Almost Always: A Love Unexpected Novel (18 page)

Twenty nine

Once again I found myself peering into a closet filled with a wardrobe I hadn't selected. This time, it didn't look like the plane was headed for some beach resort. I ran my hands over the softest, silkiest sweaters I had ever touched. I had never owned anything made out of Cashmere but I suspected instantly that that was what made the garments feel like kittens. There were slacks and skirts, two coats—one short and one long, a blazer, a couple of pretty knit dresses and even a pair of jeans. Everything hung on padded hangers that filled the air with the scent of their lavender stuffing. I knew that the drawers would have just the right undergarments and accessories. Kason called me to take my seat before I had a chance to examine the soles of the half dozen pairs of shoes, but I already knew they would be red.

"You know I still have three unopened boxes to return to you from the last trip. What do you have against my regular clothes?"

"The only things I have seen you in, other than what I have purchased, are jeans and T-shirts that have seen better days. Why begrudge me the pleasure of a well dressed companion?" He was right of course. Everything I owned had been worn forever and none of it was of much quality to begin with. I was already sweating how I was going to manage to look decent for my new job. I didn't need to get all dressed up, but I knew I had to have something better than ratty jeans and shirts decorated with cartoons or worse.

"And, I promise you that if you return the clothes from France I will throw them all in the garbage making them a complete waste. If you're too proud to keep them for yourself, be a fool and donate them to Goodwill. I am sure there is some needy person out there who would appreciate a fifteen hundred dollar pair of shoes more than you do." He huffed out the last part with disdain.

"That's like blackmail." I had to smile at him. He was so funny when he got all high and mighty.

"You don't seem to understand how much pleasure I get in giving you things, and especially things you need."

"But it's so much. Who wears six different pairs of shoes in a weekend?"

"The clothes in there," he pointed a thumb back over his shoulder, "will be perfect for your new job. That's part of why there are so many pieces. I thought you could use them."

"That was very considerate of you. But . . ."

"But nothing." He bent over me and buckled my seatbelt and pulled it snug. "Safe and secure, just the way I want to keep you."

As he took his seat next to me, I mulled over that throw away remark. Yes, it seemed that all I had to do was say the word and he would 'keep' me in fine style as long as I didn't back him into a corner. The other interpretations of keep weren't part of his vocabulary.

He rested his hand casually on my thigh reminding me of the real reason I was on that plane at that moment. Sure, I wanted to hear what he had to say. But I also wanted to touch him again. God how I wanted to touch him again. Touch and be touched.

The days had seemed endless even as I occupied myself with looking for a job. I was spoiled by what we had together.  Kason had quickly and thoroughly conditioned me to unbridled and relentless arousal of all of my senses. He had brought me to great dizzy heights of desire. He exhausted me in complete satisfaction. His pull on me was like gravity and just as irresistible.

I waited for the airborne seduction to begin. It hadn't been even two weeks since we last lay naked together but I ached for him and the music of desire we made together. I was a disappointed to learn that the flight would be short and dinner awaited. I would have to wait to have him how I truly wanted. The delicious and perfectly prepared duck was wasted on me, as was another one of Kason's masterful wine choices. I pushed my food around my plate trying to make it look like I had eaten more than I had. It looked like he was doing the same with his.

We were both biding time. We were both resisting the urge to tear each other's clothes off. The very air in the plane was electric.

"Would you like to know where we're going?"

"I didn't think there was much point in asking. But, yes, of course I want to know."

"Chicago. City of the Big Shoulders, place of my birth, home to Michigan Avenue, Marshall Fields and Bradley Alexander Royce." He said his father's name formally, coldly. "I thought that as long as we are going to have a weekend picking at scabs, we might as well go for the biggest and bloodiest of them all."

"You're taking me to meet your father?" I asked incredulously. This was
so
not what I expected.

"Among other things, yes, a meeting with my father has been scheduled."

"But first, other things. Fun things. I want you to enjoy the Windy City and I want you to enjoy me." He held my hands in his and leaned across the table to give me a lingering, soulful kiss. "Will you try to do that?" He kissed me again.

"You make it easy to enjoy you," I answered. And he did. All the over thinking, all the analysis, worry and speculation seemed to fade when his mouth met mine.

Taishi announced the beginning of our descent. Kason drew me close again and whispered against my ear. "I can't wait too much longer to strip those clothes off your beautiful body."

My pulse quickened at his words. I closed my eyes and let the lusty moment carry me away to where there were only two bodies, naked and alive, pushing and pulling, taking and being taken.

***

Kason had told the front desk to hold our things until we called for them to be brought up to the rooms. The elegant elevator moved at the speed of the last ketchup in the bottle. I felt his hand massaging my bottom as we crawled up to the top floor. The elevator was quite small and we weren't alone.

"You always have to get the penthouse," I teased in a whisper over my shoulder. "It's going to take all night just to get there."

"The Drake's an old hotel. Opened in the 1920's."

"Maybe we're riding in the original elevator."

"I think you're right."

Our suite looked like it hadn't changed much since the twenties, either. Everything was new and perfectly clean, but decked out in brocades and satin, and furnished in Italian Renaissance style, the rooms had a decidedly old fashioned elegance.

From the windows of the suite I could see a patch of beach illuminated by the lights on Lake Shore Drive. I had never seen one of the Great Lakes and I was looking forward to getting a good look at the inland sea the next day. The half-moon glinted on some choppy water but didn't shed much light there.

Kason came up behind me and circled my waist with his arms as we looked out over the lake together. "When I was a little kid, we had a lake house for a while near St. Joseph, Michigan. It's a real challenge to swim in that lake."

"Why is that?"

"Excruciatingly cold. Mom would force me to get out when my lips were blue." He turned me around to face him and possessed me with a kiss. Our desire, fueled by the separation, burst into flames between our hungry bodies.

As I knew it would, his touch wiped away any thought of hesitation. I was molten under his knowing hands. Our clothes quickly formed a heap at the foot of the big hotel bed. He fed the fire in me with his devouring mouth.
Every touch felt molten, every word a flame.
His every touch fed the fire; his every word a flame.

Thirty

We both woke up starving. Neither one of us had eaten much dinner on the plane. We had worked up the kind of appetite that mind boggling sex tends to create. We wrapped ourselves in the hotel's cozy robes and scrutinized the room service menu together. Kason decided on steak and eggs and I ordered a Belgian waffle.

He finally had the front desk send up our things. I still thought it was a little silly to have all those clothes for two days, but I was getting used to Kason's strange ways. The only possible reason for him to have them all hung up like that on the plane was so that I could see what he had chosen for me. Otherwise he could have had them all packed in a suitcase like his own clothes were. But, he wanted to make sure I knew that I was going to be pampered again. If it took some invisible someone to do all that hanging and packing, what difference did it make to Kason?

After we finished our breakfast, we showered together in the big etched glass enclosure. It was one of those showers that had jets all over the place—two in each corner, a detachable shower wand, and a big rain-water head above us.

We took turns soaping each other. I loved the feeling of his smooth skin under my slippery hands. He leaned against the shower stall wall with his back to me as I scrubbed his strong broad back. My hands traveled all over the beautiful distance of his long limbs. His hands and feet, so perfectly formed and graceful got extra attention. I reasoned that if he thought to bring pleasure to me through my fingers and toes, he probably liked to be touched there too.

"You have evolution toe." I had his foot in my hand and looked up at him with a smile.

"What the hell is 'evolution toe'?"

"It's when the second toe is longer than the big toe. It's supposed to be a sign of intelligence." That got a big chuckle out of him.

As we dried off, Kason told me about the plans he had for the day.

"I'm going to take you to Oak Park so you can see the house I grew up in." He shot me a sidelong glance, gauging my reaction.

First his father, now his childhood home. He wasn't kidding about opening up about his past. I was thrilled, but now that the moment was finally upon me, it was a little frightening. Kason was serious about showing me what made him tick. He expected it to make a difference in the way I dealt with him. I wasn't so sure. It could answer the questions, perhaps, of why he felt the way he did but what difference would that make? If the rules remained the same, we'd be back to square one.

"I'd love to see it," I finally answered him.

As we waited for the valet to bring the rental car around, I looked at the expanse of Lake Michigan, angry with autumn winds that were threatening off shore. Above our heads the sky was brilliant and cloudless and the air had a comfortable morning nip to it. Chicago rose from the lake shore boldly, brash and modern. It seemed somehow . . . cleaner than New York. Maybe it was the effect of the lake washed air or the glint of the thousands of silver windows glinting in the morning sun.

It was rather odd to see Kason slide into the driver's seat. The last time I'd seen him take the wheel was in the Berkshires and I had become accustomed to Taishi driving us around.

"No Taishi today?" He had been on the plane and I assumed he'd be shadowing us as usual.

"No, I sent him to go prowl Boystown. I think we'll be fine on our own. This was a very spur-of-the moment trip. No one knows I'm here." I was reminded once again that 'security' was a perpetual and permanent part of his life. How easy that was to forget in the heat of Kason's arms.

The Bentley convertible had the top down so I wound my scarf around my head as we took off down Michigan Avenue.

"This is known as the Magnificent Mile. It's every bit as great a shopping district as Fifth Avenue and frankly, I think it's a lot prettier."

"I agree. I don't know why I pictured Chicago so differently. I didn't expect to find it so
elegant
."

"You're seeing the elegant parts, but you'll see the other Chicago now as well. I'm going to skip the Eisenhower expressway and take Madison all the way out to Oak Park. That way you'll get to see the city more. It'll take a while even though we're only going about ten miles. Are you in a hurry?"

"I do have a hot date tonight." I smiled. I thought how considerate it was to want to show me the city and then I recalled that his mother had died on the Eisenhower. I found myself wondering what his real motivation for the route was until I got caught up in watching Chicago roll by.

We passed through a gritty industrial area when we left the downtown 'Loop'. "Looking a bit less elegant now, isn't it?" The industrial area gave way to a rather depressing residential area with plenty of vacant lots, boarded up buildings and just plain slummy looking brick buildings that had seen better days.

"This is known as the near west side. We'll pass through several miles of this before we move a little more up market. The sixties and seventies hit this area hard. Chicago did not bend easily to desegregation and there was a lot of white flight."

We passed through a beautifully maintained park and on the other side, the condition of the buildings improved a good bit. When Kason announced that we had reached Oak Park, I expected mansions, but what I saw were mostly quite middle class looking older homes. Earnest Hemingway was born in Oak Park and Frank Lloyd Wright had begun his career as an architect there. The Royces had bought one of his early masterpieces.

As we got further into the obviously most well to do area, the lots got bigger and the houses a little grander, but still nothing even I would have called a mansion. The streets were immaculate and there were majestic hardwoods approaching the peak of their autumn color. We pulled over to the curb in front of a two story brick house that I recognized as the 'prairie style' architecture that made Wright famous.

Kason hadn't said more than 'uh-huh' and 'hmm' to any of my comments since we entered the village. He sat in the car for many long moments before he spoke. "This is the century old 'Arthur B. Heurtley House'. It is a very good address."

"It's an amazing house. That brick work is fantastic." I marveled at the way Wright had woven bands of different shades of brick into the design. The whole building had a texture all its own.

"The main living area is on the second floor. My parents threw some great parties in the rooms up there. But my favorite place was my very own playroom on the lower floor." Kason got out of the Bentley and came around to my side. He opened my door and took my hand. Then he leaned back against the car and drew me to him. I looked up at his face as he studied the house that rose from the expanse of green lawn in front of us.

"When Wright designed this house in 1902, he broke a lot of rules. The style at the time was the Queen Anne."

"Like the Victorian homes around here?"

"Yes, exactly. Wright did away with tiny rooms, he opened up the interior space with all those windows you see, and by putting the living space on the second floor he gave a measure of privacy you don't get otherwise. Notice there aren't any curtains? None needed."

"Is this what gave you your yearning for the house in the woods that you described to me when we first met? The one designed with lots of glass so you could 'run around naked in the trees'?"

Kason laughed out loud and I was happy to hear it. "You know, I never even thought about the connection, but I think you've hit on something. I can't believe I never thought about how this house influenced me."

"Well, I'm glad it did. Running around naked suits you. You should do it often."

"I intend to. You kind of like it, too, don't you?"

"More than I could have imagined."

"You should be naked as much as possible."

"But you seem to have so much fun dressing me up like your own personal doll."

"Only because society demands it."

"Society and the weather. It's a little chilly right now for naked." I looked at the house. "That's a huge chimney on the roof. You must have had a massive fireplace."

"It was one of my favorite parts. I used to think it was magic when my mother would stand between the firelight and the moonlight coming in the stained glass windows."

I was hoping that the visit to the house would be more than a lesson in architectural history. Kason took my hand and suggested we take a walk around the neighborhood.

"I . . . " he started and stopped. "I want to try to make you understand what happened after my mother died. But first, I guess I need to tell me how it was before."

I squeezed his hand. I didn't want to say a word for fear he might not continue.

"This neighborhood is mostly professionals. There are lots of doctors and lawyers. Mostly prosperous folks who want to live near enough to the city so that the commute isn't a killer. My mother was one of a few stay at home mothers left. She and a couple of other moms baked all the cupcakes, went on all the field trips, and always made sure that our classrooms had the best parties. I was so proud of her. Even as a little kid I knew how special it was to have her around. Plenty of my friends didn't see their mom until she got home from work at dinner time." He laughed and went on. "One time a friend had come over after school and Mom was cutting potatoes for French fries. She'd cut the potatoes and soak them in ice water and double fry them. Man, they were good. Anyway, this kid asked her what she was making. She said 'French fries'. The kid said 'That's not the way you make French fries!' Mom asked him how he thought French fries were made. He said 'You take the bag out of the freezer and then you bake them.' Can you imagine? The kid didn’t know fries were made from actual potatoes."

A breeze picked up and blew an eddy of leaves around our feet. The trees were so pretty. Not stunted city trees, but old country-looking ones. "I think fall is my favorite season. I guess I associate it with the excitement of going back to school. Summer was great for a while, but got hot and stale in the city after July."

"Halloween was a real event around here. Mom made all my costumes. She'd take weeks to put them together. Other kids wore cheap plastic masks and those crappy mass market things. I'll never forget the year she made me a Teenage Mutant Ninja turtle costume. She hand sewed a padded shell out of green felt."

"Which one were you?"

"Michelangelo. I liked the nunchucks."

I tried to imagine a carefree Kason, nunchucks in hand, trick or treating down that perfect suburban street all decked out in a homemade turtle costume.

"Christmas was like a fairy tale. The house was decorated from top to bottom. There wasn't a room in the house that wasn't garlanded and every window had a candle in it. Of course, Santa always brought me everything I asked for and more. I guess I was a spoiled kid, but I don't think I acted like one."

"The Christmas of . . . when my mother had the accident, the house was already full of the spirit. There were tons of presents under the tree, mostly for me. She'd always have a 'theme' for the wrappings. One year it was gold and silver, the next green and red. And one year she did everything in brown paper with dried flowers and string. I disapproved of that motif. It wasn't shiny enough for me."

"I can't really remember exactly how my father told me or what happened that night or even the next few days. I don't know what happened to Christmas that year, either. It seemed I went from one life to another without a transition. I was probably in shock and I'm sure I was very depressed, but no one ever took the time to comfort or council me."

"My father, who was never a very warm and fuzzy man, withdrew even more. I wandered around the new apartment lost and lonely and . . ." He stopped and I could see he was fighting back tears. "Nobody cared."

I pulled him against me and felt him breathe deeply, fighting for composure. It was so sad, so wrenchingly sad to think of the empty, cruel world his life had become.

"I became angry. At the world, at my father, and, unfairly, most of all at my mother for leaving me. I was just a kid." He shrugged helplessly. "I became an overachiever in school, desperate to get my father's approval. It never materialized."

"As the years went by, I learned to rely only on myself. I avoided any kind of relationship that could possibly lead to being abandoned again."

We sat down on a bench and watched the sparse traffic for a few minutes. It was so painful to hear his story that I was tempted to tell him to stop. I couldn't because I needed to hear what he had to say. He had revealed part of the puzzle, but I wanted the whole picture. How had he conquered his fear? How had he reached a point where he was once again vulnerable enough to love?

"By the time I reached Wharton, I had become nearly as cold and unreachable as my father was. There had been a couple of girls. I was a healthy young man, after all." He grinned a little impishly then. "I'm still healthy, aren't I?"

"Yes, Kason, as a woman, I can certainly attest to your . . . vigor. More than healthy."

"I developed a bit of a reputation as a player. But, in all fairness, most of the girls I met weren't interested in much more anyway. We all pretty much had our eye on the prize. By the time I was in the MBA program, the women I met were just as driven as the men. Domestic bliss was a very low priority."