can’t like me anymore?”
“No, no. That’s not what I’m saying. Look, if it happens between us, I want it to be right. I don’t want it be something we do just because we’re locked up together with nothing else to do.”
“I see.”
“I’ve hurt your feelings.”
“No. I get it. You don’t do spontaneous.”
He started to argue, but maybe she was right. Maybe the reason his conscience wouldn’t let him follow through withthis was because it felt too fast, too spur-of-the-moment. Mentally, he needed more time. Convincing his body of that was a whole other issue, however. But it was up to him to put on the brakes. He was the rational one here.
“Let’s just get some sleep.” He took her by the shoulders and moved her away from him so he could button up his shirt.
“You’re probably right,” she said, but the expression in her eyes told Robert that she thought he was totally wrong. “No worries. I’m officially not turned on anymore.”
He wished he could say the same, but then he caught the furtive look in her eyes and knew she was lying.
“Will you be all right, claustrophobia-wise, if I turn off the overhead light?”
“I think so,” she said. “I hope so.”
Me, too, he thought. I’d hate to have to keep kissing you all night to stop you from panicking.
He knew he couldn’t do that. His self-control had been tested to its outer limits and if they did any more kissing, he would slip right over the edge.
He got up, walked to the wall and switched off the light, plunging them into blackness. He heard Melanie’s sharp intake of breath and realized she was struggling not to panic again.
“You okay?” he asked, reaching out to run his fingers along the wall shelving to guide him as he headed back toward her.
“I’m okay,” she echoed. “I’m trying to pretend I’m at home in my own bed. Except if I were at home, you wouldn’t be there, of course.”
“Sounds like a solid plan. Go with that.” His foot bumped into a flour sack.
“Here,” she said. “Take my hand and I’ll help you down.”
That was exactly what he was afraid of. That she would pull him down to a place where he had no business being. In the inky blackness, she reached toward him and touched his hip.
He took her hand and slowly sank down. The flour sacks were short and he ended up having to bend his knees to keep his legs from hanging over the edge.
The quarters were cramped. He and Melanie had to touch, it was an inescapable reality. He lay on his back beside her, feeling the cottony material of her blouse against his shoulder, hearing the sound of her uneven breathing, smelling the sweet womanly scent of her.
He was more aware of her than he was of himself. He wanted to roll over and nuzzle her neck so badly he had to clench his hands into fists to keep from doing so, holding tight to his last shred of control. Turning off the light hadn’t been such a hot idea, after all.
It’s for her benefit, not yours. Be a man, suck it up.
And he did, because that’s what he was good at—sucking up his pain, holding out in the face of powerful temptation. It had gotten him this far in life, why mess with a sure thing?
“I’m trying hard not to think about it,” Melanie murmured. “But I keep imagining that the walls are closing in on us, getting smaller and smaller. Like in a haunted house.”
“Picture something else. Visualize a new recipe. What’s your next great creation?”
“I was thinking cherry salmon.”
“Hmm…sounds interesting. Tell me about it.”
“Rainier cherries and wild Pacific Coast salmon poached in a nice Riesling, then garnished with slivered chestnutsand crumbled Roquefort cheese.” Her breathing slowed as she spoke. “I’m thinking it’s past time for a Northwestern influence here in New Orleans. We could call it salmon LeSoeur.”
He didn’t know why he found the idea of Melanie naming her recipe in honor of him so touching, but he did. “Have you tried it
“No, no. That’s not what I’m saying. Look, if it happens between us, I want it to be right. I don’t want it be something we do just because we’re locked up together with nothing else to do.”
“I see.”
“I’ve hurt your feelings.”
“No. I get it. You don’t do spontaneous.”
He started to argue, but maybe she was right. Maybe the reason his conscience wouldn’t let him follow through withthis was because it felt too fast, too spur-of-the-moment. Mentally, he needed more time. Convincing his body of that was a whole other issue, however. But it was up to him to put on the brakes. He was the rational one here.
“Let’s just get some sleep.” He took her by the shoulders and moved her away from him so he could button up his shirt.
“You’re probably right,” she said, but the expression in her eyes told Robert that she thought he was totally wrong. “No worries. I’m officially not turned on anymore.”
He wished he could say the same, but then he caught the furtive look in her eyes and knew she was lying.
“Will you be all right, claustrophobia-wise, if I turn off the overhead light?”
“I think so,” she said. “I hope so.”
Me, too, he thought. I’d hate to have to keep kissing you all night to stop you from panicking.
He knew he couldn’t do that. His self-control had been tested to its outer limits and if they did any more kissing, he would slip right over the edge.
He got up, walked to the wall and switched off the light, plunging them into blackness. He heard Melanie’s sharp intake of breath and realized she was struggling not to panic again.
“You okay?” he asked, reaching out to run his fingers along the wall shelving to guide him as he headed back toward her.
“I’m okay,” she echoed. “I’m trying to pretend I’m at home in my own bed. Except if I were at home, you wouldn’t be there, of course.”
“Sounds like a solid plan. Go with that.” His foot bumped into a flour sack.
“Here,” she said. “Take my hand and I’ll help you down.”
That was exactly what he was afraid of. That she would pull him down to a place where he had no business being. In the inky blackness, she reached toward him and touched his hip.
He took her hand and slowly sank down. The flour sacks were short and he ended up having to bend his knees to keep his legs from hanging over the edge.
The quarters were cramped. He and Melanie had to touch, it was an inescapable reality. He lay on his back beside her, feeling the cottony material of her blouse against his shoulder, hearing the sound of her uneven breathing, smelling the sweet womanly scent of her.
He was more aware of her than he was of himself. He wanted to roll over and nuzzle her neck so badly he had to clench his hands into fists to keep from doing so, holding tight to his last shred of control. Turning off the light hadn’t been such a hot idea, after all.
It’s for her benefit, not yours. Be a man, suck it up.
And he did, because that’s what he was good at—sucking up his pain, holding out in the face of powerful temptation. It had gotten him this far in life, why mess with a sure thing?
“I’m trying hard not to think about it,” Melanie murmured. “But I keep imagining that the walls are closing in on us, getting smaller and smaller. Like in a haunted house.”
“Picture something else. Visualize a new recipe. What’s your next great creation?”
“I was thinking cherry salmon.”
“Hmm…sounds interesting. Tell me about it.”
“Rainier cherries and wild Pacific Coast salmon poached in a nice Riesling, then garnished with slivered chestnutsand crumbled Roquefort cheese.” Her breathing slowed as she spoke. “I’m thinking it’s past time for a Northwestern influence here in New Orleans. We could call it salmon LeSoeur.”
He didn’t know why he found the idea of Melanie naming her recipe in honor of him so touching, but he did. “Have you tried it
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