TWICE VICTORIOUS Read online

  But first she needed some clothes. She really was freezing. Her caftan had to be here, somewhere.

  Later they reclined on opposite sides of the tablecloth, bare feet toasting in the warmth of the renewed fire, appetites satisfied. Stell licked the last of the herring sauce off her fingers and sighed. "That was wonderful."

  "It was a far cry from potato salad and fried chicken," Adam said, smiling widely as he picked up stray cheesecake crumbs with a moistened finger.

  "Mom wouldn't go on picnics unless we stopped at the deli first," she told him. "If she was going to cook, we were going to eat it at the table." Memories of many outings with her parents flashed through her mind, leaving a faint residue of sadness, reminding her how lonely her life was. "I don't think we ever had fried chicken and potato salad for a picnic."

  "That's all we ever had." Adam began gathering the ravished deli containers together. "Can I combine, or do you want to keep all these separate?" He tipped the pickled herring container over the pasta primavera.

  She grabbed. "Why don't I take care of these? I'll only be a minute. You can get the trash."

  They worked together in silence. Stell wondered if he was having as much fun as she was. He'd been quiet and curiously restrained while they ate. Not angry, because his warm smile had flashed again and again, whenever their hands met on a passed dish or their glances locked.

  "I forgot to ask, Adam," she said, while she was pulling the tablecloth corners together. "How is your mother?"

  "She's fine. Fussing because the doctor told her she couldn't come in to the office for a month." He was squatting at the hearth, filling mugs from the still steaming coffeepot.

  "I'll bet that's strong enough to dissolve a spoon," she said, accepting hers. "Was she upset because you were in Taiwan instead of at the hospital."

  "No, but I felt guilty as hell. Mom's probably the most practical one among us. If I'd even mentioned coming home for her surgery, she'd have had my head."

  So he wasn't the only A-type personality in the family. Somehow that didn't surprise her. She sank onto the sofa cushions that he'd strewed before the fire. Why hadn't she thought of that before? They were so much softer than the wool carpet had been under her naked back. "This is nice."

  His arm encircled her. "It is. Makes me want to stay forever, just like this."

  "Um-hmmm. Me too." She relaxed. Right now was what mattered. Let tomorrow take care of itself.

  She was going to snatch as many moments with Adam as she could. While she could.

  Chapter Nine

  DRAFTING: riding in the slipstream of the rider ahead to cut down wind resistance and save effort

  Stell tossed an extra sweatshirt into her duffel, reminding herself that she'd need warm clothing at the Coast. Despite the sunny weather, the beach would be windswept and cool, a welcome contrast to the hot, dry days July brought to the Willamette Valley.

  She'd planned to be back on her bike by now. Instead she'd once more extended her deadline for the resumption of training another two weeks. Maybe a month. She took one last look around her bedroom, wondering what she'd forgotten to pack.

  According to Carl, she might be able to ride short distances by the first of September. According to her own schedule, the end of July would give her a dangerously short time to get back into shape before beginning the winter's round of Cyclocrosses. Absently she ran her hand along her left thigh. Soft! Soft and flabby. She was carrying about ten pounds she should never have gained.

  At least she was holding the depression at bay, now. Catching up on her neglected accounting, working the races at PIR and the velodrome on weekends, and spending two or three evenings a week with Adam kept her too busy to brood.

  The doorbell sounded. Right on time. Grabbing her duffel and rain parka, Stell hurried downstairs. It had been a long time since she'd simply walked the beaches and poked around the tide pools. This weekend she wasn't going to think about cycling.

  The house at Arch Cape sat right on the foredune, with a deck opening to stairs descending directly to the beach. Stell had known Adam had money. KIWANDA OuterWear was a successful business, after all. But this was beyond her wildest expectations. Six bedrooms, a kitchen to delight the most avid gourmet cook, and an unobstructed view of one of Oregon's loveliest beaches.

  "I almost envy you," she said, standing in the middle of the living room, unable to tear her eyes from the restless, hypnotic surf and the fiery clouds hiding the sinking sun.

  Coming up behind her, he slid his arms around her waist, nuzzled just under her ear. "Almost?"

  "I'd like the house, but not the property taxes," she admitted, leaning back into his embrace.

  "No kidding," he agreed. "If I had to pay them, I'd be in the poorhouse in a month. But I don't. The house belongs to KIWANDA; I'm paying rent for the weekend." He nipped at the back of her neck. "We use it for meetings, employee retreats, and quality incentive programs." His hands crept up to cup her breasts. "And rewards for excellence."

  "And you earned a reward?" she murmured, trying to turn to face him, but held in place. His erection was hard against her buttocks, his breath moist and hot on her neck.

  "I won first prize."

  He took one step backwards, and another. Stell gasped as he fell, pulling her with him. They landed amid the deep, overstuffed cushions of the long, half-circular sofa.

  Adam turned Stell in his arms, pulling her atop him. He wanted her, but was content to simply enjoy the feel of her in his arms. They had three days.

  Three days to build their relationship into something that would sustain her when she faced the fact of her inability to compete at the level needed for that damned race. Three days to convince Stell that what they had was more than a substitute passion, something to occupy her time until she resumed cycling.

  He groaned inwardly, knowing that he had an uphill battle on his hands. Obsessions were not easily relinquished, no matter how powerful the inducement.

  As Stell's hands found the buttons of his shirt, he pushed concern aside. The best way to convince her was to make this weekend one she would never forget, full of good food, good times, good loving.

  Now to start with the loving. He opened his mouth to her inquisitive tongue.

  Their hands explored, seeking, finding sensitive flesh. With eager tongues sparring, laving, teasing, they lifted each other onto a plateau of desperate wanting. When at last their bodies convulsed in release, it was together, as if neither could find rapture alone.

  Later, as their appetites ebbed, sated, the crash of the incoming tide reminded Adam of where they were. It was full night, with only the phosphorescent gleam of the surf visible through the window. They must have slept, entangled together in the welcoming depths of the sofa. Consciousness returned slowly, as he became aware of Stell's delicious weight across his chest.

  "Are you awake?" she whispered as he moved under her, trying to ease the pressure on a tingling arm.

  "Barely." He buried his nose in her hair, with its faint scent of apricots. "Did you sleep?" Desire, which should have been mitigated for the time being, awoke.

  She rolled off him, onto the floor. "Yes, for a while. Now I'm starved. And you promised me a walk on the beach." She switched on a lamp.

  He squinted against the sudden light. "Good grief! Have you no poetry in your soul? I thought all women wanted to be cuddled, afterwards."

  "This woman wants to be fed." She grabbed his leg and, without warning, pulled.

  He bumped onto the floor, grateful for the deep plush throw rug protecting his bare butt from the cold, hard tile. "Hey! Watch it!" Rolling sideways, he grabbed for her legs, but she danced out of his reach.

  "No you don't. Here." She tossed his discarded clothing at him, managing to shroud his head. By the time he'd untangled himself, she was gone. Soon he heard water running. The thought of her, lean and slippery wet, tempted him, but he decided to cook instead.

  His housekeeper had prepared and frozen a pasta casserole-for
-two. With a quickly assembled green salad, he was able to announce dinner as Stell walked through the door from the bedroom wing.

  She was wearing a black sweatsuit, trimmed in gold. An emerald-eyed tiger gleamed on the top, his footprints shone along her left leg. Matching golden thongs barely shod her slim feet, calling his attention to the hot pink polish on her toenails.

  He'd always thought painted toenails were sexy.

  "Yum! Whatever it is, it smells delicious." Stell seated herself at the breakfast bar and lifted the tall goblet beside her plate. She sipped its blush contents and smiled approvingly.

  Lifting his glass, Adam saluted her. "To us."

  Her smile faded. "To us," she agreed.

  He did his best to ignore the shadow that momentarily darkened her eyes.

  * * * *

  Saturday they lingered over coffee until almost noon. More than once Stell told herself that she ought to be out walking, instead of letting her body sink ever deeper into the soft, enfolding cushions of the overstuffed sofa. Each time she found inertia overcoming good intentions.

  Finally Adam said, "I'm hungry."

  She tore her gaze from the restless, hypnotic surf. Her stomach growled. "Now that you mention it, so am I." Stell pushed herself from the sofa's embrace and strolled to the refrigerator. Leaning on the open door, she stared inside, seeking inspiration. "I feel like cooking," she said, "if there's anything to cook."

  "There are some burritos in the freezer," Adam said, from his chair. "I saw them last night, when I put the ice cream in."

  Stell looked. Sure enough, behind the foil-wrapped pan of crab crepes she should have set out to thaw hours ago, there was a package labeled 'Ch-burrs.' She set the crepes on the table and carried the burritos over to the sink. From the looks of them, they'd been in the freezer a while. Ice crystals lined the plastic wrap, so that it looked more like a chunk of old ice than food.

  With shredded cheese and some picante sauce she found in the cupboard, Stell made the burritos edible, although the corn tortillas were only slightly more flexible than good shoe leather. Salad left from the night before and some icy pink zinfandel rounded out the meal.

  "That was good," Adam said, gathering up the dirty dishes. "You know your way around the kitchen."

  "I used to like to cook, but anymore I never seem to have the time to. So many of the races start at 6:30, so I take a sandwich to eat while I'm there. Then when I get home, it's often too late to cook anything." Dividing the last of the wine between their glasses, she sat at the counter and watched him work.

  "How many times a week do you sit down to a meal?"

  She thought about it. "Now? I eat breakfast and lunch at home. And dinner, whenever we go out." Guiltily, she realized that he had been feeding her at least twice a week recently, and had provided all the food for this weekend. Maybe she should invite him to a home cooked meal one of these days.

  "And the other days?"

  "Dinner? Sandwiches," she admitted sheepishly. "But my breakfasts and lunches are well-balanced and nourishing."

  Right. Yesterday it was pickled herring and Wheat Thins for lunch. The day before peanut butter cookies and ice cream.

  "Mostly," she amended.

  Adam finished wiping the counters. "Ready for a walk?" His voice was even and noncommittal, but she could almost hear him thinking.

  We're lovers, that's all. What I eat is none of his business.

  They walked the length of the long, flat beach and back, ending up in the tide pools near the arch. Stell wasn't inclined to conversation, but simply gave herself up to the sensual rasp of fine sand on her bare feet and the fresh wind in her hair. Adam, too, was quiet, answering only when spoken to. Yet Stell was comfortable with him. Beach walking shouldn't be a social event, she decided, as they slipped their scuffed sneakers back on so they could explore the rocky tide pools. It was a contemplative experience, much like ironing and weeding.

  They returned to the house in the late afternoon. Stell dropped her shoes on the porch and brushed sand from her sweatpants. As she opened the door, she yawned. "Gosh, I'm sleepy."

  "It's all that fresh air and sunshine," Adam told her, following her inside. "No smog, no carbon monoxide. Just good, clean salt air."

  "Whatever." Another yawn. "If you don't mind, I think I'll take a nap." She sank into the sofa's embrace, was dimly aware of Adam draping an afghan over her.

  For an hour and more, Adam watched Stell sleeping. She looked younger, he decided, less intense. When awake, her expression always seemed to hold determination, as if she were directed toward a goal.

  Of course she was. She was determined to ride that crazy race. He realized he wasn't even sure which race her goal was. Nothing was going to stop her.

  Nothing? Not even her own body?

  He very much feared she would sacrifice future good health for immediate success.

  Good health and everything else. In Stell McCray's scale of importance, he might rate fourth or fifth, he decided. After bringing her body back to peak fitness, racing, going to races, reading about racing, officiating at races, and maybe even her business.

  It was not an easy position to be in.

  That night he made an effort to pull out of the mild depression he felt, but must not have been successful. Stell seemed to withdraw, and finally, about ten, she said, "I must be catching up for months of restless sleep. I can't keep my eyes open. If you don't mind, I'll head for bed."

  "I'd like to finish this chapter. I'll be up soon." He returned her kiss, with as little passion as she had put into it.

  That night they slept together, but they did not make love. When he awoke in the morning, she was gone. "Walking the beach," said the note on her pillow.

  In a way he was relieved. His feelings about Stell were confusing, to say the least. Until he sorted them out, maybe he'd better cool things a bit.

  And how far are those good intentions going to take you, the next time she's in your arms?

  * * * *

  "I feel like I ought to be entertaining you," Adam apologized Sunday afternoon, "instead of boring you to sleep."

  She had been asleep again, Stell realized, seeing how low the sun was. It had been such a comfortable sleep, with the warmth of Adam at her feet, the sumptuous sofa pillows enfolding her. Yawning, she forced herself to sit upright. "I can't believe I've been here most of the day." She knew she should feel guilty, but somehow she couldn't. Having deliberately left her worries and her fears behind in Portland, she'd been able to relax as she hadn't in years. "What time is it?"

  "Nearly six. Hungry?" He set aside the folder of papers that had been resting on his knees.

  "How could I be? I haven't done a thing to work up an appetite." She arched her back and reached for the ceiling, knowing she should be on the floor, stretching in her daily routine. Not today. It sounded too much like work.

  "How about a walk on the beach? The wind's died and the tide's out."

  "Just let me get my shoes." They were still damp from yesterday. She slapped them together, dislodging most of the sand that coated them. Shoes in one hand, she gingerly made her way across the foredune and onto the beach. Adam was right behind her.

  "I'm afraid I'm poor company," she said as they walked slowly toward the rocky headland that gave Arch Cape its name. "I just can't seem to keep my eyes open. All I have to do is sit on that darned sofa and it grabs me and puts me to sleep."

  "Sometimes I'll do that when I come to the beach," he said. "It's as if my body says, 'Enough. Time out,' and just turns me off for a while."

  She bit her lip. Overdoing it was the last thing she'd done, these past couple of weeks. Following Carl's advice to the letter was just about the most difficult thing she'd ever done. But it was paying off, however slowly. Her hip was better. This week he'd told her that she could walk a mile a day, as long as she stayed on the level.

  I must have walked farther than that yesterday, though. And I don't hurt a bit. Maybe...

  N
o! She wasn't going to bargain with her body any longer. If she'd walked beyond the imposed limit, it had been a one-shot. Tomorrow she'd follow orders again. "What was that you were reading when I woke up?" she asked Adam, remembering the folder he'd held.

  "Oh, just some budget figures. We'll have to do some expanding if the ActiveWear line catches on. We'll be looking at options for the next few months, so as to be ready when decision time comes."

  "You brought work?" She wasn't sure whether to be insulted or just amused.

  "Of course. I take my briefcase everywhere. There's no sense in wasting time. Like this afternoon."

  "Sheez, Adam. What do you do for fun? Design overshoes?"

  "No, I'm no good at design...oh, that was a joke, huh?"

  "Sure. A joke," she agreed, forcing herself to smile. If she were totally honest, she would admit to her pique at his bringing work along on their weekend away. She wanted to be at the center of his life for as long as she could, but only if he accepted how important racing was to her. She didn't know what she would do if she couldn't make him understand.

  Although sunset was a long way off, the light seemed to dim. They puttered about the tide pools for a while, then went back to the house. After that, it was time to go back to Portland.

  By the next weekend, Adam had decided he was imagining things. Stell had invited him to a home-cooked dinner. He went, wondering if he was making a mistake.

  "I've missed you this week," she said, taking the bouquet of daisies he handed her at the door.

  "It's been crazy," he said, not admitting that every time he'd reached for the phone to call her, he'd talked himself out of it. The only way he could cool their relationship was to avoid her.

  "I've had weeks like that. Would you like wine?"

  "Yes, please." He looked around the living room. "Something's different."

  "I moved the TV down to my exercise room. That way I can catch the news while I'm on the wind trainer."

  "On the-- You're riding?"

  "Only a little. Carl said I could, as long as I didn't put any strain on my knee. For ten minutes a day. Sit down. I'll get the wine."