Chapter 11

I could barely concentrate on the court proceedings that afternoon as I mulled over the argument I’d had with Genevieve Marks. She was right—we were friends, although it was the first time either of us had really said it out loud. I supposed if I saw her entering what I considered a risky situation I would try to warn her too. So why was I so defensive about my arrangement with Richard?

Well, I admitted to myself, part of it was our sleeping arrangements. The fact was that the first night when the dream had woken me with its bloody violence and Richard had left his cot to hold me wasn’t an isolated incident. To put it bluntly, we were still sleeping in the same bed and had been for the entire time he’d been with me. I thought about that as I went through the proceedings on autopilot, something I usually try not to do no matter how minor the case is.

~It’s my fault,~ I thought, and that was true. Richard had started it the first night when he came to comfort me after the dream. But I had continued it the second night, and with no very clear idea of why I was doing it.

~It’s not like we’re doing anything together—not really,~ I argued to myself. But that didn’t change the fact that I had invited Richard to share my bed or that he had accepted. It didn’t alter the situation I found myself in. I wasn’t sure if that was the problem, or if it was the fact that I didn’t really want the situation altered at all. If only I had bitten my tongue that second night he stayed with me...

He’d been fresh out of the shower again, the black hair curling against the back of his neck, his eyes almost luminous in the half light cast by the still-full moon. The towel draped around his lean hips showed rippling abdominals—something I was sure I shouldn’t be noticing and yet, I couldn’t seem to help myself. He looked like an ad for sex on a stick—like he’d stepped right out from between the pages of ~Playgirl~.

“Good night, Rachel,” he said, in that low, gentle voice I was already beginning to love. How was it that I could hear the boy he used to be in the man he had become and need them both so much? He told me good night, but he stood at the foot of my bed, as though waiting for something.

It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him good night as well, but when I opened my mouth, what came out was, “You don’t have to.”

“I don’t have to what?” His voice was careful—almost hopeful.

“Don’t have to sleep in the cot,” I said, my voice little more than a whisper. “I mean, it must be uncomfortable and…” I trailed off, shaking my head.

“Do you want me to sleep with you?” he asked directly, taking a step towards my side of the bed.

I wasn’t sure what he was asking me and it scared me to death. Then again, I wasn’t sure what I was asking him, either. “Just...” I cleared my throat, forcing myself to go on. “Just hold me like you did last night. Is...is that all right?”

“Sure, it’s all right.” If he was disappointed or in some way surprised by my request, he didn’t show it in the least. “Let me just get on my pj’s and I’ll be right there.”

PJ’s. The word from our childhood made me smile and I felt more relaxed. Soon Richard returned, wearing only the loose pajama bottoms, his bare muscular chest barely visible in the dim room. “Hey,” he said softly.

“Hey,” I echoed him. I patted the side of the bed. “Come on in.”

“Okay.” He climbed under the covers and wound his arms around me. In the darkness we lay facing each other, our heads on one pillow the way we used to lay as children.

I reached up to brush the damp hair out of his eyes, delighting in its silky texture across my fingertips. “Remember how you never wanted to cut your hair?” I asked softly, my hand lingering on his forehead in an unconscious caress. “Mom ordered you to do it that one time—she even gave you money for the haircut.”

“And I used it on comic books instead.” He laughed gently and shook his head. “Boy, she let me have it that time.”

“Only because Dad wouldn’t. He would never lay a finger on either one of us,” I mused, twirling a piece of his hair between my fingers.

“You stuck up for me, remember?” He reached out to caress my hair in turn. “You told Mom if I cut my hair, you’d cut yours. We faced her down together and she finally gave in. I think she couldn’t stand the thought of her little pixie without all this beautiful blond hair.” He stroked it back from my face and cupped my cheek, his thumb tracing my lips gently.

I felt suddenly shy and pulled away from his touch. “Hey, do you remember ‘spider hunt’?” I said, reaching for conversation.

“How could I forget?” He grinned at me in the dark. “Nobody could do ‘spider hunt’ like you, Rache. Hey—do it on me now, would you? It’s been years.”

“Okay, roll over.” I got up on my knees, moving the oversized nightshirt I had on so I wasn’t kneeling on it, and bent over the smooth expanse of his broad, muscular back. Although I hadn’t done this since childhood, the words of the old incantation came back to me easily as I traced the pattern on my adopted brother’s back.

“Goin’ on a spider hunt, X marks the spot,” I intoned, drawing a wide capital X across his shoulder blades with my finger. “Three big bumps and a question mark.” I drew a question mark and dotted it in the muscular hollow of his lower back. “Spiders crawlin’ up your back...” I made my fingers skitter in a ticklish little pattern from his lower back to the back of his neck. “Spider bite!” I pinched the back of his neck suddenly, making him jump although I knew he was expecting it.

“Blood rushin’ down...blood rushin’ down...” My fingers tickled their way down his spine and shoulders again, miming the flow. “Break an egg on your head...” I knocked the back of his head gently with my fist. “Yolk runnin’ down your shoulders, yolk runnin’ down your spine.” I made ticklish swirls across the breadth of his wide shoulders and fluttered my fingertips down the long groove of his spine, drawing out the tension as long as I could.

It was time for the big finale and I felt Richard tense ever so slightly beneath my hands. “Cool breeze,” I whispered, leaning forward to blow a cool stream of air over the vulnerable back of his neck. “Tight squeeze.” I pinched him again, just where I had blown. “Now you’ve got the chillies!” I pounced on him, tickling his sides, feeling the hard muscles roll and bunch beneath my fingertips as I never had when we played this game as children.

Richard roared with laughter and pinned his arms to his sides, trying to protect his sensitive rib cage from my prying fingers. Then he flipped suddenly, grabbing both my wrists in one of his large hands and began to give me a taste of my own medicine. He tickled me unmercifully until I howled with laughter and begged him breathlessly to stop.

“Oh, Richard! Please, not...no, no!” I moaned, trying to draw my own arms in tight as we rocked the bed with our game. With all the creaking and banging, I was sure my next-door neighbors would get the wrong idea about what was going on in my house, but I frankly didn’t care. I was having too much fun.

Richard stopped tickling me just when I thought I would never be able to get a deep breath again. I collapsed, panting in his arms, little snorts of laughter still escaping my lips as I tried to recover my composure along with my breath.

“I...forgot what a...dirty fighter...you are,” I managed to say at last, between giggles and pants.

“Dirty fighter? Me?” He put a hand to his bare chest and tried to look wounded. “You were the one that started it, Rache. You know that’s not how ‘spider hunt’ is supposed to end.”

“That’s the way you always ended it when you did it to me,” I said indignantly, sitting up to poke him in the chest. “Every single time, buster. You always said you wouldn’t tickle me and then you always did. I don’t know why I kept trusting you.”

“Trust me now,” he said, suddenly serious.

“What?” I searched his face, confused at the abrupt shift in his mood.

“Trust me—go on.” He was urging me to lie down on my stomach. “Let me do this, Rachel. I promise I won’t tickle you.” His voice was deep again with that unspoken promise, but I tried to ignore it.

“Do you cross your heart and hope to die?” I asked, trying to keep the child’s game going so I didn’t have to face any adult uncertainties.

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” he repeated softly. “Lay down, Rachel. Let me touch you.”

His words send shivers down my spine but I lay down on my stomach as he asked me and buried my head in the cool cotton side of my pillow. Then I felt a chilly breeze along my spine—he was lifting up the oversized sleep shirt I wore to expose my back.

“Hey, wait a minute!” I reached behind me, halting his progress.

“Can’t play ‘spider hunt’ unless you’ve got a bare back. Don’t you remember?” His voice was soft and soothing, making my fears seem foolish.

“Well...” I let my hand drift back to my side, not really answering him but not stopping his actions anymore either. I shivered as I felt the cool wind circulated by the overhead ceiling fan caress my bare back with ticklish fingers. I expected Richard to stop when he reached my neck, but instead he pulled the shirt over my head and all the way off me, leaving me bare except for my white silk panties. I didn’t protest, but I drew my arms in tight to my body, covering the sides of my breasts, all that was visible since I was lying on my stomach.

“Relax, I’m not going to hurt you.” Richard’s deep voice was so soothing, so gentle that I did feel my arms relaxing somewhat, despite the awkward position. After all, it wasn’t like he could see anything with me lying face down.

“Goin’ on a spider hunt. X marks the spot...” he began, his fingers warm on my shivering skin as he drew the patterns with great deliberation. He continued with the regular words, but when he got to the first ‘spider bite,’ I felt not his fingers on the back of my neck, but his lips instead.

“Richard...” I half rose, then remembered my state of undress and lowered myself hastily to the bed again.

“Shh,” he whispered, his breath warm on the back of my neck. “New rules. No tickling—just kissing. All right?”

“I don’t know,” I said fretfully, hugging my arms tight to my body. “It doesn’t seem right, Richard.”

“But it ~feels ~right,” he said, and kissed me again, this time right between my shivering shoulder blades. “Doesn’t it?” he asked, withdrawing after a moment.

“I...don’t know.” I felt confused—a swirling mixture of emotions. On one hand, his touch burned me like fire—that one simple kiss to the back of my neck was like a brand on my body that would never fade. On the other hand...well, the other hand was obvious, but I didn’t like to say it out loud. “We shouldn’t,” I said at last, knowing it sounded weak and inadequate.

“Just your back,” he whispered softly. “I just want to touch you a little bit, Rachel. It’s been so long...”

“I know.” At his words, the years seemed to roll between us like waves, and I could feel the longing within me that matched his own—to touch and be touched—to never let go and lose each other again. So what if his request was a little unorthodox, I argued to myself. It wasn’t like he was asking to kiss my breasts or anything like that... The thought gave me an odd shiver which I pushed quickly away.

“Rachel?” His voice was still questioning, waiting to see what I would decide. I understood that he wouldn’t do anything without my permission, and that gave me the confidence to allow what he wanted.

“All right,” I said at last. “All right, but just my back. Nothing else. Okay?”

His answer was a soft, slow kiss at the small of my back and then a trail of tender bites and licks up the groove of my spine. When he reached the back of my neck, I turned my head to one side, giving him access to the vulnerable side of my throat. Richard straddled me, and I could feel the heat from his broad chest against my bare back covering me. He fastened his mouth to the skin there, sucking and lapping, teasing the sensitive spot where my shoulder met my neck. I writhed beneath his touch, pressing my thighs together as I felt an unfamiliar heat course through me.

I had had several boyfriends before getting engaged to Charles, but none of them had kissed me like this. And none of their kisses had made me feel this way—breathless, aching, wanting something I didn’t even dare to name to myself. I could feel myself losing control.

“That’s enough!” I pulled away from him suddenly, sitting up in bed, heedless of the fact that he could see my bare breasts. “Don’t, Richard,” I told him, holding up a hand when he would have gathered me into his arms. “Don’t. We can’t—it’s wrong.”

“Sorry...I’m sorry.” He shook his head and ran a hand through his thick dark hair, his eyes glowing green in the darkness of the room. “It’s just that I...I missed you so much, Rache.”

I knew it was more than that—more than missing—more than longing for whatever it was that we had had as children that was now perhaps lost to us forever. But I didn’t want to admit it to myself or to Richard.

“Let’s just...just go to sleep.” I fumbled for my nightshirt, suddenly aware of my state of undress.

“Wait…” He put out a hand to stop me. “Let me just…let me look at you for a minute. You’re so beautiful, Rachel, so absolutely gorgeous. I just want to look, I swear.”

“All...all right,” I said at last. Lowering my crumpled nightshirt to my lap, I let him see me, let him drink in the sight of me bare-breasted in the dim light of my room.

“Goin’ on a spider hunt,” he said softly, trailing one long finger over my full breasts and down to the shivering cup of my navel. “X marks the spot.”

But instead of marking an X on my trembling flesh, he cupped my naked breasts in his hands, rubbing gently over my tight nipples with his thumbs until I had to bite back a moan.

“You said...you said you just wanted to look,” I accused him in a breathless whisper. I wanted to pull away from him, but somehow I didn’t feel able.

“I can’t help myself,” he murmured, still stroking the tight nubs of my sensitive nipples. “I need to touch you, Rachel. Even if it’s just to play a child’s game.”

I don’t think it was lost on either of us that what we were doing was much more serious than any game we’d played as children. From somewhere deep inside of me, I found the strength to pull away from him and slip my nightshirt back over my head.

“No more ‘spider hunt’ tonight,” I said. “Okay?”

“All right,” he made as though to leave the bed but I pulled him back, unable to let him go no matter what forbidden thing had just happened or almost happened between us.

“Just hold me,” I told him. “Hold me and let’s go to sleep.”

Richard lay with me cupped in the curve of his body in the old familiar way. But when his hands traveled under my nightshirt and cupped the bottom curves of my breasts, I somehow couldn’t stop him. Even when he stroked my nipples with gentle fingers, I didn’t say a word although I told myself I would if he tried anything else. To my mingled relief and disappointment, he didn’t try to go any further. But I felt a hot hardness pressing against the back of my thighs, reminding me that the innocence of our childhood was gone forever even as he stroked me to sleep.