Fanta C

Chapter 4

The stranger emerged from the darkness. He was spawned from it and was one with it. He materialized in front of me — tall, wide of shoulder, narrow of hip, a delta-shaped torso of manly muscle.

I couldn't see his face clearly, but I knew him instantly. His features were indistinct, but I recognized him. And because I did, his sudden appearance wasn't frightening. Exciting, yes. Thrilling, definitely. Forbidden, by all means. But not frightening.

He said nothing. Nor did I. Words were superfluous. We knew what the other expected, wanted. In the darkness we would give and take without inhibition. Pleasure was our common ground. Personalities were made insignificant by primal need. Neither pasts nor futures mattered. Only this present. This present redolent with a carnality which must be admitted, addressed, and assuaged to our mutual satisfaction.

He reached out and stroked my hair. Slowly he removed the single pin which magically held it all up. It spilled luxuriantly over and through his fingers. I knew this pleased him, that he loved the feel of my hair in his hands. Even though I still couldn't distinguish his face, I knew he was smiling as he slid his fingers through the thick strands.

I laid my hands on his chest. Strangely, I wasn't shy. In this velvet-dark realm, timidity didn't exist. Boldness was expected, even invited. No one would see. No one would know. The darkness was a friendly entity. It cloaked every indiscretion and made all things acceptable. Here one wouldn't be held accountable for his actions. There were no rules of behavior, no duties beyond satisfying every secret lust.

The hard, muscled curves of his chest filled my palms. I curled my fingers into the firm flesh that barely yielded to the pressure. He was wearing a shirt, but merely a thought from me dissolved it and his chest was instantly bare.

Inquisitively I combed through the pelt of springy hair. My fingertips were sensitized to each nuance of texture and form. His nipples were hard and distended, like pebbles. I leaned forward and made one wet with the tip of my tongue. He moaned with pleasure.

He cradled my face between his hands and tilted it up. He stroked my damp lips with his thumbs. Parting them, he ran the pads of his thumbs over my teeth. I bit him lightly, playfully scraping my teeth against his skin.

He slid his hands down my neck, then farther down my chest to my breasts. Taking them in his hands, he kneaded them gently, rubbing the nipples with his fingertips until they peaked.

Our lips came together in a fiery kiss. A fierce melding of mouths. His tongue mated with mine. Passions flared. Roughly he backed me against a wall that I hadn't known was there. He could barely control this savage hunger that had suddenly seized him. I found it exhilarating and trembled in response to it.

He kissed his way down my throat, then his hot, seeking mouth closed around my nipple. Its ardent tugging motion coaxed an involuntary moan from my lips. Instinctually, I knew that his eyes were closed, that he was indulging an unspoken need within himself. I wanted to have milk to feed him with, and, when I said those words aloud, he was deeply touched.

His hands contracted in a gentle love-squeeze at my waist before moving over my hipbones. All I need do was ask, and my greatest desire would be fulfilled. That I knew. But I said nothing. I wanted to prolong the delicious agony of escalating desire. Besides, requests were unnecessary. Unselfishly he anticipated my needs. All I had to do was think of what I wanted and he would do it.

He knew precisely when and how to enter me. The taking was sudden, swift, sure. He filled my yearning body with his steely heat. It stroked me to the brink of oblivion. His hands were everywhere, gliding over my skin. His mouth was everywhere, open and hot.

He exercised no discipline. He had no conscience. He'd been bred to give pleasure. Born of sexual desire, suckled on lust, he knew nothing else but to give me ultimate joy and satisfaction. The fury of my orgasm was beyond any thing I'd ever experienced before or had known was possible.

Totally spent, damp with my sweat, with his, I clung to him weakly. Tenderly and affectionately, he stroked my hair, lifting it off my dewy shoulders. At last, his features still obscured by the forgiving and redeeming darkness, he left me and receded into the nothingness from which he had come.

I had never seen my incredible lover's face. Never heard his voice. Yet I would know him should he ever come to me again.

The incessant buzzing inside her head didn't recede with her faceless lover. It stayed in her bloodstream like a pain-killing narcotic long after the pain was gone.

Groggy and disoriented, Elizabeth came awake and opened her eyes. Lord, but she felt drained. Her four limbs weighed a ton apiece. A complacent smile lingered on her moist lips. She couldn't scoop together an ounce of energy. Lassitude held her anchored to the bed and incapable of movement. Her skin was covered with a sheen of perspiration. Her nightgown was hopelessly twisted and clinging to her. A provocative heat resided between her thighs. It was concentrated there, having been funneled there from her entire system. Her nipples were stiff. They tingled.

Suddenly she blinked, realizing that the buzzing inside her head wasn't the aftereffect of incredibly erotic lovemaking but the drone of a power chain saw coming from somewhere in the neighborhood. There was no lover, mysterious or otherwise. She lay alone in her chaste bed. It wasn't dark. Sunlight was streaming through her shuttered windows.

The day was Saturday. And later this day, she had a date with Thad Randolph.

Heaving a sigh of dread, she swung her feet to the floor and sat up on the edge of the bed. The clock on her nightstand told her it was a few minutes after nine. She reached for her robe lying across the end of the bed and pulled it on, overlapping it across her breasts, pretending that their crests weren't still itchy and flushed. She stood up, trying to support herself on legs that were wobbly and weak.

"Lilah would have loved that one," she mumbled as she padded into the bathroom. Talk about fantasies! Lord! The ol' nameless, faceless, voiceless, guiltless encounter couldn't be topped for sheer eroticism. It was every woman's most secret fantasy because everything was permissible. There were no consequences to deal with later.

Sick — that's what she was. If the state authorities knew what she had dreamed about, they'd probably take her children away from her.

After taking a shower, a very cold one, she found her children in the kitchen eating bowls of presweetened cereal. She'd let sugar win the war over natural fiber years ago, having decided that the final victory wouldn't be worth the morning battles. She kissed and hugged her children in turn before starting the coffeemaker.

"Tonight's the night of the carnival, Mom," Matt reminded her through a mouthful of empty calories and pastel, teeth-rotting goo.

"That's right."

She tried to interject enthusiasm into her voice. All week, she'd avoided thinking about this Saturday night, as if thinking about it would attach some special significance to it.

She hadn't seen Thad since he'd walked her to her back door Monday evening. The children had given her daily progress reports on Penny's puppies, but she hadn't solicited any information about Thad. It was almost a relief that the dreaded day had finally arrived. By this time tomorrow, it would be over and done with.

"Don't be late getting home. Thad said he'd be here a few minutes before seven to pick us up," Megan told her.

"I promise not to be late," Elizabeth said a little too sharply. She modified her tone and said, "I'll get here in plenty of time to change. Just be sure that all your chores are done. I'm leaving a list for Mrs Alder."

Ordinarily on Saturdays the hours she spent in Fantasy crawled by. She was guiltily aware that her children were out of school and spending a great part of their weekend at home without her. But this Saturday, the time flew. She couldn't retard the hours' rapid march no matter how many menial tasks she masochistically assigned herself. Five o'clock arrived. She locked up and drove home.

The children were so excited they nearly tackled her when she came through the door. "Thad called and said he'd be here at six forty-five. Hurry, Mom."

"Megan, that's an hour and a half away. I'll be ready. I promise."

But of course she wasn't.

Baby threw up something that looked like pimento cheese on the living-room sofa. It had to be cleaned up immediately. Matt and Megan got in a scuffle over the remote control of the TV. That resulted in Matt banging his head on the corner of the coffee table hard enough to break the skin. He bled on his hair and the carpet. Both had to be washed.

Elizabeth broke a nail on her bureau drawer. When she tried to repair it, she super-glued two fingers together. By the time she got around to eye makeup, she was so rushed and nervous she couldn't get it right. She couldn't decide what to wear. So she was standing in her bare feet and underwear when Matt came into her bedroom at six forty-three to see if she was ready.

"Aw, Mom!" he wailed when he saw that she wasn't.

She was as incredulous over his appearance as he was over hers. He was wearing clothing fit only for a ragpicker. "Matthew, those jeans have holes in the knees. Go put on your new ones.

"They're all stiff and scratchy."

"They are not. I washed and dried them twice." Standing at her closet door, she wondered if she should wear her blue chambray skirt or the black slacks fresh from the cleaners?

"I want to wear these jeans. They're cool."

The blue chambray skirt. "Your new ones, please, sir. And that sweatshirt is big enough for me. Go change right now. Put on your green polo shirt."

"It's dorky."

"You're not going out in public — "

The doorbell pealed. "He's here!" Matt screeched.

"Come back here!" Elizabeth called. But she could already hear her son clumping down the stairs trying to beat his sister to the front door.

"I'll get it!"

Elizabeth never knew which one made it to the door first. The next voice she heard was Thad's. "Hi. I see you're ready and raring to go."

"We are," Megan told him.

"But Mom's not," Matt was overheard to say. "She's always late 'cause she lies in the bathtub till all the bubbles are gone. She's putting on her clothes. Sometimes that takes a long time too."

"Well, we're not in that big a hurry, are we? Why don't we wait for her in the living room?"

Upstairs, Elizabeth happened to catch a glimpse of herself in the cheval glass that stood in the corner of her bedroom. She had an ear pressed to her door so as not to miss a single word and had her long skirt clutched to her chest.

Impatient with herself for looking and acting ridiculous, even to herself, she stepped into the skirt and pulled a soft white wool sweater over her head. She gathered her hair back into a ponytail, quickly misted herself with fragrance, and left the room.

She didn't want Thad Randolph to think she was primping for him like a coed keeping her prom date waiting. She took the stairs with an aggressive tread, but paused before entering the living room. He was standing with his back to her, listening while Matt explained the intricacies of a Legos battleship he was building.

"Hello."

At the sound of her voice, he came around on the heels of his boots. Dressed in jeans, a plain cotton sports shirt, and a gray suede bomber jacket that did terrific things for his hair and eyes, he made an impressive escort. Slightly better than impressive. He made her palms sweat.

"Hi. Matt said you were still getting dressed." His eyes swept down her body, all the way to the toes of her ivory leather boots with the slouch cuff, then back up again. "I hope we didn't rush you."

"No. Are we ready?" He nodded. The children exuberantly chorused their readiness.

Matt delayed them by putting up an argument against taking a jacket. Elizabeth insisted on it, since many of the festival's activities were outdoors. And a jacket would camouflage his choice of wardrobe.

"The sooner you get your jacket, the sooner we can leave," Thad remarked.

Matt made it upstairs to his room and back in record time. Thad escorted them out. He was flanked by Matt and Megan. Elizabeth brought up the rear after locking the door behind them. It felt strange to be riding in the front seat of Thad's Jeep wagon with him behind the wheel and the children in the back seat. To anyone observing them, they would look like the all-American family on an outing. The thought made her jittery.

So much so that she actually jumped when Thad said, "You look pretty tonight."

He had wedged the unexpected compliment in sideways between her children's nonstop chatter. "Thank you. So do you. Look nice, I mean.

"Thanks."

They smiled across the front seat at each other. Elizabeth's insides quivered slightly beneath his appreciative blue gaze. She was actually grateful to Matt when he demanded Thad's attention.

The school building was almost rocking with the activity going on inside it. The campus was swarming with hyper children and their parents, who tried in vain to keep up with them as they raced from one gaily decorated booth to another, plying their skills at the various games.

The first order of business was to purchase tickets that were redeemable at all the booths and concession stands. Elizabeth knew the PTA officer who was selling them and had no choice but to introduce her to Thad. So avid was the other woman's curiosity that she miscounted his change twice before giving him the correct amount.

"You should have let me buy the tickets," Elizabeth told him as they moved away from the ticket booth. She was aware of every curious glance and whispering tongue.

"Consider it my contribution to the local PTA," he replied, unperturbed. "Where to first, kids?"

Elizabeth's fears that he would have an awful time were unfounded. To her surprise Thad got into the spirit of the festival. He offered Megan advice at the Fishin' Hole and she ended up winning a bottle of liquid bubbles. At the basketball goal, he held Matt up so he'd have a better chance at scoring. Matt came away from that with a bag of marbles in his hand and a grin on his face that made Elizabeth's heart ache. She saw the smug glances her son cast his friends as he walked away with Thad. He didn't have a father to brag to the other boys about and was taking full advantage of Thad's prowess.

They stopped at several other booths before Elizabeth asked, "Is anybody hungry? It's either spaghetti or hot dogs," she informed their guest apologetically.

"Great. I'm starved."

They decided on hot dogs. Matt and Megan ate theirs in about three bites. "Can we get our faces painted, Mom?" Megan asked after slurping up the last of her soft drink.

Matt was hopping up and down beside his chair. "Yeah, I want to get the devil face."

"How appropriate." Elizabeth laughed, pinching him on his mustard-smeared cheek.

"Can we, Mom? It only costs six tickets."

"Thad and I haven't eaten yet."

"That'll take forever." Megan moaned. "Then you'll want to drink coffee for an hour."

"Would it be all right if they went alone?" Thad asked her.

"Can we, Mom? Can we?"

"May we," she corrected. "Yes, you may if you promise to come right back here. If you get lost in this crowd, we'll never find you. And stay together," she called after them.

Clutching the tickets Thad had doled out to them, they squirmed their way through the cafeteria crowd and out into the jammed corridor toward the face-painting booth.

"Oh, to have that much energy," Thad said, taking the first bite out of his hot dog.

Elizabeth shook her head remorsefully. "I tried to warn you. You'll be exhausted by the time you get home tonight."

"I'm having a great time."

The wonder of it was that he truly seemed to be enjoying himself. He was as interested in the school as the PTA mothers were in Elizabeth Burke's "date." As though reading her mind, he said, "I'm an oddity, aren't I? Or am I getting paranoid? Is everyone staring at me, or is that my imagination?"

She smiled and ducked her head shyly. "They're staring. Everybody knows I'm single."

"How long have you been single? When was your husband killed?" She glanced up at him in surprise. "One of the neighbors told me when I moved in," he replied to her unspoken question. "I didn't ask. The information was volunteered."

Because he seemed so sincere, she didn't find it awkward to share with him the facts surrounding her husband's death. "John was killed two years ago. Automobile accident. He was pronounced dead at the scene."

"Were you and the children with him?"

"No."

"Thank God."

"It happened on his way to work. Two policemen came to the house that morning and asked me to go to the hospital with them." She returned her half-eaten hot dog to the paper plate. "I was changing the shelf paper in the kitchen cabinets. I'll never forget that. When I got home that afternoon, all the dishes were still stacked on the table and the cupboard doors were standing open. For a minute, I couldn't remember why."

"A sudden death like that, it must have been rough on you."

"It was like having the world pulled out from under me." Willfully shaking off her reflective mood, she looked at him. "Have you ever lost anyone close to you?"

"No. Not that way," he said shortly. "Would you like some coffee?"

"Please."

He left the table and headed for the booth where beverages were being dispensed. Elizabeth watched as he made halting progress through the crowd. He had lost someone, but not by death. Who? How? Had he been rejected by someone he loved?

Heads turned; eyes followed him. He captured the attention of nearly every woman his shadow fell on. What woman wouldn't be attracted? Physically, he had a rugged, hard-hat appeal. But his personality was incongruous with his physique. He was sensitive and soft-spoken. He wasn't out to prove how macho he was. His masculinity spoke for itself.

She had never seen a woman at his house, but it was obvious that he didn't live like a monk. He had perfected a method of being sexy and courteous at the same time. He knew how to treat a woman like a lady. And he knew how to treat a lady like a woman.

He wasn't an octopus with groping hands, but he didn't shy away from taking her elbow and guiding her through a crowd. Several times she'd felt his hand at the small of her back, giving her a gentle nudge forward. These mannerly touches had never failed to elicit a thrill.

No, around a woman, he wasn't awkward at all. Why, then, was he single? Had he had a disastrous marriage and messy divorce that turned him off marriage forever? Did monthly alimony payments make a second marriage economically unfeasible? Or did he simply enjoy the sexual freedom of a bachelor's life? Why hadn't she seen any women around his house?

He set the Styrofoam cup of coffee in front of her. "Cream or sugar?"

"Sugar." He passed her a packet of sugar, which he'd had the foresight to bring back to the table with him. She absently opened the packet and stirred the sugar into her cup with a plastic spoon. "Have you ever been married, Thad?"

"No." He sipped his coffee, staring at her through the rising steam.

"Oh." She had hoped for some elaboration, but apparently his private life was just that.

"I'm straight, if that's what you're wondering."

She burned her tongue on her coffee. Embarrassment stained her throat and face with vivid color. "I wasn't."

"Sure you were."

She couldn't quite meet that teasing gaze. "Maybe I was. Subconsciously."

"No offense taken. Unfortunately, if I had set out to prove to you that I am heterosexual, you would have been offended." Mischief turned his eyes an even deeper shade of blue. "Although I'd be more than happy to accommodate you if you want proof."

Her previous blush was mild compared to the one that suffused her now. "I believe you." She cleared her throat. "It's just that by the time a man gets to be your age, he's usually been married at least once."

"By the time a man gets to be my age, he's done just about everything at least once," he said, teasing her again. He smiled with her, then lowered his head and stared into his coffee. "I've had several opportunities to get married. There have been a few serious involvements that could have eventually led to marriage, I suppose, but none of them worked out before one or both of us lost interest." Lifting his head, he asked, "Why haven't you remarried?"

Her mind had latched on to his "serious involvements," so it was a moment before she assimilated his question. "I was very much in love with John. We had a good marriage. For a long time after he died, I was in an emotional vacuum. Then I got busy with Fantasy. You know what it takes for anybody to run a business single-handed. The problems are quadrupled if you're a widow with children. I had to be both parents to them. All that combined didn't leave much time and energy for a personal life. And," she said, drawing a deep breath, "I haven't fallen in love with anyone else."

"I guess that's the bottom line, isn't it?"

"Are you saying you've never been in love?"

"In lust, maybe. I've met a lot of women I liked sleeping with, but damned few I enjoyed waking up with." Even over the crowd's noise, Elizabeth heard his quietly spoken afterthought. "Maybe that'll be the determining factor. I'll know I'm in love when it's that woman I want to wake up with every morning."

For a moment their eyes locked and held. It was Matt's voice that finally broke the compelling stare. "Hey, look, Thad."

The boy's face was a mask of red and black paint, broken only by his wide, gap-toothed grin. Megan had had her face done like a pierrette doll with eloquently tearful eyes and a red heart for a mouth.

"Megan, you look great!" Thad exclaimed. "But where the devil is Matt?"

The boy lapsed into a fit of giggles and cannoned into Thad's chest. When the hilarity had died down, Megan asked, "Have you finished your coffee yet?"

Thad glanced at Elizabeth and shrugged helplessly. "Yes, we're finished," he told the impatient children. He helped Elizabeth out of her chair. Bending his head close to hers in order to make himself heard, he said, "Should we take in the outdoor events?"

"I suppose so. If for no other reason than to justify Matt having to bring his jacket."

Laughing, Thad put his arm across her shoulders and gave her a quick hug. The gesture was friendly, not seductive. There was no reason for her heart to skip several beats. None whatsoever. A man didn't mention the women he slept with to one he wanted to take to bed. He discussed past affairs with a buddy, a pal. If this relationship developed into anything, that's the direction it would take. They would be friends, not lovers.

But apparently Thad didn't know that. "Careful," he said when she stumbled on uneven pavement in the playground. He slid his fingers between hers and linked their hands. Her arm became sandwiched between his arm and his side. His elbow pressed an indentation at least an inch deep into her breast. Occasionally, and she was certain accidentally, the back of his arm grazed her nipple. Its invariable response shot to hell the palsy-walsy theory.

"Can we go on the hayride, Mom?"

"Sure." Her voice was reedy and thin.

The two children scrambled aboard the horse-drawn wagon. The driver said, "Sorry, but I can't take responsibility for the kids unless at least one parent goes too."

"No problem," Thad said. "We were going anyway."

He stepped up into the wagon and extended a hand down to Elizabeth. She had lost control of the situation and couldn't quite decide when or how it had happened. The people already sitting in the wagon and all those standing in line behind her were watching her expectantly. Her choices were to create an unpleasant scene, or to grasp Thad's hand and let him pull her up beside him. Taking the easy way out, she opted for the latter.

Thad made certain that Matt and Megan were safely sitting down before finding Elizabeth and him a spot in the hay. She tucked her skirt around her legs, careful not to rub thighs with him.

"Isn't this fun, Mom?" Megan asked over the heads of those people sitting between them. All eyes swung in Elizabeth's direction.

"It's a blast," she answered, forcing a smile. She was aware of Thad's arm resting on the slats of the wagon behind her. If she leaned back, even a fraction of an inch, she'd be within the curve of his arm. She'd never kept such rigid posture.

The man operating the hayride maximized the capacity of the wagon. As he loaded the last waiting group, he said, "Scrunch up, please, so everybody can get on. Ma'am, if you wouldn't mind sitting in your husband's lap, it'll make more room.

With horror, Elizabeth realized that he was speaking to her. She remained as still as a wooden Indian. Everybody in the wagon turned to glare at the uncooperative spoilsport who was holding up the proceedings.

"Elizabeth?"

She heard Thad's soft inquiry, like a caressing breath on her ear, but she didn't look at him. Instead, feeling helpless and resigned, she offered no resistance when he lifted her onto his lap.

"Thanks." The driver of the wagon closed the tailgate behind the last passengers. He moved to the front, took his seat on the top of the wagon, and picked up the reins. Flicking the horse's rump with them, he called back, "Hold on, folks. Here we go.

The wagon lurched forward. Because she was sitting so stiff and straight, Elizabeth was thrown off balance. She landed hard against Thad's chest. Her bottom slipped into the notch of his thighs. She heard him grunt softly and wondered if it was from pleasure or pain, unsure which she would rather it be.

"Did you hear what that man said, Mom?" Megan called out to her. "He thought Thad was your husband."

"That'd be neat," the devil with the red and black face chimed in. "Then I'd have a real dad instead of one who just lives in heaven."

Groaning, Elizabeth closed her eyes and prayed for invisibility. She blessed the merciful soul who started a round of "Row, Row, Row Your Boat" and drew the crowd's attention away from her.

She felt the vibration of Thad's silent laughter through his gray suede jacket. "Remind me to murder my children later," she muttered. "I'm so sorry, Thad."

"For what?"

"For embarrassing you."

"You're the one who's embarrassed, not me."

"And for having to sit on your lap. I hope you don't mind too much."

His eyes held hers. "Not at all. In fact, as long as we're here," he added gruffly as he slipped his arms around her, "we'd just as well relax and enjoy the, uh… ride."

He had been charming. His manners had been flawless. He could have been a real cad about having her sit on his lap during the hayride. He could have taken unfair advantage of the situation and sneaked a feel in the dark. It would have been easy, considering that his hands were clasped together just below her breasts for the duration of the jostling ride. But he hadn't.

He'd been a perfect gentleman. Hadn't he offered her his jacket when the night air had grown cold? Yes, he had. That's when she'd felt his warm breath feather her neck. That's when she'd been tempted to relax her rigid posture, to let her neck go limp, and to rest her head on his shoulder. But she could hardly initiate something romantic when he'd gone out of his way to keep things platonic, could she?

He'd maintained that friendly, gentlemanly attitude all evening. He had commiserated with Megan and Matt when their raffle tickets for the compact disc player turned out to be losers. He had thanked them repeatedly for inviting him to the Fall Festival. He hadn't dropped them at the curb, but walked them up the sidewalk to their front door and saw them safely inside. His smile had been open and companionable with nary a trace of suggestiveness when he said a private good night to Elizabeth and thanked her again for letting him go with them.

He had been a good sport about the whole thing.

So, dammit, why was she disappointed?

At home now, alone in her upstairs bedroom with the lamp turned low and the shutters closed, why did she wish he'd done something just a shade shady?

He could have given her one soft nuzzle on the neck during the hayride. He could have raked his thumb along the undersides of her breasts just to let her know that he knew they were there and that they weren't bad for a close-to-thirty mother of two.

When he helped her down from the wagon, he could have held her against him a second or two longer. When he told her good night after the children had already been sent upstairs to get ready for bed, he could have invited himself in for a quick cup of coffee. He could have given her a friendly good-night kiss on the cheek. He could have done something a little less nice and a lot more exciting.

Not that she wanted anything of a romantic nature to spark between them. She didn't. It was just that it had been a far more pleasant evening than she'd had any right to expect. He was even more attractive than she had originally thought. His past affairs intrigued her and she was mad to know what kind of woman appealed to him. A man like him didn't stay celibate for long stretches of time. He was a gentleman, but he wasn't dead, and every time that wagon had found a dip in the soccer field and her hips had ground against his lap… No, he definitely wasn't dead.

Oh, hell. She was being ridiculous. Vexed by her own silliness, she switched off the lamp and pulled the covers up to her chin. Irrationally she was furious with him for being so nice.