FicWad

CHAPTER SIX


The cool, clear evening, beautiful music, food, wine and unfailingly courtly attention of my companion transformed an evening spent out for sake of not remaining shut in, into Heaven. After a while, he leaned back, half on his side, braced up on one bent elbow. His loose hair pooled at the ends upon the blanket. A shorter lock in the front fell forward in a rebellious wave.


I could not cease to stare. Such masculine beauty boggled the mind. Not to mention gave even a girl like me ideas she had no business entertaining.


His head turned and I found myself captive to his intense pale eyes. With those dark brows above and long, equally dark lashes framing, their potency threatened to stop my heart. No one had ever looked at me like that. I could not seem to break the contact. My cheeks heated and the glass in my hand began to slip. He rolled toward me, took it from my grasp and set it on the ground beside the blanket without ceasing to gaze at me. Then he scooted closer, picked up my hand and held it in his much larger, darker, warmer one.


I tried to return my attention to the quartet. From my periphery, I noted he continued his intent regard. Unable to help myself, I turned back to him.


He sat upright and pulled me over to sit between thighs. Bent knees on either side of me, I felt at once captured and safe. He tucked my throw back around, his arms went around me, urging me to lean back against his chest. Enveloped in the heat, scent and strength of him, I shuddered. He held me a little tighter, his cheek coming down to press mine. The feel of very male, short beard with smooth skin above and below it made me dizzy.


The rich timbre of his voice vibrated my back as he spoke. “I kept waiting, none too patiently, for you to approach me. I didn’t want to scare you off.”


I had difficulty processing his words. “You thought I would …” What? My brain stalled.


“You watched me, stole my mail,” he said quietly. “I knew you were interested. Why didn’t you talk to me?”


I searched myself, attempting to decide the boundary between bravery and useless self-risk. He sounded so genuine, almost boyish in his lack of male ego. “Because,” I swallowed hard, emotionally naked, “I didn’t think you would want to talk to me.”


“Annabella.” My name emerged from him almost as a groan. “How could you think that?”


Unable to help myself wrapped in this drugging cocoon, I admitted, “I know I am kind of pretty when I make an effort. But the truth is, if a man is out with me, he has to deal with everything I do. I can become too much. It does become too much. They get sick of the chair and having to move things out of my way in public.” I bit back tears. He stroked my arms, gently rubbed his face along mine. I confessed the worst, half-choked by emotion. “Then, there’s the sex issue.”


In a low, perfectly calm tone, he asked, “What’s wrong there, sweetheart. Do you have problems with arousal? Pain? Tell me.”


“N-no.” Why wasn’t he bolting?


“Then what? Don’t be shy with me.”


My tears receded. I had found his flaw. Stupidity. “My legs, of course.”


“What about them?” He nuzzled my jaw a little, clearly moving beyond comfort.


“They do not work properly.” Despite the chills erupting along my neck, I wanted to tack onto that reply, ‘Oh, village idiot.’


In a distinctly sexual growl, he responded, “Baby, mine work well enough for both of us.”


My pelvis liquefied and I sort of sagged back into him.


CHAPTER SEVEN


By the time he stopped outside my door and used my keys to unlock it, I felt filleted. He’d petted me and whispered things to me, what he’d thought about when he looked at me, and all manner of wicked sweetness.


“Will you let me come in,” he asked.


“Maybe that isn’t such a good idea.” My entire body suffered from this slight, almost buzzing tremble of excitement, apprehension and desire.


“If you don’t want kissed,” he answered in that low hush, “no, it isn’t.”


I rolled myself up the ramp and inside. “Perhaps just for a little while.”


He walked in behind me and closed the door. I flinched. Silence insulated us. “It smells like you in here.”


I kept my place really clean because I feared running over something and becoming immobilized. However, this had never arisen in dating rhetoric. The way it smelled? “Make yourself at home.” I watched him walk down the hall, beyond my sight. My heart thundered as I imagined him in my bedroom and bathroom.


I sat there, wondering what he looked at. After a bit, I called, “Anyone still alive?”


He strode down from the hall into the great room. “I was staring into your bedroom.”


“You didn’t go in?” I flushed at my own brass.


He walked toward me, all elegant sinew and masculine brawn. “I won’t go there until you invite me.”


I wondered if a chair-bound chick could manage a dramatic faint. Inhaling deep, I asked, “Are you in the salvage business?”


His pale, powerful gaze fixed me. “In a certain capacity.” Coming closer, he asked, “How do you make a living?”


“I act as an advisor to businesses concerning the handicapped.”


He walked into my kitchen. I sat mid-great room, off balance and unsure of his intent. His deep voice startled me. “You have no problem living alone, Annabella?”


“No.” I leaned back. “I’ve lived by myself for over ten years.”


He strode out, tall and bold. “You’re a special woman.” He pulled a chair from my small dinette set over to the desk. Nodding toward the computer, he said, “Show me your website.”


I had expected, wanted, him to just grab me once the door closed behind us. His reserve threw me off balance. Propelling myself over to the desk, I replied. “Okay, but given your line of work, I doubt it will interest you much.”


“Everything about you interests me.”


He won for romantic reply points, I thought, bringing my machine from hibernation. I moused to my internet icon, double clicked and the web popped up. Then, I went to my favorites, clicked on Freedom Friendly and it brought up my site. He stood, scooted his chair closer and sat down again.


I moved backward. “Help yourself.”


That pale gaze moved over me in a manner I agreed with entirely. “I will.”


He reached for the mouse, his hand dwarfing it. I watched in helpless fascination as he perused my site. His short, neat nails made me think about his careful self-maintenance. A man that dedicated to his own body would know how to please another’s. As I sat there, filled with arousal, something inside me snapped. “You said there’d be kissing.” Instantly, I cowered.


I found myself swept onto his lap. His right hand lifted my legs. His left my torso. I then found myself turned toward him. Looking down at me, he murmured, “Yes, sweetheart.”


“Wait, wait, wait,” I whispered, breathless and terrified as he leaned down to bring our lips together. His mouth settled very gently upon mine and I heard my muffled cry of pleasure.


It felt like my first. None had felt like this before. A bolt of sensation shot through my entire body. I trembled. My hands found his loose hair and I scooted as close to him as possible. The sweet, raw, masculine flavor of his mouth flooded mine. His strong, silky tongue courted mine and I felt tears forming behind my closed eyelids.


Time passed. He cradled me to him as our mouths mated, making me feel more female and beautiful than ever I had. When he lifted his head, I stared upward.


He pressed his lips to my forehead. “I want to lie down with you, Annabella. No pressure, baby. Just my desire to lie next to you.”


The tears spilled. “I’m afraid.”


He stood with me in his arms. “Invite me to your bed. I’ll make you happy.”

CHAPTER EIGHT


“No actual sex?” I stroked his face, fascinated by the very masculine facial hair. I levered off my slip on ballet flats. They struck the floor softly.

“Not tonight.” His tropical-hued eyes held mine.

I nodded. The god-man carried me into my room. He placed me upon the bed, carefully stretching out my legs. I jerked in reaction when he reached to push up my track pants. “No.”

Lounging across the bottom of my bed, he looked up at me. “Why?” His calves and feet did not even fit on the double bed with him lying over its width.


I wanted to die. “It gives me uncomfortable pins-and-needles to shave my legs.” Now he would flee.


“Your skin’s reaction to the razor or leaning down?” His even, matter-of-fact tone disarmed me.


“Leaning down.”


He hopped up and vanished down the hall. I heard cabinets open and close, water run. Then he returned with two towels, a razor and a bowl of water. He did not speak as he lifted my legs and placed a towel under them.


“Let me take off these,” he entreated, grasping my pants.


I nodded.


He pulled them down and off. Left in my panties, I blushed hotly.


Taking the razor, he wet it in the bowl and plied it to my leg. The lubricating strip eased passage. With each stroke, he spoke a wicked statement.


“Your legs make me think about wrapping them around my waist.”


“I can’t hold them there.” Somehow speaking of it like this seemed less humiliating, more … normal.


The razor slid along my shin.


“I could tie them. Bind you to me.”


My heart jerked inside my chest. “No.” Oh yes please.


“Yes. You couldn’t run. I could do whatever I wanted.” I shivered and let him tend me. He rinsed me with clean water, catching it with the dry towel. Then, he cleared the bed. “Where can I find your nail polish?”


I pointed to my dresser. “Top drawer.”


He opened it, rattled around, then withdrew an iridescent shell pink. I noticed he had the forethought to choose a flash dry formula, and laid there as he painted my toe nails. It made me feel cared for. As he finished by blowing upon my nails, I shivered.


That aroused me. I groaned.


He chuckled. Before I could attempt to pull free, I felt his tongue flick between my toes. Sensory information rampaged. His big hands rubbed my calves and ankles, kneaded the tops of my feet as his tongue delved between my toes and dabbed at the soles of my susceptible feet.


I crawled away, then back to him.


He gathered me into his long, strong arms. His mouth courted mine again. I clasped him with all my strength. He petted me, kissed me with the slowness a woman fantasizes about, then lifted his head. “I have to go for tonight.”


Aflame, I agreed. “Yes. But tomorrow, you make good.”

CHAPTER NINE

I dreamed about him all night. Over and over I heard his deep voice. “I could bind you to me.” By morning I felt at once exhausted and keyed up, a miserable combination.

I didn’t usually make coffee. This morning I needed it. So I excavated a bag of Sumatran Dark Roast from the freezer and got a pot going. A sudden violent pounding on the door made me jump in my chair. Heart jerking erratically, I went to answer.

“I saw him come in here last night.” Pierce whisked passed me. I closed the door and turned around to see her whip a scrunchie off one tattooed wrist, twist up that mass of shiny black hair into a doubled ponytail.

“Yes.” It felt really good to, for once, have the juicy story.

“Don’t make me fish, Wheels,” she complained.

“Notice anything different?” I sat waiting as she gave me a visual inventory.

“No obvious hickey marks, if that’s what you mean.” She suddenly stared at my legs, bare below my shorts. “This is the first time I have seen you out of long pants.”

Blushing all over again, I confessed, “He shaved my legs and painted my toe nails.”

“That’s way beyond a love bite mark.” She sniffed as the coffee maker gurgled. “Have enough brew for two?”

After we each had a cup, Pierce took her usual place on the couch with me beside. I told her everything, the park, what happened here. “It was so intimate. And erotic.” I shook my head. “I still can’t believe I let him do those things.”

“You nuts?” She blew on her heavily-creamed coffee. “That’s the most fucking romantic thing I ever heard of. Better than Meryl Streep getting her hair washed in that soupy ‘Over Africa’ flick.”

I laughed. “Out of Africa, you dope.”

“Whatever. My point is,” she said heavily, fixing me with those sharp, dark blue eyes, “if the man provides service like that, he’s a prince.”


Not a half an hour after she left, my phone rang. On the caller ID, I saw Garrett, L. My hand trembled as I clicked the talk button. “Hello?”

“Hello, back. Get any sleep?”

I closed my eyes, fighting the melting sensations his voice conjured low in my pelvis. “Some.”

“I want to cook you dinner this evening. Six o’clock, I’ll come get you, make you comfortable at my place, then run back down for your chair.”

“Okay.” Inside I cheered.

“Wear something short, for me. I thought about your legs half the night.”

I thought about that as I looked at the clock much later. Any minute he’d arrive. I wondered what he’d think of what I wore.

The door stood open and I had my answer when he stepped up to it. “That’s done it. You’re staying with me tonight. Even if it’s in the guest room. Let’s pack you a bag.”

I smiled and didn’t bother protesting. It only took a few minutes to throw a nightgown, a change of clothes and toiletries into my faithful old gray backpack.

I wore a pair of khaki shorts a passing-through cousin of mine had left behind, and I doubted the inseam more than an inch and a half. The long-sleeved sweater I had on and my ballet flats, to me, showcased my legs. How odd to enjoy that. Find a subtle erotic element in what I had considered for the most part embarrassing and useless.

As I wheeled myself back out into the great room, I saw him leaning over my beta fish’s bowl. My fish did his little dance for him as he did for me. “He usually doesn’t respond to anyone but me,” I observed.

My escort straightened. “Fish like me.” His gaze roamed over me again. “It’s a little cool.” He strode to my couch, whipped off the throw draped over the back. “I don’t want you cold, sweetheart.”

I smiled as he came to me. Handing him my backpack, I watched him sling it over one shoulder then reach for me. I went into his arms so willingly a new term should have applied. Held high against his wide chest by powerful, hard arms, I went a little limp. It felt lovely to have him carry me upstairs to his condo.

The door to it stood open as well. The clean-lined, masculine furnishings and the scent of him struck me first. He carried me to a beautiful couch made of buttery brown leather. Settling me there with my throw, he kissed my lips and forehead. “You okay?”

I nodded.

“Keys to your condo?”

I replied, “On my desk.”

“Back in few.”

I gazed about the place, its layout mirroring my own. Resemblance ended there. His environment shouted confidence and simple luxury. Rubbing my hand along the arm of the couch, I thought about his sensitivity to female emotion. A few obviously new candles burned. Having watched him so closely, I knew myself the first female in here.

My host returned. His presence changed the atmosphere. A sexual charge filled the air as he placed my folded chair inside, closed and locked the door. He stood there, dressed all in black, his golden hair drawn back in the leather clasp I had seen often in my early stalking. “I have you now, Bella.”

CHAPTER TEN

So many emotions washed through me I courted dizziness. As a younger, less reserved female, I had loved the idea of my name shortened to that. Not now. Or did I dare? That fighting brass bubbled up again. “And what will you do with me?”

I blushed.

He chuckled. I watched him walk onto the kitchen. Noises, then he emerged with a martini glass. Vivid green liquid filled it. “It’s not strong,” he said, handing it to me. “Appletini.”

I accepted. He lifted me, and my blanket to carry me to the bar stool at the island separating kitchen from great room. There I sat, drink in hand, wrapped in a cozy cover, with a big, ridiculously handsome man about to cook for me. “Tell me about this salvage work.”

He took out fresh snow peas, cooked brown rice, shelled raw shrimp and various sauces from his refrigerator. Placing them beside the stove, he shot a look at me over his wide shoulder. “Spicy or mild?”

“Mild.”

He winked at me and my pelvis seemed to dissolve. “I’ll save spicy for later.”

I sipped the drink and chatted with him as he cooked. Although I could tell he downplayed the dangerousness of it, he basically specialized in salvage work to scary for anyone else. He served me like a waiter, then sat beside me and made me laugh as we ate. I savored the sensation of normalcy. How could I, though? Not with a god-man like him. As I ate the last of my meal, I began to shake.

He laid down his chopsticks and caught my hands. The tenderness in his deep voice undid me. “Talk to me. Tell me your fears.”

The booze lubricated my tongue. “I want you too much. You’re perfect. I fear losing this attention.”

“You don’t even speak my name,” he replied, “I’ve never even had that.”

Looking to him, I replied, “I want to brush my teeth and see what you intend.”

He chuckled. Rising, he fetched two files from his side table. One I recognized. He placed them before me. “Yours I swiped. Mine you may see now.”

I recognized my doctor’s return addy. God Man knew my history. At the time of my accident, a good Sumaritan gave me mouth-to-mouth and staunched flow from my single visible wound. Months later my treating physician received a letter from the previously unknown man’s doctor stating my savior had been diagnosed with advanced AIDS. In the aftermath, I underwent a wide scale blood test once a year.

God Man’s reports looked like an exhibition for perfect health.

Although I had always come through clean, I feared enough to continue doubting.

“Please,” I began. What more could I say?

He had my chair beside me in a wink. I refused his help into it. Then, I rolled myself along, picking up my backpack on the way to the bath. Once in the bathroom, I succumbed to trembles. I sat there, shaking and terrified. Then, I brushed my teeth, levered myself over to pee, then back to my chair. Again, I waited.

After a few moments I realized I had a decision to make. Emerge from this bathroom a lion or a lamb.

I wanted Him.

I would fake Lion.

Opening the door, I saw Him standing just outside his bedroom. He had tuned the television to a digital channel of new rock. I cowered briefly. He stood too tall and beautiful.

“Say my name, Bella.”

I desired rebellion because he excited me so much. “No.”

He strode toward me and I back-wheeled. I surrendered as he scooped me into his arms and carried me to bed.

His body made mine whole again. Pleasure restored me to the ‘normal’ world. In the languid aftermath, Lang carried me into his bathroom. He perched my bottom on the sink top and bid me look in the mirror.

I saw my body, brown eyes and blunt-cut, shoulder-length brown hair.

“Tell me what you see, Bella.”

I studied his perfect body and face behind me. “You.”

He shook his head briefly. “Tell me what you see in you.”

As he moved, the muscles of his belly bunched and pulled. Dizzy, I quizzed, “Why would I care about me when I have you to look at?”

He turned me. Leaning low, he cupped my face in his big hands. “I want you to see yourself as I do.”

For the first time considering a continuance with this relationship, I smiled. “Good luck with that.”

Even as I said it, I smiled and wondered if I actually might.

Epilogue

The courtship continued for the weeks before Christmas. Annie held out as long as she could. She learned that Lang had settled in the quiet town because a cousin of his conducted research in genetics at the university.

Annie returned home one afternoon to her condo far more festive than she left it. Her friend Pierce and Lang decorated a fresh cut tree, honoring a tradition Annie had never enjoyed before. Annie reminded them about her dislike of Christmas. Pierce smirked and left with the appearance of smugness.

Lang proposed to Annie, offering an heirloom ring blue diamond ring, pledging his life to her.

She knew she could either wallow in self-pity or embrace life.

Annie chose to embrace life.

Lang’s cousin approached a colleague concerning Annie’s nerve damage. Not long after, the investigating professor invited Annie into his study. The research worked. Annie regained the ability to walk. Limited and hard-won. However, regained.

Happiness comes unexpectedly.

Yet, we should never forget the potential for its blessing.