JUST TO...BE

She stayed in his room about ten minutes, trying to get accustomed to his new look. Asleep, his face relaxed, he looked still younger than the haircut already made him seem. She decided she liked it, though it was not something she'd ever have thought of for him herself. At least, with the way they kept plopping into rivers, it would dry a lot faster!

Going down to the kitchen, she found a whole chicken in the refrigerator, stuffed it, and put it on to roast. What else? He'd probably eaten more than his share of wild rabbits skewered on some spit over an open fire. Hmmm? Baked potatoes? Yes, potatoes were
always good. And, and...string beans. Some sort of bread? That would do.

After a while, the scent of the chicken roasting wafted up the stairs, waking him. He sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, looking for his shoes and inhaling the savory smell deeply. The sucking in of the air, though, brought on another spasm of deep coughing. Julie heard and flew up the steps, finding him leaning way forward, his arms clamped around his chest.

"Oh, Rob...Robin," she cried, kneeling worriedly in front of him.

"Fine," he croaked, still hacking, "I'm fine."

She went to the bathroom, bringing him back a glass of water. "Maybe this will help?"

He tried a sip, coughed again, almost spitting it out. Gradually the spasm passed and he took several long swallows.

"Thank you," he said as she took the glass from him, crouching in front of him again, her hands unconsciously resting on his knees as she worriedly studied his face.

Did the woman have any idea, any idea at all, of how appealing she looked gazing up at him so closely like that? His hands had been resting on the bedspread on either side of his thighs and he lifted them slowly, bringing them up, cupping her face. He said nothing, just stared intensely into her eyes a long moment, then leaned forward and took her lips with his.

Julie's mind reeled. She had once, somewhere in her third book, written a scene very like this. While the room around her blurred, there remained this one oddly, piercingly sharp memory of herself sitting at her computer, rereading what she'd just written, and
smiling rather sadly because such things just didn't happen in real life.

Her legs unable to support her crouch any more, she settled forward on her knees, leaning into his kiss, which he then deepened and slid his right hand behind her head, his left under her chin, gently tipping it further up.

When he finally released her lips, he moved back just enough to see her eyes again, probing them as deeply with his own eyes as his tongue had just probed her mouth. There were layers and layers to the woman. She was educated, cultured, successful... even so famous that she needed to hide herself away... yet he saw an unfulfilled yearning in her, saw a heart that despite great beauty still searched. She moved him, touched a longing in himself, and he kissed her again then pulled her head to his chest, holding it softly there.

Her arms went around his waist as he held her and she closed her eyes, trying hard not to think, not to write, just to...be.