:: The Toss of a Coin ::
Note: Do adults really determine their life choices on the toss of a coin? This is my take on the ending.
Special Note: If you get the opportunity, you really should check it out this very real resort at the very beginning of Big Sur.
Ragged Point Inn and Resort
Big Sur, California
Night – One Year Later
The orange and vermilion sunset reflected off the black waves of the Pacific Ocean as well as the cliffs that marked the beginning of Big Sur. Total darkness was less than an hour away. There’d be fog tomorrow morning. Maybe she’d get drunk enough to stumble over the low, useless, guard rail and finally end it all. At least Harriet’s kids would benefit financially from her death.
The warmth of her hand on the cool neck of the wine bottle created condensation, which dripped down and soaked a spot on her linen pants. The wind chilled her bare arms and whipped through her hair, short again now. Harm had liked her hair long. “Fuck Harm,” she said out loud. The surf far below her drowned out what little traffic noise reached back here from Highway 1 that ran in front of this sixty-year-old resort. No one would hear her rant to the ocean. It was a cold (for California) Tuesday and the few other guests had opted for the newer buildings, closer to the restaurant with its even more spectacular views. She was alone in the older section of the resort, so very alone.
Chegwidden’s JAG coin was heavy in the palm of her hand. She’d won the toss exactly one year ago tonight. And, as winner, she’d kept the coin. It’s the only thing she’d walked away with from McMurphy’s. As soon as Bud had triumphantly held up it up, showing everyone the tails that decreed the happy couple would be moving to the West Coast, the look of pained resignation in Harm’s eyes was stark proof that whatever had kept them apart for nine long years really couldn’t have been resolved by the toss of a coin. “Fate my ass!” she snarled. “I knew he couldn’t give up his commission!” Later that night, he’d presented one of the great closing arguments of his career.
“Mac! For God’s sake. London. On a Captain’s salary and with whatever you find, we can live well. It will be great for Mattie to get away from here, too.”
“Whatever I find? You think I can just waltz into some American firm and say, ‘Hi! Hire me?’”
“Well with your looks…uhm…what about paleontology, You could go back to school. Besides, you know you’ll get pregnant right away. You can be a mom!”
“I won the toss! In San Diego you’d get offers from a dozen different law firms.”
“But I made Captain. You’re never…”
“I’ll never what, Harm?”
“Nothing. You’re right. You won. We’ll go, but I promised Mattie we’d go over there just to look around. After all the trouble I went through with the foster courts…”
She hadn’t been the least bit surprised when he had Mattie call her from London. “Mac!” Mattie had pleaded. “It’s so cool here. Please.”
But, regardless of what she’d told Harriet at lunch, she hadn’t been able to bring herself to step off into that unknown. She couldn’t trust Harm (or any man) to be the safety net that Marine Corps had always been. Cresswell had been the only one surprised when she calmly announced that, since Sturgis wanted to stay in DC with his girlfriend, she would allow Lieutenant Greg Vukovic to come with her (along with Jen Coates) to San Diego.
Nine years with Harm had prepared her for brash young lawyers. Vukovic paid dearly for every innuendo and whining complaint he’d made to her. And she’d been winning the battles, honing him into a responsible JAG lawyer. In appreciation of what she’d seen as his honest effort to change, last month she’d recommended him for lead lawyer of a tribunal aboard the USS Kennedy. In an eerie replay of her time aboard the USS Sea Hawk, the prisoner had managed to steal a ballpoint pen. However, instead of killing himself, the terrorist had taken Vukovic hostage. He’d jabbed the pen into Vukovic’s jugular vein, shouting that no one dared touch him because of his family connections. The bullets from a Marine guard’s rifle tore the head clean off the body of the cousin of the Saudi King. The shipboard doctor couldn’t keep Vukovic from bleeding out. His death had affected Mac more deeply than she’d admitted to anyone.
When Harm showed up at her office two days afterward, Mac thought Coates had sent for him. But he hadn’t mentioned Vukovic. Instead, he proposed a possible compromise for their stalemate.
“You’re not getting any younger, Mac. Why don’t we try this? We’ll visit each other and...you know...if you get pregnant then you’ll resign your commission and move to London with us. It’s really a great town. You know you’ll want to stay home and be a better mom than... well never mind that. What do you say?”
She peeled the seal off the bottle as she remembered the former jet jockey’s performance that night. She now had a suspicion why so many women had left Harm over the years. Tonight was the perfect night to compare him to the few lovers she’d had during the same period. Mic had been enthusiastic, but there’d been gentleness there, too. He never left her hanging. Dalton had tried to learn what made her come. Clay... “No!” she firmly told herself. She wouldn’t think about Clay yet, that hurt too much while she was sober. She felt no qualms, however, about dissecting what she’d lost with Harm.
The night Harm proposed, she’d chalked up their less than stellar sex to unrealistic expectations after waiting for him for five years. He’d been highly pleased with himself and she’d lain there just happy that she’d finally gotten him to propose. “Be careful for what you wish!” she advised the bird hanging in place on an updraft just off the cliff.
Perhaps it was the stress of calling Vukovic’s mother that morning; perhaps Mac really thought she and Harm might still have a chance. Whatever the reason, desperate for comfort, she’d agreed to sleep with him again. That night she’d tried to gently teach him the way she liked to be touched but he’d opted for quantity instead of quality, taking her three times. ‘That might sound like an impressive feat,’ she thought, ‘unless you’re the one underneath him.’ He’d planned on spending the weekend. She’d been relieved when he’d been called back to London the next morning. For three weeks she drove herself, trying hard to ignore the cold fact that, in her new position, there were even fewer chances to make friends with the people around her without worrying about fraternization. Every night, she prayed for a child.
Five days ago, her period arrived and so did Harm. Mac had sensed his nervousness right away.
“Hold the phones, would you, Jen?”
“Sure thing, Captain Rabb,” Coates had happily agreed.
“What’s up? Want to try again?” She’d only been half serious.
He’d hemmed and hawed but finally, Mac figured it out. “Who is she?”
“You think you know me that well?”
“Evidently not. Who is she?”
“You don’t know her.”
“Well, I suppose that’s a relief.” She hadn’t bothered to keep the bitter bitchiness from her voice or the hurt from her eyes.
Blushing furiously, he finally gritted out the name. “Alice Fairchild.”
“Ah. That explains the scuttlebutt making the rounds in the Officers Mess about the Captain and the Princess. You did well for yourself, Harm. A royal.”
“She’s so far from succession…it wasn’t like that. She’s Mattie’s tutor. She’s fun and she was there for both Mattie and me.” His voice trailed off for a moment. “I tried, Mac. But I knew you would never… You could’ve…”
“Don’t. You agreed and I won the toss.”
“God, you’re as stubborn as I am.”
“Probably good that it worked out this way then. Go.” After he left, she called Cresswell and told him that her second in command would be in charge. “I’m due leave, sir.” Cresswell hadn’t even asked why she hadn’t given him more notice.
She’d always wanted to drive up the coastal highway. She’d determinedly packed for hiking and even checked out surf classes for beginners held at Rockaway Beach south of San Francisco. It began to rain the minute she slammed the trunk on her ’Vett
:: :: :: ::
And, in the perfect end to a perfect year, on Sunday, she’d been in such a funk over Vukovic’s death, Harm, and the crummy weather, that she actually read the West Coast edition of Washington Post, which had been Harriet’s idea of the perfect Christmas present. Usually she couldn’t bring herself to read it. Beltway news, even the writing was so different from San Diego’s papers. It just drove home how lonely she was out here. Coffee carafe on the table beside her, she began with the front page and didn’t stop until she came to the small article in the Metro section.
Son of Washington Socialite Bequests Hospital Wing in Her Honor
GWU announced that its expanded children’s wing would be named the Porter and Neville Webb Center for Childhood Diseases. Clayton Webb, the last of a family whose roots stretch back to the Revolutionary War, announced the fifteen million dollar bequest as a memorial to his parents. His father, Neville Webb, a Foreign Service Officer, died over thirty-five years ago in Vietnam. Porter Morton Webb, who never remarried, was one of the area’s true grand dames. “She will be missed,” said Annabelle Cramer, the head of DC’s United Way. “Porter Webb had a gift for managing people and problems with finesse and grace.”
Until that moment, Mac hadn’t realized how much she’d hated Porter Webb, blaming her for keeping the secrets that had helped destroy her relationship with Clay.
Now, she told the approaching storm front, “She could’ve told me it wasn’t his body! She could’ve told me that Clay was alive. I’m a Marine. I know how to keep a secret. He trusted me in Paraguay. Why couldn’t he have trusted me in DC? Damn them both!”
Clay’s final betrayal had driven her into intense psychotherapy. However, nothing had been resolved. She hadn’t even been able to use Clay’s name during her counseling sessions. All she was left with was one more blow to her battered heart. Thinking about it now, she shouldn’t have been surprised. “All the fucking men in my life, every Goddamned last one of them, betrayed me. What the hell is it about me?”
She gripped the bottle of wine and wished for vodka. Somewhere along the way, she’d discovered that one or two glasses of wine had a calming effect that allowed her to consider the problem that had driven her to fall off the wagon. Unfortunately, she never stopped with understanding or two glasses. She ignored any momentary revelation and continued drinking until she didn’t care what the problem was. Vodka, on the other hand, made her silly; loosened her tongue, if not her mind. But tonight she had no one to rant at. She’d made sure of it. If she survived – like she always did – she’d have to return to base on Monday. She sure as hell wasn’t going to get drunk at the Officers Club or a bar in San Diego. “I’d probably come on to the first jet jockey with gold wings or some asshole in a three-piece suit.” She thought she’d muttered it, but several ravens squawked angrily and flew from their nest nearby.
“Do I really want to know what’s wrong with me? Hell no. But then I have to go find a bottle of vodka? God forbid that the damn bar here would sell bottles of something besides wine. I’ll have to get in the car and look for a liquor store.” She considered the winding coast highway and the predicted rain. “Might get hit by a falling boulder. Might drive off the cliff.”
She eyed the wine bottle. Maybe, if she drank the entire bottle fast enough, it would suffice. She looked around for the opener that she’d placed on the lounge chair meant for two just outside the romantic room complete with a king-size bed, fireplace and strategically placed mirrors. At first, she couldn’t find it, or the wine glass, in the thick padding. Finally, she felt it nudge again her ass. Carefully placing the bottle on the arm of the chair and the JAG coin on her thigh, she pulled out the corkscrew. Glancing from opener to bottle, she grimaced. “Phooey, I hate these damned things; cork always gets in the wine. Vodka would be quicker, easier, and less messy.”
Lightning streaked across the dark clouds. The only light that reached her was from the solar lamps illuminating the path running the length of the cliffs. The thunder, still so far away, was barely more than a grumble. It would be a good to just sit here and drink her wine and watch the storm roll in. She could fall asleep out here and then upon waking, maybe the fog would cloud out her misery.
The golden coin felt heavy on her leg and she took a moment to consider the symbol of her long, final descent into hell. Laying the corkscrew aside for a moment, she picked up the emblem of everything she’d aspired to that day fifteen years ago when she passed the bar exam and entered JAG Corps. Lauren Singer hadn’t been the only one who’d wanted to be the first female JAG. Only Mac had never voiced that desire out loud for fear that Harm would take the opportunity to point out all the black marks against her. “He was right,” she told the lightning. “There’s no way I’m ever going to be JAG. I’m lucky I got my eagles. ‘General MacKenzie’? No fucking way.”
She’d voiced only one important desire to Harm, her (evidently stupid) dream of having him and his children. What would’ve happened had she not admitted that holding newborn AJ Roberts had felt so good? What would’ve happened had Harm not made that offer? “Well flyboy, we’ll see. It didn’t mean anything that we fucked twice (well five times all together) and nothing happened. But, you never got Renee pregnant; and, I know for a fact that she was playing dirty. She told me she went off the pill, dared me to tell you. Maybe it’s you, Harm. Fuck it. I don’t care any more. With your luck, maybe they’ll give you a title and you can figure out how to be fucking King of England. Maybe all I have to look forward to is being Colonel Sarah MacKenzie. I’m not even a good ‘Aunt Mac’ to the only children I’ll ever influence.”
:: :: :: ::
It just hurt too damned much. The wine bottle was close at hand, but she needed the oblivion that the vodka would eventually give her. “What’s it going to be?”
She rubbed her fingers over the embossed metal. “Tails, wine; heads, vodka. How very fitting.” Flipping it in the air, she tracked its progress upward. She felt his presence, more than she really saw the hand that reached out and snatched the coin. She knew of only one man who had that kind of night vision. Not even Harm, after his operation, was that good. Besides, she recognized his aftershave. Should’ve recognized it sooner. “How long have you been standing there, and what the fuck do you want, Webb?”
“Gee, after all we meant to each other, you can’t even call me by my given name? And, such a potty mouth. Tsk, tsk, MacKenzie.”
She started to surge up, but reigned in her emotions. After all, wasn’t that what they were all so good at doing? Instead, she forced herself to lean back into the soft cotton of the padded lounge. “Why are you here, asshole? Is that better?”
A snort was her only answer; that, and the shadow that moved out of the darkness to sit on the edge of the lounge. He didn’t come close to touching her, but she moved further away until she bumped up against the arm causing the bottle of wine to rock precariously. His hand shot out and kept the bottle from crashing to the ground. She slapped hard at his arm, but he held the bottle tightly, angling it until the closest lamplight struck the label. “Jesus. When you throw a pity party, you do it in style.”
“They’re bigger snobs here than you are,” she said.
“What did they stiff you for it? Last time I checked, the case price on this is in the hundred and fifty dollar range.”
“How the hell should I know? I charged it to the room.” She tried for bravado, but blanched at her stupidity. Vodka would’ve been cheaper too. “I liked the label.”
“How very anti-snobbish of you,” he said dryly.
“Why are you here? Even you don’t have the stones to ask me to go on another mission.”
“I don’t do that myself anymore,” he said softly; wistfully, she thought.
“Then why, damn it? And while we’re on the subject, how did you find me? Did you trace my credit card?”
“Of course.” His shoes thudded against the stone patio and the next thing she knew, his legs were stretched out in front of him, his head rested close, too close, to hers on the raised chair back. “People are worried about you. Does that surprise you?”
“Coates called you! You’re using my yeoman to spy on me! I’ll reassign her to…”
“Oh can it, Sarah! Don’t flatter yourself in that regard. Coates called Simms who couldn’t think of anyone else stupid enough to face your wrath!”
She rose from the lounge chair and started for her room. However, after one brief, ‘ouch’, he was at her side. “Go away. I don’t want you here.”
“What the hell do you want, my big strong Marine? You want to get drunk? Or were you serious? You’re that broken up over the future Duke of Kelsey – which, by the way, I really don’t think can happen - that you would drive off a cliff? You weren’t going to do it over that idiot Vukovic who let a third rate terrorist get the drop on him, were you?”
“You don’t know anything about me. You never did. You obviously didn’t give a shit about the way I felt!”
She yanked at the sliding glass door but he blocked her escape. “You’re right. I never did understand you. But then you were the queen of mixed signals. One minute you’re blazing away at a gang of drug dealing terrorists, trying to save Galindez, the next you’re getting all sudsy over me using your toothbrush.”
“Sudsy!” Her shout floated up and mingled with the thunder growing closer each moment. She forced herself to remain in control. “Look…Clay. We’ve had this argument. Go back and report that I promised I wouldn’t drink. Take the damned bottle if you want. It’s just not worth it. Harm, you, Vukovic, none of you is worth it.”
“You and Vukovic!” Shock and jealous anger replaced his sneering denunciations.
“Oh grow up!” She pushed at him, trying to get him to move, but he gripped her wrists, and pulled her forward until she thought he was going to try to kiss her. Instead, he maneuvered her until she was forced to sit back down on the lounge chair. “Let me go, or so help me, I’ll kick you so hard in the balls, you’ll wish you were back in Sadik’s…Oh God.” The horror of that time crashed down on her again and she had to fight the tears. She wouldn’t cry in front of him. “Please,” she whispered. “Just go.”
“No. You’re all I have left.”
“What!?” she shouted. “Is that why you’re here? You think that I’d consider taking you back? Why? Because Rabb dumped me for some English bimbo? You’re insane. Get over me!”
“But I don’t want to get over you, Sarah,” he said gently.
“Well, I’m over you. I’ve moved on,” she insisted.
“Really? Is that why you’re out here? You’re that happy with your current situation? You’re ready to start over – yet again? Do you think that some enchanted evening, at a base function no less, you’re going to look across the crowded floor and see the next love of your life – who just happens to be an unmarried civilian or an officer of appropriate rank? You can always join a dating service on the Internet. Or, maybe, if you give me just one more chance, we might talk and find some reason to work through all the crap. You gave Harm plenty of chances. Why can’t we at least try?”
Intense sadness filtered through his anger and she responded in kind. “Oh Clay. I don’t think I can do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because nothing’s changed.”
He scooted around until he was once again reclined against the back of the chair. She should’ve made her escape, particularly after a drop of rain struck her head. Instead, she found herself lying next to him, watching the storm approach.
“Actually, it has.”
“You’re still with the CIA aren’t you?”
“No.”
She sat up and leaned over him, blocking out his view. Focusing on his eyes, she tried to see the lie she knew had to be there. “Dear God? You too?” She laughed bitterly. “You joined the club. You, Harm, Mic; you all gave it up for me. Well, who the hell asked you to?”
However, she’d overplayed her anger and got too close. As her breast made contact with his chest she was surprised to feel a surge of desire. Hastily, she started to pull back, but he gripped her arm, holding her close. “I wish I could’ve quit for you, Sarah. I guess I could lie and say I gave it up for you. However, I didn’t. I had to leave because, wonder of wonders, the agency that barely recognizes federal holidays, vacations and sick days, sure as hell doesn’t recognize FMLA.”
“FMLA? The Family and Medical Leave Act? What hell are you talking about?”
“Mother was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer six months ago. The doctors gave her three months to live. She lasted five. I wanted to be there for her, like she’d always been there for me. I filled out the forms, but Kershaw and Watts said that National Security was at stake and they would still need to be able to reach me. I took my twenty-year retirement.” Tears pooled in his eyes. “I’m glad I did. We had two wonderful months visiting her favorite haunts in Europe. When the pain became too great for her, we returned home, walked around the estate when she was up to it, and talked.” A faint smile twitched at his lips. “Marijuana certainly brings out the best in some people. She really talked about my father like she never had before. I believe the proper phrase is ‘TMI.’ No son needs or wants to know those kinds of details.”
“Your mother? You went out and scored marijuana for your mother?” Shock and the first mirth she’d felt in a very long time bubbled up into a delighted brief laugh. This time when she sat back, he released her. “I can’t imagine that.”
“It was the only thing that managed the pain without just putting her to sleep.” The momentary humor fled at his next admission. “Near the end though, the morphine was the only thing that worked. I can’t imagine anyone allowing a person they loved to linger through that kind of pain. She died at home: no ventilator, no feeding tube. I held her in my arms and kissed her goodbye.” His voice remained firm and she knew that he’d done his grieving long before he approached her. “The children’s hospital had been her pet cause. She’d chaired the Auxiliary Ball every year for the past ten years. I wish now that I had taken you to one of her galas. She was a wonder. Oh, she asked that, if you and I ever saw each other again, I let you know she was very sorry that she’d hurt you.”
Sarah released her anger with the dead woman. “I really am sorry about your mother. The bequest was a wonderful way of honoring them both.”
“Well at least his name is on a wall somewhere.” Clay sighed heavily. “It wasn’t mother’s fault Sarah. It never occurred to me that you would blame her. She believed that the bloated body in morgue was mine – the resemblance was close. She didn’t know until later. And then I told her she couldn’t tell anyone. I think she assumed that I would tell you.”
“Why the hell didn’t you?”
“What difference would it’d made? I didn’t set out to ‘die.’ I used an opportunity. By the time I could’ve told you, you’d already gone through the pain and memorial service. Laurie June had already told you about the gifts I ordered for you from that catalogue. Then, Tanveer was watching you and I couldn’t chance it.” He sighed deeply. “You would’ve just hated me earlier.”
“I didn’t – don’t – hate you. I hated what you did.”
“Okay. I don’t do that anymore. Or is there something else about me that you don’t like?”
“What are you going to do out here?” she asked, ignoring his question for a moment. She was trying to get her head around the fact that, as one whopper of a Pacific storm was tracking toward them, she was sitting here preparing to listen to the one man she’d always known she couldn’t trust, couldn’t believe. Why was she doing so now? She should run down the path, or jump off the cliff. Or maybe push him off the cliff. But she allowed him the moment that she should’ve allowed him two years ago.
He reached for her hand and she found she didn’t have the strength to jerk it back. She was so tired. How was she ever going to face the coming years alone? He was right about one thing, she’d been hurt too often to even consider starting over again, getting to know someone else. “What could you possibly do out here Clay?” she repeated. “Forgive me, I don’t see you as a West Coast kind of guy?”
“Don’t worry, I won’t be a burden on you financially. I’ll still have a kopek or two, even if the hospital asks for more money. There were a number of surprises in Mother’s will. I’m thinking about setting up some kind of trust. Maybe I’ll open a home for indigent spies – or hell, open a restaurant.” It was a short foray back into humor. “I...I sold Mandalay. I’ll sell mother’s house in Great Falls, after I find the strength to go through six generations of accumulated crap.”
“You’d do that? You’d move all the way across the country on the off chance – the very off chance, Clay – that we might have a snowball’s chance in hell at making it work?”
It was his turn to loom up and over her. Lightning clearly illuminated the desire and cockiness in his eyes. She hadn’t seen that cockiness since the day he’d saved her life in the Afghan prison camp. “I’d move to Vegas if that’s what it would take. We share the same nightmares, the same pain, and, yes, Sarah, even the same secrets. But more than that, we were good together. Admit it.” She felt that surge of desire again and he must’ve seen it in her eyes, because he lowered his lips to hover over hers. But he waited. She could’ve thrown him off. She could’ve just turned her head in rejection. Instead, she moved a fraction and proved him right. It all came crashing back as thunder erupted directly overhead.
The skies opened and he held her tight, kissing her passionately, urgently, but with more finesse than Harm had ever shown. Each wet, open-mouth kiss drew groans of approval from them both. He seemed content to explore her mouth with his tongue; he made no move to touch her more intimately. However, she quickly decided that, if he wouldn’t let her get drunk, then she would drown her fears and loneliness in sex. She assured herself that was all it was, a momentary – one time only – revisit to better times.
Taking control, she pushed him until he was on his back. Straddling his chest she began tugging frantically at the soft wet cotton sweater until she could toss it behind her. She started to claim another kiss, but another lightning strike showed the look of surprise on his face. She flashed back to the last time that she’d hit rock bottom and had tried to force him to fuck her. He’d fought her off that day. Was that what he was conveying now? She was so angry, so embarrassed that she expected steam to rise from her fevered skin.
She started to roll off of him, but he pulled her to him in a warm welcoming embrace. “I’ve never done it outside in the rain,” he whispered seductively. “You’re a kinky, sexy, incredible woman, Sarah MacKenzie. Take me. Use me anyway you want.” He flung back his arms in complete surrender. “Do it Marine. Take what you need.”
The intense thunder and lightning show left a surprisingly gentle shower in its wake. She found it calming, as she set to work on his jeans, taking time to occasionally bestow love bites; some gentle, some not. Finally freed, his cock was hard and ready. Standing, she quickly flung away her clothes then paused to allow him to look at what he would have - one more time. She knew they couldn’t start over. She’d never started over with any man. But she’d been denied so much in the two years since she’d stormed out of his life. She returned to his side to continue her teasing. His skin was slick from the rain and his taunt muscles rippled and flexed as her hand skimmed over them. He’d kept in shape; there was little extra fat, though he was no body builder. But there were scars. Even in the dark rain, the solar lamps seemed to highlight the scars. Scars he suffered protecting her, scars...No! Her hand fisted for a moment. No. That’s why she’d come to him before, at least at first. Tonight was about pleasure and sweet oblivion. Nothing more. It couldn’t be more.
She began her assault in earnest. Her hands on either side of his torso allowed perfect control for random feints and brief exploration. She nibbled at his flat nipples, tickled down his chest and belly with her tongue until she came to his navel. He arched up in pleasure as she nipped at the skin there. But she didn’t linger. She wanted to know if he still tasted as good as she remembered. Of all the men she’d been with, Clay was the only one who really knew how to give and receive oral sex. Hovering over his cock, she felt his hands smooth through her wet hair. But she wasn’t afraid. He’d always touched her, never forced her. Licking the head, sweet rainwater mixed with his pre-cum. The clean scent of the sea and California Pine trees mixed with his musky male smell. Kissing down the length of him, she nuzzled his heavy balls, memorizing the texture and the scent. They were already tightening against his body. She owned him, she always had and that feeling of power was overwhelming. With no stimulation but the memory of lovemaking nearly two years past, she felt her own release start. Unable to catch her breath, she stopped to stare at him in wonder and no little fear at the feelings he could still evoke in her.
Sitting up, he reached for her. She backed away, praying that the rain would cool her ardor. She wanted, needed, to stay in control. This could not begin again.
“Sarah!” his voice cracked like the lightning. He gripped her by the shoulders and pulled her until their lips were almost touching again. “You’re mine. I almost lost you, through my own selfish stupidity. But not again.” He lowered her to the soaking mattress. His lips found that spot that only he seemed to be able to find. He nuzzled under her ear as his hands tormented her nipples. “Mine,” he whispered again before reclaiming her mouth. His tongue dueled with hers, driving her close yet again.
“Mine.” He seemed determined to lap the rain from her breasts. The first orgasm in two years not achieved with the help of her vibrator ripped through her as his cock jabbed against her clit.
Panting, she wiped the water from her eyes so she could gaze down at him. The rain had plastered his hair to his head and even though she shouldn’t be able to make them out, his eyes blazed with his passion for her. With the silent patience that had made him an excellent operative until his disastrous exile to Paraguay he waited. And she knew she would never be rid of him. He wouldn’t allow it again. He’d messed up, but he’d accepted his culpability for her pain. She’d have to shoot him to make him go away. And still, he waited, demanding his right to at least try to win her back.
She couldn’t help it. “Please, Clay.”
That sexy grin that she’d so loved lit his face and seemed to be the switch that dried the rain. As the last of the shower moved on, he delved his face into her core. Laving her passages, drinking up what he’d once, to her utter embarrassment, labeled nectar, driving her once again to the edge. She’d never allowed any man to use her anus for pleasure, but that too he’d demanded. Now, once again, his fingers stroked both openings as his tongue traced that perfect pattern around her clit until she finally shouted another release to the darkness. “Clay!”
“Look at me, Sarah.” Her eyes fluttered open and shut but it was enough. “You’re mine.” He plunged home and she came yet again. She barely retained her consciousness as he pounded into her, hard and wild, rubbing her clit until that moment when he knew, as no other man had bothered to learn, that it was too much. Sometimes, in the past, he’d ignored the boundary, forcing her into the oblivion that she so craved tonight. But tonight, he demanded that she witness her effect on him. “Sarah!” He pulsed into her with a force she felt long after he fell from her, completely spent.
No condom, no pill: There was no reason why she should think it, knew it was wistful thinking on her part, but she felt the life begin within her.
He crawled up next to her, his breath coming in frighteningly erratic gasps. “Let me catch my breath, and we’ll go inside.” Pulling her close, her back against his chest, he fell asleep.
She lay there watching the first stars peek out from behind the dispersing clouds. The moon was hours away. What had she done? This had been wrong, so wrong for her. No one changed as much as Clay needed to change. If he changed, would she love the new and supposedly improved Webb? As her eyes fluttered shut she prayed that it had all been a wine induced hallucination.
:: :: :: ::
The dry sheets were her first indication that he’d managed to get them inside. Rolling over, she groaned as muscles, unused since their last night together over two years ago, reminded her of their shower last night (early this morning?). He’d tried to be gentle, as he’d cleaned them both. But he’d admitted that he’d been with no one since she left and she didn’t resist his desire (okay, so she encouraged him) to take her against the wall of the shower. Shower sex with Clay was almost her favorite.
Sitting up, she surveyed the room that had so intimidated her yesterday. The mirror directly across from her reflected back her mussed hair, her swollen lips and the wonderful evidence of his lovemaking. Tiny love bites were everywhere. Her neck was a mess. How was she going to hide the hickeys? Pulling her gaze away from herself, she finally spotted him, sitting in the chair by the patio door. The drapes were open but the fog was so dense that only her internal clock testified to the lateness of the day. One leg gracefully thrown over the other, he watched her watching him. Even though she could smell coffee, he wasn’t holding a cup. Instead, almost absentmindedly, he was walking the JAG coin across the fingers of one hand, back and forth, over and over. She was mesmerized by his skill.
“Wonderful thing this,” he finally said.
“What?”
“This determining your life by the toss of the coin.” At first she thought he was mocking her. But he seemed more bemused than anything else.
“What’s that supposed to mean? Where did you find it?” What had he done with it after snatching it from her last night?
“Well, when I woke, promptly at 6:30 this morning, even with all the heat you were putting out, I was cold. That was because we left the door open last night.” He cocked his head to consider her more intently, but his fingers never stopped, the coin kept turning. “You slept through the ravens waking up. I don’t remember you sleeping that soundly.”
“You seldom stayed the night, remember?” she snapped.
“Perhaps,” he agreed softly. “Anyway. I got up to close the door and realized we’d left evidence of our activities last night. I went out and collected our clothes – the ones I could find. I think your bra is somewhere down the cliff face.”
“Terrific.” She stood up, stretching her body. She was pleased by the soft groan she elicited from him. Now he was gently tossing the coin, barely away from his hand, catching it, tossing it, catching it, rhythmically. She quickly looked away and, finding the source of the heavenly smell, went to the tray sitting on top of the dresser and poured a cup of coffee. She chose to ignore the various rolls, even though they were obviously homemade. “Where was the coin?” she finally asked after her first sip.
“In my pocket where I put it last night. After I found everything, I walked inside, expecting to find you curled up under the blankets. Instead, I was faced with the sight of your glorious ass and remarkable tits, completely uncovered. You were twisted so perfectly, that, at first, I thought you’d posed for me.” He gave her a huge grin. “Then you snored. But that was okay. I still wished that I’d had a camera.”
“Why? You want to sell it on the Internet?”
“Hell no. I would’ve taken it to this painter I know and had him do a canvas for me. God knows I wouldn’t trust even the most committed homosexual to paint you in person.”
“Stop it.” She felt the hot blush of embarrassment, like she always did when he paid her a compliment.
He seemed intent on the coin rising and falling silently between them. “I thought about climbing into bed next to you and waking you up the way I wanted. But, I do remember the few times I spent the night. You don’t wake up very well. So I decided to flip the coin. Heads, wake you up with sex; tails, go down to the café and get coffee.”
Her lips twitched in amusement. She drank more of the coffee. “You are lucky. Tails won.”
“Yeah. I brought my suitcase in to change. The pants never dried. Thank goodness the fog is so thick. Your sweatpants really are tight.”
“After sharing a toothbrush, I really can’t get upset by you wearing my clothes. As long as you don’t have a panty and bra fetish.”
“Only seeing you in them,” he said idly.
She couldn’t remember ever having such a casual, flirty conversation with him. Not since the hospital when he leaned in to whisper in her ear. But he’d done that because Harm was standing there watching them. “So?” She shook away the memories. “Did you get your own room?” She wasn’t sure how she felt about that.
“Asked about it.” He fisted the coin for a moment. “I didn’t want to presume that you would want me staying here with you. However,” the coin began its trek across his fingers again. “When I mentioned the possibility to the clerk, I discovered that our little sex haven here is being overrun.”
“Overrun? By whom?”
“Three bus loads of senior citizens from Oxnard wanting to bird watch. They’re booked. In fact, he asked me to ask you if you’re checking out.” He held up the coin. “What do you think? Heads we stay and face the hordes, I’m sure they’ll all go to bed early and we can continue our…”
“Ass!” She found herself laughing softly.
“Or, tails, we head north.”
“I don’t think we need a coin toss for that, Clay. I planned on leaving today, anyway,” she lied. She knew that, had he not shown up last night she would’ve been too hungover to move today.
“Okay. North it is.” He looked at the coin again.
“You’re determined to try to make this work aren’t you,” she sighed.
“Oh yeah.”
“Why don’t we flip the coin about that? Heads you stay, tails you leave me alone.” She held her breath. Would he? Did she want it to be heads or tails? Could she face one more blow to her heart?
“Get dressed,” he snapped.
“Why? You scared?”
“About this?” He held up the coin. “Tell me something, Sarah. Had we had this damned thing in Paraguay, had I held it up and said, ‘Tails, we go after Galindez; Heads, we stay safe’…”
“That’s not fair!”
“Why? Because it was too important? Are you saying that what you and Rabb were trying to decide wasn’t? You think I’d allow you to do that to me – to us?” He stood and stalked up to her. However, by the time he reached her, he sighed, almost defeated. “Fine. Get dressed. I’ll meet you outside.” He spun around, jerked open the patio door and stepped out into the fog.
She stood there shaking from the intensity of the emotions coursing through her. “Jerk.” She pulled on her clothes, muttering all the while. “How dare he. I didn’t ask him here last night. I didn’t want him here. I’m going to have a long talk with Coates and Harriet. Who the hell do they think they are?” But, as she washed her face, she saw the truth reflected back at her. Her lips were still swollen from his kisses. Her body ached in the most wonderful of ways. She wondered briefly if he’d really used the coin to decide whether to wake her or not this morning. She found herself regretting that he hadn’t, though the coffee had been grand, much better than what she could’ve made from the little packets next to the in-room coffee maker. “What the hell does he want from me? Can we make a go of it?” She rubbed her belly, praying that she was pregnant, finally, gloriously with child; his child. “Damn you! Damn you! Damn you! Damn you!” She yanked open the bathroom door and stalked outside to find him standing as close to the edge as possible.
“What? You’re going to jump off, if it’s heads?” she snapped.
“Nah. I think I see your bra. Red, right?”
Her growl of frustration echoed down the cliffs. “Well?”
He held out the coin to her. “Go ahead. Do it. Heads, I leave; Tails, we talk it out, work on it, TRY.”
She stared into his clear hazel eyes, really seeing the man there, knowing she’d never looked that hard at him before, knowing that she’d been selfish about her own feelings and needs. Alone was so much easier in the long run. Consensus really was rather overrated – wasn’t it? Were the arguments, the compromises, the disappointments worth…worth what? What could he bring to her? What could she give to him? “Fine.” She pulled the coin from his fingers, once again feeling the passion arc between them.
Staying together, next to the drop off, they faced each other, her hand between them. “Heads or tails.” She stared into his eyes. “Go or stay.”
“Alone or together,” he whispered.
Surely it was the fog that clouded her vision. It was growing thicker, wasn’t it? Was it raining again? Her cheeks were wet, and so were his. Holding the coin up so they could both see it through the blur of their tears, she made her decision, accepting that it was probably wrong. Gripping the coin, she tossed it – out into the fog and ocean below.
“We’ll try.”
“Together.”
~~~Fini~~