“Come on.” He reached down, pulling her to her feet, then slid his arms around her and lifted her against his chest. Clara came out of the daze she was lost in as he started to stride from the bathroom.
“Jack, put me down! Jack, your wound!”
“To hell with the damn thing,” he muttered. Then it was too late to argue because he had reached the bed and was tumbling her down on it. She landed against cool sheets, lying sideways, legs dangling over the side of the bed. He came down on top of her, hard and fast, and she spread her thighs to accommodate him. Then he was inside her, plunging deep, surprising sharp cries of ecstasy from her as he took her with furious need. Her arms were around his neck and her legs were around his waist and she was trembling, shaking, dying with the bliss of what he was doing to her.
His mouth found her nipples, pulling one into his mouth and closing his teeth around it, suckling and biting until she thought she would go crazy, and all the while he was slamming into her like a jackhammer gone wild.
“Clara! My God, Clara!” He called her name as he drove into her one final time, shuddering. The force of his climax drove her over the edge, and she cried out too, holding him tight as she was whirled away.
XXVIII
By the time morning rolled around Clara was so exhausted that all she wanted to do was lie in bed with her head under the pillow and sleep the day away. She had lost count of the number of times she and Jack had made love during the night. He’d been tireless, and despite her occasional feeble remonstrations about his wound she’d been more than willing. They hadn’t closed their eyes until dawn was sneaking bright pink fingers across the sky.
Beside her, Jack was snoring. She listened groggily to the sound, wondering if that was what had awakened her. Then she heard it again: the imperious pounding on the villa’s door.
“Oh, no!” she groaned. She buried her head beneath the pillow again, attempting to ignore General Ramsey’s morning summons in hopes that he would go away. But the pounding sounded again, forceful enough to shake the walls of the villa, accompanied by the general’s bass voice calling, “Miss Winston, is everything all right?”
Clara sat up in bed, giving Jack a baleful glare. He was still blissfully asleep. Clara didn’t see bow any normal
human being could sleep through the racket the general was making, but Jack was doing a good job of it. She shook his shoulder. He didn’t move, so she shook it again, harder.
The snoring stopped. One green eye peered out from under his arm to blink at her.
“Baby, you’re the sexiest thing on two legs, but I’m going to have to take a raincheck for now. I’m dead beat,” he muttered. Then his eye closed again. Clara stared down at him, amused in spite of herself.
“You are a conceited soul, Jack McClain,” she told the back of his black head. Getting out of bed, she pulled on her robe and went downstairs to let General Ramsey in before he had one of his grunts break down the door.
After she let the irate general in, she went into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee as he stomped up the stairs. If Jack felt as wiped out as she did, he would need the caffeine jolt to make sense of a word General Ramsey said. When the coffee was ready, she put the pot, sugar, cream, cups and saucers on a tray and carried it up the stairs. Jack was just dragging himself to a sitting position while General Ramsey glared at him.
“None of the codes have been used,” she heard the general say as she entered with the coffee. Jack, bleary-eyed, grinned at her as she set the tray down on the bedside table. Clara gave him a narrow look. Raincheck, indeed!
“Coffee, General?” she asked civilly as she passed Jack a cup. Jack took his black with one spoonful of sugar, she already knew.
“Thank you. Just a little cream.” Clara poured the coffee and passed it to him, then poured herself a cup. She would take it into the bathroom with her as she dressed.
“We’ll have to—” the general began, only to break off
abruptly and sniff the air. Clara, already heading toward the door, saw his eyes widen as they focused on Jack.
“That’s the damned wimpiest smelling aftershave I’ve ever come across in my life, boy,” General Ramsey said, glaring at Jack. “It smells like
flowers!”
Jack, in the act of swallowing some coffee, choked. Clara grinned when she saw the tip of his ears go red as his horrified gaze met the general’s. She was still grinning as she left the room. After that, Jack would think twice before climbing into a scented bathtub!
By the time night fell Clara was dead on her feet. Jack had gone next door to the villa General Ramsey shared with Captain Spencer to work with some of the sophisticated computer equipment the general had had brought to the island. She made herself a light supper, thinking that she would wait up for him. But by the time he came in, she was fast asleep on the couch.
“Wake up, sleepyhead,” she heard him say. Groggily, she tried a smile. But her eyes would not open. She was so tired she couldn’t swim through the dense layers of sleep. She felt his arms go around her, and then he was picking her up and carrying her up the stairs. Clara roused herself enough to slide her arms around his neck and rest her head against his shoulder. He dropped a quick kiss on her lips as he laid her on the bed.
“I’m beat, too. Go on back to sleep, baby,” he murmured Clara tried another smile at him, felt him ease her out of her robe vaguely heard him shed his clothes and felt the solid warmth of his body as he climbed in beside her. Snuggling close to him, she gave herself up to sleep.
XXIX
“Clara!”
“Hmmm?”
“Clara!”
She felt the nuzzle of a mouth against her neck and instinctively stretched her chin out of the way. The mouth dropped lower, traveling over the smooth upper slope of her right breast before coming to rest on the nipple. The hot moistness of that mouth burned through to her skin. Clara opened her eyes.
Jack lifted his mouth from her breast to grin at her.
“Let’s go swimming.”
“What?” The suggestion so surprised Clara that at first she wasn’t sure she heard it correctly. Jack obligingly repeated himself.
“In the middle of the night?”
“Haven’t you ever fantasized about swimming in the ocean by moonlight?”
“No.”
He laughed. “Think of it as another experience for your books.”
Clara groaned, but when Jack got out of bed she watched him with sleepy eyes. He was not kidding, she saw to her surprise as he shucked off his pajama pants and stepped into a pair of bermudas and a white sweatshirt that had been charged for him at the gift shop.
“You can’t go swimming with a hole in your chest.”
“Captain Kryzanski says I’m ninety percent recovered. Not even lilac scented bathwater will hurt me.”
“When did he say that?”
“After he noticed my peculiar smell today.”
Clara smiled into her pillow. Jack saw it and pulled her up into a sitting position on the side of the bed.
“I don’t have anything to wear. I didn’t buy a swimsuit.”
Jack sighed. “Why is it women think they must be perfectly dressed for every single thing they do? Baby, nobody cares if you don’t have a swimsuit. It’s dark outside. That thing you have on will be perfect. It even looks like a swimsuit. A sexy one.”
That thing was the new teddy, which she had put on to wait for Jack in before she had fallen asleep on the couch. Clara looked down at it. So Jack thought it was sexy, did he? It faithfully revealed every curve and hollow of her body. Her nipples pressed against the shimmery silk and frothy lace spilled out of the high cut sides that made her legs look impossibly long and slender. She
felt
sexy in it.
“Come on. It’s almost dawn. I want to watch the sun come up from the beach. The sun rising over the ocean is one of the most beautiful sights in the world.”
Clara groaned. But she got out of bed, pulled on her robe, and allowed Jack to pull her down the stairs.
The beach at night was a beautiful, mysterious place. The moon rode low on the horizon, a hazy white sphere; stars were sprinkled thickly over the midnight blue velvet sky,
lighting their way. The white beach stretched before them like a ghostly ribbon, while the white-capped waves rolled in toward shore, one after the other, with a rhythmic roar that was hypnotic. The smell of the sea was everywhere; a briny smell that made Clara think of oysters.
There was a brisk wind blowing. Clara wrapped her arms around herself, glad she had worn the long quilted robe. Looking over at Jack in his bermuda shorts and sweatshirt, she wondered if he was cold. But he didn’t seem to be, strolling along beside her with his eyes on the ocean and his hand gripping hers. A young man in the uniform of a motel employee materialized behind them as they passed the end of the line of villas. Jack motioned him back with a curt wave of the hand.
“Who’s that?”
“One of Wild Bill’s baby green marines. I don’t think we need him, do you?”
Clara shook her head. Leaning against Jack’s side, her hand entwined in his, she didn’t need anyone else in the world. This was another of those times that was just for the moment, she thought. Danger and treachery and death were pushed out of her mind; she would enjoy the night.
The sand was cool and gritty beneath her feet. They were walking close to the ocean’s edge, just beyond the place where the tide ebbed and flowed. The sand was wet with spray. Looking behind them, Clara saw the set of twin footprints that marked their path: Two sets of long, narrow feet walking close together and in harmony down the long stretch of moonlit sand. That line of footprints blazed itself into her memory. She knew that she would remember how it looked when she was old.
They walked until the villas were distant gray castles on the horizon, until the beach curved outward along a grassy
promontory, forming a small, sheltered cove. Jack stopped, peeling the sweatshirt over his head.
“You’re not really going to swim, are you? The water must be freezing!”
“Don’t be a pussy,” Jack said chidingly, and tugged at her robe, “Come on!”
“Uh-uh,” Clara shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest. “You can lead a woman to water, but you can’t make her swim. You go ahead. I’ll wait right here.”
“Pussy.” He grinned at her, then ran down to the ocean’s edge and waded out. He looked magnificent against the breaking waves. Clara felt a heartstopping frisson of pride that this was her man. Then he was swimming, his strokes strong and vigorous. Clara watched him for a while, worried that he might get beyond his depth, but he stayed parallel with the beach and eventually headed back. When he waded out of the shallows, water streaming from his body, black hair as sleek and shiny as a seal’s, he was grinning and shaking the water from his body like a dog. He had lost his bandage during his swim, Clara saw as she hurried down to the water’s edge with his sweatshirt. His wound was a puckered black circle surrounded by a yellow and gray bruise.
“It’s not cold once you get in, Clara. Come on.” He wiped his face on his sweatshirt as he spoke. Clara looked at him suspiciously.
“You wouldn’t lie to me, would you, Jack McClain?”
“On my honor, the water’s great. Don’t you trust me?”
“No!” Clara retorted, and he grinned. Their private joke, she thought, and had to grin in return.
“All right, you bully, I’ll try it, but if it’s cold I’m coming out.”
She shed her robe, letting him take her hand as she waded
gingerly into the sea. The first incoming wave poured gallons of water so cold it must have come straight down from the Arctic Circle around her bare legs.
“Brrrr! It’s freezing! Now I remember why I don’t trust you, Jack McClain!”
“It’s not cold once you get used to it,” he protested as she started to scamper back to the beach. Catching her by the wrist, he whirled her back into his arms. Laughing, struggling, she felt his arms slide behind her knees and around her shoulders and shrieked.
“Jack! What are you doing? Put me down! Don’t you dare drop me in this freezing water! Do you hear me? Jack!”
He was wading out to sea with her in his arms. She clung to his neck, certain that he meant to drop her at any minute, half laughing as she scolded. He held her carefully out of the water as it churned around his hips.
“What will you give me if I take you back without dropping you?” he asked with a wicked grin.
“That’s blackmail!” she gasped.
“Whatever works,” he said, shrugging, and she had to laugh.
“A dollar,” she suggested, grinning.
He shook his head. “A kiss.”
That certainly wasn’t any hardship. With the moon glinting off his black hair, black stubble sandpapering his cheeks and chin, and those green eyes gleaming wickedly in the ghostly light, he looked as devilishly handsome as the pirates she wrote about. Twining her arms tightly about his neck, she lifted her lips to his. He let her kiss him for a minute, his lips still under hers while she nibbled with her teeth and teased with her tongue. Then, without warning, the kiss changed. He drew in his breath, slanting his mouth across
hers, kissing her with bruising intensity so that her head fell back against his shoulder and the world whirled away around her. There was nothing left but him, his mouth, his arms holding her safe.
Then he dropped her.
Clara screamed, the sound drowned in a gurgle of icy water as it closed over her head. Furious, freezing, she found her footing and shot spluttering to the surface. Jack was laughing. She went for him with a roundhouse punch that would have taken his head off if it had connected. Unfortunately, he ducked.
“You creep! You low life! You …!” she raged, plunging after him through the waist-high water, throwing punches right and left. He retreated, laughing, holding his arms up in front of his body to ward her off. She could barely see where she was going. Her soaking wet hair blinded her. Sweeping it back with one hand, she aimed one more punch at the no-good dog before turning her back and tromping off toward land. The ebb and flow of the waves made walking difficult, dragging her back one step for every two she took, but she made it to the shallows and kept going, feet splashing through the icy froth. She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering with cold, gritting her teeth with rage. Not even the white-hot blast of her anger could warm her. Jack, who apparently didn’t care if he got back to the villa with a whole skin, trailed along behind her, still laughing.
“Don’t be mad, Clara.”
“Don’t be mad? Don’t be
mad?
I’m not mad, I’m furious!”
“I’m sorry, Clara. Really. I just couldn’t resist.”
“Go to hell!”
“Damn it, Clara, it was just a joke! I said I was sorry!”
“Sony?
Sorry?
I’ll make you sorry, you …” With that she swung around, both hands clenched into fists, to find him right behind her, grinning from ear to ear. Realizing that his wide grin was probably largely on account of the ludicrous picture she must make, clad in the sexy silk teddy that was nearly transparent when wet, her hair in dripping rattails, teeth chattering, flesh ridged with goosebumps, she saw red. This time the roundhouse punch connected solidly with his cheek.
“Yow!”
“Serves you right!” She turned around, stalking toward the beach. No sooner did she set foot on solid sand than she heard him coming after her. Glancing over her shoulder, she was surprised at the fierce gleam in those green eyes. Instinctively she started to run. Before she had taken more than three steps he downed her with a flying tackle that sent her tumbling to the sand.
“Let go of me! Don’t you dare manhandle me! Did you hear me? Let me go, you bully!” Her struggles were useless. Despite her attempts to prevent him, he pulled her backward until she was eye level with green eyes that promised vengeance. She turned onto her back, trying to kick him to free herself. He prevented her by the simple expedient of throwing one hard wet thigh over her thrashing legs. Then she tried to punch him again. He grabbed her hands and had her trapped. Looming over her, he supported himself on one elbow while the other hand held both her wrists prisoner against her waist. Helpless, panting, she glared at him. Suddenly he grinned.
“If I’d known you had a right like Mohammed Ali’s I would have ducked. From the feel of it, I’m going to have a black eye.”
Clara felt some of her anger fade as she stared up at him
anxiously. As far as she could see there wasn’t a mark on him. She didn’t even think her fist had gotten anywhere near his eye.
“Now you’re going to have to kiss it better,” continued her tormentor, leaning closer. “Right there.” He turned his head until her lips were approximately two inches from his right eye. Clara looked up at him a minute, contemplating the possibilities. Then she sweetly lifted her head the required two inches and nipped his cheek with sharp little teeth.
“Ouch!” He jerked back, letting go of her hands to touch his abused cheek. His green eyes gleamed down at her. “That’s going to cost you, baby. Now you’re going to have to kiss me properly.”
“Would you please let me up? I’m getting sand down my back!” She wriggled, pushing at his shoulders, trying to free herself. He shook his head, recapturing her hands and pinning them to the sand over her head.
“Not until you kiss me.”
“Would you stop being so childish?” He merely looked at her, a grin lurking at the corners of his mouth and his green eyes gleaming. “Oh, all right!” She reached up and pecked his lips with hers. He shook his head, the gleam in his eyes brightening.
“You call that a kiss?
This
is a kiss.” With that he lowered his head and took her mouth with his. And he was right:
that
was a kiss. Clara wrapped her arms around his neck and closed her eyes, kissing him as if she’d die if she didn’t. The surf pounded in the distance and the stars twinkled overhead as he slipped her out of the teddy and shed his own shorts. They were naked in the sand, the brisk air around them turned to steam heat by the blaze of their passion. He made love to her with a growling intensity that
reduced Clara to quivering jelly. And when she had melted in his arms he made love to her again.
Afterwards, he lay sprawled on top of her, his big body warming her as well as any blanket. It took Clara quite some time to return to an awareness of exactly where they were. Never in her wildest imaginings had she thought she would some day find herself lying naked on a public beach with her love while dawn broke around them.
“Look!” He lifted his head to stare at the sky. Then he rolled off her onto his back, shielding his eyes and pointing to the east. His arm around Clara pulled her close to his side. She cuddled against him, warmed by his heat, glad to be curled up in the depression they had found in the sand. Her white robe was nearby. Stretching, she managed to catch hold of it and pull it over them.
“See? Here she comes!”
Clara looked in the direction he pointed and found herself in awe. On the east horizon, the midnight blue velvet of the sky was coming alive with glorious pinwheels of deep pink, crimson, yellow, and orange. Purple ribbons curled through the colorful display while fleecy lavender clouds floated across the surface.
“it’s beautiful,” she said with awe.
“I knew you’d like it.” He sounded smug. Clara looked over at him, lying with one arm bent beneath his head while he marveled at one of nature’s wonders. His black hair was already dry; beneath it, his crooked nose and jutting chin were bathed in an orange glow. Clara watched him instead of the sunrise, mentally tracing each blatantly masculine feature, each stubby eyelash, each stubborn whisker. In less than two weeks this man had become her whole world. The thought scared and warmed her at the same time. Looking at him, she felt a tremendous swelling of emotion. Then he
turned his head and smiled at her with those incredible emerald green eyes.