Somewhere on St. Thomas: A Somewhere Series Romance (5 page)

I folded the letter with hard, quick movements that made me slit my finger on the letter’s edge. I didn’t care that there was blood on the paper I stuffed into the envelope and addressed and stamped and ran out into the first snowstorm of the year to mail.

If he was going to torture me, I’d torture him right back.

The holidays were coming and I didn’t have enough money of my own saved up to return to the Virgin Islands for Christmas. I was devastated when my parents told me they couldn’t afford to bring me back, either, not least because now I couldn’t see Rafe.

Henry got more serious, bringing me little gifts, trying to spend time with me every moment I would let him. I liked the company, someone to spend time with, and he was older, took charge of our activities and knew all sorts of places and things to do in Boston. I liked how much he cared for me, selfish as it was. It was nice to have a boyfriend. But I never let him touch me that way again, always having an excuse to leave, cutting things short after a few kisses.

I didn’t want to lose control again and have it turn into something it wasn’t, with the wrong man.

Shellie felt sorry for me with nowhere to go for the holidays and invited me to New York to spend the break with her family. We took the train to New York City and I saw the Big Apple for the first time in my life, joining her warm and loving family in their big brownstone in Manhattan for three weeks.

Her older brother Sam was handsome at six feet with a build like a barn, light golden-brown eyes, and the blond hair and beard of a Viking. He was in his third year at Cornell, majoring in prelaw as I was.

“He’s between girlfriends, so watch out,” Shellie warned. She had an even older brother, Sean, who was in medical school and haggard with his residency work, his deep blue eyes hollow under black brows.

I was in no mood to watch out. In fact, I was more in a mood to get laid and leave my “Virgin Girl” nickname behind. I was fast losing my scruples and preferences of how that experience would go, and Sam, a football player and shot-put champion in the summer season, was just my physical type.

Shellie shrugged when I told her that.

“It’s your funeral, Virgin Girl,” she said. “Sam’s a dog. Bangs anybody who’s willing.” But she must have said something to Sam about me, because though his honey-brown eyes heated when he looked at me, he was a perfect gentleman and never so much as hugged me the whole first week.

Shellie hated exercising, but Sam and I ran every day. We layered on winter exercise clothes and jogged the city sidewalks to Central Park, our breath puffing clouds of mist into the air. I never tired of craning my neck to see the soaring buildings sparkling in the low winter sun, the twisty black shapes of the leafless trees in the park, the sparkling white velvet of lawns covered in fresh-fallen snow, the sparkle of Christmas lights everywhere adding a festive feeling.

The same sort of physical competition sprang up between us that I’d felt with Rafe, something totally absent from my more cerebral relationship with Henry.

Sam dared me. Dared me to run across the ice of the frozen pond in Central Park. Dared me to run across the park benches and try a flip jumping off. Dared me to climb into one of the high branches of a bare-leaved oak in the middle of the park with no one around, and when I was twenty feet up, clinging to the tree and terrified the snow-laden branch would break, he joined me there.

“Oh my God,” I breathed as the branch bowed under our combined weight. He grinned a daredevil grin, leaned over, and kissed me.

His lips were cold, but his mouth was hot, and my mouth opened under his, and our tongues tangled. He tasted like the hot chocolate we’d drunk before the run, rich and delicious, and he groaned. The branch was narrow and he lost his balance with a cry, but he turned as he fell, catching himself by his hands. He dangled from the bouncing limb and looked up at me.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he said, and fell the rest of the way to the ground. I screamed as he landed in the snow beneath the tree, tipping over onto his side.

“Sam! Sam! Oh my God!” I climbed down as fast as I could and ran to him, rolling him onto his back in a panic. And that’s when he clamped his huge, muscular football player’s arms around me and hauled me down atop his Columbia jacket for more kissing.

“Dirty rat!” I exclaimed when I came up for air. “I thought you were hurt!” I smacked him and threw snow at him, and then we were pelting each other with snow, yelling and shrieking with laughter, and I didn’t remember having so much fun since I had sand fights on the beach in Saint Thomas with my sisters.

That’s how it was between Sam and me.
Fun. Laughter. Physical competition and daring exploits.
Like having a big brother but with a hot physical edge.

I didn’t fantasize about Rafe when I was with Sam.

We took to running twice a day. I told Shellie I’d decided to join the track team and Sam was helping me get in shape. She quirked a brow and folded her lips together but was mercifully silent as we jogged off yet again toward the park.

Sam brought clip-on ice skates and taught me to skate on the pond. I was wobbly and tippy and he loved that, skating around me in circles and sneaking in to tickle me through my parka or push the backs of my knees, so I’d fall in a flurry of shrieks and laughter. He liked to grab me up and rub his bearded face in the tender skin of my neck, making me giggle, or give me piggyback rides halfway across the park to get his cardio workout.

There was pretty much nothing more fun than being carried around by Sam, my legs around his waist with his hands hooked under my knees, my arms around his shoulders. I’d breathe insults into his ear. “That all you got? Thought you were a football player!”

Sometimes I’d bite his earlobe to hear him gasp or laugh, and I never got tired of feeling the incredible vigor, vitality, and strength of his wide, strong body as he ran.

One day he even put me all the way up on his shoulders, and I clung to his head, pulling his hair, shrieking with delighted fright as he went out on the ice with me up there. It was an amazing feeling, like flying, as he pushed off and spun, and I shrieked with glee.

Then he stumbled. I flew off onto the ice and cracked my head on a protruding ice clump.

I must have been knocked out briefly because when I came around he’d unzipped my jacket and was feeling me all over, muttering, “Oh God, oh God, please be okay.”

I kept my eyes shut and did a little moan to let him know that I was coming around, and he scooped me up close and felt the egg on the back of my head and said, “Oh God,” again, and this time I reached up to touch his bearded face, smooth but rough at the same time, a wonderful sensation, and pulled him down to kiss me.

That went on for a while, with more roaming of hands on both of our parts. His bulk was considerable, hard and hot as a steel stove, and it warmed me, lying on the ice in my wet jeans as I was.

Finally, he stood up with me in his arms and made as if to carry me that way.

I kicked my legs and said, “No, I’m okay. Put me down, you big Neanderthal,” but then I wobbled a bit, shaky, so we compromised and he piggybacked me out of the park.

It wasn’t a short way.

He talked to me the whole time, apparently worried I had a concussion and was going pass out. He’d never talked to me that much before.

He told me about his first pet (“a wire-haired terrier named Comet, the best dog in the world”), his dreams (“making federal judge by the time I’m forty-five and designing and building my own house with my own hands”), and what he wanted in a woman: “hot, athletic, and lots of fun like you, but I always thought I’d end up with a blonde; everyone knows redheads are trouble.”

“Redheads
are
trouble,” I said into his ear, and bit it. He laughed.

I felt like I could fall in love with him, if only we had more time.

At the edge of the park he waved down a cab, and I rode home with my sore head cradled against his bulky shoulder and his arms around me.

Shellie took me Christmas shopping the next day, forbidding Sam to come. He moped like a kicked puppy, pouting exaggeratedly as he pumped a fifty-pound dumbbell and watched us leave.

“He likes you,” she said as we strolled along, arms linked as we looked in the amazing shop windows that made Manhattan at Christmas the legend it was.

“I like him, too,” I said, looking at an amazing display with full-sized trains looping through a replica of the Matterhorn. “Thanks so much for having me, Shellie. You can’t imagine how different this is from Saint Thomas.”

She wasn’t distracted. “He wanted to come shopping with us. He never wants to come shopping.”

“So? We have fun. We laugh a lot. We’d laugh a lot shopping, too.”

“Has he tried to get in your pants?” She narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

I frowned, hands in the pockets of my ever-present pea coat. “We’ve kissed a couple of times, okay? But I don’t feel any pressure for more. He’s a real gentleman, actually. He likes to carry me around.”

“Carry you around?” Shellie bugged her eyes at me theatrically. “You’re not small.”

I knew I wasn’t small. I was slender but sturdy, with a round, firm butt and, of course, the breasts that could never be classified as anything but substantial. “Gee, thanks, friend. I’m aware I’m not small. Which is why it’s so cute the way he acts like I am. I told you I fell and knocked my head yesterday playing on the ice, but actually, Sam was skating with me on his shoulders.”

“No wonder he was so freaked out! He’s always been a daredevil, always breaking something and hurting himself. I can’t believe you let him put you up there and go out on the ice!”

“It was fun, until he tripped. No, we just like to race and dare each other to do stuff.” I told her about learning to do a flip off a park bench from Sam.

“I had no idea you had this side. You usually love doing your French beret thing and being so intellectual,” Shellie said, taking my arm again. “Try that accent on Sam and see what he says.” She sounded smug. “Play your cards right and you could be my sister for real, and there’s nothing I’d like better.”

“Ha, right. We’re just friends,” I said, feeling the hot blush sweep up my neck. “You didn’t tell him the virgin thing, did you?” Virgin girl from the Virgin Islands—that was me. So embarrassing. It seemed like the longer you waited, the weirder it was to still be a virgin, like there must be something wrong with you.

“As a matter of fact, I did. I know what a horndog he is, so I told him the first day to keep his hands to himself and treat you nice, that you weren’t experienced.” Now Shellie was blushing a little. “I didn’t want him to take advantage of you.”

I stopped and put my hands on my hips. “Shellie Williams, I can’t believe you’d embarrass me like that! Oh man. I’ll never be able to look him in the eye now. He must think I’m such a loser, like nobody wanted me. It wasn’t that. I grew up in a religious family.”

“I told him that, too. And he promised he’d be a gentleman. So who kissed who first?”

“Well, it happened at the top of a tree and it was…mutual.” Truth was I couldn’t remember anything but wanting him to kiss me and then the fright when he fell out of the tree.

“Tomorrow’s Christmas. We have some pretty fun traditions. One is a scavenger hunt.” Shellie went on telling me plans the Williamses had, while I began to worry that with these exorbitant prices that I wouldn’t be able to afford anything for the family. As if reading my mind, Shellie took me to an indoor mall with a Cost Plus imports store, and I was able to find fun token gifts for everyone.

* * *

Sam unwrapped the little gift I’d got him, a key chain of a monkey made of jute with glued-on black bead eyes, a smaller monkey clinging to its back.
Fun in New York,
I’d written on a little tag dangling from it.

He laughed when he opened it. Sean, Shellie, and their parents all looked at the key chain in consternation.

“I don’t get it,” Sean said.

“Inside joke,” Sam replied, with a broad wink to me. And right in front of everybody, he leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. “Thanks.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” I said, flapping a hand. I’d managed to make my meager gift money stretch far enough to buy a little token for each member of the family, but it was nothing like the nice things they gave me: a new, jade-green beret and scarf set from Shellie, a box of famous New York truffles from their parents, a T-shirt with a big red apple on it from Sean, and a pair of tiny silver ice skate earrings from Sam.

But I was really homesick for the first time, for my family. In Saint Thomas we did stockings, just because, but all our best gifts to one another were homemade: garlands of nuts, place mats of beaten copra printed with designs we made with cut potato stamps, necklaces made of coral and shells. Mom was known for making wreaths on a wooden circle with found seashells glued to it. We hung her collection of them all around the house.

I figured out the time difference and asked to use the Willams’ phone for a long-distance call. “Merry Christmas,” Mr. Williams said with a magnanimous wave. “Talk as long as you like.”

So I did. They passed the phone around through the family, so far away, and I talked about the wonders of New York and all the things I’d done and seen. This was especially poignant with Pearl, who missed me more than she should. Finally, Mom took the phone back.