Tennessee Touch, Sisters of Spirit #6 (12 page)

Where did he go after he left her? What was the big secret all about? Was he married? Or in trouble with the law?
Here she was in danger of falling in love with a man and she still didn't know some vital information about him. Restlessly pacing the floor brought no comfort and television proved not a strong enough distraction.

The inconceivable had happened. She had vowed never to pay any attention to any man who was just out for her body, whose eyes followed her movements the way Logan's did, who was arrogant, cocky...and able to knock her for a loop every time he kissed her. That last she hadn't been ready for. He had stormed her defenses, assaulted her barriers, taken her captive. And what a line he had. Bedroom eyes indeed! She had better keep her feet planted firmly or that would be where he'd have her next.

The restlessness invaded her dreams, so that she awoke several times, her mind possessed by the memory of him, her body demanding the feel of him. The next morning she began to understand what the term "lovesick" was all about. She felt wonderfully miserable.

After school she called Chantal and arranged to meet her for supper. Another long night stretched in front of her and she didn't know if she could stand it.

Chantal took one look and said, "When did you see him again?"

"Why, yesterday, but how can you tell?'

"Ha! Look in the mirror. Your eyes are still dreamy-looking; and your mouth looks like—"

"Like what?"

"Well, let's say you look like you're waiting to be kissed again. What on earth did he do?"

"We drove out towards Alderwood, and we talked for quite a while."

"Talk's nothing. What else did he do?"

"He kissed me in the rain." The memory softened her lips into a slight smile. "We got soaked."

"That must have been some kiss." Chantal's dark eyes were gently teasing, and Alison knew she was enjoying the bewilderment of her friend who had always seemed unruffled by any mere male. Finally Alison was finding out how other people felt. Chantal had often said that she would love to feel enough at ease with a man that she could untangle her tongue and talk with them the way Alison did. "I'd like to meet the man who can bowl you over so completely."

Alison's defenses rose at her friend's teasing. "I hope he catches pneumonia."

"Coo...you've got it bad."

"Oh, Chantal," she wailed, on the downswing of the emotional roller coaster she'd been riding all day, "I don't know anything about him. He won't tell me where he lives—"

"Did you ask him?"

"Yes," she said, disgusted, "and he said ‘Around.’ What kind of answer is that? And I asked him again about his bruised hands, if he'd been in trouble, and he grinned and said, ‘You could say that.’ It made me think of all sorts of far-out possibilities. It’s not fair that he should know so much about me and I so little about him. Trust can't be built on ignorance.”

“I agree.”

“I still don't know if Logan is his first name or his last. And he always seems pressed for time. Maybe he's on parole."

"Did your mystery man say when he'd see you again?"

"No, just that he'd come back. What am I going to do?" she fretted, torn between longing for him and wishing he'd never entered her life.

Chantal shrugged, the answer simple to her. "Wait."

But for how long? It had been a week and a half so far, the days piling up, one on top of another and still Logan hadn't come. During the last week Alison looked for him each afternoon when she left the school and the pang of disappointment hung heavily when she saw he wasn't there.

She had heard from him once, a short call saying he wasn't going to be able to come for a while. He had been injured, not seriously—not to worry—but the doctor wouldn't let him fly. He asked her to keep busy and think of him; that he would come out as soon as he could. Then there were no more calls from him.

It hadn't been any problem keeping busy. There was a week-end workshop for Photoshop artists at the Washington State Convention Center and she went as an interpreter for an artist who was deaf, learning quite a lot about Photoshop as she passed the information on to her employer. The next weekend she attended a three day technical convention for opticians, standing next to the two deaf men and privately interpreting the speaker's words. So far she had avoided accepting a job where she would have to stand up front beside the speaker and interpret to a large group. She felt at ease working for these men because she had worked for them before. These jobs were in addition to her interpreting at school in the mornings.

 And at least three nights a week she jogged with Ross. He had taken her to a hockey game and once to a restaurant. He was undemanding, usually talking about the different sports he played or awards he had earned; sometimes about the work he was involved in...all she had to do was sit and nod her head now and then and interpose the odd question. He had asked her out several more times but she'd refused as she did not want their relationship to grow beyond the casual.

Chantal was not much company, as she was upset about the Wolverines running back, who had been hit by a car and put out of the game for at least a year. He was lucky he hadn’t been killed. His replacement was good, but not likely to have the outstanding year the injured player had had. All Chantal could talk about was his condition, so Alison refrained from going there.

Tonight when Alison arrived home, she dumped her things just inside on a chair and walked out into the park while there was still light left, kicking her feet dejectedly through the golden layers of fallen maple leaves. She was missing Logan, very much. How badly had he been hurt? And how had it happened? So many questions left unanswered. If she had thought, she would have told him to call her more often. This waiting was making her restless and lonely.

She should call.

Maybe he had changed his mind and decided it was too far to come out here from wherever he came. This could be the start of a gradual slackening of interest on his part...yet somehow she couldn't accept that. Not after the kiss...and the rose. The latter she had kept alive for as many days as possible, cutting it's stem back, but eventually it was gone. The kiss lived on in memory, but even it was slowly fading.

As it grew dark she gathered some of the huge maple leaves to brighten her room, some of them large enough to make a place mat. In different shades of gold and red and green, they would be as effective as a bouquet for a couple of days, then would turn an ugly shade of brown as they dried out. She had left her apartment locked and had to use her key to get back inside, so was completely astonished upon walking into her bedroom to get an empty vase to see Logan, on his back on her bed, sprawled out sound asleep. 

He looked exhausted, his face drawn from pain. He had removed his shoes and had his left leg elevated on a pillow. It must have been the one he injured. He was wearing a tailored suit in a steel blue-gray wool complete with white shirt and tie. It looked superb even while he lay asleep in it, the front of the coat unbuttoned.

Laying the maple leaves down on her dresser, she took a light blanket from her cupboard and covered him up carefully, a tear slipping out unbidden in sympathy. The injury made him look vulnerable, more approachable, tugging at her sympathy. He certainly did not look dangerous lying there asleep. He looked as if he had reached the comfort of home and had only then completely relaxed.

 How long had he been here? Who had let him in? Perhaps the landlord...knowing she was somewhere around—her car was in its space—but she would just as soon he didn't do that.

Drawing an arm chair closer she sat down, completely content, her general unrest of the past few days gone now that Logan had come, and dozed off herself. She didn't intend to; she was enjoying just gazing at his firm mouth now relaxed in sleep, but she had had a very hard day and was mentally and physically drained.

"Alison. Wake up, honey. I come all this way to see you and then you let me sleep the time away." He was lifting her to her feet, covering her face with kisses while he talked, rapidly, showing a great need of her as he tried to do everything at once. "Sweetheart, you look lovely even while you're asleep."

As he did to her. She struggled awake, enjoying the pleasant sensation of his lips on hers, his arms holding her firmly. She felt so complete, entire now that he was with her, as if he had brought back into her life something that he had taken away last time. Maybe that was what had caused her unrest; she was missing a part of herself. Yet how could that be when she still didn't really know this man?

"You looked so tired," she explained.

"I was; but next time wake me,” he asserted. "I can sleep other times."

Next time...she smiled to herself at the implications of that phrase. "All right."

He pressed her against him, running his fingers slowly through her long auburn hair so that her nerve endings tingled pleasantly with the touch. "I missed you" he declared passionately. "A lot. I tried to fly out last week in spite of what the doctor said but the weather was bad...I couldn't take off. I didn't have enough time this week but came anyway. You taste good. You're like drink to a thirsty man. Please. Kiss me again."

She did, willingly, her mind thrilling to the sound of his deep richly-timbered voice.

"Did you miss me?" he asked.

Never one to evade the truth, she answered simply, "Yes," although she decided not to tell him the anguish she had been through. The depth of her need for him was something she didn't want him to know about until later. Much later. After she knew more about him and was better able to analyze her feelings.

It was enough of an answer. He squeezed her tightly before he realized what he was doing and eased off. She lifted her face, eagerly seeking another kiss.

"This is awful. I've got to go. I rented a car so I'd have more time, get here quicker, and look at us. Under the gun. Your lips...one last kiss. Walk me down." He released her long enough to pull on his shoes and tie them hastily.

She walked beside him, giving support as he limped to the car; he eased himself in, started the motor, sought and received one more kiss, then drove away. He was gone as abruptly as he had come.

But the aching desire that had slowly banked down during the past two weeks was torched into flame again, and she floated up the stairway and into her apartment. Feeling lost and lonely, Alison flung herself down upon the bed and discovered it still retained the warmth from his body; a poor substitute for the actual man, but a vivid reminder of where he'd been. Quick, while it remained—and before she had time to argue herself out of the unreasonableness of doing so—she jumped up, locked the door, turned out the lights, stripped and crawled in where he had been, absorbing his warmth into her own body.

"You're acting like a love-sick teen-ager," she told herself out loud, knowing she was not going to heed her own admonition, "not like a grown woman of twenty-eight." But since his warmth was all he had left behind, she clung to it as long as she could, savoring the memory of each touch, each word. So few...like diamonds, rare and valuable.

Such a fast visit. They'd spent longer when they'd talked on the phone and he'd told her he'd been hurt. But the sight, the touch, the feel of him, even though brief, was worth having him there. He'd kissed her here on her lips and here on her chin...and on the tip of her nose... both eyes, her neck...even the top of her head—and she wanted him back.

Remembering, she pressed her finger to her lips, recalling the firm yet gentle pressure of his mouth. If she'd encouraged him more, he could have easily devoured her. It was probably a good thing her natural reserve had held her back, enough so that her return kisses had retained a little hesitancy to them. She was acting idiotic enough now that he was gone.

And she'd forgotten to tell him to call more often. Even as she regretted that omission, she drifted off to sleep.

The next thing she knew, the phone was ringing. Its insistent noise woke her. She turned on the light. It was completely dark out and her mouth felt fuzzy from falling asleep without brushing her teeth.