Among The Cloud Dwellers (Entrainment Series) Read online

  Still annoyed by the conversation, I stalked back to my room. For whatever reason, despite his overbearing demeanor, I valued Desmond’s friendship and opinion. He’s probably the only professional contact I can truly say I trust unconditionally to never harm me. In spite of his past or reputation (and crass jokes), I know he honestly cares for me and has demonstrated such care often in the past. In addition, I’ve learned how to canvass through his words for the real gold; among all those vulgarities he pretty much said I was like a daughter to him.

  After thinking all this through, I sat down at the small desk and resumed work on my article.

  I got so absorbed in typing that if it were not for Beverly softly knocking on my door to ask me if I cared for lunch, I would have kept on going forever. It always happens when I write; time seems to fly, the only proof of its passing is in my printed words.

  She handed me a heaping tray and told me to just return it downstairs later.

  With trepid anticipation, barely controlling my watering mouth, I set the tray on the desk and tucked into a delectable lunch. For a few precious moments I cared only about the incredible taste of the food in front of me. I loved the smooth texture of the grilled eggplants layered in the thick, basil-infused ragù and the aged Parmigiano cheese. Melted, runny mozzarella stretched into strings as I cut another bite with my fork and moved back in time to my family’s kitchen, where my mother used to prepare a dish very similar to this particular one. Echoes of my father’s delight rang in my ears, as I tasted the Shiraz with it. Here I was once again, fascinated by the intense color this wine seemed to exude no matter what light it was subjected to. I took a sip, then another, and swirled the glass, admiring the wine’s legs, an old habit to break. Such legs (or “tears”) that run down the inside of a glass of wine are one of the most fascinating visual components of the tasting experience but have nothing to do with the wine’s quality, instead relating directly to the alcohol content. Simply put, and in my father’s own words, a very general rule of thumb is that wine with a higher alcohol content will have a higher viscosity—and therefore, more legs. This is known as the Marangoni Effect.

  I wiped my plate clean with a piece of wheat bread. (Not too posh, I know, but you would have to be an idiot to leave such a treat at the bottom of your plate. Just refrain from this stunt at any elegant restaurant.)

  Munching on my last piece of bread, I put on my goose down jacket and returned the tray to an empty kitchen. I wanted to go for a walk and clear my head a bit.

  A frost front had rolled in since the morning, and the temperature had dropped severely. Throughout the courtyard water puddles had frozen over, and an icy hoar dusted the landscape. I took a right turn to a path behind the main house and followed it, heading toward a wooded hill in the distance. Fields of arthritic vines sloped on both my left and right. My feet crushed fine gravel while the scent of leaves mixed with dirt tickled my nostrils. I noticed one of the caramel-coated dogs trotting behind me, and I stopped to let him know it was alright to keep me company. He shook his thick coat and quickened his gait to pace mine.

  I’m a fast walker, and I warmed up as I climbed the gentle slope. Here the air smelled of wet wood and rich soil, clear and brisk. I could see my breath as I exhaled and glanced at the dog to check if I could see his as well. I was tempted to strike up a conversation with him but felt foolish even with no one around me. I cast a sidelong glance at him, wondering whether he was debating conversing with me as well, but he seemed content to just trot at my side. We soon reached the woods where silence hit us in a thick, engulfing fog. Paralyzing. It was so absolutely quiet I could hear my heartbeat pound in my ears when I stopped, crouched down, and listened. High, fluffy clouds chased one another across a vast gray sky, reminding me that changes are never permanent. Rather, permanence resides in the fact of change.

  The key to change is to let go of fear, the Baci quote had read, but if change is not enduring, then how many fears does one have to shed through the course of a life? And in my case, lives?

  Nothing. Absolute stillness. Even the dog seemed to sense the magical forest peace and quietly settled next to me, patient, as if expecting something.

  The rich underwood scent brought back memories of another distant forest. The sharp cold stung my cheeks. I closed my eyes and drowned in yearning. A similar wintry breath hit my face as I ran, surrounded by darkness, toward a candlelit window and—Xavier.

  I have never made love like that in this lifetime.

  I blinked back tears and raised my eyes toward the sky filtering through the thick vegetation. I looked around me, recognizing acacias and maidenhair ferns. Focused ahead, enchanted by the dapple of light shining through the thickening foliage, I wondered about adventuring deeper into the core of the forest. Breathing quietly, I cast my magic gossamer net and gently tried to sense if I was being invited in. Waiting, I remained still for a few moments. Then I felt it: a distant rhythmical pulse, a visceral breath of energy. The enchanted forest inhaled and then, eternally slowly, almost undetectably, exhaled.

  I thought of a riddle I remembered as a young girl: Se ne fai il nome, scompare. Cos’ѐ? If you name it, it disappears. What is it?

  Silence.

  And who was I to break nature’s desire to be quiet?

  Feeling like an intruder, I turned on my heels and headed lightly back out of the woods, followed only by my soundless, four-legged companion. A smirk broke my serious focus. I had felt the forest’s wishes; I didn’t get invited in, but I felt it, nonetheless.

  CHAPTER 11

  When I got back to the main house, I saw I had barely an hour to get ready.

  Invigorated by the brisk walk, my body welcomed the luxury of a warm shower. I quickly toweled myself dry and moved on to blow-dry my hair straight until it fell in a smooth cascade down my back.

  I rewrapped the uncooperative towel around my body for the hundredth time and critically eyed my limited wardrobe selection.

  Gabe had said casual. Hmm . . .

  After a distressfully ridiculous amount of consideration, I decided to go with the chocolate suede trousers, the gypsy flowered blouse and the black boots. Casual, but . . . I thought, pleased with my decision. I dabbed some amber oil in all the places I would like to be kissed as Coco Chanel used to say. I finished with extra mascara, leaving my lips bare with just a coat of lip balm. I puckered my mouth and blew a kiss at my reflection in the mirror.

  I heard a light tap at my door and went to open it. Nicolas stood in the doorframe looking a bit sheepish.

  “Hi! What’s up?” I smiled.

  “Gabe is downstairs.”

  “Thanks!” I swirled around. “Well? What do you think?”

  “You smell great.” His face twisted and exploded into a powerful sneeze.

  “Salute!” I laughed.

  “Thanks! No, I really mean it. You smell great and you look fantastic.” He smiled. “Here are my keys. The long gold one is for the main door.” He dropped them in my hand.

  “Nicolas, are you sure? How thoughtful.”

  “Yep, no worries.” He hugged me. “Have fun.”

  “I will.” I grabbed my leather peacoat and my bag, and we headed downstairs together.

  Gabe waited in the foyer talking quietly to Beverly. He looked sinful in dark jeans and a black leather jacket.

  “Porzia, you look great.” His eyes caressed me slowly, lingering for a second longer than I anticipated on my smiling lips.

  “She smells great, too,” Nicolas added, and barely suppressed another sneeze.

  “Yes, she does. Nice to see you again, mate,” Gabe said, laughing. He shook Nicolas’s hand.

  “Pleasure’s all mine, sir,” Nicolas replied.

  As I fumbled with my jacket Gabe stepped forward to help. I nearly melted when he took the extra moment to lift my hair from under its collar. Quickly, I hugged Beverly and
winked at Nicolas, and we left the house.

  Right outside, Gabe stopped for a second, brought my hand to his lips, and lightly kissed it. “You look stunning this evening,” he said. He kept my hand in his.

  Heat rose to my cheek, and I was thankful for the surrounding darkness. “Thank you.”

  When we got to his car, he opened the door for me. It was roomy and yet cozy inside. I reached over to open his side with my nostrils tickling at Gabe’s subtle scent lingering in the cabin. A feather hung from his rearview mirror.

  “Did you have a good day?”

  “Yes, not bad. And you?” I said, distracted. My eyes lingered on his golden hair reflecting pale moonlight that filtered through the smoked sunroof.

  “Good, but I’m glad it’s over,” he sighed. “It’s always really busy for a time whenever I get back from a trip.”

  “So . . . you didn’t mention you race when we met.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Oh, I see. You were waiting for me to recognize you.”

  His midnight-blue eyes left the road for an instant and brushed my face. “No, I wasn’t, but I’m sort of glad you didn’t.”

  “The Jourdain boys were absolutely ecstatic to have you over yesterday. Not to mention the women.”

  “And you?”

  “I was very happy that you were able to make it. It was nice to see Clark again, too.” I tried to sound neutral.

  “Happy. Very happy. But not ecstatic.”

  “Yes, I was. I’m not good at fibbing,” I mumbled, feeling myself blush in the darkness. “Are you still racing?”

  “No. I crashed seven years ago.”

  I leaned forward and touched the feather. “You had a key chain on the plane with a similar feather.”

  “Roight here,” he said, pointing at the ignition. “You’re very observant.”

  “What kind of bird are they from?”

  “Eagle. From an Aboriginal tradition.”

  “An eagle like the one I saw when I first arrived?”

  He took a moment to answer. “I wasn’t there to see, but I reckon it might have been exactly the same bird. They roam around the Adelaide hills, by Morialta Park.” He switched the subject in that unexpected way of his. “What’s hanging from your key chain, Porzia?”

  “Dice.” Well, I lied. I hadn’t attached them to my keys yet. Soon, I would.

  “How many?”

  “Two,” I answered as my mind remembered something. “Isn’t Morialta Park by where you said you live?”

  “Roight. Great memory.”

  “So—the restaurant is in your neighborhood?” I asked.

  “You could say that.”

  “And you eat there often?”

  “Almost every night.” He glanced over.

  “Oh! You must know the chef very well then?”

  Gabe laughed. “You’re looking at him.”

  “Do you own a restaurant or are we going to your place?”

  “We’re going to my place.”

  “And you’re cooking me dinner?”

  “Hey, no worries, I’m an excellent cook,” he declared. “Plus, I figured we don’t have much time, and I want to share some special things with you. Things that we wouldn’t be able to enjoy if we went out to eat at some crowded place. Like talking, getting to know each other better, cooking some good food with a glass or two of your favorite beverage: wine; sharing a quiet evening away from curious eyes and noisy people.” He pressed his lips together tightly. “So you get to know the man, not the celebrity.”

  I hadn’t even considered the possibility of dealing with the media if we had gone out to a restaurant. He does have a point, but I shouldn’t have shaved my legs.

  We stopped at a red light and he turned to look at me. “I hope you’re not offended about tonight. About my plans.”

  “No, of course not. Now I know why you said casual, but you could have said something. I would have brought dessert.”

  His eyes dropped, following the curve of my chin down my neck, pausing on the swelling of my breasts. A slow, sensuous grin spread on his lips, sending shivers down my spine. “Oh, but you have.” He sped through the intersection looking like the wolf from Little Red Riding Hood.

  Oh, great.

  Unable to control the effect he had on me, I had to force myself away. I tried to concentrate on the unraveling darkness interrupted by the occasional streetlight and oncoming car headlights.

  Gabe drove with confident skill, focused on the road ahead. Against the rare splash of lights, his eyes constantly shifted, like they hadn’t made up their minds which shade to settle on yet. I hoped they never would.

  He slowed down and the engine labored as we began to climb a winding road. Adelaide’s night lights glimmered down below in the distance.

  “I know it’s dark and you can’t see much but it’s a pretty sight in daylight,” he told me. “We’re almost there.”

  “Oh, that didn’t take long.” I glanced at my watch: almost six. “I take that back, I can’t believe it’s been almost an hour.”

  “Perfect timing. I hope you’re hungry.” He dropped gears and gently rolled the car in front of a tall gate already opening.

  “I can wait a bit longer,” I admitted as we passed the gate. As it closed behind us, my heart skipped.

  The house hid behind the massive silhouette of a tree I couldn’t recognize in the darkness. I caught sight of a stone porch and a few steps leading to an oak door framed by cheerful stained glass. Dim light filtered from large windows lining the porch.

  “Here we are,” Gabe announced, pulling up by the front steps to park right near the entrance.

  “Looks quiet,” I whispered, getting out of the car. I took a few steps before finding my legs.

  “It is,” he answered, walking up to me to take my hand.

  With contact, current flared like an overloaded switch, fire ignited between us. We barely made it to the front porch where we impatiently found each other. His hands slid inside my jacket as I backed into the front door with the length of his body pressing against mine. He smelled so good I felt high on it. My hands curled around his leather collar, and I lifted my face to gently kiss the corner of his mouth, brushing stubble and soft lips. He adjusted his head just enough for our lips to meet fully. Molding to my body, his hands found my hips and pulled me even closer. The heat of his fingers seared my skin through the thin lace. His tongue sought mine, and I parted my lips to welcome his intimate stroking.

  I raised my hands to caress the sharp line of his jaw and held him even closer to me, smelling his leather jacket, tasting his desire for me. I wished to feel his hands on my bare skin. As if reading my mind, his fingers slid around my waist, found the scalloped edge of my blouse, and ducked beneath it. The kiss deepened with the growing intimacy of our touch, enveloping us in timeless devotion. His tongue stole a moan that escaped from my lips as my body responded to his exploration.

  It could have gone on forever. I think it did, for I lost track of time in the privacy of his embrace. He brushed his mouth across my cheek, his hands relaxed on my waist, and he exhaled against my ear, “Come on in, luv. Before we decide this is where we’re spending the evening.” His voice dripped with arousal. Pulling away from me he opened the door.

  I smiled at the effect this man had on me.

  We stepped inside, and he closed the door behind us. “Do you want to give me your jacket?” He took his off and raked a hand through his hair.

  “I always do that to you,” I said, handing him my own jacket.

  “What? Make me forget reality?” He raised an eyebrow.

  I blushed. “No, I meant mess up your hair. But I like what you said better.”

  He looked right at me, his eyes clear and undiluted. “You can mess up my hair anytime, as long as I get to kiss you li
ke that.” His voice fired an irresistible temptation.

  “Sounds good to me.” My hands itched with the urge to start all over; I reached for my pockets instead, only to remember I didn’t have any.

  “Here, let me show you the place.” He turned some lights on. I looked around, taking in the spacious entrance. Through large windows a panoramic view below of Adelaide by night bracketed a stone fireplace on the far wall. I bet in daylight one could see all the way to the ocean.

  “We must be pretty high to be able to see so far,” I observed, half to myself.

  “We are pretty high. Not many houses above us,” Gabe whispered in my ear. He had moved quietly right behind me.

  Two comfy-looking sofas faced each other in front of the fireplace. An interesting array of handmade tribal rugs dressed the polished hardwood floors. Several pictures hung on the columns of exposed stone that separated the windows.

  “The kitchen is this way.” He showed me the way through an open hallway. I followed him into a spacious pinewood kitchen with stainless steel appliances.

  “Do you need any help with dinner?” I offered, feeling instantly at ease in a familiar environment.

  “I believe I have it all under control, but you could open the wine. If you don’t mind . . .” He pointed at a couple of bottles on the counter. The label looked familiar.

  “Gabe, this is the Jourdains’ Cabernet!” I exclaimed, surprised.

  “Yes, it is. Frank gave me a couple of bottles last night. He said the Shiraz would be just as good but you might have been tired of it.”

  “Frank offered you the Shiraz? Before it hits the market?” I was stunned.

  “I guess there are a few advantages to being me.” He winked and handed me a brand-new wine opener with a price tag still hanging from it. I smiled and felt all fuzzy inside; he went out of his way to please me. “So, what did you promise them?”

  “Nothing, yet. But I invited the boys to come down and take a look at the shop.”

  “Where is your shop anyway?”

  “That way.” He tilted his chin toward the window pointing to Adelaide.