What the Waves Bring Page 8

  “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?”

  “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.

  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!”

  “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 protest—Heath 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.”

  “I want you, April. Again. Still. Say whatever you will. Kiss me … then tell me that you don’t want me as well.” His husky voice was cut abruptly off as he lowered his lips once more, taking hers with the gift of persuasion that seemed all his.

  “I do want you,” she gasped in the aftermath of his masterful demonstration. “If I had no scruples, I would lie with you all day. Yes, dammit, I want you. Oh, Heath.” She lifted her hands to frame his dark face, her fingertips reveling in their contact with his thick, rich hair. “Please don’t force me to make the choice. I don’t know if I can! I’m bound to hate myself either way! Don’t you see?” His body covering hers gently now, Heath raised his head higher to study the intensity of her soft brown eyes. “Take me if you will and I doubt I would fight you. But,” she said, stiffening as the truth of her words hit home, “know that it would only cause greater pain afterward!”

  When his fingers lightly traced the curve of her chin, she didn’t pull away. “Is that the way it has to be?” he whispered hoarsely.

  “For now …” She nodded, fighting her clamoring body at every step.

  For an instant, the issue was in the air—like a basketball, thrown up in a jump shot by a player. Only this was no game; and the opponents were lodged within her very own body. To add to her torment was the knowledge that she had put the burden of the judgment onto Heath.

  She held her breath as he grimaced. “So be it!” he growled stoically, as he removed his weight from her and stood, for an instant, beside the sofa. Then, as though rethinking his decision, he bent over once more to place a tender kiss on her lips. His face was very, very close. “I would never do anything to hurt you, April. Please believe me.” Before she could respond, he was gone, headed at a trot toward the front door.

  “Where are you going?” she cried out in alarm, bolting upright.

  “The car. I’m going to see if I can get it out of the muck,” he called, reaching into his pocket. “I’ve already got the keys. Be right back.” The door slammed behind him. April could not help but imagine the source of his own nervous energy. He was remarkable—remarkable in more ways than one!

  Settling back into the sofa, she pondered this magnificent stranger who had so dramatically tumbled into her life, shaking it to its core. Why was it that the sight of him set her knees to knocking, her senses to flaming? Why did she find him so totally appealing—dressed, undressed, clad only in a towel and shaving cream, or in the soft white linen of her bedsheet? What was the nature of the power that this nameless, placeless man held over her? Was it a purely physical reaction to his overwhelming maleness? But she had known other men; none had affected her with half the force of Heath.

  As her eye absently circled the room, it fell on the cool receiver of the telephone. Had the lines been repaired? She should check. However, the determination of the thought did not spread to her legs. For endless moments, she studied the phone, willing herself toward it, yet sitting staunchly on the sofa. Finally, in a wave of self-reproach, reason took the upper hand. Moving quickly lest she change her mind, she picked up the phone and listened for a moment—hearing nothing but the wild thunder of her heartbeat. Still dead. A slow smile relaxed her features, as she turned toward the sofa with a shrug. Heath’s reappearance stopped her midway.

  Satisfaction glowed on his dark and manly face, lit now with a gleaming white smile. “That’s it.” He brushed imaginary dirt from his hands. “All set to go?”

  April responded as much to his obvious pleasure with himself as to the fact that he had freed the car. “It’s out?” She grinned. At his nod, her heart skipped a beat. “But,” she said, feigning a frown, “where are we going?”

  “I believe you talked about the town of Nantucket, some nine miles from here?”

  “Good memory …”

  “Well, I thought it might be nice to spend an afternoon on the town.”

  His excitement was enough to chase away any lingering doubts—for the time being, at least. “That might be very nice,” she drawled coyly. With Heath standing now directly before her, clear thought was nearly impossible, particularly with the endearingly boyish expression he wore.

  “I had in mind some lunch, a treat or two, a little stroll, some shopping—”

  “Shopping?”

  “It might be helpful”—he looked quickly down at the jeans, which had borne the brunt of his free-the-car endeavor—” if I had a change of clothes. Nothing fancy, mind you. Do you think that some shop
might stock jeans?”

  “I know just the place.”

  “Good! Uh … there’s only one problem.” His features darkened into a frown.”

  “Problem?”

  His elaboration consisted of a very brief and low murmur. “I haven’t any money.”

  At the secrecy of it all, April burst into gay laughter. “My man, you picked the right shore upon which to wash! Don’t you know that money is no problem here?” In merry self-mockery, she looked around the living room of her home, furnished with a modesty that belied her claim. When she smiled again, there was a softness in her expression that, had she seen herself, would have given her pause. “That’s no problem at all, Heath. I can give you whatever money you need.”

  His dark eyebrow arched. “Just a loan.”

  “Just a loan.” She nodded. “And I think you’ll find that my rates are more reasonable than any in town!” Chuckling, she ran for her purse. But somewhere between the living room and the kitchen, a thought intruded on her pleasure. When she reappeared before Heath, her face was strained.

  “What is it, darlin’?” he asked, sensing her distress, putting his hands on her shoulders, then tilting her chin up with his thumb.

  “What if someone sees us?” she asked, more timidly than she might have wished.

  “That would be inevitable.”

  “What if someone knows you?”

  “Then one problem will have been easily solved.”

  “But, Heath! What if—” She truly enjoyed him, in, oh, so many ways. The thought of his leaving today was painful.

  “Darlin’, listen to me,” he interrupted gently. “No one can take away from us what we’ve had.” He’d read her fear precisely. “Sooner or later, I’ll have to learn who I am. Who was it that said, ‘The truth shall make you free’?”

  “The Bible,” she whispered, then forced a smile. “Say, you aren’t a preacher, are you?”

  He growled as he threw his arms around her and pulled her into his embrace for a fast moment. “If I am, I’ll have my hands filled. You, sweet April, are incorrigible!” With a quick kiss on the tip of her nose, he led her out of the house.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “You really shouldn’t be driving, Heath.” She smiled smartly at him from a pose of comfort on the passenger’s side of the car.

  “And why not? I obviously know how to drive.” A smooth exit from the rutted drive of the house onto the equally as crude road was ample proof of his claim.

  “If we were stopped for something, you’d have to show a license. Do you have one?”

  The look he cast her was dark and mischievous. “You know I don’t,” he drawled, the play of his eyes plainly suggesting those other things she knew about him. As she quickly looked away, she thought once more of the unbelievable effect the man had on her—hadn’t he just proved it with merely a moment’s glance?

  Several deep breaths restored her composure. “Then make sure you don’t speed, or do anything else to attract attention.” The catch in her voice took her caveat one step further; in one fast-exchanged glance, they understood one another. Heath was simply to be a guest of hers, visiting with her for a while. On the surface, there was nothing unusual in it. April was an attractive and unattached young woman; the townsfolk would merely assume him to be a friend of hers from New York.

  “This is magnificent!” Heath’s evaluation gave her welcome diversion. “Look!”

  Following the line of his finger, April grinned in appreciation. Before them, running along the side of the road in vivid flame, up an occasionally intersecting fencepost, over and around shrubs, and draping the intermittently appearing tree, was a blazing vine of crimson. “Do you have any idea what that is?” Amusement lurked behind the amber-glittered warmth of her soft brown gaze.

  “Ah … no. Seems that I’m not a botanist.”

  “Well, then, let me tell you. I wouldn’t want you admiring it too closely …” At his puzzled look, she enlightened him. “Poison ivy. Don’t touch. Can be very, very itchy.”

  Heath grinned broadly. “Thanks for the warning.” As they crested a small hill, conversation took a backseat to the raw beauty of the panorama laid out before them. With the last vestige of the storm glistening in the form of moisture atop blades of grass and leaves of all shapes and sizes, the autumn bounty was endless.

  Flowing like gently rolling prairieland, the moors of Nantucket were aglow with a palette of reds and golds, oranges and scarlets. For as far as the eye could see, before the next crest rose to conceal the show to follow, lay a sea of low-growing shrubs dotted with bushy islands of bayberry, huckleberry, and shadblow. It was as though, in the wake of the hurricane, the joy of survival had suffused the flora with renewed life, increased strength and beauty.

  Heath stopped the car for a few moments at the crest of a new hill, from which point the salty span of the ocean rimmed the masterpiece. Slowly, the sun burned its way through a last recalcitrant layer of clouds and there was peace all about.

  “It makes you think, doesn’t it,” April mused aloud, her voice holding the wonder she felt deep within. “After that storm, to find this …” A sideways glance brought her sights to interlock with his. “I named you well, Heath. You’re like those plants, you know. You came through it all in as fine a shape as they did!”

  What he thought of her analogy, she wasn’t to know. For the hand that gently stroked her cheek was drawn quickly back to the steering wheel. “April, if you continue to look at me that way, I won’t be responsible for anything I may do!” With a sudden spurt, the car moved forward again.

  Once in her life, this power of attraction she wielded over a man might have pleased her. Now, it did not. Yes, he seemed as drawn to her as she to him—but to what end? Where was their relationship to go? The dilemma was destined to follow her even now, when she wished for nothing more than an afternoon of enjoyment in Nantucket with a man she admired. Admired … an interesting choice of word, she mused soberly. But she was given no more time to ponder its accuracy.

  “Hey, sweet April.” The voice beside her was warm and deep, smooth as velvet and an instant comfort. “Let’s have fun. Don’t brood. Not now. Please?”

  He squeezed her hand gently, covered her fingers protectively. When she placed her other hand over his, he left it there. “I’ll try, Heath. It’s difficult.”

  “I know. I know,” he groaned softly. “But why is it that we seem to be expecting the worst? Do you think I could be some kind of criminal? Me?” The exaggerated note of innocence brought a helpless smile to her pink lips.

  “Of course not!” she chided gently. She struggled to voice her thoughts. “It’s just that … as painful as it is, it’s easier to expect the worst and then be pleasantly surprised, than to hope for the best and be crushed …”

  “The true philosopher at work,” he kidded, then turned his eyes back to the road, leaving April to ponder the fact that there was only one aspect of his past that truly interested her. Was he married? Had he family? Was there room for her in his life?

  Their arrival in town preempted all analysis of her obsession. As Heath drove slowly up one narrow street and down the next, many of them cobblestone originals, she saw the ancient whaling village through his eyes, as though for the first time.

  “‘The Little Gray Lady of the Sea’, they used to call Nantucket.” She culled small gems from her growing store to embellish the tour. “These houses—the smaller ones, particularly those closer to the shore—are built of cedar shingles that turn gray in the sea air. Many of them belonged to whaling captains. One street here housed one hundred and fifty captains over the years!”

  “They’re built very close together,” he observed thoughtfully, turning a corner and starting up another street. There were neither traffic lights nor the throngs of street signs that had managed to mushroom wildly on the mainland. Driving was slow and relaxing; pedestrian traffic was similarly light.

  “Uh-huh. Whereas many other New Englanders left
lawns around their houses, the people of Nantucket built their town in the style of the large cities—one house close beside the other. Can you see those walkways on the roofs?” She paused until Heath nodded. “They were called ‘widow’s walks’; supposedly, the wives of whaling men spent much of their time on the lookout, up there, for the return of their husbands.” She laughed sadly. “Only thing is that it’s a misnomer. Once a woman was a widow, there was no need for her to keep a lookout!”

  As the car moved on into a different part of town, several streets over, the architecture changed markedly.

  “And these homes? To whom did they belong?”

  “Magnificent, aren’t they?” she agreed. “These were the homes of the people who made the real money in whaling—not the captains themselves but the shipowners and investors who made it possible in the first place.”

  Heath parked close by the sidewalk of a street lined with tall, stately mansions of bright red brick, some in the Greek style, others Georgian in appearance. “Some wealth …”

  “Believe it! Three and four of these homes, at a stretch, belonged to one family. There was intermarriage galore among the well-to-do families here. In some instances, a father built identical homes side by side for his sons or daughters and their spouses. Wedding gifts.”

  For long moments, they admired the homes, proud and seasoned, impeccably preserved. “They’re of eighteenth-and nineteenth-century vintage,” April explained. “But there seems to be an unspoken agreement between the town and the owners that the homes shall be kept up in their original style. Some of the owners, in fact, are descendants of the original builders!”

  “Remarkable …” Heath’s fascination with the structures was a delight to April, who couldn’t resist a gentle barb.

  “Do you think you might be in real estate? A builder? Perhaps,” she said, exaggerating her excitement, “you actually own something like this!”

  He looked down at her rounded eyes. “Would you live in a mansion like this with me?” He skirted her original suggestion.