lips and tongue. She clung to his shoulders, feeling almost faint with
pleasure, wondering' dazedly what more there would be, and how
she could stand it.
He kissed her mouth again, long and lingeringly, with warm, sensual
emphasis, and sharp need pierced her deep in her body. A small,
startled moan rose in her throat. Flynn smiled into her wide violet
eyes, then lifted and put her down so that she was lying full- length
on the rug, every inch of her exposed and vulnerable to the warm
torment of his hands.
Using his fingertips, he began to stroke her, to mould, to outline and
explore each curve, each plane, each soft, hidden valley, and all the
time he watched her; watched her eyes for every fleeting
manifestation of pleasure or apprehension; watched the soft rose
colour of arousal blooming in her face, the moist fullness of her
parted lips and the excited tumescence of her breasts.
Sandie was aware of nothing but this web of sensuous enchantment
he was weaving round her. She had stopped thinking. Each
sensation that assailed her was more agonising, more delicious than
the last. He was touching her—kissing her everywhere except-
there, in her most secret place, and he was doing it deliberately, she
thought feverishly as her body writhed in mute pleading under his
diabolically expert hands. He knew—how could he not know?—
how she yearned for—that.
She couldn't believe her own wantonness—her own violent hunger.
She was astonished at the painful joy that transfixed her as his hands
and mouth teased, tantalised, brought her to the edge of some
undreamed-of oblivion, then sent her back unsatisfied. She felt his
fingers trace the length of her spine, drawn nerve-wrenching spirals
on her buttocks, then slide round to her smoothly pliant thighs.
Her whole body tensed in need and anticipation. A voice she barely
recognised as hers pleaded hoarsely, 'Oh, yes—please, yes!'
And then, at long last, his fingers feathered delicately against her,
caressing her moist warmth, seeking out the little peak of sensitivity
and strumming it softly. Reason, reality slid away. She was nothing
but sensation, building exquisitely to some unimagined height, then
pulsating into a thousand—a million small ecstatic agonies. Sandie
cried out, her head thrashing wildly from side to side, until finally
her body shuddered into peace.
For a while Flynn cradled her, his arms tender, his voice breathing
endearments, telling her that she was wonderful, calling her his
sweet, passionate angel. When he moved away from her, she
murmured a little languid protest.
'Wait,' he said. 'That was only the beginning.'
She recognised movement, heard the rustle of his clothing, and
opened dazed eyes, saw that he was stripping. When he came back
to her, he wrapped his arms round her and held her closely, breast to
breast, thigh to thigh, letting her experience this new pleasure of his
bare skin against hers, kissing her mouth and her eyes, and the soft
vulnerable places of her throat.
She was aware of the strength of him, the hardness pressing against
her, and for the first time she was uncertain, afraid that she would
fail him, that the ultimate joining of their bodies was beyond her
capability. Then, as he kissed her and his hands began to coax her
once more along the same sensuous, feverish path, she forgot to be
frightened, even when his body covered hers, and she knew the
moment had come.
He entered her slowly, and with the utmost gentleness, and her body
welcomed him, opening like a flower to the sun. For a while he held
her to him, rocking her softly, then the rhythm of his movements
changed, and intensified, carrying her inexorably with them, urging
her to mirror the deep, driving thrusts of his body into hers, seeking
once again that dark implosion of delight.
Flynn's body tensed, then shuddered wildly against hers, as a harsh
cry was torn put of him, and at that moment, Sandie felt her own
inner being convulse into spasm after spasm of pleasure.
Bodies slick with sweat, they slumped together, breathing raggedly,
and lay like that for a long time.
Sandie had never felt so utterly, gloriously weary. She buried her
face in his shoulder, her eyes closing helplessly.
'Ah, no, sweetheart.' There was tender amusement in his voice as his
lips brushed her hair. 'Why sleep on the floor, when we have a bed?'
And lifting her, he carried her into the waiting shadows of the inner
room.
SANDIE cupped some lather in her hand, blew on it gently, and sent a
large bubble wavering and wobbling towards the ceiling.
I know just how it feels, she thought, smiling as she leaned back
languidly in the scented water, splashing it gently on to her breasts.
She doubted whether anyone in the history of the world had ever
had such a blissful initiation into the pleasures of lovemaking. She'd
slept in Flynn's/arms, and woken some time before dawn to kisses,
and the delight of his seeking hands. If she'd thought she had
satiated from the earlier experience, her eager body soon taught her
differently. Passion, tenderness and laughter had been exquisitely
commingled into one tumultuous, unforgettable whole.
She had changed utterly, she realised. And not just through the
physical transition from girlhood to womanhood. It was deeper,
more fundamental and far-reaching than that. She was no longer just
Sandie Beaumont—someone's daughter, someone's secretary,
someone's pupil. She had felt the pulse which controlled the
universe. She'd been absorbed into some timeless, spaceless ecstasy.
And she belonged to Flynn now, with a completeness beyond her
wildest dreams.
She'd left him sleeping, and crept away to the little bathroom to be
alone for a while, to treasure privately all the wonders which had
happened to her— which he had brought her.
I never knew I could be so happy, she marvelled, smiling at the
sunlight which filled the room. This was the tomorrow she'd
dreaded, but now she was filled with new hope. After the magic, the
beauty Flynn had shared with her, there was no way they could be
parted, she assured herself. They would stay forever, together, here
on this Island of the Heart.
'I've made you some tea.' Flynn's laconic voice from the doorway
broke across her happy reverie. She smiled at him rather shyly, but
invitingly at the same time, hoping with suddenly pounding heart,
that he'd come to her, scoop her up, wet and soapy though she was,
and carry her back into the bedroom.
At the same time, she was aware that he'd pulled on a robe, and that
he was only carrying one beaker, which hardly suggested
togetherness.
'Don't be so greedy, she adjured herself silently.
'When you've drunk it, maybe you'd get dressed,' he went on. 'The
boat's down at the jetty, and I told O'Flaherty we'd be ready to leave
in an hour.'
Sandie's head lifted, and she stared at him, her attention totally
arrested.
'Graunuaille'
s here—so soon?'
Ttold you the real world wasn't far away,' he said with faint
impatience. 'And we have to go back to it.'
'Yes, but...' Sandie swallowed, 'I thought—last night.
Flynn's face tautened. 'Last night was a mistake,' he said harshly,
after a pause. 'I don't expect you to understand, Alexandra. I just
hope you don't hate me too much.'
Hate? she thought incredulously. Hate? Didn't he know—couldn't he
guess how she really felt?
'But I want to understand.' She held out a pleading hand. 'Talk to
me, Flynn, please. Tell me what's wrong. Last night was so
wonderful...'
'And it's over.' The finality in his voice chilled her. 'It should never
have begun,' he added quietly.
'Did I do something wrong?' She knew she should despise herself
for asking, but the words came tumbling out before she could
prevent them. 'Did—did I disappoint you?'
'On the contrary,' he said politely, 'you were all any man could
wish.'
I don't care about 'any man'! she wanted to scream at him. I only
want to know what you thought—how you felt—and why you're
talking like this—frightening me like this?
She tried to smile. 'You make it sound as if it was— just one of
those things.'
Flynn shrugged. 'Well, wasn't it?' he asked expressionlessly, then
put the tea down on the windowsill and walked out of the room.
Sandie sat very still, staring in front of her. Oh, God, she thought.
Oh, God, please don't let this be happening to me. Let it be a bad
dream.
She touched the rim of the bath experimentally, willing it to dissolve
and disappear, but it was all too real. Shivering, she hauled herself
out of the pooling water, and grabbed at a towel.
She had heard of 'the cold light of day', but this was like the onset of
a new Ice Age. Her golden joyous hopes were fragmenting around
her. Other words, other phrases were beginning to beat in her brain
too- like 'one-night stand'.
She wrapped herself in the towel, sarong-style, and went to find her
clothes. Flynn's robe was flung across the bed, and the cottage was
deserted. After last night's intimacy, his absence seemed to
underline her sense of rejection, of isolation, and the pain of it was
like an open wound in her soul.
How could he Change so completely—and so quickly—from the
warm, passionate man who'd taught her in the space of a few short
hours that Paradise could be hers? she asked herself in appalled
bewilderment.
Suddenly all the old-fashioned and despised warnings about 'giving
in too easily' and 'men losing respect for you' seemed to have a ring
of horrid truth about them. Last night might have been a wonder to
her—a revelation—but to Flynn she was just another girl—an easy
conquest among many.
She swallowed painfully. I can't believe it, she thought. I don't want
to believe it.
And that, of course, was the trouble. She'd been fooled by Crispin.
But she'd been even more gullible over Flynn. She'd known his
reputation, and yet She'd still fallen into his arms. And now that he'd
had her, he didn't want her any more, and she would never heal from
the hurt of it.
But what else did you expect? Sandie lashed herself mentally. You
can't say you weren't warned. After all, she thought broodingly,
Flynn had revealed himself as a predator from the start. The feeling
of closeness between them that he'd engendered since they'd been on
the island, the kindness, and the laughter were all part of his stock in
trade. He'd made her trust him, knowing cynically that he would
reap the benefit.
But it was more than that, Sandie thought, as new pain constricted
her throat muscles and brought tears stinging at her eyelids. He'd
also made her love him.
When she was dressed, she went and sat at the living-room table.
Her tea was cold, and she threw it away and made fresh, forcing
herself to sip the hot, reviving brew while she considered what to
do. She couldn't plead. She had to salvage what remnants of pride
she had left. But she deserved a fuller explanation than Flynn's bald
statement that it was all over.
She heard the sound of approaching footsteps and braced herself
mentally. But when Flynn entered, O'Flaherty was with him, and all
hopes of a private conversation were thwarted.
O'Flaherty nodded to her. 'Himself tells me you've had one of them
virus things,' he said, giving her one of his narrow, critical looks.
'You look pale as milk, right enough.'
It was the nearest to a kind remark that he'd ever made to her. No
doubt he guessed what had happened on
Oilean an chroi
and felt
sorry for her. Sandie lifted her chin. 'I feel perfectly fine, thank you,'
she said crisply. 'I'd just like to get back to Killane as soon as
possible.'
'Killane, is it?' O'Flaherty muttered derisively. 'No one but a lunatic
would choose to go there, the place in uproar as it is.' He gave Flynn
a severe look. 'Well for you, Killane, if you sold the entire house
from under them, lock, stock and barrel.'
Flynn gave a tight smile, and began to collect the belongings
together. He and O'Flaherty worked fast, shutting down the
generator, closing up the cottage and transporting the remaining