Turn Left at Sanity, page 23
“Don’t worry, it’s supposed to do that.” She put her hands on the bottom of her tank top and yanked it over her head. He didn’t much care if the entire place flooded. He was looking once more at a pair of the nicest breasts he’d ever seen.
As he’d suspected, there’d been no bra under there. When she stepped out of her jeans, there was nothing left but a bright pink thong.
He wanted to remove it himself, and before he’d formed words, she was sliding the pink slip of fabric down her legs and off.
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She glanced at him standing there. “Well? It’s for two.”
“Right,” he managed. “Right.”
He was as naked as she in seconds. The tub was still bubbling and gurgling, and the water was rising, but at a very sedate pace thanks to the drain in the bottom.
“You still don’t get it, do you?” she said looking at his face.
“Get what?”
“I like to call this one Lady’s Choice.” She stepped in and settled herself on a marble seat; as the water gushed around her, she let her legs slip apart. There was nothing random about the way the water flowed, and once more he was reminded of the fountain in the foyer.
With more haste than elegance, he scrambled into the copilot’s seat behind her.
Warm water gurgled and sloshed around them, emitting the aroma of rotten eggs. “Couldn’t the genius doctor have done something about the smell?”
“It’s the sulfur. All good springs smell. You’ll get used to it.”
“I could definitely get used to this,” he said, slipping his hands around her and cupping her breasts.
“Mmmm.” She was already closing her eyes and leaning back against him. He kissed her neck, where steam-dampened tendrils were already clinging. The water was perfect, hot but not too hot, so you could stay in here a while if you had a mind to. Or, based on the sounds already coming from Emmylou, be out pretty damned quick if you so desired.
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Her breasts were wet and slick. He’d have liked some soap or gel, but of course there wasn’t any, so he made do with the water, splashing it up onto her chest and following the track of the water with his fingertips. Her nipples beaded and her head fell back against him.
He reached down under the bubbling water to the center of her body, where water streamed in a steady flow. He intercepted it, pressing a hand against her. She bucked against him, part protest, and part longing for more. He could feel the beat of the water against his hand, feel its diluted impact on her flesh, which was already swelling with desire.
He sported a smaller version of the marble pillars downstairs, and wanted nothing more than to enact one of the many ideas about sex and health that were no less provocative for being spelled out in Latin.
He hoisted her up and slid into her.
“Oh,” she cried as she settled on his lap. With her legs wide, the water stream hit both of them—it was a strange feeling to have his balls caught in the stream of water, but nice.
For Em it was obviously more than nice. She started to squirm on his lap, milking him as her excitement rose. He found by using his hand to intercept the flow he could slow her down and then slip his fingers away to put her back in the jet’s stream.
She turned her head and kissed him wetly while he felt her excitement build, felt his own keep pace, until there was no stopping the explosion that rocked them.
Afterward, she turned her body all the way
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around so they were pressed chest to chest in the warm bubbling water, and kissing as though they’d soon be torn apart forever.
They didn’t talk much as they used their shirts to dry themselves off and then dragged on their clothes over still damp skin. Once she’d drained the tub and turned the water off again, they headed out, by tacit agreement not bothering with the rest of the tour. Joe had seen what she needed him to see.
This was a place founded on the principals of love and connection. To change its focus to cat poo just wouldn’t be right.
When they got back to the foyer, Joe kissed her, sweet and tender, and she realized she was in trouble when she clung to him, not wanting to break the kiss, not ever.
“Will you do something for me, Emmylou?”
She almost replied, Anything, but stopped herself in time. “What?”
“Will you let me address the community and at least tell them about the positive aspects of this proposed development?”
Oh, lord. She’d been thinking he might ask her to have dinner with him tonight, go back with him to New York, marry him, even, and he wanted to address a town meeting. No wonder she kept her ideas about sex and love separate.
She was good at one and clueless about the other.
Okay, she readjusted her thoughts with an effort. His request was fair and logical. The people of Beaverton deserved a chance to hear his proposal from an unbiased source. However, Joe was a business type and he’d expect some negotiation, so she couldn’t just say yes, even
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though she knew it was a great idea, not least because she knew what Joe didn’t, that no one in this town wanted a factory. They weren’t interested in money and big profits and union wage jobs; they were interested in their eccentric livelihoods and this tiny paradise where anyone could do whatever they liked with their time so long as they didn’t hurt anyone.
If Joe addressed them on the benefits of his mining and factory plan, the people of this town were going to address him right back, and he might learn that there were probably other communities where his program would be a lot more welcome than this one.
She made him wait, as though she were contemplating his request, while she locked up.
When they were outside on the grounds, she put her head to one side and screwed up her face as though she really, really hated this idea.
Then she said, after a suitable pause for reflec-tion, “I’ll tell you what. If I agree to set up this meeting for you, then you have to promise to stay in town for the rest of the week and go and see Gordon Hartnett at the end of it.”
Joe looked at her and raised his eyebrows, but a smile lurked in his pewter blue eyes. “Still trying to save my life?”
“More than ever.”
“So, if I stay for another week, you’ll let me speak to some kind of town meeting.”
“I’ll even organize the meeting.”
He nodded and held out his hand. “Agreed.”
She put out hers to shake, and he pulled her so she tumbled off balance and into his arms, where he kissed her with all the passion she craved. In truth, she was much more pleased
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than she should have been to confirm that he’d be around for the better part of another week.
“Maybe now the mechanic will find time to fix my car.”
“What are—”
“And I’d like to book a flight to check out the local terrain, but maybe you can let the pilot know he doesn’t have to crash the plane or lose his way or something else to ensure I don’t leave town.”
Her mouth felt suddenly dry and her tongue as rubbery as a three-day-old tuna. “Exactly what . . . ?”
“Honey, I am on to you. It was too much of a coincidence that my car didn’t work the same morning that you, who only cook prunes and toast most mornings, had French toast on the go.”
Darn. She never should have tried to appease him with the French toast. What a fool.
“Then, suddenly, there are all these reasons why I should stay.”
“Well!” She manufactured as much indigna-tion as she could under the circumstances. “I hope you don’t think I put you in the hospital!”
And Lord, did she ever hope no one else in her household had, either.
“No. I think you were right about me. My body was getting ready to rebel. I’m glad my stomach blew out before my heart.”
“Really?” This was the best news she’d had in ages. “You recognize that I was right about you?”
“Yes. In a lot of ways I think you may have saved my life.”
Her smile bloomed bigger than the Ameri-
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can Beauty that had opened to full flower this morning.
He held up his index finger. “But like I said, I’m on to you. I’ll stay until this thing is re-solved, so no more pranks. And do you think I could get my car fixed?”
She bit her lip. “I’m not admitting anything.”
“I’m not asking you to.”
“But I’ll talk to the mechanic and see if he can get that car part in a bit sooner.”
“I would really appreciate that.”
He slung an arm around her and they walked back out into the sunshine.
“Hey, Joe?”
“Mmm-hmmm?”
“You’re smarter than you look.”
“So if I’m going to be here another week, can we negotiate the return of my cell phone and laptop?”
“Of course we can.”
“Great.”
“You’re not getting them back. There, we negotiated.”
“Palm pilot?”
She shook her head.
She expected outrage or wheedling, or maybe a few tears and tantrums, but Joe was silent. She glanced over at him. “Did you die from shock?”
“No. But I know when I’m beaten. I don’t have the combination to your safe.”
“Well, that’s a little wimpy. Aren’t you going to try and torture the information out of me or something?”
“ ‘Or something’ sounds good, but I’m probably just going to let it go.”
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“Really?”
“Emmylou, it kills me to tell you this, but you were right. I feel like an addict going cold turkey. I feel twitchy when I wake up and can’t check voice and e-mail. If there’s a second in my day I’m not busy, I’m reaching for the laptop.”
She nodded. No surprise there, except the surprising fact that he’d noticed his own addic-tion. “So the Shady Lady is like the Betty Ford for techno junkies?” She hooked her arm through his. “I like that. What are you finding in those moments when you reach for your fix and it’s not there?”
“Silence.” They walked on for a minute. “In my life there’s no silence. It’s all noise and action, deals and more deals and . . . well, you saw that before I did.”
“And what do you hear in that silence?”
“I don’t know yet.” He blew out a breath. “My life’s all out of balance, I see that. I’ve got enough money to last at least a lifetime, but I’m too young to retire. I need to do something with my life. Maybe I just want to run one of the companies I buy and sell for people. Maybe I want to be in a business that offers a real service or provides a useful product.” He shrugged, and she felt his discomfort. She doubted he was used to sharing intimate thoughts. “I just want to feel that at the end of it all, when they put me in my casket, I’ll leave something useful behind me.”
She put her head against his shoulder.
“You think I’m crazy?”
“No. I think a few days without your electronic world has been very good for you. You’re starting to sound sane.”
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He kicked a pebble and it skittered across the scrubby lawn. “Yeah. A month of this and I’ll be Buddha.”
She chuckled. “Don’t knock it. I think you’re going to end up a much happier and more interesting man than you would have if you’d stayed on the same course.”
“I opened my eyes, Em. And I listened when someone very smart told me the truth.” He turned and looked deep into her eyes, so she felt everything waver and start to melt. “You should try it sometime.”
“But not today,” she managed.
He held her a moment longer, still looking at her, seeing deeper than she imagined anyone ever had. He nodded slowly. “But not today.”
She wasn’t a fool, though. She’d seen Joe’s fierce focus on whatever project he undertook.
She had an awful feeling that she was his newest project. If she was smart, she’d give him back his toys so he’d leave her alone.
“Hey,” he said, “come up in the plane with me tomorrow.”
“I already promised you there won’t be any mysterious accidents. You’ll be perfectly safe.”
“I know. I want your company. You took all my toys away, the least you can do is come play with me.”
“I have things to do, you know. Å life to live.”
“Come on. It will be fun. You can be my tour guide and offer the bird’s-eye view on why mining in this area is a bad idea.”
“I can’t believe you’re joking about this.”
“Look. I take what I do seriously. I think what we’re proposing will be a boon to Beaverton.
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I’m open to an opposing viewpoint. That’s serious, but we don’t have to wear black suits and pontificate to each other.”
“All right, then. But you should know I’m not an agree-to-disagree type, not when something I care about deeply is at stake.”
“Fair enough. So will you come with me tomorrow?”
“I am perfectly aware that you are manipulating me into saying yes,” she said loftily.
“So will you?”
“Yes.”
“Great. You know, since I’m being so good about letting you keep my stuff locked up, you should act as my tour guide for the area.”
“That is a fantastic idea.” Things were working out better than she’d hoped. If she showed him all over Beaverton and the surrounding countryside, he was going to fall in love with this place for sure. Then he couldn’t possibly let a cat litter company come in and ruin it.
Could he?
Chapter 23
Joe heard banging. This was such a quiet area of the world, he was instantly awake. Oh, the banging was on his door.
“Come in,” he said in a less than cheery tone.
There’d been enough banging in the night that someone besides him should have been dead tired today. The trouble was that Emmylou had fallen asleep by his side and he’d watched her rather than wake her.
He’d watched a lot of women sleep, for one reason and another, but he’d never seen anyone who made it look as good as Emmylou did. Her hair was a silky gold pillow, her cheeks looked as soft as a child’s, and her lashes were those long, curly, amazing ones that made spiky crescent shadows against her skin. She never snored, only breathed soft and deep between lips that were sexy even in sleep.
She held on to him while she slept. He knew it was done unconsciously, because it wasn’t until after she was asleep that he felt her hand
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curl around his arm, or her body tuck itself into the contours of his.
He read more about the fascinating history of Romania, he thought about what he was going to do when this job was finished and he had no reason to stay on in Beaverton. And he watched the hours tick by. Finally, around three, Mae West had come in from hunting or whatever she did outside all night and leapt right onto Em before he could catch her.
That was one jealous cat.
Em woke with a start, and glanced at Mae West and then at him, consternation flooding her face. “Oh, Joe. You should have woken me.
I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he assured her. “I like having you here.”
She cupped his cheek with her palm. “But you need your sleep.” And with a sleepy yawn, she’d crawled naked out of bed, found her clothes, and stuffed them under her arm.
He cursed himself and whatever demons he harbored that made it impossible for him to sleep with Em. Really, really sleep with her.
“Night,” she said, glancing back at him sadly from the doorway.
“Night,” he said, hoping he wasn’t telegraphing to her how howlingly lonely he felt watching her leave his bedroom.
Even after that he hadn’t slept for a long time.
Now that he’d finally managed to get to REM, he didn’t appreciate the wake-up call. He squinted at the clock as Emmylou came in bearing a cup of revolting raspberry tea.
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“It’s eight in the morning,” he groused. “Why do I have to get up?”
She walked up to him and kissed him right on his scowling mouth. “Because it’s a beautiful day and I’m taking us for a picnic.”
“Nobody has a picnic at eight in the morning.”
“We have to ride a fair way.”
“Ride?” He sipped the tea, wondering when his doctor and the vigilante innkeeper would let him have coffee.
“On a horse.”
Reluctant excitement ignited in the part of him where his inner child apparently still lived.
But naturally he didn’t let on.
“I hope you aren’t referring to those broken-down soon-to-be glue sticks when you say horse.”
“Oh, please. Those are lovely horses, gentle and safe.”
He snorted. “I’m not worrying one will bolt.
It will take them all day to get us across the field.”
She kissed him again, and since she was already leaning over him, it was easy work to top-ple her on top of him where the kissing quickly turned hot and heavy. Their week was already half over and it was as though they both realized if they didn’t make use of every minute together, they’d always regret the missed ones. He might never be able to get enough of this woman.
“Why don’t we have a picnic right here in bed?” he suggested.
“Because I have something else to show you.”
He groaned. Emmylou was a one-woman
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Chamber of Commerce, tourism center, and welcome wagon. She’d flown with him—in a perfectly nice little Cessna—and he had agreed that the scenery was amazing. Well, that hadn’t been difficult; it was amazing. In an hour’s fly-ing time, he’d seen green, fertile fields of crops, herds of grazing animals, wooded areas, then mountains, lakes, and streams. But he’d also seen a less than affluent-looking trailer park, and a couple of small communities that were more down at heel than Beaverton. Commerce, he pointed out to Em, wasn’t all bad.
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