Page 88 of Just One Night Together

Her fingertips slid down his back, then swept up again with a little more pressure. She smoothed lotion over his skin, her hands spread flat, and he knew she’d warmed it in her hands first. Although her hands were small, her touch was firm and it felt good. She moved to straddle him and put her weight into each stroke. Damon almost purred with satisfaction. “Tell me about meridians,” he murmured.

“They’re howqimoves through your body,” she said, her voice soft and as hypnotic as her touch. “The medial line runs from the perineum up to here.” She ran her fingertips up his back and Damon closed his eyes again. He breathed deeply as she continued, not really listening as he succumbed to the magic of her touch.

And the temptation of sleep.

* * *

Damon wasn’t listeningto her.

Haley knew that but she kept talking, repeating what she’d learned in the class and read since then. She gave him a general massage, working out the kinks when she found them, easing the tension from his muscles. He’d clearly been under a lot of stress. He was toned from his work-outs, but where there should have been some give, the strain of his mother’s illness had his body taut. She heard his breathing slow and felt his pulse drop and figured he was past due for a good sleep.

If he could do that because she was with him, that was fine by her.

She kept talking because she didn’t want to inadvertently wake him with a change. By the time she was finished with the massage, she knew he was sleeping deeply. She carefully got up from the bed and pulled a blanket over him, watching him sleep for a moment. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness and she could see him in the shadows. His hair was tousled and he looked younger, less stern. She was tempted to touch his cheek, but again, thought she might wake him up.

Was this the end of their moment? Haley had no idea. This night had been the best yet and she couldn’t imagine that there was more.

Haley watched Damon for a while, acknowledging that she was conflicted. She wanted more, but she was afraid of having more.

She was afraid of becoming vulnerable.

She wanted to walk away now, while things were perfect between them, but she didn’t want to miss any goodness.

She already knew she’d never forget Damon.

Finally, she left the room. She pulled the door to the bedroom behind herself. She didn’t shut it completely, because she thought the latch might click.

No doubt he’d hear any small sound and jump to attention.

He’d have been trained for that and the PTSD would have made it worse.

Haley made sure she was completely silent. She didn’t want to leave just yet, in case Damon woke up and wanted to talk. She felt good in his house, welcome and safe. Haley was going to go down to the kitchen and see if there was any tea in the cupboard, but she couldn’t resist the urge to investigate just a little.

There were two bedrooms that faced the back of the house, one being Damon’s. The other had a couch and a television in it, a pair of bookcases. A lot of the titles were in a different language that looked like Russian. Haley assumed these were his mom’s books. There was a basket of crochet on one side of the couch and she had a look, again assuming it had been his mom who had been making dishcloths.

She paused at the top of the stairs, listening to Damon’s steady breathing. Then she took a chance and pushed open the other door. It didn’t make a sound and, as she expected, it opened to a large bedroom that faced the street. There was a queen-sized bed at one end and a big bureau with a mirror, but what made Haley stop and stare were all the pictures. There were dozens of them, all framed in the same simple black wooden frames, hung in rows all around the room. They were all black and white.

She stepped closer to look at them and realized they were drawings. Some were pencil and others were charcoal; still others were in ink, but it was clear to her that they’d been done by the same person.

D.P. had initialed and dated each one in the bottom right corner.

This was Damon’s work.

Haley raised one hand to her mouth and moved around the room slowly, looking at each and every one. They were hung in the order of creation, beginning at the right of the bureau and continuing clockwise around the room. This laughing woman had to be Natasha in younger days.

Here she was helping a little girl with her toe shoes, such tenderness in her expression that Haley bit her lip. Damon had come honestly by his affection for teaching. Here was a stiffer one of a man, maybe done from a photograph, a man who had Damon’s eyes.

Here was a smiling young man, armed for combat, apparently taking a break in a hot and dusty place. Haley swallowed and eyed the surrounding drawings. They had been folded at some point, and she guessed that he had sent them home to his mom in his letters. She read the names. Foster. Buchanan. There was a German Shepherd with another man, the dog alert and the soldier looking weary. Killer and MacRae. There were others without names, a little girl selling scarves who looked to be Afghani, an old man selling spices with a thousand lines on his face, an older lady offering a cup of tea, fear and welcome warring in her eyes.

After that were drawings of kids, American kids, some with huge boxing gloves and others with weights that looked too heavy for their slender arms. Several wore expressions of concentration or determination, and there were several that included a burly man. His head was shaved bald and his nose had been broken at least once, but Haley saw his undivided attention for each child. There was a portrait of him, too.

She recognized the partners from Flatiron Five Fitness that she’d met while there. Their names were on the bottom of the drawing. Cassie. Kyle. Both of them were laughing and he’d caught them perfectly. There were two more: both elegant men in suits, one white and one black. Tyler. Theo.

On the bureau were a few loose drawings and Haley smiled as she looked at them. Here was Khadija from the hospital, concentrating on her charts, and here was Dr. Smithson, listening to someone. That person wasn’t shown, but his characteristic concern and focus were both clear. He had such a great bedside manner, and Haley knew that Damon had observed the doctor with Natasha.

There were some random sketches that she guessed were in the neighborhood and some from the subway. He was really talented and she surveyed the room, seeing his mom’s pride in his skill and feeling as if she’d had a secret peek into his life. She’d guess that Natasha had been the one to have Damon’s work framed.

Haley would have framed it, too. She admired the work again.

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