Rapture

The realization finally came that ... she was going to make love with Jeff. Part of her rebelled weakly at the idea, but she was surprised by the force of certainty she felt. How could she if she thought there was the slightest chance he had been involved in the deaths of Sean and Bonnie? But, paradoxically, that seemed to be part of the impulse, as if she knew instinctively that it would take more than dinners and drinks and scenic drives to get past his smooth, resilient facade. To learn what he really thought and felt. Maybe it was also the sun, the heat, the sight and proximity of his body, and the fact that Georgianne hadn't made love in more than a year. She seemed to have reached the point where intimacy could no longer remain implied, an abstraction, but had to be faced and tested. Now. Before they showered and dressed and sat down for another round of cocktails. Before the moment was lost.

Not that Jeff had any intention of letting it pass. He had waited more than half his life, and his time had finally come. The vague, inarticulate yearning, the doomed marriage, the years of total immersion in work, the substitute bodies, the intermittent but everrecurring dreams and fantasies were all behind him, and he knew that he had succeeded in retrieving from the past the only thing, the only person he truly wanted.

Georgianne's desire was obvious as they moved to the bed, clenched in an embrace and kissing passionately, and it struck Jeff with all the power of a religious revelation: She wants me. The words repeated in his mind.

Her body was a delight. Not quite as firm and hard as Diane's or Bonnie's; yet it was more beautiful than he had imagined, perhaps because he had it at last and could begin to savor its richness. This close, he could see the incipient lines around her eyes and feel the slight softening of her breasts-but those things didn't matter; nothing did. For once, the reality was greater than the dream.

Even as her body responded to his, Georgianne could sense the aching hunger in him, the enormous depth of his desire. It was like a force that had been held in check, perhaps too long, and was now breaking loose. It felt good to experience this, to be with a man again, but there was something awesome, almost frightening, about it too. She had nearly forgotten the kind of intensity that can be created between two people.

Everything changed in a few moments. As they rolled about on the bed, Jeff eased off her bikini bottom, unhooked the bra, and shrugged out of his robe. He moved on top of her, and as her legs opened to accept him, Jeff and Georgianne seemed to reach a clearing, a tender pause in their passion. She looked at him with half-open eyes, trying to hold back the tears that, for no reason she could think of, were trying to find release. He smiled lovingly at her and kissed the tears away. He had an idea how sensitive and emotional this moment must be for her. But it was his moment too, and he was so confident of his control that he thought he could hold himself there, rock-hard and ready, long into the night if need be. 'Jeff ..."

So tiny and distant it might have been a dying echo, so gentle and vulnerable it might have been the voice of a little girl.

"Mmm," he murmured, kissing her lightly about the face.

"Do you think ..." She smiled as if she saw some minor silliness in her thoughts. "Can you ... do I look like ... Bonnie?"

The furious passion that had been about to sweep them up like a tornado skittered off in some other direction. Everything seemed to stop except his own blood, which he heard as a whirrushing whisper in his ears. Then, absurdly, he thought it had to be the air conditioner. It was the only thing his mind could fix on. He felt chilly and self-conscious, but unable to move or speak or think.

Georgianne could feel his erection dwindle away on her thigh until there was nothing left to it. She saw the vacuum in his eyes. He was still looking at her, but he had lost all focus. Finally, he seemed to relax, or sag from within, and he took his eyes from hers. They remained there, still and quiet in each other's arms, for a long time-until the room itself became a presence, cold, dark, and uncomfortable.

Tears. The damn tears came, and she didn't want them, but they came anyway, and all she could do was wipe them off her face and try to contain her jagged breathing. She thought she was doing a bad job--of everything. She couldn't even think clearly.

She had gotten out of bed, grabbed some clothes and her handbag, and shut herself in the bathroom. What, if anything, had that unfathomable moment ac tually meant? She was afraid, not just for herself but for Jeff. Had she seen something in his eyes and his expression in the sudden death of his desire? The most terrible possibility was that she had seen what she wanted to see, that her imagination alone was trying to render a verdict.