Leticia’s smile hung on her lips, a brittle fragile thing, and there was a forced strain in her voice beneath the bright chirp of her words.
“Would you like a drink?” she offered suddenly. “I still have whisky. In fact, I bought another bottle – and I have plenty of ice in the freezer.”
I nodded politely, and finished my meal. I crushed my paper napkin into a ball, and carried our empty plates into the kitchen while Leticia hovered in the dining room, pouring my drink.
We met near the hallway entrance, Leticia proffering the glass to me like some primitive worshipper trying to appease the wrath of a vengeful god.
“I hope you like it,” she said softly. “It’s the same brand you have in your study. I checked the bottle.”
I sipped at the whisky and felt the familiar warm burn of the alcohol unravel the knots of tension in my guts. “Thank you,” I smiled dutifully. “It’s perfect.”
Leticia’s grin was out of all proportion, heavy with her relief. She smiled up into my face, but there was a shadow of movement behind her eyes and I felt a sudden sense of premonition, of foreboding. I felt a rising coldness cramp my chest.
Leticia touched my arm and the shock of her touch was like a dive into a clear mountain lake. She looked away guiltily, words seeming to choke in her throat. For a long moment she stared away into space, and then turned back to me. The press of her fingers on my arm became firmer, and there was a hectic flush of agitation on her cheeks.
“Jonah…” the words came slowly, torn reluctantly from her lips, “…the ‘New York Times’ contacted our office today. They want to interview you…”
“What?” I felt a loud sound in my head, like the peel of a tolling bell.
Leticia went on in a rush. “They have bought syndication rights to the articles,” she explained, “And they read the first series of interviews the newspaper published. They want to do their own interview with you.”
I set the whisky glass down on the edge of the table. The roar of noise in my ears became a deafening clamor. “No,” I said. “No. I will not do it.”
Leticia nodded her head in a simple gesture of acquiescence as though my answer was no surprise. “I will let the editor know,” she said, “And that will be the end of it.”
I shook my head. “No, Leticia. That won’t be the end of it. You know that, and now I know that. This is just the beginning of some fresh nightmare where the media and the public won’t give me a moment of peace.”
I brushed free of Leticia’s fingers and began to pace the small room, my steps as restless as a lion, caged and hunted. I reached the apartment door then spun on my heel and paced across to the window. I stood staring out at the city lights with my hands clasped behind my back, balancing on the balls of my feet in the soldier’s stance. The anger sizzled and crackled in me with snapping sparks of white light. I closed my eyes and drove down the rushing roar of noise until my mind was clear and icy calm. I turned from the window slowly.
“We can only live for now,” I spat the words out grimly as if they were bloodied teeth, my frustration and resentment turning my expression into a snarl. “There is nothing I can do about tomorrow – tomorrow may never come. All we can do is make the most of right here and right now.”
The words choked bitterly in my throat. Every one of them forced by my memory of the conversation I had had with Leticia after the death of Tiny.
I was no longer willing to live my last days as a victim.
Leticia stood, unsure. Her hand was to her mouth, the fingers splayed. Slowly, uncertainly, she traced a line with her fingertip down her cheek, across her soft lips, and then down to her throat, where her fingers paused to unfasten the first button of her blouse.
I watched her with dark eyes.
I said nothing.
Leticia’s hand drifted over her breast, lingering there for an instant. She unfastened the second button of her blouse.
The fabric gaped open at her throat so that I could see the smooth skin there, and my eyes drifted down to the hint of softer paler flesh within her bra. Leticia leaned her hip against the wall and her stance became indolent, almost casual. She crossed her legs at the ankles and tilted her hips. Her hand slid within the fabric of her blouse and stayed there so that I could see the movement of her fingers kneading her breast beneath the satin.
My gaze began to smolder. “Keep going,” I said. “Undo the next button.” The force of my sudden physical desire shocked me. I felt my body clench and harden, and the thump of my heart within the cage of my ribs was urgent and pounding.
Leticia lifted her chin an inch, and her expression became bold. There was a hint of audacity and defiance in her voice. “Why don’t you make me?” she said softly. Her eyes were huge and unblinking. She licked her lips and her mouth became the shape of a provocative pout.
I closed the space between us in just a few simmering strides, the force of me sweeping Leticia off her feet like the press of an avalanche, and driving her back against the wall. I crushed my mouth over hers in a kiss that blazed until we broke apart, gasping and breathless. Leticia’s lips were swollen and smudged with the color of her lipstick.
There was a sudden wild, reckless fire in her eyes.
She had her hands behind her back, pressed to the wall in a submissive pose that left her whole body open to me.
“Do you want me naked?”
“Yes,” my voice rasped with desire.
“Where? The bedroom?” Her own voice was strained and tight. Her breasts were thrust forward so that the nipples showed as tight hard lumps through the thin material of her blouse.
“No. Here,” I growled. “Now.”
I tore at the front of Leticia’s top. The fabric fell away from her shoulders. I lunged for her neck and bit at the soft smooth skin there, devouring her as the mist of my hunger clouded my eyes, and my hands ran over her body, acting without command. Leticia threw her head back. There was a choking cry of passion in her throat.
My fingers unfastened her bra and then reached down the arch of her back to the flare of her hips. Leticia stood passively, swaying like a branch in a breeze as I tugged at the zip of her skirt and then dragged the clothes down her thighs. I took her by the wrist and led her to the dining area. I pressed one hand into the middle of her back and she folded forward over the edge of the table.
“Spread your legs,” I ordered.
I ran my hand between her parted thighs, sliding my palm over the glossy slipperiness of her silken underwear. I felt the tight clench of Leticia’s body as my fingers brushed across the flowering bud of her clit. She seized, and became suddenly very still.
I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of her panties and tugged urgently at the silk. Leticia gasped. Her breasts were mashed against the polished wood, her face turned to one side and her lips parted by ragged little breaths. Her eyes were screwed tightly shut. I reached for her arms, folded them so they were behind her back, and trapped them together in a firm grip to hold her in place.
“Spread your legs wider!” I barked.
Leticia shuffled her feet further apart. With my free hand I unfastened my belt buckle and drew down the zip of my pants. My cock was hard: thick and hot with my need, and the heady arousal of power. I rubbed the burning tip of myself against the folds of Leticia’s pussy and felt the slick warm rush of her own want.
I pushed my hips forward, sliding myself deep between the folds of Leticia’s sex. I heard her gasp, a sound that was a compound of desire and fulfillment. I felt the molten heat of her grip at me fiercely, and I thrust again, this time sinking myself all the way inside her until our bodies were pressed hard against each other. I hooked my hand onto one shoulder, then tangled my fingers within the tresses of her hair, pulling her face up off the table and raising her chin until her head was tilted back.
“Fuck me!” my voice crackled like ice. “I want to feel you riding the length of me.”
Leticia groaned. I felt her hips rock, her body becoming more comfortable w
ith my thickness, then she slowly began to slide herself back and forth, flexing the muscles in her thighs for momentum.
I remained unmoving – my cock rigid – my whole body strung taut. I closed my eyes and concentrated on the smolder of sensations I could feel: the draw and release of Leticia’s pussy as the slow movement of her body seemed to tantalize and heighten each new sensation.
Leticia’s back was arched, her body tensed tight as a straining bow. I released the clamping grip I had around her wrists, and her fingers scrabbled across the polished wood and clawed at the edge of the table.
Her body was burning. I felt her legs begin to tremble. I let go of her hair and she slumped forward with a groan of tortured torment.
My hands seized her hips, my fingers digging into the firm flesh there like vices so that I felt the bunching of muscles in my forearms and my chest.
“Don’t move.”
I slammed my hips forward and Leticia’s body shook with the sudden impact. She cried out, the sound like a strangled plea.
“Yes! Fuck, yes!”
I thrust again.
And again.
I felt the clench of my jaw, and a sheen of sweat broke out along the line of my brow. I closed my eyes and a swirl of erotic flashes played within my mind. I visualized the image of us, locked together as if through the eyes of a voyeuristic bystander.
I saw the flared open lips of Leticia’s pussy, forced apart and filled by the slick heat of my cock.
I saw the press of her breasts against the table, the expression of her face contorted by her lust.
I saw the silhouette of us, grinding our bodies together, locked in the grips of a primal passion as old as the stars, the universe.
Leticia made a soft whimpering sound: a noise that seemed to bubble in her throat and then gradually rise and transform to become a keening wail of passion. Her eyes opened, glazed and unfocussed, and then she tossed her head so that the tangles of her hair broke like a shimmering swishing wave across her shoulders.
“I’m going to come,” she panted. “Please… can I come?”
“No,” I growled. I could feel tiny sparks of fire ignite along the length of my spine and a grip of urge deep within me like the clench of a fist. I was close – teetering on the edge of my own climax, but holding myself there by sheer force of will. I felt Leticia begin to writhe, and the sudden convulsion of her inner muscles.
“Please!” she pleaded, the words torn from her in a desperate sob. “I… I can’t… Jonah! I need to come…!”
I drew myself back until just the first few inches of my cock were nestled within Leticia’s pussy. I could feel myself beginning to pulse, and a hot burn of need along my length. I held myself there – on the very brink of releasing – for a few last desperate seconds, and then lunged forward one last frantic time.
“Now!” I roared. “Come now!”
Leticia cried out in relief and rapture.
My vision burst into pinwheels of flashing light, searing and bright behind my eyes. I felt my breath seize in my chest and then it was torn from me in a single explosive gasp. The tension in my body seemed to dissolve so that my legs became trembling and weak, and I reeled away, gasping for breath as the roar of blood in my ears and the racing beat of my heart left me spinning in sensual vertigo.
Chapter 20.
I awoke in Leticia’s bed the next morning to the muffled sound of running water.
I rolled my head to the side and saw the empty pillow where Leticia’s head had lain. I reached across the bed: the place below the sheets where she had slept was still warm from her body.
I swung my legs out of the bed and reached for my clothes. I dressed quickly and went to the kitchen.
Leticia came out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel wrapped beneath her arms. Her face was scrubbed, fresh with the dewy glow of youth, and her hair was wet. She saw me in the hallway, smiled, and disappeared into the bedroom.
When she came out into the kitchen she was wearing a long loose t-shirt. Her hair had been scrubbed dry, beginning to curl again, and beneath the loose top she was naked and confident with it.
She made coffee and we sat at the dining table with a mug in front of each of us. Leticia tugged the hem of her t-shirt down, and then wrapped her hands around the mug as if to warm them.
Our eyes met across the table. Leticia made to speak but the words stilled on her lips and she returned my gaze, with a solemn enigmatic expression, and I found myself regretting my dark mood of the previous night. I lowered my eyes for an instant and saw now that under the thin fabric the shape of her breasts were clearly defined.
“I won’t be able to see you today, maybe not tonight either,” I said, lifting my eyes back to hers. My tone sounded sterner than I had wanted and I made an effort to force a brief flicker of a smile to dull the edge of my words. “I have an MRI scan this morning at the clinic,” I explained. “It’s the first one since…”
“Trigg…”
I nodded. “It’s the first scan with my new doctor,” I went on. “I don’t know how long it will take, or what the diagnosis will be afterwards. It’s best if we make plans to meet tomorrow instead.”
Leticia reached her hand out across the table towards me, fingers extended. She touched lightly at my arm. “Jonah, let me come with you to the clinic,” she offered. “I would like to be there with you for support.”
I shook my head. “No,” I said, and again I lamented the abruptness of my tone. “Leticia, this is something I would rather deal with myself.”
Leticia frowned, as though she was struggling to understand. “But Jonah, this is part of a relationship. You share the good times and the bad. You support each other in times of crisis and you celebrate in times of joy. If you are serious about wanting to experience love then this is one of those situations we can go through together.”
“No,” I said again. Suddenly I felt restrained and confined in the chair. I needed space. I got up from the table and strode across the apartment to the window. The morning was bleak and overcast, heavy cloud hung low to the ground and on the streets below pedestrians scurried to their destinations, clutching at dark coats and umbrellas. The streets were slick with rain and the sky filled with a distant rumble of thunder.
I turned slowly away from the window, stared back at where Leticia sat.
“Thank you, but no,” I said. “I understand what you’re saying, Leticia, but this is something I have dealt with on my own for many months. I deal with it in my own way – it’s not something I am ready to share with you or anybody else. I’m sorry, but I have to confront this alone.”
Leticia seemed to sense that this door was one she could not force open and her expression of dismay transformed into one of reproach as I looked at her. The pain I saw in her eyes – the rejection – was a palpable thing like a fresh wound. The words of protest died on her lips and she bowed her head, staring down intently into the mug. She became agitated, her gaze downcast, like some clairvoyant who could divine a troubled future within her coffee.
I sighed. My rising agitation evaporated suddenly, replaced by a sense of dismay that disturbed me. I realized that I had alienated Leticia and I wanted to say something gracious that might salvage the intimacy that had begun to grow between us, but words escaped me. I thrust my hands deep into my pockets. My fists were bunched with my own sense of frustration. I glanced at where Leticia sat pensively one last time, and then made for the apartment door.
Leticia looked up in sudden alarm. “Where are you going?” her voice was heavy with surprise and distress. “Are you going?”
My hand reached for the doorknob and then I paused. I stared back over my shoulder. “I am going,” I said. “I need to be at the clinic early. I think it’s best if I leave now.”
Leticia rose from the table, but then something stopped her from coming any closer. The distance between us seemed to stretch out like a deep impassable crevasse. There was a yearning look in Leticia’s eyes but a tig
ht forced restraint in the way she held her body. She nodded, and then said softly, “I will wait for you to call.”
I nodded with a curt jerk of my head. This had all gone so badly. To delay any longer – to say any more – would only make it worse.
I said nothing.
Chapter 21.
I’ve said it before, and I will say it again now – I don’t like surprises.
I have an ordered world – an ordered life – and to me an unexpected surprise means I haven’t anticipated and planned for the eventuality.
Generally most people would consider me a pessimist – I tend to expect the worst outcome. It means I am seldom disappointed.
People rarely surprise me – I believe I am a good judge of character, but there are those rare moments – those moments when life can get turned on its head by a few words or a gesture.
They are the times that confound me, and the times that I am reminded that not even Jonah Noble has all the answers or knows all that God has planned.
We call it fate.
I have always believed that a man’s life can be defined by a few rare moments: the moment he meets the love of his life, the instant the world hands him an opportunity that must be seized or lost forever… this was one of those moments.
For a long time I lay with my eyes closed, controlling my body – taking long, deep, calm breaths.
There was weak light beyond my eyes, a shaft of watery sunlight through a window, but the room felt cold and the bed felt harder than I had remembered it.
I wasn’t comfortable – but I was composed.
In control.
Prepared.
I opened my eyes. My doctor was standing beside the bed leaning over me. He had a ruddy complexion and big broad features that fate had cast in the mold of Robert De Niro. It was a face that didn’t look comfortable smiling – a face more accustomed to delivering bad news rather than good.
He tried to shape his mouth into the curve of a smile but it went awry, and after a moment he seemed to give up trying and instead he frowned down at me.