Finding Isadora (40 page)

His hands were still in my hair, as if to prevent an escape I had no thought of attempting. He pulled me against him, and finally I could feel what my body had been longing for, the firm press of his erection against my belly. I cursed the thick denim
of his jeans, wrapped my arms around his waist, pulled him even closer.

I had to touch his skin, so I yanked his shirt free from his jeans and ran my hands up his back, charting unknown territory and claiming it for my own. My behavior stunned me. I didn
’t recognize this woman who was so bold, so needy.

Isadora, with Gabriel.

His flesh burned under my palms and I’d never felt anything so blazingly alive. Velvety skin, firm muscles, jutting bones, his body was as vital, as captivating, as his mind. I wanted all of him. Now.

His chest heaved against mine and I realized my nipples were painfully hard against my bra, craving the touch of his fingers, his tongue. But their ache was nothing compared to the one between my thighs, where the pressure
built, the need centered.

Suddenly he forced my head back, tore his mouth from mine, gasped for air.

“Gabriel,” I moaned, wanting him back.

Before I
’d finished saying his name, his lips descended, swallowing the last syllable.

Somehow, in all the vague fantasies I
’d had of Gabriel, I’d imagined him as a suave lover, but this embrace had nothing of finesse in it, it was all about raw, primitive need. Our lips smashed against each other, our teeth jarred, our tongues dueled for dominion.

And then he hook
ed his arms under my butt and hoisted me. Automatically, my legs locked around his hips and my arms circled his shoulders as we both jockeyed for position until that hard ridge of male flesh beneath his fly pressed against me exactly where I wanted it. I squirmed as his hips worked, thrusting against me, and I’d never felt so aroused in my life.

If he
’d been inside me, I’d have come in a split second.

Never, with Richard, had I—

Richard.

Heat had
built in my body until every inch of flesh was aroused and burning. At the thought of Richard, the heat drained in a rush, leaving me weak and shaky, cold and shivering. I tore my mouth from Gabriel’s and cried, “No!”

Either he didn
’t hear me, or he ignored my cry. His mouth sought mine again, but I pulled away from him, twisting my head to avoid his kiss, saying, “Stop, Gabriel. Stop.”

My message must have sunk in because he froze and stared at me.
“What?” His voice was hoarse.

“
Richard,” I gasped.

His hands loosened their grip on my buttocks and I began to slide. He caught me again, but only to steady me when my feet hit the ground.
“Fuck! Damn it, when I’m with you I stop thinking.”

His hands gripped my elbows, taking most of my weight, holding me up but away from him. Huge shivers wracked my body at the thought of what we
’d almost done.

Gabriel
turned me toward the car and his arm came around me, warming me and urging me forward at the same time. I stumbled along beside him, fearing my legs would collapse under me at any moment. I clung to his arm while he unlocked the passenger door and helped me inside.

The unpredictable roof light came on this time, and even its dim glow seemed too bright. My eyes ached and I wanted to cry.

I struggled into my cardigan, frowning when Gabriel walked away from the car. What now? But then I saw him retrieve my sandal. I hadn’t even noticed that one of my feet was still bare.

He returned and tossed the shoe
on the floor of the car, not touching me, and went around to the driver’s side as I slid my foot into the sandal and hugged my sweater around my chilled body.

He flung himself into the seat and sent me a dark, burning look.
“I should say I’m sorry, but I’m not.”

“
I…” I thought about it for a moment, then admitted, “I’m not sorry either. But it can’t happen again.”

He shook his head.
“I intended one quick kiss. I didn’t know it’d be so hard to stop.”

He jammed his key in the ignition, slammed his door, and the roof light went off. We were parked under a lamppost though, and I could still see his face, his expression of intense frustration.
“I hate this,” he said. “Hate situations I can’t control.”

“
We
can
control it. We have to. Especially now we know…”

“
How easy it would be to fall into bed together?” he said huskily, seductively. “How good it would be when we got there?”

“
Yes! Damn you.” Just the thought warmed me, enough that I almost took my cardigan off again.

“
Well, damn you, too, Isadora Dean Wheeler.” But his tone held rueful humor.

“
What do we do now?”

“
I drive you home. You don’t ask me in and I don’t kiss you goodnight, and we don’t tumble into your bed—” He broke off. “Where do you sleep, anyhow?”

“
The couch is a pullout.”

He shook his head.
“Shouldn’t have asked. Now I’ll have another image invading my brain when I’m not sleeping tonight.”

Involuntarily I glanced down
to the front of his jeans, saw he still had an erection, felt my corresponding female parts heat and swell with desire.

When I looked up again, he
nodded. “Yeah, Isadora. That’s what you do to me.”

I had to clench my fists to keep from touching him.
“You’d better take me home.” The words came out choked.

He started the car and obliged, driving far too fast. Neither of us said a word on the way. When he double-parked in front of my building, he didn
’t turn the engine off.

“
What are we going to do?” I asked softly. “How can we deal with this?”

“
I don’t have a fucking clue.”

He was the problem-solver. He was supposed to have answers. He
’d had so many relationships, how could he not know how to handle this?

He shook his head.
“Go inside, Isadora.”

I did, and managed it without a backward glance.

Needless to say, I didn’t sleep. I tossed, and imagined Gabriel tossing as he imagined me…

I
’d have phoned Grace, but I knew the advice she’d give. Have sex with Gabriel and see where it took us. If I said I didn’t want to hurt Richard, she’d protest that jealousy was a selfish, immature emotion. She was right—but the fact was, most of us mortals
were
selfish and immature.

Janice. I could tell this whole mess to Janice. Not that she was an expert on relationships, but she knew
me so well, and loved me. Maybe she’d come up with a fresh insight that had escaped me. Failing that, at least she could be counted on to sympathize.

Around three in the morning I almost phoned her, but I resisted the temptation. I couldn
’t be
that
selfish. I would, however, call first thing in the morning and ask if we could switch our planned lunch for dinner at my place. No way could I discuss my problems over a quick lunch in a crowded deli.

Finally, around five, fed up with all the tossing and agonizing,
I rose and took Pogo for a walk. He started out as usual, bouncing with energy, but when I flopped down on an oceanside bench only a few blocks from home, he picked up on my mood and chose to sit docilely at my feet rather than tug at his leash and demand that I let him explore the beach.

I stared at him gloomily, my brain too tired to even think, until suddenly he leaped up, yipping happily. He pulled the leash from my slack grip and scampered away.

“Pogo!” Then I realized he was greeting a jogger. Althea Fitzsimmons.

She bent to pat him and pick up the dangling leash.
“So, Pogo, another early bird.” A glance at me as she handed the leash over. “Morning, Dr. Wheeler.”

“
Morning.”

Another glance, with narrowed eyes.

I realized that, in addition to my thoroughly tousled hair, she was seeing swollen, bloodshot eyes ringed in purple shadows and, quite likely, lips still swollen from last night’s passionate kisses.

Quickly, I said,
“I was right, green’s your color. You look great.” This morning she wore a tank top the color of ripe avocado. Her cheeks were rosy, her green eyes sparkling, her hair wind-tousled—tousled attractively, unlike mine which was merely sleep-ratted.

Her mouth worked for a moment.
“Well, you look dreadful,” she said abruptly. “And it’s not allergies, as you said last time. It’s not any of my business, but is there anything I can help with?”

I shook my head.
“Thanks anyhow, Ms. Fitzsimmons.”

“
Name’s Althea. And you’re Isadora, aren’t you?”

“
Yes, though most people call me Iz or Izzie.”

She scowled.
“Lovely name, Isadora. Shouldn’t be messed with.”

Gabriel never messed with it. And when he said it, it did sound lovely.

I must have looked truly pitiful because she sank down on the bench beside me. “What’s wrong?”

If I told her the whole story, she
’d faint from shock. Instead, I said, “My fiancé and I broke up.”

“
Oh, my. That nice young man you were with at dinner?”

When I nodded, she said,
“How sad. I’m sure you’re heartbroken.”

Heartbroken.
“Um…” I wasn’t, at least not at the moment. My quandary over Gabriel had distracted me from agonizing over losing Richard. We’d broken up less than two days ago, and already I was obsessing over another man.

I squeezed my eyes shut, thoroughly miserable, then opened them again and gazed at her.
“I was,” I said softly. “But the break-up was my doing, and I know it’s for the best. Right now I’m more concerned about … something else. About doing something that might hurt him even more.” Boy, I must be desperate to talk if I was confiding in Althea Fitzsimmons.

She frowned.
“You’re not responsible for his feelings. Only your own.”

“
How do you mean?”

“
You don’t
make
someone feel a certain way.”

My brain was fuzzy this morning, and I guess my bewilderment showed on my face because she shook her head impatiently.
“A woman breaks up with a man. How does he react? One man may be sad, another hurt, another angry, another will be determined to get back at her. Another will understand. Another will feel relieved. She doesn’t
make
him feel one or more of those things. They’re
his
feelings; he’s responsible for them. And entitled to them.”

“
That sounds like something my mother would say.”

“
Wise woman.”

I
’d smiled before I realized it.

She smiled back.
“That’s better.”

We sat in silence together, with her scratching Pogo behind the ears. He smiled his goofy smile and every once in a while made little moans and whimpers in his throat.

The same kind of sounds I’d made when Gabriel kissed me.

“
A person can’t always control how they feel,” I said. “You can try, you can tell yourself how you
should
feel, but sometimes your feelings don’t obligingly fall into line.”

“
No, of course not. But that’s
your
problem. Not the other person’s.”

She had a point. Was it Gabriel
’s fault I was so strongly attracted to him and couldn’t make the feelings go away? No, of course not. Gabriel was just being the only thing he could ever be: himself.

“
I do see what you’re saying, Althea. But we should still be sensitive to other people’s feelings. We shouldn’t deliberately hurt someone.”

“
No, of course not. But I can’t see you doing that, Isadora. You’re a nurturer, a healer.”

“
I hope so. How can a person live in the world without caring, without wanting to make things better?”

She sighed.
“That’s a good question. But most of us do.” She waved a hand to encompass four men who were jogging by, analyzing the stock market. “We’re … ants, going through our daily routine, caught up in it, not much caring about anyone else.”

“
That’s not how I want to live.” I knew that now, thanks to Gabriel.

“
Caring about people is good. But all the same, it doesn’t mean you have to tiptoe around being ultra-protective of everyone who’s too sensitive for their own good. There has to be a balance.”

A balance. Slowly, I nodded.
“That sounds right to me.”