A Novel Seduction (36 page)

She bounded past the visitors’ center and up the long rise to the area of flattish land.

“Axel?” No answer. She ran up the steeper path to the top of the mound.

The moment she crested the hill, she saw him. Her heart jumped in her chest. He lay lifeless on his stomach on the grass, his tripod and camera on the ground beside him.

“Axel!”

She didn’t care what he had taken—she just wanted him to be alive.

She ran to his side and fell to her knees. “Axel,” she
cried, shaking him. He was warm, thank God, but his skin was sweaty and he moaned lightly when he moved. With effort, she rolled him onto his back.

Hands shaking, she shoved two fingers in his mouth to see if he had choked on something, and he immediately pushed them out with his tongue, gagging. He was breathing, but he looked dazed—in a stupor, far beyond drunk. She pulled her hand back and slapped him.

“Jesus.”
He rubbed his cheek.

Her fear, so forcibly funneled through the aperture of relief, turned to anger. “Dammit, Axel! Wake up! What have you taken?”

“’nsahin,” he murmured, rubbing his cheek.

“What? What did you say?”

He squeezed his eyes shut as if the light of the moon was blinding. “In-su-lin.”

One word. But enough to make her arms fall to her side.

“Axel, are you diabetic?”

He grunted.

She gazed wildly around for a bag of some kind. The only thing she saw was his sporran, which was hanging loosely to his side. She leaned past his bent knees to reach it and found nothing but cash. “Where’s your syringe?” she demanded.

“No syringe. Food.”

Food! She scrambled to her feet and was halfway down the mound when she remembered the carob soy bars in her purse. She found one and her fingers shook so hard, she nearly dropped it trying to tear the wrapper off. She prayed this was the right thing and that he’d be able to eat it.

“Here, Axel.” She put it in his hand.
“Eat.”

He took a bite, chewed and swallowed, then gagged so violently she thought he might vomit.

“Not that nasty bar,” he sputtered, and she laughed despite herself. “I think I’d rather die.”

“Eat it.”

He ate the rest and swallowed dryly.

“I’m sorry I don’t have a bottle of water.”

“I’m sorry you don’t have a bottle of novocaine.”

He lay back on his back, knees bent, rubbing his eyes with his palms. “Oh, God, this is bad.”

“Probably not so great for the folks to the south, either,” she said, gazing at the haphazardly puddled kilt.

He opened one eye. “I’m dying here and that’s what you’re worried about?”

“‘Worried’ is a bit strong. ‘Mortified by,’ perhaps.”

He laughed, then winced, shuddering convulsively. She took his hand. “Oh, Axel, is this going to fix you?”

“It’s going to take more than a carob bar for that. Do you have anything else?”

“Another carob bar.”

“My lucky day.” He took it and ate that one as well.

“When were you diagnosed?”

“Mmm. A few months ago. Quite a thrill, graduating to needles.”

“Uh-huh. And does your doctor know about your other little foibles?”

“Yeah, I’m afraid she was a no-go on those. My only excitement these days is beer—well, that and accidental overdoses of insulin.” He turned on his side and laid his head on her thigh.

“I can hear the sigh of relief from the south from here.”

“Jesus, I feel like shit.”

She stroked his head and he closed his eyes. “Should I call an ambulance?”

“Let’s give this a few minutes.”

After what seemed like forever to her, he made a sound close to a purr. “Thank you.”

She smiled, so relieved not to be taking him to the hospital. “What were you doing out here, anyhow?” she said. “You’re supposed to be bartending.”

“Have you taken a look around?”

She did, and gasped. The dots of light scattered over miles of gentle hills, some huddled in galaxy-like clumps and others as random as fireflies.

“See,” he said. “I think—can’t remember—if I got any shots in.”

“Shall I look?” He grunted and she reached for the camera, which had fallen on its side. She turned it on and pressed the
ALBUM
button. “Do mediocre ones count, or do I have to be blown away?” The last thumbnail was of a moon, not a landscape, but a title in the list of albums caught her eye—
Ellery Before
.

“Mediocre?” He pulled a haughty face—an impressive feat, given the pathetic state of his person.

She opened the file and looked at the pictures. They were of her, five years ago. All had been taken in the dead of winter, judging by her clothes, which meant all had been taken in the weeks leading up to their breakup. She flushed, feeling deep shame about her anger and abruptness then.

He laid his palm on her hand, which had come to a rest over his ear. “Did you find something?”

“Yes—I mean, no. Only the moon. You didn’t shoot anything here.”

The pictures were close-ups of her—mugging for the camera, looking in a mirror—and she wondered why these, of all the pictures he’d taken of her in their year together, had ended up here, saved on his camera’s hard drive.

Ellery Before.

She felt a frisson of sorrow go down her spine.

“I don’t need you to look at the moon shots,” he said. “I know for a fact those are outstanding.”

“You’d think an exalted artist like yourself wouldn’t be leaving the business.”

“Oh, you know, new challenges. How was Jill?”

It took Ellery a moment to draw her attention from the screen. “Ah, she’s good. She’s strong. She has the appointment on Monday. Her girlfriend’s going to go with her. We won’t know anything until then.”

“You should be there.”

“Oh, God, I want to be. But she told me she could handle it, and I want her to know I believe her.”

He nodded. “Good sister.”

She closed the file and powered down the camera. Perhaps someday there would be a new file—
Ellery After
. She slipped her hand free and laid it on top of his, squeezing it tightly. He let out a long sigh.

“Is it still getting better?” she asked.

“Yes. I can feel my head clearing.”

“How did it happen?” She’d heard about the things
diabetics needed to worry about, but didn’t really know the specifics.

“I dosed myself for eating, then didn’t eat.”

She patted his shoulder with a schoolteacher’s sternness. “That doesn’t sound very smart.”

“I had the taste of you in my mouth. I didn’t want to lose it.”

Her breath caught. “Oh, Axel.”

“Here,” he said, rolling onto an elbow. “Help me sit.” “Are you sure?” she asked, steadying his arm as he maneuvered himself up.

“I want to taste you again.”

He put his hand around her waist and brought his mouth down to hers. His kiss was a cocktail of affection and longing, and it sent a wave of sparks across her nerve endings.

“Can you feel it?” he whispered. “Here. This place.”

She could. The hill seemed to buzz with the magic of the night, a fine hum that set her hairs on end. “Is it us or is it something else?”

“Does it matter?” He kissed her again, and she hugged him close, weaving her fingers into his fine, thick hair. He tasted of sugar and nuts with just a hint of whiskey, like one of her mother’s pralines. The hem of his kilt lay warm on her knee.

“Yes,” she said, answering his question. “It does matter.”

“Why?” He laughed.

“I want it to be us.”

The mirth left his face, replaced by a searching vulnerability. “Then you’ll have your wish.”

He pressed her firmly to the cool earth. The stars hung in a halo around his head.

“I want you,” he said, drawing a thumb across her collarbone.

Her heart beat like a rabbit’s, pounding hard enough to muffle her hearing. Surely he felt it. “Here?”

“Do you dare?”

“Yes. I want you so much.”

He stroked her cheek. “And I want you. Here, pinned under me. And there as well.” He made a gesture that seemed to encompass the rest of the world.

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.”

And she did. Bound together, one way or another. It had been so long since she’d thought of Axel that way. She could feel the wall toppling that had separated them for the last five years. The struggle to make it happen was allconsuming—forgetting had been a matter of survival—and the tremor in her voice was evidence of it.

“I want it, Axel. I do. But how? I mean, my God…”

So much hurt. So much to forgive. On his part as much as hers. They would be starting again wounded and wary. It was the worst possible position from which to try to salvage a relationship.

“Stop worrying about what comes next. Let’s only think of now.”

His hand had found her hip, and she could feel the primitive stirrings begin. It was this damned hill. The reverberations of a millennium’s worth of midnight joinings hummed in the air. They shook her bones and loosened her desires. Whatever had happened here still carried its power. Axel’s hand tightened slowly, and she arched without thinking.

Even in the dark, she could see the rise at the corner of his mouth.

He resettled his weight along her side and she turned to meet him, hip to hip. She let her hand run down his thigh, to the end of the kilt. His skin was warm and the hairs there brushed her palm. Then she followed the trail back, this time under the wool, to his smooth, flexing buttock, answering the question that had burned in her thoughts since the moment she’d seen him in that bathroom.

“A true Scot,” she said, impressed.

“You should see my tip jar.”

She laughed. She could feel her breaths coming faster and knew that, soon, the time for words would be over. She brushed a lock from his forehead. His hair smelled of apples. “I’m so sorry, Axel.”

He caught her hand and kissed it. “I wish I had been there when you needed me.”

Unspoken promises floated in the air like seeds from a dandelion.
Stop worrying about what comes next. Let’s only think of now.

Did Axel have it right? Could it be that she’d spent all this time fighting his philosophy of life, only to find out that he’d actually known what he was talking about? She let out an amused exhalation. It would be just one more thing she’d have learned from him.

He ran his thumb under her sweater, just skirting the edge of her aureole. The touch tightened both nipples and elicited a satisfied mewl of approval from their owner. Perhaps she’d taught him a thing or two as well.

She caught him by the neck brought his mouth to hers,
teasing him with her tongue. He opened her sweater, grinning when he saw what the demure angora had hidden.

He loosened the halter straps with a practiced hand.

“You know this isn’t how I would dress on my own,” she said.

“Do I?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, I do. But I like it anyhow.”

He brushed away the fabric and caught a nipple between his thumb and forefinger, drawing it into a rosy peak. “Don’t get me wrong: I’m happy to undress you out of anything. But I have particularly fond memories of a pair of jeans and a button-down shirt that suited you very well.”

She thought of that night in the Warhol. Oh, what a
good
night it had been.

“This dress, on the other hand, looks like it’s for a woman who wants the boots put to her in plain sight of every Scot between Edinburgh and Glasgow.”

She stretched her legs till her feet were touching his and was reminded he would, in fact, be putting actual boots to her. “It’s night. No one can see,” she said, and he laughed.

“And a good thing.” He lifted the handfuls of tulle and disappeared under the skirt.

She swallowed a gasp as he twisted her panties out of the way and applied his mouth to her bud. He was world-class at this, and time had only polished his skills. She damned the years she’d let him waste this gift on others. She anchored herself in the grass and shifted her weight, trying to govern the fire that danced between her legs.

“Be still.”

But the rising heat made that impossible. He grabbed her wrists and pulled them under her hips, rocking her open to him. The tulle sizzled like butter on a hot skillet.

“This isn’t fair,” she said.

The glorious ministrations halted. “Then answer.”

“Answer? Answer what?”

“The question.”

His question. “Say it again.”

“I want you. Will you have me?”

“Yes.”

“Here?”

“Yes.”

“And there? Forever?”

“Yes.”

The actions that followed set her legs to trembling. Her feet found purchase on his granite shoulders.

The heat was coming in waves, like blasts from a furnace, and the stars overhead seemed to pulse and twinkle. She could smell the loamy earth under them and the faint smoke of a fire in the distance. He released her hands and clasped her hips.

“Oh, oh, oh.” The waves were growing stronger.

Suddenly, she wanted Axel beside her, to look in his eyes, to know his thoughts.

“No, come,” she said, scrabbling to an elbow and tugging at his shirt. “Come here.”

He rose obediently, wiping his mouth on his palm.

“Be with me,” she said. “In my arms.”

He rose to his knees. She could see the pulse beating in his throat. With the cool blue moonlight framing his
dark locks and flooding over his considerable shoulders, he looked like an ancient Norse god.

She felt very small, and very underdressed.

The kilt was heavy, but it was no match for the object straining against it. He crawled over her, alternately kissing and tasting his way from her navel to her neck, settling himself at last on top of her.

He married his mouth to hers, and she tasted his smoky nectar.

“Mmm,” she moaned.

“Mmm,” he agreed.

He brought his palm between her legs and kneaded the mound there.

“Oh, Axel.”

“We are going to have to improvise,” he said, introducing his thumb slowly.

“Oh. Oh. Why?”

“I don’t have a condom.” The careful circles he was drawing grew smaller and faster. “And I suspect you don’t have one, either.”