Crimson Footprints Part 14

The next afternoon, Tak and Deena began the thirteen-hour trek to New York. They spent the evening in Cleveland with a late night meal of pierogies, or boiled dumplings stuffed with jalapenos and chicken, before pa.s.sing out for the night. They woke before checkout, grabbed dim sum in Asia Town and continued on their journey. Tak ripped through Pennsylvania and Jersey before arriving in New York at close to nine p.m., some six hours after their Cleveland departure.

The Statue of Liberty. The Empire State Building. Times Square. Deena had all the giddiness of a girl stepping into the hub of the cosmopolitan world for the first time. Her heart was palpitating and her palms sweaty, and she battled a constant need to grab Tak's sleeve to point out one landmark after another. She wanted a show on Broadway. Pizza in Brooklyn. A glimpse of the Apollo Theater. And she refused to wait another minute. At twenty-five, she'd waited long enough.

Tak's silver Ferrari crawled along the theatre district, stopping and starting on Deena's whim, as he attempted to find a hotel. Up and down the streets of Manhattan they staggered, until finally, he made a turn on 8th and another on 42nd. Deena screeched for him to stop.

"That one. That one there." Deena jabbed a finger at a single soaring hotel.

It was the Westin. A towering prism split by a curved beam of light and sheathed in multicolored gla.s.s. The hotel's mirrored surface s.h.i.+mmered with the reflection of yellow cabs and das.h.i.+ng pedestrians. She turned to Tak.

"Please."

He turned in, killed the engine, rolled down his window and handed the curbside valet his keys. Deena squealed at his automated indulgence.

They were forced to take a suite on one of the lower floors, as the closing of some Broadway show had the hotel inching towards capacity. One look at her face as they entered the room however, told Tak that Deena was far from disappointed.

The room ran a gamut of earthy tones offset with a splash of red. Thick chocolate carpeting and textured ecru walls complimented two broad platform beds with plush white bedding. A dash of red from an armchair, decorative pillows, and a seascape painting all lent to the room's sense of serenity. But they would have to save their appreciation for another day. Exhaustion from the non-stop trek from Cleveland left Tak and Deena skipping dinner to bid each other good night, almost at once.

When Deena woke in the morning, she was alone. The bedside clock told her it was ten a.m., and briefly, she wondered why Tak would let her sleep in so late. Deena showered and dressed, figured he was at the gym, and decided to wait for his return.

The Weather Channel reported a pleasant sixty, considerably warmer than a traditional March in New York. Excited by the news, she dug out a flirty blue blouse with a low-scooped neckline and paired it with a linen skirt. They were the latest additions to her newly emerging casual wardrobe, compliments, of course, of Chicago and Michigan Avenue.

Deena waited for an hour. Yesterday's decision to skip dinner haunted her. She glanced at the clock and decided to put in a little more time.

At a quarter to noon, she dialed Tak's cell. Met with his voicemail, she made up her mind that hunger couldn't wait. Deena rose, slipped her room key and a few dollars into her skirt's hidden pocket, and made for the door. New York waited.

Deena headed east on 42nd towards Broadway and the Times Square building, keeping her eyes peeled for restaurants all the while. She was wary of the overcast sky but certain she'd find something soon before eruption threatened to saturate her.

Wedged between the Bank of America Tower and Conde Nast was the Garden of Eden, an eclectic restaurant that bordered on blasphemous with its claim to be the favorite dining locale of Adam and Eve. She stopped to view the posted menu. An apple pie a la mode that promised to be sinfully sweet. A chocolate cake stacked like the Tower of Babel. Adam's ribs, slow cooked and braised to b.u.t.tery perfection. She liked the presumptuousness of such a place. She would save it for later. Save it for Tak. It was just his style.

As Deena turned to leave, she froze at the sight of him. Third table from the back, head lowered, reading a menu. The man who'd made her smile in her grief, who made love to her in her dreams. There. With another woman.

She'd been a fool.

He looked up. Their eyes met.

Slowly, Deena backed away from the window, turned, and fled.

The tears came hot and fast, faster than she'd ever thought possible. Her breathing staggered and painful, her heart was broken.

Deena barreled down the street and through the crowds, intent on losing him in the press of Times Square.

He was calling her.

He'd given her no reason for this. No reason for jealousy. To have laid claim to him. Never in her waking hours had he kissed her or whispered words of love in her ear, and yet, it hurt no less.

She was a fool-infusing his every word with innuendo, every touch with fire, all the while believing that it alone could satisfy her.

Raindrops began to fall. Fat and mocking, they pelted her, plastering toffee coils to her face and blouse to her body. In an instant, she was drenched.

When Deena reached the Westin, she tore across the lobby in slippery sandals, nearly plummeting in her distress. At the elevator, she jabbed the up b.u.t.ton, caught sight of Tak, and dashed for the stairs.

"Deena! Deena, please! Would you wait?"

The sound of his voice only fueled her hysteria. She burst into the stairwell, gut-wrenching sobs seizing her like violent gusts of wind. Up three flights they went, as her hair, her nose, her lips dripped with rain and tears. Her vision blurred, as behind her, Tak's footsteps thundered. She reached their floor, their door, and fumbled to unlock it.

"Deena, please. Listen to me."

He was there, beside her, as she trembled with emotion. He reached for her and she recoiled.

"Don't. Just-don't make it worse."

She returned to the door, fumbling.

"G.o.d, would you listen?"

She began to mutter to herself, enraged with a lock that wouldn't open.

"I'm so stupid," she whispered. "I had no reason to think you loved me. No reason to hope. I just-"

She dashed away tears.

"She's my agent, Deena. That's all."

He reached for her, turned her, and she went stark still.

"Now, are we done playing games?" Tak whispered.

Deena closed her eyes. Attempted to swallow fear.

"I don't know what you mean," she mustered weakly.

Something in her burned with the lie.

"No?"

He s.n.a.t.c.hed her to him, brought his mouth down hard on hers. She opened to meet him, willing, and a moan escaped. Resolve, resistance, rationale-all gone. When he finally withdrew, he was smiling.

"That's what I mean."

He returned to her mouth, his kisses demanding, impatient. His hands found her back, her waist, her a.s.s in greed. Deena was breathless with fear, antic.i.p.ation and arousal as her body told her what her mind had feared-that it was his. That it always had been his.

Blindly, he fumbled with the lock and opened the door before backing her into the suite. She clung to him, whimpering, as his tongue ravished her mouth.

He pulled away her blouse, exposing two bronzed b.r.e.a.s.t.s, clad in frilly white.

"Jesus," he whispered.

His mouth came down on hers again, swallowing, consuming her whole.

He found her skirt and tossed it to the floor, before pulling at his own clothes with impatience. She helped him, trembling fingers at the b.u.t.tons of his s.h.i.+rt, near desperate to feel him.

When Tak lifted her and instinctively, Deena's legs wrapped his waist. Their mouths met with abandon as he lowered her to the bed.

"You want this?" he whispered.

Deena blinked back tears. She fele so many things in that instant-alarm and pa.s.sion, nervousness and desire, and yes, she wanted him that bad.

She brought a hand to his cheek and nodded, hoping he couldn't feel the tremble. Tak kissed her, a soft kiss, before lowering his mouth to her body. He trailed lips to her thighs, parted them, and licked. Deena yelped, back arched as she gripped the sheets and thrashed beneath him. Hot waves swept her, drowning her, drowning her, completely. With a flick of the tongue, he'd humbled even her most impa.s.sioned dreams, relegating them to mediocrity.

He climbed atop her. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s crushed beneath him, soft and round, supple and yielding under hardness. His lips found her mouth again for a soft, sweet and lingering kiss. Deena closed her eyes, relis.h.i.+ng it, and was met with a thrust. White hot and searing, she let out a sob, as a gush of crimson met him.

Tak gasped. He was poised above her, inserted, overwhelmed. Overwhelmed by the tightness of her opening and the knowledge of what she'd given him. Never more had he felt the limitations of manhood. He was weakened by her-by the sight of her body, by his name on her lips, by the perfectness of it all.

She whimpered, and G.o.d, the sound drove him mad. He moved against her in slow and staggered strokes, working to forge an opening where none existed. He throbbed in her, pulsing and stirring with the compact fit. Slowly, carefully, together, they found harmony, fed hunger, fueled greed. He struggled to temper his thrusts with tenderness, but he was on fire. He dug fingers into the flesh of her hips, sinking and gripping, losing his battle. Steadily, her words came frenzied and incoherent, as frenzied as his strokes desperately wanted to be. She was meeting them now, each one, with an ardor that sent blazes through his body. She said his name, not once, but until he begged her to stop, certain she'd kill him. And when her body began to quiver and he could hold on no longer, he forged ahead, an apology on his lips. Together, they found harmony, fed pa.s.sion and fueled l.u.s.t. Together, they found a perfect, yet powerful finish.

CHAPTER TWENTY.

Deena's body was damp and her pulse still staggered. Having left Tak in the bed behind her, she brought a hand to the room's wide window. It felt cool to the touch. Her view from the third floor was unimpressive-a pharmacy, a few pedestrians, a billboard for Lion King the Musical. Both the sky was and ground registered the same dull slate. Rain fell in an indifferent sprinkle, leaving droplets her windowpane and the ground below.

Mid-intersection an umbrella unfolded, a burst of red in an otherwise gray day. She thought of Tak. He'd slipped into her life like that red umbrella, bursting open in her private storm of gray.

Behind her, Tak's arms slid around her midsection and kissed it. Silently, they stood there, watching the rain fall. And when Deena brought a hand to the window this time, Tak reached for it, covering it with his own.

Sitting across from each other on the bed, Tak and Deena dug into cartons of Moo shu pork with chopsticks. Deena, donned in Tak's gray UCLA tee, frowned at the food as she picked through it.

"There aren't any peanuts, Dee," Tak scooped out a thick wad of pork and noodles before dropping it into his mouth.

"Are you sure? I thought I saw one."

"You didn't. Now eat. You must be starving."

A shadow pa.s.sed over Deena's face and Tak sighed.

"You can meet her, you know."

Deena's gaze found her lap. "I don't know what you mean."

Tak smiled. "The last time you said that, it turned out you did."

He grinned at the rush of color to her cheeks.

"Come on," he placed a hand over her knee. "I'll call Bridget, my agent, and you can meet her."

Deena withdrew her hand. "I don't want you to think I don't trust you."

He returned to his food. "How about we don't even go down that road? How about you meet her, find out for yourself that she has absolutely no interest in me, nor any other man, and then we get on with our lives?"

Deena's eyes widened. "What do you mean 'no interest?' Did something happen to her?"

Tak grinned. He loved the irony of Deena's innocence. Tough, underprivileged, a fighter if he'd ever seen one, and still naive as h.e.l.l half the time.

"She's a lesbian, Dee. So she might like you." He winked.

"I don't need to meet her," Deena said quietly.

Tak shrugged.

"The more I think about it, the more I like it. In fact, I insist the two of you meet."

This time his grin was met with a pillow to the face.

"You're such a pig!"

"Your pig now."

She met his gaze with a shy smile.

When the heat of it proved too much, Deena stood and went to the cherry wood desk at the rear of the suite. She returned with a Fodor's guide. "I don't know what we'll do about our itinerary. We've wasted a whole day."

Tak shook his head. "And here I was ready to declare New York the best city ever."

Deena blushed. "But we haven't seen anything."

"You kidding me? I've seen plenty."

She hurled the book at him and Tak ducked. "You're getting violent, Dee. Can't say I approve." He returned to his moo shu pork.

"Tak! We've only got two days here. We need to make plans."

He turned his carton upside down and shoveled the last of the food into his mouth.

"How's this?" He stood, tossed the white box into a wastebasket, and headed for the bathroom to wash his hands. "How about we stay here a few more days. Two, three, five, I don't care. Then afterwards, if we can, we squeeze in one or two more places on the way home."

Deena frowned. "If that's what you want."

"No," Tak said, returning to the bed. "We'll stay longer if that's what you want. Whatever makes you happy."

It was the first time she'd ever heard the words, directed at her at least. She found they fell oddly on her ears, like the sound of her name being p.r.o.nounced incorrectly. While she still understood the meaning, it still rang as bizarre.