Echoes in Eternity (The Pella Series Book 1) (3 page)

 
“Uhm, no,” I manage to say finally, clearing my throat. I try to collect my wits without feeling lost, “I was just stretching.” 

“Oh,” he replies simply
 looking at me with a serious face. I can finally see the contours of it clearly, and I think he is trying to look nonchalant. His voice has something deeper, as if he is yearning for something, with recognition, like he knows me. 

“Do you mind if I run with you?” he asks and the voice has a caressing effect on me;
causing me to immediately think that this man can do things to a woman with his voice others can’t manage to do with their hands! My mouth is slightly open and I am having trouble getting words out of it. He looks at me expectantly with the intensity of his penetrating gaze, looking through me, assessing.

Oh shit! He’ll think I’m
intellectually challenged, or maybe that’s the initial reaction he gets from every woman which I assume it gets progressively worse, just like I’m behaving right now. His presence is immensely captivating. Even though his gaze is hidden behind his dark sun-glasses, I feel its burning ferocity, permeating through my skin, heating me up, and giving me shivers all at the same time. This man could make love with one look, or two words and make a woman come, buckling her at the knees without even touching her. 

I dip my hand into my sports bra in a bid to turn the volume down of my boob Pod as his eyes follow my fingers, and he gives
 me a suppressed, crooked smile that calls to something deeper in my groin, “my iPod,” I mutter quickly.

“I see...” he murmurs, absently caressing his lower lip with his index finger, drawing my attention to his mouth. “That explains why you couldn’t hear me,” he says excusing my dumbstruck behavior.

“Yeah, well...” I reply, with another less than intelligent response. “I’m sorry... I, uhm, I like to do my morning runs alone,” I say finally stringing
together a half coherent sentence while dismissing him. If I remain here, I’ll end up making an even bigger ass of myself in front of this seductively attractive man.

“I’m Alex,” he says in an enticingly assertive tone
 as if he didn’t hear me just dismiss him, extending his hand to me expectantly. His proximity is putting all my senses into overdrive with his tall, lean, angular, fluently muscular stature, and short, dark, wavy hair encasing his well-chiseled face spectacularly. And those eyes hidden behind a manly pair of expensive jogging glasses still manage to pierce through me with a scorching force. Everything he has on, although delightfully few are screaming with class, and expensive taste--unlike my collar ripped white t-shirt purchased from the 
$5 or Less
 store by the pier in downtown Santa Barbara. Sarah, 
my contrived mother
 would approve of his expensive taste, begrudgingly. I notice that his t-shirt is off and conveniently tucked behind his shorts, underlining and emphasizing his well-worked out abs covered with a sheen of sweat. I feel the heat rising in me despite the cool ocean breeze. I try to hide my blush to no avail. The slight quiver of his lips gives his amusement away making me pout. But, my years of ingrained manners take over.

“Ellie,” I murmur as I reach out to take his proffered hand. The second
 the tips of his fingers touch mine, I feel a fiery spark and a jolt that courses from him into me, making my throat dry. I feel as if I dipped my hand into hot burning coals wrist deep, and find myself gasping for air, and immediately and forcefully pull my hand back from him. If he didn’t reach out to catch my forearms lightning fast with both his hands immediately, I would have been knocked on my ass into the sand, but instead I’m now flush with his body so close not even air would pass through between us. I feel his breath hitch, and then he inhales deep, shaky breath as if to absorb my scent. I think he just whispered my full name, “Elissa Cassandra!” with a yearning sadness in his voice. Or am I just imagining things?

I try to pull away unsteadily, bewildered, clutching the collar of my cut-out t-shirt tightly above my chest, as if he shocked me with a thousand Volts
 of electricity. Shaking and confused, “Excuse me?” I stutter, still unable and unwilling to move away from his proximity. He acts as if I didn’t treat him like the bubonic plague. Then his hands slowly move up on my shoulders, holding me back to keep me on my feet steady.

“Ellie, are you alright?” he asks in a concerned yet husky voice. No, I’m not! Why am I behaving this way before this gorgeous man? I try to collect myself, and briefly close my eyes to escape the captivity of his gaze behind his glasses. Even then I feel the pull, the magnetism he has on me. ‘
Steady! You act like you’ve never seen a man before!
’ I remind myself.

“No...I mean, yes, I’m alright. But, before that... Did you... did you say something?” I say blinking several times. Oh God! He’s going to think I’m crazy! Hell, sometimes
even I’m unable to vouch for my own sanity!

             
“Oh, that...Ellie,” he says in that cultured tone, “is it, short for something?” he asks smiling but his tone is unmistakably commanding. He looks at me cocking his head to one side, bending his knees lowering himself to my five feet seven inches height and trying to capture my gaze with those penetrating eyes hidden behind his sunglasses. 

“Short for Ellie,” I reply brusquely
; not willing to explain. What is it about him that makes me react this way? My body responds to him in such a way as if I’m not the one in control of it. I think my IQ dropped by fifty points since I laid eyes on his face less than twenty minutes ago! I finally manage to return his smile, trying to be casual. “Guess, I’ll see you around, Alex?” I say in an unintended tone of question, he nods, expectant. 

“I have to finish my run” I add quickly, and his hands slowly and reluctantly retract from my shoulders and strangely, the absence of our connection makes me feel bereft. Just as I
 finish my words, my smart phone vibrates inside my bra, chiming “Droid!” Could I make even a bigger ass of myself before this god of a man? I feel mortified, turning redder than the communist manifesto! He smiles fully this time showing perfectly straight dazzling white teeth emphasizing his kissable lips and says “your chest is talking,” pointing towards my bra. 

My hands automatically go up to my face, covering my eyes in humiliation.

“Text message,” I murmur barely audible and am ready to give what for to whoever sent me the message. Of course I am not going to dip my hand into my jogging bra again and get the smart phone out in the presence of the most handsome guy outside of my dreams I have ever laid my eyes on. 

“Ciao...” I find myself saying without raising my eyes to look up at him wishing the ground would swallow me up and make me disappear as I pick my pace up to run my regular course.

“Ellie!” he calls me in a contrite voice jogging after me easily catching up. “Forgive me. I really didn’t mean to embarrass you,” he says in an apologetic tone. I slow my pace down.

“Apology accepted,” I say looking ahead, continuing to run, and he easily keeps up with me. In fact I think he can outrun me several times over.

“In that case, may I continue to run with you as proof of your acceptance of my apology?” he asks in the sweetest, most cultured intonation, yet in such a way that I couldn’t mistake the hidden demand in it, neither could I deny the request. How can anyone pack so much passion, so much sophistication, and so much controlled demand in one single sentence?

“Sure...” I reply barely audible.
Even though my gaze is fixed on my destination, the spewing arch, I can feel his smile.

 
"Are you Italian?" he asks, puzzling me. 

 
"No, I'm Californian. What made you think that?"

"The way you said 'ciao'. It sounded completely natural..." he responds contemplating.
"I don't know why I said that. It felt like the right thing to say," I reply, and feel his scorching gaze on my profile. "Do you jog here every morning?” he asks, possibly as a conversation starter.

“I don’t get a chance to jog every day, but sometimes I come here to surf, depending on the waves, of course,” I add with a smile, still looking ahead.

“Are you a student?” he asks.

“I’m happy to say that I’m no longer a student. I just graduated from UCSB with my Masters. But, enough about me. I’ve never seen you at this beach before. Did you just move into the neighborhood? Are you a student?” I ask probing.

“Why? Do only certain people utilize this beach?” he asks teasing.

“At this hour, yes. Only certain people come very early, and if you were to come here regularly, you would know that. Only those who love the quiet, running and the bewitching hour of the sunrise come this early. You get to recognize the faces. Just one other guy who runs as early as I do,” I say finally turning my face looking up at him as I continue to run. He says nothing, looking ahead, and it looks like his jaw is clenched. Why? Did I say something to offend him?

“But, you still didn’t answer my questions,” I state to change the topic.

“No, I didn’t,” he responds politely, but flatly.

“No, you didn’t answer, or, no, you didn’t move into the neighborhood, no, you’re not a student?” I probe further.

He finally gives a pleasant boyish laughter. “Actually, all of the above. No, I didn’t answer your question, no, I didn’t move into the neighborhood, and no, I am not a student. I’m in town on business,” he replies and I feel a pang of sadness inside me. That means I won’t get to see him again. Why would I feel sad about not seeing a stranger?

“Business, huh?” I ask.

“Yes, business,” he replies with a smile like he’s privy to an inside joke, without giving anything away. “Where are we running to?” he asks curiously.

“To the spewing arch... It’s the best place to see the sunrise,” I reply.

I make haste and run out of the sand. I follow a pathway up on to the hill and find the way that winds to climb up to the arch.

“Do you have to climb?” he asks puzzled.

“A bit,” I reply smiling.

“Don’t you think it’s dangerous?” he asks
as his face takes on a serious expression.

“You don’t have to climb if you find it dangerous,” I reply shrugging.

“Not for me...” he says chiding, “It may be dangerous for you. It’s a big drop from the arch, not to mention the nearly hundred feet of sixty or even seventy-five degrees of angle at some places you have to climb through.” Rubbing his hand on the surface of the rock he adds with wide eyes, “This is sandstone, it’s quite soft, and your foothold can easily crumble under your feet; and the tide is rising,” he explains concerned.

“I know, but I’ve done this three times before. It doesn’t happen often which is why I find it thrilling, sitting atop the arch as the sun and the water rise. It’s magical!” I whisper fervently. I’m letting him in on one of my secrets. Why is he getting so uptight?
He lifts his sunglasses over his head absently, narrows his eyes, and looks at me without saying a word, studying me. Then absently again drops those glasses to shade his eyes, slightly shaking his head.

“Suit yourself, then,” I say shrugging, and start climbing. I reach out and grab an outcrop on the sandstone, grasping it tightly, and pull my weight up, putting my right foot in one of the cracks I locate and find another foothold  placing my left foot firmly onto it, and then I reach with my right hand to another handhold. I manage to move about forty-five feet climbing steadily on the rock when I get to a point where I can’t locate another close foothold for my right foot and I place my foot on the surface of the flat rock hoping to use the forty-five degree angle which is relatively flatter than other surfaces on the rock. Just as I lift my left foot off its foothold, I mistakenly let go of my left hand as well and my weight pulls me down, making me slide on the rock for about ten feet before I can catch a handhold.

“Agh!” I stifle a scream.

“Fuck!” Alex mutters his epitaph at the bottom of the rock and I hear him scrambling to climb rapidly to reach up to me. His invective surprises me more so than almost falling off the rock.

“Hang on!” he orders.

“I’m alright! I just scraped my leg a little,” I assure him.

He’s by my feet in less than two minutes, placing both of them into sturdy footholds and guiding me from below helping me to get to the arch. Shaken but safe, I manage to climb up on the sandstone and finally reaching the crescent shaped arch carved by the Pacific Ocean’s relentless beating of the rock.

“It’s your lucky day,” I say smiling at him when he finally seats himself before me mirroring my position like riding on a saddle atop the arch. That way I can see the sunrise in the east over the Santa Ynez Mountains, and watch the rising tide on the west.

“Normally, it’s impossible to watch the sunrise sitting on the arch because either the tide is high, or the weather isn’t accommodating. But the tide isn’t that high right now, and the weather, well, you can see,” I say opening my arms. “It’s a day stolen from heaven! Aside from the scratch on my leg, this sunrise is as good as it gets,” I say. I feel his steady gaze on me, without saying anything. Is he mad at me? “And I’m sorry...” I mutter blushing, looking away.