Finding Home (17 page)

And
it was nice, she thought a little while later. Surprisingly nice to linger over a meal. To have a conversation that didn't dissolve into sound bites because one or the other of them was in a hurry to be done. Or because an argument was pending.

They sat and talked. About the house, about his day. About hers. If she didn't know better, she would have said they'd both walked through a time warp that went back some twenty years or more. When they were first starting out. When Brad had been willing to share his day and been curious about hers.

Maybe it was the candles, she mused. They'd shut off the flashlights to conserve them and used just the candles for light. They had cast just enough illumination to make the meal spectacularly romantic.

She'd even forgotten she was eating salmon.

“This was good,” he told her, retiring his fork on top of the plate.

She smiled. He barely noticed what he ate these days. Had she known he'd be this nice, she would have handed him a screwdriver and pointed him toward a light switch years ago.

“Glad you liked it.”

Leaning over, she took his plate and then placed it on top of her own. Silverware clinked together as she started to get up.

Brad placed his hand on hers. “Don't go yet.”

“It's just to the kitchen. To do the dishes,” she said, as if she hadn't done this a thousand times before. Although, she'd never done it in a Brad-generated power failure.

Brad shook his head, his hand still on hers. “The dishes'll keep.”

“The dishes'll get crusty,” she told him.

Releasing her hand, he rose and took both plates in his. He walked into the kitchen with them. Stacey was on her feet, two steps behind him. “Wait, I didn't mean for you to do them.”

The light from the dining room faintly seeped into the kitchen. He placed the dishes in the sink, then picked up the larger of the two flashlights she'd left on the counter, turning it on. Leaving it on the counter, he turned on the water in the sink.

“I know,” he told her. Once he opened the cabinet beneath the sink, he rummaged around for the detergent, knocking over containers. “Not exactly much I can do in the dark. Watching the news is out.”

Stacey squatted down beside him. Her hand went right to the detergent. They rose to their feet together.

“You could try reading,” she told him, squirting a little of the detergent on the top dish.

“Eyestrain,” he countered. “Besides, looking at you is easier on the eyes than trying to read newspaper print in limited light.” Crossing his arms, he leaned his back against the counter. Watching her. “Have you noticed they're using smaller print these days?”

The hazards of getting older, Stacey thought, passing a scouring brush along the surface of the first dish. She'd given
up the fight against reading glasses just this spring. Brad had followed suit not long afterward.

“Yes, I noticed.” A smile played on her lips. “Someone should write to the editor, make him aware of that,” she added, tongue in cheek.

He nodded. “Someone should.” After picking up a dish towel, he took the wet dish from her and dried it. “I'm sorry about the electricity.”

She shrugged, not wanting to dwell on the mishap. “The governor is always saying we should cut back on our consumption of electricity.”

Brad laughed. “I doubt if this was what he had in mind.” And then, as he continued drying the second dish, all but massaging it, he grew serious. “But I really am sorry.”

He paused as a sigh escaped his lips. He debated saying more, or just letting it drop. But tonight, he didn't feel like letting things drop. Tonight, standing here in the dark, he remembered another time when there had been no electricity. When there hadn't been enough money to pay the bill and they had spent the weekend in darkness until Stacey could bring the payment to one of Southern California Edison's branch offices. “I guess I just started feeling inadequate.”

She turned off the water and stared at him. If anyone should be the picture of confidence, it was Brad. He had all sorts of plaques in the den, honoring him, honoring his efforts. “You? Why?”

“Because…” Damn, this was hard for him to get out. He was tempted to wave his hand and mumble, “Never mind,” But the dark wouldn't let him. He tried again. “Because these people, the men who come to work here—when they come
to work—some of them can't string together two coherent sentences. But they can
build
something—and I can't even put in a light dimmer,” he said in disgust.

“You could if you ever watched it being done.”

He raised his eyes to her face, surprised she came so quickly to his defense. But then, why should he be surprised? Stacey had always been on his side. When they were starting out, she'd been there with him every step of the way. And he had gotten his degree, and she had gotten—forgotten, he thought with a pang.

“Brad, listen to me.” She took his hands in hers. Her eyes were intent as she looked up at him. “These people wouldn't know how to build our shower, or hang doors or even the right way to paint, without having seen it done once—or a dozen times.” She lifted a shoulder in a gesture that swiftly dismissed those talents. “You could do the same thing in half the time, with half the observation.”

Brad smiled at her words, at the intensity behind them. All for his benefit. “You don't really believe that.”

Her eyes widened. “Yes, I do. I've always thought that you could do anything you put your mind to.
Anything,
” she emphasized with such conviction, she almost had him convinced that she meant what she said.

“I suppose,” he allowed with a smile so reminiscent of the man she'd fallen in love with. “I won you.”

She laughed. He might smile like the man she fell in love with, but his memory was certainly present day—and foggy.

“That wasn't exactly ‘winning,' Brad. To win, you would have had to have been in some sort of a contest. As I remember it, you stood still long enough for me to catch up
and throw my arms around you.” Since they were telling each other things, and the darkness seemed to be absolving them of past sins, she shared one more thing with him. Something that had rested heavily on her chest all these years, especially as they grew further apart. “I used to feel that if I hadn't made it so easy for you, maybe you would have appreciated me more.”

He looked at her, surprised that she could have that kind of thought. That kind of doubt about his feelings. “I do appreciate you.”

She wondered if he actually believed what he was saying. To an outsider, his actions said differently. And all she had were his actions, because Brad was hardly ever vocal about what was going on inside of him.

“Sometimes it's very hard to tell,” she told him quietly.

Brad began to protest, but then he shut his mouth. Instead, he took the glass she had just picked up to wash out of her hand and felt around behind him for the counter. He wasn't looking at the counter because he was too busy looking at her.

Remembering the girl she had once been. Remembering the woman she had become. The woman who had given him so much pleasure, when he'd been there to receive it. It occurred to him, just then, that they had grown up together. And then, somehow, grown apart. Couldn't there be one without the other?

It was really silly. Her heart began to race. Race because the man whom she knew better than herself had touched her.

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

She couldn't remember the last time that Brad had made
any kind of romantic overtures toward her outside of their bedroom. And even that was difficult to remember.

When he didn't answer, she asked, “Brad, are you flirting with me?”

“Doing my damnedest,” he told her. “I guess I'm out of practice.”

She held her breath as she threaded her arms around his neck. Everything inside of her felt like smiling. “They tell me that it's like riding a bicycle. You never really forget how.”

“I never learned how to ride a bicycle, either,” he told her.

Stacey's eyes widened. She didn't know that about him. They'd never attempted to go bike-riding, never talked about it. When the children had reached that age, she'd been the one to teach them how to ride a bicycle because he was never home.

After all these years, something new. Who would have thought?

She grinned. “And still you went to the head of the class,” she marveled. “I guess you were always destined for greatness.”

From out of nowhere, like an old friend he'd lost touch with, his love for her overwhelmed him. Brad lowered his mouth and kissed her.

In the background, he heard the two dogs beginning to make noise, each animal jealous of the attention.

He felt Stacey's lips curving against his. Brad drew his head back slightly. “What?”

“First it was the kids, now it's the pets. I'm beginning to remember why it was always such a challenge for us to be alone in the early years.”

“Wait right here,” Brad told her as he stepped back into the dining room. Both dogs followed closely behind him.

She peered into the next room and saw him extinguishing the candles. “What are you up to?”

“Making sure we're not interrupted by the fire department.” Returning, he brushed by her and smiled. “Now, where was I?”

She fully expected him to resume kissing her. Instead, Brad picked up the large flashlight from the counter and handed it to her. As she took it from him, Stacey found herself becoming airborne. He'd scooped her up in his arms.

“Brad?”

“Hold that thought,” he instructed, making his way through the foyer to the stairs.

“Brad, put me down,” she insisted. “You'll hurt your back.”

He gave no indication that he was about to listen to her. “And you'll hurt my pride if you point out any more things I'm not capable of doing.”

He was right, Stacey thought. The male ego was fragile. There was no way she was going to damage his, especially not right now.

Stacey held on to his neck with one hand and with the other, illuminated the way up the stairs.

When he came to the landing, Brad was breathing a bit heavier than she was happy about, but she kept that to herself. Underneath it all, he was still the boy she'd married.

“Well, that was nice,” she told him once her feet touched the floor again.

Brad said nothing. Instead, he cupped her face and brought his mouth down to hers.

With a sigh, she sank into the kiss, remembering how wonderful it all had once been.

Brad
drew her into their bedroom, half of which was still in the throes of being remodeled. The mirrored doors fronting the old closet were still up. They captured the single beam from the flashlight Brad had tossed into the room, casting it back at them like shooting stars.

Just outside the windows, on either side of the California king-size bed, the moon presented its full face, illuminating part of the room more brightly than the flashlight.

They made love like two strangers, familiar with the rituals and what to expect, but completely taken by surprise as the particulars began to emerge.

Stacey found herself moving backward, as if in a dance whose melody she heard only in her head. Felt in her bones. His mouth sealed to hers, draining away her soul, Brad guided her to the foot of their bed.

The eagerness she tasted on his lips was something she hadn't anticipated.

They had known each other and made love with each other since the beginning of time, although far more sparingly in the past ten, twelve years.

The novelty of it had vanished. Lovemaking had become comfortable between them, done by the numbers. There were
no longer any unexpected moves, no sudden thrills exploding out of nowhere. Just a steady building until the final satisfying release.

Brad had always been a good lover, a thoughtful lover, whenever he finally got around to it. But those times had grown few and far between and, as time went on, some resentment built within her. Resentment because, however unintentionally, Brad had made her feel like a supplicant in her own marriage bed. As if the act of lovemaking meant far more to her than it did to him. But this time was different.

This time, from the moment he kissed her on the landing, she could feel something unusual taking place. It was almost like the first time. Except that there was no fumbling. Only eagerness.

Rather than languid, the way their kisses had become, the kiss he pressed to her parted lips was fiery. In one instant, his embrace took away her breath, her very ability to think.

Not that she was busy mentally planning the household budget or laying out next month's schedule when they made love. She couldn't solve geometry problems in her head while their bodies were involved with building friction and momentum, but she
was
conscious of the moves. As well as conscious of the sounds coming from somewhere outside their bedroom window. She was never so taken away by what was happening on their mattress that she wasn't able to hear a plane flying overheard. Or a car screeching to a stop to avoid a near collision. Or the neighbor's dog barking, answering some imagined challenge in the distance.

But this time, as Brad's skillful hands roamed along her body, tantalizing her, drawing away her clothing one article
at a time until she was rendered completely nude, her heart began to accelerate until it hammered wildly in her chest. She wasn't even sure how it managed to remain within her body. It felt as if, any second, her heart would break free.

Her pulse echoed the rhythm, deepening, intensifying, until her body literally vibrated with anticipation. With effort, she focused, forcing herself to concentrate instead of allowing her mind to completely surrender to liquefaction. As much as she wanted to absorb, to ride out the hurricane in all its glory, she needed to be an active participant.

Mimicking Brad's movements, she tugged his shirt out of his pants, undoing the buttons one at a time so that she could push the material off his shoulders. With one sharp movement that visibly stole his breath and gave her a sense of empowerment, Stacey unhooked his belt, then opened the catch at the top.

When they'd first gotten married, he'd had a twenty-eight-inch waist and she'd faced the challenge of trying to find dress pants for him with that waist and thirty-four-inch inseam. It hadn't been easy. Nothing about their early life together had been easy, but the memories that lingered were wonderful.

In twenty-six years, Brad had only gained three inches on his waist, even though he no longer worked out the way he once had. Then it had been almost a religion for him, a way to release the pent-up tension that had no other outlet. But he'd gotten away from that for the most part, like everything else.

Even so, she knew he was still a hell of a catch. Not just because he was a doctor, but because he was still young-looking, still handsome. Still vital.

Still desirable, she thought.

Desire raced through her now. She was eager for the ultimate mingling, yet wanting desperately to savor every nuance of this. It had been years since they had been this intense. Years since this much want had raced through her veins. Had all but brought tears to her eyes. He was making her body sing.

Oh, God, she'd missed this. Missed the teeth-jarring, hot sex that made her feel every inch a woman. As he possessed her, Stacey curled her body into his, her hands raking over all his well-known spaces.

Stacey bit her lip as she felt his fingers delve into her. Catching her breath, her head spinning, she returned the favor and touched him intimately. And heard a guttural sound of appreciation escape his lips. It made her almost wild with desire.

She had no idea why, no explanation for this sudden surge in her veins. All she knew was that the degree of passion she was experiencing had not visited her for a very long, long time.

Her breathing became shallow and she could hardly catch her breath. But if she was going to die this way, so be it. She'd go with a smile on her lips.

Brad had no idea what had triggered this intense surge. He wanted to ravage her. This was his wife, for pity's sake, a woman whose body he knew even better than his own. And yet, there was a newness here, a feeling that had been absent for so long that he hardly recognized it when it reappeared.

Desire, hot and intense. Raw. Branding him as it made its demands.

He didn't know whether it was the lack of light, the fact that half the house seemed to be in a state of upheaval, or
that she didn't care that he couldn't wield a hammer. Whatever the reason, Stacey seemed different tonight. More like the woman he'd once known.

She was still Stacey, and yet she wasn't. All he really knew was that whoever she was, he wanted her. Wanted her the way he hadn't wanted her for a very long time.

Maybe all it was was a midlife crisis, he didn't know. He didn't care. Because the feeling was exquisite and he had missed it. Missed feeling this alive. Missed feeling this degree of excitement just over touching her. Over anticipating the final passage into a euphoric state that he knew evaporated far too quickly.

For once in his life, logic did not negate anticipation.

Brad filled his hands with her, enjoying the softness of her skin, the heat of her body as she turned and twisted beneath him. He kissed her over and over again, each kiss building on the last.

Each kiss promising more to come.

This wasn't the comfortable lovemaking he was accustomed to, the anticipated release of tension and stress that waited for him at the end. This had fire and passion and allure. And he found it irresistible.

His mind was a complete blank. All that remained was the wanting. It was pure and unstrained and he marveled at the fact that he had allowed everything else to get in the way. To make him forget just how good it could be between them.

Tucking her body against his, Brad raised his body until he was positioned over her. Her eyes spoke to him, calling to him. He could feel his heart reaching out to hers. Entwin
ing his fingers with hers, he raised his hips and then drove himself into her.

Sheathed himself within her as everything,
everything
else faded into oblivion. Everything but the pounding rhythm that echoed within both of them. He moved faster and faster, until he reached the end.

Crying out her name.

It hadn't been this good in so long that he couldn't recall the last time. Brad held on to the momentum, the sensation, as hard as he could.

And then came the afterglow.

The afterglow clung to him with a tenacity that gladdened his heart even as it surprised him. And made him remember, ever so faintly, another time, another place, when nothing else mattered as much as Stacey did.

When had he lost that?

With every ounce of strength he had available to him, Brad hung on to that feeling, that memory. And let the soft, faint scent of her shampoo, the one that reminded him of almonds and vanilla, fill his head and his senses.

And for a brief, brief moment, it pushed away everything else.

He tightened his arms around her, experiencing emotions that were all but foreign to him.