Solomon's Decision (16 page)

Walt had called him just last week about a wetland in Minnesota. It was time for
him to be moving on. He'd been in Idaho more than a month now, and that was longer than
he'd stayed anywh....

"Erik. Erik?" At a touch on his arm he swam out of the doze into which he'd
fallen. "Your bed's ready."

Shaking his head, he looked around at unfamiliar surroundings.

"Erik?" The hand on his arm was warm, somehow comforting. "Wake up and go
to bed." The voice was amused.

Another shake of his head and reality resumed. God! He hadn't been this out of it
for a long time. "Thanks," he said. "Sorry I zonked like that."

Madeline's smile seemed to light up the darkness. "Let me show you the way," she
said, leading him into the house.

The kitchen was dark, but a light in the hall made a bright path. She had put a robe
over her nightgown, he noticed. Even silhouetted as she was, he could no longer see the
shape of her body as he had when she'd come to the front door, outlined by the same hall
light.

He followed her up the stairs and along another hall. She indicated the bathroom.
"I'll leave the night light on for you. Your towels are on the bar at the end of the tub."

"Thanks," he said, just as she opened a door and stood aside. The room was a
typical boy's, or at least it looked like his had when he was a boy. Sports posters, a bird's
nest sharing one shelf with thin books with bright spines, a soccer ball on another, and in
the corner a cage that looked as if it might hold a rat or a gerbil. The important part was
that there was a bed. Two beds, but it was the nearer one, sheets turned back invitingly,
that mattered to him. "Thanks, Madeline."

"I could take King Alfred," she said, gesturing at the cage, "if you think he'll
bother you."

"No need. I've slept with critters all my life," he assured her. He started
unbuttoning his shirt. "I really appreciate this," he said, wishing she'd go so he could
collapse onto the bed.

"I...well, goodnight," she said. "Sleep well." She stepped out the door, pulling it
closed behind her. Then she opened it again, just as he was pulling his shirt off. "Ah...what
time...." She licked her lips, and despite his exhaustion, he felt a shaft of fire spear in his
belly. "What time do you want to get up?"

"I don't care," he said. "But early." He could feel her gaze, almost physical on his
bared chest.

Again her tongue flicked out. "Six?"

"Fine." Damn! He was too tired for this.

"I'll set the...the clock." Suddenly she was out the door and slamming it behind
her.

Leaving Erik thoroughly awake.

Insomnia was probably much easier to endure, Madeline thought, back in the days
when clocks ticked and their hands went silently and invisibly around. The bright red digits
of her clock reproached her as she pounded her pillow yet again, wondering where all the
rocks had come from. Eleven-thirty, and she hadn't slept a wink.

She didn't even feel tired. The blood was zinging though her veins and her mind
was going a mile a minute. She'd thought about every possible thing that might go wrong
tomorrow and had come up with half a dozen ways to prevent or solve each and every one
of them. The sleepiness that had almost overtaken her just before Erik's arrival was lost,
driven away with the awareness of his presence, just across the hall.

Had Emaline remembered to arrange for the sawhorses? Just this afternoon they'd
realized they needed something to block the service road that went behind the athletic field
at the high school. Sawhorses would have more authority than just a rope.

Was Erik asleep?

She wondered what time Jon and Janine would get to town. This afternoon when
Janine had brought in the ice cream, she'd said Jon wanted to come in early so they could
go home early. He'd given the hands the day off and had to get back to milk their one cow
and check the siphons on the hayfield they would be irrigating.

Was Erik comfortable? Kyle's narrow bed was probably too short and too narrow
for him.

Where had she put the key to the high school? She was supposed to go over and
open the north corridor in the morning. Was it in her purse, or still on her desk, where she
last remembered seeing it?

A floorboard creaked. Another. Erik?

She pummeled her pillow again, determined to beat it into comfortable
submission. The bathroom door rattled shut. Water ran. The shower? At this time of
night?

Her mind on hold, Madeline listened until the water stopped. Small sounds told
her he was brushing his teeth, flushing the toilet. Then the distinctive rattle of the door
again. She really should get it fixed. That rattle could bring her out of a sound sleep.

Waiting for the floor to creak again, she wondered what he was doing. The only
boards in the house that gave notice of being walked on were between Kyle's bedroom and
the bathroom. Their silence meant he hadn't gone back to bed.

Where was he?

She rolled out and went to her door. Carefully she turned the knob, not wanting
him to know she was, well, spying on him. Inching it open, she peered into the dim
hallway. The small night light in the bathroom lit the hall only enough so you could see not
to run into the wall. But her eyes were used to the dark, and so she saw him.

He was waiting for her, standing across the hall from her bedroom door. She didn't
have to ask what he was waiting for. She knew, for she'd been waiting too.

"Madeline," he said, his voice low and just a little hoarse, "I tried." He shrugged.
"Even a cold shower didn't help."

"I've always thought they were vastly overrated," she said, stepping back so he
could come into her bedroom.

He stopped at the foot of her bed. In the dark, she could only see his eyes as a
glimmer.

"Wait," she said. Quickly she pulled the shades and lit the small crystal lamp on
her dresser. It gave just enough light to make the room warm and mysterious, with
shadows occupying the corners.

"I don't have anything to protect you," he said, standing a scant foot from her. He
hadn't yet touched her, nor she him.

"I don't either," she said, wondering why she didn't. If only she'd acknowledged
the inevitability of this happening as soon as he'd come to town.

"I guess we'll have to contrive, then, won't we?" He reached out a finger and
touched her cheek, traced a line to her mouth, and down her throat to the demure neckline
of her nightgown.

Her last hesitation vanished. "I guess we will." She took a fateful step forward and
found herself caught and held. The solidity of his chest, the thrust of his erection, and the
stroking of his eager hands were all familiar. Her body had remembered, even when she
denied this need.

Ah, how lonely she'd been, with no one to caress her, no one to hold her and keep
the nightmares at bay. As his hands slid over her skin, cupping her breasts, teasing the
nipples, shaping and molding her to fit against him, she knew she was made for twoness,
not a solitary life.

A brief flare of anger burned within her. Life was so damned unfair! First taking
Jesse away, then sending her this man who would never stay. Then the flame turned to a
fire of another sort, as his fingers brushed across her belly and whispered across her lower
curls.

Her legs grew weak, until she was clinging to him lest she dissolve into a puddle
of desire at his feet. He seemed to sense her bonelessness, for he lifted her and laid her
gently across her bed, tossing the tangled linens to the foot.

He returned to her breasts, worshipping them. Every touch of his mouth hurt, a
delicious pain shooting thorough her. As he suckled her, she arched against him, offering
more...
all.
Anticipation built within her, as heat suffused her body and threatened
to consume her. Each flick of his tongue against her hypersensitive nipples enhanced the
blaze, until she wanted to scream at him to stop...don't...stop...don't...
don't
stop!

His fingers left a blistering trail wherever they went. Between her breasts, down
the line of her midriff to her navel, and then to her thighs. She knew she was writhing,
moaning, in need as he slipped his hands under her, as his mouth left her breasts. The night
air was cold on her wet skin, tightening her nipples even more, until they were yet another
in a galaxy of aching hungers.

"Erik! Oh, please!" Was that her voice? That hoarse entreaty? That guttural
demand?

"Tell me, Madeline," he said, stroking his hands along her thighs, behind her
knees, along her calves. He was kneeling between her legs, lifting her legs to rest on his
shoulders.

"Tell...." He kissed her foot, turned his head and kissed the other.

"...me...." He nibbled her ankle.

"...what...." As his hands cupped her buttocks, his mouth was etching a moist trail
up to her knees.

"...you...." He bent forward as he lifted her.

"...want." His mouth was hot as he kissed her intimately, his tongue flicking her
pulsing femininity.

He seemed to pull her outside of herself, until she was caught in a force so vast, so
irresistible that she could only let herself be swept along to wherever he led.

Her spasms almost sent Erik over the edge. He fought his body's reaction as he
gently brought her back to herself. What a wonderfully responsive woman she was.

As he lay beside her, stroking her relaxed body and willing himself to patience, he
accepted that his memories had not played him false, after all. Over the years, whenever
he'd remembered the single night with Madeline, he'd told himself that nothing could be
that good. But something could. Someone could. Even without coming to climax himself,
he was more satisfied than he could have imagined.

A tentative touch brought him to full attention. A light caress along the still-hard
length of him played hell with his patience. "Careful," he said. "I'm a little touchy."

Madeline's laughter was warm, cocky. "I know," she said.

When her hand circled him, squeezed, Erik felt it clear to his toes.

"Tell me what
you
want," she said, her fingers exploring.

When she found even more sensitive flesh, she clasped it within her hand. Breath
exploded from him, but he was able to contain the implacable force. Barely.

He drew a deep gasp of relief when she took her hands away. And disappointment.
When her lips touched his navel, he inhaled again, spasmodically. His chest hurt, his heart
pounded. He reached for her.

"Ah-ah!" she said, pulling back. "Mustn't touch. It's my turn, now." She swung
herself astride him, holding herself just clear of his belly. Leaning forward so her breasts
scarcely skimmed his chest, she kissed him, pulling his tongue into her mouth, simulating
the joining he so desperately wanted.

He arched upward, his body demanding completion, but she was too quick.

"Oops," she said, "This wasn't such a good idea." Rolling aside, she stationed
herself alongside him, still on her knees, twisted so her breasts again pressed lightly
against his chest. Her lips closed his eyes, one at a time. Teased the tip of his nose. Lightly
grazed his mouth. Her teeth nipped gently at his chin, her tongue wetted his Adam's
apple.

Then her breath was warm on his chest as she dropped kisses at random, working
her way down again to his navel. She tickled, she sucked, she bit, she tasted. Millimeter by
millimeter, she crept lower and lower, challenging his restraint. Whenever he bucked in
reaction to a particularly stimulating touch, she pulled away and let him calm himself.

When her breath warmed the hair at the base of his shaft, he shuddered in
anticipation.
Touch me!
his mind screamed. "Ahhhh!" was all his mouth could
manage. He released his grip on the sheets, no longer willing--nor able--to obey her
stricture against touching. His hands found her head, tangled in the curls. "Now!" he
commanded.

"Now," she agreed. The single word held anticipation, passion, and triumph. She
touched him with her tongue. Took him into her mouth.

She toyed with him, drawing him deep, then releasing him and sitting back on her
heels when he bucked against her hold. When he was still again, she traced from the base
of his shaft to the tip, her fingers both curious and knowing. Once more she kissed him,
looking along his body in question.

He took her hands in his, clasping them tightly around him. When she moved to
lower her head again, he gasped, "No. Look at me, Madeline. I want to see your face."

But he didn't see her face. Once he released the tremendous control he was
exerting, it took but a tightening of her hand about him for him to explode, his
consciousness shattering as he gave himself up to the release he'd been denying himself
ever since he'd found Madeline again.

* * * *

Madeline woke to a kiss and the smell of coffee. She stretched, aware of having
slept better than she had in a long time. "Mmmm?" she said, without opening her
eyes.

"Is that a way of being safe?" Erik's voice was amused. "In some book or other,
the hero always made a noise like that when he didn't remember the name of the woman in
his bed."

"Madeline Elaine Pierson," she said, wondering why she didn't feel even a smidge
of regret. She opened her eyes and scooted up to lean against the brass headboard.

"Huh?" He set a cup on the bedside stand and, carefully balancing another, slipped
into bed beside her. His jeans were half unbuttoned and his feet and chest were bare. He
looked as if he belonged.

"The name of the woman in your bed." She sipped her coffee, grateful. Although
she'd fallen quickly into deep sleep almost as soon as Erik had wrapped his arm around her
and pulled her close, she knew she'd need all the help she could get today. Even with a
good night's sleep, it was going to be a long day. With fewer than six hours, she would be a
zombie by eight tonight. "How can you look so cheerful on so little sleep?"