AN
INVISIBLE LOVE
by
Margaret Marr
The hot coffee sloshed over the edge of the cup and scalded Darcie Linch's hand. She wailed, and shook her hand to sling the beads of coffee off. She hadn't been able to concentrate since her husband, Marty, had been killed in an automobile accident last month. All she did was get out of bed in the mornings, and lie down on the couch to stare at the ceiling for hours at a time. She slept, ate, breathed the memory of Marty all day long. She missed him so much it hurt, and it didn't seem to be easing at all. How much longer could she go on?
Something cold and wet touched her hand, cooling the burn. She jerked her hand back. Where had that cold dishtowel come from? She didn't remember walking to the sink to wet it, but she must have. God, would this never end?
She felt a gentle touch on her fingers, and a slight tug. The dishtowel rose in the air, then pressed to her hand once again.
A scream bubbled up from deep inside her. This was not happening. She must be losing her mind on top of every thing else.
"Stay away from me!" She rushed out of her apartment, leaving the door hanging open behind her.
When she got to the sidewalk, she stopped to catch her breath. She looked up at the window to her apartment. Nothing was there. She didn't know what she'd expected to see.
A slight breeze kicked up the crisp leaves on the ground, and blew them in circles. Darcie shivered and wished she'd brought a coat. She wasn't about to go back into her apartment ... at least not yet. It wasn't because of the dishtowel exactly. It was the touch that had her all shook up inside. It had felt familiar. She hugged herself and headed down the sidewalk.
She walked for a long time, not noticing how late it was, until a bottle clanked against the side of a trash can in an alley. Darcie suddenly became wary. It was dusky-dark, and she was a woman alone in a seedy part of town. Why hadn't she paid any attention to where she was headed?
She turned and started back the way she'd come, quickening her step as she went.
A hand clamped down on her arm and closed around her flesh with an iron grip. She opened her mouth to scream, but her assailants other hand covered her mouth, and she was jerked into the alley.
Darcie struggled and tried to bite the hand that stank of sweat and garbage. She stomped down on a foot.
He grunted in pain.
"Be still, or I'll slice your throat." His voice was rough and guttural.
She felt the cold blade of steel against her skin, and went still.
"Your money now," he said and removed his hand from her mouth.
She took a deep gulp of air and gagged at the smell of whiskey on his breath. "I ... I don't have any with me."
He slapped her hard across her cheek, a stinging blow that caused her to cry out.
"I'll just take something else, then."
Darcie renewed her struggles. She'd die before she allowed him to touch her. Her knee jerked up and she aimed for his crotch.
He turned side-ways in the nick of time and her knee bounced off his thigh. He grunted, but didn't let go. He drew back his fist and smashed it into her cheek.
Pain exploded into her eye-ball. Her vision blurred, and she sagged against the wall.
Suddenly, the man was yanked backwards and slammed against the other wall.
Darcie battled the darkness that threatened to take her down in its murkiness. She wanted to see her rescuer, but all she saw was her attacker pressed against the wall, his eyes wide with fright.
"Get away!" The man shrieked. He hit the ground with a hard thump, and as soon as he regained his footing he scrambled out of the alley, running like all the demons in hell chased him.
Through the fog clouding her mind Darcie looked for her hero once again, then she gave up the battle and sank into oblivion.
When she came to she was lying on her couch in her apartment, with no idea how she got there. A cool wash cloth dabbed at her cheek and along her forehead. No hands held the wash cloth that she could see.
Dizziness washed over her. "Who are you?" she said, and attempted to sit up.
"I'm not sure you can hear me. You haven't yet. I wish you could."
Darcie gasped. Marty? But it couldn't be. He was ... "Marty?" she whispered. "Is that you?"
"Yes, babe."
She felt the air where she thought he might be, and touched his arm. "I can feel you. I hear you; why can't I see you?"
"I don't know, sweetheart."
"I've missed you so much ..." Her voice cracked. She took a deep breath and blinked back tears. "Maybe too much."
"I've been right here with you, all along. I didn't know how to approach you. Finally, I couldn't stand it anymore, so I tried to make your burn feel better this morning. I'm sorry I scared you."
"How is it that you are here?" she asked. Her hand stroked his arm, loving the feel of his taunt skin beneath her fingers, the feel of the rough hairs on his arm.
"I want to be here." He removed the cloth from her cheek and replaced it with his lips, kissing her gently, tenderly. "I need to be here."
"If only I could see you," she whispered.
"See me with your hands."
Darcie cupped his face, running her thumbs over the stubble on his cheeks. He always looked sexy with a five o'clock shadow, and she knew his blue eyes would be caressing her body. She ran her hands down his neck to his chest and felt his broad expanse. Her fingers traveled down to his flat stomach, feeling each rippled muscle. She heard the sharp intake of his breath when her hand went to the waist band of his jeans. After undoing the buttons on his fly, she slipped her hand inside his underwear and took possession of him.
Marty's lips crashed down on hers, his tongue slipped into her mouth, exploring her hot moistness. He groaned into her mouth, then kissed a trail down her neck and up to her ear. His breath against her skin sent a thrill coursing through her blood.
Darcie gasped at the sheer pleasure of his touch. She ran her hands over his back and ground her hips against him, feeling how hard he was through his jeans. He shoved her shirt up, and she quickly pulled it over her head and tossed it aside. The feel of his tongue on her skin was almost her undoing. She moaned and arched her back. He unclasped her bra, and it joined her shirt on the floor. His mouth closed over her breast, and she sobbed at the intense pleasure of the feel of his tongue drawing lazy circles around her nipple. He moved to the other and gave it equal treatment.
Darcie closed her eyes and lost herself in the feel of him, his hard body against her soft curves. Skin against skin. She hoped this was not a dream. How could she endure the morning light if it was?
Marty moved away from her for a brief moment. When he returned he removed her jeans and panties, then picked her up and carried her to the bedroom where he lay her gently on the bed. His lips kissed her stomach, then moved lower until he reached the hot, silky moistness between her legs. He thrust his tongue deep inside. She almost came up off the bed at the pleasure of his tongue swirling inside her.
Pleasure crashed over her in a blinding light of gratification. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Marty moved up her body and kissed her tears away before slipping inside the soft, moist recesses of her.
They moved together as one body, heart, and soul. The passionate frenzy of their mating consumed them. White hot fire seared through them, burning them with its heat. She felt him thrust deep inside her, and it spurred another release inside her. She cried out his name as wave after wave washed over her again.
Afterward, feeling limp, she lay on the bed, breathing heavily, with her eyes closed cuddled next to Marty. He stroked her skin in a slow, delicate caress.
Darcie stretched and opened her eyes. She gasped and sat up. "I can see you!"
Marty smiled.
God, how she'd missed his sexy smile. It had the power to melt her where she sat.
"I always knew you could raise the dead," he said, laughing. His smile faded. He touched her cheek. "We are truly one. Nothing can separate us." He captured her lips and kissed her with such an aching, sweet tenderness.
Darcie let him draw her down on top of him once again. He was back in her arms and nothing could take him away from her again. Not even death.
© 1999 by Margaret Marr; all rights reserved