Unravelled (14 page)

“How is that not stalking him?” I shrieked.

“It’s not,” Angie retorted. “It’s more of a stakeout.”

Nicola interjected. “We’re making this all about Martin’s sexuality. Even if he is straight, Sophie needs to think long and hard before she breaks up her marriage for him.”

“You’re right, Nic,” Sophie said. “I don’t even know if Martin and I are compatible at this stage. Beth, could you do our astrological charts?”

“What?” Nicola screeched. “You’re not going to leave your husband based on Martin being the right sign, are you?”

“Of course not!... Beth?”

“Uh . . .” I began nervously, afraid to encourage her and thus incur Nicola’s wrath. “I don’t really know how to do charts. I just know a few things about astrology... not even all that much, really.”

Sophie was undeterred. “I remember him mentioning that his birthday is at the end of September. So that would make him a...?”

“Libra.”

“And I’m a Leo. Are we good together?”

“Well, you’re a fire sign and he’s air so . . . he ignites you.”

“I knew it!” Sophie cried gleefully.

“Oh brother,” Angie muttered, rolling her eyes. Despite her unequivocal belief that a piece of red string could protect her from the evil eye, she’d never gone in for astrology.

“You’re right,” Sophie said, ruefully. “I’m acting like a teenager. But I promise not to do anything rash. I’m going to give my marriage the consideration it deserves, but... I
need
to know if there’s a chance for Martin and me. There’s something between us, I can feel it.” She paused to take a sip of coffee and then, “He
ignites
me.”

“Okay!” Angie said, throwing her hands up with exasperation. “We’ll do it on Saturday night. If we can find out what type of clubs he goes to, we’ll know for sure.”

I addressed Angie. “You’re not going to Vancouver this weekend?”

“Thad’s shooting night scenes so there’s really no point. Besides,” she shrugged, “it will be fun to go out again. I mean, it’s not like I’m going to be drinking and flirting and carrying on. It’s a reconnaissance mission. I’m doing it for Sophie. Who’s free to join me?”

Sophie shook her head and Nicola looked positively frightened at the prospect. I said, “I can’t. I’m spending the weekend with Jim on Bainbridge Island.” Unbidden, a delighted smile curled my lips.

“Wow!” Sophie said. “Spending a weekend at his home? That’s a huge step.”

Nicola added, “He must be pretty serious about you.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I said, while inside my heart was bursting with happiness. He did seem pretty serious about me.

Angie winked at me. “When at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.” I kicked her under the table.

Sophie steered the conversation back to Martin. “So, we’ll continue to dig for information tonight at stitch ’n bitch, but if nothing comes of it, Angie will follow him to a nightclub on Saturday.”

“I don’t think he’s really the club type,” Nicola said.

“True,” I agreed.

“We’ll see on Saturday, won’t we?” Angie said. With that, Nicola glanced at her watch and declared she was needed back at the office. Her wedding planner was couriering a sample of a white rose with her and Neil’s faces transferred onto it. We all agreed that we should get on with our days, while trying to think of any leading questions that we might put to Martin that night.

But that evening’s meeting of the stitch ’n bitch club at Angie’s place passed without a major revelation regarding Martin and Sophie’s future. While Angie had asked him if he was a Bette Midler fan, and I’d posed a question about Barbra Streisand, his responses were indifferent. When we finally said our good nights, I mouthed the words “good luck” to Angie. She gave me a subtle thumbs-up signal. She seemed to be quite looking forward to her Saturday-night mission. While I hoped she’d find an answer for Sophie, I couldn’t help but be a little absorbed by my own Saturday-night mission. Jim and I would be alone all weekend, and I wasn’t going to squander a minute of it!

Nineteen

AS SOON AS I walked off the ferry I saw him. He was standing next to his blue BMW, wearing a pair of faded jeans and a light blue fleece pullover. On his head was the Whistler toque I’d given him. He looked impossibly rugged and handsome—a bit like a young Harrison Ford. I waved with the hand not clutching my overnight bag. He waved back. My stomach did a juvenile backflip.

“Hi,” he said, as I approached. Simultaneously he lifted the suitcase from my grip and kissed me on the lips. “You look fantastic.”

“So do you,” I replied, huskily. “I like your hat.”

“Thanks. A special girl bought it for me.” I couldn’t help but blush. He thought I was a special girl! Jim noticed my glee and pulled me to him. “You’re adorable,” he whispered into my cheek.

As we drove to his house, Jim played tour guide, pointing out parks, heritage buildings, and even a distant lighthouse. This put me in mind of Angie and Thad’s fantastic lighthouse sex experience, but that was probably a little ambitious for Jim and me. I felt sure that this weekend would involve sexual intimacy, but doing it in a public park, up against a lighthouse, might be asking too much of our first encounter.

Eventually, we turned onto a gravel road bordered by ancient-looking evergreens. The car began to slow and soon Jim signalled for a left turn. The BMW crept down a wooded drive, the tires crunching on the pale gravel beneath. There, behind a stand of cedars, stood Jim’s house. “It’s not much,” he said modestly, turning off the ignition, “but it’s home.”

The house was, of course, spectacular, fitting perfectly into its northwest surroundings. Outside, it was fairly nondescript, just a regular single-storey home with wood siding washed in a pale blue-grey. But when Jim opened the door and I stepped inside, I struggled not to gasp. The modest exterior was almost a facade! While from the driveway it appeared to be a one-level home, the structure was built on a steep cliff. A long stairwell descended down not one, but two more levels, finally coming to rest with a spectacular view of the ocean. “It’s gorgeous,” I murmured, descending the timber stairs. The middle floor was home to an expansive slate-floored kitchen and an adjacent dining area, while a cozy living room, complete with massive stone fireplace, occupied the last tier. I walked to the window and stared out at the incredible view of Puget Sound.

Jim came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist. “I’m so glad you’re here,” he whispered.

“Me too,” I said, turning in his embrace to kiss him. “This place is amazing. But then . . . I wouldn’t have expected anything less from you.”

Jim smiled and kissed the tip of my nose. “Let me show you to your room.”

I followed him up the stairs to the top level, and down a buttery yellow hallway. I wasn’t sure how I felt about the sleeping arrangements. The first time, I’d been relieved to have my own room. But in a big house like this, with multiple bathrooms, privacy wasn’t really an issue. In Whistler, separate rooms had made sense: He’d been taking it slow. But here, at his home—well, it seemed to me that consummating our relationship this weekend was the next chronological step. So why was he sending me to sleep down the hall from him?

As I put my things away in the well-equipped and slightly feminine guest room, I pondered Jim’s choice. Was he just not attracted to me? Or was he hiding something? And if so, what? Frighteningly thick back hair? A third nipple? Or was he just, as Nicola had proclaimed, a gentleman? Well, that was getting a little old. Hopefully I could entice some roguish behaviour out of him later.

With my luggage stowed tidily, I met Jim in the luxurious kitchen. “I thought we’d go for a walk on the beach and then maybe grab some lunch at a little place I like to go to,” he said.

“Sounds great.” I sidled up to him and wrapped my arms around his neck. It felt so comfortable and so right, the two of us alone in this incredible island setting. It made me feel flirtatious and playful. Besides, I may as well start trying to seduce the gentleman out of him now. I kissed his lips.

“Mmm . . .” he murmured appreciatively, when I finally pulled away. I was about to suggest we skip our outing and retire to the sofa when he said, “Let’s hit the beach.” I must admit to being a little disappointed by his eagerness to head out, but I guess if he did have a third nipple, he’d prefer to get naked in the dark.

We picked our way down the steep cliffside trail to the secluded stretch of beach below. The sand was littered with rocks, drift-wood, and any number of tiny, skittering crustaceans. We held hands as we traversed the rocky terrain toward the sandy strip bordering the water. As we stared out at the magnificent Pacific, Jim drew me to him and kissed my hair. I felt that same sense of belonging I’d experienced on our last weekend away, but much stronger this time. Wrapped in Jim’s fleecy arms, I felt incredibly at home. Maybe I was jumping the gun a little, but a thought popped into my head. Maintaining my freelance career wouldn’t be all that difficult if I moved to Bainbridge Island.

We lunched on battered halibut and thick-cut fries in a tiny fish and chips shop, and then drove to the wharf to buy fresh seafood for dinner. When we were back at his house, Jim put Diana Krall on the stereo, and opened a bottle of wine.

“I’ve been saving this for a special occasion...” He poured me a glass.

“To special occasions,” I said in a sultry voice, clinking my glass to his. I took a sip. “Mmm. It’s excellent.”

“Glad you like it.”

Side by side on his overstuffed sofa, we enjoyed our wine and talked. He told me about building his house, twelve years ago, and his decision to lead a simpler existence away from the city. I talked about my week, even telling him about the Sophie and Martin quandary. While this was obviously a private matter, it couldn’t hurt to tell Jim. It wasn’t like he knew them. Of course, eventually I’d like to introduce him to my friends, but there was no rush. To be safe, I didn’t use their names, and didn’t mention our affiliation in the stitch ’n bitch club. Jim was so wise and had so much life experience that I thought maybe he could offer some advice.

“Gee, that’s a tough one,” he said, taking a sip of his wine. “Have you asked him if he likes Cher?”

“No. But he was indifferent about Bette Midler and Barbra Streisand.”

“Sorry I can’t be much help. But I hope your friend can work it out with her husband. It’s always sad when couples split up when there are kids involved.”

“I know,” I agreed. “Once I have kids, I want to stay married to their father forever.”

Jim didn’t respond right away. The long, awkward silence gave me time to process the magnitude of my words. They were too much! It was too soon! Talking about your future kids and staying married
forever
had to be as bad as drinking too much and crying over an old boyfriend! I’d obviously made Jim uncomfortable. Surely he wouldn’t send me back on the late ferry, but that one sentence would change the dynamic of the rest of the weekend. He would undoubtedly find me desperate, pathetic . . . a little
scary
even. I had to fix it. I had to say something to counteract that weighty statement, but what?

Jim broke the silence. He didn’t look at me, but stared into his wineglass as he said, “I feel exactly the same way.”

Jim made an excellent cioppino, chock full of fresh local seafood, ripe tomatoes, and mushrooms. We ate at the large distressed-wood slab of a dining table, sharing a crusty loaf of bread and another bottle of wine. When the meal was finished and the dishes stacked in the dishwasher, Jim offered dessert. “I’m stuffed,” I said. “Really, I couldn’t eat another bite.”

“Coffee then?”

Caffeine at this hour would keep me awake, but I didn’t plan on sleeping much anyway. “Coffee would be great.”

Back on the sofa, I snuggled up to Jim, my head resting on his shoulder. Since I’d arrived on the island, I’d felt so incredibly connected to him. I wanted to be close to him,
really
close to him—literally and metaphorically. I was ready to consummate this relationship. In fact, I was more than ready—I was dying to! And I’d had more than enough wine to lower my inhibitions. I began to kiss his neck. As I moved up to his ear, nibbling and licking, I heard his breath quicken. It was working! I was going to go for it! Throwing my leg over his lap and straddling him, I began to passionately kiss his mouth.

“I want you,” I whispered, between deep, wet kisses. “I want you so much.”

“Me too,” he managed to mumble through his mouthful of my tongue.

“Let’s go upstairs . . .” I growled. Jumping off his lap, I took his hand and led him to the staircase, Jim following me obediently. I hoped he didn’t mind a sexually aggressive woman. I mean, from everything I’d read, it was supposed to be a major turn-on. The three flights of stairs seemed endless, but we finally reached the top floor. I began to move toward Jim’s bedroom, but he pulled me back.

“Let’s go to your room,” he said, huskily. “Mine’s a mess.” We were no sooner through the doorway of my pretty apricot-coloured space than I pushed him down on the floral bedspread and pounced. My fervour knew no bounds! Frantically, I began unbuttoning his shirt, tugging at his belt, and running my hands all over his firm body. Jim pulled my sweater over my head, and then, shifting me to the side, removed his own shirt. I gasped at the sight of his bare chest. It was firm and muscular, and there were definitely only two nipples. I knew he kept in shape, but I hadn’t expected Jim to have such a great body. I’m talking not just great for his age great, but really great. I suddenly felt quite fat.

“Take your bra off,” he whispered, hungrily. I acquiesced, despite my new-found insecurities. But the way Jim grabbed me and crushed my body to his left no doubt in my mind that he didn’t find my obesity revolting. Within minutes, we were naked and horizontal.

Although I was being swept along on a wave of wine and passion, I couldn’t ignore the importance of this occasion. It was a momentous step for Jim and me, signalling a new chapter in our fledgling relationship. But it was even more than that. Our impending copulation was significant for me in other ways, as well. Having sex with another man meant that I was finally, really and truly, over Colin. It also meant that maybe, just maybe, I could start hoping for a future that included a husband and children again . . . not that I
needed
that to make me happy. I had my career, good friends, and a creative, stress-relieving hobby, after all. Falling back onto the pillow, I gripped Jim’s shoulders. I was ready. And it was going to be incredible.