All Tucked In...

He was definitely looking at her. Earlier, she’d caught him, and now, with her eyes shut, she kept imagining him drizzling that syrupy brown gaze down the length of her body—over her breasts, to the soft protrusion of her belly, then to her hips and legs. At the thought, each inch of her turned warmer—until she considered tossing off the sheet that covered her, so he really could be tempted. Warmth slid between her legs, followed by a shower of tingles. Blowing out a surreptitious breath, she pulled the sheet higher, tucking it neatly beneath her chin. This was just too weird, she decided. She couldn’t sleep with Tobias in the room, no way.

She opened her eyes.

He truly was gorgeous. He’d removed the sport coat and tie, rolling the sleeves of a blue chambray shirt just above his elbows. Before she could say anything, he smiled encouragingly from behind the glass. “Just keep trying,” he urged in a gentle tone that suited his profession. Calculated to work on patients like a lullaby, his voice stroked her like a caress. “Everybody has trouble at first. It’s hard to sleep while people watch.”

What was he thinking about her? she wondered as she shut her eyes again. Surely, it hadn’t been easy to have her show up at the clinic. Her throat tightened. He was being so nice. And he didn’t have to be. During dinner, she’d been impressed by how well-respected he’d become, too. Obviously, the clinic was hugely successful. All the staffers treated him with deference, and clearly loved his sense of humor.

So did she. After dinner, he’d wound up showing her around the building, since she hadn’t been here for so many years, and she’d been astonished to find herself having fun with him and with the people he was treating. She’d dined with a vampirish night owl named Zeke Tanner whose pale complexion and black attire made him look as if he’d never seen the light of day; he was being treated for delayed sleep-phase syndrome. Seated next to Zeke was Lucy Jones, a housewife from the suburbs who’d fallen asleep twice while she tried to eat because she suffered from narcolepsy. And then there was a sweet elderly man, Mr. Clearview, whose REM behavioral disorder caused him to act out his dreams. He’d informed Carla that he didn’t really care, but he often dreamed about fighting attackers, and last week, just before dawn, he’d accidentally given his sleeping wife a black eye.

Carla smiled now, getting drowsy. Yes, the clinic’s patients were quite a crew. Unexpectedly, she’d felt some relief just from talking to the others. Hearing about their struggles, she didn’t feel so alone. For the first time, she began to think maybe Tobias could help her. Maybe the dreams that haunted her really would end soon. In addition to bearing their burdens with grace and equanimity, the people Carla met had also given her countless ideas about how to improve the café. She shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, who knew more about coffee than the sleep-deprived?

Sighing, she let her mind drift. Yes, Tobias was here in the room, but she had to forget that. She had to sleep. She had to let Tobias cure her….

As she drifted, her mind mulled over their after-dinner walk. Once alone, they’d been careful not to talk too much about the past. They’d simply walked around the mansion and its grounds, and as Carla began to dream, she imagined Tobias reaching over to twine his fingers through hers.

“Nice evening, huh?” he asked as her side brushed his.

Breathing in the complex scents of the summer night, she nodded her agreement as her eyes swept the landscape. “Beautiful.”

Was she really here with the man she’d nearly married? A man she’d never thought would forgive her enough to share such a quiet moment? She’d felt like a princess as they walked across a thick emerald-green carpet of late-summer grass, hugging the interior perimeters of the high wrought-iron fence that separated the clinic’s massive stone structure from Fifth Avenue. With its palatial columns and the stone swags that hung above French doors which, in turn, led to a wraparound veranda, the place looked like a French castle. Inside, room after room bespoke the opulent grandeur of another age, with fabric-covered walls, breathtaking antiques and gold tablecloths laden with thick fringe. Golden August twilight, streaked with the pink fingers of the coming night streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows, adorned with sumptuous velvet draperies held back by gold ties.

The place was even more romantic than Carla remembered.

They’d wound up in the old dining room, and she’d been delighted when Tobias had shown her an old framed daguerreotype photograph of her building, dating from around 1880. Until tonight, she’d never known that the edifice where she lived and worked had been constructed by Cornelius Sloane, although it made perfect sense. At the turn of the century, when Pittsburgh was so smoky it was described as a two-shirt town, and when Sloane’s mills were pouring tons of steel into the economy, Cornelius Sloane had been greatly responsible for providing the city’s infrastructure.

Bloomfield, the Italian neighborhood where the DiDolches settled, was full of rowhouses and tenements designed to house immigrant workers. Carla’s great-great grandfather, the first DiDolche to come through Ellis Island in New York and land in Pittsburgh, had come expressly to work in Sloane’s mills. Instead, however, he’d opened DiDolche’s.

Even today, the block of connected businesses on Liberty Avenue housed Gato and Gambolini’s wine importing concern on the one end, and DiDolche’s on the other. As she and Tobias could see from the picture, the row of buildings had been constructed at the same time, going up much like one of today’s prefab units. Included were many small businesses needed to service the community. Like Gato and Gambolini’s and DiDolche’s, many of the others remained there today, even though most had changed hands. There was still a jewelry shop, a movie theater, a shoe shop and a hardware store. Each business had, as Carla’s did, an apartment overhead.

For long moments, she and Tobias had stood next to each other in front of the picture, with her feeling dangerously aware of his presence—of the warmth seeping from his body and the heady male scent of his skin. Tension had snapped between them like fire-crackers in July, and she’d considered simply turning to him, to ask if he wanted to revisit old times. She didn’t, of course. Instead, they’d only looked at the photo, letting the hazy yellow tones transport them to another age.

Her mind spiraling deeper down, Carla sucked in a sharp breath as she edged onto her side, barely aware now that she strained the white tabs glued to her scalp, along with the wires running across the floor to Tobias….

There was something disturbing about the photograph, she thought now. But what was it? As she stared into the picture, the streets came alive. Businessmen in old-fashioned suits walked along Liberty Avenue, sidestepping horse-drawn buggies, carrying bags containing their second shirts, ones they’d don when they reached work since the smoke-choked skies would always ruin the first. Her breath quickening, Carla trailed her gaze over the building that was under construction. Unusual scaffolding formed a makeshift staircase that ran the length of the block, from the topmost floor of what would later become DiDolche’s, to the ground floor of Gato and Gambolini’s. Apparently, this allowed construction workers access to all the floors of the connected buildings. The block-long staircase must have been removed when the building was complete….

Suddenly, everything turned dark. Her pulse quickened. Her heart missed a beat, then slammed back into action, beating a fast tattoo against her ribs, making her breath shallow. Where was she? She looked around wildly, but she could see nothing, only impenetrable inky blackness. The air was stuffy. Enclosed. Cramped. Claustrophobia claimed her. She had to get out of here!

But she was trapped. Stairs ran every which way. Some went upward. Some down. Some sideways. But how could steps go sideways? That was impossible. Horizontal steps didn’t exist….

Except in dreams.

She tried not to panic. Surely, she was just asleep. Surely, she’d wake up soon. Yes, that was it. She was sleeping and this was a very bad dream.

Wringing her hands in the darkness, she told herself to think, and yet she couldn’t. If only she could force herself to wake up. Open your eyes! she told herself.

And then the image vanished. It was replaced by the dark room she’d seen so many times before. Or was it really a room, after all? Darkness faded into the corners, seeping against the walls, obscuring them. Hidden in the shadows, she reached out her hand and touched something metal and cold. What was it? Where was she?

And who was the man seated at the desk? Terror gripped her. He was huge and burly. His massive shoulders were hunched, so he could better see whatever was on the desk. An overhead light seemed to move slightly, accentuating the weak, watery beam that shined down on a head covered with what might have been black hair. But it was hard to tell. It was too dark, the illumination too faint to work like a spotlight.

She watched as he slowly lifted something. His beefy fingers, she realized, were hooked around the sides of a metal object. Gold glinted—just a flash of it—then she realized his index fingers were curled around a waistband. To golden underwear?

Nothing made sense. But slowly, gently, he lifted a pair of golden underwear higher into the air, and she could hear his breath catch in the dark with an emotion that felt sinister. She had to do something! Run! Wake up!

But she was rooted to the spot.

And then everything changed again. The man vanished, and now he was nothing more than hot breath against her neck and a raspy voice sounding at her ear saying, “If you marry, you will die.”

Her pulse accelerated, ticking in her throat, making her feel weak from the adrenaline rush. The taste in her mouth was acrid, and sweat beaded on her forehead. She was desperate for this to end! Instead, the dream started over. She knew she’d never escape. She was alone in the dark again, wringing her hands. Stairs went upward. Downward. Sideways. She turned her head—this way, then that—but everywhere she looked, inky blackness stretched to eternity. There was no way out—

She felt a jolt.

What was that? It wasn’t unpleasant…no, not at all. In fact, sweet relief seemed to slide through her body. All at once, the dream was gone. There was no trace of the man or of the darkness that surrounded him.

Light filled her mind. The mustiness she’d previously smelled vaporized. Soft, sweet-smelling summer air infused her instead, tantalizing her nostrils and filling her lungs. An explosion of beautiful pastel colors followed—dreamy blues and lilacs. Translucent pinks and yellows that were the color of a gorgeous day’s first rays of sunshine.

She felt another jolt, pushing pulsing electricity through her body. The pleasure was almost orgasmic. Her nerve endings hummed. Music played from somewhere far off. Close by, water gurgled, and in tandem with the sound she realized she and Tobias were on a bench in the garden of the Sloane mansion.

No…now they were standing. Everything was moving swiftly, the pImages** disjointed, the way they so often were in dreams. One more little jolt of inexplicable pleasure zapped her. It was as if someone was injecting her with a drug designed for love. Slowly, she ran her tongue across her lips.

“Let’s do it right here,” Tobias said.

Eyeing him, she knew she wouldn’t need much coaxing. At some point, he must have reached down, grabbed the hem of her new emerald-green sundress, and lifted it off, over her head. There was nothing beneath. She just so happened to be naked, which was going to work out quite well. Tobias’s dreamy brown eyes closed to half mast, the gaze turning smoky with lust as it swept over her. Hers traveled down his bare chest, settling on his belt, then dipped lower where worn denim curved over an obvious erection, cupping him like a gloved hand. Just looking at him, knowing he was ready to love her, she felt her tummy jump.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” she managed to say, her voice catching. They had a past, a history. She’d left him at the altar, after all.

But right now, he didn’t seem to mind in the least. He tried to look innocent. “Do what?” he teased.

“Make love.”

“Why not?”

“Because of what I did to you.”

He merely grinned, his eyes flicking once more down her naked body. “I remember a lot of things you’ve done to me, Carla DiDolche,” he said. “Leaving me at the altar was only one of them.”

“But…”

Just as she started to offer some sort of apology, he silenced her with a deep, wet kiss. His mouth felt so impossibly good that it sent shivers coursing through her, racing through her limbs, settling at the core of her. All her nerve endings seemed to bunch into knots, and her lower belly felt as if it was melting into her thighs as he deepened the kiss, using his tongue to part her lips, time after time. Wonderful sweet scents from the garden mixed with something hotter, something more dangerously male. As he flicked his tongue with increasing urgency, gliding its silken side along hers, she forgot the past and responded, arching toward him and gasping as the smooth, long-tapered fingers of his hands glided up her rib cage.

“Touch me,” she urged as the pads of those practiced fingers teased her, lingering just beneath breasts she wanted him to cup and knead. She wanted him so badly. Shutting her eyes tightly, she rode the sensation wrought by the kiss, and she dreamed about the coming minutes, when he’d be inside her, stretching and filling her.

And then the magic came. As he captured her mouth more firmly, locking his lips tightly over hers, he closed both his huge hands over her breasts. Using his thumbs, he circled the already taut peaks, roughing the tips, making then tighten even more. As he pushed her toward the edge, she moved her hips, cradling his as she rocked against him, making him moan.

He was still dressed, and as a blaze of fire raced over her, she damned the jeans that covered his lower half. Reaching a hand between their bodies, she continued kissing him, thrusting her tongue deeply as she slid a hand downward, then over the hard ridge beneath his fly. He was so long…so thick. Her heart hammered.

“Yes…yes,” he panted.

“You’re so ready,” she whispered between kisses. So painfully, deliciously hard. Pushing out her chest, she offered her aroused nipples, and she could only suck in a quick gasp of longing and gratitude when he leaned back and angled his head downward. When the assault of his mouth began, she was totally lost. Blackness crowded into her mind, and she had no choice but to lean back her head in surrender. Over and over, she thrust her breasts for him…