Change of Heart (Edilean 9)

He brushed off his clothes and looked at her for a moment, then went to sit beside her on the old bed. Her bare arms and shoulders were exposed, and he ran his hands over them. “I enjoyed last night,” he said softly. “And you?”

“Very much.”

Bending, he kissed her, then sat up to stroke her hair. “We can go down the mountain or stay here for another day.”

“Stay,” she said without hesitation.

“Sure? We didn’t bring a lot of food.”

“I think I can survive. How did your shirt get wet?”

“It isn’t,” he said, then smiled. “You’re right. It’s soaked and I think I should take it off.”

“My thought exactly.” She pulled back the top of the sleeping bag, showing that she was nude underneath.

They spent a whole day at the old cabin. Neither of them said so, but they seemed to have reached a mutual agreement to talk of nothing of the outside world. No business, no ex-husband, not even children. Frank didn’t come close to telling her about any women in his past, certainly not the one who was expecting an engagement ring.

They laughed and ate and made love. Everything and every place seemed to become erotic to them. They stripped and went swimming in the icy pond. Miranda nearly turned blue from the cold water, and it took Frank thirty minutes of kissing and long, slow, deep strokes to warm her up.

When her skin was at last pink again, he collapsed beside her in exhaustion.

“Let’s do it again,” she said and got up and headed toward the frigid water.

But Frank caught her ankle and pulled her back. “If you want more, you have to revive me.”

“Is that a challenge?” she asked.

“If it encourages you, yes. If not, how about a bribe? Half my kingdom work for you?”

Laughing, she kissed him. “Let’s see if this works.” She moved her lips downward on his body.

“I feel nothing. Try harder. No. No. Ah.”

At night they put their sleeping bags together and, naked, snuggled close, watching the fire in the little stove.

“I never want to leave,” Miranda said.

“Me neither,” Frank said. “I’d like to shut out the world.”

“What about your houses with the perfect towels?”

“You make me want to buy new ones in lots of colors.”

“And throw them on the floor?”

“I’m not quite to that point yet.”

She kissed him thoroughly.

“Maybe a hand towel on the counter,” he said.

Miranda rolled on top of him, her bare body against his, and kissed him again.

“Okay, wet towels across the tub. But no purple or pink.”

“Done,” she said, and kissed him again.

The next morning, they made their way down the mountain, taking their time. They stopped for lunch and lovemaking, then continued on to the