Escape (24 page)

I’d had dinner Monday night with Vicki and Rob, barbecued baby back ribs that Rob proudly declared to be his best recipe and Vicki affectionately declared to be his
only
one. I had dinner Tuesday night at The Grill with Lee, who was in something of a holding pattern, waiting for the camera on her roof to be tripped. And Wednesday night? Not dinner, but an evening cappuccino with the owner of The Bookstore.

Actually, it wasn’t just her. Apparently, Wednesday nights were something of a ritual here, an impromptu after-hours gathering of anyone who wanted to talk books. I had come out of curiosity, to see how the group worked compared with mine at home, and since I was sleeping later each morning, I didn’t need cappuccino to keep me awake.

The group had been billed as a fluid one, open to anyone in town, and I was prepared for a literary discussion, which was apparently
what took place when men attended. Tonight there were only women, seven of us ranging in age from thirty to sixty. I had met a few of them ten years before, though hadn’t known them well, but that didn’t seem to matter. I was instantly drawn into the conversation, which began with my being a lawyer and moved to a legal thriller one of the women had read, then to a paranormal thriller another had read, then to a nonfiction book on the appeal of these kinds of books.

It seemed that it had to do with why we read thrillers, why we were here tonight.

The store was closed, and though we started out in a small sitting area, we began wandering the aisles looking for one book or another to make a point. We were in Biography with the likes of Thomas Jefferson, Admiral Robert Peary, and Coco Chanel, sitting on the floor with our coffee, when the front door dinged.

Our leader looked back, then at us again. Eyes wide, she put a finger to her lips. “We aren’t here.”

“Hello?” called a male voice, as deep as it was familiar.

Chapter 15
 

I was on my feet in a second and at the door in two. Throwing my arms around him, I held on for several more, before easing back. His jaw wore only a five o’clock shadow this time, but his work slacks were wrinkled from the drive, his sleeves haphazardly rolled. Despite its perfect styling, his hair was a mess, and his eyes were tired. I searched for pleasure in them, but couldn’t see past the fatigue. He did have his arms around my waist. That was a good sign. But they were heavy and, once there, didn’t move.

“Hey,” I whispered. “How’d you know we were here?”

“Who’s we?” he whispered back.

I might have called them book friends and left it at that, but something inside me wanted him to see—actually, wanted
them
to see. Later I would realize that the publicity of his being here was good. Now, though, all I could think was that, even tired, he looked gorgeous, and he was mine.

Taking his hand, I led him to the others. “Hey, guys, this is my husband. James, meet Monica, Shelly, Jill, Angela, and Jane—and Vickie, the Book V, who owns the store.”

He smiled politely at each, but quickly murmured to me, “I’m half asleep. Got a bed?”

I’m sure I left a grin or two behind, but my eyes stayed on James. Raising my free hand in a backward wave, I led him back to the door. The night was warm under a blanket of clouds, but I wasn’t interested in stars or the moon. I was worried; James really did look beat. I was delighted; he had driven all this way
again
. I was curious.

“Did Vicki send you over?” I asked, and slipped an arm through his to keep him close as I steered him toward the inn.

“Yeah.” His hand found mine, fingers lacing, locking. I wanted to think he needed the closeness as much as I did. But his fingers were tense, reminding me of my own body when I had first left New York.

“You drove straight from work?”

“Left at four,” he said in a voice that was lower than ever, as if it, too, was bone-weary. “Dumb move, rush—rush hour and all.”

“Has work been rough?”

“You could say.”

I didn’t ask more.
Wouldn’t
ask more. Work was the enemy here, or one of them.

And another? At the sound of a low vibration, James dug in his pocket and pulled out a phone. His step didn’t falter as he studied the screen, typed something with his thumb, repocketed the phone.

“Is that a new one?” I asked.

“The firm got a deal. It’s the latest.”

The latest. That was swell. I didn’t say it, because I knew my sarcasm would come through, and I didn’t want his visit to start with that. Besides, he looked too tired for words.

We walked the last little way in silence. When I guided him up the driveway, he said, “Back door?”

“Actually, a separate one,” I replied, going past the inn to the gardener’s shed. I felt him balk when I reached for the knob.

He scratched the back of his head in a familiar, open-palm, vaguely facetious gesture, and said in a voice that was deep enough,
raspy
enough to be sexy as hell, “Uh, babe, I think I need a bed this time.”

“It’s here.”

I let him precede me. The place was small enough—okay,
tiny
enough—for him to take it in at a glance, but the bed was a voluminous queen, and though it took most of the space, Vicki had managed to squeeze in a wardrobe and bench. The bathroom, which had been added at the time of the conversion, was spacious and posh enough to make up for what the bedroom lacked.

Shutting out the world, I leaned against the door and waited for James to take me in his arms. Glimpses of Friday night rippled from mind to body. Watching him, all long legs, broad back, and ruffled hair, I was ready.

He had his shirt off in no time, then dropped onto the bench and removed his belt, shoes, and socks. He paused with his pants only to dig out the phone, which must have hummed against his thigh, because he held it, read the screen, and typed in a response. It remained in his right hand while his left drew back the covers. He put the phone on the tiny lamp table on his way down, made a sound that might have been relief, and was quickly asleep.

No. Apparently we weren’t only about sex.

But I knew what he felt. I had been where he was, so tired that I couldn’t talk. I sat on the bed for a while, thinking that a second trip here had to mean something. And that sound he had made right before falling asleep? Relief to be with me? Relief to be prone? Relief to be lying on clean, fresh sheets?

Or was it the woods that had lulled him to sleep? He had to have smelled pine and earth; they permeated the room. Then again, it had taken me a while to be able to smell again. My first night here, I was on overload to the point of numbness.

Recalling how Vicki had pampered me, I slipped back to the main house while James slept, and raided the fridge. I returned with cold drinks and a sandwich, and had barely—ever so stealthily—opened the door when I saw James sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Where’d you go?” he asked, sounding hoarse and unnerved.

I held up the food. “Hungry?”

He barely moved. “Tell me that guy was in the kitchen.”

Having been consumed by
this
guy for the last little while, I was slow to follow. “Jude? Why are you thinking about Jude?”

“Was he?”

“No.” I was guarded. “How do you know he’s in town?”

“Didn’t know. Guessed. Don’t care. Com’ere.”

Setting the food on the bench, I approached the bed, kicking off my sneakers and, as he watched, the rest of my clothes. He was reaching for me before the last were barely gone, pulling me under him and kissing me hard.

What happened then was even wilder than it had been in the woods, and not just on his part. Filled with his scent and the familiar texture of his body, I couldn’t get enough. I took and demanded more. I figured that simply for not calling me back, he owed me this.

He was gasping loudly when it was done. Tucking me under his arm, he held me close. “What was
that
?”

It was a minute before I could speak. Finally, with my cheek to his shoulder, I managed a weak “Fresh air. Absence. Heightened senses.”

“You missed me?” he asked with an audible smile.

“I did.”

He released a lengthening breath. “So. Tell me about him.”

I snuggled closer. “Not now.”

“I need to know. How long’s he been back?”

I might have gone off on a
Jude doesn’t matter
tangent. Except that Jude did matter to James, and he would jump to the wrong conclusion if I didn’t explain.

“A week,” I said.

His body didn’t change—didn’t tense up or pull back—didn’t even
freeze
, just stayed eerily still. “That’s coincidental.”

“Yes. When I left, I had no plans to come here.”

“Did you know he’d be here?”

I came up over him then, wanting his eyes to see mine. “The
truth, James? He wrote saying he’d be back at the end of the month. I thought I could get here and be gone before he arrived. He didn’t know I was coming. He just showed up earlier.”

“And you didn’t leave once you saw him here?”

“Why would I? I told you. I didn’t come for him.”

“Right. The old college roommate. The sister.” He looked skeptical.

“It was more than that,” I said, because the James with me now was … 
with
me. He was listening and thinking. “That summer was different. I was out of college and into law school. I wasn’t worried about my résumé. I was free here. There were no limits, no expectations. I did what I wanted when I wanted, and my parents let me, because I was with Vicki. I had no responsibility. No cares. No demands.
That
was what I came back for. To
breathe.
”

He considered, and said a tentative “Okay. And the dreams weren’t of Jude?”

“What I remember of them was the coyote. Did I actually say Jude’s name?”

“No,” he admitted. “Your mom mentioned him. After that, I kept hearing his name. Imagining it.”

I touched his face. “You do not need to worry. Trust me. Please?”

Raising a hand to the back of my head, he brought my face close, but the kiss was tender, gentle as the breath that followed. “It was never like this before.”

“It was,” I mused, laying my head on his chest. His heartbeat was steady, steady. “At the start.”

He was silent for a minute, then wry. “Go on. I’m not sure I’ll like it, but you have a theory.”

“I was stunted in the city. Here I’m alive.”

He was quiet again before murmuring, “Nope, not what I want to hear.” Without looking, he stretched out an arm. When he brought it back up, his hand held the phone. After reading the screen, he pressed several buttons. I wanted to think he was turning it off, but the screen remained lit. He dropped it on the bed by his hip.

“I can’t leave New York, Em. It’s everything I’ve always wanted.”

“Everything how?”

“The practice. The money.”

“I don’t care about money. Money doesn’t matter.”

“It does if we want to live in New York.”

“Were we enjoying the money? Were we doing things with it that mattered? No. We didn’t have time. You’re a runner, but you haven’t run in months, and okay, let’s talk about your practice. Are you really, honestly, handling the kinds of cases you dreamed of? Because I’m not.” I came up on an elbow, again needing to look him in the eye. “Yes, I know, we have jobs and other lawyers don’t—and yes, I know that we have a mortgage and loans, and need the money—and
yes
, we’re paying our dues. But look at Walter. He’s an equity partner. Total job security there, no loans and a
huge
monthly draw, but he’s leading the same crazy lifestyle we are.”

James made a dismissive sound. “That’s Walter.”

“It’s every high-level lawyer I know,” I insisted, to which he pulled me over so that I lay on him, and cupped my face in his hands. His eyes went from my eyes to my lips. When he kissed me this time, his mouth was eloquent.

I knew when I was being silenced. But he was also making me feel loved, and I was so hungry for that—gratified, reassured,
light-headed
—that I didn’t protest. By the time we had made love again, I was back to thinking about whether sex was the one thing we could agree on. By then he was snoring softly.

I slept, too, though nowhere near as soundly as he did. The slightest movement he made had me awake, fearful that he was slinking out again in the dark when we still had to talk.

In the end, though, the only talking done in the dark that night was in the woods. The gardener’s shed was front row center in this particular concert hall, and my coyotes the marquee event. I heard barks and yips backing up a duet of howls. During one particular stretch, I opened the window, half hoping that the sounds would wake James, but they didn’t.

What woke him was the phone.

What woke me was his swearing as he fished through the bed-sheets to locate the ring. I looked over my shoulder and watched him answer.

“Good morning.” Sounding groggy, he squinted at his watch and swore again, this time under his breath. “Nine. I see it, Mark. I’m sorry. I must have slept through the alarm,” he lied, and, bowing his head, rubbed the back of his neck. “I know. At eight. How did it go?” As he listened, he rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger. “Okay. I can do that, but not today. I can’t hold my—my head up. Yeah, must be. A lot of that going around.” He was quiet. “No. Nothing’s going on. No, Emily’s great. Yeah. I understand. I’ll be there tomorrow.”