Read What the Waves Bring Online
Authors: Barbara Delinsky
What the Waves Bring (8 page)
“There was a man named Benny Cleveland. In the early 1900s. He used to ârent himself out,' during storms and bad times, to ladies whose husbands were at sea and who were frightened of staying alone. Fifteen cents for one night, twenty-five cents for two. It was all supposedly very innocent, yet Benny Cleveland was the envy of many a man around.” Her grin was directed inward, in renewed appreciation of the tale. When she continued, it was less steadily. “I like having you around, Heath. That hurricane might have been a nightmare had I been alone here!” In sincerity, she raised her eyes to his, stirred involuntarily by their warmth. “Don't leave ⦠yet.” Left unsaid was the inevitability of his eventual departure; she couldn't quite voice that fact. Nor could she voice a far deeper need for him than mere companionship.
“The storm is over, April.
That
storm. Will you make another one of our relationship?”
That
storm. Will you make another one of our relationship?”
His was a valid question, holding April speechless for long moments. As he had expressed it, there would only be turmoil if she created it herself. Was he right in his inference?
A loud hammering at the front door saved her from having to answer his question directly. With the rasp of wood against wood, she pushed back her chair and left him, for the moment, alone.
“Morning, Miss April.” A cheerful voice greeted her as she pulled open the door in response to its thud.
“Tom! How good to see you! Can I take it that the phone crews are out as well?”
“Yes, ma'am,” the good-looking man, sandy-haired and no more than a year or two older than April, announced with pride. “I see,” he said, looking past her, “that your lights are okay?”
She nodded. “They came on just after dawn.” How clearly she recalled the moment!
“Good! Any other damage ⦠to ⦔âhis eye caught on something, drawing April around to seeⓠ⦠report?”
“No, Tom. Everything else is fine.” Hesitating for a hairbreadth, she willed herself to calmness as she introduced the tall man who had approached and now stood just behind her. “Tom, this is Heath. He's been with me during the storm.”
The men eyed each other warily before shaking hands. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.” The local islander spoke first, his continued scrutiny as intense as Heath's.
The dark head dipped. “Same,” he murmured simply, then stood back.
Sensing a strange tension, April broke the silence. “Was there much damage on the island, Tom?” The municipal worker shook his head. “Any problem at your house?” Again, his gesture was in the negative. “Good.” She smiled, gratified at the news.
“Well,” he said with a lingering edge of discomfort, “I'll be moving along. Want to check all the homes on this end of the island before noon. Take care now, Miss April.” His eye flicked past her for a moment's concentration on Heath before he smiled a final time, turned, and left.
Only when the door was firmly shut and the faint sound of the Jeep in retreat met their ears did Heath speak. “Who is Tom?” He seemed nearly angry, startling her.
“He's an islander. Tom McGraw. He works with the electric company, I believe.”
“How do you know him?”
“This is a small island, Heath. We met in town soon after I arrived. The people here are all curious of newcomers.”
“He remembered your name well enough.”
April pondered the taut line of his jaw before grinning in sudden understanding. “Tom McGraw has a lovely wife and two young children. It was actually his wife, Sarah, whom I met first. We see each other in town every so often.”
At the visible relaxation of his features, she felt an odd sense of satisfaction. He had been jealous! That was a new one! Then, with a soft gasp, she caught herself. Jealousyâand her resultant smugnessâhad no place here. Theirs could not be that kind of a relationship!
“Yes, I am jealous!” Heath voiced her thoughts with uncanny perception. “And I'll continue to be jealous of any man who looks at you, April. Evidently that's the kind of man I am. Now perhaps you should reconsider. Do you still want me to stay here?”
There was no reconsidering to be done. Much as she knew the danger of his presence, his sudden removal from her life would be worse! “Yes,” she murmured softly, holding his gaze with her last remnants of composure.
Though he made no move to erase the distance between them, the sensuality of him reached out to her, caressing
her anew, sending a tremor deep into her. In that instant, she doubted the wisdom of her decision. In the next, she had cause to doubt it even more.
her anew, sending a tremor deep into her. In that instant, she doubted the wisdom of her decision. In the next, she had cause to doubt it even more.
“I can't make any promises, April. When I want to touch you, I intend to. If I want to kiss you, I will.”
“Then I'll have to be a conscience for us both!” she declared on impulse, clutching at the only solution she saw to the dilemma. She wanted to be with him, yet she did not. Until the mystery of his identity was resolved, she had no choice but to try to effect this compromise.
The look he threw her was a wry one, in analysis of her chances of success; mercifully, he said nothing. Even more mercifully, he made no move toward her. Had he put her resolve to the test, she might have crumbled on the spot. For as he stood before her, she knew that same craving deep within; it took, to her chagrin, nothing more than his nearness to trigger this innermost physical response.
With a deep breath of determination, she turned toward the spot in the living room that held her computer. For many of its uses it was fully operational now, given the return of the electrical power. For purposes of transmission, however, it still lacked the telephone connection.
“What does it do?” Heath asked, eyeing the machine nearly as cautiously as he had eyed Tom McGraw moments earlier.
“It's a marvelous machine,” she began in loyal description. “It's a word processor, a telecommunicator, an educational tool, a home entertainment center ⦔
“Do you use it for all those things?”
She laughed at his quick analysis. “No. I use it as a word processor and a communicator. I have all the manuals and materials for the other functions”âshe pointed to a bottom shelf of the bookcase nearest the machineâ“but I stick to the two I need for my work. For you ⦔ She paused, growing instantly more sober. “I'll go to the âSource.'”
“The Source?”
Her long brown lashes flickered up at him, then down again. “I can scan the Associated Press and UPI reports for the past few days, right from here,” she said, pointing to the small screen atop the keyboard unit, “and see if there is any report of a man lost at sea.”
“Very interesting.” His comment carried the same unnamed weight that she felt in the pit of her stomach. “How long does this take?”
“Seconds.”
“Really?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Then I guess that's all there is to it,” he concluded deeply. He stared at her for long moments, his gaze dark and probing. When finally he spoke, his voice was very low. “April?” Her eyebrows cocked up in response. “When that fellowâTomâcame to the door, you did not mention that I'd been shipwrecked. Or that I didn't remember a thing.” Another hesitation gave her the time to consider her lapse. “Why not? I would have thought that it would be a matter of high priority.”
Until he'd mentioned it, April hadn't realized what she'd doneâor, more accurately, failed to do. As a trained psychologist, she knew that there were subconscious reasons behind the omission. Yet she wasn't ready to examine these before Heath.
“I-I really don't know,” she stammered softly, avoiding his gaze. “Maybe I felt that he wouldn't be of much help. What we need is the police chiefâor someone who can start an investigation.”
“Is that what we should do, then? Call the police once the phones are back in order?”
“Yes,” she answered quickly, then changed her mind in an instant. “Ah ⦠no! No.” With a hand at her forehead, she struggled to separate emotion from reality, but it was a futile task. “Why don't we see what the computer comes
up with first?” There was timidity in her suggestion, knowing with her good sense that, given the possibility of a family off somewhere, she should call into action every possible resourceâas soon as possible. Unsure now, she left the final say to Heath.
up with first?” There was timidity in her suggestion, knowing with her good sense that, given the possibility of a family off somewhere, she should call into action every possible resourceâas soon as possible. Unsure now, she left the final say to Heath.
It was as though he read her from head to toe, understanding her hesitation, feeling her fears himself. “We'll do that, April. If the computer comes up with nothing,
then
we'll look further.”
then
we'll look further.”
Nodding her chestnut-maned head, April felt dire need of escape from the vibrations that wore constantly at her resistance. They were currents of life from Heath, reaching out to the softness of her. It was sheer torture to deny them, but deny them she must. “I-I think I'll do some cleaning up,” she mumbled beneath her breath, disappearing quickly into the bedroom.
It was a prolonged silence, broken only by some very suspicious and familiar-sounding blips, that finally brought her out of seclusionânot that the time to herself had accomplished anything, anyway! Besieged by guilt and tormented by an emotion she could neither contain nor define, she felt herself floundering. It was a welcome relief to have some source of diversion.
The sight that confronted her in the living room brought her to an abrupt halt. “What
are
you doing?” She aimed her question at the broad back facing her. Seated at her desk chair, Heath was deeply engrossed in communion with her Apple.
are
you doing?” She aimed her question at the broad back facing her. Seated at her desk chair, Heath was deeply engrossed in communion with her Apple.
“Do you play chess?” he asked absently, sparing but a minute's worth of his attention on her.
“No, but ⦔
“This is fantastic. A worthy opponent!”
“You
are
playing chess!” she exclaimed. “How did you ever figure out how to work with the menu and everything?”
are
playing chess!” she exclaimed. “How did you ever figure out how to work with the menu and everything?”
“It was a snap.”
“Snap, my foot!” she cried, coming to stand directly behind him. “It took me weeks to get the knack of using this machine. I still haven't become totally comfortable with it when it comes to some of the functions I use less frequently. I've never worked out the games. And here you are, after a few short minutes, playing it like a pro.”
“Shhh. You're distracting me!” He was clearly enjoying himself. April leaned closer to watch.
“That's it, Heath. Perhaps you're a computer whiz! A program designer! A genius!” In the fun of the moment, she pushed the world of doubts and caution to a far corner of her mind.
His gruff though playful “Shhh!” was close by her ear, as he turned his head briefly toward her. “April,” he warned, “I'm trying to concentrate.”
“Sorry.” Feeling not at all regretful, she felt herself a football widow, yielding her husband to the clutches of the television set for hours on end during long fall weekends. Cautiously at first, then with greater staying power, she studied Heath's features as he concentrated on the game. As she braced herself with one hand against the back of his chair, she had an angle of sight from which, she assumed, he would not be disturbed. She was wrong, she realized, as she suddenly found herself off-balance. Heath had twirled around on the chair and whipped her onto his lap, locking her into position with an arm around her waist.
“Heath!” she protested, catching her breath. “What do you think you're doing?”
“This is more fun than chess any day, darlin',” he drawled, instants before his lips seized hers with a fierceness that stirred latent fires within her.
With her hands, she tried to lever him away. With her lips, she was betrayed without a fight. The assault of sensation had taken her by storm, and it was too heady to resist. She opened her mouth willingly for the invasion of his
tongue, playing coyly with it as it ran along the even line of her teeth, then forayed deeper.
tongue, playing coyly with it as it ran along the even line of her teeth, then forayed deeper.
The rapid rise and fall of her breasts, outlined through the close knit of her sweater, pressed against his chest as her arms found their way over his shoulders to the corded lines of his back. When he released her lips at last, his breath was ragged against the flush of her cheeks. “Oh, darlin', how am I going to make it? I want you in my arms
all
the time. I may not know anything else, but I
do
know that!”
all
the time. I may not know anything else, but I
do
know that!”
“Don't say things like that, Heath,” she rasped, torn between tearing herself away, the sane course, and begging for more, the sensuous course. Walking that tightrope, she simply held on to him, feeling safe as long as she made token protestâHeath would never force her into doing anything. Mindlessly, she let her lips trail along his forehead to the healing line of the gash that, in all probability, was the source of his amnesia. Her senses absorbed the pressure of his hands on her, his palm cupping the fullness of her breast, his fingers unerringly finding the budding dome. “Heath!” she whispered in desperation and exhiliration, a plea and a warning in one, breathy word.
As he kissed her again, she was only marginally aware of his arms shifting around her, of his lifting her and carrying her to the sofa. It was when he put her down and she knew his intent that she began to struggle. But his solid length was fast upon her, dooming her resistance. “No, Heath! Please,” she cried. “I can't.
We
can't.”
We
can't.”
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