CHAPTER 1

The young man used several colorful words as he turned the car around. He was already nearly a half hour outward bound from his parent’s house and now he had to go back. He’d lose a full hour. How could he have been so goddamn dumb as to leave his cell phone on the coffee table? He knew there was no help for it. The Human Resources rep for a pharma company was likely to call about a summer internship he was after. It was a paid internship and a starving college student needed all the income he could manage. So, it was back to the house.

He was cruising a bit over the posted limit as the car sped him away from where he wanted to be, but traffic was light on I-5. To tell the truth, he wasn’t paying much attention to his velocity. He was thinking about her. She was the reason for the trip north. Five foot six with ginger hair, shapely body, and a ‘tude that made it clear the only opinion in the world that mattered to her was…hers. Though they’d only just met, the young man had felt wicked sparks. He was sure she’d felt them too. Now he couldn’t get her out of his mind.

Her face was mostly oval though it narrowed at the soft feminine jaw line. Her cheekbones were high and distinct, not set wide as they are for some women but closer, just under the outside half of her eyes. They were soft rather than sharply defined as they are for those rail thin models. Her nose was perhaps a shade wide for stunning beauty; but how could one nitpick? Despite the attitude, she had no tattoos and no piercings he knew of. She was girl-next-door beautiful and ‘suicide girl’ rebellious. And that was before you looked at her eyes. Once he’d seen the clear blue gems set under her prettily curving brows he knew he would never want another woman! Well, that may be overdoing...but she was prettier than a full house on poker night and a thousand times more valuable.

He’d met her at college. They had a lot in common. They both were majoring in sports medicine and both were football fans. The young man played for the school. He was a slot receiver. He had the body for it: six foot two, and a hundred ninety five pounds. He wasn’t blazing fast, but had very good hands and excellent concentration. More importantly, he wasn’t afraid to go over the middle. He was superbly conditioned, very strong, and had an iron constitution. The team trainers said he might be indestructible. And his coaches insisted he had an outside shot at pro ball. He’d never be a burner, but, if he added a few pounds of muscle, his size and durability were ideal for a “possession type” receiver.

His self-assurance and poise never failed him. Never. He was comfortable in any situation. He exuded such confidence that it infected the people around him. He made his teammates, and his classmates, better. Certainly everybody felt uplifted when near the young man. It was no surprise, to anyone, that, while still a teen, he’d risked his own life to pull a friend from a frigid river. Showboating, the other boy had fallen into the icy waters. There was no question about who’d follow him there; braving the cold and current to attempt a rescue. Courage and character the citation had read. But, even then, the young man had never made much of the risk he’d taken, saying only that he’d done what he had to do; what anyone would have done. Many of his parent’s friends had insisted to the proud mom and dad that their son had a mighty soul.

Girls flocked to him. His chiseled features, strong jaw, and taut musculature drew them. His skin was a Mediterranean olive, taking after his mother’s side of the family. The sprinkling of chest hair also spoke of southern European blood. He’d long since lost all trace of baby fat in his face, which now looked to be composed exclusively of planes and angles. He wore a perpetual 5 o’clock shadow; not because he didn’t groom regularly, but, rather, because his beard grew quickly, thick and luxuriant. The hair on his head had a wave that was almost a curl; a great temptation to a woman’s fingers and he frequently found delicate digits twining through his locks. For that reason, he wore his hair longer than many men. Only in his eyes did he resemble his father. They were green, and looked like crystals set in his head. He smiled as he remembered that one girl once told him he had “emerald eyes that could never lie.” Though equipped with a libido the equal of any, he always treated women respectfully. It was just his way. Even more amazing to the distaff crowd, the young man was insightful; almost disturbingly tuned in. It was as though he instinctively knew what was in their heart and honestly cared about their feelings. He listened. A stud…who always knew the right thing to say. It was because of his sensitivity, as much as his status as a football hero, that his “workouts” weren’t confined to the gridiron. If he wasn’t as aggressive, or as dominant, as some women might want, he clearly had other attractions: substantial attractions. He’d had many girlfriends; and a few to whom he’d grown fairly close. The relationships had never become deeply serious; but, somehow, the parting was always pleasant, and he remained friends with them all. Obviously, at least in his case, girls like “good boys” too. And he liked them.

At the moment, he was obsessed with just one girl. He couldn’t help but smile a bit as he daydreamed of her. He had fallen for her…hard…the attraction one of both respect for her independent spirit and lust for her body. She excited his mind and his manhood; a fact that, even now, he could not deny. There was a stirring in his jeans as he imagined the ways he might woo and win her. A hand dropped to his lap. Smiling at the mental picture of her face, one hand on the wheel and the other on his denim-encased pride, the twenty year old hurried home.

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It happened as it always did. His ‘gift’ had seized him and he’d approached the young woman. When he got close, she’d become aware of him; and the magic was engaged; the ‘hunger’ kindled; both of them subject to its demands.

The girl became increasingly aware of him as he neared her; and the more aware she became, the less able she was to control her emotions…or her lust. Her breathing changed to a soft hurried gasping. He knew what she was feeling. He knew her skin tingled. He could see, through thin bra and light shirt, her nipples harden; just from his presence. It was a dance he’d played out thousands of times before; and he understood well the effect he had on her. There were butterflies in her belly, and weakness in her knees. Between her legs, he knew, there was a flickering of heat. Her mind fogged. She would appear to others to be distracted; a bit confused.

She wouldn’t see him, not really. It was more that she’d be aware of his existence more profoundly than she perceived any other…even her own. But the details of him would escape her notice. Later, she wouldn’t even be able to remember the color of his eyes. To her, he was a force of nature…with no more detail than a hurricane. She would speak to him, answer his questions, and do as he bid.

Mostly, she would want him. Nothing would matter to her save the immediate and undeniable desire she had to bed him; and the pleasure she knew that coupling would bring her.

The man paid little attention to who she was, how old she was, or how she looked. He held himself to just three requirements. She must be of legal age. He wouldn’t rob any cradles. She could not be a virgin. He would not steal from any woman the potential magic that might exist for her when she gave herself to a man for the very first time. Finally, she could not be married. Though many married women could, no doubt, use his services, he would not be responsible for the possibility she might feel guilt when the lust and pleasure faded away. Boyfriends, on the other hand, got no thought from the man at all. He was alpha. They were obviously so much less.

In keeping the limits he placed upon his conduct, the man felt himself virtuous.

This particular girl was young, but not too young. She told him she was eighteen and he knew when they lied. She was in her first year at the University, and lived at home. She wanted to be a lawyer. She was very pretty; though that was of little importance to him. And she wasn’t a virgin, though he could sense that her experiences were few…possibly no more than a single lover or two.

He had met her in the evening, on a street outside a mall in downtown Salem, Oregon, where they both lived. She had been shopping with girlfriends, and all of them carried bags containing the treasures they’d found. He saw that one of hers bore the label, “Victoria’s Secret.” He wondered why he noticed. No woman had any secrets from him. Yet, that was the reason he chose her among all her friends. From such inconsequential considerations can come a decision that changes lives.

He’d hovered on the edge of their group, until they separated; each in her own vehicle. As she started the ignition he walked up beside her car door. She turned her eyes to him, looking up through the window. She was only barely aware of lowering the glass. After a few moments of conversation she slid to the passenger side, too fevered with arousal to operate the car, while he, more experienced in handling the hunger, could safely do the driving. Her parents, she told him, were vacationing in Cabo San Lucas. Her brother was visiting but was not expected back for quite awhile; possibly not until the next evening. Rather than take her to a motel, he decided they would travel back to her deserted home. It would be easier when the parting came.