Well, the thing is, Stefan, if your friend lived here a long time ago, he just wouldnt have any reason to know that weve had a strong political womens movement in this country over the last couple of decades. There was a time it was okay to call a woman cupcake or chick or doll. In another time, those were terms of endearment or affection
Stefans shaggy eyebrows shot up in surprise. Endearments are now forbidden? American women no longer want affection?
No, no. Its not that. Its just that certain terms have become symbols of women being oppressed.
Paige, you are throwing me for a rope. I know about oppression. Oppression has nothing in common with word meaning of affection, not that I understand. You American women seek to oppress affection?
No. No, I She shook her head, starting to feel utterly confused herself. The point is that some of those words and phrases became symbols. Symbols of the ways women had been treated like sex objects.
Ah. I get you. Much clearer now. He hesitated. I think. What is sex object?
Paige grabbed her mug. Shed been wrong. No matter what proportion of vodka hed splashed into the coffee, it wasnt enough. Not nearly enough to be comfortable with the unexpected turn this conversation was taking. She slugged down a gulp of the brew and grappled to explain. A sex object is when someone is treated like a thing instead of a person. Women wanted to be valued for more than just their bodies or looks. They wanted to be valued and loved for their minds.
Yeah? So what is the news here? This is automatic. What man with brain would love half the woman? Why waste time loving less than body, soul, mind, whole caboodle? How else would you love?
Um, maybe wed better try this language lesson another time, Paige said desperately. Her conscience shot her slivers of guilt for copping out. Before he went to town againfor his sakehe really needed to understand that it wasnt wise to call strange women cupcake or warmly suggest that they get it on or hit the sack. But to summarize the whole history of feminist philosophy and politically correct language in a short conversationit just wasnt that easy. There was clearly a whole difference in cultures.
Or there was a difference in him. An image flashed through her mind of Stefan, making love, inhaling a womans mind, body, soul, whole caboodle. Blood charged through her veins in an embarrassing rush. He had sounded so matter-of-fact. Maybe loving whole caboodle was status quo for him, but it wasnt anything she was familiar with. And she was utterly confounded how the subject had veered in such an intimately personal direction. Theyd started out in the nice, cool North Polehow had they ended up in the hot climate of Tahiti?
You are probably frustrated with me. I learn too slow, he said morosely.
No, no, you learn very fast. Its just that learning certain things about any language probably takes a lot of time.
Yes, exactly true. But it helps much having someone to explain. I hope we can talk like this again?
Sure, Paige said. What else could she say? She had a bad feeling shed only further confused him about the language instead of helping him this time. Still, she carefully added, Im afraid I dont have a lot of free time, though, Stefan. I work long hours.
I understand. I saw your workroom, your cameos. Maybe you could show me something about your art another time, too, okeydoke?
Okeydoke. When he surged to his feet, Paige abruptly realized that he was leavingwithout having to be asked, which was a huge reliefand she swiftly uncurled from the couch and popped to her feet, too. She opened her mouth, intending to say something cordial about his stopping by. Instead a giggle bubbled from her throat and escaped. A giggle. Her. A plain old girlish, giddy, happy giggle. How appallingly silly.
Stefan threw back his head and laughed. You sleep good tonight, babe. Vodka good for you. Nothing to worry, lyubemaya. Great medicine for the soul.
Paige didnt know what that lyubemaya meant, but knowing his fondness for affectionate terms, she figured it was too dangerous to ask. Temporarily her reaction to a couple of spiked coffees was embarrassing her to death. At five foot seven and a sturdy one hundred and thirty pounds, she certainly should have been able to handle a little alcohol. For that matter, shed never been a sissy drinker, had always taken her brandy in straight shots anytime she had a cold. It just belatedly occurred to her that she hadnt had a cold in three or four years. Im afraid I havent had much experience with vodka, she admitted.
And I bet you never had borscht? Caviar? Solyanka? We will have to fix all those missing experiences in your life very soon.
Food, he was talking about. Not love. Not sex. It had to be the hundred-proof liquid sloshing in her mind that made her suddenly think of missed experiences in a context with Stefan.
Vodka might be medicine for the soul in Russia, but it wasnt for her. Positively she was never touching the stuff again if it made her feel thisgoofy.
Stefan had been nothing but friendly. A lonely man in a strange country, seeking some basic companionship. Even now, as he yanked on his alpaca jacket, the front hall sconce light illuminated his genial smile, the crinkle of laugh lines around his eyes. It was just his powerful stature that made her five-seven seem defenselessly small. Maybe he was hopelessly gregarious, but he hadnt done or said one thing to make her worry that he was anything but a kind man. A safe man. A good guy.
Snowing again, he noted, as he pulled worn leather gloves from his pockets.
Well probably have a couple more inches by morning. She hugged her arms under her chest. The front hall was drafty cold. He was obviously ready to leave, so she thought he was just turning toward her to say goodbye. And she saw him bend his head, but she also saw his kind, safe almost-familiar-now smile.
It never occurred to her that a kiss was coming.
It never occurred to her that he wanted to kiss her.
Her mind scrabbled to recall if shed sent him any come-on body language signals. But of course she hadnt. Paige hadnt sent any men those willing body language signals since she was sixteen. And lightning storms werent supposed to happen in the blizzard month of January.
She wasnt prepared, never even got her arms unfolded before they were trapped between his body and hers. A big hand cupped her head. His lips touched hers, more gentle than a whisper, his mouth unbearably soft against the tickle of his rough, wiry beard.
The taste of him was foreign. Alien. Drugging sweet and disturbing. Her pulse zoomed like a skater on the ice for the first time, unpredictable and unsteady and flying way too fast.
That first skimming kiss turned deeper. His mouth rubbed against hers, testing, exploring the texture of her lips, savoring the taste of her. Youd think he hadnt kissed a woman in the last hundred years. Youd think he just discovered a secret treasure, and her senses wrapped around the smell of leather and alpaca wool and the male warmth radiating from his body.
The speed of light was fast, but not half as fast as the speed of darkness. It had been so long since shed kissed anyone. Shed forgotten. The exhilaration sweeping through her pulse was more frightening than any danger. Shed forgotten what it was like to feel that innocent burst of yearning, to feel that lusty dizzy spring-fever high, to feel that heady excitement of wanting. Or maybe shed never known. Shed kissed boys, not men. Never a man who knew how to kiss like he did. Never him.
The speed of light was fast, but not half as fast as the speed of darkness. It had been so long since shed kissed anyone. Shed forgotten. The exhilaration sweeping through her pulse was more frightening than any danger. Shed forgotten what it was like to feel that innocent burst of yearning, to feel that lusty dizzy spring-fever high, to feel that heady excitement of wanting. Or maybe shed never known. Shed kissed boys, not men. Never a man who knew how to kiss like he did. Never him.
She meant to bolt, not close her eyes. She meant to push him away, not stand stock-still as if she were caught up in a spell of enchantment. She wasnt wild anymore. Shed slayed and buried every hint of wildness in her heart, years and years ago, yet it was as if shed frozen those emotions instead of truly killing them off, because they seeped through her now, billowing loose like a parachute in the wind.
It was his fault. If she could just get a lungful of oxygen, she knew she could catch control again. Yet his thumb grazed the line of her jaw, in a caressing gesture as potent as tenderness. And his kiss turned openmouthed, claiming her response as if it already belonged to him, making her lips ache and her head feel thrumming dizzy.
She couldnt breathe, couldnt think. And then, she didnt have to. He lifted his head. There was a fire in his eyes that hadnt been there before, sharp and black and hot, yet he pushed back a strand of her hair with a gentle touch. His gaze scored her face, studying her eyes, her mouth, the flush burned in her cheeks that hed put there. And then he smiled.
Paige He dropped his hand and stepped toward the door, as if nothing but leaving had ever been on his mind. The sudden glint of humor in his eyes, in fact, had the devils own mischief. So you know. That was not about oppression or sex object. That was just Russian way of saying thank you, good night.
That was it. When he opened the door, a harsh sting of snow blasted in, but then he was gone.
She threw the latch and hooked the chain bolt, unsure whether she wanted to shoot himor laugh. It would seem shed gotten one language lesson through to him, if he understood the concepts of oppression and sex object well enough to joke about them.
She couldnt seem to laugh, though. Her heart was still slamming too hard. Even when hed completely disappeared out of sight down the driveway, her pulse was still bouncing off the walls.
That Russian didnt need language to communicate a damn thing.
Abruptly she realized how late it was. She gathered up the dishes from the living room, then started turning off lights through the house. The last room was her workshop, and when she switched off the overhead from the doorway, her eyes instinctively flew to the jade cameo.
The light couldnt help but draw her. Shed stashed the jade cameo on a shelf, still unsure what she was going to do with it. But even with the whole downstairs dark, the bright snowy night caught the soft iridescent glow of the stone. It was the nature of jade to appear lit from within, and she found herself staring at the carved woman in profile, frowning hard, not really seeing her but simply thinking.
She used to be wild and impulsive, once upon a time. She used to be reckless, giddy on life and her newly developing powers as a woman, teasing every boy she could attract. And it was never far from her conscience, that a sixteen-year-old boy had once paid the cost for her thoughtlessness and insensitivity.
Shed changed. Completely. Her life was selfdiscipline, work, responsibility. Possibly she was a teensy bit absentmindedhey, there was no way to wipe every single flaw from her characterbut she felt good about the woman shed turned into. She hadnt hurt anyone. Shed been very careful of that. Her sisters said she was too tough on herself, but Paige stood on her own two feet, strong and sturdy.
Alone.
Safe.
Alone and safe had been paired in her mind for a decade, as natural as pairing peanut butter and jelly. Nothing shed questioneduntil tonight and a wild, wayward kiss that had come out of nowhere.
Around that unpredictable Russian, Paige thought darkly, she had better watch her ps and qs.
That settled, she pivoted on her heel and went up to bed.
Three
Paige was too busy working to think about Stefan.
Her legs were wrapped around the spokes of the work stool, her hands around a cup of fragrant Darjeeling tea. At five in the morningwhen she had just as determinedly not been thinking about Stefanshe d remembered the coral.
The chances of her falling back to sleep wouldnt make bookies odds, and the coral was an excellent excuse to bolt out of bed. So shed charged downstairs in old black sweats and bare feet, and burrowed through all the boxes of raw materials until she found it.
Sipping her teafrom the second pot, nowshe studied the crooked, jagged wedge of coral shell with ruthless concentration. She still recalled the sly, sneaky grin on the clerk who sold her the piecehed been real sure he was pawning off a worthless piece on a rookie. Maybe the clerk was an ace pro at textbook geology, but he didnt know cameos and he didnt know coral.
She did.
In the middle of the night, when shed been fighting to get that blasted Russian off her mind, she remembered the coral, remembered the break in the outer layer of the shell, the rich cherry red color the Italians called rosso scuro.
Coral was almost always uniform in color. Finding a piece with two shades was crying rareand a cameo carvers dream. Further, the coral that mattered was gem materialtrue precious coralnot the stuff that came off from reefs in shallow seas, but the stuff that came from down deep. This piece came from down deep, off the coast of Sardinia. No holes, no flaws, no cracks. The shadings were rich and true Itd make a pendant, nothing bigger, but the potential for treasure was thereand hopefully a perfect treasure for her sister, Gwen.
Paige gulped another sip of tea. Energy was biting at her harder than hunger. Her fingers itched to pick up a chisel and start working. But she had to know the piece of coral more intimately than her own heartbeat before touching it. Nothing was more fragile than coral. Nothing as easily broken.
Like her sister, she thought.
Her gaze strayed to the jade cameo on the top shelf. Shed really been stupid. It had always been a mistake, trying to make a present for Gwen in jade. Coral was so much more like her. Probably from its first discovery, coral had been symbolic in medicine and magic. A romantic talisman of beauty and the kind of beauty one put in everyday life, which was exactly like Gwen. Hopelessly romantic. Fragile. Easily hurt, easily scarred, but beautiful on the insideif anyone could ever get her to believe it.
Too restless to sit, Paige popped off the stool and started twisting the gooseneck stem of her work lamp so the light better illuminated every angle of the coral, her mind on Gwenand Abby.
Paige had been badly worried about both sisters since Christmas. Generations of Stanfords had lived in the old Vermont homestead until the clan scatteredAbby and Gwen had grown up, moved away, and then their parents had retired to Arizona. The whole crew had argued with Paige about living alone in the old-fashioned, heat-eating monster, but this was home, the roots of the whole family, and they all still gathered here for the holidays. They had this past Christmas, too, but with mom and dad there, both her older sisters had kept a protective lid on any serious conversations.