of the euphoria of sex was gone; Evan felt like a jerk. A jerk in a hurry. He began to jog along the beach and then up the street to his house.
The lights were out as he followed the walk to the front door. He unlocked it and slipped inside. “Sarah?” he called. But there was no answer.
Damn. He ran to the bathroom and turned on the shower. Then he stripped out of his clothes for the second time that evening. Leaning over the sink, he stared hard at himself in the mirror. “Cheater,” he said to his reflection. Brown eyes looked away from his accusation. His face looked thin to him, and Evan pursed his lips. Her taste still clung to him, and he quickly covered his toothbrush with paste and tried to scrub Ligeia away. Then he stepped into the steaming shower and did the same with his body. He was tempted to use Sarah’s loofah, but it just seemed too much like one more betrayal to scrub the sweat of another woman from his body with his wife’s bathing aids. Instead he doused himself with soap and scrubbed fast and furious, leaving his skin raw.
He toweled off and redressed, throwing his beach clothes to the bottom of the hamper. Then he ran back out into the night to find his wife.
Sarah’s eyes were bloodshot when Evan found her at O’Flaherty’s. She was talking to a beefy balding guy whom Evan vaguely recognized as one of the port’s dock workers when he walked up.
“Hey, baby.” She grinned feebly as he pulled up a stool. “Thought you weren’t gonna come tonight.” The dock man faded back quickly when he realized the situation. Evan laughed to himself. Sorry, pal, not gonna take advantage of my drunk wife tonight. Though, he mused, ifhe let it happen, it would sort of even the score between them.
No, he didn’t think Sarah would go home with another man, even if blitzed. She was loyal and true; with way more character than apparently he had.
“Sorry, babe,” he said. “I dozed off. Ready to go?”
She nodded and he took her elbow to help her down. Sarah leaned heavily against him, and he supported her with an arm around the waist as they walked unevenly toward the door. “I think my butt’s asleep,” she mumbled. “Maybe you can rub it for me when we get home.”
He saw the look of sodden lust in her eyes, and rubbed her ass for a second through her jeans. “Sure,” he said. For a moment he panicked…how could he make love to Sarah tonight? After…But then he shrugged off the fear. He knew that she was not going to be in any condition once he got her home and undressed. And he was right.
Less than fifteen minutes later, Sarah was lying facedown in their bed as Evan pulled off her pants and socks.
The room was filled with the gentle noise of her snoring. Evan lay down next to her, but every time he closed his eyes he saw the face of Ligeia.
It was a long night.
Chapter Eleven
June 4, 1887
Private “Three Hands” Nelson was not a happy seaman. His back was scabbed and sore. It hurt to move and he had to stifle a moan every time he bent over. The captain had made an example of him yesterday. Yes, sir, he certainly had. Well, Nelson didn’t cotton to such things sitting down. He was going to get even. The private wasn’t called “Three Hands” for nothing. On land, they said Jack Nelson could be shaking your hand while patting your shoulder…while at the same time slipping the green out of your wallet. A life on the streets of the Tenderloin District in San Francisco made a lad industrious. Or dead.
The captain had found a bottle of ’shine in Nelson’s possession, and an open crate in the storeroom. Buckley had offered the private the chance to come clean, but Nelson had refused to explain and so the captain had taken him to the whipping post. The truth was, he had nicked the bottle from Taffy—Nelson would never have been so stupid as to pry open a crate of cargo and leave it visibly tampered with that way. And he wouldn’t have taken the bottle if he’d realized how
The lights were out as he followed the walk to the front door. He unlocked it and slipped inside. “Sarah?” he called. But there was no answer.
Damn. He ran to the bathroom and turned on the shower. Then he stripped out of his clothes for the second time that evening. Leaning over the sink, he stared hard at himself in the mirror. “Cheater,” he said to his reflection. Brown eyes looked away from his accusation. His face looked thin to him, and Evan pursed his lips. Her taste still clung to him, and he quickly covered his toothbrush with paste and tried to scrub Ligeia away. Then he stepped into the steaming shower and did the same with his body. He was tempted to use Sarah’s loofah, but it just seemed too much like one more betrayal to scrub the sweat of another woman from his body with his wife’s bathing aids. Instead he doused himself with soap and scrubbed fast and furious, leaving his skin raw.
He toweled off and redressed, throwing his beach clothes to the bottom of the hamper. Then he ran back out into the night to find his wife.
Sarah’s eyes were bloodshot when Evan found her at O’Flaherty’s. She was talking to a beefy balding guy whom Evan vaguely recognized as one of the port’s dock workers when he walked up.
“Hey, baby.” She grinned feebly as he pulled up a stool. “Thought you weren’t gonna come tonight.” The dock man faded back quickly when he realized the situation. Evan laughed to himself. Sorry, pal, not gonna take advantage of my drunk wife tonight. Though, he mused, ifhe let it happen, it would sort of even the score between them.
No, he didn’t think Sarah would go home with another man, even if blitzed. She was loyal and true; with way more character than apparently he had.
“Sorry, babe,” he said. “I dozed off. Ready to go?”
She nodded and he took her elbow to help her down. Sarah leaned heavily against him, and he supported her with an arm around the waist as they walked unevenly toward the door. “I think my butt’s asleep,” she mumbled. “Maybe you can rub it for me when we get home.”
He saw the look of sodden lust in her eyes, and rubbed her ass for a second through her jeans. “Sure,” he said. For a moment he panicked…how could he make love to Sarah tonight? After…But then he shrugged off the fear. He knew that she was not going to be in any condition once he got her home and undressed. And he was right.
Less than fifteen minutes later, Sarah was lying facedown in their bed as Evan pulled off her pants and socks.
The room was filled with the gentle noise of her snoring. Evan lay down next to her, but every time he closed his eyes he saw the face of Ligeia.
It was a long night.
Chapter Eleven
June 4, 1887
Private “Three Hands” Nelson was not a happy seaman. His back was scabbed and sore. It hurt to move and he had to stifle a moan every time he bent over. The captain had made an example of him yesterday. Yes, sir, he certainly had. Well, Nelson didn’t cotton to such things sitting down. He was going to get even. The private wasn’t called “Three Hands” for nothing. On land, they said Jack Nelson could be shaking your hand while patting your shoulder…while at the same time slipping the green out of your wallet. A life on the streets of the Tenderloin District in San Francisco made a lad industrious. Or dead.
The captain had found a bottle of ’shine in Nelson’s possession, and an open crate in the storeroom. Buckley had offered the private the chance to come clean, but Nelson had refused to explain and so the captain had taken him to the whipping post. The truth was, he had nicked the bottle from Taffy—Nelson would never have been so stupid as to pry open a crate of cargo and leave it visibly tampered with that way. And he wouldn’t have taken the bottle if he’d realized how
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