Chapter Three
HE FELT LIKE A BEAR riding a child's trike, knees poking up near his armpits as he rode the damn contraption. “Bicycles and brick roads should never marry,” he groused, and she laughed next to him, her blond hair flowing behind her as she rode, defying convention and straddling her vehicle like a man. The wind worked its lift under her loose hat and ripped it from the pins that held it in place and it cartwheeled through the air. She stopped, set down her bike, ran back for the hat and put it in her basket.
“Race you!” she shouted, jumping on the bicycle like a young boy off to a swimming hole on a hot day. She would win, and she knew full well her tiny body was made for this sport, while the fifteen inches and 100 pounds he had on her made him as nimble as a mining car full of coal going up a hill. He laughed and threw himself into the challenge regardless, thick legs powering the wheels as fast as he could while her laughter floated back to him, so full and rich he could nearly open his mouth to the breeze and eat it.
She looked like a debutante, innocent and free though she neared her third decade, and the stirring within him could be triggered by no mere virgin. He followed her with abandon through the brick road to a rutted dirt road, trusting she would find a suitable place where they could rendezvous. The dirt road narrowed into a path through secluded woods, opening into a wildflower-filled field, the daisies turning their faces to greet them, the Queen Anne's Lace accepting and tolerant.
She dropped the bike and ran through the field, arms outstretched and tagging the tops of the flowers, hair tagging a second time as the green stems folded back in to hide her path. He struggled to follow, lumbering through the same plants, wondering how nature could conspire with her to give her the advantage in their lover's game.
Power won out, his legs and heart pumping him toward her, and he grabbed her hand, pulling her toward him. A pixie face with eyes like sapphires turned to him, like a daisy, and her lips were roses that tasted like cinnamon. She returned the kiss and gave him entry, his tongue tracing her teeth, her eager tongue, gently exploring and promising what they both wanted next. Their centers touched as he held her closer, the buttons of his pants pressing painfully against his obvious arousal. Boldly, she reached down and brushed against it, as if confirming its presence, and then flashed a wicked smile with those sapphire eyes, all trace of propriety and virtue willed away.
He reached for her breast, and—
Beep. Beep. Beep. His cell phone alarm went off and Seth lunged, half-asleep, for the alarm clock on the nightstand. It blinked 12:00 and he reached over the edge of the bed for the jeans he'd worn the day before, finding his phone. A few taps later and he'd shut off the alarm, which fortunately was correct. It was 6 a.m. What happened with the power?
He lay back in bed and began to stretch. His boner stretched with him, like moving through a yoga position. The horny asana. A flash of a daisy in a field, then a bicycle, and then—ah. The dreams.
He'd be stiff as a board until he could take care of things, but he was getting tired of this. Sex dreams were one thing. But he wasn't even getting the sex—the dream was the same, over and over. One big tease that was the erotic version of Groundhog Day. Minus the comedy. The dream had started about two years ago, and try as he might, he couldn't figure out why. Something subconscious. By the time he figured it all out, he hoped, his real sex life would be better than his dream sex life. For now, he was dating his own right hand.
A few cups of green tea and a bowl of cereal later, he was ready to ride his bike to school for a crazy day in the department. Smiling to himself, he threw on some shorts, a t-shirt and shoes. Teaching first, then a meeting that he looked forward to attending. Grabbing his backpack, Seth locked the door and went to unlock his bike from the apartment complex rack.
“Damn!” he muttered when he reached his bike. Flat front tire. He didn't have a spare; money was tight. His watch read 7:13 a.m. The next bus came through in two minutes. If he sprinted, he could make it. He took off as fast as he could, running through the complex's two-story buildings, past the kiddie playground, down the block to the bus stop. The bus was just closing its doors as he waved and the driver opened them slowly, the pneumatic wheeze music to Seth's ears.
Breathing heavily, his heart rate recovered fast and his legs felt tingly and warm. The sprint woke him up and dissolved his morning hard-on. Two-fer, he thought. Whew. As he settled into a seat and stuck his backpack under his legs he looked around and was startled to find a familiar face across the way, ignoring him completely....
If love never dies, then where does it go? Are Seth and Jill the reincarnation of James and Lilith? How do these star-crossed lovers find their way to each other – or will they? Read Legs (A Reincarnation Romance) now.
About the Author
HARPER ALIBECK IS A FORMER history professor who has published eight books and whose work has appeared in seventeen others. She is also a National Book Critics Circle member, with reviews published online and in academic journals. Her work has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize twice, once in non-fiction and once in fiction. In recent years her interests turned toward contemporary and historical romance — but with a twist. Research for Legs and Unfinished included a trip to Santiago, Chile; Alibeck maintains that the best meal comes from a street vendor selling empañadas after a night of dancing and pisco sours in a Santiago jazz club.
Email: [email protected]
Blog: http://aromanceofthebody.blogspot.com
Twitter: @HarperAlibeck
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/people/Harper-Alibeck/100002278382786
Acknowledgments
Edited by Leslie Truver, whose unfailing eye for everything, especially all words in their proper chronological home, made Unfinished and Legs as free from anachronism as possible. All errors remain mine.
The author wishes to thank a great many people for help with formatting, editing, critiquing and helping to make this and future books better. You know who you are.