Trusting Again Page 8

  “Not really. You’re right. I should. How about this … I’ll promise to do better at getting out on the water if you’ll promise to crew for me when I do.”

  She laughed, didn’t answer and cleaned up the breakfast dishes.

  • • •

  The first thing they did was rent mopeds so they could get around the island. Then they picked up a map at the local Chamber of Commerce marked with the locations of the galleries and studios open to the public. Cynthia was happy to see so many familiar places and intrigued by a few new ones. First up was a large, well-established artists’ co-op where Cynthia knew a number of the artists. She visited with the woman staffing the gallery when they got there, then gave Marius a sotto voce critique of all the jewelry and glass in the place. It seemed to amuse him, especially when she wasn’t kind.

  In the course of the morning, they got through the list of places they had picked out — a goldsmith’s studio, where he’d been more interested in the rings than Cynthia would have guessed — a potter’s workshop where she came close to buying a bowl she loved — and a smaller co-op. At every stop, she was impressed with Marius’s taste for excellent art. He seemed immediately drawn to the best in the place, whether it was a painting, a ceramic figure or a piece of jewelry.

  When they stopped for lunch at a little café, she commented on what she’d observed. “You have an awfully good eye. Is it just innate or have you studied art?”

  “The only art training I’ve ever had was the standard kindergarten finger-painting class. And thank you for the compliment. It means a lot coming from you.”

  “You have some nice pieces in your house. Are they by anyone I would know?”

  “I doubt it. I don’t buy work based on an artist’s name or on some critic’s idea of who will become famous or collectable. I buy what I want to live with.”

  “What’s your favorite medium?”

  “Not sure I have one. I like painting done with most everything — oil, acrylic, watercolors. And I like interesting photography, ceramics, glass. Lately I’ve been looking at jewelry a lot.”

  She smiled. “Yes, thank you for that.”

  “What’s your favorite?” he asked. “Other than jewelry.”

  “Definitely art glass in three-dimensional. Probably photography in two-d.”

  “You must have been disappointed today, then. There was less glass here than I expected.”

  “Yeah, I’ll have to remember to tell Amanda about that. Not that she needs another place to show her work. She can barely keep up with the galleries she’s in now.”

  “There was more at the first place we went to, that big co-op. There was also a ceramic piece I think I’m going to go back and buy. Do you mind back-tracking?”

  “I’d be kicked out of the League of Starving Artists if I balked at letting a man spend money on art. What caught your eye?”

  “It was a figure of a woman. Looked like she was walking into the wind with her long hair and dress blown back until they almost disappeared. It reminded me of a lovely woman I’ve recently been sailing with.”

  She let the compliment slide by. “I remember that piece. I liked it, too. But it must be four feet tall. And it’ll weigh a ton. You’re not planning to get it back to the boat on a moped, are you?”

  “I thought maybe you’d ride along side me, we’d lay her across the two mopeds and get her to the moorage that way.” He laughed at her startled look. “No, I’m sure they’ll ship it to Seattle for me.”

  Chapter 9

  As always, Cynthia woke up with the first light the next morning. She stretched and yawned, feeling more contented, more satisfied, more rested than she could ever remember feeling. Must have been the good night’s sleep. Or all the exercise she got sailing on their first day out and exploring the island yesterday. And the wine at dinner — that might be part of it, too.

  Oh, who was she kidding? It was because of the long, lovely, languid sessions of sex — of lovemaking — they’d had over the past two nights.

  She looked at the man sleeping beside her. He was amazing. She’d never been in bed with anyone like him before. He didn’t just have sex with a woman. And he certainly didn’t fuck her. He truly made love. He adored every inch of her body.

  Still asleep, he was covered with the sheet. It was tempting to pull it away from him so she could feast her eyes on all that male beauty, but she didn’t want to disturb a man who hated to be awakened this early in the morning. Besides, she had two nights full of images to think about if she needed to remember his incredible body, his talented hands, his sensual mouth.

  It always seemed to take time to get used to having sex with someone new. It was awkward at the beginning, graceless. At least, for the few men she’d been with that had been the norm. It was like you needed practice so you didn’t bump various parts of your body clumsily against the other person in an attempt to fit them together with some “eptness” — if there was such a word.

  But not with Marius.

  He knew how to put it all together the first time. They’d moved in perfect rhythm, like lovers of long-standing. He knew exactly where to touch, what to caress, to elicit a sigh, a moan, a response from her. He knew when to be tender and when to be assertive, when to let her lead and when he should. Both at his house and here on the boat, he spent time discovering what she liked, putting her pleasure before his own, finding places on her body that made her see stars when he touched them, places she hadn’t even known existed.

  Not that she had a statistically solid sample on which to base her comparison, but she couldn’t imagine anyone could be more intense, more tender, more passionate. He was simply a wonderful, unselfish lover.

  Last night, after the first time they’d made love, he’d brought wine back to bed for her. She’d curled up after they emptied their glasses, expecting to go to sleep. But he had other ideas. He’d started gently massaging her shoulders, which led to kissing them, of course. Then he did the same to each vertebra in her spine and every inch of her bottom and the back of her legs. She shivered remembering how surprised she’d been to find the backs of her knees so sensitive to his touch.

  When he had her trembling with wanting him again, he turned her over and entered her and, with long, slow strokes in and out, he enticed her, excited her, brought her to the edge of orgasm again and again until finally they climaxed in the most intense sensation she’d ever felt. It was like nothing she’d ever known before, like he’d perfected sex and everyone else was just trying to imitate him.

  He sighed in his sleep, interrupting her reverie, turning toward her. His handsome face was covered in dark stubble, stubble she’d felt the night before on the inside of her thighs, on her back and legs, the tender skin of her breasts, on her face. God, she probably looked like she’d been sandpapered every place, but it had felt so good when he did it.

  And if she didn’t stop thinking like this and get away from him, she was going to jump him to get him to sandpaper her again.

  Sliding carefully out of bed so she didn’t disturb him, she slipped on her shorts and a T-shirt, pulled her hair back in a low ponytail and went topside. It was a cool and beautiful morning, like many other mornings she remembered in places like this, but with a special glow to the day because of that amazing man asleep below in her bed. His bed. Their bed.

  Stop. She couldn’t let this take over her thinking. It was only one week. Well, ten days. But no matter the exact number of days — or nights — she knew she had to be prepared to give him up at some point. He said as much himself — they shared this special world, here on the boat, just the two of them. And it was the only world they shared. When they got back to Seattle, it wouldn’t be the same. She needed to tell him she understood, so he didn’t think …

  “Mi amor, it’s cold and lonely in bed without you. Why do you run away from me as soon as the sun comes up?” He was wearing cut-offs and a smug smile that said he knew she wasn’t running very fast or very far.

 
“Don’t you want to sleep in? I thought I’d wait awhile before I started breakfast, since I’m the morning person and you’re not.”

  She was sitting with her side against the boat and he sat behind her, enclosing her with his legs, pulling her back against his chest. “There. That’s better. Here’s where you belong. And the answer to your question is, no, I don’t want to sleep in. Not when waking up means I get to do this.” He moved her ponytail over her shoulder, tightened his arms around her waist and nibbled on the nape of her neck. “I love the way you taste. You smell like peaches and I keep expecting you to taste like that but you don’t. You’re spicier than that.”

  She relaxed against him. “Did you sleep well?”

  “M-m-m. And you?” He nipped at her ears between words.

  “Of course. You’re comfortable to sleep with.”

  “Comfortable? Ouch. You wound me, querida. That’s what a teddy bear or a blankie is. Is that what I am?” She couldn’t see his face but the fake surprise in his voice amused her. And his continued ministrations to the back of her neck and ears excited her.

  “No, you’re a wonderful lover, but I assume I’m not the first woman to have pointed that out to you.”

  “It’s only because we have amazing chemistry, and you, mi amor, are such a responsive partner.” He illustrated his point by licking at the spot behind her ear and blowing softly on it.

  She stifled a moan. “Marius, don’t! There are a dozen boats around. And sound carries over water so easily.”

  “So it’ll be a little challenge for you. You can’t make those noises I love to hear. Which will be a disappointment for me, I admit.” He licked and kissed down her neck to her shoulder. “Of course, you can still call out my name but you’ll have to do it very, very quietly.” By now he was whispering and had his hands up under her shirt, massaging her ribs, moving slowly, inch by inch, to her breasts. “I knew it would be good to hear you say my name when you were in my bed.”

  “Since you share ownership of the boat with someone else, it’s really only half your bed, isn’t it? I mean, maybe we’ve been on your partner’s side of the bed for the last two nights.”

  His hands stilled, as if he was thinking about what she said. “Are you saying you’ll have to say my name on the other side of the bed to make sure I have what I want?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Then I suggest we go below now. I thought I had that checked off my ‘to do’ list and I don’t like having to uncheck things.” He drew his leg up from around her and stood, motioning for her to follow him.

  “Marius, wait. There’s something I want to say to you.”

  “Later, mi amor. I don’t think there’s anything that needs to be said right now other than let’s go back to bed.”

  “No, it’s important.” Her expression must have looked as resolute as she felt because he sat down next to her and took her hand.

  “All right. I’m listening.”

  She couldn’t bear the intense look in those bottomless coffee-colored eyes so, instead of looking at his face, she stared at their hands and played with their interlaced fingers as she spoke. “I just want you to know that I don’t expect … don’t have any expectations about … you know … about this.”

  “About what, Cynthia?” The tone of his voice had changed from warm teasing to guardedness.

  “About this … you and me. I won’t make any demands, won’t try to entangle you or trap you. I get it.”

  “I’m glad you get it, but I don’t.” He tipped up her face and forced her to look at him. “What is it about being together that makes you … ?”

  “It’s not about being together here, Marius. Being together on the boat is wonderful. It’s about later … about when this is over.” She shook off his hand. “I’m trying to say it’s okay that it’ll be different when we get back to Seattle.”

  “Over? Different? What will be different when what is over?” The tone of his voice was getting uncomfortably chilly.

  “I know that when we get back to Seattle, we go back to our own worlds and we don’t have a lot in common. I don’t expect that you’ll, you know, have a lot of time to spend with me, doing the things I do. And it’s okay.”

  He’d been staring at her while she talked, the look on his face now set into a hard, impassive expression. “So, you’re saying, what, that you think I won’t want to see you when we get back to Seattle? That I pick up women, drag them out to sea, fuck them, then dump them when I’m finished having fun? Is that who you think I am?”

  She’d never heard that tone in his voice before. “I didn’t mean anything like that. I just wanted you to know that I understand … ”

  “You understand nothing about me if you believe I’d do something like that.” He dropped her hand and rose, his back to her. “I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve your contempt but if that’s what you think about me … ”

  “Contempt? No, Marius, wait. I must be saying this all wrong if you think that’s what I mean. I’m trying to say … ”

  He turned at the top of the steps. “What exactly are you trying to say? Spit it out. Because what I hear is you think I’ve gotten what I want from you and will drop you as soon as we get home.”

  “What I mean is, out here, we have our own world. It’s like you said, we’re together, just the two of us. It’s the most wonderful world I’ve ever been in. If I could, I’d stay here forever.” She sniffed back the tears that were beginning to form, knowing she didn’t have long before they’d fall. Before that happened, she had to make him understand.

  Wiping the back of her hands across her eyes, she continued. “Back in Seattle, it’s not like that. We have such different lives. Live in such different worlds, I mean. I just want you to know I understand that. I understand it won’t be the same … can’t be the same.”

  “Is this that bullshit you talked about in the bar about being in different leagues? Is that what this is about? I don’t know who put that crap in your head but whoever it was really did a number on you. Who was it — your mother? Some man?” She must have reacted to his comment because his expression changed, softened a bit. “That’s it, isn’t it? Some man told you that. Jesus. No wonder … ” He came back to where she was sitting and took her in his arms, nestled her head onto his shoulder. “I apologize for getting angry. But don’t put me in the same category as someone who hurt you. Not all men think alike. And those of us who don’t think like whoever-he-was might resent your assuming we do.”

  The tears that wouldn’t be held back any longer ran down her face. “Somehow I’ve turned the best two days of my life into the worst morning of my life and I didn’t mean to do that at all. I just wanted to … ”

  “You just want to ward off what you’re afraid will happen because you think I’m like him. I don’t know who he was; I don’t care; it doesn’t matter. Whoever he is, I’m not like that. I would never hurt you that way.” He turned her face up. “You have to believe me, Cynthia. Please.” He gently kissed her forehead. “Please?”

  She nestled into his embrace. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. I was trying to be realistic, to make you understand that I know I’m not the kind of woman you … ”

  “Not the kind of woman I what? Want to be with? Could fall in love with? What?” He stroked her face with his fingers.

  It wasn’t until they heard, “Oh, for God’s sake, kiss and make up so we can all go back to having breakfast,” that they realized they’d been playing the scene out before an audience.

  Startled, Cynthia bolted out of his arms, but Marius grabbed her hand to keep her from running. He waved his free hand toward the other boats. “That doesn’t matter, Cynthia. This does. Do you trust me or not? I need to know, querida.”

  “I trust you.” She shook her head. “But I’m afraid.”

  Marius stood and put his hands on her shoulders. “Then trust me when I say this: I will never hurt you. You have my word.” And then he k
issed her. Not the passionate kiss of the lover of the night before, but the tender kiss of someone who was as much friend as lover, as much protector as friend.

  When she looked into his eyes after they parted, she saw concern; she saw determination; she saw affection. She saw what might be the future. Sighing she dropped her head onto his chest and he held her.

  A few moments later, to the sound of applause and a couple of whistles, he led her below where he got to hear her say his name on the other side of the bed.

  Chapter 10

  Over the next week, Cynthia learned that she and Marius worked well together at more than sailing and sex. As they hiked, biked, and explored small towns; she found their interests and abilities meshing in surprising ways. It was not just his interest in art but her ability to keep up with him on a bike or a trail and enjoy it. Not just their mutual knowledge of the geography of the islands but their shared interest in the history, too. One thing was different: she was far braver than he was about swimming in the chilly waters around the islands and she made sure she pointed it out to him every time she jumped off the side of the boat.

  Even in simple things like sharing meal prep when they ate on board, without working at it, they moved as a team in the small space of the boat. She cooked fisherman’s stew; he made arroz con pollo and taught her to make Cuban sandwiches. In the evenings when they were in towns where Marius knew restaurants he liked, they ate on shore and Cynthia always loved the places he’d picked out.

  At night, they continued other explorations — in bed — where their activities had gone from great to glorious. Cynthia pretended to be surprised that the bedside table always seemed to have a fresh supply of condoms. But, finally, the night of the seventh day of the trip, when it had been rainy so they stayed on board and in bed all day, they ran out. They’d planned to spend the next day in Friday Harbor anyway, so Marius said he’d resupply while they were there.

  After wandering around town for a while, visiting with his friend the coffee roaster and picking up his special roast beans, Marius left her browsing in a gallery he didn’t particularly like to achieve his goal.