The Lovers Read online

  I stretch, trying to remember my dreams, as I do each morning, but today they are nothing more than a dimly lit memory of my parents at a dinner table piled with books, a flash of hearing a baby crying as I ride a train. And Audrey.

  I have to stop thinking of her. I tend to be obsessive. I know this about myself. I don’t like it, but I haven’t been able to change it.

  I want to go back to sleep, to lose myself, but it’s too late. I’m wide-awake.

  Throwing back the covers, I get out of the warm bed, slip my feet into my fuzzy blue slippers and pad to the window. The beach is lonely in the morning, but peaceful. I watch as a gull swoops in, low over the waves, nearly skimming them, then is joined by another. The water is a chilly gray this morning to match the early sky. I shiver and reach for my soft, gray knit robe, which I left draped over the chair last night.

  Last night…

  Last night I made myself come over and over, my trusty vibrator held between my aching thighs, sweat pouring off me by the third climax, every muscle in my body tensed and hurting.

  Maybe I should start writing erotica.

  Fuck.

  I push my hair from my face, my fingers tangling in the tight curls, snarls left over from my late night on the beach.

  Stop thinking about her!

  I shake my head as I make my way to the shower. Ridding myself of my robe, I step under the hot spray. The water is soft here, like silk gliding over my skin. And it is everything I can do simply to take a damn shower, wash my hair. Not to slip my hand between my thighs, pinch my clit, plunge my fingers into my pussy, get myself off again.

  I have spent far too much time alone, Terry is right about that.

  This is ridiculous.

  I hurry through the rest of my shower, pull on some clothes and shut the cabin door behind me. The morning air is still gray and cool, though the sun is beginning to cast its golden rays through the cypress trees, and my damp hair grows cold around my shoulders. But I don’t mind. I need to cool off. Literally and figuratively.

  I move around the side of the house and step tentatively through the kitchen door. Immediately I am hit with the lovely, rich scent of coffee. Viviane and Patrice are sitting in the chairs by the fireplace, a low fire burning. The room is warm, the acrid scent of the fire mixing with the coffee. Nothing has ever smelled so inviting.

  “Good morning, Tina,” Viviane singsongs, waving me in. “Get yourself a cup and come sit.”

  “Good morning,” I answer, following her gesturing hand to where a coffeepot sits on the tiled counter, a row of cobalt blue and red mugs lined up next to it. I pour, find sugar and cream next to the mugs, a spoon to stir. I like my coffee sweet. I like it to be dessert. A bad habit, I know, but it is one of my little indulgences. That, and endless hours of orgasms, apparently, alone in my bed.

  Stop it.

  I take a moment to calm myself, pretending to taste test my coffee, but it’s already perfect. I breathe in the steam from the mug, exhale, then turn around.

  “’Morning, Patrice.”

  She nods silently. I decide not to care, and go to sit on one of the woven-leather chairs. It’s more comfortable than it looks, the brown leather straps cradling my butt.

  Viviane is in a pair of hot-pink sweatpants and a black thermal top with a skull and crossbones on the front. She looks adorable. Patrice is wearing khakis and a sweatshirt with a kitten on it. She looks…odd. I never expected “cute” to be her thing. But I am constantly surprised by what I don’t know about people. I always question if I’m reading anyone right.

  I am questioning how I’m reading Audrey. I wish there was someone I could ask. But Terry says I have to learn to trust my instincts, to trust myself.

  “Did you sleep well, Tina?”

  “What? Oh, yes. I love the sound of the ocean. It lulls me.”

  That, and being completely worn-out from coming so much, like some sort of nymphomaniac.

  “I find it irritating,” Patrice says, frowning. “I always wear my earplugs when I’m here.”

  “It’s not for everyone,” Viviane soothes.

  Kenneth wanders in then, looking rumpled and sleepy in his plaid cotton robe tied loosely over a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, Sid following at his heels.

  “Ah, there you are, Sid,” Viviane says. “Traitor.” She turns to me. “He always sleeps in Kenneth’s room.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll hand him back over at the end of the summer. He won’t even miss me.”

  “Ha! We’ll both miss you, as always.”

  Kenneth looks pleased as he pours himself a cup of coffee and wanders out to the patio.

  “Is Audrey up yet?” I ask, then immediately wish I’d kept my mouth shut.

  “She usually sleeps until noon, that one,” Patrice tells me.

  “Oh, she does not, Patty!”

  Patty? Only Viviane could get away with that.

  Patrice just huffs and sips her coffee, staring into the fire.

  “She’ll be up by ten, I’m sure,” Viviane says. “I was thinking we could all do some brainstorming on the beach today. Do you have a pad of paper with you? If not, I have piles of legal pads. I always stock up for the summer.”

  “Yes, sure. That sounds great. I could use some brainstorming.”

  “Good. Just throw your suit on. I’ll bring a blanket and towels and something to drink. Don’t worry, it’ll warm up soon. Okay, who’s ready for breakfast?”

  “Kenneth always is,” Patrice remarks. “Might as well get started.”

  “Can I help?” I ask.

  “We can handle it. You relax.”

  Viviane smiles at me, and she and Patrice get up and start pulling things out of the big brushed-steel refrigerator: eggs, milk, bread, a side of bacon. Soon the kitchen is filled with the aroma of food cooking, the bacon snapping on the flat grill built into the stove. I feel helpless and sort of foolish sitting around doing nothing while they do all the work, but too shy to insist on helping.

  I watch Viviane and Patrice work together, and it’s almost like a dance as they move around each other. They don’t talk much. Viviane is humming quietly, and Patrice is absorbed in mixing eggs, cheese and mushrooms into an omelet, taking charge of the pan, flipping it like a professional chef, and I am surprised by her once more.

  I get up only to refill my coffee mug, and when I pass her, Viviane gives me a quick hug. She is so sweet.

  As I take my seat again, I have to wonder why her touch is so different from Audrey’s. She is every bit as beautiful, in her own way. But my body responds differently, with nothing more than a warm fondness. A feeling of security. It’s different with Audrey.

  Everything is different with Audrey.

  And as though she’s sensed me thinking about her, she shuffles into the room on bare feet. Her hair is tousled, her face a bit pale in the morning light. Her eyelashes are so dark against her skin, it makes her eyes blaze, that pale, hazy blue a sleepy glow from beneath her half-closed lids.

  “Hangover, Viv,” she mewls, slumping into the chair next to me.

  She is wearing a white cotton baby-doll chemise, her tanned legs looking long under the short hem, her pink cotton robe open, doing nothing to hide the fact that the nightgown is nearly see-through. I can see the rosy circles of her nipples beneath the fabric, the dark strip of her pubic hair. And I go hot all over, my pussy drenched.

  I sit up and take a long sip of my coffee. The newly poured liquid scalds my tongue and I cough.

  “You all right, Bettina?” Audrey asks me.

  “Yes, sure. I just…I should have waited until it cooled down.”

  I need to cool down.

  “Poor baby,” Audrey murmurs, taking my cup and blowing into it. After a minute she stops, takes a sip. “It’s better now,” she says, smiling at me. She takes another sip. “Mmm, this is good. Like candy.” Then her pink tongue darts out and she licks the rim, smiles again at me before returning my coffee to me. “You like your sugar, don’t you?�
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  “All writers do,” Viviane says, carrying another mug of coffee over and handing it to Audrey, along with a couple of aspirin. “Drink up, babe. You’ll feel better.”

  “Thank you, Viv.” She takes the mug and squeezes Viviane’s hand, flashing her one of her dazzling smiles, despite her hangover.

  Audrey flirts with everyone, it seems, not just me. Maybe I’ve imagined that spark of chemistry between us. What would I know about it, after all? I’ve never felt attraction to a woman before. Or from one. I’ve never felt this intense chemistry with anyone.

  There are reasons why.

  Viviane lets Audrey and me help set the table on the patio, and Kenneth joins us as we all sit down to eat. The food is wonderful and plentiful, comfort food, and I eat too much. I feel lazy after, sitting in the morning sun. Everyone else seems to, as well. We all lounge around the table, drinking gallons of coffee, picking at the big bowl of fruit.

  They’re talking about past summers at this house, and although I wasn’t there, I feel that lovely sense of camaraderie, can enjoy it with them. They talk a bit about Jack Curran, who will arrive at some point in the next week or two. Jack is a mystery to me. He participates in the online group in fits and spurts. I know he travels a lot, that he lives in Portland, which isn’t far from Seattle. I am familiar with his work. But otherwise, he’s a vague figure I know little about.

  “Leo is coming today, by the way,” Viviane announces.

  “Oh, I can’t wait!” Audrey is effusive, her hangover disappeared at some point during the meal. She turns to me. “Bettina, you know him already, though, don’t you? Isn’t he from Seattle, like you?”

  “He is. He’s a friend of my best friend at home. Calvin is a comics artist, too. That’s how he and Leo know each other, but I’ve never actually met him in person. We’ve only talked online. He introduced me to the group.”

  “I’m glad he did.” Audrey is smiling at me, and under the table she reaches over and pats my thigh.

  Her palm is warm on my skin, even through my cargo shorts. It’s all I can do not to pull away. Or to spread my thighs to invite her touch.

  “So am I,” Viviane says, smiling at me. “More coffee, anyone? No? Then why don’t we go down to the beach. I’ll clear the table and meet everyone down there.”

  “Let me help you, Viviane,” I volunteer, and she smiles and nods her head.

  “Sure.”

  Everyone wanders off, and Viviane and I carry plates and platters back into the kitchen, making several trips. She rinses the dishes and I load them into the dishwasher.

  “Thanks for the help, doll,” she says.

  “I’m glad to help. I wanted to earlier…I feel like being allowed to help is part of the initiation.”

  “And so it is.” She smiles, then begins to hum again as she washes the pans and hands them to me to dry with a thick dish towel. “How is it going so far for you, Tina?”

  “Everything is so wonderful. I find myself wishing I’d met everyone sooner, that I’d come here sooner. Maybe my hermit tendencies would never have become so…exaggerated if I’d had someplace like this to come to.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “I think even my discomfort with Patrice is good for me, challenging me in a way I’ve needed, maybe. It’s good for me that I have to deal with those feelings in order to be here, if that makes sense.”

  Viviane nods in understanding.

  Maybe even my uncomfortable attraction to Audrey is good for me. It makes me think. She makes me feel. For the first time in a long time. For the first time ever, really.

  I know what it is in my past that has done this to me. I know my distant parents haven’t helped. But it’s time for me to take charge of my life. Isn’t that what Terry and I have been talking about for over a year? That I need to get over what’s happened to me, the tragedy that is my sterile family life. The real tragedy of what happened when I was fifteen that my parents don’t even know about.

  Maybe I need a female touch to allow myself to feel. Maybe I need something really different to force me to break beyond those physical and mental boundaries I’ve erected to protect myself.

  And maybe I’ve imagined all this mutual chemistry, that it’s only a sort of immature girl-crush most girls experience in high school or college.

  Please don’t let it be all my imagination.

  God, I can’t believe I am even thinking these things. That I want Audrey to touch me, to kiss me, to fuck me in whatever way women do. But God, I do. I want, in a way I never have before. And it’s scary and exhilarating and I need to go back to bed with my vibrator again.

  Instead, I pull in a deep breath, focus on the sound of Viviane humming, carefully dry the pots and pans. Try to act normal.

  But all I’m really thinking about is Audrey’s tanned skin, her lips, so red and absolutely ripe-looking. And the ache between my thighs pulses like the rhythm of the ocean beyond the front doors, primal and insistent and a part of life, moving and breathing on the earth.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The beach is a long sweep of pale sand with a rocky outcropping some distance to the south and another to the north. A few houses are scattered on the edge of the dunes, some small cottages, some enormous places made all of glass, taking advantage of the spectacular view. The old cypress and eucalyptus trees grow in spots almost to the shore, and the sand is dotted with clumps of ice plant. It’s low tide and seaweed lies in dark, curling strands at the edge of the water, waiting to be carried back out to float on the sea. I can smell the salt, tangy and fresh and energizing. I can feel the power of the waves as they surge in, then out.

  Why does it feel sexual to me?

  Everything does.

  We sit on colorful Mexican blankets, our legal pads in our laps, discussing our books, making notes, drinking the iced green tea Viviane has brought with her in a pair of huge thermoses. The sun is warm, but not too warm; it feels good on my shoulders, bared by my tank top, and on the tops of my bare feet. Everyone is relaxed, eager. It feels a bit like it does when we do this online, except better, everything clearer than it is when we’re all madly typing to each other, trying to get our thoughts out as fast as our fingers will fly across the keyboard. And it’s wonderful to see everyone’s expressions as we talk about our ideas, that true reaction you don’t get unless the person is sitting right in front of you. Another small epiphany for me.

  Audrey is in her bikini, with an oversize, pale blue linen shirt thrown over it. A long, fine silver chain lies over her breastbone, making her look even more delicate. She manages to look incredibly sexy and casually put together at the same time. Some people have that gift. It’s not one of mine. I feel sloppy if I’m not careful about how I put myself together, maybe because my hair is so utterly out of control. But today I feel so good I hardly care.

  If only Audrey weren’t sitting next to me, her bare, tanned skin tempting in my peripheral vision as her loose shirt flaps in the breeze. I am eternally damp, my senses on keen alert, in a constant state of mild arousal that I find difficult to ignore for more than a few minutes at a time. It makes me uncomfortable, but also adds to the energy of the day.

  The sun is high in the sky and it’s getting to be a bit too hot when Viviane announces it’s time to break for lunch. Everyone gets up and brushes the sand from their clothes before starting up the dunes toward the house. Audrey hangs back, standing to look out at the sea.

  “Everything okay?” I ask her.

  “Perfect.” She turns to smile at me, and I bask in the warmth of that smile.

  I am being ridiculous again.

  “It’s hot, isn’t it? We should go for a swim before lunch,” she says, her eyes gleaming like two sky-colored crystals in the sun, challenging me as she slips the big blue shirt from her shoulders.

  “I don’t have my suit on.”

  “So? Swim in your underwear.” She leans in until I can smell the citrus scent of her hair, and says in a low, faux-sexy tone, “You are
wearing underwear, aren’t you, Bettina?”

  I laugh, trying to cover how her voice, her silly question, is making me hot all over. “Of course I am.”

  “Come on, then.”

  Suddenly her hands are tearing my tank top over my head, and desire throbs between my legs, in my breasts. Even worse when she kneels in the sand and unbuttons my cargo shorts, dragging them down my legs, revealing my pale pink cotton panties that match my bra. I am so soaking wet I’m afraid she’ll see it, smell my desire. But she just tosses my clothes on the sand and grabs my hand, pulling me with her into the waves.

  The water is a shock at first, and I gasp.

  “Cold?” Audrey asks.

  “It’s freezing!”

  “Oh, it’s not so bad. Come on, Bettina.”

  She drags me in deeper, the water swirling around my stomach.

  “I can’t!”

  “Sure you can. I’ll help you.”

  She wraps her arms around me, presses belly to belly, and it does warm me, but not only in the way she intended. But do I even know what she intends? I can’t figure it out. All I know is that her body is keeping mine warm. That my nipples are hard and aching against hers, my pussy clenching and unclenching. Empty. Hungry.

  Audrey pulls me farther into the cold water, and I taste the salt on my tongue as a wave splashes against our shoulders. But she doesn’t let me go.

  “Better?”

  “Yes. Better.” I smile at her.

  She smiles back, leans in, touching her lips to mine. And it is more shocking than the cold ocean. Just the merest contact, her soft lips pressed to mine, and oh, God, I think I could almost come just from this. But how is that possible?

  She pulls back, and I can barely hear her over the roar of the ocean, the roar of desire in my ears. “You really are beautiful, Bettina.”

  She smiles again, sunnily, and releases me. I nearly fall back, into the swirling water, but manage to catch myself. Audrey is laughing as she dives into the water, comes up with her hair streaming, looking like a mermaid. She grins at me, splashes me playfully, and I splash her back, my brain working at a thousand miles an hour, trying to figure it out, trying not to figure it out and just enjoy whatever is happening.