A Love Soul Deep Read online

  Mischief danced in his eyes. “Careful, Sara. What you wish for just might come true,” Crew said, his lips so close to mine.

  I meant to say “Good” or maybe “God”. Even goodie gumdrops would have sounded sexier than the muffled, wet “guh” that erupted from my lips as his almost touched mine. I exhaled a gasp and inhaled a gulp of wondrous breath. His breath. Milky and sweet like a baby’s. His lips would feel full and firm, but he didn’t press them to mine with the slow care that used to make me swear, this must be heaven.

  To just feel him one more time, to show him my heart. My oldest wish about to come true. Just one more time to feel him and smell him and tell him what I should have back then.

  He licked his lips. A little jolt of surprise ran through me. He was nervous. The first time we ever kissed, he’d done just that same thing. He’d fidgeted and talked too fast and only when I thought he must not feel a thing, he had admitted how crazy I made him.

  But now I was the one going nuts. This little pit of worry gnawed into my stomach. What if ...?

  I shoved and tugged at the blankets. Crew helped, kicking them down. I searched for the hemline of his T-shirt, thinking about how much I liked that he’d come into my dream wearing one. So much better than a suit or a sweater or—I pulled a fistful of fabric up. No. Not his shirt. Sheets. My hands clutched sheets.

  “Crew,” I said.

  I wanted him. How could I make him just touch me? Just once?

  His mouth came twisted into a pain-filled smile. Oh, God, I wanted him. I wanted to feel the naked press of our bodies. I wanted the thrust of his hips. Flesh meeting flesh. The hurt and the bliss. And—

  Crew moved away. “Sara,” he said, his voice raspy. “Sara, listen.”

  “I can’t. Please. Don’t make me.” My eyes stung at the corners. “Crew.”

  I tried to pull him to kiss me, but my hands seemed to pull through mud. Heavy. Murky. My heart hammered.

  “Wish me aga. …”

  Crying out must have woken me. I sat up, my hands to my chest. My pulse slammed in my veins. A tear slid from my left eye, hot and raw. Dawn slipped into my room through the gap in the burgundy drapes. I bit back the tears and the ache. Not just the ache of loss, the keen need my body didn’t yet realize had only been a dream.

  I punched the pillow next to me. “Damn it!”

  So close. I’d been so close to having what I always wanted. I’d even take Crew in a dream. Now months would pass before I’d dream of him again. For weeks I’d think and analyze, and who knew how much time would pass before the thought of a living man’s touch didn’t repulse me?

  Just perfect. I lay back down in a slump, swiping away the other sneaky tear and exhaled, trying to blow the riot in my chest out on a gust of breath. No sense pouting. Dwelling and getting depressed would only make my sorrow worse. I rolled to my side.

  The locket flopped with a thud onto the pillow next to me. The sunlight caught the filigree etching. I opened it, certain I wouldn’t see his face staring back at me, but rather some guy from a hundred years ago. Definitive proof that I did, in fact, need professional help. I popped the locket open.

  Knock! Knock! Knock!

  I startled. My nerves sparked.

  “Sara?” Moira called.

  I snapped the locket closed, shoved it under my tee and climbed out of bed. Three more bangs set my scalp at attention. “Okay! I’m coming,” I called. “Jesus, Mary and freaking Joseph.” I had to wonder if I’d feel a whole lot better muttering such things if I had a religious bone in my body.

  I swung the door open, ready to throttle my oldest, dearest friend for the mere joy of seeing her perky smile turn blue. “What?!”

  “Yoga. Remember?” She spring-stepped in a circle, her ponytail swinging like a tongue sticking out and saying neener-neener.

  “Yeah. Right.” I shut the door, dove under the covers, and almost screamed when she bounded in after me.

  “Huh-uh-uh. You promised.”

  Yes. I had promised. Vowed, in fact, with a hand over my heart and reciting a silly best friend mantra. And while I wanted to flip her the bird and sleep the day away, I knew I couldn’t. I’d only cry and fret and analyze—and not sleep for a minute. “Fine. Okay.” I sat up, holding onto my pout tight. “Yoga.”

  ~~~

  Chapter Three

  I put my body into “downward dog” position. The blood rushing to my head began edging a headache into my temples. I focused on breathing through the pain and listening to the birds chirping in the trees along the edge of the garden-like courtyard. Why did yoga have to be outside today? Why did Moira have to be so frickin’ chipper in the morning?

  Because it was gorgeous out, like a fairy tale, and Moira was born under planet Happy.

  “Why do you look like shit, and why don’t I remember you getting that locket yesterday?” Moira demanded.

  I jerked my head to the right to see her scowl. Her stare at my chest had me looking down. My shoulder muscles protested as I craned to see the locket. It lay precariously at my T-shirt hem.

  I exhaled. “How could you miss it? You were standing right there.” Had she been? I didn’t remember much past the adrenaline from buying the thing and wanting to keep it totally secret.

  Moira eased up to a standing position and walked over to me. I shut my eyes and went for looking totally committed to my pose. I got the feeling she’d ask to see the locket.

  She ran her hand along my spine, pushing a little on my lower back. “Don’t lock up. Remember to let your body relax into the pose.”

  “Mmm. Hmm,” I grunted. “Sure.” This was not what I called relaxing. But Moira and I had a bet going. Give it six weeks, and see if I didn’t love it. Week three, and yoga still sucked my will to stand up straight, let alone contort into “camel” pose.

  She jostled my hips then patted the sides of my arms. By now, I saw this as encouragement to move my arms in line with my shoulders. I did as nudged, and felt her fingers at my neck, tickling.

  I jerked upright, clutching the locket. “What are you doing?”

  She sidestepped banging heads with me. “Just checking out your little treasure. Why? Don’t want me to see it?”

  Moira had always been too perceptive. Normally, I counted this as one of her many endearing qualities. Her ability to hone in on details brought us together in the first place. Way back in ninth grade, she’d insisted we pack combined lunches, since I rarely came to school with food or money. She never made me feel awkward about being poor. But, right now, I wanted her radar pointing elsewhere. At least until I figured out how I felt about my dream and the picture inside the locket. “Why wouldn’t I want you to see it?” I fidgeted with the clasp, pretending that it was giving me trouble. “Hey, where’s Kim this morning? No yoga for her?”

  “Kimmie-kins is hungover.” Moira said, standing with her palm out, patiently waiting. “And I’m not sure she’ll ever give yoga the chance it deserves.”

  “That’s weird,” I said, careful to keep sarcasm out of my tone. My heart rate resumed a normal pace. Memories of the dream hovered in my mind. I tried to push them back.

  “I know, right? She’s so New Age in so many other ways. She’s even learning tarot. But, yoga?” She rolled her eyes. “At least she woke up this morning—right before flipping me the bird and hiding under the covers.”

  I had to admire Kimmie-kins (hated that name) for her ability to withstand Moira’s huge helping of cajoling with a side of guilt. I never could resist. Seeing Moira flip her palm about as she spoke, losing that gimme quality to her gestures, I dropped my hands to my side. She might be like a bloodhound with details, but she was also easily distracted if you knew which bone to throw. I did.

  “Why is she hung over? I didn’t think she drank that much last night.” We’d hit a late dinner at a Cuban fusion restaurant and had a couple of drinks. Not enough to get anyone slurring or anything, though. “What’s up with that?”

  Moira crossed her arms. “
I think she went back to the bar after we all said good night.”

  I felt my left eyebrow jab upward before I could stop it. Insinuating things about Kim kept the bloodhound away from my own scent. If Moira found out about the dream or the locket’s photo, I’d be facing the best friend inquisition.

  “I know, I know. Just don’t say it, okay?”

  “Say what?” I surreptitiously tucked the locket around a bra strap so it wouldn’t go flopping into plain view again. I felt miles better. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

  “Oh, no you don’t. I saw the look.”

  “What look?” I bit back a smile, fearing she’d see my relief. What I wouldn’t give to go back to bed and dream that dream all day long.

  Moira pointed a finger at my forehead. “That one.”

  I threw my hands up and laughed. “Sorry. My eyebrow has a mind of its own, okay? I’ll stop.” So, Kim and I had a little history that I had a hard time forgetting. Yes, it had been three years but the girl sent us on a wild, freaky carnival show of a night once, and I had a hard time forgetting the fact. “Who am I to judge?”

  “I know you won’t believe me, but this isn’t like her.”

  I wanted to point out how exactly like Kim “this” was, but I could see just how much it bothered Moira. Her eyes shifted in that way that said she was mentally unraveling a knot of a problem. Kim and she were like sisters. Having Kim out here in Savannah instead of back home in Fresno was taking its toll. I watched Moira go to the ground for “cat pose,” and I did the same.

  The sooner I lightened the mood, the sooner I could go take a nap. “You know, Moira, there is the slim chance she was lying to you.”

  Moira pinned me with an accusing look. “What?”

  “She did get out of yoga.”

  I didn’t get out of Yoga.

  Or breakfast afterward.

  Or walking and shopping alllll daaaay long.

  Part of me wanted to play sick and fake a headache just to go back to bed. What if Crew returned in another dream? The other part wanted to avoid last night’s memories entirely. What if I never got over him, and never loved again? The two sides warred within me while I struggled through chatting and shopping. I found a great billowy drawstring top and somehow kept Moira off my angst scent. By the time we returned to the bed-and-breakfast, it was late afternoon.I marked the day a success.

  I’d avoided my drug of choice—memories of Crew. I’d avoided worrying my friend, ruining the day. Staying busy even helped me feel a bit grounded back in reality. Crew gone. Me here. Moving on.

  No. Not moving.

  Moved.

  Having a dream didn’t mean anything, except that my subconscious longed for something. Not necessarily him. So why did butterflies thud around my belly when I slipped the old-fashioned key in my door’s lock? With a deep breath, I flung the door open, half expecting to see Crew’s ghost propped up on the bed, all James Dean—like before.

  Nope. Nothing but hospital-cornered covers peeking out from under a down-filled duvet. The door fell shut, and my heart sank two or three hundred feet. “I’m out of my mind,” I said to the empty room. I sat down with a sigh. The scent of the clean sheets met my nose. I breathed it in and shut my eyes.

  Who was I kidding? The dream had felt real. I wasn’t over him.

  I stared at the television.

  I had two hours before meeting up with Moira and Kim downstairs for dinner. I could try to sleep, but would fail. I kicked my shoes off, scooted back, and pulled a pillow over my face. “Bwaaah,” I yelled into the crisp pillowcase.

  No matter how much I fought it, images from the dream surfaced. I relented and let them in.

  The feel of Crew nuzzling my neck. The relief of smelling him, the longing to simply touch him again. To feel his hands on my body. Awareness buzzed over my skin at the thoughts. A soft ache formed in my belly. I thought of all those days, years ago, we spent kissing and pressing and doing everything except it.

  We never seemed to be near a bed, or rarely got left alone. Friends who wouldn’t take a hint. I’d been living at home still. We’d steal away here and there. A few stolen moments off the path on a hiking trail. The side alleyway of a restaurant or behind the shed in his parents’ backyard. His mouth on my neck, sucking softly, then harder, forcing a moan from my lips.

  We’d get so close then have to stop, to listen if someone was coming.

  Crew would lick up my belly, slowly unhook my bra, letting the weight of my breasts fall against his chest. A finger trailed up under my shirt. Rough skin. Warmth. The leaves in the trees whispering above us. Me, panting, my gaze locked to his. He’d slip a finger down my jeans front, his fingers chilly compared to my hot skin, thrilling me over the chance of being discovered. His breath would grow ragged, his eyes would shine with want.

  Want for me.

  Only me.

  He’d say so. “No one makes me feel like you do, Sara.”

  The time in his parents’ backyard, he’d said those words, his fingers tugging open my jeans. His cold fingers wriggling downward as my pulse hammered upward. Would he stop? Would he keep going, closer and closer to where I wanted him? I followed suit, digging into the front of his low-slung jeans.

  He shoved his thigh up between mine, pressing me back against the scratchy metal wall. The creak of metal behind me mingled with our hard breaths. His gaze held to mine. “You gotta stop. Someone will come, Sara.”

  Always Sara.

  Never honey, baby, or sweetheart.

  He said stop, but his eyes dared me. Would his dad try to find us? His mom or brother? Nah. I wriggled my hand lower, mesmerized by his subtle reactions. How his pupils zoomed out and in. How he licked my lips and watched my mouth. My hand touching more than cotton boxers, more than smooth belly skin.

  If someone did come, our little secret would be out.

  Not so bad. Almost everyone knew we were together. Not so wrong. Moira would be okay with it. She’d want me to be happy.

  A bang that sounded like the screen door hitting echoed from yards away. We fell still, silent amid the click of crickets. He pressed his thigh higher. I slid my hand lower. His head fell back, he leaned forward, making it difficult to grab what I wanted, but it felt so good having his weight pinning me. Solid and safe. I wriggled and teased. He grinned and teased back, making me lick my lips. He kissed them, shushing my little moan. “Someone will hear.”

  Even now as I lay on the bed thousands of hours and days later, my cheeks burned from mere memory. I lay awash in the hot flashback, wishing I could feel his hands on my body again.

  I would not think of it. I would not remember how he’d kissed me so deeply the world disappeared. Or the way his shoulder curved at the hollow of his collarbone. The salty taste of his skin. The way his eyes devoured me. As though he couldn’t get enough.

  If I let myself remember any more, I’d drown. The memories would swim up around me so hard and fast that I’d be sucked under again. My body was reacting to the memory. Or the dream. Or, who knew? Hormones. But I didn’t want to feel my own hands.

  I wanted his.

  Hell, at this point, just about anyone with a pulse would do.

  Rolling onto my stomach, I deep-breathed my way back to sanity and considered, if I had a chance, would I be up for dragging the first decent looking guy I met tonight back here and doing all I could to forget Crew Masterson?

  ~~~

  Chapter Four

  “There’s a blues club we could hit after dinner,” Kim said as Moira and I waited for her to grab her purse and lock up her room. “Want to eat here, or out?”

  “I’m pretty sure Mrs. Dover cooks for an army regardless, so why not just eat here?” I said.

  Moira shrugged. “I’m easy.”

  I suppressed a snort. Moira was anything but easy. She was decisive and rigid once she made a plan.

  “Let’s just eat here, then,” Kim said, and finished draping the shawl from Mystique Antiques around one shoulder
so her cleavage peeked out but the curve of her hip drew the eye.

  How did she ooze sensuality so easily? Did she practice in the mirror?

  I’d hoped I’d nailed sexy to the wall with my platforms and skinny jeans. I’d even flat-ironed my hair. Yet there she stood, almost concealed under the shawl, yet hotter than a Vargas pinup. I rubbed the fabric of my blouse over the shape of the locket underneath. How was I supposed to prove I still had it with her as competition?

  Crew wouldn’t have given her a second glance.

  He’d have stared at me, looking like he was fighting to hide his emotions—and barely doing so. As soon as no one was watching, he’d flash those eyes at me and melt me into a puddle of need. Yeah. Except, that kind of heat couldn’t be counted on twice in life. So, I’d settle for Kim’s castoffs. If I did find someone to flirt or worse with, I’d have to get Moira good and drunk so she didn’t pull a mother hen on me. Just me thinking about it seemed to trigger her global protection system. From across the dining room table, her eyes narrowed on me in that “what are up to, Sara?” way.

  Thankfully, Mrs. Dover bustled in, a distraction, serving us a salty but sweet summer stew. The butter on her fresh-baked crusty bread seduced my mouth to sin. I ate two helpings and realized too late how tight my jeans fit because of it.

  We walked to the first bar on our list of potentials, taking turns complaining about our muffin tops and eating too much. We came to a stop outside the Twisted Roots blues club. “Ooooh,” Moira said, clapping her hands. “I love live music.”

  The music reverberated out to us. I bounced my heels off the ground. I wanted to rush inside. I didn’t know why. I’d have to be bolder than usual if I wanted to feel a hard body against me tonight. The more I considered the idea, the more the feeling grew. I had something to prove to myself. My skin shivered. Could I do it? Hook a man? Intentionally? It had been years since I’d actually tried. I reached for the locket tucked under my shirt and wished for Crew. For someone like Crew. I wished for my heartache to heal.