LOVE QUAKES: BOXED SET (BOOKS 1-4) (4 page)

“It’s true though. I’m a bit sheltered; I don’t kiss men very often. But, I had no idea what I was missing Tristan. Our make out session is so much fun,” I add with a blush.

“Fun? I hope it’s more than that, Joanna. You’re really quite innocent about sex then,” he comments with deep tone in his voice and a smirk, “but you’re doing a great job with your mouth. I really like the fact that you’re not very experienced at this game.”

I gush at the praise he’s given me. Does he like the fact that I’m an innocent because he wants to be the first to have me or because he has no competition, or both?

“Yeah, I have very little sexual experience, Tristan,” I admit with burning cheeks, “but I think kissing you is a great way to learn and to pass the time here, while we also get to know each other.”

His face lights up like a flashbulb, “This is our first date then. My day just keeps getting hotter all the time, Joanna. I hope we’ll know each other so much better when we’re done here,” he admits with a boyish grin. Then his arms pull me into a warm embrace and we cling to each other. My arms snake around his waist again. Tristan seems to like that sort of touch.

“So what are the lyrics to
Love in an Elevator?
I ask as we snuggle together in the corner.

“I don’t remember all of them but what came into my mind was this,” he begins and sings the chorus.

Love in an elevator

Livin’ it up when I’m goin’ down

Love in an elevator

Lovin’ it up ‘til I hit the ground.

His vocals sound pitch perfect, of course. “I hope we’re not going to fall to the earth in this thing,” I cry as tears spring into my eyes, “my life is just starting.”

“We’ll be alright, Joanna. There’re brakes running along the sides of the chute that’ll keep us from falling too far,” he assures me and kisses my brow. “I’ll keep you safe, baby.” I cling to him and look into his eyes for help. He’s delighted that I’m hugging him for all I’m worth.

In the next instant, we hear the sound of a cable tapping on the top of our elevator. A small door at the top of the unit vibrates. Then Tristan’s phone starts to signal.

“Bailey. Then that tapping sound on the ceiling of our elevator is our lifeline?” he listens for a bit to the latest update while I remember my bladder. I have to go to the bathroom so bad. When Tristan clicks off, he tells me some disturbing news.

“My crew thinks we’ll be jammed in this elevator for quite a while, Joanna. When the quake shook the building, it tilted us at a forty-five degree angle in the chute. Getting the lift straightened up involves renting a large hoisting device that’s in Los Angeles. Bringing it from there to here will take days. We don’t want to stay here for days,” he explains with the precision of a commanding CEO.

“I won’t have a bladder left in a few hours,” I joke. “Is there some fix that’s reasonable?”

“Yeah, Joanna, the emergency rescue team thinks the two of us will be able to get out of here by holding on to that cable we just heard scraping against the ceiling. They’ve already lowered the cable from the top floor to our chute. That’s the tapping sound. Since we’re no more than twenty feet from the top of the building, we shouldn’t have any trouble either shimmying up the line, or getting hoisted up by the crew while hanging on to the cable.” He seems to find the plan very reasonable and he’s enthusiastic about using the line.

I’m feeling really queasy by now, “What? I don’t know about that.” Visions of my less than graceful moves in gym class haunt me. I’ve never been very physical or athletic not like Tristan apparently seems to be.

He smiles to reassure me. “However, they want us to wait until the aftershocks settle down. If one hits while we’re being hoisted to safety, we could go plunging down and really hurt ourselves,” he explains with caution and then kisses my nose.

“When will the aftershocks settle down?” I ask with a shaking voice. Since I’m not known for my athleticism or coordination, I have no desire to shimmy up a cable, although I won’t mind holding onto Tristan while they pull us up. Unlike Tristan, I feel zero enthusiasm about the prospect of leaving here by cable.

“No one can say for sure but at least until the quakes start measuring about 3.5 or less. In the meantime, Joanna, they’re going to send us a care package via the cable. It’ll include food, toilet bags, thermal blankets and pillows,” he tells me with a proud grin.

“Does that mean we’ll have to remain here overnight?” I ask with growing concern. This could get out of control quickly, given my raging hormones and his obvious desire for me.

“I’m afraid so,” he states with mock horror. I look into the face of the gorgeous man I’ve just spent twenty minutes making out with and snuggling. He smiles like a villain. Things can only get more complicated from here on in. I’m determined to hold the line.

The care packages the rescue crew sends us are more than I could have hoped for. I guess that’s because I expected something very basic. Since Tristan Grant leases this building and pays the salaries of the rescue team, they seem to have thought of everything. Or, maybe Tristan’s been texting them with requests.

In any case, the first small basket that arrives contains the basics of a curtained privacy stall for an indoor privy along with plastic toilet bags that contain odor absorbent sponges for urine and a sort of clay, akin to cat litter, for poop. Who knew I’d ever be so thrilled to have a small shower-sized stall to use for my most personal business? We can even send up the used bags in the basket to remove the odor. Woo Hoo! We set the ‘bathroom’ up in one of the corners. Tristan looks relieved to see it. He’s probably been worried about me losing it and maybe feeling the need too.

“Happy to see the makeshift restroom, Joanna?” he chuckles with an adorable twist to his mouth. My guess is that he’s more than happy for both of us.

“You got that right. I’ve hardly been able to think of anything else,” I announce as I grab a toilet bag and disappear inside the curtain. “Now if you’ll turn on some music and head to the opposite corner, I’d like to give this baby a test drive.” He nods his agreement.

Tristan selects a song by Pink entitled “So What” and it’s loud enough to mask the embarrassing sounds I’m making. I feel like a new woman after I wipe my hands with Purell antibacterial sheets and then turn the space over to him.

The basket also contains bottles of water and bags of already heated meals such as sesame chicken with noodles and beef stew. These are the same type of bagged meals that I sell to the campers at Dayton’s. If the crew is taking requests, I already know which meals are best – at least from the feedback we get at the store. All the campers need to do is heat the water, pour it into the bag and wait five minutes. The rescue crew sends our meals down in a warm, ready to eat condition with utensils. I could get used to this kind of service very easily. Now I see the benefits of being wealthy.

“These guys deserve a raise,” Tristan declares as we finish off our two bags of food. We’re seated on two separate piles of blankets and pillows at this point. I fill the original basket up with all of our trash and send it back up via the cable. I give Tristan a flirtatious smile when I’m done with the task. His aquamarine eyes shine with pleasure and desire at my signal. It certainly doesn’t take much to get him stoked. I love the power I possess over him at the moment. Tonight should be interesting, if not downright delicious.

“It’s amazing how precious the simplest things in life seem when you’re deprived of them for a few hours,” I reflect and gush with pleasure. Satisfying our food and bathroom issues seems like an easy way to make my day in this elevator. Of course, making out with Tristan is the cherry on top.

I’ve been lucky to share the experience with a gorgeous millionaire who, at the moment, seems to want me. Am I next on his menu? I think I have to finesse my situation carefully. All I know is that I’m enjoying the lessons he’s teaching me. I wonder what Ashley would make of my moves with Tristan.    

“Is there anything else you want the crew to send down before we bed down for the night?” he asks with a twinkle in his eye.

“Since I work at Dayton’s, I know there’s one thing that both of us will find helpful tonight,” I begin in a serious tone. I’m going to impress him with more of my job smarts.

He interrupts, “Could that be…condoms?” he snorts while I turn beet red. I know what’s on his mind and, of course, it’s also been on mine. It breaks the spell for me, however.

“That’s very arrogant of you, Grant, don’t push your luck! So, I think we should sleep in separate corners tonight,” I snap back. He’s hornier than I am. I detect a rueful expression on Tristan’s face when he sees my blushing face. At least he has the decency to look remorseful about his remark.

I wonder if there’s anything that would make him blush. And then, I remember how needy he is about being held. Is he psychologically damaged in some way? Has he suffered a loss that requires a lot of reassurance? I hope I’ll discover the truth tonight. Maybe I’ll be allowed to massage him and that great looking butt. So I decide to push on and forgive him for being too forward.

“What I was going to suggest, before your rude and crude interruption, was to ask the crew for two self-inflating mattresses. They’re thin, light and can be easily deflated and rolled up. Sleeping on this hard tiled floor won’t be easy with all the shaking. The veteran campers swear by them. I can recommend the best brand.”

Tristan calls Bailey and makes our request along with an order to send us some sweats and a change of clothes including underwear. “What’s your size, Joanna – in everything?” he barks out. Normally I’d be reluctant to share my personal stats but, under the circumstances, I quickly give him the information. Then we settle down to wait. It’ll be a couple of hours before they arrive.

After dinner, we both spend some time texting others about our situation. Tristan seems to be conducting some business via his IPhone as well. I wonder how long our phones will be viable. Then again, maybe the rescue crew can recharge them while we sleep. I love that basket and cable arrangement. The earthquake’s aftershocks continue to rumble our little corner of the universe. I wonder how other people are coping throughout the San Diego area.

As our evening unfolds, the temperature falls and the elevator shaft becomes quite drafty. I use the toilet area as a changing room. I put on warm sweats and some socks that have arrived by now then wrap myself in one of the blankets. It feels comfy. Tristan follows my lead. It feels great to remove my borrowed clothes. Ashley’s wrinkled and increasingly grimy outfit will never be the same. I put all of our dirty clothes in a bag and send them up and away. I could get used to this level of service. Tristan probably expects that and more from others but doesn’t even realize how easy he has it.

We’re both seated across from one another on our piles. I decide to ask him more about his family. “You said earlier that you had four people in your family. What’re they like?”

Tristan warms to the topic, “My mother’s a nurse and dad’s a doctor. My older brother, Eddie, is the clown and ultimate party animal. He’s a good person basically but gets too easily riled up. He can’t keep a secret, so if you want the world to know your business, Eddie’s your man.” He snorts at some unspoken memory.

“And you had a difficult childhood?”

“Yeah. Something unfortunate happened to me when I was a child. It traumatized me so much that I quit talking for a while,” he admits with a sad smile. 

“How old were you when this event happened?”

“I was about five years old,” he shares and drops his head in discomfort, then swallows. I’ve just touched an emotional hotwire.

“Tristan, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snoop about your issues,” I apologize and imagine a small, withdrawn, sandy haired boy wandering around in misery. It breaks my heart to think that such a beautiful man could have been so vulnerable once.

“Were you put into therapy around that age then?”

“I was five years old when I was abducted and tortured. The psychotherapy came much later. Before that, I’d been a happy child,” he lets his words trail off. His face looks wrenched with pain. It’s time to change the topic.

“My father died when I was a baby,” I offer. “My mother, Carmen, married three times after that. I guess she could never get it right after my dad was killed.” Tristan looks at me with sympathy for a moment.

“We all have our issues,” he observes. “Did you like your stepfathers?”

“I really grew to love Rob, the second husband. He was a carpenter and treated me like the son he never had. I learned about self-defense and I can really handle a hammer because of him. We’re still close,” I explain with a wry twist to my mouth. “So I had a good childhood but I wasn’t at all happy during my teen years.”

“Well, who is?” he says with sarcasm.

“No, this was due to more than hormones and high school cliques, Tristan. My unhappiness started the moment Carmen divorced Rob and married husband number three.”

“What about her third husband?” he asks carefully. Now, he’s found my Achilles heel. I debate how much I want to share about Richard.

I huff, then start on my sordid story, “Maybe I should refer to him as ‘Dick’ because he certainly was that and more.”

Tristan looks at me with surprise for a beat then assures me, “You don’t have to talk about it, if it bothers you, Joanna.”

“It’s alright. I saw a therapist during college for a couple of years. She helped me work through my resentment of Carmen and sicko Dicko,” I add with sarcasm.

“What happened, did he hurt you?”

“He beat me with a belt, for starters, for the most ridiculous reasons, and I was 13 years old,” I spit out with venom. “Carmen did nothing to stop the ‘spankings’. That’s when our mother-daughter relationship began to sour.”

Tristan blanches when I mention the beatings with a belt. It affects him in a dramatic way since he recoils from my description. Maybe he was also abused in that way.

“I’m sorry you were hurt by him,” he offers and pats the hand that’s curled in my lap. Tristan’s facial expression shows confusion and frustration. What’s that about, I wonder.

“Thanks, but that’s not the worst of it. When I was fifteen, good old ‘Dick’ decided to hide in my shower one day. He was hoping to watch me take my clothes off. Luckily, I noticed something weird about the way the shower curtain hung,” I shake my head in disgust at the memory.

“Did he have a knife? Was he ready to strike you, like the fellow in Psycho?” Tristan suggests to lighten the mood. However, he’s hanging on every word of my story by now.

“I wish I’d had a knife at that point,” I exaggerate, “I would have cut something off, if I could’ve.”

“So, what happened then?” he urges. His amazing aqua eyes have grown dark and serious.

“I was looking in the mirror, probably popping a zit, and noticed the crooked curtain. I turned around and decided to straighten it. As I did so, I noticed the tips of someone’s shoes in the bathtub. Then, I pulled the curtain back quickly. Dick was hiding in my shower with his pants down to his knees and you know what, in his hands. I screamed at the top of my lungs and ran as fast as I could out of the room.” I physically shudder at the memory, as it comes to mind again.

“What did your mom do, then?”

“That was the end of marriage number three, to the pervert,” my lip curls up in disgust as I speak. “That’s when I decided to live with Rob.”

My story seems to touch something deep inside of Tristan. “Is that why you don’t date much, Joanna?”

“I’m not sure. My therapist thinks that my mother’s poor track record with men makes me overly cautious. Besides that, I fell in love with the field of psychology and learning. No man can compete with the therapists in my texts,” I confess with humor.

“I had no idea that you were so put off by men. Thanks for letting me know,” he says with feeling. I note that something between us changes at that moment. The charged atmosphere seems to settle down. Maybe I’ve put a damper on Tristan’s sexual desire. I still want him, though. Perhaps he no longer cares for me now that he knows about my issues with Dick. He probably thinks I’m such frigid, uptight virgin. I sigh with resignation.