While She Was Sleeping... (14 page)

Out to her car in the parking garage which had reverted to being inoffensive, out into the sunshine of what had been and would now continue to be a blissful day, heading toward the Third Ward. On St. Paul Avenue, her cell rang. Melanie. Alana pulled over immediately opposite the Amtrak station and answered with shaking hands, guilty for not thinking about Gran and Grandad every second of the morning. “Did you hear from them?”

“They’re fine! No worries. Cynthia is moving quickly, they’re in the shelter, safe and sound. They haven’t even lost
power. Gran said people are incredibly organized and patient and there’s a great feeling of community while they weather the storm. Grandad has a chess game going and Gran figures she’ll finish another sweater today.”

“Oh, thank God!” Alana’s spirits lifted even higher. “That’s wonderful.”

“So don’t worry and enjoy your date. Sawyer is a serious sweetheart. And a hottie.” She snorted. “A sweet-hottie. I really can’t believe I let
you
get him.”

“He’s a good guy.” Alana laughed at the understatement. “Oh, and thanks for the dress, Mel.”

“I wanted to get you something slit to there and tight, tight, tight, but he said no and picked that one out for you.”

“Really?” Her glow intensified, mixing with happiness that her grandparents were safe. That was the main thing. And hey, if, when they got out of the shelter, they discovered their condo was ruined, maybe they’d come back home to Milwaukee and she could stay here with Sawyer and—

She said goodbye to her sister, hung up and drove on toward Milwaukee Street. No way could she wish that on them. They’d chosen their new life in Orlando, they loved it down there, and Alana would, too.

Lunch was perfect, from the chilled roasted tomato soup to the delicious lamb sandwich served with thin, crisp, perfectly salted French fries, to the excellent wine, service and mmm, yes, company. Sawyer’s eyes had lighted up at the sight of her in the dress; they talked easily throughout the meal then lingered over cups of strong coffee to combat wine-induced sleepiness.

“Come on.” He paid the bill and escorted her to the exit. “I want to show you something.”

“Okay.” She said a silent “yes” of satisfaction that he hadn’t finished with her yet and trailed his shiny red Lancer up Lakeshore Drive to the tony suburb of Whitefish Bay.

On Summit Avenue he parked in front of an enormous brick
Tudor. She hurried from her Prius to meet him at the base of the driveway, feeling as if they were blissfully reuniting when they’d been apart for all of ten minutes. She could get used—she
was
getting used to this. If Gran and Grandad were all right, maybe she could put off leaving another day…

What for? To prolong the agony?

When Melanie was seven, she’d managed to cut her finger deeply with a paper cutter. Alana had been stuck nursing her because their mother passed out every time she got a look at the injury—though Mom had come through in other ways, cuddling Melanie and reading to her in bed with Alana snuggled up next to them both, wishing with all her heart that could be a nightly ritual, even knowing it wasn’t possible.

But while Alana had been in charge of changing her sister’s dressings, she’d told Melanie over and over: it hurts less if you pull bandages off quickly, get the pain over with in one quick second rather than drawing it out.

That was how she’d deal with Sawyer. Pull him off her and get the worst of the pain over with in one quick second.

“Welcome to my home.” He put his arm around her and the two of them stood gazing at the impressive structure, shaded by a towering maple that seemed to embrace the house. “I was the only brother who wanted it when my parents moved out, so I inherited.”

“Are all your brothers local?”

“Finn is, he’s an investment banker, lives in Fox Point. Tom is a plastic surgeon in Chicago. Mark is VP of an engineering company, currently working in Germany.”

“Pretty high-powered family.”

“Dad wouldn’t have it any other way.” He smiled wryly. “My grandfather didn’t cut Dad any rich-boy slack, and Dad refused to do it for us, either.”

“You don’t respect that?”

“I do. Deeply. But Dad took it a little too far. None of us were allowed even to consider a career that wasn’t a
guaranteed top earner. We all buckled. Finn was a talented musician, Mark loved cartooning. Tom…well, Tom is who he should be. And I became a lawyer.”

Alana winced. “And nearly paid with your health.”

“Yeah, but I’m fine now, and have emerged from the Cult of Dad.” He moved her to the front door. “We all have some dysfunction in our past. Otherwise we wouldn’t be human.”

“True.” She understood better than he knew. She could hear all the pain behind the brief summary of his life, feel the loneliness and frustration of thwarted hopes. She wanted to go back in time and fix it all for him, but no one got that chance. You took what the world dealt and played the hand as best you could going forward.

“Let’s see if you get to meet the nephew horde.” He opened the front door with his key, stuck his head in. “Maria?” No answer.

“Hmm, guess what?” He pulled Alana in and shut the door behind her, took her hands. “We’re alone.”

“Oh?” She blinked innocently.

He locked her hands behind his back, put his on her waist. “In a house.”

“Mmm?”

“With bedrooms.” He moved his pelvis against hers. “That have beds in them.”

“Ohhh.”
Her innocent act fled, replaced by hunger.
Don’t think, live in the moment and
do.

He kissed her, once, twice; passion began to ignite…then they both heard it: the roar of the garage door going up. The sound of an engine, young voices shouting over it out open car windows.

“Oh, for—” Sawyer smacked his hand on the wall above Alana’s head, looking at her in baleful exasperation, which made her giggle.

“This way.” He took her by the hand and led her through
to the basement, closing and locking the door behind him. “We’ll hide down here.”

“From the barbarian invasion?”

“They’re great kids, all of them.” He turned her toward him, tall and broad in the low-ceilinged, dimly lit room. “But I’m not in a babysitting mood.”

“Mmm, me, neither.” She gazed up at him, grinning, until the emotion became unbearably strong and she had to look away, nervous and unsettled, as if they’d just met. “This must be your workshop. And that’s the table you’re making?”

“None other.”

Alana walked over to examine it, disturbed by how rattled she was, but impressed by the woodworking. She’d done plenty of fix-it carpentry, but never tried making any furniture from scratch. The piece was solidly and skillfully built, spare but graceful with long tapered legs and a single drawer, classic Shaker style. “This is beautiful.”

“Thanks.” He ran his hands over the smooth, flawless wood, and she impulsively yanked his camera out of her purse and snapped a picture, then another when he looked up, startled, and a third when he smiled.

“You’ll e-mail me these pictures in Florida?”

His smile faltered. “Yeah. Sure.”

“I’ll print them out and send you hard copies if you want.”

“Okay.” He was looking at her thoughtfully, as if he wanted to say something, tapping his fingers on top of the unfinished table.

“Yes?”

“What?” He roused himself and moved toward her, that prowling swagger that made her turn shaky with nerves and longing.

“You wanted something?”

He gave her a look that told her exactly what he wanted. “Yes, I definitely do.”

“Me, too,” she whispered. She was still unsettled, but her body was telling her to go ahead more strongly than her brain objected.

“You’re sure?”

She put her hands to his chest. “What would you say if I changed my mind and said no?”

“Too late.”

His lips were familiar by now, but no less exciting. The kisses turned fiery immediately; Alana arched into him, aware of his arousal, wishing they weren’t in a basement among tools and planks of wood, but in her bedroom with clean sheets and candles and smooth jazz on the radio.

Did that make her boring? She didn’t know. But when his tongue explored her mouth, thrusting in a way that turned her central heating up to high, she lost track of the thought and dragged his shirt up, explored his smooth muscled skin. They had to stop sometime, they couldn’t make love here among all this dusty stuff and with kids upstairs, but she wasn’t sure she knew when she’d get the strength to—

“Mo-o-om, Jake hit me with a truck.”

Alana started, then closed her eyes again when his tongue lightly stroked her neck, and his lips followed. She tipped her head to give him access, moaning her pleasure. “I wish we were in my bedroom.”

“No kids?”

“And a bed.”

“Ah, yes, the clean sheets.” He pulled her dress up to her waist. “I think we can manage here just fine.”

“With…no bed?”

He stopped in the act of pulling her dress off. “You’ve never had sex out of bed?”

She froze in horror. Oh my God.
Why
had she said that? He’d think she was a complete unsexy, unadventurous idiot.

“I’m sorry.” He pulled her dress back down, took her in his arms. “I didn’t mean to shock you.”

No, no, this was worse. Now he thought she was horrified at the idea instead of at her own inexperience.
Fix it, Alana.
She was leaving in the morning, she wanted to make up for the time she’d wasted and have him as many times as they could manage it, no matter where or how. If she fell for him, so be it.

“I’m not shocked. I just…”

“What?” He rocked her back and forth, his erection pressed against her.

“I must seem pretty…staid.”

“I’d say you’ve probably had staid lovers.”

“Maybe…” She was trying very hard not to panic. He had probably done women all over the city in all kinds of wild and spontaneous places and she’d completely killed the moment worrying about beds with clean sheets, for God’s sake. She needed to work to recapture the feeling in the butterfly exhibit, where she’d truly managed to drop the control freak, let go and be in the moment.

“You don’t remember our night together, Alana, but I do. Every second. Trust me, I was not bored. Never did I feel the need to nap. Not at all. Even on drugs.”

She laughed and felt better. A little. No, a lot. She was going to fix this.

“If you’re not comfortable here, we can—”

“I’m very comfortable.” She pulled her dress off, stopped herself from folding it and hanging it carefully across a chair. In fact, she tossed it onto his half-finished nightstand, then unhooked her bra and did the dress on the night table one better, by tossing it carelessly onto the floor. She didn’t even look to see where it landed.

Sawyer made a surprised and helplessly aroused sound that turned her on even more—and increased her confidence. “You sure you want this here, Alana?”

She smiled seductively, put her hands to the elastic of her
panties, eased them down, kicked them across the room. “Do I look sure?”

He sucked in a harsh breath, lunged forward and lifted her onto him. “You look incredible.”

“Thank you.” She wrapped her legs around him, somehow sounding cool and calm when she was wildly, breathlessly excited. She’d never done anything like this. It felt freeing and dangerous and safe all at once—which was the only type of danger she could handle.

Sawyer carried her effortlessly over to a worktable, which she promised herself she wouldn’t inspect for cleanliness, but couldn’t help one peek.

“Wait.” He put her down, whipped off his shirt and spread it on the table, then lifted her onto the soft fabric, nudging her legs apart.

“Are you always this thoughtful?”

“I thought I was being practical. Get splinters in your butt our first time and you won’t want me again.”

She cracked up. “That is
such
a guy thing to say.”

“Isn’t it? So is this.” He knelt between her legs, his breath warm, kissed her intimately, his tongue and lips wet and wonderful. “You have the most beautiful—”

“Mo-om. I can’t find my Spore disk.”

“Did you check your backpack?”

Sawyer leaned his head despairingly on her thigh. “If it’s not drugs or too-public places, it’s children.”

“We’ll get it right.” She stroked his hair affectionately, lingering on the curl around his ear, the thick strands at the bottom of his neck. She loved that when things went wrong he laughed and rolled with the punches. She could learn from him.

“All we have is today.” He gazed up at her; the emotion smoldered, sparked, then burned clear, bright and steady until she had to look away again.

If this wasn’t love, she had no idea what it could possibly be. She’d never felt anything like this before.

One day. Only one day to explore it.

He stood, moving his hands leisurely along her thighs, kissed her with increasing passion. She unsnapped, unzipped his jeans and pushed them down; he caught them with one hand behind his back and extracted a condom from the pocket.

“Ah, took me for granted?” Her fingers entered the fly of his boxers, catching his hard length in her fist.

Breath hissed between his teeth. “A man can always hope.”

She leaned into his broad chest, played with his nipple, teeth and tongue causing soft moans that pleased her as much if not more than her touch pleased him. She loved the power she had to make him this aroused; the power he had to affect her so deeply. Her hands kept stroking his erection, exploring the juxtaposition of baby-soft skin and jutting hardness, until her need to feel him inside her began to be desperate. She shoved the material of his boxers down and away, setting him free. He was so beautiful, generous and smooth, sleek and eager.

“Now,” she whispered. “While we can.”

He rolled on the condom, then knelt and used his mouth to lubricate her. She arched her back, hands landing hard on the table behind her, while his tongue thrust inside her, painted the outside of her opening with moisture. Her breath accelerated; her heartbeat followed. Oh, what she’d missed that first night together by being asleep.