Beyond the Storm (9780758276995) (8 page)

As he waited for Vanessa to return, he had to wonder about the fickle hand of fate. It was clear to him that he and Vanessa were supposed to meet over that accident, that they were supposed to have found this house. Their story remained unfinished, but for a second Adam had to wonder, when had it begun? This reunion within a reunion, something had made it happen. What came after that, he couldn't begin to suppose.

“What's going on?” he asked the room.

The ghosts, this time, they said nothing, as though holding back. That sound he heard was still the wind, whipping through the open door. The fire flickered and the last thing he wanted was for the flames to disappear with an exhausted poof. They needed all the heat they could muster, to battle the cold and the ghosts and the memories, and perhaps to embrace some secrets the netherworld didn't know.

He had to wonder, were there secrets that Vanessa knew?

Was that what had spooked her?

 

The truth of the matter was this: Adam might have thought he was simply rambling about some musty college memory, but in reality he'd hit way too close to home for Vanessa's comfort. She didn't want to talk about it; God, she didn't even want to think about . . . it. But how to explain her abrupt departure from what had been such a lovely moment, a crackling fire and warming wine and the food she hadn't even touched? Could she explain herself without delving into things she didn't want to? She was hoping the fresh air would help clear her mind.

The rain had finally stopped, the storm quieted. Gray clouds still hovered and as a result she couldn't guess at the time of day—end, beginning of night, or just a moment in time lost to the silent revolutions of the clock. A cool, hair-ruffling breeze rushed by her, taking her back to those early summer nights in Danton Hill when she had never felt more alive. Located on the shores of Lake Ontario, the chilled winds that swept down from Canada were as much a part of her life growing up as were school, friends, hanging out. It was the backdrop to her seemingly perfect life. She'd left them all behind right after high school, but here they were again, her friends only miles away, and the scent and the smell of sea and sand sweeping over her, awakening memories long dormant.

They were inevitable, weren't they? Those memories. Sepia-colored truths.

But facing these buried memories, weren't they her sole reason for coming home? Wasn't that what she'd confessed to Reva? That no matter how far she had run, across countries and continents, Danton Hill still held her captive, keeping her soul tied to its shores while the rest of her thrived in worlds she could only have imagined as a child. She'd told herself too, on the long plane ride and even on the drive that had led to the accident, the truth was back home and so was she. Now she was in the company of an unsuspecting man who had no clue how much he'd impacted her life. The man who sat inside, no doubt perplexed over her actions.

There was another truth here, one she freely admitted to. That grown man inside named Adam Blackburn, so gentle with her today, so caring, that was really all she knew about him. His name and how he'd treated her today. Not about his life, his loves, not his hopes and dreams and desires, the things he'd lost, the things never achieved. Was he as much a victim of Danton Hill, or had he been able to let go and be happy? Was this her chance to find out? Would it even matter, change how she felt?

Finally rising from the porch, Vanessa strolled out into the driveway, under the protection of a leafy oak tree that trapped her in its shadows. The occasional leftover raindrop fell, dripping down the nape of her neck. She welcomed the cool, tingling sensation; it felt different from the consuming chill inside her bones. The raindrops made her feel alive. When she turned back to the house, she noticed a yellow light had been switched on, beaming down from the porch ceiling, a piece of the sun amidst a world of gray. Adam was rocking quietly on the swing, patient, understanding. When had he gone there? She hadn't heard a sound, and only now could she hear the squeaking of the chains of the swing.

“Hi,” he said.

His voice was soft, lacking intimidation. That was a nice approach, taking away any hint of confrontation.

“Hi, yourself,” she tried, not sure how steady her voice was.

“Was it something I said?”

“Yeah, sort of.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“Not really.” She paused. “Not yet.”

“You keep saying that. Not yet. Is there a better time than now?”

“A better time is never.”

“Okay, at least you're not being enigmatic.”

She suppressed a grin. “I don't mean to freak out on you. Adam, you know what?”

“Won't know till you tell me, I believe is the phrase.”

“Despite our . . . past, what happened that night between you and me . . . we really don't know much about one another, do we? Seems that life throws us together for a limited amount of time, short bursts of experiences that we can either take advantage of . . . or deny the signals and move on, forget. And then life takes us away again. And the things we've done . . . shared . . .”

“Weren't exactly our shiniest moments.”

“Right.”

“Yeah, right,” he said. “So, you want to get to know me, is that what you're saying?”

“Is that a line?”

“No,” he said, stifling a grin. “But this is: your swing or mine?”

“Didn't you use that with our cars?”

“I did. Men are like that, we use the same tired lines until they work.”

“How's that working out for you?”

He grinned. “There's only one swing. Why don't we call it ours?”

“Smooth, Mr. Blackburn, very smooth,” she said. “Can we consider it neutral ground?”

“This whole house is neutral. Doesn't it feel that way?”

She gazed back at the farmhouse, with its wraparound porch and swing, the picture like something conjured from Rockwell. Comfort and familiarity issued forth, at least it appeared that way for Adam. For her, she felt the chill again. “I'm not so sure about that. You seem to be adapting to our situation better than me . . . you opened the wine and you started the fire. All I did was run. But right now, I think I prefer the swing. I prefer to remain outdoors.”

He waved her back up the porch, and she found her feet moving without thought, almost as though he was guiding her, pulling her toward him with the surging power of suggestion. She effortlessly glided up the steps and sat down beside him on the wooden slats of the swing. No cushions. He'd brought the wine, and his inviting smile, for comfort.

“Smart man,” she said, happily taking back the glass she'd left inside.

“So, where do we start?”

“With yesterday.”

“Literally?” he asked.

“Yesterday, your current life,” Vanessa said, thinking yesterday couldn't be so bad. A day consumed, like hers, with anticipation for the reunion. It was easier this way. Rather than harken back to the prom and all that happened that night, she thought going backward in time would ease them into old worlds. “So, we'll start with what you've been doing since we last saw each other . . . oh, how long ago was that, anyway?”

“Eleven years,” he said.

“You remember that quickly?”

“I didn't. But I've had time today during the long drive to reminisce about a few things,” he said. “Plus, it's one of the reasons I didn't return for our tenth class reunion. What happened, neither one of us would have been ready to face the other. I suppose I felt not enough time had gone by. How was it, by the way?”

Vanessa nearly spit out her wine. “Excuse me?”

“Uh, Nessa, the reunion, I mean. Numero Ten.”

For a moment she was taken aback by hearing him speak such an unfamiliar name, one she hadn't heard in two decades. “Wow, you called me Nessa. No one calls me that anymore.”

“More of the reinvention?”

She thrust her glass outward seeking a refill.

“We'll have to pace ourselves,” he said.

“Just pour.”

“As long as you do the same.”

She retorted quickly. “I thought this was your turn to talk.”

He nodded as he refilled her glass, then his. The bottle was down halfway. Silently they drank. Vanessa, though, could not help but look at Adam's face as he drank. There was a tender grace to his actions, a gentleman's sip where he appeared to savor the taste, and not just swig it down like a beer or a shot like some eager frat boy. Different from the last time they met, those eleven years ago. That night had been crazy, ridiculous; it was a miracle she even remembered it considering all she'd consumed. Now time had progressed, and so too had they, from innocent teenagers at the dance to drunken twentysomethings during a chance meeting to . . . what, well-heeled, behaving adults? That wasn't exactly how she felt. She felt adrift, like she was floating in a sea that had claimed her as its own to the point where she wasn't even sure who she was anymore. Which was a good thing, she surmised, knowing that Adam was going to tell his tale. The night wasn't dark enough yet for her story; she wasn't ready.

Just then she saw Adam's face leaning close, so much so she could smell his manly scent, a musky breath. She froze, unsure what to do. Was he really going to try what she thought?

Just then she felt his lips touch hers.

Yup, he was.

Her body stiffened and her eyes closed, but surprisingly neither happened with her lips. She responded to the sweetness of his gesture, wondering what had sparked such a move on his part, acceptance on hers. She felt dreams open up before her, laced with colorful sparks.

His lips lingered; they must have sensed a hint of approval.

At last she pulled away, and of course she had to be the one to initiate the separation. His face remained inches from hers. She could smell the wine on his breath, taste the velvet bouquet on her own tongue, but other senses grew heightened, drawing her to him. A gentle sweetness hovered between them, as though ropey vines, entwining them in their ripening, fruitful embrace, connected them.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Should I apologize?”

“Uh, no.”

“You got anything else to say other than ‘uh'?”

“Uh . . .”

He kissed her again, quickly and more deeply, with more passion. The tentativeness of that earlier kiss was gone, replaced by confidence, or perhaps a sense of the inevitable unleashing before them, like a storm's deluge. As he drew her closer to him, his hands caressed her face, her hair. As their lips parted, foreheads rested together. She could hear his breath, words forming out of whispers, his words a sotto symphony.

“You are so sweet, Vanessa, and so beautiful, so much more so because someone greater than us put us here in this situation, throwing us together in this crazy moment. It's like this meeting was something dreamed up by the stars, something meant to be, something years in the making. It's something to be appreciated, treasured.”

“Adam . . .”

“I know, I know, this is lunacy. Like we're teenagers, making out like it's our first time.”

“No, that's not what I mean,” she said, pulling back, gazing about with wonder written across her open features. “This moment, it feels more like we've been married for decades, you and I, and for us to be on this swing on the porch of this farmhouse, there is no more natural feeling in the universe.”

“So, what do we do about it?”

She stared deep into his eyes. “Like we've done before, maybe we need to listen to the sky and allow the fates to tell us what to do. You and me, we're not so good at those decisions. Let the demands of our reunion dictate what comes next.”

He took her in his arms again, and this time he didn't kiss her.

He held her, making her feel as safe as she'd felt since the storm had hit.

Since their cars had slammed into each other, jarring them out of the world they knew and into one filled with all the wonder and uncertainty and hesitant first steps, like a first dance at a prom called Forever Yours.

Forever might have just finally arrived, leading two people beyond their tenuous bond.

T
he lights remained off as the early night fell like a curtain being drawn, closing them off even further from the darkened world outside. The fireplace crackled with a flickering glow cast upon empty, faceless walls. Yet despite the ever-present shadows they knew swarmed around them, in this moment and on this lone plane there existed only two people in the world, and they came together, standing, staring, wondering, waiting for whatever next step they took. The heat of the moment on the swing had deepened to something far more meaningful, and it was as though by recognizing such a connection existed, both of them had retreated, nervousness and tentativeness overriding building passion.

From the moment he'd taken hold of her cool hand, lifting her from the swing and inviting her to join him back inside, his heart had been beating, his veins pulsing beneath heated skin. He'd been with women, and he'd even been under the mistaken impression that he'd loved some of those women, but also there had been this eagerness, this carnality that accompanied his journeys to bedrooms he'd known, those that were strange to him. Now, though, he felt a shift deep inside his soul, a feeling inside him long gone untapped. What was soon to pass between them, he knew there was magic dust swirling behind it, and he wasn't one to question the driving passions of the body, not now, perhaps not ever. Sometimes the world handed you a gift and you had to be open to receiving it. Vanessa was his gift.

He cupped her face in his hands, her silky skin soft upon his touch. Gently caressing her tear-reddened cheeks, a wide, knowing smile crossed his face, offering up anticipation, appreciation. The smile spread, from his lips to hers, and what she returned to him beamed in the closing twilight. As he leaned down, his lips touched, pressed against her cool forehead; they continued down, kissing her dancing eyelids, the tip of her nose. Brushing her lips with a hint of what was to come, she reacted as though tickled.

“Adam . . .”

“Sshh, not now. No more words. Say it with a kiss.”

She did, eagerly bringing her own soft lips up to meet his. Their mouths opened wide, tongues played, toyed; again the ripeness of the velvety wine wafted up, infusing their embrace, intoxicating them. They kissed more. Adam had known no such combination of tenderness and heat before. Not even when he made such declarations to others, he knew how false those words were, spoken in the moment, meant to intensify the exchange. This time it was different; he and Vanessa were truly connected. His body was alive with a wanting desire. He pressed against her body, letting her know just how she made him feel.

She broke the kiss and looked up at him, her green eyes leading them down to the blanket he'd set for their earlier picnic, soup bowls pushed away, the space cleared for them and them alone. As her head rested against the pillow, Adam lay beside her, his fingers tracing a line first on her upper lip, her lower lip, and then lower still, against her chin and down her elegant neck. He felt her shiver from his touch.

As they kissed again, Adam's fingers toyed with the buttons of the blue dress shirt she'd discovered in the closet upstairs. There was nothing sexier than a woman in a man's shirt. And he told her so, his whispering lips so close she reacted with an arch of her body to the stubble on his cheek. Buttons slipped through holes, and Adam drew back both flaps of the shirt, revealing Vanessa's slim frame, her supple breasts. She wore no bra. She breathed deeply as he hesitantly touched the crook of her neck with his fingers.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Perfect.”

“Nervous.”

“No.”

“You?”

“Incredibly.”

“Okay, good. Me too.”

He shifted his body over hers, his lips again finding her neck. She arched her back as she again felt his unshaven face, scruffy and rough. He heard her react, heard her groan with desire. Felt her fingers clutch at him through his shirt, digging into the muscles of his back. Kissing her with a new, enveloping passion, he tasted salt and sweet on her neck, in the deep crevice between her round breasts. As his tongue encircled her jutting, enticing nipples, one, the other, he again tasted heat, an electric sizzle they had spontaneously ignited between them. As he took her left nipple in his mouth, his fingers gently rubbed and toyed with the other.

“Adam, oh, oh,” she whispered, “the way you touch me . . .”

He could feel her hands caressing his back, foraging upward and running them through his hair. Her words, her touch, both and so much more fed his growing energy. He rose up on his knees, his body straddling her sides. They grinned at each other, but neither said anything and such nothing spoke volumes. They wanted more, they wanted each other.

Vanessa reached up, grabbing at the buttons of his shirt. She started from the bottom and Adam started from the top and at last they met in the middle, and together, fingers entwined, undid the final button, peeling it off his shoulders, and letting the shirt fall against the floor. She drew her fingers across his chest, ruffling the dark hair that covered it, following an equally dark trail down his flat belly until it teasingly disappeared beneath the waistline. Turning him on his back, Vanessa took control, kissing his neck and his ears. Adam felt warm sensations take command of his system, sending rippling messages to his synapses. My God, she knew just how to touch him, just where to stroke him. Her mouth found his nipples. She slid her hand over his chest, grazing her fingers through the thick mat of hair.

“So sexy, so surprising,” she said as she pulled away.

He reached for her, kissing her again as their bodies switched positions. Blue eyes met green, they connected again, and both knew what was still to come as an impactful decision loomed before them. Were they really going to give in to their passion? Was this the smartest thing for them to be doing right now? But what was to stop them? Why should they? Not one soul had come to their rescue and no one was going to be coming for them, not for the remainder of tonight. So should they limit themselves to talk long into the night, deny the deep connection they were experiencing now? No, this moment in time was theirs, not like when they were foolish teenagers, not like that awful night in New York eleven years ago, the two of them exerting power over the other. No, this was here, now, and it was urgency taking hold of them. An undeniable attraction had been unleashed, one either to be doused by the storm or quenched by the fire. The difference today was how they felt. Knowing . . . believing this was meant to be. Time finally catching up to them.

Adam snuggled in beside her, his body tight against hers. He kissed her earlobe, tasted it.

“Are you sure?”

“More than ever. You?”

“Yes, me too.”

“I can tell,” she said, trying to suppress a laugh but failing.

Just then Vanessa popped up from the blanket. A sly grin crossed her face, an appealing look that drew Adam to her every action. She slid the loose-fitting jeans down her legs, kicked them to the sofa. Adam just stared, at her alluring smile and the curves of her body, the way the former seemed to enhance the latter. Whatever had possessed her to run out into the storm a short while ago, she'd either released it or buried it, but no matter, her mood had deepened. The playful girl transformed into a wanting tigress. And as if to prove that there was no going back, she slid off the last of her clothing, the pale, delicate panties, revealing her most sacred self.

He gulped, stared. Reached out.

“Well?” she asked.

 

“Well?” she repeated.

Adam's body appeared locked, his mouth open but his words hidden inside. Vanessa was thankful to be given a moment to truly consider what they were doing. Was this what she had envisioned when she'd accepted the invitation to attend the reunion? Point-blank, had she come all this way expecting to have sex with Adam Blackburn? Was it really that simple? Had she not grown up at all after twenty years? And just where was that romp supposed to take place, certainly not in the coach's office of the school's gymnasium, so maybe on the grassy hill by the water tower where once upon a time they'd agreed to attend the dance together? In a hotel room, with her secretly passing him the key card to her room during one of the evening's boring toasts? Each scenario was ridiculous, tinged with the impossible. She knew she wouldn't have had the guts to go through with any of it, not there. Because she promised herself this time when she saw him, it wasn't going to be about sex. It was going to be about telling the truth.

Which, she reminded herself, she still hadn't done.

Not even close.

But there was no going back now. She'd revealed her complete self to Adam. She gazed at his handsome face and strong jaw. She loved how strangely secure the touch of his chest hair made her feel, like she could roll herself up within him, feel his warmth. She stole a glance at the obvious rise in his pants, which, moments from now, she knew would no longer be held captive inside. Again, she liked what she saw. There was a long night ahead of them, and she doubted sleep held much interest for either of them. Sex, sex, sex, that was fine, and when they had exhausted themselves, talk, talk, talk they would, long into the night and into the waking hours of the dawn. That was when all would be revealed. So she promised herself. The physical would come now, emotions later. Yes, she would give herself now, indulging her body's physical needs, but later, she would go someplace even deeper. Vanessa Massey would attempt to give him her heart by revealing her secrets. Revealing her betrayals.

For now, she just wanted to feel alive.

“Take me, Adam,” she said.

He held her, kissed her fiercely. His tongue felt like fire suddenly, dipped in the embers that crackled near them. She gripped him, her fingers digging into the nape of his neck. Her legs she curled around his waist. With her whole body she pressed tight against him. Adam pulled away, reaching for the button of his pants. He ripped it open, slid the zipper down, and tossed the pants aside, the shorts quickly following. Lying down on the blanket, fully revealed, his erection pressed hard against her.

“Do we need . . . ?” he started to ask.

“No.”

“Why?”

“I don't know . . . I mean, I do . . . we don't . . . trust me . . .”

An actual tear slid from her eye, and Adam bent down, absorbed it with his kiss.

“It's okay . . .” he said.

She nodded, stared deep into the windows of his eyes, and saw only comfort. And that's when she opened herself up. She could feel the urgency inside now, her desire for him, his for her. Heat giving way to desperation, desperation to desire. True moments like this, they were few and far between in the messed-up life of Vanessa Massey, that much she knew and she remembered a series of incidents with bright clarity, as though a catalog of wrong choices and bad men were flipping wildly through her mind. Those images, rather than kill the moment, only made her want this one even more, because it was with Adam, with a nice man, a sweet man, a sexy one, and a giving one, and a . . .

“Ooohh,” she said, thoughts gone, the past released to now and only now.

She felt all of him, sliding inside and filling her, resting inside her to allow her body the chance to adapt to this newfound presence. She squeezed her eyes shut, waiting a fast beat of her heart while taking a breath, exhaling sharply. As she opened her eyes, she saw his beautiful ocean of irises seeking hers, peering in, at the soul she seldom let out.

The connection held, their eyes locked, he pushed more, going further. He slid back, slid in, slid back, again, more still. She was so ready, so moist, she welcomed him and she urged him to not slip out, to not deny her the passion. He kissed her, surprising her with the touch of his lips. She had known men at this point who knew what they wanted and tended to remain focused on their own pleasure. Adam, though, let her know this was more than physical release, this was unrelenting truth. An ache inside her, inside him, that had been waiting . . . for how long? Again, the kiss of the ocean wafted around her, enveloping her, a sensation unlike any she'd ever felt. Adam kissed her once more like a wave washing over her, and then he thrust, he pushed, more, each time with building energy and passion. Each eager motion built upon the last, and before long he was panting, hard, fast, an engine's fuel powering him. Vanessa took each thrust easily, with a wanton desire matched only by his thrilling, unleashed actions. Words were spoken to the quiet walls, emotions revealed, energy was expounded by grunts and groans, the bodies nearly shaking the long-set foundation of the old farmhouse, chasing away those lingering shadows.

She was lost in the moment; nothing else mattered. Not yesterday, not tomorrow, not the regrets that lived within her. She barely knew where she was or who she was, she just gave in to the swarming passion stinging at her body. Tiny, rolling orgasms pinged through her as Adam kept pumping, thrusting. Kept loving her, kept looking at her. She urged him more, her fingers grabbing at his back, nipples rubbed red by the springy mat of his chest hair hovering just over. Another wave of blistering heat swallowed her, and she arched her back in anticipation. She knew this one was bigger, better, an explosion that threatened to send her to the other side of the world. She urged him, faster, deeper, hungrier . . .

Adam drew breath, filling his lungs for the final push. And he did, again thrusting deep inside her. She screamed again, her mouth biting into his shoulder, her nails scraping his back. She could hold back no further, no longer, and suddenly the room was filled with her voice, her inner self revealed and exposed, left open for the world to hear and to know and to wonder why such color is so often drenched in black and white. Her tightly controlled self, she left it behind, perhaps as far behind as her home in Europe or inside the wrecked car sinking into the wet cornfields, or maybe some other place to be found in some faraway land she didn't even know existed. She unleashed the power and just let it drift away on the electric currents of the wind.