What the Waves Bring Page 6

  Heath stopped her gently. “Whoa. You’re getting ahead of me. Let’s go back a bit. Your childhood—what was it like?”

  April eyed him sharply. “Why is it that I get the feeling of being on a psychiatrist’s couch? I don’t make a habit of discussing this with just anyone, you know. Say,” she said, stalling for time, “were you a psychiatrist? Just think, perhaps we’re colleagues of sorts.” She cocked her head and studied him, finding pleasure in the relaxation of his features. “No, on second thought, not a psychiatrist.”

  “Whyever not?”

  “For one thing, you don’t wear horn-rimmed glasses. For another, you’re too well put together.” When Heath looked down at his castaway costume she burst into spontaneous laughter. “No! Your mind, Heath!”

  The smile he flashed her quickened her pulse. “That’s just because I have so little on my mind. Once it all comes back …” As his words trailed off, their eyes met. The return of his memory was the end goal, yet at the moment it would be a raw intrusion on the peace of the scene. Heath cleared his throat. “Your childhood, April. Was it a happy one?”

  Appreciative of diversion from that other thought, she continued reminiscing. “Yes, it was happy. I had a good home, fine clothes, the best of schooling. I went to a private school in New York, spent my junior year in high school on an exchange program in France.”

  A dark eyebrow arched. “Very nice.”

  “It was. Most summers we spent in Maine.” Her eye trailed to the window. “Perhaps that’s why this place appealed to me—on the ocean and all.” Her thoughts returned to the story. “I was fortunate enough to be able to travel. I’ve seen most of Europe, Scandinavia, some of the Middle East, and parts of South America. The islands of the Caribbean are my favorites, particularly in the middle of the northeast winter!”

  “I see your point,” Heath agreed. “What about friends, April? Surely there must have been many—plus a string of men at your beck and call.”

  April winced involuntarily. “I do have friends. And I’ve had my share of male companionship.” She paused, and he waited.

  “Yes … ?”

  “Yes, what?”

  “You ended in the middle of your thought. I have to believe there’s more to that particular story.”

  Her features grew more taut. “You’re right.”

  “Well, don’t keep me in suspense …”

  “Oh, Heath,” she burst out beseechingly. “You really don’t want to hear all this. It’s very boring and self-indulgent.”

  He reached out a hand to touch her cheek, then withdrew it before it arrived. His expression was soft but unfathomable. “I do want to hear. Please. And, you never can tell, at any time, something you say may hit a familiar note!”

  As she considered the possibility, her eyes sought strength in the firm lines of his face. “Your bruise looks a little better,” she commented, impulsively touching her fingertips to the purple flesh in a motion that completed, with tenderness, that which Heath had begun. When he closed his fingers around hers, her heart skipped a beat. His look held a warning; instantly, she drew her hand back, as though touched by fire. “Sorry,” she murmured hesitantly, “where was I?”

  “Your men.”

  A poignant smile gentled her features. “Yes, my men. I’ve dated some dashing ones in my time.”

  “Anyone special?”

  Her brows met and her eyes clouded with pain for a fleeting moment before she regained control. In that moment, Heath saw her emotion and his gaze grew more sharp. But April was no longer looking at him. Rather, she studied the bareness of her pale and slender fingers, their finely shaped and conditioned nails.

  “There was someone,” she began with a sigh. “His name was Shane Michaels. You may even have heard of him—” Her eyes darted quickly up, then back. “No, you won’t remember. He is a prominent news broadcaster in the New York area.”

  “And your relationship … ?”

  “ … was pretty heavy for a while there.” She paused, shaking her head slowly, her hair sliding around her downcast face. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this—”

  His fingers caught her chin and forced her eyes to meet his. “Perhaps because you need to tell me, just as I need to know.” He elaborated on his meaning with the acuity of his gaze. In an instant, April knew he was right. Even had he not asked, she would have wanted him to know. Nodding in acquiescence, she inhaled deeply. Heath dropped his fingers to let her continue.

  “Shane was—is—a compelling character. He arrived on the New York scene several years ago. Our social circles crossed and we hit it off from the start. I was working by that time, so it didn’t matter to me that so much of his time was taken with his work. He was a charming companion. I … fancied myself … in love with him.”

  Embarrassed once more by the extent of her naivete, April looked away. In the final analysis, more of the pain she suffered came from this self-reproach than from the loss of a love that had been only superficial.

  The silence was disturbed but occasionally by the crack of the fire in the hearth. Suddenly, in April’s mind, the affair seemed truly over, a memory from her past, irrelevant to her present life.

  “What happened?” His voice was soft in its urging.

  She shrugged. “I found him in bed one day with a close friend of mine.” At Heath’s low moan, she raised her eyes. “That’s one of the reasons why I resisted you, Heath. If there is a woman out there”—her arm made a wide, sweeping gesture—“waiting for you, I’d hate to cause her more pain than she’s already suffered.”

  For what seemed an eternity, neither of them spoke. It was, finally, his deep male voice that broke the stillness. “And if there is no other woman, April … ?”

  Her breath caught at his words, her heart pounding as the rougher texture of his man’s hand stroked the far side of her face, turning her toward him. The tears that gathered in dark, glistening crescents just within the bounds of her lower lashes bewildered her, as did the blurred image of vulnerability that she beheld. Mercifully Heath demanded no verbal response but drew her against him, burying her face against the warm haven of his chest and rocking her gently for several moments before setting her back. Though the issue would remain a major one for them both, there was unspoken accord that it should not be pushed.

  “Aside from the ugly experience with Michaels,” he began softly, “you’ve painted a very satisfactory picture of your life. I still don’t understand why you left New York. It would seem much more convenient, with your work and all, to have remained in the middle of everything.”

  “Perhaps,” she sniffled, blotting the last of the moisture from her eyes with the backs of her hands. “But the city lost its appeal for me, I guess. Oh,” she added quickly, “the fiasco with Shane was merely the straw that broke the camel’s back.” She regarded him sheepishly. “An old expression—I’ m sure your alter ego is familiar with it.” With a deep breath she went on. “I had been increasingly disenchanted with my so-called ‘group’ in New York for some time. I’m sure much of it had to do with my work. Work isn’t something that most of my friends took kindly to. We seemed to grow in different directions. After a while I got tired of making excuses to avoid a party here or a weekend there. They bored me. And I’d had it with apologizing for my work. I enjoy it. It’s rewarding and self-supporting. No one can take it away from me, and I refuse to stick around while they try.”

  “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.”

  “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?

  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 thaw—if 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.

  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.

  “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.”

  “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 … 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 beautiful—wouldn’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-consciousness—and her appallingly strong awareness of his body—had 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 her—the man whose dark eyes now followed her awakening with fierce and obvious hunger.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  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.

  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 gaze—that 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.

  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.