While She Was Sleeping... (13 page)

They got into line for the popular exhibit, then spent a few minutes with their designated group in a small transition area before they were admitted, to make sure no butterflies escaped.

The two-story glassed-in room was swarming with all types, colors and shapes, including, behind one special pane, various stages of caterpillar, chrysalis and emerging adults. In the open room around various flowering plants and trees adult insects fluttered free, landing on walls, greenery and awestruck visitors, who’d lowered their voices instinctively once inside, adding to the enchantment.

The creatures were so beautiful, so delicate, and right here, all around. Alana wished she had—

A cold metallic rectangle was put into her hand. She looked down, then up at Sawyer in amazement. “What’s this?”

“Thought you’d want to take a few pictures.”

She was beside herself. “How did you know?”

“Because you’re a visual person with a lot of talent.”

“Wow.” She swallowed hard. “Wow. Thank you.”

She turned away, ostensibly to find her first shot, but more to steady herself again. His understanding and belief in her was a precious gift that made her even more vulnerable than his attempts at seduction.

A swallowtail on the edge of a leaf caught her focus—hers and the camera’s. She got the shot, repositioned for a better angle and took another, then another. She’d so missed having a camera as her second set of eyes. Why had she abandoned it? Catching fire, she started working the room, watching, observing, letting the pictures come to her. Two of the same orange species side by side on the edge of a planter, one with wings out, one with wings folded. The small yellow butterfly clinging to the letter T of the word
Death
on a teenager’s jet-black T-shirt. The dark-eyed little girl barely containing her joy at being face-to-face with a monarch. Energy and effortless concentration, marred only by her constant awareness of a certain man watching her enjoy the immense satisfaction of creation.

She was happy. Truly and deeply happy in this moment, doing what she was doing. With Sawyer.

Just call her Melanie For a Day.

He came up close behind her, where she stood hoping a blue butterfly would move ju-u-ust slightly to its right. He put his hand on the curve of her hip. She felt his size, the warmth of his body, the power of the Alana-magnets. This time she didn’t resist, moved back pretending to need photographic perspective, pushing her rear gently into the fly of his jeans. Feel good in the moment. To hell with tomorrow. Sawyer and his camera had freed her to do that.

A low groan came out of him. “What are you doing to me?”

“Oh, sorry, was I doing something to you?” She clicked
her camera, even though she had no idea what she was shooting.

“Evil, evil woman.” He pressed hard against her and released, tugging quickly on his jeans. “Here I was just trying to stimulate your…creativity.”

“I don’t think that’s all you were—Look.” She hardly dared move. A brilliant blue butterfly had landed on her forearm. She turned her head as slowly as she could, lifted the camera and tried to frame a decent shot, taking in the visible foliage, the fleshy bar of her arm juxtaposed against the brilliant blue wings, the spidery legs clinging to her skin, delicate fuzzy antennae, buggy eyes. The camera clicked, then again; the butterfly flew away.

Alana turned impulsively and kissed Sawyer on the cheek. “Thank you so much.”

“For?” His arms came around her.

How could she explain adequately? “The camera. This trip. Everything. I didn’t realize how much I missed taking pictures.”

“You’re welcome.” His hand slid under her waist-length yellow top; his palm rested against the bare skin of her back. “Alana.”

“Wait, don’t move.” A butterfly had landed in his thick hair, and was exploring the strands tentatively. “There’s one on your head.”

She stepped back, put the camera up to frame the shot. White butterfly on dark hair of gorgeous man, green branch dangling leaves close to them both. She got the shot, took another. Not surprisingly, he had a face the camera loved. Great planes, angles, good bones, and that look in his eye…

She lowered the camera slowly, allowing some of the warmth of his gaze into hers.

Yes.

Whatever he wanted, the answer was yes. It seemed like a silly waste of time to have avoided him for so long. Who was
that uptight woman and what was her problem? To be desired and to be understood was everything a woman could want. Even a short time was better than never. “Were you going to ask me something?”

“If you were finished taking pictures?” He beckoned her toward him, put an arm around her, whispered in her ear. “Because you are desperately sexy when you work, and if I start kissing you now the way I want to, I’m afraid these little guys will be offended.”

The butterfly in his hair bolted.

“See?” He didn’t follow its fluttery path, kept his eyes fixed on Alana’s. “Offended.”

“Hmm.” She pretended to consider. “Were you planning to start this kissing soon?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Well, good,” she said simply. She followed him to the exhibit exit, shaky and giddy-nervous. She’d been kissed plenty in her life. How did the promise of a few more manage to reduce her to gelatin?

Outside the enclosed exhibit, Sawyer strode ahead so fast she practically had to run to keep up. “Are we…going…home?”

“Nope.” He ducked into a small-insect exhibit, made a sound of frustration when he saw a family there. “Wait, I know.”

They went into the rain forest room, climbed the stairs into the virtual treetops and found…too many people.

“Okay. No. Here.” He led her back down the steps and into a dark, abandoned corner. When his lips were half an inch from hers, her body already sparking, two teenagers came by and started examining photographs of cells, talking loudly in half-mature cracking voices.

Sawyer actually growled.

Another corner, this time a projection room where a few tired patrons could sit and watch a short movie. She followed
him, pretty sure she’d come here on a school trip and watched it twice to rest her feet. “Hey, I remember this—Mmph.”

Further thought fled with her physical ability to finish the sentence. She was being kissed. And how. Backed against the wall, a long denim leg inserted between hers. She welcomed it, wrapped her left leg around it and pushed rhythmically.

“Alana.” He sounded hoarse, frustrated. She felt the same. “I want you so badly.”

“Me, too.”

“Today.”

“Yes.” She forced herself to think. “Melanie’s home, but if we sneak in quietly, I’ve got clean sheets that we can—”

“Clean sheets?” He pulled back, looked at her incredulously. “I’m ready to go right here against the wall and you want to drive home and change your sheets?”

“I…well…” She made a silly face to hide how crestfallen she was. “I’m no fun, huh?”

He laughed, rested his forehead against hers. “I think maybe it’s been too long since you let yourself have any.”

She wasn’t so sure she’d ever “let herself” do anything he was thinking of, but she wasn’t going to admit that she’d been boring all her life.

Wait.

Not sensible? Not rational?
Boring?

Really?

Dear God. This was turning out to be quite the day for destroying illusions about herself. Or maybe it was her turn to evolve.

“Come on.” He kissed her quickly, then took her hand and led her out of the rainforest. “Change of plans.”

“Please tell me you don’t want to hump in the back of your car in the parking garage.”

“Hey, there’s a thought.” He gave a fake enthusiastic thumbs-up. “Nah, I have more class than that.”

“Whew.”

He gazed at her with obvious affection, then lowered his head and kissed her again, differently this time, more the way he had that evening in the hallway outside her bathroom, gently, lingeringly, the way that left her a hollow shell of herself, a brainless, boneless mess of feelings.

One of which was fear.

Please don’t let Melanie be right.

“Okay.” He moved away reluctantly, smoothed back her hair. “We’ll wait. Back on schedule.”

She tried to shake away her odd mood. “Schedule? You do schedules?”

“I’m only Mr. Spontaneous in comparison to you.”

She scowled in mock anger. “Evil, evil man.”

“And to be honest. I have to be somewhere in about half an hour. Now that you’ve ruled out humping in the garage…”

“Ah.” She tried desperately not to look disappointed.

He held out his hand. “But let’s look around more while we can.”

“Sounds good.” No disappointment. Today was about fun, and she was going to have as much as she could, whether she was with Sawyer or not.

They walked through a few more exhibits, cowering playfully from the giant models of battling dinosaurs roaring thunderously through speakers, then picked out their favorite gemstones and minerals from the display case in the Earth section, and peeked into the windows of stores in the Streets of Old Wisconsin exhibit. Her good mood resurfaced from the sheer pleasure of being with him until he looked at his watch.

“I’m sorry, Alana.”

“Time’s up?”

He nodded regretfully. “For now. Let’s go.”

The parking garage seemed twice as unappealing on the way out as it had in, giant blowers roaring circulating air, low
ceiling, concrete everywhere, all that was the same. But now she was leaving him, not going to meet him.

“Where’s your car?”

Alana pointed listlessly; they wove their way through rows of vehicles in silence until they reached her Prius. Even humping in the backseat in semipublic was preferable to separating.

She had it bad.

“I had a great time.” Sawyer kissed her sweetly. “We’ll hook up sometime again later on today, okay?”

“Yes, sure.” She started feeling that horrible vulnerability Melanie lived so often. Would he call? Was she being given a signal that all wasn’t well in his feelings?

She turned firmly, opened her door and got into the car, hearing his footsteps hurrying away. This was ridiculous; she was not going to let this man turn her as crazy as her sister. No way. She slammed the door shut, shoved her key in, turned, and noticed an envelope under her windshield wiper. What the—

She glanced around, surprised when the envelope didn’t appear to be on any other windshield. Was it the same type that had fallen out of her paper that morning?

She jumped out of the car, grabbed it and ripped it open. Inside was a piece of paper and what looked like a special key.

Alana’s cranky forehead smoothed; her lips relaxed, then curved into a smile; warmth bloomed through her.

Ohhhhh, wow.

She let herself fall back against the car like a lovesick fool, clutching the paper to her chest, grinning foolishly at the ugly concrete ceiling. He must have watched for her arrival and
slipped the note on her car before he went into the museum to meet her.

He was
sooo
good.

Except—she glanced frantically at her watch—she’d need to rush home and change. Coquette Café wasn’t stuffy, but it was fancy enough that she’d feel uncomfortable in casual shorts. Only, damn, she hadn’t
brought
anything nice to Milwaukee. Hardly any of Melanie’s tiny-boobed, thin-hipped funky stuff would fit her—literally or figuratively. As soon as she retrieved the treasure the key promised, she’d have to run by the Grand Avenue Mall on her way to the restaurant and pray she found something appropriate in ten minutes or less.

She locked the car and hurried back into the museum, got directions to the lockers at the information desk. A small alcove off the main entrance hall…found it…B-7…B-7…
there.
The key went in, turned. The door opened.

A shopping bag from Boston Store. She pulled it down, hardly daring to breathe, and looked inside. Tissue paper. And a note.

Alana pawed through the tissue paper, then gasped. He bought her a
dress?

Yes. Royal blue with a subtle floral pattern, simple lines, scoop-neck, no sleeves. Not too fancy for the casual sandals she was wearing, but dressy enough for the restaurant.

Wow. In most cases she would not have been comfortable with a man she barely knew buying her clothes, but Sawyer—and Melanie—had saved her a mad dash through stores, or worse, feeling frumpy and self-conscious at the
white-tablecloth bistro in shorts. She leaned against the lockers, dress held up to her shoulders, shaking her head helplessly. He was one in a million. Why did she have to meet him as soon as she was about to move away?

Because life was often like that—random, unfair, frustrating. She should have accepted that by now. There was plenty of bright side. Namely that the day wasn’t even half over, a handsome escort waited for her at one of her favorite Milwaukee restaurants, and she’d rekindled her passion for photography, a joy that would last the rest of her life now that she understood better what it meant to her. So. No whining.

In the museum bathroom she stepped eagerly out of her shorts and threw off her top, pulled on the dress whose woven material felt soft and forgiving on her body. Hoping she wasn’t guilty of pantylines, she exited the stall and tiptoed anxiously toward the mirror over the sink.

No worries. The neckline suited her; the jewel color flattered her skin even under horrid fluorescent lighting; her favorite silver twist earrings complemented the style; excitement brightened her eyes and flushed her cheeks.

She smiled at her reflection until a woman came into the bathroom with her young daughter, which made Alana bolt back to the stall, pack up her shorts and top in the shopping bag and his camera in her purse, and leave. Not a great idea to stand grinning foolishly at yourself in a public bathroom.