I was going slowly, and I felt Bronwyn shift forward.
“Crowley,” she said. “There’s something I’ve always wanted to try.
Can you keep going this slowly?”
I glanced back at her. “Sure.”
I felt her warmth leave my back and her knees tightened around my ribs. She was standing up on the rear footpegs. I glanced back, and her hands were thrown wide. She had a grin plastered from ear to ear.
“You want me to go a bit faster?” I asked.
She gave her best war cry and looked down at me. “Yeah!”
I laughed and pulled the throttle back a little.
“Yes!” she screamed. “This is fun!”
“I know,” I said. “But I think you better sit down again. I just saw a spot.”
She sighed and sat down as I pulled up. She got off, and I backed into the spot. She took off her helmet and shook out her shining, blonde hair. My gut clenched. God, she was so beautiful.
I hid my churning emotions with a rakish grin and held out my hand. “C’mon, let’s go.”
She threaded her arm through mine and took my hand. We walked toward the main road.
“Why are you always so cold?”
“I’m not always cold. We’ve been on the back of the bike, remember? It’s pretty windy.”
She frowned, and her face darkened.
“What does it matter, anyway?” I asked.
“You’re so strange,” she said. Her eyes were shadowed as she peered at me.
I was just thinking about how to respond when we found ourselves in front of the bouncer. I was relieved I didn’t have to think up a witty reply.
We walked in, and heads turned.
The club was not packed—it was too early. She led us to a corner table as a luscious redhead dressed in a nurse’s uniform came to us and leaned over the table to take our order. My gaze wandered over her delectable, full breasts and up to her eyes. The waitress’s brown eyes were dark and turbulent as she took me in. She leaned over a little further, on the pretext of hearing over the noise in the dark club. I was surprised her assets did not tumble out of her uniform. I sighed and leaned forward, lips twitching.
“Is there something I can help you with?” she asked.
“I’m not sure,” I said. “Is there?”
“We’ll have a rack,” Bronwyn said, beautiful face carefully expressionless.
“That’ll be—” the waitress began.
“Thirty bucks. Here.” Bronwyn handed her the money, and I stared at her in amazement.
She and the waitress exchanged unfriendly stares before the waitress stalked off to get our drinks.
I stared at Bronwyn. “What was that about?”
“Nothing,” she said.
“Bronwyn—”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not—”
“Yes, I am. Let it go, angel.”
The waitress returned and put the rack on the table. Bronwyn grabbed the first test tube—a shot of Midori—and downed it without a thought.
I watched as she poured another six out of the twelve in the rack down her throat in quick succession.
“Well,” I said, “since nothing’s wrong, why don’t we get out there and dance?”
The alcohol was beginning to have an effect on her, and her eyes spat less fire as she smiled. “Sure.”
I led her to the dance floor, and within seconds found her in my arms, our bodies touching along their entire lengths. I grinned.
She slipped her arms around my neck, and her green eyes flashed as she gazed deep into my eyes. I wrapped my arms around her waist and cupped her behind. She trembled in my arms. She kissed the hollow of my throat.
I glanced at the waitress, whose eyes were now flashing fire.
We moved around the dance floor, and Bronwyn slowly relaxed.
We spent a few hours alternating between the dance floor and our table as the club filled.
Every trip to our table was a duel between our waitress and Bronwyn, each shooting daggers at the other.
I finally got sick of it, and we left the club at around three in the morning. I put my arm around Bronwyn and helped her back to the bike. When we reached it, I found myself in her arms and the recipient of a firm, deep kiss.
I gently extracted myself. “You’re going to have to stop doing that, Bronnie.”
“Why? I love you.”
“No you don’t,” I said as I mounted the bike. “You barely know me and you’re afraid of me.”
“What is there to know?” she asked as she wobbled behind me.
“You’re as hot as they come.”
“So you’re saying you just want to fuck me but you don’t want to know anything about me.”
“No, I’m saying you won’t tell me anything about yourself.”
I smiled as we headed out of the city. “If you want to talk, this isn’t the time to do it.”
I pulled the throttle back, and she held onto me for dear life. We arrived home about half an hour later, and by that time Bronwyn was unconscious.
I gently nudged her as I hit the kill switch. “Wake up, sleeping beauty. I think it’s bedtime for little girls.”
“I’m
not
a little girl,” she said, and I caught her as she fell off and put her on her feet. I held her elbow, but she pulled out of my grasp.
“I can do it,” she said with drunken dignity. She took a step forward and tripped over her own feet. I caught her and scooped her up into my arms.
“You’re so strong,” she said as her arms crept around my neck. She kissed my chest.
“Really?” I said, pushing the back door open with my foot.
“You’re so beautiful.” She sighed.
“Uh, huh.”
“I love you.”
“No, you don’t. We’ve been through this before,” I said as I put her onto the bed. Her grip never loosened, and I found myself lying on the bed beside her. She snuggled into my arms, her head on my shoulder.
“I want to know everything about you,” she whispered.
“Like what?”
“Where did you come from?”
“Right here, actually,” I said, slipping my arm around her.
“How long have you lived here?”
“I think you already know the answer to that one,” I replied. I traced a soothing, circular pattern on her back.
“For an old chick . . . you’re . . . you’re . . .” Her breathing deepened and became regular.
I laughed softly.
I made sure she was asleep before I extracted myself from her gentle embrace and covered her. I gazed down at her.
She looked so much younger when sleep robbed her of her maturity. It was almost as though the child she had been lay in my bed.
The only thing that belied it was her sensual, woman’s body.
She called
me
beautiful? I thought as I descended the stairs toward my basement hideaway. God, she was so beautiful she made my teeth ache.
The next evening when I ascended the stairs, I found her sitting in the living room waiting for me.
“Good evening, sunshine,” I said cheerfully.
She gave me a sour look. “If you say so.”
“Really?” I asked as I settled onto the sofa beside her. “Why is it not a good evening?”
“It’s the tail end of a bad day.” She sighed and gazed at me.
“Don’t make me drag it out of you,” I said. “What happened?”
She sighed again. “Well, for starters I got to school late. How come you don’t have any clocks in here?”
“I tend not to need them. We’ll get one.”
Her smile lit up her eyes. “Thanks.” She looked away. “I had a splitting headache and not enough sleep.”
I shook my head. “That’s my fault. I’ll wear that one. I shouldn’t have taken you out on a school night.”
“I’m just tired.”
“You want a quiet night in?” I asked.
She nibbled her lip and nodded.
I smiled. “You want a burger to eat or something?”
“I guess so.”
“All right, then,” I said. I stood and pulled her to her feet. She sank into my arms.
“Thanks,” she said.
“For what?”
“For not being mad at me.”
“Why would I be mad at you for something stupid
I
did?” I asked, gazing at her in confusion.
“There’s something else I have to tell you about that,” she said.
“All right,” I replied as I led her out to the car. “What else do you have to tell me?”
She got in and fastened her seatbelt. She was blushing. “I’m not eighteen yet.”
“By how much?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“By about four days,” she whispered.
I sighed. “Look at me.”
She stared straight ahead, nibbling her lip, with unshed tears in her eyes.
“C’mon, Bronnie, look at me,” I said softly, willing her to look in my direction.
Her eyes stuttered to my face.
I cupped her chin. “Stop nibbling, will you? Better. Look, don’t worry about it. We went out; we didn’t get caught; we came back; we were stupid enough to do all three on a school night. We won’t be doing that again in a hurry, now will we?”
She nodded, her eyes showing relief, but there was still something lurking in their green depths.
“What else?”
“I asked a couple of my friends today about moving in. No go.”
I sighed again, and closed my eyes. I ignored the swift feeling of relief that shot through me. “I know what you’re going to ask.”
“Please, Crowley? Please?”
I flinched at her begging. She sounded so raw.
I opened my eyes and met her pained gaze. She opened her mouth to speak, but I silenced her with a gentle finger to her lips.
“No more begging,” I said. “Please. All right. You can stay with me for a while.”
She threw her arms around me and sobbed against my chest. I put my chin on her head and stroked her hair.
“I’m so sorry,” she said after a while. “It just hurts, that’s all.”
“Your parents?” I asked, tightening my arms.
Her breath hitched. “Yeah.”
“If your parents love you half as much as mine loved me, you can fix it.”
“Not while I’m with you,” she said, pulling back and gazing into my eyes. “They can’t handle the fact that you’re a woman for starters.
They also can’t handle . . . look, never mind.”
I sighed. “It’s all right. I’ll take you back to them whenever you want me to.”
Her arms tightened around me. “I don’t want to. I want you. The choice just hurts, that’s all.”
“Shh . . . easy. It’s not a choice you need to make now, if ever. Just relax and try to get your bearings back for a few days and then decide how you feel about it all.”
She nodded and then pulled back. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” I smiled. “Still hungry?”
“Yeah.” She sighed.
“Let’s go get something to eat.”
I pulled out and thirty minutes later both of us had eaten in the parking lot of McDonalds.
Bronwyn, giving me a puzzled stare, slid into the passenger seat while I slipped behind the steering wheel. I tapped the wheel and then turned and gave her a dazzling grin.
“I know just the place,” I said.
“For what?” Bronwyn asked, still glancing at me with a surprising wariness.
“You said you wanted a clock, didn’t you?” I said. “Well, I know just the place.”
“Will it still be open?”
“I think so,” I said, glancing at the light traffic on the highway.
Half an hour later we were in St. Peters, standing before an old clock shop. Bronwyn looked around in interest at the turn-of-the-century townhouses along the road.
“Gotta love the inner city, don’t you?” I said.
She shrank next to me, watching the group of five young men walking toward us. They were exchanging glances and whispering to each other. I barely paid attention to what they were saying. I knew we were both good looking and felt no need to listen to comments about our sexual attributes.
I glanced at Bronwyn. “You’re perfectly safe with me. They can’t hurt you.”
“Are you sure about that?” she asked, gazing at the one at the front who seemed to be a body builder.
I laughed. “Hell, yes. Look, if it makes you more comfortable, we’ll go inside.”
I pushed open the door, and the bells tinkled. We found ourselves in an ancient, shadowed shop, resonant with the sound of ticking clocks.
Cuckoo clocks hanging on the walls, grandfather clocks scattered along the walls, mantelpiece clocks, kitchen clocks, traveling alarm clocks, and display cases filled with pocket watches and wrist watches.
“Wow,” Bronwyn said, turning in a circle as she took in all the timepieces.
“Cool, huh?” I said. “Check this out.” I pointed to a glass mantelpiece clock close to us. Its internals were bronzed springs, gears, and cogs, each wheel turned by a small man. It looked as though an entire factory of tiny people worked to keep the clock ticking.
“Oh, that
is
cool,” she said.
“You like it?”
She nodded.
“Can I help you?” a voice asked behind me. I turned and saw an old man. I smiled at him. I had last seen him when he was much younger.
“Yes. We’re after a—” I glanced around and saw Bronwyn staring at a grandfather clock, as tall as I was. “—grandfather clock.”
He smiled fondly when he saw Bronwyn’s round-eyed expression.
I found myself mirroring it. Her expression was nothing short of endearing.
“You like that one?” I asked her.
“Check this out,” she said.
I followed the direction of her extended finger and was equally awkstruck. Every millimeter of the clock’s silver face was intricately carved, and the roman numerals understated and classic rather than ornate. The weights looked aged and sturdy, the wood well-kept and loved. It ticked with a quiet authority that was soothing.
“Wow,” I said.
“I like this one.” She blushed and nibbled her lip.
I caught her chin in my hand. “No nibbling. I like it too.” I turned back to the clockmaker. “How much do you want for this one?”
He mentioned a price, and Bronwyn sagged and clutched me for support.
I smiled. “I’ll take it. When can you deliver it, and can you do it in the evening? I’ll be out until then.”
“We can do that for you tomorrow. But it would have to be night,”
he said. “How do you want to pay for that?”
“Sounds perfect. Will you take a check?”
He nodded. “Certainly.”
Five minutes later, Bronwyn and I were on our way back to my car.
She held a small alarm clock, almost an afterthought, in her hand. She slipped her hand into mine and pulled in close to me. “That is the most beautiful clock I’ve ever seen, beloved angel.”