Speechless (3 page)

I think if I were a fantasy, you wouldn’t have made me
mute.
She could feel him smile against her neck and inhale deeply.

“I might have. So many women talk too much. God you smell
good.”

Eva said nothing, just let his lips and hands explore her,
let him smell his fill of her woodsy, womanly scent, which she suspected was
much more of a sweaty, unwashed scent than he would admit.

How long have you been up here?

“Two months.”

And how long since you’ve been alone with a woman?

Stone chuckled. “And close enough to smell her? Too long.
But that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten what a woman is supposed to smell like.
And it doesn’t mean I’m a slave to my built-up hormones. How long since you’ve
been alone with a man?”

Eva didn’t want to answer, didn’t want to appear as
pathetically unloved as she sometimes felt.

I had dinner with my father last week.

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

Men find me too much work.

“Are you a virgin?”

That’s none of your business. No. I’m not. I’ll just
repeat what you said, “too long.”

He smiled, nipped her shoulder just at the edge of her
collar. “So you’re not attached, no lover who might get worried when you don’t
show up or who might suspect you of misdeeds when you get home.”

The most I get out of a man is one or two nights in bed.
They can’t bear a silent lover. It wounds their egos though they never admit
that.

“Fools.” Stone’s hand traveled over her shoulder and found
the slope of her breast. Eva’s breath hitched. Desperate to keep the
conversation going, to distract him from the very distracting movements of his
hands, she went on.

Besides, how could anyone suspect me of misdeeds when
you’ve forbidden me from telling anyone about you? I’ll have to say I set and
splinted my leg myself, found enough food and water to keep me alive for a week
and a half, when from out of nowhere, a plane flew over and rescued me.

Her tactic didn’t work. His fingers found her nipple through
the cloth of her t-shirt and she could do nothing but arch her back, pushing
her breast toward his hand. Both nipples stiffened and Stone pinched and rolled
them between his fingers, sending exquisite streams of pleasure to her core,
making her crave more of his touch, making her skin cry out for it. When he
released her, she fell back with a gasp, suddenly cold and feeling as if Stone
were miles away.

“You see how I can take advantage of you.” His voice went
from soft to hard, seductive to repellant.

Don’t tease.

“I’m not teasing, Eva.”

What are you doing? Showing me just how you can control
me? I’ve never denied that I’m at your mercy. I’ve never thought that I could
stop you from doing anything you want to. Leave me alone. Go do whatever it is
you do up here and quit jerking me around.

* * * * *

Stone extracted himself from behind Eva and stood staring
down at her for a moment. She kept her face averted so he could not read it. He
did not know what had just happened any more than she did. He’d gotten what he
thought he wanted, Eva deciding she didn’t like him, didn’t want to “explore
this connection,” driving him away. But now that he had it, he felt only loss
and anger—at her for doing what he wanted her to and at himself for driving her
to it. It was all her fault for feeling so good under his hands, for smelling
so good—no matter how she denied it—for moaning into his mind like she was in
the throes of an orgasm.

He finally turned away knowing that he was fully to blame
despite how he tried to convince himself otherwise. He had jerked her around.
He’d jerked himself around and he still had the erection to prove it. She had
perfect breasts. So responsive—if he hadn’t been so intent on jerking her
around, he could have made her come just by playing with her nipples. He’d lost
himself in touching her for a moment, been consumed by how good she felt under
his hands. He’d been the one who wanted to explore, not their mental
connection, but Eva’s body. He’d had to pull himself back and he’d done it too
harshly, too full of anger at his loss of control.

“I’m sorry, Eva.” Now where had that come from? He never
apologized, never felt regret.

For what?

“For jerking you around.” Why did he keep feeling this urge
to explain himself to her? As if she needed to know about him, as if he needed
her to know about him. By now, she probably knew him better than anyone else
did and it had all come straight from his mouth.

I’ll think about forgiving you. We’re stuck together for
a while. I suppose we should try to make it endurable, if not entirely
pleasant. Maybe your way would be easier.

“My way?” Stone grabbed the bowl of vegetables off the table
and took them over to the sink to wash.

I go back to typing everything I want to say. You go back
to what I’m guessing is your natural reticence and interpreting my facial
expressions.

Stone shook his head, shook the beans in the colander so
they would get evenly washed. “This head-talking thing is too convenient to not
use.” The reality of it sank in, for the first time since his initial disbelief
that morning. Despite what Eva said about not imagining her mute, he wasn’t
entirely convinced that he hadn’t lost it completely and was imagining this
whole thing. Maybe that was why he’d inhaled her scent so greedily—it was the
most real thing about her. “But maybe it’s best that we keep our distance as
much as possible.”

He heard a mental chuckle.
That is entirely up to you. As
you’ve so effectively demonstrated, you are in complete control.

He would see what he could do about that.

Stone spent the rest of the afternoon working on a second
crutch for Eva, so she could get around more easily by herself. Trips to the
outhouse were awkward and growing more so, after their earlier encounter.
Interaction. Contact. Conflict. All of the above. So he found a long, straight
branch and a short curved branch to act as a support and when he’d carved out a
hole in the latter and inserted the former and realized there was still light
left in the day and time before supper, he sought a way to make a hand grip for
each crutch. Eva made no demands, no comments, but occupied herself with a
book, her notes, or her tablet when she wasn’t sleeping after another dose of
medicine. Eventually, though, hunger began to creep up on him and he had to lay
aside his project in exchange for cooking.

“You’re not a vegetarian or anything are you?” Stone asked
as he took two formerly frozen but by now completely thawed chicken breasts out
of the small refrigerator. When Carter, the pilot who flew the supply plane,
came every two weeks, he brought deep frozen meat in single serving packages.
It never stayed fresh the entire two weeks, but it lasted longer than if it
weren’t frozen. He also brought fuel for the generator, dry and canned goods,
and propane canisters. With the well providing water, it was a relatively
comfortable life, if not ritzy. By the end of next week, they would be living
on whatever he could harvest from the garden, canned tuna and rice, but for now
they might as well eat the meat.

No, not a vegetarian. Not that I’m in a position to be
picky.

Stone sautéed the chicken, then poured a can of seasoned
tomatoes over it to finish cooking, adding the yellow squash he’d picked
earlier in time for it to cook as well. The meal passed in uneasy silence, Eva
sitting up in bed and picking at her food and Stone eating alone at the table.
But despite the discomfort of the silence, Stone felt no desire to break it.
Nothing he could say would relieve the tension. Nothing would absolve him.
Absolution. He was here as a result of his quest for absolution. With Eva… She
was leaving in a week and a half. He had to remember that. It was far better
that he need absolving for keeping away from her than for getting close and
then hurting her. Or endangering her. God damn it—the next week and a half
could not pass fast enough. But there was a chance it would be less than that,
he realized.

“Is there anyone at home who might have called out the
search and rescue teams for you?” he asked, collecting her dirty dishes.

Not likely, at least not until I miss my father’s weekly
phone call. My assistant’s mother died on Monday, so she’s otherwise
occupied—she had been planning to come with me. It’s summer, so there aren’t
many people at the university and most of them don’t expect to see me this
week, because of this trip. I suppose someone might see the car at the
trailhead.

“I doubt it. I don’t think they patrol that area too frequently.”
Stone pumped water into the pot he’d cooked in and heated it for dishwashing.
“I should check your more serious scrapes tonight and your leg, especially
since you’ve been moving around more.”

I suppose you should. How is it you, a supposed international
consultant, know so much about first aid and broken bones, anyway? Or is that
another thing you can’t tell me?

“I was an EMT for a few years.”

OK, but most EMTs don’t actually set the broken legs they
encounter, do they?

“It was in a fairly rural area, where accidents were common
and medical personnel scarce. We were recruited to help in the ER sometimes.”
Stone pulled the covers away from Eva’s leg. It was still swollen and
discolored and he wished he had some ice to bring the swelling down. He hesitated
before touching it, half-afraid the feel of her skin under his fingers—even
this tender, black-and-blue skin—would capture him again, half-afraid he would
hurt her as a way of making her shrink from him.

Can you tell if it has moved just by looking?
Eva’s
voice—exactly the voice he would have imagined for her, if she could speak like
most people—echoed in his head, an edge to it this time, irritation and
impatience and sarcasm combining to shake him out of his reverie.

He ran his hand lightly down her leg, feeling for the edges
of the break and their proximity to each other. Because of the swelling, he had
to probe with more force than he liked and Eva hissed through clenched teeth.
But both ends were still in place and Stone moved on to check the scrapes from
which he’d had to pluck dirt and gravel. Most were healing, but the worst, the
abrasion on her hip, was an angry red and inflamed. It made his own hip sting,
looking at it.

“It had to be this one,” he muttered to himself, the wound
that required the most baring of her body, closest to her most private place.
He felt his hand moving to caress the soft curve of her belly, to rest against
her opposite hip and he pulled it back, pulled his attention back to the wound
and the first-aid kit beside him. “This is going to sting, Eva.”

His patient just nodded, her eyes closed and again Stone
felt the need to take away all her hurts, to tell her that everything would be
okay and mean it. Instead, he worked silently, quickly, washing the wound with
a disinfectant, applying an antibiotic ointment, then covering it again with
gauze.

“Done.”

Thank you.

“For what, hurting you?”

For being professional about it.

“Old habits.” Stone gathered his materials and put them
away, while Eva pulled the sheet back over her. “I want you to take an
antibiotic tonight—that wound doesn’t look good and if it gets much worse, you
could be in for a long healing time.”

Why is it you have all these things—powerful painkillers,
antibiotics? You seem unusually well supplied.

“One of the things I learned traveling as much as I have is
what one should never leave home without. Painkillers, antibiotics,
anti-diarrheal medications are a big part of that list. When you don’t speak
the language, getting medical help can be a challenge and some countries don’t
have the pharmaceutical resources we have. I have enough training to know when
they’re appropriate, when over-the-counter medicines will do and when to make
the effort to find a doctor. And sometimes an extra bottle of antibiotics can
grease some wheels, if people know what it is.” Like the EMT story, this one
held more than a nugget of truth. He simply left out the high likelihood of
injury he’d faced, the remoteness of some of his “consulting” and the secrecy
with which he’d often had to travel.

You use drugs as bribes?

“In some countries, nothing would get done without bribes.
At least this way, I knew my bribe would actually do some good for someone,
instead of just financing a new AK-47 for a corrupt army.”

Who
are
you, Stone?

“You know I won’t answer that.”

Sticking to the international consultant story, huh?

* * * * *

Eva took the cup of water and pills he handed her and took
her medicine. It suddenly occurred to her that he could be giving her anything,
hallucinogens or something deadly, or that date rape drug that made people lose
whole days and nights. She emptied the cup, washing the pills down.

“Don’t you ever stop asking questions?”

I’m a scientist. Asking questions is what I do. You’ve
asked your fair share, you know.

“Do you want painkillers tonight?”

Eva shook her head.
I don’t like taking a lot of
medicine, especially multiple kinds at any one time. I’ll be okay.
She
reached for the Twain book she’d started the night before—rather, that Stone
had started reading to her the night before—and vowed to herself to appear
disinterested in him, to not think about him, his appeal. It was just because
of the mystery around him, she told herself. It made her want to investigate,
like the scientist she was. It took only two sentences for her to break her vow
and shift her attention from the book to Stone. He even managed to look sexy
while washing dishes and she could not take her eyes off his tight backside,
his broad, muscled shoulders, the scruffiness of his too-long hair, evidence of
his two months in the wilderness.

Would you like me to cut your hair while I’m here?

Stone turned and regarded her. “What does a scientist know
about cutting hair?”

I used to trim my father’s hair before I moved out of the
house. I still do sometimes when I visit. I’d do my little brother’s too, until
he hit adolescence and decided it wasn’t cool to have his sister cutting his
hair.

“You keep talking about your father, but you never mention
your mother, except as one of the people who can hear you.”

Eva hesitated, felt the rush of guilt she always did when
someone asked her about her mother.

“I’m sorry,” Stone said before she could decide what to say.
“I didn’t mean to bring up a sore subject. I’ll take you up on your offer of a
haircut.”

Tomorrow, when the light is good. I don’t suppose
barber’s scissors is one of those things you never travel without.

Stone smiled and shook his head. “Ordinary scissors will
have to do.”

You know, when you’re relaxed, you’re actually a fairly
pleasant person. I bet you even laugh sometimes.

His eyes darkened and his expression sobered. “It’s been a
while. Maybe by the time I rejoin civilization, I’ll be a man who can laugh.”

Consulting must be a rough business.

“You have no idea.” Stone paused. “May I read to you again?”

It was the last thing she expected to come out of his mouth
and he picked up on her surprise.

“It makes me feel…human. To do something for someone else.”

His explanation made her wonder what he felt like the rest
of the time.
Of course. You have a good reading voice. I’d like that very
much. I was having a hard time concentrating on the page anyway.

“Just let me finish cleaning up.”

So now she had permission to ignore the book and watch the
man, which she did without shame, trying to keep her attraction objective, in
the same way she admired a movie star or athlete. But when he came and sat next
to her on the bed, that strived-for objectivity fled completely. He was real in
a way movie stars weren’t. He had human warmth and genuineness, closeness. His
voice had resonance and depth, an edge of something Eva couldn’t define—maybe
it was that nonhuman-feeling part of him. He seemed human enough to her,
though.

As Stone read, Eva felt herself leaning toward him, drawn by
his human warmth, the aura of generosity he exuded at moments like this. The
double bed was narrow enough that she didn’t have to lean much at all for their
shoulders to touch and when they did, Eva felt whatever had drawn her to him
seep into her, some sense of wellbeing, of warm comfort, if not complete
contentedness. It was a better easing than that brought by the
wooziness-inducing painkillers. Her head dropped to his shoulder. Stone paused
infinitesimally in his reading, then went on as if nothing had changed.

* * * * *

Eva felt good, Stone noted, only half his mind on the words
on the page before him. He shouldn’t let her get so close, rest so securely
against him. But she felt so good. Maybe it wasn’t reading to her that made him
feel human, but Eva herself. He reached the end of a chapter and turned to her.
Her breathing had deepened and if she wasn’t already sound asleep, she was
close. He kissed her. Just on the forehead—it was all he could reach—but it
differed from the kiss the night before. This one was accepting where that one
had been dismissive. Eva smiled in her sleep.

Stone pushed a tendril of hair off her face with a finger,
“accidentally” allowing skin to skin contact. That was all it took. That touch,
on top of her trust of him, the way her nearness made him feel like a person
with nothing to atone for, did him in. He couldn’t avoid their connection any
longer. Couldn’t deny it, couldn’t resist it, couldn’t force it to go away. The
realization hurt, an almost physical pain, like picking a scab off an old wound
or trying to use a frozen joint.

“God, Eva,” he whispered. “What have you done to me?” He
leaned his head against hers, where it still rested against his shoulder and
struggled to breathe through the ache in his chest and the need for her in his
core. Soon that need drove him to seek more touches like the one that had been
his downfall, like the touches that had so affected her that morning. He wanted
to explore her body, let his hands travel her curves and hollows, kiss away her
hurts. Instead, he eased her down so she was lying flat, more than half-hoping
she would wake at the movement, so he could indulge his desires. Because he
wouldn’t explore, travel, kiss, without her knowledge and consent, without her
wholehearted participation. He might need to atone for more things than he
could count, he might have used women for their bodies or for appearances, but
he’d never done anything in bed with a woman without her being a willing
participant.

But Eva slept on and all he could do was place another
chaste kiss on her forehead, lingering over her taste and scent.

He adjusted the lights, stripped out of his shirt and shoes
and lay down next to her, but the lingering pain of his atrophied emotions
coming to life would not let him rest, not to mention the erection that bulged
beneath his jeans. He rolled onto his side, his back to Eva, then onto his
stomach, his normal sleeping position, now particularly uncomfortable, then
rolled back over to his back. If he looked at her, he would touch her. And if
he touched her…

Finally he got up, stepped outside, drew in a breath of
cool, humid air and gazed up at the stars. He loved the stars, the swirling
constellations. His “consulting”—he smiled wryly at the word—had made him feel
important, powerful. The stars balanced that arrogance, humbled him, gave him a
more realistic sense of his place in creation. He could not focus on them
tonight though, could not drink in the heavens the way he liked. Eva filled his
mind—his heart, he would confess if forced—and a raging erection filled his
jeans. That last, at least, he could do something about.