Among The Cloud Dwellers (Entrainment Series) (13 page)

He looked at me seriously and pulled me closer. “I know, luv. But let’s not think about it yet.”

His hands slid under the T-shirt and caressed my waist. I closed my eyes. A flashing memory of him tickling me sparkled behind my closed eyelids, but I quickly realized that it wasn’t laughter he sought this morning. I surrendered to his warm fingers.

He lowered his head to kiss and nibble at my navel. His hands lifted my shirt and peeled it over my head. His eyes echoed my own physical craving while my mind rebelled against such madness. “You’re adorable in the morning,” he murmured. My legs found cool sheets as I slid through his touch. He raised a hand to caress my face.

I kissed his fingers, then leisurely moved to his palm, tracing his life line with the tip of my tongue, tasting years gone by.

As if by silent agreement, lust bowed, gallantly acknowledging its victory over sensibility. I gave way to inquisitive desire to just explore one another. I sensed him relax against my touch. My hands slipped around his neck. I brought him to me.

He moved, bracing himself on his elbows, careful not to weigh down on me. I ran my hands through his hair, down the curve of his neck, and across the smoothness of his chiseled chest to his tapering waist, reaching around to his lower back. I drew them upward again to feel the definition of his shoulder blades. I remembered the scars . . .

Beneath my fingertips his body suddenly tensed up, reading my silent question. His predator eyes gathered clouds, darkening with unleashed thunders.

“That’s where they ripped the wings off my back.”

Amidst the crashes of thunder, I tasted the bitterness of lightning sear down my throat and had a fleeting look at an ageless struggle against eternal damnation.

He doesn’t race anymore . . .

Gabe lowered his head, captured my mouth with his, and plunged his condemned soul into the kiss, seeking relief, forgiveness, hope.

And I knew I was falling in love. I would have given my life to heal his pain.
And I didn’t even know who the bloody enemy was.

We kissed until time stilled. I held him against me as if his life depended on it.

“I don’t even know when I’ll see you again, and at the same time I can’t believe I’ve lived this long without you.” He looked at me. “You’re meant to wake up in my arms every single day of your life.” He kissed me lightly on the cheek.

We both burst into laughter as my stomach chose that perfect moment to rumble. I pressed my hands against it to make it stop, but to no avail.

“I think we ought to fix breakfast.” Laughing still, he pushed himself off the bed and stretched. My lungs drained of all air at the sight of his scarred back.

I shook my head. My life wasn’t ever going to be the same. When and if he would decide to talk about it, I would listen, but until then I was going to honor his privacy, walking precariously along the wasteland’s edge.
Careful not to drown.

I
hurried through a quick, invigorating shower before joining Gabe in the kitchen. The inviting aroma of fresh-brewed coffee competed with the sight of him for my attention. I found him sexier than ever in jeans and bare feet.

We shared a delicious fruit salad, fresh yogurt, toast with honey, and a newspaper fight, all washed down with a pot of robust dark roast. We were sitting on the floor, totally engrossed in the Zen art of peeling strips of newspaper off my hair when we heard the front door open and held our breaths until we saw Clark walk in carrying a couple of grocery bags.

“G’day, lads.” He took one look at us in disarray among the pages of the morning press. “Glad I bought my own copy,” he said, waving a newspaper at us.

“G’day, Clark. Would you like some coffee?” Gabe pulled himself off the floor, extending me a helping hand. I took it and shot up, giving Clark a glowing smile.

“Good morning, Clark. How are you?” I asked, as if it was the most natural thing in the world for him to find me in Gabe’s kitchen in such a disheveled state.

“Splendid, hon. How about yourself?”

I grinned at him. “Just peachy,” I answered, pulling what I hoped was the last of the newspaper confetti from my hair.

He nodded. “You two got any plans for the day?” he asked, reaching for the steaming mug Gabe had poured for him. “They might need your help down at the shop after all.”

Gabe looked at me and shrugged. “I’m sure they can handle it. What would you like to do, Porzia? When do you need to get back to the winery?”

“I don’t really have to be right back. As far as my work, I have it under control. Now it’s just a matter of wrapping up and sending it in. But I have plenty time left before my deadline and can finish once I get back home.”

“Would you like to do some shopping?” Gabe asked in a tone usually reserved to herald death sentences.

“No. I need to pick up a couple of presents but can do that during my layover in Melbourne,” I told him. “How about we just chill?”

“You mean relax?” Gabe asked.

“Yes, kick back,” I said.

“Sounds good to me.” Gabe pushed himself off the counter to browse in the grocery bags Clark had brought in.

“Well, I’ll just head down to the shop since the boss here is going to—chill.” That last word seemed to amuse him a great deal and Gabe got caught up in it.

I folded my arms across my chest, took Gabe’s spot against the counter, and enjoyed the jolly clown show. Here they were, two fully-grown Aussies, up in stitches over American slang. Who would have thought? And I was falling in love with one of them.

Gabe must have read something across my face because he quickly sobered up and looked at me with such tenderness that I forgot all about Clark. It made me want to rush into his arms as our eyes locked onto each other’s, lost in our own little abyss.

Clark cleared his throat, bringing us back up from the deep end. “Porzia, it was a pleasure to see you again,” he said, shaking my hand. He went to open his mouth, thought better of it, and left shaking his head.

Silence fell like a discarded cape over the kitchen.

I moved to the counter to refill my coffee cup and raised the pot in a silent offer. Gabe shook his head and announced he was going to take a shower; I should make myself comfortable while I waited—unless I cared to join him.

“Tempting, but no thanks. I need a breath.”

I grabbed my jacket and my steaming coffee and walked out.

A brisk ocean breeze had swept the sky clear of earlier rain clouds, leaving a stunning view of Adelaide and gleaming ocean waters down below. Against the pencil-thin horizon I spotted a couple of gray ships steaming off for distant lands. The biting cold air whipping my cheeks contrasted sharply with the coffee warming my stomach. I found a somewhat dry spot on the low stone wall bordering Gabe’s property and sat down to enjoy the breathtaking sight.

Wearing a pair of stonewashed jeans and a troubled look, Gabe found me minutes later.

“What’s the matter?” I asked him.

“Clark was right. Looks like I have to get down to the shop after all. Something came up.” He shot me a worried look.

“It’s no big deal,” I reassured him. “I’d love to come with you, if you don’t mind.”

“It won’t take long, Porzia.” He sighed in relief.

“It doesn’t matter. But be prepared for a lot of silly questions. I don’t know anything about off-road racing, and I might exasperate you,” I said, getting to my feet.

“No worries.” He smiled. “You can exasperate me anytime you like.”

I wondered if he really meant that. Would it survive a test?

We made it to his shop in less than half an hour, and I found myself catapulted inside a state-of-the-art garage and showroom equipped with every conceivable off-road extremist toy imaginable. Even my inexpert eyes registered as much.

Gabe introduced me to Gomi, his head mechanic, a young Japanese kid playing grown-up inside blue coveralls, his sleeves rolled over several times and kept in place by orange rubber bands that matched his streaked punk hair. One of those dazzling Hollywood smiles hung randomly on his lips.

Gabe escorted me to a spacious office at the end of the showroom where Clark talked on the phone, typed furiously on a keyboard, and added numbers on a calculator simultaneously. He glanced up and shot us a relieved look. He finished on the phone and offered me a seat. I sat, hoping to stay out of their way. They went right to business and I soon gave up trying to follow their conversation
.

Gomi came in, poured himself coffee, and offered me some as well. I declined but asked him a couple of questions about some accessories on display as I had no idea what they were. He gave me an intrigued look, abandoned his coffee to grab my sleeve, and dragged me to the back garage where sparks were flying as someone welded metal on a far corner bench. Gomi told me they were customizing a white Land Cruiser. I had no idea what I had gotten myself into when I asked Gomi my simple question, but I soon found myself involved and somewhat able to follow his explanations. The vehicle belonged to Gabe, and it was being worked on for an upcoming desert rally. Over the loud welding noise I asked Gomi how long he had been working with Gabe. His answer left me gasping.

“About fifteen years,” he stated, smiling.

“Gomi, how old are you? If you don’t mind my asking.” He must have been fresh out of the nursery when he grabbed his first wrench.

“I’m ready to bet I’m older than you,” he said.

“Naaaw!”

“Let’s just say that I never finished high school and met Gabe during an Australian Safari. See, he’s got this
drive
, for lack of a better term. That no matter how tough it’d get out there, as long as you had a grip of your drive—this “need to go”—then you knew you’d make it. Only a handful of racers have it, and Gabe’s got the meanest I’ve seen so far.

“He almost shut off once, that day . . .” he shook his head. “I’ll never forget. Way deep in the outback, a couple of nights into the race, he crashed and got trapped under his vehicle. While we waited for the paramedics to show up, he kept on slipping in and out of consciousness. I held his head out of a ditch, but he was making no sense at all, mumbling something about following an eagle into the void.”

His words brought chills along my spine. Suddenly I was afraid to hear more.

“I knew there was severe internal bleeding. He doesn’t even remember any of this. But I kept him awake talking about the risks of life and the fact that we knew we couldn’t live any other way.” He held my gaze. The welder had stopped sometime during this conversation, and I was just finally aware of the silence surrounding us.

I read his eyes. “Why are you telling me all this?” My instinct told me that this was fair warning, not a rehearsed tactic to scare the enemy.

“He’s never brought a woman to the shop.”

“Ah!” I folded my arms across my chest and waited for him to continue.

He raised his chin defiantly. “To see if you’re up to it.”

I watched this kid and instinctively called upon my powers to pierce through the inscrutable façade of his almond-shaped eyes. Surprisingly, I reached his soul where the core of his friendship and bond with Gabriel Miller pulsed and glowed, alive.

“He’s lucky to have you by his side, Gomi.” Shook up by the force of the experience, I turned my trembling back to the dismantled vehicle in front of us. “So, what’s next?” I asked, feigning control.

Gabe’s voice answered as he walked up behind me. “We’re going to chuck the standard engine in the scrap heap and put in a 5.0-
litre
that’s been stroked to 5.7.” He rolled his sleeves up, ready to jump into action. He hadn’t even bothered with coveralls for himself, but he threw me a set.

Gomi smiled, waiting to see what I would do next.

I was all for it and didn’t waste time. I just slid into the coverall, asked for a chew, settled for gum, and hoped for the best.

What was supposed to be just a quickie lapsed into several hours of hard labor. After ‘chucking’ the standard engine, a Holley nitrous Double Pumper went in for the extra boost when sand dragging, followed by thirty-five-inch BFG mudders and a four-inch suspension lift. By the time we took a break I was a starving, grinning, greasy mess. Gabe took one look at Gomi, who was covered in just as much slime, and called it a day. Besides a couple of greasy spots on his jeans, Gabe looked like he had just showered. And he had done most of the work.

How did he manage to keep so clean?
I asked myself while sharing industrial soap with Gomi. He handed me a towel, then proceeded to tell me that I had a huge smear on my face and wanted to know if I was this messy when I cooked.

“But of course. That’s the best part of it.” I rubbed my cheek.

They both looked at me like I was some sort of extinct plant.

“What is it?” I asked. “Women around here don’t get messy when they cook?”

“No, just don’t know many women keen on jumping under a car hood, especially when the plan of the day was to just ‘chill’,” Gabe said, reaching for my hair to free a piece of newspaper confetti.

And I thought I had gotten it all.

“Well, I’m sure there is plenty of time left for that,” I said. I shrugged out of my coverall.

“Ready to grab some lunch?” he asked, offering an extended hand.

“Yes!”

We said good-bye to Gomi and Clark and stepped out into a bright sunny day. We decided to enjoy the fresh air and walk the short distance to a cozy restaurant just a couple of blocks away. We passed colorful fruit and vegetable stands, inviting coffee shops, and, incredibly, a couple of Italian grocers. Holding hands, we strolled down the sidewalk. At a flower stand Gabe bought a small bouquet of flowers to thank me for helping back at the garage.

I shrugged it off as we reached the restaurant. “I don’t know if I did anything right,” I told him. “But you probably would have been better off leaving me chained to the office chair.”

He looked at me seriously and kept silent while the restaurant hostess greeted us and offered us seats. Delicious aromas tantalized my taste buds, and I realized that breakfast had been a long time ago. A blue and cream gingham tablecloth covered the inviting table. In a short crystal vase a cheerful bunch of yellow daffodils anticipated spring. A heaping basket of warm, fragrant bread appeared as if by magic.

“They only serve a couple of specials a day.” Gabe pointed to a sun-kissed easel by the front window. It read
Daily Specials: French Onion Soup, Seared Tuna Steak and House Meatloaf.

“The tuna is pretty good. But the meatloaf is excellent.”

“Is that what you’re having?” I asked.

“Yes. How about you, luv?” he looked at me, tilting his head to nod at the waitress approaching our table carrying glasses and a sweaty jug of chilled cider.

“The tuna sounds good to me,” I said, smiling at the waitress. She smiled back her approval and switched her attention to Gabe, asking if he was going to get the meatloaf.

“They know me here.” He cracked a grin.

She came right back with clay pots of steaming French onion soup and a tiny matching ramekin of whipped herbed butter.

I unrolled my cloth napkin to find a sprig of dried lavender scenting its core.
What a pleasant surprise,
I thought. I set the lavender aside, making a mental note to keep it for my journal.

I tasted the steaming soup. And wished I could make it like that.

Gabe handed me a piece of buttered bread and filled my glass with fragrant cider.

“I’m sorry it took longer than expected back at the shop,” he apologized between gigantic spoonfuls of soup.

“No big deal. I had fun.”

“That’s what it looked like. It didn’t seem to take you much time at all to figure things out.”

“You mean you weren’t worried about me messing up your vehicle?” I joked.

“Not really. I was a bit worried about you getting dirty and all, but you didn’t seem to mind.”

I raised an eyebrow. “How did you manage to stay clean?”

“I had you and Gomi soaking it all up,” he smirked.

I had to laugh at that. He was a good strategist.

Our waitress replaced the too-soon-empty bowls with tuna for me and Gabe’s meatloaf special. Both of our plates heaped with side orders of fresh veggies and juicy mango slices. She checked to see if we needed anything else and left us to struggle with the gargantuan portions. I knew I wasn’t going to clean my plate, but Gabe offered to help me. I ended up sharing with him.

We definitely had no room for dessert and settled for espresso.

Over demitasses, we lost track of time and talked the afternoon away. Only when our waitress came by to light a small oil lamp on our table did we notice it was dark outside. “We should probably be heading back,” I said, looking at Gabe.

“We should, but I don’t want to.”

“What would you like to do?” I murmured.

He smiled wistfully, pulling himself up. “Well, the ideal would be . . .” He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Never mind, luv. This isn’t the right place for this sort of talk.”