“That’s how you felt last night?” I twisted around and saw something desperate in his eyes.
“Yes. You were so sick and fragile, and all I wanted to do was this.” As his mouth drifted over mine, he pushed me backward on the soft mattress.
It’s what I want. That thought flashed through me as I kissed him back, my hands gripping his shoulders.
“I’m not so awful, am I?” he breathed when we came up for air.
Not replying, I offered him my neck. Yes, he remembered the spot that had sent me reeling across the taxi seat. He knew that, and more. Soon I was tugging at his starched cotton shirt and then, his belt. I couldn’t let go.
“Be careful,” he chided, disappearing beneath the quilt. “I’m too old, too Scottish…”
“But I want you anyway,” I sighed. It was chemistry, pure and simple. I stretched my hands down his body and found him the way I’d expected: rocklike.
“Say that to me tomorrow.” His mouth was on my navel.
“Do you want to, ah…” It was as if some second, renegade voice within me had spoken, the one that told me if I halted this erotic journey I’d wonder forever about roads not taken.
“I’m not prepared. Are you?” He pulled the covers back and regarded me with astonishment.
“No. I came for the museums.” A crazy laugh started somewhere inside me.
“Maybe I have something else for you then,” he murmured, and his mouth and fingers trailed downward. He was a Pagan all right. In the space of a few minutes I exploded, gasping, into his hand which had flashed up to cover my mouth.
“You’re delicious. I could have you for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.” He resurfaced and drew me into a kiss. I was incapable of speech. When he stroked me again, I flicked away his hand. It was my turn. I broke away and slid down the length of his lightly furred chest and stomach, lingering long enough on his thighs that his rough breathing told me he couldn’t stand it anymore. Then I closed my mouth over him and began learning the track of his desires.
“What happened to Miss Prim?” Hugh whispered afterward. “I’m not going to ask how you knew, just feel grateful.”
“I was listening to you breathe.” I could talk again and felt wonderful.
“Darling, you’ve got to admit what happened was beyond physical.”
“Metaphysical?” I traced the ridge between his pectorals, now slick with sweat, enjoying the sound of our shared laughter, low and intimate.
“Sssh,” Hugh cautioned. “We’ll rouse Yamamoto.”
“Do you think anyone heard?” I would die a thousand deaths for having forgotten about the thin walls. “Not likely, as it’s the only time we ever shut up.” I felt him holding my hand, a curiously innocent gesture after all we had done. “Will you be around tomorrow when I come back from skiing? Things have changed for us, and there’s something I want to tell you.”
“It’s tomorrow already. This is about Setsuko, isn’t it?”
His silence told me yes.
“You’re a bastard,” I said and rolled away from him. He pulled me back.
“I brought the matter up now so I can reserve you for the evening. We’ll get out of here to talk. Wait for me?”
“I’m not exactly the waiting type.” The comfortable feeling I had allowed myself to be lulled into was almost completely gone. “And going to be busy.”
“More museums to see? I’ll take my chances, then.” He ran his tongue over the nape of my neck.
“I should go back to my room. So you can rest up for your skiing,” I whispered.
“Please don’t.” Hugh threw a leg over me, and his voice softened. “This is the going to be the best part.”
Neither of us spoke again, as if willing it to be so.
When I awoke, the room was bright and he was gone. From my cozy spot under the blankets, I saw a neatly folded pile of my thermal underwear and his yukata. I smiled at that; clearly, he wanted me to be covered for my trip back across the hall.
I’d make an effort to be tidy for him, too. I rolled up the bedding and slid it into the closet, stopping when I heard something knock against the back wall. I pulled the futon back out and crawled in to investigate. My hand closed around a gray velvet jewelry box.
I sat back on my heels and considered things. I knew it could be nothing for me. What had happened between us physically—and, I grudgingly admitted, emotionally—had surprised both of us. Even if he had bought me a present in advance, all that could be had in Shiroyama was lacquered wood.
I popped open the box and looked down at something sickeningly familiar—a choker of eight-millimeter, perfectly matched pearls in the pinkish shade Japanese women preferred. Pearls with a twenty-four karat butterfly clasp that was broken along the edge, as if someone had yanked it hard.