. She crouched down within arm’s reach and held out a hand. Though his nose twitched, his eyes never left hers.
“Is that your bed?” she asked with a glance at the Sherpa ball tucked snugly beside one of the armoires. Its middle was indented. “I’ll bet that’s comfy and warm.”
Angus didn’t reply.
“I saw your things in the bathroom. Meg does a good job with the litter. And it looks like there’s plenty of food in your bowl. And water beside it.”
Angus continued to stare.
She sighed. “Okay. Movin’ on. Maybe you know where I might find the next part of
Flirting with Pete.
”
The cat actually blinked. It was a slow blink. Casey recalled her mother’s cats blinking as a sign of trust. She found that encouraging.
She raised her hand to touch Angus’s head, but he drew back. There was no mistaking
that
message.
She spoke very, very softly. “I want us to be friends, Angus. I can understand that you’re missing Connie, and that I don’t fit in here. And I don’t know what’s going to be next week or the week after that. But you won’t be left alone. I promise you that. Connie loved you. So can I.”
Angus gave her another blink. It was a while in coming, but was ample reward for her sitting there with him. Slowly, she stood. The cat sat directly in front of the nightstand. Not wanting to scare him off, she ever so slowly reached above him and opened the nightstand drawer. Inside was a treasure trove of miscellanea— a pair of glasses, Bic pens with various colors of ink, tiny Post-it pads, and small, thin spiral-bound notebooks. There was a pocket pack of Kleenex and a tube of lip balm. There was a crossword puzzle, torn from a small magazine and half completed. And a microcassette recorder.
She took out the recorder and held it in her hand for a minute, acutely aware that the last person to touch it had been Connie. She had found one like it in his desk. That one had been blank. Trying not to get her hopes up, she pressed PLAY and heard nothing. Pressing STOP, she rewound the tape for several seconds, then let it roll. This time, she heard his voice. It was a familiar sound, one she had heard countless times. As always, it was low; Connie Unger had a way of making his point without raising his voice. But it was even more quiet now. More private. Introspective.
She had known not to expect a personal message. After all, he hadn’t left one anywhere else. Still, something touched her when he began to speak. He talked in bits and snatches, about the changing world and the need for psychologists to keep pace. After every few phrases, he began with, “Tell them…” She realized that he was composing a speech.
She listened until she reached blank tape. This time, she rewound all the way. The first thing she heard when she pressed PLAY was, “Call Ruth.” The phone number followed, as did, quickly, introductory words for his speech, starting with a thank-you to his host. Casey listened through the rest, stopped the tape where Connie had stopped, and returned it to the drawer.
Angus meowed.
“Oh my,” she whispered and knelt. “You recognized his voice, too.”
Angus meowed more plaintively.
“I know,” she cooed. He didn’t pull back this time when she raised her hand. She touched the top of his head tentatively at first, then with more conviction, stroking the silky fur there, scratching his ears. All the while, he looked at her, seeming confused.
Seizing the moment, she ran her fingertips down his spine and, when he raised his rump, all the way up his tail. It was a bushy tail, quite long. Raised as it was, its tip was nearly even with the nightstand drawer. When it started to lower, though, it pointed straight at the iron knob that opened the cabinet beneath the drawer.
Casey stroked the cat a minute longer. Then, reaching around him, she opened the cabinet. It held copies of
National Geographic,
all standing, spines out. The only thing breaking the pattern of yellow was a large manila envelope that had been slipped into their midst.
She pulled it out. On the front was a familiar scrawled “C.” Pulse racing, she unfolded the clasp and looked in at the wad of typed papers. The briefest glance at the cover page told her what she needed to know.
Sitting on the floor with Angus nearby, she read the pages in the envelope. When she was done, she stayed there and thought about what she had read. Finally, reclasping the envelope, she tucked it to her chest along with the journals she had taken. On impulse, needing comfort of her own, she leaned forward and tried to kiss Angus’s head, but apparently that was going one step too far. He drew back, looking on the verge of a hiss.
So she just smiled and whispered, “See you soon, big guy,” and went quietly to the door. With a glance back at the cat, she flipped off the light, slipped quickly out, and ran smack into a large human shape.
Little Falls
Jenny screamed.
Pete held her by the elbows, steadying her. “Just me, just me.”
“I thought you’d left,” she cried. She was breathing hard, half afraid to believe because the cold had been so real, so
icy
that it shook her still. But his hands were warm and his eyes warmer. He smelled of the no-nonsense soap she had bought in bulk on her last trip to the mall. And then there were his arms. They drew her in and held her with a conviction that said, “I told you I’d stay, so here I am.” But it was the way his face moved against her hair, her temple, her cheek that finally convinced her. He had shaved. The stubble that branded him a traveler was gone, leaving the smoothness of having arrived.
She sank against him, whispering, “Oh God, oh God, oh God,” over and over.
“Nope,” he hummed, “just me.”
She raised her eyes to his, about to tell him what a horrendous time she’d had, when her thoughts started breaking apart. Panic, chill, fear— all dissolving. Desperation gone, surrendering with a sigh.
“Better?” he asked.
She nodded.
He kissed her, so quickly that she didn’t have a chance to stiffen.
“Okay?” he asked.
She nodded and he kissed her again, only now she was remembering his earlier kiss, and the yearning she had felt then surged back. It filled her so completely there was no room for fear.
“Kiss me,” he whispered, and she did. It was the most natural thing to open her mouth against his, to move it and taste him, and when he said in a moan against her lips, “You do that so good,” she believed him. She could feel his response, the rising, the angling to get closer. When his fingers slid down her spine and put pressure on the small of her back, she felt his erection pressed against her. It should have disgusted her. But disgust wasn’t what she felt. No, it was curiosity. And a belly-deep ache.
He raised his head. Slowly he released her. She saw his eyes, a deep, deep blue. “It’s heart’s-desire time again,” he said.
“Yours or mine?”
“Yours.”
“What would yours be?”
“You know. But I’m trying to learn about priorities. So. Tell me what you’d like.”
Same thing you want,
Jenny surprised herself by thinking. When the thought embarrassed her, she dropped her gaze. It fell on his belt buckle. She hooked her fingers there and felt his heat.
He grunted. “Think. Your heart’s desire. All you’ve wanted to do in Little Falls but never had the chance.”
She didn’t have to think for long. “Go out riding.” Other couples did that all the time, and
they
didn’t have motorcycles.
“That’s it?”
She thought for another minute. “Maybe stop for something to eat.” Other couples did that, too. Jenny heard Miriam talking about it with AnneMarie and Tyler all the time. The hot place was Giro’s, an all-night diner twenty minutes out of town.
“Easy enough,” Pete said. “But you’ll need to dress warm. It’ll be cold on the bike.”
“That rules out the quarry, I guess.”
He remembered her wish. She could see it in his eyes. “Swimming? Too cool. But we can ride out there and park.”
Jenny liked that idea. She carried it with her up to her bedroom, where she scrambled out of her Neat Eats outfit, stripped right down to the skin, and went stark naked down the hall to the bathroom, half hoping Pete would see. The anticipation did things to her body. She was weak-kneed turning on the shower, and while she waited for the water to warm, she touched herself. None of her fantasies— and there had been hundreds, no
thousands
— none had gone as far as this. They had focused on the love, gentleness, and normalcy that she had decided should come before sex, and she had never had enough of the first to move on to the last— until now.
She felt feminine. For the very first time, she felt justified dusting her body with perfumed powder and slipping into the low-cut panties and bra in her drawer. She brushed out her hair, brushing it hard until the curls were less tight. She felt light-headed.