Father Panic's Opera Macabre (6 page)

"You're a grown woman."

"Don't make fun." Marisa turned away, pouting. "You can see that they don't think that way. They never will."

Neil put his drink down on the bar and stepped close behind her. He put his arms around her and kissed her hair and neck. "I'm sorry. I wasn't making fun. It's hard for you here, isn't it?"

She seemed to sigh and relax a little in his embrace. She gave a slow nod and her free hand reached around to rest on his hip. Neil's hands spread across her belly. When they brushed up against her breasts he felt her quick intake of breath, then the long slow exhalation, a vibration within her body, a silent cry of pleasure and deep need.

Marisa slipped out of his arms, turned around and leaned close to kiss him. Her tongue danced and teased, licking across his lips. She pressed her hand to his chest, as if to hold him back at a certain distance, but two fingers slipped between the buttons and touched his skin. She was smiling brightly again. Then her fingers tightened on his shirt and pulled him closer for one more kiss before she moved to the sofa.

"Let's sit," Marisa said. "Just for a little while."

"Okay."

They sat just a couple of feet apart on the sofa, their bodies turned to face each other. Neil caught a glimpse of Marisa's pearl grey panties and he realized that her legs were bare. It occurred to him that all of this might be a colossal tease and nothing more, but he doubted it, and in any event he didn't care if it was. Would he rather be alone in his room upstairs, trying to finish Rose Tremain's Restoration? Uh, no.

"So, tell me, why haven't you found someone else?" she asked. "It has been some time since this other woman left. A handsome young author like you, and very successful. I think the women would be knocking on your door day and night."

Neil laughed. He knew he was quite ordinary looking. But it was true that after the publication of La Petrella some women he'd known only on a casual social basis suddenly seemed to find him much more fascinating and worthy of their attention. Not to mention the strangers.

"I haven't been a monk."

"Aha."

"But no one serious." It was time to turn the tables. "And what about you? I can't believe you didn't have plenty of boyfriends when you were at college, in Parma."

"Boys, yes," Marisa said dismissively. "Anyhow ..."

Neil watched the way her lips moved as she took another sip of wine, the slight tightening of the muscles in her throat as she swallowed. It was not unlike a fairy tale, he thought, or a romantic opera. Marisa was the beautiful young princess imprisoned in a remote castle by the evil queen or king, in this case by a whole van-load of elderly relatives and a bunch of tenant farmers. And that made Neil the prince who comes to rescue her, et cetera. It was the kind of old-fashioned story he liked-but it only took another momentary flash of sadness in Marisa's eyes to remind him that it was a very different matter for her, with no easy alternatives or solutions.

Still, there was nothing he could do. Invite her to Rome? Offer to take her with him when his car was fixed and he left? Sure, he could do that without any commitment on his part, but he sensed that Marisa would simply decline the offer. She had intelligence, spark, wit, and a desire to escape, but she also seemed resigned to play out the role that had been assigned to her for now by family and circumstance.

Her free hand rested across the inside of her thigh and her hair curled around her face, tumbling down over her shoulders like a gauzy wimple. She glanced at the door to the dining room and then back the other way toward the circular staircase. She leaned closer to Neil-who let his gaze linger on her cleavage. By now he was convinced that Marisa liked him looking at her this way, with voyeuristic intensity and undisguised desire.

They continued chatting for a few minutes but Neil was hardly aware of what they actually said. It was nothing important, just talk intended to pass whatever amount of time it took for Marisa to feel comfortable.

At one point she went to get the wine bottle from the bar. When she came back to the sofa, she sat right next to him. Their knees touched and she let her hand rest lightly on his leg. It was all Neil had been waiting for, the final signal. He ran the back of his fingers over her cheek, then trailed them down to stroke the inner curves of her breasts, her skin so silky and lovely to touch. Her hand moved between his legs, just brushing his cock.

Before they kissed again, he saw Marisa quickly scan the room once more. Apparently reassured, she let her eyes close and her kiss was hard and wet, full of aggressive passion. When their mouths parted, she smiled at him with her eyes-it was a look of recognition.

Marisa suddenly turned and stretched out her body, lying down on the sofa so that her head rested on Neil's lap. She nestled her cheek against his erection. She pushed her feet into the cushion and raised her legs, so that her dress slipped back and exposed even more of her thighs. Her knees swaying in the air, together, then apart.

"Ah, you want me so much," she said softly. "Don't you?"

"Yes, I do."

"Do you think that's a good idea?" Playful, teasing again.

"It's the only idea."

"But we can't rush. Desire is all anticipation, isn't it?"

"Not all anticipation."

Marisa laughed. "And fantasy, imagination."

"Not all fantasy and imagination," Neil insisted, grinning at her. "It involves action too, and fulfillment."

"But the right action."

"And what's the right action?"

"Oh, but that's where imagination and fantasy come in," Marisa said, as she continued to move the side of her face against the bulge in his pants. "I'm sorry, you're so sweet to me, but I don't want to rush. You'll be gone, you know, and I'll still be here. Remembering this."

"That's all right," Neil said, moved by her words.

"So many nights I spent in this room, on this couch, the television and the radio turned on. But I was alone and all I could do was imagine moments like this. What we would say, what we would do."

"Well, I'm here now."

"Better than any dream."

"I doubt that."

"No, really," Marisa protested. "I don't like boys. I imagined a man a little older, though not too much! A man considerate, intelligent, experienced, understanding. You're even more, you're a gift."

"So are you," Neil told her. His right hand was between her legs and he slid his finger beneath her wet panties, stroking her, gently pushing on and entering her. Marisa's body heaved and squirmed, her desire storming, barely contained. With his other hand he caressed her cheek again and rolled his fingertip along her upper lips-she took it, sucking hard. "And what did you imagine yourself saying?"

Marisa tugged on his finger, then opened her mouth as she looked up at Neil. "Two." He was confused for a second, but then understood, and he slipped his middle finger into her mouth too. Her eyes were fierce with need and desire. "Three." Three. "Four ..." Four, her face taut, her teeth biting hard on his flesh. Eyes wide, staring up at him.

He continued stroking her swollen clitoris. She was so wet and hot, and he was enthralled by the way her body responded. Then she pushed his fingers away from her mouth and grabbed his head with both of her hands, her fingers clutching his hair, pulling his face down as she lifted herself to kiss him again, her tongue thrusting, her lips squeezing and pressing and pulling on his mouth and tongue, their chins now dripping with saliva. Marisa tasted so sweet and felt so wonderful. And how utterly glorious it was to break free of thought at last and plunge into the tornado.

Sound Chooses to Echo

They made love with gasping urgency and quickness on the scarred leather sofa. After only a few minutes of resting, Marisa slipped out of Neil's arms, sat up and straightened her dress. Her panties hung from one of her ankles. Neil reached down to remove them. He held them to his face for a second, smiling at her, and then put them in his pants pocket.

"Oh? What's that, your trophy?" Lightly mocking, playful.

"No. I just don't want you to put them back on."

"Ah, good. I'm not through with you, either."

"I'm glad to hear it."

Neil zipped his pants and buckled his belt. Marisa slid closer and leaned against him as he put his arm around her. Reckless, reckless-he knew that, but he didn't care. What really bothered him about their quick fuck was that it had been just that, a quick fuck.

"We both needed and wanted each other so much," Marisa said. "The first time had to be like that. Thunder and lightning."

"Yes." Neil gave a soft laugh. "The first time."

"And how do you know it won't be the same way the second time?" Marisa asked with a naughty grin. "And the third? We might make a lot of thunder and lightning, you know."

"That's great, if we do," he told her. "But I also want you in a bed, yours or mine, where we can take our time and really make love."

Marisa wriggled closer in his embrace, sighed happily and kissed his chin, running her hand along his leg. "So do I, and we will. But first we had to wait until they were in their rooms. And then-we couldn't wait a minute longer! But that's okay. Every time is good in its own way."

They sat together like that for a while longer, kissing, touching each other, all tenderness, affection and dreamy smiles. Neil loved the way she felt in his arms, the softness of her skin, the fragrance in her hair, the sweet spicy taste of her mouth.

Reckless, yes-but what the hell, if she got pregnant, he would marry Marisa and they would have a child. He would still write his books, it might even turn out to be a happy marriage and-Neil almost laughed aloud, it was such a startling and improbable thought. But what surprised him most was that it didn't scare him at all. His personal life had been drifting nowhere the last few years. Before that too, probably. Perhaps he had reached the point where he secretly hoped that some outside event would force a dramatic change that sent his life in a completely new and unexpected direction, and he would have no choice but to go along with it.

Things like that happened in opera all the time. Part of Neil's brain knew that in the cold light of day he would see it differently, rationally, and that he would probably want to drive away from Marisa and this house with no complications or lingering ties. But for now that part of his brain had no voice. He only wanted this wonderful erotic interlude to continue. Let the two of them see how much pleasure and deep comfort they could give to each other in a short period of time.

Marisa took his hand and they rose from the sofa. They ascended the narrow circular staircase. She smiled back over her shoulder at him when he put his hand on her hip. How he enjoyed the way her body felt as she moved, the smooth, elegant working of her perfect flesh and taut muscles. He slid his hands under Marisa's dress, caressing her thighs. She stopped near the top of the stairs, enjoying his touch, murmuring softly to herself. She turned and sat down on the top step, and opened her legs wide to him. She pulled the front of her dress back with one hand, while the other one partly covered her lush triangle of fine black hair.

Neil leaned forward, gripping the iron stair with his hands to brace himself. He ran his cheek down along the inside of her thigh-ah, it was so silky, warm and soft. Neil imagined he could feel an electric charge building as his skin moved over hers. His tongue probed between her fingers, but she wouldn't help him. Finally he touched and had a fleeting taste of her hot wet inner flesh, so tantalizing. He felt the little jump her body gave, and heard the brief but sharp intake of her breath. Marisa gently took his face in her hands and raised it. She was smiling so warmly and happily. Her hair fell over him as she pulled his face to her breasts and held him there for a moment. Then she slid her body back a little on the floor and stood up.

"My lover. Come on. Not here."

Neil took her hand again and followed her back into the corridor. It was very dark, except for a glimmer of light farther down on the right, where his room was. Marisa started to walk in that direction, but Neil looked to the left and saw the same faint blue glow he had seen earlier. He decided it was the perfect opportunity. He tightened his grip on her hand, and wouldn't move, so she turned around.

"Your room is this way," she told him. Her voice was low, almost a whisper. She tugged his hand.

"What's that blue light?"

He started walking toward the alcove. For some reason he expected Marisa to resist, but she didn't.

"Oh, that. You want to see? It's interesting."

They carefully went up the short flight of steps. There was barely room enough for both of them on the tiny landing. The alcove was virtually the same as before, with the shelf of votive candles still lit and the crude iron crucifix on the wall, but the bunk was empty-bare wood.

"What's this all about?"

"Remember, I told you that they think this house was once a religious retreat, something like that?"

"Oh, yes."

"Okay, so. My uncle thinks that this was a special place they used, where one priest or monk could shut himself in for a while to meditate or to pray." Marisa pointed to a couple of spots on the side walls. "You can see where there might have been hinges for a door. If you were inside, it would almost be like lying in a coffin, so it would help you to think about death, and God, and the life to come. Your movements would be completely restricted. You couldn't stand up or walk around, the way you could in your room. You have no window, no view. No distractions at all. There is nothing to do but lie there and think and pray. You see? Unusual, isn't it?"