A Minute to Smile (6 page)

“Once,” he said quietly, “I did believe.” He reached out and touched her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “Looking at you now, I am inclined to believe in Guinevere again.”

Esther lowered her eyes, feeling strangely shy and electrically aroused all at once. She was afraid her eyes would show how lusty his fingers on her face made her feel—and where would it lead?

He stepped forward until his long, lean body was only inches from her own. In silence, he let his fingers travel over her jaw and down her neck. She looked up and found his eyes watching his hand as his fingertips grazed the flesh of her bared shoulder.

He smelled like soap and spicy cologne and gin. The scent mixed with the perfume of pines carried by a breeze. Her nerves were so taut that when the breeze floated over her neck, she nearly shuddered. How long? she thought. How long since a man had made her feel this way? How long since she’d kissed anyone, or felt the hard muscles and angles of a man’s body against her own?

Too long, she thought as he curled his fingers around her neck and lifted her chin with his other hand. Their chests touched lightly, and their thighs. And then their mouths.

His lips were full against her own, and asked nothing at first. The hairs of his mustache and beard added a richness of sensation that she hadn’t expected, and she raised her palm to touch the masculine adornment, finding it as silky as she had imagined. His jaw was strong below the fur.

After a moment, he tugged her closer and Esther found his lips also fulfilled the sensual promise they held. He kissed her slowly, as if each millimeter of her mouth warranted lingering exploration. He brushed kisses over the bow of her upper lip, the swell of the lower, the corners on either side. All without hurry.

Esther felt her spine slowly weaken, the tiny bones refusing to support her. And she melted into him, languorously aware of how hard his chest and arms were. Kissing was never given the attention it deserved, she thought vaguely. How exhilarating to find someone who agreed it was a delight unto itself.

And in that spirit, she let herself go a little. She explored the dips and curves of his lips, let his beard caress her chin, his mustache her upper lip and nose. His long fingers laced through her hair, cupping her scalp firmly.

She couldn’t have said how long they stood there above the pond in the darkness, just kissing. Her heart dropped into a slow thudding pattern and she couldn’t tell if a minute or century had passed, only that she’d somehow fallen adrift in his arms.

When he lifted his head, his eyes showed the same glaze of wonder Esther felt. He simply looked into her face for a long moment. “Perhaps,” he said in a roughened, low voice, “you will lead me back to the legends, instead of the other way around.”

Then he took her hand and they walked on in the mild night. Esther risked a glance at him once and found he had a bemused expression on his face that seemed to mirror her own feelings. She smiled to herself and continued to walk silently next to him.

After a time, they started speaking again, about the class and the things they would be doing. They parted on the porch. He didn’t kiss her goodnight, and Esther didn’t expect it.

Inside, she leaned against the door and let the bottled-up emotions of the evening flow from her. Healing, she thought. There was a matter of healing she needed to remember. She was the fix-it lady—whatever a man’s ills, Esther had a need to try to soothe them.

And if ever a man needed the healing of a loving woman, Alexander did. The trouble was, his wounds were as serious in their way as the shrapnel that riddled Abe’s physical body. To find true healing, the shards of the past would have to be removed.

Sobering, she walked upstairs, thinking of her ex-husband. John of the vague father and alcoholic mother; John who had left home at twelve and had tattoos on his arms before he was sixteen. She had never managed to teach him how to love a woman and no one ever would—his scars were too deep. Over the years, he’d made peace with his father, and he loved his sons the way he had once longed to be loved, but no woman would ever overcome the betrayal of his mother.

As she shed her clothes in preparation for a bath, she could see now that her primary attraction to her former husband had been the need to heal him the way she’d healed stray cats with her herbal lore as a teenager. Trouble was, not all healing took. And she’d wasted almost ten years on him.

Wasted? No. She had her children. And a boy, properly raised, didn’t need healing as a man.

That was her task, she decided, raising her two boys into adults healthy enough to withstand the blows of life. She couldn’t allow any man to interfere with that.

But as she slipped into the warm, lavender-scented water of her bath, she felt again the heavy thudding of her heart that Alexander’s kiss had aroused. She knew herself well enough to know that if he decided to pursue her, she’d be hard put to resist.

S
aturdays were always busy at the shop and the day after Esther’s date with Alexander was no different, a fact for which she gave silent thanks. It kept her mind from lingering too much upon the lion man, he of the changeable eyes and beautiful lips and lingering sorrows.

Abe appeared late in the afternoon. Esther kneeled in front of the long shelves, straightening a row of natural cosmetics: shampoos made with herbs and exotic plant oils, clay facial masks, oatmeal soap and baking powder deodorant. When the bell rang, she looked up. “Greetings, stranger,” she said to Abe, getting to her feet. “Where have you been all week?”

He shrugged in resignation. “Had a bad couple of days—I had to hang around the house mainly.”

“Oh, Abe, I’m sorry.” She hugged him, feeling the stiffness in his body. “Have a seat and let me fix you some tea.”

“I’m all right today,” he protested. “I had a walk around campus and worked out the kinks.” In contrast to his words, however, he sank with studied effort into the rattan love seat, grunting a little as he settled. “Any evil doughnuts stashed away in the kitchen?”

Esther grinned. “Sorry—I only allowed myself to buy two sticky buns this morning, since I’m by myself.”

Abe groaned at the missed treat. “With nuts?”

“Guilty.” She glanced at her watch. “If you can hang around for an hour, I’ll make something dreadfully wicked for us to share after I close.”

“How wicked?”

In mock fear, she glanced over her shoulder at the empty shop, then whispered, “Chocolate fondue.”

“Pretty bad. I guess I’m going to have to stay and help you eat it.”

“Will you get some strawberries from the market? Or would you rather rest?”

“Hell, no, I don’t want to rest.” Using his cane to lever himself into a standing position, he added, “I’m sick of resting.”

“You can at least have a cup of tea before you run off.”

He shook his head, eyes glittering. A long lock of dark hair fell on his forehead and he tossed it back defiantly. “For chocolate fondue, I can do anything.”

Esther laughed and returned to her straightening as he left. When the stock was again neatly presented, she turned back the pages of a small notebook that she kept by the cash register. Three pages were filled with precise accounts of every sale she had made today. From the list she would do inventory and ordering, and as backup, she handwrote receipts for each purchase.

It was a laborious process and friends constantly extolled the ease a computer would give her. Bent over the lists this afternoon, wearily noting boxes of henna sold—one natural, one chestnut—jars of jam—two each of crab apple and rosehip—and bottles of juice from the refrigerated unit that had been one of her heftiest and most valuable investments for the store, she realized once again that it would be fabulous to have a computer. Unfortunately it was completely out of her budget at the moment. Perhaps by fall she would be able to look at used systems.

Footsteps on the front porch alerted her to the presence of a customer and with a sigh, Esther looked at her watch again. In spite of her wish that she could just be done with the long day, she plastered a welcoming smile on her face and looked up.

It was Alexander, his face suffused with healthy color. He brought with him the smell of the outdoors, a mixture of sunshine and earth and a good wind. For a moment, she forgot her resolve to keep him at arm’s length. “Hello,” she said warmly. “You must have spent the day outside.”

He grinned, pausing just inside the door. “How did you know?”

“Your nose is sunburned.” She smiled, surprised in a secret part of herself at how fiercely pleased she was to see him again. In contrast to the mild sunburn, his eyes were nearly neon blue and his unruly dark curls with their tiny silver accents tumbled in disarray over his head. He wore khaki chinos with a cream-colored polo shirt. In combination with the healthy color in his face, the clothes gave him an effortlessly elegant look. Self-consciously, she smoothed her dress and touched her hair, wondering how her own apparel had fared through the day. “What brings you here this afternoon?” she asked a little breathlessly.

“I was out for a walk,” he said with a shrug. “Thought I’d stop in and say hello.”

“I’m glad you did,” she said, and realized that if she were planning to keep him at arm’s length, that was probably the wrong thing to say. But rather than retract it, she rounded the counter that separated them. “Can I offer you something?”

A quirk of humor lifted one corner of his mouth. “Careful,” he teased in his rich voice, “I may ask for more than you will give.”

The earthy nature of the light comment was unmistakable and Esther felt hot. She lowered her eyes. “How about a sample of Esther’s Special Herb Tea?” she asked, bustling toward a coffeemaker in the corner where she brewed the tea. “I know how you English love your hearty blends, but this is very special and very nice and I think you might enjoy it.” As she spoke, she busied her hands with a mug. Pouring the clear red-brown liquid, she inhaled the citrusy scent of hibiscus.

“I make it myself,” she continued, vaguely aware that she was babbling. “It took a few years to figure out the best recipe. I think I’ve finally got it right, but who knows?” She shrugged. “I may change it again.”

Alexander accepted the heavy mug of tea. On his craggy face was an expression of amusement. Esther flushed for the second time in three minutes, mentally calling herself a ninny.

Ceremoniously he lifted the cup to his lips, his eyes fastened on her face. He cocked an eyebrow. “You’re right. It isn’t English tea at all, but it’s delicious nonetheless.”

“I’m all out of lemonade,” she said and then touched her lips, wishing she could call back the words. Rather irrelevant, after all.

“This is fine.” He gestured toward the chair. “May I?”

“Of course. Enjoy it. I have to finish a few notes and then I’ll join you.”

Safely behind the counter, Esther bent her head over the lists, hoping the simple business task would calm her. It did not. Like a ten-year-old with a crush, she couldn’t concentrate while he was in the room. It was hard to breathe. Biting her lip, she glanced up at him through her lashes.

He was studying her with a curiously sober expression. Esther straightened and frowned. “Is something wrong?”

“No.” His expression didn’t lighten. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”

“Not at all.” She twisted the pencil in her fingers, then lifted a shoulder helplessly. “You just flustered me a little, that’s all.”

“Did I now?” he smiled and stepped forward. “I’m honored.” He stretched a hand over the counter and lightly touched her cheek. “Then perhaps I can persuade you to come out with me again tonight. A simple meal?”

A long ray of sunlight arched through the window and splashed into his beard. Esther admired the silver and dark brown threads, remembering how silky that hair had felt against her chin. She warred with herself for a moment, trying to remember the resolve she had made to concentrate on her children, rather than a man who needed emotional mending.

The trouble was, he didn’t look at all like a man in need of healing. He looked strong and controlled, his eyes glimmering with sparks of desire as they flickered over her face, her lips, her hair. A fleeting but acute vision swept her mind, a vision of his civilized veneer undone by passion—

She swallowed. Perhaps her mind had also manufactured the picture of him as a man in need of healing. “I’d love to,” she said in reply to his dinner invitation—then remembered Abe. “But I can’t. I’ve just sent Abe to get strawberries for a fondue.”

“All right,” he said. “Perhaps another day.”

“Or maybe you’d like to join us?” Esther returned hopefully. “It’s not an ordinary sort of meal, though.” She cleared her throat a little ruefully. “Actually we’ll just be having dessert.’

Just then, Abe appeared with an overflowing net bag. Ripe red strawberries peeked through the top. She could also see a bakery angel food cake, pears and apples, and a chunk of white cheese.

“If we can’t make ourselves sick on this, we’re too greedy to live,” Abe commented, plopping the bag on the counter. He grinned at Alexander. “Contrary to current opinion, Esther believes the way to health is gluttony.”

Esther slapped his arm. “I do not!” Lifting her chin in an effort to assemble some dignity, she tugged the cake out of the mesh. “But a little greed can be good for the soul.” She glanced at Alexander. “Will you stay?”

“I don’t want to impose.”

“She’s a big eater, Alexander,” Abe said, “but I’ll make sure she doesn’t get it all.”

Esther glared at him, then looked at Alexander, who had a suspiciously amused expression in his eyes. “I do have a few normal things to eat, too,” she said. “I’ll make us all some ham sandwiches first, then we can open a bottle of wine in the backyard and eat the fondue out there as the sun sets.”

Alexander gave her a lazy grin, one eyebrow cocking in consideration. There was something so sensually promising in the expression that Esther swallowed. A second detailed vision of him completely tousled and wild with leonine passion assaulted her.

She lowered her eyes, shocked at herself.