Angel Fire - Lisa Unger [17]
She hated herself a little in these moments, like a junkie going back to the needle. This pursuit was empty, she knew. The effort to satisfy the desire never met the gaping need within her. Here, she could have closeness without the risk of love, she could take without giving, she could have something she wasn’t afraid to lose. She’d always had an intellectual perspective on her flaws and it never made any difference when she tried to change.
He looked into her eyes as one hand traced the smooth skin on her arm and the other delicately took down the zipper on the back of her dress. “It is all right?” he asked softly.
“Yes.”
She helped him slip off his sweater. He was beautiful. Apollo, she called him in her mind. Paolo was his name, she remembered vaguely. He kissed the straps of her dress away and the garment fell to the floor. As he gently cupped her breasts in his hands, kissing them, she undid his pants and reached inside, feeling him hard for her. He groaned at her touch and kissed her mouth with such passion it startled her. He pulled her leg up and she wrapped it around his, moving herself against him. Then he lifted her and carried her to the bed. She leaned on her elbows and watched him step out of pants and black silk boxers. “Very nice,” she said, smiling.
He pulled off her white lace panties with a boyish smile. “You are also ‘very nice,’ as you say. Beautiful, perfect.”
She laughed, thinking the less he spoke, the better. He lay beside her and traced the center line of her body with a delicate touch. She quivered, ticklish, aroused. And then she was on top of him. She kissed him as she moved her hips in slow, luscious circles. He held her tightly at her hips, pulling himself deeper and deeper into her. She watched his face as he surrendered to his pleasure, moaning. She loved that moment of true yearning; she knew it so well in her own heart. To see it in another made her feel less alone.
It was close to midnight as she pulled her clothes back on. He slept soundly, snoring lightly, sweetly, like a child. She glanced back at him. He was lovely. As she closed the door and walked down the hall, she wrapped her arms around herself as if to protect her heart against the ache that was already setting in. The feeling she would go to the ends of the earth to avoid, the hole in her insides where the wind blew through, was creeping up on her, pulling at her with black ghost-fingers.
In her car in the parking lot, she wept, deep, true tears that welled from some secret place inside her. Tears she couldn’t understand, and couldn’t escape.
When Jeffrey’s phone rang at four A.M., he knew it was her before he picked up.
“Where are you?” he answered.
“Santa Fe.”
“Do you know I’ve been trying to reach you?”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Right.” He cleared his throat. She heard him struggling not to sound the combination of relieved and angry that he was. “Well, what are you doing?”
“I came to hide out for a while but I’ve run into something down here. Will you come?”
“You want me to drop everything and come to New Mexico?”
“Are you working on something big? Something no one else can handle?”
“Not really.”
“We both know you don’t have a life,” she teased.
He laughed. He could use a vacation. And he did want to see her. “I’ll call you with my flight information tomorrow. You can pick me up at the airport.”
chapter seven
Jeffrey fought the urge to turn around and bolt from the gangway that led to United Airlines flight number 133 to Albuquerque. It was the same irrational feeling of impending doom that always assailed him when he boarded a plane. He tried without success to control his adrenalinized fear response, the dry mouth and sweating palms, the shallow breathing. Lydia thought it was the funniest thing in the world that someone who had faced down some of the most