A Minute to Smile (17 page)

“Okay!” Jeremy gasped. “Okay, okay!”

Alexander was soaked—and cooled considerably. He reached out to help Jeremy up, but as they reached the bank together, Alexander shook his head over the boy, sending a tiny shower over his body. In cheerful retaliation, Jeremy shook his curls. “I give!” Alexander protested. “Let’s get something to eat.” He glanced at Daniel. “You, too. Aren’t you hungry?”

“I guess.”

There was an unexpected coolness in his tone and Alexander frowned, then glanced at Esther. She shook her head almost imperceptibly, giving him a somehow sad lift of the eyebrows. He nodded and took Jeremy’s hand, leaving Daniel alone, as he obviously wished to be.

* * *

Later, as Esther ran a sink full of sudsy water for the picnic things, she thought that had been the only blot on an otherwise perfect day. She had given the children quick showers and settled them on her bed upstairs to watch reruns of
Mr. Ed
and
Mork and Mindy.
Both of them were probably out cold by now and would sleep like rocks till morning.

She had shed her shorts for a comfortable, aging Indian cotton skirt, and padded around barefoot, her feet still hot from the long, long hike. The packs had all been unloaded, the dirty clothes tossed into the hamper, the food put away. Alexander had taken the car, against her protests, to wash mountain dust from it. All that was left were the plastic dishes.

Late sunlight fingered the coleus and ferns in the windows, and absently, she gave the plants a drink, humming an old camp song under her breath. The mountains always gave her this lazy, sleepy sense of well-being. Fingering the soft, patchwork violet leaf of the coleus, she found herself amazed such color could exist. And as so often happened, the ripe sense of wonder spread to her own life. She was grateful to be so strong and healthy, to have borne such bright, beautiful boys, to live in the old house her grandfather had built.

Thank you,
she thought. Overflowing with a sense of blessedness, she gazed out the window toward the blue mountains and let the grateful tears flow over her cheeks.
Thank you for this day.

Alexander came in, carrying a blanket and two small jackets they had overlooked. “That’s everything,” he said.

Esther wiped her face and turned, chagrined but amused to be caught. “Just put them on the table.”

“Are you all right, Esther?” His tone was gentle.

She nodded, smiling in embarrassment. “A little too full, I think.” With a small sigh, she looked at him. “The boys are going to be gone for a month.”

“And you’ll miss them.”

“Yes.” She turned away from the plant and slipped on her rubber gloves, an oddly fussy habit she’d developed as a young girl, loath to wash dishes. “But they’ll have a wonderful time. It’s important to let them go.”

Alexander came to stand beside her. “I’m sorry about my little gaffe with Daniel this afternoon.”

“It isn’t your fault.” She washed a handful of red plastic forks. “Jeremy doesn’t remember what it was like to have his daddy live in the house with us. Daniel does—and he still harbors a lot of hope that one day we’ll all live together again.” She looked at him. “Did you ever spin those fantasies as a child?”

He settled against the counter, crossing his long, tanned legs at the ankle. “No. Like Jeremy, I was too young when my father left to remember him. And my mother, for all her eccentricities, made it seem as if it were perfectly normal for the two of us to live alone.”

“I think I would have liked your mother.”

“And she,” he said, brushing a finger along her arm, “would have liked you.”

Esther looked up at him and for a moment, was once again snared by the sheer power of his physical presence. His hair was wind tousled. His cheekbones and nose were a deep red brown and his T-shirt clung to the broad stretch of his chest.

She turned back to the dishes, speaking to the sudsy water instead of the man in an effort to overcome the longing the sight of him created within her.

“I’m glad,” she whispered, fighting herself once again. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop wanting him. Her dreams at night paraded a thousand fantasies of him across her mind, leaving her hot and restless with morning, irritable and hungry and—“I like you, too,” he said quietly, and stepped up behind her. “This blouse drove me mad today.”

She started when his hands fell onto her shoulders. “There’s nothing seductive about this shirt, Alexander,” she said to hide her nervousness. As if she didn’t notice his thumbs drawing circles along her collarbone, she dropped a plastic cup into the drainer. “It even has long sleeves.”

His hair brushed her ear an instant before his lips touched her neck. “You really have no idea, do you?”

“No idea?” she echoed weakly, closing her eyes as his tongue traced a spiral from the hollow below her ear to the edge of the blouse on her shoulder.

“How magnificent you are.” His hands traveled down her arms and back up again. Against her back, his body radiated heat and strength. “You’re so strong and vibrant and sexy.”

“Peasant stock,” she said, struggling for a lightly mocking tone. But the words came out on a breathy note.

“Mmm.” The sound vibrated from his mouth into her body. He suckled her earlobe, nibbling gently. His beard grazed her shoulder. He caught the airy fabric of her skirt and edged it upward until his palm, warm and callused, fell against her bare thigh. She sucked in a breath. “Alexander.”

“I’ve wanted to do this all day,” he whispered. The voluminous fabric cloaked his hand, but his fingers traced erotic patterns over her thigh. “So strong and firm.” His other hand dropped and burrowed beneath her skirt on the other side, so his wide broad palms with their rough calluses were simultaneously moving over both legs. “Your skin is as soft as a cloud,” he murmured, pressing closer into her bottom until she felt his sudden and fierce arousal. Her hips weakened and she leaned into him, dangling her gloved hands in soapy dishwater.

With his nose, he nudged the hair away from her neck and planted kisses at her nape, his fingers under her skirt circling higher on her thigh. “You are incredible, Esther.” He kissed her shoulder and neck and ear, his beard a tantalizing addition to each movement, the silky curls of his head brushing new fire into the cells of her cheek and ear and jaw.

Esther felt as if every atom of her body were being caressed simultaneously and she trembled. She heard a small, helpless sound and realized vaguely it had come from her throat. She found her head falling backward to rest against his shoulder as his tongue danced against the edge of her ear, teasing, and then he burned a trail over her jaw. At the same time, he lifted her skirt and wrapped his bare leg around hers beneath the fabric. She sagged against him, lost in a haze of Alexander’s making.

“I want you, Esther,” he breathed into her ear, and then his mouth was open on her shoulder, tugging with a gentle suckling at the tender flesh.

She tore off the gloves on her hands and turned in his embrace. With a groan, Alexander lifted his head to kiss her, his hands below her skirt skimming up the backs of her thighs until her bottom was cupped in his palms. He pressed himself into the aching juncture of her thighs.

Esther moaned softly and the sound seemed to inflame him. His fingers pushed below the fragile barrier of her panties, his tongue danced an exquisite ballet of passion over her lips, and his beard and the silky curls of his head brushed her flesh.

A building wave pushed through her and she clutched him to her, unable to breathe or think. He moved his hips gently against her and his strong, callused fingers spread in radiating circles below her skirt. She quivered with a rippling, aching desire and pushed against him, longing for a more complete joining—She realized with an icy shock that she was much too close to losing control. With a tiny cry of dismay, she pulled her mouth from his, grabbing his arms.

“Stop, Alexander.” Her voice was throaty and husky with need.

He released her instantly, but didn’t move away. He threaded his hands into her hair, forcing her to look at him. With exquisite tenderness, he kissed her lips. His eyes glowed turquoise. “You’re a magnificent woman, Esther. I want to make love to you the way you were meant to be loved.”

She swallowed, mesmerized by his gaze and the sound of his British voice, gone hot and soft with passion.

He stepped away a little and gently smoothed her skirt, then pressed another small, hungry kiss to her mouth. “When you’re ready, Esther, I will be waiting.”

And then, he was gone.

A
s Esther sorted the children’s clothing Wednesday night in preparation for their trip, Alexander’s words still echoed in her mind.

She had concentrated as much as possible on her children through the days just past, aware that she would miss them desperately. Abe had enjoyed tending the store so much that she had asked him to take over all day today, and taken the boys swimming and then out for hamburgers.

Esther had seen Alexander only twice. Monday night at the dojo, he had been going through his exercise in a room off the main one and she had not disturbed him. Tuesday in class, he was calm and tender, even teasing, but he didn’t make any effort to sway her toward him. It made her wonder if she had imagined the whole thing Sunday evening.

And then, toward the end of class, she looked up to find his eyes upon her, the color that electric turquoise, and she knew his thoughts. Her body tautened, glistened with swift hunger, but she hurried away after class, suddenly very afraid of him.

When you’re ready, Esther, I will be waiting.

Her body was ready—had probably been ready the instant she’d seen his beautiful form working with such power and grace that day in the dojo. Bodies were like that, she thought with a smile, folding socks. They cared little for reason or emotion or even suitability of time and place. If hormone-driven bodies ruled the world, it would have disintegrated before it had had a chance to begin.

So she had to ignore the siren call of her body, the urgings of her loins to have done with it. She had to look at the emotional angle—both his and hers—and the logical ones.

Logic. She sighed. Not good. His ordered, balanced life-style was on a direct collision course with her haphazard style. He didn’t realize it, but their worlds were very, very different. On the other hand, he was adaptable, or seemed to be. He never seemed to mind the children, not their noise or their bickering or their messes. In fact, he seemed to like looking at the world through their eyes.

She counted shorts and jeans and stacked a reasonable number of both into the suitcase. Okay, she thought, so the positive outweighed the negative in the logic column. Two pluses.

Emotion.

The biggie. Both hers and his. Every instinct she owned warned her that he had not come to terms with his emotional wounds. His late wife was still vague in Esther’s mind and that worried her. Did he still grieve the woman herself, or was it fear of loss that lingered in the abrupt shadows that could cloud his eyes? Esther didn’t know.

He was undoubtedly infatuated with Esther. Perhaps he might even fall in love with her. It would be good for him if he did. Loving would heal him. She just didn’t know if he would let her close enough to the true heart of him for that to happen.

And that was the real reason she hesitated to let their passion have its reign—once she made love with Alexander, her life would be altered forever. There would be no holding back. He would open and expose every single inch of her soul, and would do it so joyfully, carefully and intently that she would be unable to hide anything.

There was danger in her openness. It had taken her many years to realize it, years of aching at the closed limits of other people. In defense, she had learned to erect a screen with strangers and choose her friends with great care.

But once she allowed someone into her inner circle, she was unable to maintain her reserve. She had a great questing hunger to understand and love the people in her life; something within her flowed out to embrace and share all that was, all that could be.

If she made love with Alexander, the small walls of protection she had managed to keep in place against him would crumble. He needed that unadulterated giving, the flow of her against his wounded soul—it would ease and heal the torn places he barely knew existed.

But what would happen to her if he found that he couldn’t risk loving her, after all?

It would be devastating—worse than leaving her degree unfinished, worse than learning her ex-husband was unfaithful, worse than the wrenching difficulty of her divorce.

Before she risked that irreversible leap, she needed to know more about him, his feelings, his wounds. Only then could she make a wise decision about whether or not to move forward.

* * *

In class on Thursday, the student presentations began. The enthusiastic and fanatical young man who had argued and poked an arrow of intellectual challenge through the fabric of every argument wanted to go first. The subject he’d chosen was hygiene. As Esther settled next to Alexander in order to listen to his lecture, Alexander leaned over. In a whisper, he said, “This will be interesting—I guarantee it.”

And it was. One of the qualities that made Keith so appealing was that, unlike many of the others, he approached everything with a sense of humor. So his presentation was sparkling and light, in spite of the grim statistics he cited.

Finally he wrapped up. “The disposal—or lack of the same—of sewage in the dark ages makes most of us shudder. We’ve definitely come a long way toward eliminating the diseases caused by such carelessness—typhoid and cholera, that kind of thing.” He nodded. “Yes, we dispose of our sewage and organic waste very properly now.”

He smiled slightly. “But have we really become more civilized? Instead of fecal matter and rotting vegetables in our rivers, there’s now radioactive waste and chemical poisons from factories. Instead of a ditch in the middle of the street running with the waste of bodies, our streets are littered with everything from fast-food wrappers to discarded needles. Even those of us who wouldn’t think of dropping a candy wrapper on the street will generate a ton of trash every year—trash we have no way to properly dispose of.”