Stolen Moments (28 page)

“Mmm, at least I got a little taste of you.” She opens her mouth and sucks me off her slick fingers. I shiver as the aftershocks of my orgasm wash through me. I lean in and kiss her once again, this time my taste fresh on her lips.

Lazily, I tuck in my shirt and button my pants, rubbing my face as I smile. I bend down and pick up my lab coat, the taste of her still potent and fresh on my mouth and chin.

“Don’t take that,” she says, walking over to me in worn jeans and a tight-fitting blouse. She grins impishly and takes the coat from my hands. “I want a follow-up appointment sometime and, well, I might want to wear it again.”

I nod, my throat too tight to speak. She moves by me, brushing my cheek with her hand as she goes. With a slight smile, she opens the door and walks back out of my life. And as I try my best to gather my thoughts, my hand trembles once again as I massage my lips, desperate to feel her there all over again. I step back into the hallway where her scent lingers, and I wonder if I’ll ever see her again. I move on to the next room and swallow hard, still feeling the warm silk of her sliding down into me. The cold darkness that had been eating away at me is momentarily stifled and I smile a little, knowing it was her doing, her choice. I grab the next chart and leaf through it as I think of her. Whether she’s with me or not, one thing is for certain. There is no cure for the ache of wanting her. The ache will always be there.

Riding a train for twenty hours is not something I would ordinarily choose to do. In fact, my idea of traveling is a first-class seat on a nonstop flight with an Airfone and power source at every seat. Then, while a flight attendant silently and efficiently brings me endless cups of coffee and occasional sustenance, I can work on my computer. With my headphones on and a selection of instrumentals on my iPod creating a false but comforting sense of isolation, I can lose myself for hours.

That had been my intention until ten hours ago, when the arrival of an unexpected and decidedly unseasonable blizzard in the Ohio Valley grounded every flight going in and out of anywhere for five hundred miles in every direction. To make matters worse, it was already late on Friday afternoon of the holiday weekend when the word came that all flights were canceled, and I couldn’t get another one for at least forty-eight hours. By then, the holiday would have passed.

So there I was, along with a hundred other people, sandwiched into an Amtrak coach car designed to hold two-thirds that number. It was hot, everyone was cranky, and worst of all, I couldn’t use my computer because I didn’t have a seat. Hell is a day without Internet access. God only knew what decisions were being made in my absence, what critical discussions going on without benefit of my experience, what formative plans being instituted without my input. I smiled at my own sense of self-importance, knowing that my silence undoubtedly echoed loudest in my own ears.

“If you can find something to smile about today,” a molasses-thick voice drawled, “you simply must share.”

I looked down upon a visage worthy of El Greco—eyes dark as midnight, skin the color of sun-bleached desert sand, vermilion lips full and moist. Her face as she looked up at me was level with the buttons on my 501s. And about two inches away. I had the instant urge to take a step back, but I couldn’t. Someone’s elbow was firmly planted in the middle of my back, and from the feel of the people leaning into me on either side, I was providing a convenient resting post for more than one. I actually heard a soft snore just behind my left ear.

“Laugh or cry,” I said, trying for a shrug but barely managing a twitch. “And right now,
my
day is looking a whole lot better.”

She smiled, a knowing smile, and shook her head as if to say my lack of subtlety was more amusing than offensive. I was glad for that, because the movement made her shoulder-length, wavy black hair swing across my thighs, and I imagined I felt the subtle brush of silk on skin even through the coarse denim. For just an instant, I saw us naked on flawless white sheets, sunlight filtering through gauzy curtains, the air, heavy and still, shifting about us on a sultry breeze. Mediterranean heat, cerulean sky, sweat-slicked skin…

“What?” she asked.

“What?” I echoed inanely, the sensation of her fingertips trailing down my abdomen so acute I shuddered.

“You said something.”

I started to deny it, but she went on, “It sounded like you said
beautiful
.”

In that instant, the conductor turned the lights down in the train car, low enough for the comfort of those who could manage to sleep, but still providing enough illumination so those who needed to move around could do so without stepping on unsuspecting fellow travelers.

It made no difference that her face flickered in and out of the shadows cast by the moonlight or that the spotty illumination from occasional buildings as we streaked past gave me only glimpses of her eyes, shining brighter than the dim lighting allowed. The image of us together was crystal clear. I could feel her naked limbs, lithe and supple, twining around me. Her dusk-tipped breasts, high and firm, just kissed mine as she curved above me, thighs straddling my waist. A tiny rivulet of clean sweet sweat trickled down the center of her abdomen to disappear into the secrets hidden between her thighs. I shook my head.

“If I said
beautiful
, it was an understatement.”

With a self-deprecating laugh, she disagreed. “I can’t imagine what you see that makes you say that.”

“If I told you, you’d think me forward.”

“I doubt that. You seem quite appropriate to me.”

I couldn’t prevent my voice from deepening, because my throat had suddenly gone thick and dry. “Then I know you’re not reading my mind.”

A blush does wondrous things to skin the color of hers. It glows, more than darkens, and invites a touch. My right hand was less than an inch from her cheek. As the train rounded a curve with the screech of metal on metal, my hip caught the edge of her seat, and I stumbled. As I struggled to maintain my footing in the unforgiving space, further unbalancing myself, I reached out automatically for an anchor. I felt first heat, then incredible softness, then the whisper of wings fluttering across my skin. Was that the brush of lips across my palm? My hand landed on her seat back, just behind her head.

“Careful,” she murmured, placing her hand on the center of my thigh to steady me.

Long fingers, slender but strong. Like her. She fanned her hand slowly back and forth across my leg, slow small strokes that might have been only the movement of the train transmitted through her body. I could feel each fingertip, round firm points of pleasure. The heat seared my skin, and I shivered. How could fire burn like ice?

“Why don’t we switch places?” she said from far away, her voice barely penetrating the roaring in my head. “You can’t stand for the next ten hours.”

“I’m okay,” I croaked, sounding anything but. The muscles in my leg quivered uncontrollably, and she rubbed her hand in a small circle in response.

“What makes you think a girl like me wouldn’t want to be chivalrous?” She smiled as she chided me, and her words sent the shiver coursing along my spine. This time it wasn’t cool, but scorching.

Her hand remained on my leg, her eyes on mine. Her lips, still curved in gentle reprimand, were parted ever so slightly, and moisture glistened on their velvet surface.

“What makes you think a girl like me wouldn’t want to be rescued?” I hoped I sounded steadier than I felt.

Her gaze took me in from head to toe, and I saw myself as she must. Brown hair just long enough not to be thought short, tousled from too many frustrated hand-thrusts throughout the course of an endless day; rumpled white shirt; frayed jeans; a black leather coat that swung at midthigh; and scuffed, heavy-soled black boots. Not exactly your picture of a damsel in distress.

She arched one elegant brow, silently mocking. I laughed, and so did she.

“All right. Point taken,” I conceded.

Then, in a move that caught me completely off guard, she abruptly stood in the narrow space between her seat and the one in front of it. She angled to face me as she came upright, and her breasts brushed over my stomach and then nestled quite naturally against mine. Her mouth was kissing close as she steadied herself with a hand against my shoulder.

“We can both stand,” she murmured, “or you can sit down for a while.”

Without thinking, I braced my right hand on the top of the seat she had just vacated and slid my left beneath her silk blazer to rest on the curve of her hip. Her pelvis rocked gently against mine, and we swayed body-to-body in time with the motion of the train as it glided along the tracks into the night. Those who surrounded us paid no attention, lulled by the rhythm of the rails and dulled by the fatigue and frustration of the day.

“I’d rather stand all night,” I whispered, my breath lifting the strands of hair that clung to her cheek, “than give up being this close to you.”

“What I’m planning won’t take all night.”

She hooked her fingers inside the waistband of my jeans, nudging my shirt aside until the backs of her fingers brushed my skin. The muscles in my stomach jumped, and she made a sound in her throat that reminded me of purring. In a move so subtle it barely registered at first, she flicked the top button of my fly open with her thumb. It wasn’t until the second was loosed that I realized what she’d done. The shock was followed by an instant flood of desire, and I knew that if she reached the third she would feel the evidence of my arousal on her fingers.

“What are you doing?” I groaned softly, my lips against her ear.

She turned her head and pressed a kiss along my jaw. “
You
know.”

“What about…?” Helplessly I tilted my head toward the dark forms around us.

“We’re safe,” she whispered. “I’m watching.”

She turned her palm to cup me and dipped her fingers inside my jeans. I lurched forward with the sudden jolt of pleasure, but she braced herself and stopped my fall. I clutched the seat in front of us with my left hand, both arms stiff and trembling as she slowly, carefully, explored. My thighs fused to hers, rigid columns threatening to crack under the strain of my arousal. Her fingertips found the stiff core of my need and she deftly strummed my straining clitoris to the point of explosion. The coiling tension rose and fell in the pit of my stomach with each stroke of her hand, my orgasm gathering with each pulse of the engines pulling us through the dark.

The surface of my skin tingled and my vision wavered. I mouthed the words but no sound escaped.

You’re going to make me come.

Her eyes were fierce, riveted to mine, and I saw my pleasure reflected in her face. The corner of her mouth lifted into a satisfied smile when I tilted my hips to take her further inside, muscles clenching spasmodically with each wave of sensation—one following upon the other, coming fast, faster. The clatter of steel on steel, the rush of flesh to flesh, the thunder of machine and magic in my blood drove me over. I don’t know when I stopped breathing, or when I uttered the first helpless cry, but she curled the long fingers of her free hand around my neck and drew my face against her shoulder, muffling the paean of my release.

Other than turning my face to her shoulder, I had not moved, despite the bone-melting force of my climax. We were as alone as any two lovers in that instant of consummation, and she was all I knew.

My breath returned as the pulsations gently ebbed and she withdrew on a sigh. I was shaking, my legs too weak to hold me. Gracefully, she pivoted, sliding an arm around my waist and guiding me down into the seat she had vacated. With her arm outstretched along the headrest, she leaned down and spoke so that only I could hear.

“This is one time I really don’t mind standing. When you catch your breath, I’ll be waiting.”

She straightened, and I rested my cheek against her thigh, eternally grateful for the unexpected snow, the last train from Baltimore, and standing room only.

We walk for what seems like hours through a maze of tunnels, the sunlight left farther behind with each corridor that leads us deeper into the cavernous building. Door after door requires a card-key or passcode for entry.

“Are you sure I’m supposed to be here with you?” you ask nervously, as if thinking this must surely be a top-secret location.

Laughing, I respond, “Don’t worry, Jay. It’s all right. I’ve got the weekend graveyard shift, and no one will be here. Even if someone shows up, it’ll take at least forty-five minutes to get down to where we’re going.”

I take your hand and lead you through one more door, this time using an old-fashioned handle to gain entry. A rush of cool air brushes our skin as the heavy steel door swings open, revealing its hidden treasures. You stand in awe as you take in the scene—row after row of monitors light up the darkness, tiny LEDs blinking here and there, and a quiet hum of energy pulses throughout the room. An eerie green glow casts its shadow on the walls. As our eyes adjust to the light, a couple of desks, filing cabinets, and two beds over in the corner come into focus.

“This is amazing! I can’t believe…”

Finally grasping the situation, you turn to me with a glint in your eye. “So, Missy,” you ask, flashing that lopsided grin I know so well, “are you sure we’re alone down here?”