Read What the Waves Bring Online
Authors: Barbara Delinsky
What the Waves Bring (7 page)
“So you ran.”
Her head flew up with such swiftness that the wine splashed from her glass. “I wouldn't call it that.”
“What, then? Wasn't it possible to stand on your own back there in New York?”
Fury filled her, fueled by hurt at his lack of understanding. “For some people, yes. For me, no.” The gold flecks in her eyes sparked dangerously. “I was one of
them,
trying to break from the mold. It took me twenty-nine years to get up the courage, and I thought I'd done pretty well setting myself up here.”
them,
trying to break from the mold. It took me twenty-nine years to get up the courage, and I thought I'd done pretty well setting myself up here.”
“You can't stay here forever.”
“Why not?” she countered indignantly.
“April,” he chided softly, “you were born and bred into society. Can you just withdraw ⦠like that?” He snapped his fingers in audible illustration.
“I'm sure as hell trying!”
Sensing the extent of her anger, he let it ride, turning to feed the fire and refill their wineglasses. They sat in silence, each occupied in his own mind-world. As April slowly calmed from her outburst, she realized that there had been some truth to his accusation. She had run from New York, unable to make the break while still in viewing distance of the crowd. But was that wrong? Wasn't it most important that the break
be
made?
be
made?
Whatever Heath's thoughts were, she felt removed from them. When he rose and disappeared, she made no move to question him, but merely let the flames of the fire carry on their hypnotic peacemaking effort. It was the warm aroma of something very tempting that finally broke through her trance.
“Dinner is served,” Heath announced, presenting her, to her astonishment, with a fireside banquet of steak, broccoli in cheese sauce, and scalloped potatoes. “Your freezer has quite a store of these goodies. I only hope we can eat them as fast as they thawâif this electricity doesn't come on!”
It was his peace offering, this attractive and appetizing meal, much as the wine had been hers earlier. Against her will, April felt the last of her anger waft off into the night chill. “This is a feast, Heath! I haven't eaten this much at one time since ⦠since last Thanksgiving!” She grinned. “You must have been a chef. That's it. A chef!” With a
sigh of satisfaction, she sampled the fare, complimenting the cook at each taste.
sigh of satisfaction, she sampled the fare, complimenting the cook at each taste.
The good will carried them through the evening, as April's small transistor radio provided the entertainment.
“Sounds as though the storm is history for the majority of the coast,” she commented, when finally she flipped off the switch.
“It really is, here, too. The rain has just about stopped.” He paused in silent debate, before continuing. “How are the repair crews on the island?”
“Beats me. This is my first full-fledged storm here. I would imagine that someone will be out by tomorrow ⦔ Her voice faded as her thoughts joined his. There was something strangely and unexpectedly lovely about their present isolation. Without Heath here, she might have been frightened, bored, chilled. But he
was
here, with her. It was an odd twist to what had begun as a near-tragedy.
was
here, with her. It was an odd twist to what had begun as a near-tragedy.
“Come on,” he spoke softly. “Let's go to bed.”
April stiffened. “That could be very dangerous.” Looking around, she settled on the couch. “I think I'll sleep in here.”
“No, you won't, April,” he contradicted her firmly. “That double bed of yours is plenty big to hold us both.”
Her gaze narrowed on his strangely innocent expression. “Do you really think that would be wise?”
He grinned. “Look on it as a test of our willpower.”
“And ⦠if we fail?”
“Damn it, woman!” he reconsidered reluctantly.
“I'll
sleep on the couch then.”
“I'll
sleep on the couch then.”
“No!” Her answer came more quickly than she'd thought it. “No,” she repeated it more calmly, “we'll try it your way. But you'd better promise ⦔
He raised his fingers in the scout's salute, then joined her stare in deep thought. “Do you think I was a boy scout?”
It was April who recovered first. “To tell you the truth, I really don't care. I want your pledge.”
“Pledge not to touch you?” he asked piteously.
“Pledge to stay on your side of the bed.” She evaded the issue he'd raised, wondering how she would ever make it through the night in the same bed with this man without succumbing to him â¦
regardless
of where he lay. Then she caught her breath.
Did
she really want to do without him? Would it be so terrible to allow herself the luxury of him for this one night? Her body tingled at the thought. To experience something she sensed would be truly beautifulâwouldn't it be worth any later price?
regardless
of where he lay. Then she caught her breath.
Did
she really want to do without him? Would it be so terrible to allow herself the luxury of him for this one night? Her body tingled at the thought. To experience something she sensed would be truly beautifulâwouldn't it be worth any later price?
Fully aware of what her compliancy might ultimately mean, she nonetheless undressed in the bathroom, slipped on her long silky nightgown, tied its matching robe up to her neck, and crept into the far side of the bed. Heath had been busy snuffing the fire in the hearth and now found the bedroom dark, its kerosine lamp extinguished for the sake of her sanity.
Her ear followed his progress, noting the rustle of clothing moments before the mattress yielded beneath his weight. To her chagrin, she found her body sliding helplessly toward his. With a frantic squirm, she topped the highest point of the ticking once more, only to begin the slide again. A soft chuckle caught her in the act of pulling herself up a second time.
“And what's so funny?” she asked indignantly.
“Come here,” he growled, a long arm snaking out to coil around her waist and draw her body back flush against his. “There. Now lie still ⦠if you know what's good for you.”
His warning was well taken. Indeed, once her initial self-consciousnessâand her appallingly strong awareness of his bodyâhad eased, the comfort of his firm cradle filled her with a pervading sense of peace. With his arms wrapped tightly about her and the male scent of him filling
her nostrils, she fell into a sweeter sleep than she had known for years. It was only when her eyes opened again, in the dark, predawn hours, that she knew their good intentions to be sadly lacking. For the craving she felt, the utter longing of her every nerve end, was mirrored in the long, hair-roughened limbs and the firmly muscled torso of the man beside herâthe man whose dark eyes now followed her awakening with fierce and obvious hunger.
her nostrils, she fell into a sweeter sleep than she had known for years. It was only when her eyes opened again, in the dark, predawn hours, that she knew their good intentions to be sadly lacking. For the craving she felt, the utter longing of her every nerve end, was mirrored in the long, hair-roughened limbs and the firmly muscled torso of the man beside herâthe man whose dark eyes now followed her awakening with fierce and obvious hunger.
Why did he have to be so handsome? Why so warm and gentle? Why so charming? So capable? So devastatingly masculine? “Why couldn't I have rescued a one-eyed eunuch with baggy pants, a bald head, and a pot belly?” she whispered in sober emotion, unaware that she'd voiced the thought until the firm-shaped lips before her moved to answer.
“Is that what you would have wanted, April?” His murmur was as thick as hers had been, his eyes searing beams of desire to her core.
Entranced, she raised her hand to touch the lean plane of his face. Tremulous fingers explored the strength of his cheekbone and the hollow beneath, stroking the rugged line of his jaw before coming to rest on the warmth of his lips. “No,” she uttered in total honesty. “No.”
“Then don't fight it, darlin',” he whispered against her fingertips, kissing them lightly. “It was meant to be.”
Later, his words would come back to haunt her. For now, however, she was blind to all but the screaming need within for his touch. It was as though, in the early morning darkness, reality had faded from view. Coming fresh from sleep to the headiness of Heath, April could remember nothing of her earlier fears. There was no other world save that which held them both, warm beneath shared blankets, heated by shared desire.
His hands played along the slender stretch of her neck,
his fingers sending currents of excitement through her as they traced her ear, then slid down a shaft of silky brown hair to her shoulder. She caught her breath as his palm worked its way down her contours, skimming the side of her breast, her midriff and waist, to round her hip and stroke the flesh which the work of sleep on her nightclothes had exposed.
his fingers sending currents of excitement through her as they traced her ear, then slid down a shaft of silky brown hair to her shoulder. She caught her breath as his palm worked its way down her contours, skimming the side of her breast, her midriff and waist, to round her hip and stroke the flesh which the work of sleep on her nightclothes had exposed.
He hugged her to him then, holding her fiercely against his long, lean body, his hands pressing her ever closer to his pulsing need. April felt herself adrift, floating in a mindless sea of ecstasy, her pleasure marred only by the knot of frustration that had materialized in her body, sending waves of craving through the farthest reaches of her consciousness.
Her bared legs moved against his, electrified by the friction of his tufted man's flesh against the smoothness of her own. With her breath suspended midchest, she held his gazeâthat gaze which rained a bright light of adoration on her sleep-softened flush.
He kissed her softly as he reached for the ties of her robe, releasing them and laying the pale blue fabric back, then sitting up beside her. Dark eyes holding hers in taut command, he slid the silken straps of her gown from her shoulders and eased the garment to her waist. At last, as he looked down on her body, he released his breath in a hoarse moan.
“April ⦔ It was near prayerful in reverence, exciting her as much as the strong hands that seemed now to possess her, touching every inch of her, as they forced the gown over her hips and discarded it onto the floor. “Oh, darlin' ⦠you're beautiful ⦔
Indeed she had never felt more so, lying naked now beneath his gaze, her chestnut brown hair fanning out against the pillow, baring her shoulders to his touch. Thrilling to the joy he found in her, she bobbed in that sea of ecstasy, its inner tide growing more agitated by the
minute. Her hands were drawn inexorably to his chest, framing its broad and muscled span in wild appreciation before sliding over the leanness of his ribcage and stomach to help him rid himself of his shorts, the last material barrier between them.
minute. Her hands were drawn inexorably to his chest, framing its broad and muscled span in wild appreciation before sliding over the leanness of his ribcage and stomach to help him rid himself of his shorts, the last material barrier between them.
The storm whipped its hungry need about, muffling her gasp as he lowered his body over hers. “I need you, Heath!” she cried in torment, her warmth craving his fulfillment with agonized greed. Even in frenzy, she sensed every line of his manhood as it fit in primeval perfection to her pliant femininity.
He silenced her moan with his lips, possessing her mouth in anticipation of that deeper possession both sought. Yet, tempering the arousal she knew he felt, he held off, bent on heightening her pitch with sweet, sweet torture in a maelstrom of hands and fingers, lips and tongue. She could only strain against him, arching her back as he explored her body, finding her most secret spots and making them his. Her fingers touched him in poignant urging, yet he waited, waited for the moment.
Lost at sea, she abandoned herself to the tempest of desire he stirred. She was his victim, at his mercy, dependent on him, only him, for salvation, for fulfillment. When finally the moment of union came, she cried aloud at its incredible beauty, clutching frantically at the rippling muscles of his damp back as, amid soft words of love and fire, he set the tempo and carried her with him to a far distant, rapturous shore and back, finally setting her down, spent and satisfied, by his side. For long moments, they clung to the closeness in panting unison. Legs intertwined with his, April rested her head in the crook of his shoulder, her palm monitoring the slow-easing race of his heartbeat.
His breath was warm and raspy against the damp tendrils of hair on her brow. “Is it always like that?” he asked in a tone deep and husky.
“It's never been like that before.” She spoke her own, thudding heart's declaration, stretching the soft, ivory flesh of her body more comfortably against his manly firmness.
He tightened his arms about her for an instant. “I'm glad, April ⦔
For that brief moment, in the aftermath of mutual desire and shared fulfillment, the haze of passion held her on its secluded shore, safe from the reality that lurked beyond the dunes. April had never, in her life, felt as content, as whole. She was a woman beside this man, had given to him the same delight she'd received; the satisfaction was soul-reaching.
Then with unexpected and unwelcome intrusion, reality was upon her. With the restoration of electrical power, the lamp by the bed came suddenly aglow, its bright yellow glare illuminating her nakedness and that of her tall and rugged lover. Awareness returned with a vengeful rush.
It took dismaying moments for her to will movement to her passion-spent limbs. At last she rolled onto her side, away from Heath, moaning in disillusionment at what her mind was beginning to assimilate.
“That shouldn't have happened!” she cried in soft self-reproach.
He argued gently, balanced on his elbow just behind her curled form. “It was inevitable. And very beautiful. You can't deny that.”
With a force that startled them both, she whipped around, drawing the sheet over her as cover. Her eyes pierced his dark depths with the intensity of her conscience. “Have I just become an adulteress, Heath? Can you tell me that?”
“You know I can't,” he replied calmly. “But in this society isn't one assumed innocent until proven guilty?”
Her voice held uncharacteristic bitterness. “Ah, a lawyer,
now. Or, better still, the judge. Is that it? Am I getting warmer?”
now. Or, better still, the judge. Is that it? Am I getting warmer?”
Warning lights flashed in the darkness of his eyes. “That's enough, April.”
“No,” she persisted, her brown eyes grown suddenly liquid, “it isn't! I can't stop, Heath! I can't stop wondering and questioning and agonizing and fearingâ”
“April ⦔ His voice was a low growl, his features taut.
For a moment, she held her breath, mesmerized by the casual fall of the swath of vibrant black hair on his forehead, the comb marks of her own fingers above and behind his ears. “God help me.” Her eyes widened with her soulful whisper. “I can't stop wanting you ⦔ Slowly, the tears escaped their bounds, trickling, one by one, over the now-pale sheen of her cheeks.
“Damn it, April,” he swore, grabbing her arms and hauling her against his chest, easily overpowering her resistance with arms like long steel bands that formed a temporary prison about her quaking body. “Listen to me! Whatever was done in this bed, was done by
both
of us. We're in this together. I won't have you blaming yourself for something that was genuine and lovely ⦠and undertaken in the spirit of innocenceâ”
both
of us. We're in this together. I won't have you blaming yourself for something that was genuine and lovely ⦠and undertaken in the spirit of innocenceâ”
“There was nothing innocent about it!” She interrupted him sharply. “It was lust. Physical needâ”
“Which,” he continued for her, “was satisfied by two people who had no other knowledge but that they were free to do so. Don't you understand, April? I have no idea whenâor whetherâmy memory will return. Can I isolate myself from life, from pleasure, indefinitely? Perhaps it is a purely selfish approachâbut it's the only one I see that will help me over the next weeks, months, maybe years.”
His words had a self-calming effect, his tone gradually growing softer, less gruff. April felt his sense of conviction, conveyed through every fiber of his body as it held hers, and she derived momentary solace from it.
“How strange,” she hiccoughed, at last, closing her eyes against the warmth of his chest, gaining strength from his manly scent, “that we should wait and wait for the lights to come on, and then find them to be so cruel. I wonder”âa sniffle interrupted her musingâ“what would have happened ⦠had the electricity gone on an hour ago.”
She opened her eyes to see the first light of dawn break beyond the windowpane. It held no miracle answers.
Heath snickered. “You would have been just as horrified to find yourself in bed with a half-dressed stranger ⦠who would have wanted you regardless.”
“You,
” she announced without a trace of humor, “are probably a notorious playboy.” At her frown, he released her, and she bounded from the bed, throwing her robe across her shoulders as she fled the room to do battle with her conscience.
” she announced without a trace of humor, “are probably a notorious playboy.” At her frown, he released her, and she bounded from the bed, throwing her robe across her shoulders as she fled the room to do battle with her conscience.
By the time she emerged from the bathroom, she was alone in the house. Aimless steps took her from room to room, mug of steaming black coffee in hand, to the front door to examine the world in the aftermath of Ivan the Terrible. How differently things looked to her now, even though they were quite unchanged! Saturated with rain and glittering with brightly mirrored puddles, the moorland started just beyond her yard and undulated its way toward the horizon. The misted morning's sun wore a thinly clouded veil, lending even greater stillness to the pale yellow and gray tapestry, a miracle in elemental recovery.
Nothing had changed, yet everything had. She closed the door softly and turned from it. The hurricane had been compassionate toward the landscape; it had wreaked havoc with her peace of mind. Where was Heath now? Driven by intuition, she mounted the steps to her rooftop cupola, scanning the beach until the dark figure came into view. Head down, he walked slowly, deep in thought similar to that which monopolized her own being. Who was
he? What was he to her? She felt herself at the starting line of an unfathomable race, its ultimate course a deep, dark mystery. What was she to do?
he? What was he to her? She felt herself at the starting line of an unfathomable race, its ultimate course a deep, dark mystery. What was she to do?
With the electrical power restored, the phone service would surely soon follow. Then the search might begin for Heath's true identity. A shaft of fear coursed through her at the thought of the possibilities. She had imagined him so many different things in the past two days; which would it turn out to be?
When Heath returned, his hair in casual disarray, his face a healthy brown broken only by the purple bruise high on his cheekbone, April sought refuge in the kitchen, preparing a huge batch of pancakes for which she herself had no appetite. She and Heath sat quietly opposite one another as, for the most part, he did the eating. April kept her eyes to the table, dispassionately pushing wads of syrup-soaked pancake around her plate.
“Are you all right?” he asked at last, putting down his fork with a clink.
She shrugged as her eye caught on the leanness of his fingers, long and strong against the wood of the table. Her own hands ached to reach out and trace the manly lines; determinedly, she clutched them in her lap.
“You can't continue to castigate yourself, April.”
Her mind made a defensive feint. “Castigate. That's a very good word. Do you suppose you might have been a professor of literature? Or an author?”
“April!” His fist hit the wood with a force that jolted in reverberation through her. “Cut it out!”
“I'm sorry,” she whispered, looking away.
His voice was suddenly quiet. “Would you like me to leave?”
“No!” Her decision came much too quickly.
“Why not? If my presence is going to make you uncomfortableâ”
“No!” she exclaimed again, then lowered her voice to
a more poignant request. “Please. Stay.” On a whispered note, she begged him. “Don't leave me.” Her eyes were large, brown orbs, confused yet direct, focusing on his darkness. As he stood and paced to the window, she followed his tall form.
a more poignant request. “Please. Stay.” On a whispered note, she begged him. “Don't leave me.” Her eyes were large, brown orbs, confused yet direct, focusing on his darkness. As he stood and paced to the window, she followed his tall form.
“You'd like me to stay here without ⦠touching you?” He paused. “I'm not sure I can do that.”
April stared at his straight-backed stance for long moments. Then a sad smile tremored over her lips, and she looked down. “When I took over this house, the bookshelves contained the same volumes they do now. Some of them go back into the history of Nantucket. It's fascinating.” Heath turned to face her, his expression one of puzzlement, but her eyes were glued to the hands that clenched each other in her lap. “This was the whaling center of the world for nearly one hundred years. The men were often gone for a year, two, even up to four or five years at a stretch on the longest voyages.” She paused for breath, looked shyly up at Heath, then down again.
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