Stargazing Ch. 09
“*Author’s Note:
This doesn’t contain sex with celebrities… although there are real celebrities that are central to the story. (And I apologize in advance for any and all FICTIONAL liberties taken with them! 
This series is more about how and why people become obsessed with “stars.”
And yes, everyone in this story is 18+…
So, turn up your collar, feather your hair, put that big comb in your back pocket and splash on some Polo, because we’re going back to high school in the 80’s!
Just one word of caution, while there is sex in this series, it does take some time to get there!
With that in mind, let’s go back to a time when no one owned a mobile phone, the Internet was a pipe dream, and computers took up entire rooms, not just laps.
Hey ho, let’s go…
—–”*
The Bangor street map was taped to the dashboard, a collection of tapes for the tape player sat on the passenger’s seat, the remains of a Big Mac and fries were stuffed in the litter bag hung over the lighter, the windows were cranked down, and I had my shades on. I was ready to go.
I backed out of a McDonald’s parking space, pulled to the end of the parking lot, and stopped. The Bangor Mall was across the street, but I’d seen enough malls in my life. The map told me that Hogan, the street I was facing, would take me out of Bangor, which I didn’t want, or over to State Street in the other direction, and there were a lot of residential streets that way.
He could be on any one of them, I thought. But do I want to look?
I hesitated, and a car horn blared behind me. I turned on Hogan, heading toward State Street.
*****
My notebook:
” I am going absolutely out of my mind! I’m back in the motel room with the TV on. It’s nice, it even comes equipped with cable, which is a luxury, believe me. MTV and everything!
I think I know the streets in this town inside and out and upside down. I have been up and down every street in this entire town and I still haven’t found his house.
It’s HUGE! I have a picture of it in front of me. Two, in fact. It’s a MANSION, for God’s sake! How can I miss a mansion? It has to be invisible. That’s the only explanation!
But what did I expect, right? To come here, immediately find him, and have him befriend me instantly for life? Well—yeah. And no.
I kept expecting to see him, out shopping or driving around or something. I mean, I know what his car (cars) look like, what his family looks like, and I keep expecting to see them at any second. I mean, this is his town.
Of course, this is also Dale’s town, and John’s. Or, it was. I went by their old house—that was the address John gave me. It’s a cute little yellow house with butterflies (three of them) adorning the outside. That’s a popular thing here, putting butterflies outside on the houses. It was weird, seeing a place Dale had lived before I even knew he existed. Stacy still lives there. I saw her, too, but only from a distance. She was getting in her car to go somewhere.
I expected her to be dark, like Dale, but she’s blonde. Really nice figure for a woman her age. Very, very pretty. Dale gets his looks from her. Very delicate. The house was on the outskirts of Bangor, right near the college, so I drove by there, too
I’ve been thinking of Dale, telling me to come home. Home. I miss him. When I think about him, getting ready for the Finals… I know I should be there? I know, I know. But he let me come here, because he knew it was important to me. Would I have been okay with it, if it was the other way around? I don’t think so. Maybe that says something about my character right there. Maybe I’m just selfish. ”
*****
I popped the tape out and turned up the radio. I was sick of listening to Rick Springfield and Sting. The sun was high in front of me as I drove the car down State Street, so I was wearing my shades. It was Easter Sunday and no one was out and about. Everyone’s tucked away, having Easter dinner, I thought.
It was only two in the afternoon. I had spent most of my morning looking for his mansion and finally resigned myself to just driving around town. I wondered where Stephen King was. I didn’t know if he went to church or not. I remembered John telling me that Easter was usually at Tabby’s in-laws, who lived in Vermont, and Stephen King begged off a lot because he didn’t get along with his in-laws. So, Stephen King had spent Easter with the Daigneaults a lot.
To my right, the Penobscot River ran close to the road in a lot of places. To my left were trees, and a few houses every once in a while. It was a peaceful way to spend a Sunday afternoon.
“It’s two-oh-four on this Easter Sunday in Bangor, and boy, do we have some gorgeous weather out there for you today! Sunny skies and not a cloud in sight! Temperature right now is seventy-one degrees and we hope you’re having a good one. Here’s U2 and “You Still Haven’t Found What You’re Looking For…”"
Ah, the irony, I thought, and flipped the dial, searching for another radio station. I was cresting the top of a hill
“Oh, my God,” I breathed, unable to believe what I was seeing. I slowed the car so I could get a better look.
It was a cemetery, built up on an unbelievably steep hill, and surrounded by a high iron fence. I recognized it immediately, because I had a picture of Stephen King standing in it! I pulled into the entrance and up the winding asphalt in between the graves. Then I stopped the car and got out.
High above me, up on the hill, graves were scattered and monuments had been erected. I stared, turning in a circle, incredulous. The wind was light, and the grass under my tennis shoes was green already. I hadn’t expected such terrific weather in Maine. I had actually thought it might snow.
Monuments from the “civil war”! I bent to look at the headstones. Some were illegible. Some were only slightly worn away.
I read: Park Hallen, born Nov. 19, 1742, died May 21, 1775 in… “the Revolutionary War.”
The history here, I thought. All the history buried under this land.
I began to climb the hill. It was steep, and the cement steps that had been built were, in some places, worn so much they were completely flat, almost sunk into the ground. I paused at the top to look down and…oh!
I could see Brewer, across the river, and the angle was perfect. I sat on the edge of a large grave stone, wishing for a sketch pad. Clouds drifted lazily across the river, and a few cars went by on State Street. Behind me, there were acres and acres more. From here, I could see the exact spot where Stephen King had been standing in the picture I had.
Acres and acres, all beautiful land and wonderful monuments and fantastic view. This would be an incredible place to build a house, I thought, looking around. If the cemetery wasn’t there, of course. But it was—hundreds upon hundreds of people buried. People with their own personal histories and life experiences. Gone now.
Well, nobody lives forever, I thought, and for the first time in my life the casualness of the statement struck a cold jab of fear into my heart, like ice. “Nobody lives forever.”
*****
“Where you from?”
I looked at the blonde girl sitting next to me in the auditorium. Up on stage, the Director of Admissions was explaining the selective process of getting into the University of Maine.
“Michigan,” I told her. The girl whistled softly, long and low.
“You’re a ways out! I’m Annie, by the way,” she said, smiling. “Welcome to the humble state of Maine.”
“Thanks,” I said, laughing when Annie rolled her eyes.
“Personally, I’d rather go out of state to get out of here, but you know, my parents want me to stay close to home,” Annie told me.
“What do you want to major in?” I asked her.
“I want to design something. Like clothes, or rooms. I’m good with colors.”
“Me, too,” I said. “I’m majoring in art.”
“Yeah?” Annie looked surprised. “My sister, Marie, she took art here, but she ended up switching majors. She decided that art was boring. My mom’s an artist.”
“Yeah? Where’d she go to school?” I asked.
“Oh, she went out of state. To Michigan, in fact. Center for Creative Studies,” Annie said. “You live near there?”
“Yeah, sort of,” I said. “Was your mom a professional? Did she ever show?”
“Tons!” Annie said. “Before all of us kids, of course.”
“Prizes will be awarded later in the day for those of you who have placed in the various Maine Difference Creative Competitions,” the tall guy on stage was saying. “And there will be both walking and bus tours available after this program. Of course, you are welcome to visit classes, but they are in session, so I will ask you to be as courteous and as quiet as possible. Well, I hope you like it and good luck.”
“Did you place in a contest?” Annie asked. I nodded. “Okay, well they don’t start the awards thing until around two, so do you want to go on a bus tour?” Annie asked. “It’s too hot to be walking a mile each way on campus.”
“Sure,” I said, standing up and following Annie down the row and outside. People were milling around, looking completely unsure of what they were supposed to be doing. “The bus comes over here.” Annie led me toward the curb. The sun was bright and hot, and I shaded my eyes with my hand, looking for a bus.
“How do you know all this?” I asked.
“Oh, I was here last year with my sister. She’s a sophomore, and I’m a senior in high school, now. My mom figured I should go here because Marie is, you know, kind of alumni, so I’d have a better chance of getting in,” Annie said, taking out a stick of Juicy Fruit and unwrapping it. “You want one?” she offered.
“No, thanks,” I said. “You were saying that your mom had shows. What’s her name? Maybe I’ve heard of her.”
“If you’re into art, I know you have. Shelly Taylor.” “Your “mom” is Shelly Taylor?” I cried.
“Yup.”
“She’s one of the best contemporary artists of the decade!”
“Yup. Told you you’d know her. She quit, though, when she got married and had me and my sister. She just didn’t have the time, or so she says. I think it was mostly my dad. He didn’t want her working and traveling a lot,” Annie told me. “You can meet her today. She’s handing out prizes for the Art Contest. I assume you entered art work?”
“Yes,” I said, stunned. I couldn’t believe it. If I could have picked my parents, Stephen King would have been my choice for father, and I would have to say Shelly Taylor would be my pick for a mother. This was unbelievable.
“Hey, there’s Wade. Wade! Hey, Wade, are you going to be our guide today, you gorgeous man, you?”
A dark-haired guy was walking toward us wearing a suit and tie. Very impressive, I thought. But probably uncomfortably hot.
“If you don’t quit flirting with me like that, I’m going to have to tell your sister on you,” Wade said. He was laughing and he ruffled Annie’s hair.
“Wade, this is Sara. She’s from Michigan. Sara, this is Wade, my sister’s fiancé. I’m trying to steal him from her. She doesn’t deserve him,” Annie said.
“Hi, Sara. You’ll certainly make a nice addition to our campus. Annie, I keep telling you, you’re too young for me. Maybe when you grow up we can discuss it,” Wade said. He turned fully to me. “How do you like us so far? Do we meet your standards?”
“Everyone is certainly very friendly,” I said with a smile. “And the campus is very pretty.”
“Yeah, that we are and that is it, but it’s what’s inside those pretty buildings that counts, right, Annie?” Wade asked, looking pointedly at her.
“Yeah, yeah, okay, Wade, you made your point,” Annie said with a sigh. “Can we get on the bus, now, and get this over with? There are bunches of people dying to get out of the heat, here.”
“Sure. Go ahead and get on board,” he said, pointing to a bus that had pulled up during their conversation.
“What was that all about?” I asked when we had a seat on the air-conditioned bus.
“Oh, you mean all that stuff about ‘it’s what’s inside that counts’ from Wade?” Annie asked. I nodded. “Well, the fact is, I wanted to go to the Center for Creative Studies, like my mom. But I can’t.”
“Why?” I asked. “Is it your grade point?”
“No, I have the G.P.A., it’s just my life. I have a life here. My family, my friends, a boyfriend, Jeff, who is really sweet and who also wants to get married and everything. So…I figured I’d stay close to home.”
“Oh.” I was quiet. Annie had just kind of bubbled with conversation since I’d met her all of fifteen minutes ago, and I didn’t think it was my place to offer her advice. I didn’t really know her.
“I don’t know what to do, to tell you the truth,” Annie said with a sigh, her eyes downcast. “Wade keeps telling me that I should do what “I” want, but my mom and my sister and Jeff want me to stay here.”
“Well…what “do” you want to do?” I asked her. Annie looked at me.
“I want to go. And I also want to stay here. It’s really hard,” she said and I nodded.
“I know,” I told her. “But ultimately you have to make the decision. You have to weigh the pros and cons of both going and staying and decide what you want most.”
“Yeah.” Annie sighed.
“Well, I’m Wade, and I’ll be your guide this afternoon. Can you all hear me?” The response was yes.
“What would “you” do?” Annie asked me as the bus began to move. I was quiet for a while, thinking of Dale, of Stephen King, of my father, my future. I shook my head.
“I don’t know,” I told her softly, touching the locket that always hung around my neck. I shook my head again. “I just don’t know.”
*****
I guided the car into the small, circular parking lot and cut the engine. I sighed, looking across the park at kids playing on swings and playing baseball.
“First place.”
I still couldn’t believe it, but the evidence was propped in the back seat, the blue ribbon still attached to the corner. I’d won the four-year scholarship. And Shelly Taylor had said it was one of the most brilliant, life-like works she had ever seen.
“I couldn’t believe it was the work of a student,” Shelly had said after the awards program. Shelly had taken us out to dinner and we had discussed art, and colleges. Shelly had recommended the Center for Creative Studies. I was suddenly torn.
Annie had promised to write after we had exchanged addresses. It was amazing the way people adopted me, or maybe it was just people from Maine.
I didn’t feel like going back to the motel room. Every time I did I felt as if I had lost something or been defeated in some way.
I got out of the car. Off to my left was a baseball diamond filled with kids. The swings and slides and monkey bars to my right were also crawling with kids, the younger ones. The sun was beginning to fade some and it wasn’t so hot out.
I picked up my purse and notebook, going off to hunt myself a bit of shade. I felt like being around people, but I didn’t want to talk. I wanted to write about everything that had happened at the university, and how I was feeling. Partly because I thought I might not remember exactly how I felt if I looked back on it later.
I started walking on the path that led toward a small clump of trees. Beyond those trees was a field that meshed into woods. Behind that, I could see houses, but they were only patches of color between the green.
What street is that? I wondered. I couldn’t remember. I knew that the one to my left was Union Street and to my right, down about three or four blocks, was Hammond Street, the street my motel was on. But the one beyond that stretch of trees. I couldn’t remember the name of it. Cedar? No, Cedar was farther north and ran the other way. I decided to take a walk and find out. I passed the baseball game. Someone struck out.
My breath sucked in when I looked up. I was walking on the sidewalk of Union Street now, past a chain-link fence on my right. Up ahead, on the street I’d seen through the trees, was a huge, sprawling white house. It resembled a castle and it was absolutely beautiful. There was not other word for it, except maybe expensive, which it had to be.
I paused at the corner and glanced down the street. The street was full of them! Huge, huge houses! It was the old section of town, I knew. I wished I’d brought my camera. Andi loved big, old houses. We used to go cruising, looking for them and taking pictures for her collection.
Butterflies must be middle-class, I thought, glancing up in awe at the houses as I passed them. One of them, painted pale green, was built with pillars on the front and side porches, as well as a balcony above the porch.
“God,” I said, under my breath. The sun was shining on the white house across from the green one and it had two cupolas and four, count ‘em, “four” bay windows. It looked like it might even be three stories high.
Beyond the green house was another white one, more impressive by far than any I had seen. The architecture fascinated me. I would have liked to sit and sketch them. Looking across the street I saw that the house next to the white one seemed to be empty. The porch would be a perfect angle. I glanced at the house behind me, taking in the house itself, the lawn, kept trimmed and perfect, the foliage growing up along the fence all around the house, almost as tall as the house itself. Privacy, I thought, crossing the street. With the angle the street was on, with all of the trees, no one could see it from the two main roads it joined with, I was sure.
When I got across the street, I checked the windows to make sure the house was empty. I didn’t want anyone upset with me. No one was living there. No furniture, no curtains, no cars in the driveway. I opened my notebook, flipping to a clean page as I sat down. I wished for a drawing pad instead of lined paper. Can always come back later, I reminded myself, but the sun was fading. I looked up then, and I screamed, short and strangled, covering my mouth with both hands.
I never, never would have been able to see it from the road through all the trees surrounding the white house I’d been planning on drawing. They blocked the view from the side of the street I was on. Can’t see it from the main roads, no way, I thought, no way.
Stephen King’s home was right across the street. I sat there, staring at it, my mouth dry and my body growing suddenly cold. Stephen King’s home, right in front of my very own eyes. Almost close enough to touch. And even as I watched, Stephen King and Dale’s mother, Stacy, came out of the house.
*****
My notebook:
“So here I am. Sitting right across the street from the man, the legend—Stephen King. I’ve seen pictures of that house, of him, but here they are! He came out a while ago. He came out in blue jeans, a Boston Red Sox cap, a white shirt. He didn’t come out alone. Dale’s mother, Stacy, was with him. They were laughing, talking, and he kissed her long and hard before they got into a car (his Jaguar) and took off. I guess he was taking full advantage of his wife and kids being in Vermont for the holidays. Dale was right. I can’t believe it, but it’s true. I saw it for myself. They came back half an hour later, with grocery bags, still laughing and talking and happy.”
“Stephen King picked up his paper, glanced at the front page, looked around the neighborhood (and he looked at me, he did, stared directly at me for about ten seconds. Of course, he knows no one lives here! I wonder if he thought I was a spy for his wife, or something?) and then he and Stacy went inside.
So here I am. And there he is. And I’m not any bit closer than I was in Michigan. I’m sitting on the front porch of an empty house across the street from his. So how do I feel? I should feel elated, right? I should be ecstatic about finding it, finally, after three days of searching for it!
It simply wasn’t their nature.
But she now understood the story Donna had told her of Artemis and Narcissus; for the first time, she realized how Artemis felt when she first caught sight of Narcissus — spellbound and helpless before such great beauty. Eternally damned for wanting the one man she could not have. She was desperate to claim him, and even knowing how forbidden Joseph was didn’t stop her from wanting him, nor could she pull her eyes away. Knowing herself to be weak, she let her rebellious eyes have their way, ravenously consuming him as he lay sleeping.
He was lying on his side, facing her, so she had a wonderful view of his perfection. Loose blonde ringlets fell over his well-shaped head. Fine-boned, strong, patrician features; delicate, ageless, and beautiful — features that would stand long after true youth had faded. Such a look would have been misplaced on any other man, especially one who was so “much “man, but when coupled with those eyes and their melting gaze, it came together perfectly. And Azar, what eyes they were! Right now, his eyes were closed in sleep, but had they been open, they would have revealed a matching set of startling sea-green irises, as clear as the waters of a quiet lake. Eyes with the ability to see into one’s soul and find the secrets thought well hidden; the most compassionate and expressive eyes she had ever seen.
Continuing with her assessment, her eyes settled on his lips. Soft, even lips that, if she closed her eyes, she could almost taste them. The strong, stubborn chin, long neck, and powerful, well-defined shoulders, relaxed in sleep. A wide, muscular chest that narrowed to a slim waist with a tightly defined abdomen. Joseph was simply spectacular — to quote Donna, “sexy as sin, and just as seductive.”
He was breathtaking.
A sudden movement broke her from her erotic thoughts, bringing her attention once again to the man on the bed. He was quite restless and she wondered at the cause. Nightmare? Erotic fantasy? Or was it the same ghost haunting him, as she herself was haunted? Those deep, dark instances of time that were better forgotten but always managed to come, unbidden, during sleep. For his sake, she hoped it was something pleasant — at least as pleasant as the impromptu strip tease he just provided her with. He had just turned onto his back. She watched as he brought one arm to his forehead while the other rested on his stomach, right above where the sheet covered the lower half of his body.
Or tried to; the sheet was tangled around him, showing her tantalizing bits of his flesh that the sheet missed.
One strong, muscular thigh.
The firm, naked curve of his buttock.
The long, thick imprint of the anatomy that made him a man.
“Azar!” The most peculiar feeling came over her as she stood staring at him, eyes glued to that imprint, praying he would move so that more of the sheet would fall away and give her a full view of what she was so obviously ogling.
Embarrassed at the turn her thoughts took, and feeling the blood start to heat her cheeks, she backed away from the door, trying to give herself a chance to calm down. Once she was outside the room, she paused. Why had she been brought here? Surely not to merely gawk at the man. And what of his effect on her senses? It only took that brief look to convince her that she wanted him, had always wanted him, so now what? Could she actually be entertaining thoughts of making love to Joseph?
It wouldn’t be wise; there was too much at risk for her to approach him sexually without some sign he would welcome it. Their friendship was one; rejection was another. The list was endless, but she also knew that he cared about her. Indeed, it would have been hard to miss, but that was the love of a friend, not the kind of love related to a potential lover — no interest whatsoever. No sexual advances, no teasing, no touching, not even one single kiss. Perhaps he truly wasn’t interested in her, but after feasting her eyes on him tonight, platonic thoughts went right out the window. Her body refused to listen to it. Just staring at Joseph created the most intense sensations and feelings she had ever felt. Eric could never draw those feelings from her, and he had pushed for a physical relationship every time they met. Even after she agreed to his persistent demands, there was no sexual desire for him, just the need to please the man she thought she loved.
She found out two things that day last week. One was that if she had followed through with Eric, she would have been sacrificing something very precious; not just her soul and life, but the chance to make her first time something very special. After all, she would only have one first time. Another was that in her heart of hearts, she was trying to replace Joe with Eric, trying to find a substitute for the love she could not have — or thought she could not have. Tonight had been tossed to the winds of fate, and she could no longer hide her secret yearnings. Why else would she have been led to him if not to be given another chance at love — real love? Was she bold enough to reach out and grasp it? Could she?
“Do not hesitate. Enter and see.”
Her every fantasy was through that door, and all she had to do was walk in and claim it. “Seemed simple enough,” she thought, staring at the doorway. The problem was once she stepped through that doorway, her life would never be the same. Was she ready for such a change, for all the implications entering that room entailed? Looking back over the unending nightmare her life had become, how could she pass up this chance? There really wasn’t any choice at all. Whatever happened in that room had to be better then anything she left behind in her past, and that made the risk worth it for her. Who was she to deny fate?
Taking her faltering courage in hand, she strode through the doorway and directly into the room. In the short time she’d been gone, Joseph had drawn the sheet more securely around the lower half of his body, much to her disappointment; she had been looking forward to what else the scanty sheet might expose. Smiling, she decided that she liked this aspect of her personality — Raven, the wanton. How unbecoming! Quickly covering her mouth before her faint chuckles betrayed her, she silently laughed into her hand, praying it would be enough to prevent Joseph from waking. When the laughter had passed, she was pleased to discover that it eased most of the apprehension she’d felt about being in his room. Instead of nervousness, she was feeling quite bold now — bold enough to move closer to his bed.
She stopped at the foot of the bed and stared at him. From her angle, she had a clear view of him; he was even more devastating up close. She also noticed he was beginning to wake.
Watching as sleep slowly departed his consciousness; she waited with baited breath as he began to stir. She felt hypnotized as she watched him go through the motions of waking, slowly stretching, extending, and flexing his well-trained muscles with fluid grace while he shook off the last of his slumber. She wondered what he would think when he saw her there. Just then, his sea green eyes opened, pinning her with their beauty.
Startled, he quickly sat up in bed and rapidly signed, ‘Is something wrong? Do you need me for anything?’
“Oh yes my love, you are needed, but not in the way you think. “Quickly reassuring him, she touched his hand, stopping his motion of leaving the bed.” “”No, Joseph; there is no danger. I am sorry if I startled you with my presence here.”
Smiling at her, he waved away her apologies. ‘Don’t worry, I wasn’t really sleeping all that soundly, and I was startled only because I was concerned for you.’
“I am fine, Joseph.” Raven felt herself start to melt; who wouldn’t, when faced with such obvious concern and piercing green eyes? It would take a stronger woman than she not to be affected by him. Any woman who walked away from this man was in dire need of psychiatric help. It made her wonder why some lucky woman hadn’t snatched him up yet; she was sure it wasn’t from lack of opportunity — not with his money and looks — and certainly not lack of trying from the single and eligible ladies of New York. Azar! He even had the not-so-single-or-eligible trying for him. Just one more reason she had never tried to capture his attention before. He had his pick of the most beautiful women in the world; what would he want with painfully shy and introverted Raven? She never had the courage to try… until now. Now was a different story.
Totally engrossed in her thoughts, she didn’t see the look Joseph was giving her. If she had, she would have blushed a most becoming shade of pink. “Raven was in his room! “Never in his wildest dreams did he imagine she would seek him out. Countless times he had dreamed of her, hungered for her, yearned for her until it was a constant ache in his soul, until he was almost insane with his unrequited love for her. But he had long since given up on forming something deeper with her; she seemed totally happy with their friendship, and since he didn’t want to risk upsetting her he never pressed, no matter how much his heart protested. So instead of a grand passion, he ended up with a deep and biding friendship, and kept his love silent; buried deep within, never to be spoken.
It had been three years since they first meet, but for him nothing had changed — a fact that became glaringly obvious when Eric stepped into the picture and turned his world upside down. He never thought himself a jealous man, but he discovered that he was when it came to Raven. Realization came when she found him in Central Park to talk to him. Apparently she had been seeing Eric for quite some time and just then felt comfortable enough to share her joy — not with just anyone, “him”, the man who had loved her for years. He was so hurt, he couldn’t see straight.
Him — jealous!
He had more women vying for his attention than he had time in a day. The most beautiful women in the world wanted Joseph Wilson, and he couldn’t become serious about any of them. He wasn’t heartless about it; he respected and even cared for every woman he ever dated, but one thing always made sure the dates never progressed into anything more serious.
They were not Raven.
Shaking himself from his thoughts, he gave his attention back to the woman standing at the foot of his bed. Realizing that she still hasn’t answered his question, Joseph repeated, ‘Do you need my help for anything?’
“What a loaded question that is, Mr. Wilson!” Meeting his questioning look, Raven couldn’t help the soft smile that kissed the corners of her lips. She “did” need him, needed him in ways she was just now beginning to understand. Seeing the puzzled look on his face, she knew she had better answer before he really started questioning her. “I am not certain. I have had trouble sleeping this night.”
‘Eric?’Joe asked.
Seeing the shielded look that covered her face almost made Joe wish that Eric were still alive so he could punch the bastard. That would shock anyone who knew him; Joe detested violence. Ever since his father’s misjudgment had cost him his voice, Joe vowed he would never follow Slade’s destructive path. He always tried to settle things in non-violent ways, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t defend himself. His mother had trained him to be a deadly fighter; between that and his powers, he could easily have become the killer his father was, had he not been a man who strongly preferred to make peace rather then war. But Eric Forrester was one man he would have gladly beaten the hell out of — and enjoyed every minute of it — for the pain he caused this sweet, gentle woman.
The woman he always considered “his.”
Sighing, he acknowledged that there was nothing he could do about it now. What was left of Eric was buried in a small, weighted coffin and dropped somewhere out in the Pacific Ocean, forever out of the sight of the one woman to survive his dangerous brand of lovemaking. The same woman who was holding herself at the foot of his bed.
Seeing that whatever was bothering her would have to be coaxed out of her, he scooted over, clearing a place for her to sit on the edge of the bed. Watching her, he patted the bed, indicating that she should sit down.
Taking his offer, she left her position at the foot of the bed to join him on the mattress. When she was seated, he grasped her chin gently between his fingers and turned her so that she was facing him, staring up into his eyes. Once again he inquired, ‘Did the dreams of Eric interrupt your sleep?’
Dreams? Not likely; nothing associated with Eric was ever as pleasant as mere “dreams.” “The things that disturb my rest have a closer relationship to “nightmares” than “dreams,” Joseph,” she replied painfully.
Desperately wanting to be of assistance to her, he asked, ‘What can I do? Please let me help you.’
She looked into his eyes and saw his genuine need to comfort her. She was too weak to deny the very thing she wanted; she “wanted” this man to comfort her. She wanted the privilege of lying in his arms and crying if she needed to, or just lying in his arms because she wished to feel his heartbeat under her ear, soothing her with its steady rhythm. Oh yes, comfort from Joseph would be a wondrous thing. Smiling softly at him, she leaned forward and softly whispered, “Will you hold me?”
It was said so softly that if he hadn’t been listening for it, he might have missed it. Would he hold her? He couldn’t get his arms around her fast enough! Some questions didn’t require answers; this was one of them. How could he “not” hold her? He wanted her in his arms, too. There was no possibility of him denying her; he needed her too badly. There was pain in her soul, and he wanted — no “needed “– to be the one who would alleviate it. More then anything, he wanted to make her smile. He wanted to share his world with her, show her the endless beauty of life and free her from the bondage of her repressed spirit; such was his love for her.
Never spoken.
Always silent.
Ever present.
Sitting up, he opened his arms, calling to her to find what solace she could within his embrace.
Leaving her perch at side of the bed, Raven went directly into his outstretched arms, feeling them close tightly around her, bringing her cheek flush with his chest. She felt him lower his head until his chin touched the crown of her head, his breath gently stirring the inky strands. Being in Joseph’s arms, wrapped up and cosseted, was the first sense of security she’d felt in over a week. Nestling close and breathing deeply of his scent, Raven relaxed her guard and gave in to the need to let someone else be the strong protector for once.
Feeling the tension leaving her body, Joe pulled her deeper into his embrace. Once he was sure she was comfortable, he settled back against the headboard, content to just hold her and listen to her breathe. To him, this was the most perfect of moments; after a three-year wait, he finally had the mysterious Raven of Azarath in his arms.
Right where she belonged, and if everything went as he prayed, where she would “stay.” For years, his feelings for the petite Raven had grown every day, rapidly increasing, deepening, until there was no denying it; it was blindingly clear. He loved Raven. He’d been feeling that way for a long time now — a really long time.
For a long time, he thought he had his feelings for her under control, hidden; but his assumption that no one else had discovered his secret turned out to be false. Apparently, Kory had known from the start, maybe even before he had. He’d never forget how she confronted him; he was on monitor duty with Raven. Normally, it didn’t bother him to work with her, but that day was exceptionally hard for some reason. The very smell of her was driving him crazy, so he excused himself on the pretense being hungry and headed to the kitchen. It was there that Koriand’r cornered him. Nodding her head in the direction where Raven was still at the monitors, she said in her warm husky tones, “In love with her and it’s driving you crazy, huh?”
He could only stare at her in shock. She knew! He wondered who else had figured out his secret. Was he so transparent? ‘Does anyone else suspect?’
In her usual straightforward manor, she said, “No — though there’s been plenty of speculation about the two of you.” When asked how she’d known, she winked at him. “I’m the emotion expert, remember? Even if you weren’t betraying yourself in a hundred different ways, I’d still know.” Seeing his confusion, she added, “You look at Raven the same way I look at Dick.” Smiling at his stricken expression, she patted his cheek and turned to leave. Before exiting into the hallway, she turned back to him and promised, “Don’t worry Joe. Your secret is safe with me.”
Talk about a wake up call! Until he’d been confronted with it, he was almost scared to acknowledge it to himself, but there really had been no denying his love after the battle with Eric, as he stood in the middle of Raven’s bedroom, holding her trembling body, watching her cry for a man he silently cursed until he ran out of breath.
To feel this intensely about someone and know it wasn’t reciprocated was maddening. Every night he went to sleep with that thought on his mind, but even knowing didn’t change how he felt. He still loved her.
Still needed her.
If only she needed him the same way. His touch seemed to have a calming effect on her; her breathing had slowed and deepened to the point where he suspected that she was more than half asleep. She snuggled more tightly against him, curling her legs up and in the process, shifting her hips so that the sheet covering him suddenly drew tight across his thighs.
Just having Raven in his arms was erotic enough for him, but having the unexpected sensation of the sheet sliding over sensitive anatomy triggered an instant response in his groin. Gasping, Joe tried to be as still as possible, waiting for the feeling to pass. It didn’t; he felt like a live wire had touched him. Gritting his teeth, he prayed that Raven didn’t choose that moment to glance up at him — he wasn’t sure he could explain his expression, let alone the deep, intense yearning that came over him with her innocent touch. All he knew was that he needed to get his unruly desire under control. It wouldn’t do for him to betray her trust like this. Taking slow, deep, even breaths, he thought, “Cool off, Wilson, she didn’t come to you for this — no matter how much you want her. Just ignore your body’s demands and stop thinking about it. That should do the trick… I hope.”
Over and over, he repeated those thoughts, praying that his body would indeed listen, but no matter how hard he tried, his arousal continued to burn unabated. It didn’t help that he could feel the gentle pressure of her breast against his ribs, pulling his thoughts away from his efforts at self-control. Thank heaven she was facing the other direction, and wouldn’t see his very obvious condition should her eyes open without warning.
“Think of something else! Anything else!” He silently cursed his rebellious brain. For once, his willpower was deserting him; so intense were his emotions that he could feel his whole body heating with desire. Think of something else? How could he? His senses were alive, taunting him with the very thing he wanted most.
Hearing — Her soft, gentle laugh.
Sight — Seeing her in his arms, their bodies intertwined.
Touch — Feeling her delicate form under his hands.
Smell — Her mysterious, feminine scent, teasing him. Flowers kissed with the rains of thunderstorms; delicate and dangerous.
Taste — The desire that that was traveling through his body, making him hungry in ways he’d never experienced before. Not just for sex, but for making love. Making love to “this “woman. No one else had this kind of effect on him.
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