Somewhere on St. Thomas: A Somewhere Series Romance (7 page)

My beard-rasped neck and cheeks burned from his touch. My eyes were glazed. I nodded robotically and said, “Uh-huh. Okay.”

And he was gone, with one last pat on my ass and tweak of my long red hair.

I sat back on the couch and lifted the necklace from the collar of the sweater, dangling the sparkling heart from a finger in front of my eyes.

“Wow,” I said. The platinum shone with the fire of real diamonds. I’d never had such a nice piece of jewelry before.

I rode the train back to Boston with Shellie, feeling more conflicted than ever the minute I was out of Sam’s presence.
What am I doing?
All this romance stuff was horribly distracting from my studies, and I still had to deal with Henry, whom I really did like and knew I would miss. Were Sam and I a thing, after such a brief Christmas fling or whatever it was? Enough to break it off with Henry? And what the hell was I going to do about Rafe’s invitation to San Francisco?

I needed to come clean with Shellie and get her advice.

I told her about Rafe finally and showed her the necklace from Sam. “And, oh God, I have to deal with Henry,” I moaned.

“Oh, to have your problems,” Shellie said.

I immediately felt bad for my selfishness. Shellie was adorable, a petite, stocky female version of Sam, with the same tawny brown-blond locks and bright brown eyes. She’d been dating, but nothing serious so far, and hadn’t been a virgin since she was sixteen and did it with her then-boyfriend in high school.

“This situation’s not that great, trust me. Very stressful. Rafe wants to see me this summer in San Francisco. Offered to pay my way out to California.”

Shellie
pooh-pooh
ed. “Who is this guy? A surfer, sailor, drifter? A handyman? Sam’s going to be a lawyer, like you, and the two of you get along great and have chemistry. Even Henry’s got more going on as a boyfriend—he’s going to be a psychologist. Kick Rafe to the curb. He’s got nothing to offer.”

Not a handyman, a Renaissance man.

There wasn’t anything Rafe couldn’t do if he set his mind and hands to it. Nothing to offer? Nothing but those amazing blue eyes, those hard, capable hands, that incredible promise of the pleasure he was able to give me, a fire he’d woken and could stoke with just a look, a touch, the sound of his voice, and those heartfelt letters I couldn’t bear to tell Shellie about.

The letters were too intimate, too raw.

And Henry? He was sweet, and gentle, and his devotion, his quiet support, the way he sang me songs and read me poetry and even the way he worshipped my body—all of that was reassuring. I could handle Henry so much better than either of the others.

And then there was Sam. Big, bold, confident, playful Sam who made me laugh.

“You’re right,” I said. “Sam’s amazing. What I can’t believe is that he really seems to like me.” I shook my head. “Talk about not having anything to offer. I’m the charity case here.”

“I’ve never seen him like this before,” Shellie said, her big brown eyes sincere. “And money’s not a thing to our family. I mean, we have it, but we don’t make a big deal about it. Everyone but Sam. Sam’s a tightwad. Saves every penny for this mythical house he’s going to build after law school. He’s never done anything but sleep with my friends and break their hearts. I’ve certainly never seen any platinum necklaces before.”

I wished that made me relax, knowing I meant something to Sam. Instead it felt like pressure, and it was scary now that he wasn’t there with his playful bear hugs and piggyback rides to remind me that what I liked most about Sam was how fun he was, how he made me laugh.

The weeks went on. I dodged dates with Henry by pleading work and studying. I wrote Rafe secret, aching letters in which I told him what I wished for and wanted him to do with and to me in an ideal world where we didn’t have to worry about how we’d make our different lifestyles work.

And Sam called. He called every week on Friday night, making a point of letting me know he could be doing something else, dating someone else, but instead he was calling me to talk. He’d tell me he wanted to be with me instead, and he’d share funny stories about the frat house he lived in and even stories about Shellie and how she was as a kid and a little sister.

Sam paid for our phone calls without a whimper.

“He’s serious about you,” Shellie assured me. “He always grumbles about long-distance phone bills. Never calls home.”

I felt our attraction as Sam made me laugh, made me want him, and while he pushed me past my own comfort zone, he wasn’t as overwhelming as Rafe.

Rafe’s letters were totally addicting in a different way.

The letter he sent as he left for his month-long voyage to California contained a check for five hundred dollars wrapped around a poem. The note with the poem was simple.

Beautiful Ruby,

Come to California. I’ll be there by spring break. Come to me. I can’t wait any longer. Here’s money for your ticket. Call me at this number. I’ll be in San Francisco by March 1.

The poem was titled “First Night.”

“First Night”

She comes to me in ivory

Not white, because she’s Ruby

Even the skin of her secret places

Is a tawny shade of pale

Peppered with nutmeg freckles I want

To spend a lifetime counting.

She offers herself

Abundant and strong, sweet as honey and tangy as mango

And I use my tongue to worship her.

Every inch.

Every cranny.

Every place that’s never seen the sun or

Known the touch of a hand.

Nothing is hidden from me, nothing is off-limits as I make her mine.

She’s never known what can be felt and discovered, and every place I take her

I mark it mine

I take and I own

With kisses. With my hands. With my mouth.

With all of my body I worship her.

I teach her what has always been in her to feel.

I touch the nub of her pleasure until she explodes in cries of delight

And I’m surrounded

By her perfume

She’s the garden of my discovery.

Only when she’s boneless and begging

Will I move into her, sliding into that tight glove

Made for me alone

I’ll take that “jade gate” by storm

I’ll make it so good for her

She’s ruined for anyone but me

Because this is only the first night

And there will be an eternity more.

“Oh God, oh God.” I covered my mouth with my hand, and the check fluttered to the floor. “Oh no. What do I do?”

February 25 was the day I got his letter. Spring break started March 3, and Rafe would land the boat he was crewing to San Francisco in four days. Meanwhile, Shellie was making plans for us to travel together to New York, and Sam had a full slate of activities planned for the week of break.

Even Henry had been relentless lately, and I still didn’t want to break up with him because it was so hard to hurt his feelings. I didn’t know what was going to happen with either of the long-distance relationships. There were plusses and minuses on every front. None of them was perfect. Well, maybe Sam was a little bit perfect. But I was afraid to trust him, with his reputation and so little to go on as far as a relationship.

Someone knocked on my door, and Shellie stuck her head around the doorjamb, made a face. Henry pushed his way into my room.

He shut the door and put his fists on his hips. He wore a leather jacket that looked good with the red and black checked scarf around his neck. His curly black hair was dotted with snow, and he unwound the scarf and shook the snow out of his hair. His gray eyes were alight with a heat that set something off in me. I scrabbled up the poem and the check and stuffed them back into the envelope.

“Henry! What are you doing here?”

“This needs to stop,” he said. “I’m sick of getting the brush-off. Are you seeing someone else?”

I felt betraying color sweep up my neck and suffuse my cheeks. “Not exactly.”

“I can tell something’s going on.” He grabbed the chair from my desk and straddled it in front of where I was sitting on the bed. “You keep canceling everything. Just tell me if it’s over.” Hectic patches of red brightened his cheeks, and the forcefulness of his voice stirred me.

It occurred to me in that moment that I liked alpha, take-charge men. Up until now, Henry had been too mellow with me, letting me set the pace between us, and it made me lose interest. I moved closer and took his chilled face in my hands, kissed his cold lips. They quickly warmed and opened under mine, and his arms clamped around me and drew me close. The chair back became the only thing separating us.

“I’m sorry,” I breathed. “There’s this long-distance thing. I don’t know what’s happening with it.”

“I knew it. I knew something was going on.”

“I’d like you to wait for me. Until after spring break. I’ll know more after. I promise. It will be on then, or off. For sure. Can you deal with that?” I held his jaw in my hands and gazed into his gray eyes. He closed them, as if he couldn’t bear to look at me.

He had the longest lashes, ferny and black. I kissed his closed eyelids, thinking,
I could love this man, too.

“That’s it,” he said, standing up. “You have until after spring break. And here’s something so you know how I feel.” He took a cassette tape out of his pocket and set it on the dresser. “Call me when you get back.”

“I will. I promise,” I said.

I kissed him one more time at the door. My breasts remembered him and sent their vote south for consideration as I closed the door behind him, touching my mouth thoughtfully with my hand.

I picked up the cassette tape on the bureau and opened the plastic case. Taped to the cassette was a slim gold ring with the tiniest star on it and a moonstone like a dewdrop in the center. I peeled off the tape and slid the ring onto the third finger of my right hand.

It fit and looked lovely.
Special
. Like he made me feel. But not overwhelmed. Not scared of myself and of what could happen.

I put the cassette into my little boom box. It was a mix tape of Henry singing. Love songs, either solo, acoustic, or with his band. The songs were heartfelt and very good.

I wanted to cry.

Dammit.

I listened to the cassette and played with the diamond heart Sam had given me, as I twisted the ring on my finger around and around, and finally decided what I had to do.

Chapter 4

I got off the plane in San Francisco wearing my jade-green beret and scarf and the old pea coat. For once they were more than enough. March 3 in San Francisco was warm, the sky blue and depthless, the fog a far-off blanket on the other side of the city, and the hills across the bay green with spring.

I had left the suitcase with the broken wheel at the dorm and pared everything I brought down to my student backpack. In the baggage-claim area, I sat in front of a pay phone and fed in quarters. I dialed the number Rafe had given me.

It rang and rang, and as it did, I considered my folly.

Here I was, in an unknown city, with a hundred bucks I’d scraped together from the dining hall and a mouth sawdust dry from telling lies. Lies upon lies upon lies, for the first time in my life.

I’d told Shellie and Sam my parents had sprung for me to return to the Virgin Islands for spring break, and as much as it killed me to miss the time with them, I had to see my family. Sam had been crushed but pretended to understand. I’d told Henry the same thing, with a similar response, leavened by kisses of thanks for the ring. And then I’d told my parents I was going to be in New York with the Williamses, and we’d be traveling so not to bother calling their New York residence. I’d call when I could.

But here I was in San Francisco for the next week, no matter what happened with Rafe.

It had taken every cent of his check and more to buy the round-trip ticket out here. I couldn’t change it without a fee, and I couldn’t let anyone know where I was, and a hundred dollars wasn’t going to last a week in the city.

I didn’t have the faintest clue where to find Rafe or what to do next if he didn’t answer the phone. I’d begun hyperventilating with panic when the phone was suddenly picked up. “Hello?” A woman.

“Is Rafe there?” I knew my voice came out breathy and thin.

“No.” She sounded profoundly unhelpful. I wondered if this was a girlfriend.

“Um—this is his friend from out of town. He invited me here, gave me this number,” I said, unable to think of a smooth story to explain my desperation. “I’m at the airport.”

“Oh. You must be Ruby.” Her voice warmed considerably. “He’s down at the docks, but he told me you might come into town. Asked me to pick you up if you called. My name’s Lisa.”