The Wall (18 page)

she could see a fine film of dust on the part that was exposed to the

air. There were bits of dirt stuck to the side of his corded neck, and

she absently took off her apron when she saw it, wiping his neck with

the corner of the towel. He submitted meekly to her ministrations.

'You're going to get a chill in this cold wind if you stop for very

long,' she told him, grimacing at the soil on the towel and shivering a

little herself. 'How long will it be before you're inside?'

Greg surveyed the stubborn tree root thoughtfully. 'Another half an

hour should see it out. I want to lay down some sod from the forest,

though, and that will take me a little while longer.'

She looked curiously around. 'I thought that you said there were two

tree stumps you wanted to take out?'

Greg turned her around and pointed over her shoulder to an area

about twenty feet away. 'See the disturbed ground over there? If you

go and look, there's a bit of grass that's about seven feet in diameter

that I just laid down over the filled-in hole. That's how I want this

patch to look when I'm done with it. That way, in the summer there

won't be any scars in the area, only an extension of the grass, without

having to plant seeds.'

Light dawned. 'Oh, I see. You know, I've lived most of my life in the

city, and I'd never heard of that before. It's ingenious!'

He finished his drink and handed her the mug back. 'Thank you.

You'd better run inside before you get chilled.' With that, he bent and

picked up his axe again, shaking his head to get the hair out of his

face. Sara laughed at him and reached over to smooth it back out of

his eyes, running her fingers through the unruly front lock.

'There you go. What do you want for supper? I'll fix it.'

He surveyed her doubtfully. 'Can you cook?' He sounded as if he

wondered if she could even pick up a pan, and she shook a finger

under his nose in retaliation.

'Now you've gone and done it!' she warned. 'You've made me mad.

You'll be lucky if you get a boiled egg— just see!'

He was instant humble contrition. 'I was only teasing a little, honest.

Please don't feed me a boiled egg, Sara. I don't like 'em.'

She considered his humble stance loftily. 'We'll just have to wait and

see. I don't know whether I'm still mad at you or not. I'll decide later.'

She was totally unprepared for his swoop down on her, and she

shrieked with delight as he scooped her up in his arms and twirled

her around and around. 'You'll decide now, madam,' was his grim

warning, 'or you won't set foot in that kitchen again without my

supervision and intervention!'

'Oh, yes,' she cried, clapping her hands-like a child. 'Let's have

Supervision and Intervention instead of boiled eggs! I won't boil you

an egg for supper—Greg, stop twirling me around, I'm getting sick!

You goon, I'll throw up all over your shoulder, I swear it!'

He stopped suddenly and the whirling world soon settled into proper

perspective for her, but not before she watched it go round a few

times without her. She kicked her legs experimentally, but Greg

refused to put her down. He looked deep into her eyes. They were so

close their cheeks nearly touched. 'You really aren't mad any more?'

he asked, sounding disappointed.

She backed her head up to look at him better, puzzled. 'I was never

mad to begin with and you know it! What are you getting at?'

He shrugged and the movement sent her bouncing up once, making

her remember how she was being held. She wriggled again, thinking

it must be a strain on his back to hold her so long off the ground, but

he only tightened his grip on her shoulder and under her knees,

making it clear that he had no intention of letting her go for the

moment. 'It's just that if you were truly angry with me, we could have

kissed and made up,' he whispered, bringing his lips closer and

closer. She shut her eyes as his dark head descended and met his lips

eagerly with her own.

Greg slowly let go of his grip under her knees, and she slowly slid

into an upright position, his other arm tightening on her shoulders

and pulling her hard against his chest. His free hand came to her hair

and entangled itself at the back of her head, forcing her to deepen the

kiss. She made no protest. Her arms were around his neck, her two

hands at his nape. She felt his shoulders hunch, drawing her to his

lean body, and she was aware of being set down gently, but her feet

were barely touching the ground and Greg was supporting her whole

weight against his chest. His legs were wide apart for balance, and

she was flat hard against every part of his long, powerful body.

The kiss changed, became pulsing and urgent for both of them. They

explored each other's mouths with an excitement and tenderness and

a total mutual consent.

For Sara, it was the first time that she had ever been completely

concentrating on, and vibrantly aware of, another human being. She

was lost in the embrace, drowning in sensation, overwhelmed with

physical desire and emotional communication. She couldn't explain it

to herself; certainly she wasn't able to at that time, and she couldn't

later examine her feelings with any degree of coherency. All she

knew was that she wanted to be near this man, wanted to be close to

him in his thoughts and feelings. She wanted to reach out her hand

and feel his close over it. She wanted to make love to him and give

the greatest gift she could possibly bestow on him—herself. She felt

no fear at their closeness, nor of her own overwhelming feelings. She

knew instinctively that Greg would never hurt her, and she felt, so

close as she was to him now, that he was experiencing some

powerful emotion himself. She felt it course through him like an

electrical charge, making him shudder against her slim body, making

him crush her against him with arms like bands of steel. It was a

mutual experience, and it was right.

Slowly, very slowly, she was lowered to the ground until she could

feel the earth beneath her feet, and she was held gently, very gently,

until she could stand on her own. Her head was leaning on his

shoulder, in the warm shelter of the curve of his neck. She snuggled

her face deeper into the strong, column, putting her lips to the pulse

pounding there, caressing it lightly. The hand in her hair tightened

behind her head, pushing her harder against his neck as Greg heaved

a great sigh. She tasted the salt of his sweat, then he was pulling her

away from his warmth with a wry twisted smile. Held a little distance

away from his encircling arms and the warmth of his chest, Sara felt

suddenly very cold. A slight wind touched her and she shivered. She

was watching his face, and she saw the rather blind look in his eyes

gradually fade away until he was grinning down at her, back in

control, noting her chills.

'You'd better run inside, madam, before you catch your death out

here,' she was told prosaically. 'And let me get back to work with no

more distractions!'

She tossed her head, sending her black hair tumbling in a glorious

gleaming swirl, greenish colour glinting in her eyes. Greg suddenly

saw the temptress in her, the quality of sensuality that the press was

able to catch in her sultry poses, the aura that the camera picked up

with such sensitivity. He stood as if stunned, staring at her, unable to

tear his gaze away. Sara backed away from him a few steps, hair still

tumbling, caught in the wind and blown across her face. Through a

cloudy curtain of darkness, he saw the mocking slant to her eyes and

got the impression of curved lips. She pushed the hair off her

forehead.

'So that's all I am to you,' was her murmured reply, 'a distraction?

Something to be used and experienced and then forgotten when one

is working on other . . . more important matters? Hah!' She was

laughing inside at the expression on his face, the total concentration

and fascination in his eyes. She knew that she was more than a mere

distraction to him and that his choice of words had been teasing.

Some irresistible imp had got hold of her, though, and she intended

to tease him back for such an implication. She raised a saucy,

wagging finger to him. 'Honey, if you think this is distracting, you

ain't seen nothin' yet!'

She didn't need to turn around and look back as she re-entered the

house, walking slowly, almost insolently. She knew and could feel

his eyes burning on her back all the way into the house.

She wasted no time when she reached the kitchen, but immediately

set about preparing supper, deciding on a casserole of gratinee

potatoes with chunks of salty ham liberally added in. After putting

the dish into the hot oven, she made up a quick batch of homemade

biscuits to go on the bottom rack in the oven. Then, while the bread

baked, she deftly cut up a lettuce salad, adding bacon bits, onion, and

tomatoes to it, and slipped it back into the refrigerator. Then she

considered the dining room table. They had eaten in the kitchen

before, on the everyday plates, but she wanted things to be a little

more special than that. She rummaged around in a polished oaken

cabinet in the dining room and came up with a lovely set of bone

china. It would look beautiful. The table was quickly set and the

biscuits rescued from the oven's intense heat, a temptingly golden

crunchy brown. Sara covered them with a clean cloth and glanced at

the clock. She wanted to be absent from the kitchen when Greg came

in. She had a surprise for him. She didn't have much time, so she

hurriedly washed some fresh fruit and cut it up for dessert, adding the

package of walnuts she had found in the cupboard when she was

organising everything. Then, before she dashed upstairs, she peeped

in at the casserole. It was cooking nicely and would be fine for some

time.

She then looked out of the window to see how Greg was progressing,

and found him gathering up his tools. Sticking out her head, she

yelled to him, 'Dinner's in about an hour. That enough time for you?'

His head lifted and turned. 'It should be fine!' he called back. 'I'm just

finishing now, and I'm going to take Beowulf for a quick run, before

cleaning up!'

Sara nodded and pulled back in. The fruit salad was put into the

refrigerator and the counters cleaned and wiped off, then she was

galloping up the stairs. There was just enough time. In her room and

closing the door, she contemplated the open door of the closet with a

secret smile. With a quick decision so characteristic of her, she

yanked out an outfit and laid it across the bed. A silky pair of

gossamer-thin pantyhose floated after it, settling softly on her pillow.

Then she had drawn out a black pair of shoes, and clean underwear.

Heading for the bathroom, she took a quick shower, thankful that she

had washed her hair that morning. A few pins held it securely on her

head while she swiftly cleaned up.

Then she was sitting in front of the large dressing- table mirror,

contemplating her clean face. Greg had never seen her with more

than just a minimum of makeup on. In fact, he had never seen her

dressed up at all. With a return of her old caution, she knew that she

didn't want to wear her make-up as heavy as she did when she was

performing professionally. It wasn't her personal preference anyway.

She reached for a jar of foundation and smoothed just enough on to

even out her complexion a bit. It didn't take much, for she already

had a smooth silken quality to her fine clear skin. The foundation

added just a bit more creaminess, making her appear alabaster white

and very fragile against the thick dominant blackness of her curtain

of hair. Then she touched her cheekbones with a blusher that, when

blended skilfully and subtly, gave her the appearance of a fragile

porcelain doll.

She used a brown eye-shadow that gave her eyes depth and softness,

and lined her eyes with a smoky black liner that she then smudged

delicately. Her eyebrows were strongly marked and yet refined, so

she left them alone. A few applications of black mascara made her

lashes so long that they touched her cheeks when she looked down.

She lined her lips, then filled in with a red rose colour that matched