Ride With Harley Short Story 6
Mari took her easel, palette, paints, brushes, and chair down to the riverbed. The recent drought had shrunk the river to half its normal volume thus creating greater disparity between the canyon walls. A deep silence engulfed her giving her a new appreciation for the old Simon and Garfunkel song, ‘El Condor Pasa.’
While she mixed her colors, she could not help but think about the dance with the mystery man. Who was he? Was he a guest at the Condor Ridge Resort? Was he some imaginary warrior
She stared long and hard at the red rocks of the canyon. The way the varying shades of red waltzed with the sunlight dappling against the stone created a deep sense of the mysterious within her. The slight breeze felt delicious in the morning sun as it rustled around and over her, playfully lifting strands of hair and dropping them back down. Winds whistled creating their own nefarious songs of the canyon and she could almost hear the soft sigh of his voice calling out her name, “Mari.”
The ghostly echo of hoof beats danced in rhythm to her heart. She could feel the soft caress of his eyes upon her as his gaze sent shivers of delight down her spine. The gentle neighing of the horse whispered down the canyon walls sending quiet ripples of sound as though a stream rushed over rocks in the dry riverbed bringing life giving water.
As in the night before, she could feel him drawing nearer. Her heart beat in tandem to the horse hooves pounding the ground.
He was coming. “Mari,” his voice was husky with desire.
Looking around her did she see a glint of copper on bronzed skin or was that an optical illusion created by the sunlight and the redness of the canyon walls? Did silver and turquoise wrap around the golden color of a forearm or was that a vision to match the blueness of the sky with a hint of green thrown in?
Did she see brown tanned leather enclosing his feet and strips of rawhide criss-crossing up his muscular calves or dangling branches from a dying tree?
“Mari,” the whispered sigh came, soft and low as a moan of desire.
Her spirit warrior of the night before had now transformed into a ghost rider in daylight. Unseen, barely heard, she could feel his presence drawing near. Beneath all the mystery and devilment did the heart of a warrior or a demon beat?
The pounding of horses hooves against hard packed ground slowly drifted away as though blown on the breeze down the dry riverbed.
There was just a tingle of fingers tracing the outline of her face to her lips. She felt the gentle graze as unseen lips brushed lightly against hers.
“Ride with me,” his voice was dark with unbidden promise; husky with the hint of a passionate ride. “Come ride with me,” he whispered in her ear.
Mari opened her eyes and looked around. When had the sun crept across the sky to the horizon? She looked at the canvas in front of her and saw his eyes peeking at her from under the brim of a hat, shaded by the tree near the riverbed his face cast in shadow. A hint of golden bronze band around his arm caught her attention. Silver trinkets laced his other arm. When had she painted her ghost rider?
She quickly gathered her paints, easel, and chair and began her trek back to the resort.
Behind her, she could hear the soft neighing of a horse, the gentle plodding of its hooves, and the throaty whisper of him calling her, “Ride with me.”
Night Shadows whirled across the marble tiles as the moon rose high in the evening sky chasing away the rainbow colors of the sun. The stone bench where she sat the night before was empty. In the emptiness, it looked bereft of life in its chilliness.
Harley stood in the shadows listening to the sweeping sounds of the orchestra playing the ‘Blue Danube’. Deep in the gloom of evening tide, his eyes longingly sought her out. He could feel her presence drifting closer. If only being near her could quench the hunger deep within him to possess her body and soul. His dark eyes glittered with desire. The beat of her heart pounded loudly in his ears.
“Mari,” he whispered.
He watched as the moonlight glided across the marble tiles creating a shimmering motion beneath his bronze feet. Shadows dancing in the moonlight lazily waltzed their way across the flooring and stopped inches from him leaving his body and face in darkness as though hooded. The heady scent of roses against the smells of unseen water crashing down pebbled river beds and across rocks tickled his senses making him hunger for more.
“Waltz with me,” he sighed.
He could feel her tentatively drawing close almost as though she feared an encounter with him but was unable to resist. He closed his eyes and lifted his face to the night sky relishing the tentative sounds of her footsteps drawing near.
She was the reason he was still here. He felt this knowledge deep within his warrior heart, drilled down into his soul. What kind of hold did she have upon him that he could not drift away silently on the tides of the winds to scatter across the canyons, caught upon the eddying of wind and flutter over the land to follow the riverbeds down to the ocean?
The sound of water gushing from the alabaster fountains was loud to his ears and her steps were soft. The cacophony of sounds drifted in the music of life, romance, death, and dance. Soon he would feel her soft pliant body in his arms. Soon he would hold her close as they swayed to the Lilith melody of ancient song.
“Mari,” he sighed. He ran a hand through his sun kissed hair down to the leather binding of his amulet. Turquoise and silver protection, strength from the heavens and the mirror of his soul they were supposed to anchor his spirit. Yet, night after night and now during the day he found himself drifting back to the Condor Ridge Resort. He felt as well as heard her siren call, “come to me.”
“Who are you? What are you that you can call me back here?” He lifted his bronze arm and beckoned her forward. He listened for the tinkling of his copper bracelets against turquoise pendants as he waited for her to come to him.
His eyes opened as he felt her presence within arms reach. She wore a light emerald gown matching the shimmering color of her lovely eyes. The fabric swirled around her sensuous body in a dance of its own design. A silver moon shaped necklace adorned her throat.
“Mari,” he moaned.
The fire in the hearth flickered as in a ghostly dance of desire and need. Finger flames rose and wavered, twirled and receded in rhythm to the soft strains of music. The curious moonbeams danced across the marble tile and slithered up the alabaster fountain to fan the flames of desire. He felt a gentle longing beating within his heart of hearts.
Will he ever see the light of day and hold her in his arms of solid flesh, or would he forever be trapped in his solitary prison made of night and dance? Would she be the one brave enough to set him free so he could really see the sun of day?
She slowly, tentatively glided closer until he could feel the heat of her body radiating outward, bringing warmth to his chilly bones. He listened intently to the soft thumping of her heart, and wave like sounds of her blood pounding through her veins.
“Mari, his sultry voice caressed her as he pulled her into his waiting arms, holding her flush against his muscular body, reveling in the feel of her compliance as she molded to him. He could feel every ounce of her skin sliding against him. His lips gently grazed hers in a never-ending sensuality of desire as he tasted and savored and drank deeply from her well of nectar.
“Come ride with me.”
He shivered with delicious delight at the thought of his next encounter with Mari. “Come to me,” he whispered; his silken voice caressed the winds and drifted over canyon walls and over the terrace, slipping unheard past parted glass doors to alight on the slender body of his fancy.
“Mari, come to me,” his husky voice caressed the air with soft kisses eliciting a soft moan from her lips.
She felt his presence near calling ever so gently; sending ripples of desire and fear through her soul in a slow waltz tumbling ever downward into the inky haze of mystery.
Mari could feel him hovering close by calling to her, drawing her toward him, his drumming with primitive echoes to her very core, always calling, “Mari.”
“Who are you?” She whispered, wrapping her arms around her body as though the mere fact of hugging herself made here invisible to her imaginary beau. Her feet drifted over the stone flooring to the windows. She drew aside the drapes and walked out onto the patio. Moonbeams danced across the courtyard spotlighting the fountains.
“Mari.” His voice carried quietly over the pounding water of the fountains and twirled around her in deliciously sensual huskiness.
The soft caresses of his velvety voice sent shivers dancing down her spine.
“Who are you?” She whispered drawing her shawl around her shoulders and peering intently across the fountain into the cool azure blue of the pool gently lapping minute waves on waves sending a delicious rocking of water against the alabaster stone fountain.
Her gaze drifted up to watch the water cascade over the stones on its journey into the pool. Looking past the beauty before her, she caught a hint of smoldering eyes enticing her to join her mystery man in dance.
Mari woke with a start. Was that Harley’s voice she heard? What is happening to her? Ever since she came to the Condor Ridge Resort her nights have been plagued by visions of a ghost warrior. Yesterday he crept into her consciousness during the daylight resulting in a painting she had no memory of creating. It was a magnificent piece of art, capturing the essence of her shadow man. Her heart hammered at the mere thought of him.
Who is he? Was he Harley? What is he? The thoughts swirled in her mind. Was he real? Imaginary? Why did she see him only in shadows? How could the mere thought of a stranger send her heart tatting in rapid fire as though she was being chased by demons? Why did seeing him with his face hidden so only his eyes were visible make her breathless and feeling like a teenager swooning over a rock star? His eyes mesmerized her as did the golden hue of his skin.
The winking of his turquoise armband only added to his allure. The husky whisper of his voice sent shivers throughout her body. She trembled with desire. She hungered for a taste of his lips on hers and the manly scent of him as he called to her.
The roaring thunder of a motorcycle engine brought back sweet memories of a tender love. How many times had they ridden together?
“Ride with me,” he beckoned.
Copyright © Cassandra Parker 2017 All rights reserved.
The right Cassandra Parker to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 First published as an e-Book by Cassandra Parker US Edition.
Parker, Cassandra (2017-10-23). Ghost Rider, A Ride With Harley Short Story. Cassandra Parker. E-book Edition.
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Ghost Rider, A Ride With Harley Short Story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.