Beneath the Surface (25 page)

He glanced back at her and winked. “Be right back, sweetie.”

He was gone in a flash, leaving her nerves jumbled and her mind more confused than before he’d come in.

Sheesh, the man was like a tornado sweeping through an area, leveling her defenses, leaving nothing but havoc in his wake.

But, oh, how glorious the havoc! And he knew it, flirting and wielding that deadly charm like a rapier against a beaten opponent only to turn and walk away as if he hadn’t just committed symbolic murder.

How many other women had he called “sweetie” or “baby” in the past? How many women, besides Ms. Secret, did he still exercise his silver tongue on?

Tabitha had no illusions that she was the only one, or that she would be the last.

She shook her head suddenly, didn’t want to think like that, didn’t want to believe that she wasn’t as special to him as he was to her.

God what had she gotten into when she’d hopped on that plane and come out here?

* * * *

She stepped out of the bathroom and into the suite to find Eric dancing around in his shorts, singing slightly off-key, and playing air drum and guitar between carrying the breakfast tray over to the room’s table by the window.

The view of the Flatirons beyond of which she had heard so much on her flight over—stuck with a chatty elderly world traveler who just “loved the purple mountain’s majesty of Colorado,” —just barely rivaled that of Eric’s tight wiggling derriere in his shorts.

“What is going on, Tom Cruise?”

“Tom Cruise can’t touch this.” He sang
Peg
along with Steely, pulled her in his arms and swept her across the floor, suggestively rubbing his lower body against her as he held her close, making her giggle. “You know, I used to fantasize about being a rock star.”

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Beneath the Surface

“Really?” She tried to keep the chill out of her voice, but failed. Or so she thought.

Eric didn’t seem to notice her sudden distance, expounding on his teenage dreams of having “hot sexy babes” throwing their panties at him on stage and slipping him their phone numbers backstage for a quick romp in a hotel room on the road.

God, was she doomed to attract irresponsible oversexed would-be Mick Jagger and Lenny Kravitz clones, reminded of her anonymous delinquent father for the rest of her days?

Eric hugged her close then held her arm’s length, didn’t notice her silence as he waggled his brows and asked, “Want to be my groupie?”

“Sheesh, is that all you men think about!” She pulled out of his grasp, drifted over to the window, back turned to him as she folded her arms tight across her chest.

“Why so serious? I was
joking
, Tabitha. You know, ha-ha funny joke?”

“It’s not funny to me,” she muttered.

He shut off the music and she felt him come up behind her, hands hesitantly hovering over her shoulders before he lowered them and she allowed him to turn her around to face him.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Whatever it is, don’t keep it bottled up. Let it out. We’ll both feel better if you do.”

“No,
we
won’t, and I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Christ, woman, what is it with you? One minute we’re happily dancing around the room—”

“You were the only one who was happily anything.”

“Liar,” He glared at her, finished as if she hadn’t spoken. “And the next minute, you’re in a…a funk. What gives?”

“I told you, I’d rather not talk about it.”

He stared at her long and hard, looked two seconds from putting her over a knee and spanking the answers he wanted out of her; or performing some other form of coercion that she didn’t even want to consider from the glint in his indigo eyes.

Tabitha frowned, started as something brushed against her mind. It was the strangest sensation, intrusive yet eerily comforting, like fingers massaging her gray matter.

She stared at him as if for answers, confirmation, but he shrugged and quickly turned from her to go to the table, uncovering trays and bowls and sitting down before he glanced up at her and arched a brow.

“You said you were hungry, so I ordered a little bit of everything.”

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Gracie C. McKeever

“Thanks.” She joined him at the table, impressed by the colorful array and amount of food. Belgium waffles with strawberries and whipped cream, fluffy buttermilk pancakes, cold cereal, breakfast sausages, bacon, sweet ham, scrambled eggs, Western omelets, fresh fruit, melon, orange juice, milk, tea and coffee. “Is there anything left in the kitchen?”

He chuckled, rubbing his hands together. “I don’t know about you, but I might be able to eat this entire spread all by myself.”

“Do you mind, uh…” She averted her eyes, after all they’d done with each other couldn’t believe she was acting shy around him, but she only thought to bring it up more out of self-preservation than any attempt at modesty and etiquette. “We’re sitting down at the table to eat.”

And I’d rather not distract my stomach
from what it wants with what my lips
would like to go down on.
“Could you put
on some clothes? At least a pair of jeans?”

He didn’t seem offended, in fact looked downright pleased as punch when he stood, swaggered to the bureau across the room and slid into some well-worn blue Levi’s before he sat back down across from her and smiled. “Better?”

“A little.”

“It’s going to have to do. I like my comfort just like you do.”

Did he have to remind her about that night? Despite finally having had him inside her, she still hadn’t gotten over that night of frustrated lust.

“Any thoughts about how you want to spend our free day here?”

Besides screwing each other’s brains out in this hotel room?
“There’s the Pearl Street Mall, the Flatirons, inline skating…”

“What’d you do? Research before you came?”

“I like to be prepared.” She shrugged, wanting to get out and see the sights, needing to get out of this hotel room with diversions and other people between him and her. Her sanity and emotional well being were at stake.

“Okay. After breakfast we’ll get dressed and see what’s doing.”

* * * *

He knew she suspected something, if not exactly what he was doing, then that something wasn’t quite right about their connection.

He didn’t expect her to figure it out. Most people never did, too in denial and afraid of the bizarre to admit its existence, much less admit that someone could get inside their minds, and know their most secret thoughts.

He just wished. He hadn’t come close, only scratching the surface of what was inside Tabitha, only brushing what made her tick. Why it was so important for him to know her so intimately when he’d never bothered to waste the energy or his gifts on any other woman with whom he’d been, was beyond him. If he got through sex shields up, 142

Beneath the Surface

emotionally in tact and protected against the nagging, what-are-you-thinking, this-is-the-beginning-of-a-beautiful-long-range-relationship, I-think-I-love-you harangues, he was usually more than a happy camper.

Being with Tabitha was different.
She
was different, gave off this distant, I-don’t-really-care-about-you-except-for-the-sex vibe that made him hard just thinking about taking her. In this sense she was like Jade, but with a soft and innocent core beyond her hard edges.

He
wanted
to know about Tabitha, wanted to tell her things about himself that he’d never told anyone before.

He wanted exclusivity.

His cock twitched at the implied threat to his footloose and fancy-free independence. His heart twitched with something entirely different: capitulation. Damn!

“How are we doing over here? Bored yet?” She sneaked up behind him, sliding her arms through his to wrap around his waist.

He turned to her and returned her hug. “Me? I never get bored.”

“This place makes it hard for anyone to get bored.”

“Anyone who loves shopping.”

“And I do!”

No kidding, he thought, smiling at her wide-eyed, childlike excitement.

He wondered how she could seem so stimulated by the idea of running around purchasing things when she did it for a living. Talk about loving your job. Or maybe it was one of those woman things, something in the X-chromosome.

She’d been on a high, flitting from store to store like a butterfly from flower to flower, browsing here, picking up a couple of items there, as if she’d never been let out off a leash.

The climate was unseasonably warm, perfect shopping and strolling weather and Tabitha had taken full advantage, must have dragged him to no less than ten different stores since they’d hit Pearl Street, and it was yet early afternoon, plenty of time left to hit more stores.

He’d actually seen one thing in a jewelry store window earlier in the day that had caught his eye and had sneaked off to purchase it on a whim before Tabitha had noticed his absence, back at her side in time fore her not to have missed him.

He couldn’t wait to see her face when she opened it on Christmas.

Shit! He was actually planning ahead, planning his schedule around being with someone during a traditional holiday, doing traditional things like exchanging gifts on Christmas Eve.

He never did that, the last time he’d brought a girl home to meet his family when…God, the last time had been with Sinclair. He hadn’t let another girl or woman get 143

Gracie C. McKeever

close enough to him since Sinclair to warrant the sort of honor meeting the parents represented.

“You haven’t bought anything, have you?” She pouted, eyes glancing over his person in a gentle caress that he felt all the way to his scalp.

“How can I? You bought everything.” He pointedly glanced at the two big colorful shopping bags—various boutiques, arts and crafts, and antique store names scrolled across their sides—at her feet.

“You exaggerate.” She playfully punched his shoulder.

“Have you considered how you’re going to get all that stuff on the plane? I only noticed that one small piece of luggage.”

“I’ll manage.”

He arched a brow, knew what she was up to. “Don’t think you’re going to cram anything into
my
bags.”

“You don’t want my undies rubbing against your undies, spoiled-sport?” She stroked his chest and EJ’s cock stirred, pressing against his fly.

“You are such an evil woman.”

She giggled then pointed out Urban Outfitters’ window. “Ooh, look! What’s going on out there?” She grabbed her bags in one hand and his hand in the other and dragged him outside onto the pedestrian walkway where a crowd was gathering around three street performers captivating the crowds with their antics several yards away from the store.

Rather than Bongo the Balloon Man making animal creations out of a colorful supply of balloons, or the limber contortionist folding his body into a tiny box, Tabitha gravitated towards the nondescript older guy who had the biggest crowd around him.

They squeezed among the throngs, Tabitha standing on her tiptoes, peeking over shoulders and around heads and tempting EJ to put her on his shoulders so she could get a better look she seemed so young and eager.

“What’s his shtick?” EJ asked.

“He’s the Zip Code Man,” a man next to them said and a woman next to him added, “Just give him your zip code and he’ll guess your hometown.”

“No way!”

“Yes, way. Go challenge him.”

“Let’s try it, Eric.” Tabitha grabbed his arm and pulled him through the crowd until they were in the center, face to face with the Zip Code Man.

EJ glanced down at the price list on the small placard at the man’s feet. Nominal, especially if he did what he said he could do.

He dug into his jeans pocket, pulled out a dollar and handed it to him. “10116.”

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“Thought you could trick me, huh? That’s a P.O. Box zip, in Manhattan, by the way.”

EJ’s eyes widened. “Get out of here!”

“Care to try again?”

“Ooh, me, me!” Tabitha jumped up and down and raised her hand, and EJ handed the man another dollar.

Tabitha gave her zip code and the man paused, put a finger to his temple, closed his eyes like Johnny Carson’s Amazing Karnack character, and finally said, “You’re both from New York, but you, little lady are from the Park Slope Area in Brooklyn.”

Tabitha gaped. “Get out!”

“I’ll give you yours for free.” The Zip Code Man turned to EJ.

“Okay.” EJ gave him his residential zip code this time and again the man put his hand to his temple, closed his eyes and said, “You’re from that infamous bohemian haunt, the Village.”

This was creepy, and EJ was beginning to wonder what was the man’s game, whether or not he was gifted like him and Angela, or just a well-traveled individual.

He could usually sense another like himself, surprised he didn’t pick up anything from Mr. Zip Code Man when he gently reached out to probe him.

The guy just stared at him, smiled widely before bowing to his adoring fans, the crowd loudly applauding and whistling.

EJ proffered a hand, and firmly shook the man’s hand, laughing. “You put on a good show, Zip Code Man.”

He pulled EJ close, and murmured in his ear, “She’s going to love your gift.”

EJ pulled back, shaken, grabbed Tabitha’s hand and made his way back through the crowds to stand beyond it on the walkway.

“What’s the matter, Eric? What did he say to you?”

“Nothing.” That had never happened to him before. He tried to tell himself there was some trick to the guy’s insight. He and Tabitha were, after all, at a shopping mall where most of the people were either browsing or purchasing something for themselves or someone else. No stretch for him to guess that EJ might have purchased some item for a lady. Nothing to it.

“Eric?” Tabitha put a hand on his arm. “Are you okay?”