But it was over now, and she felt a certain sense of peace that it should be over. After her abuse at the ball he would never come to her; he was far too proud for that. And she was just as proud, in her own way. She would never go to him, she didn’t think.
If only he hadn’t been so afraid of love; if he could have given himself as willingly as she herself had done. If only …
Verna couldn’t think about it any more. She looked at the still, gentle waters of the lagoon and wished she’d brought her swimsuit. Or that she had the nerve to throw off her clothing and let the warm, salty water wash away her sorrow and her pain, cleanse her. But she couldn’t do that; even at this late hour the occasional vehicle passed along the road that formed the inland edge of the small lagoon.
There was one now, and to her indignation it wheeled into the parking bay on the north shore and disgorged a throng of young surfies, rending the night with their whoops of unthinking pleasure and the tinkle of their beer bottles.
No, thank you, thought Verna, splashing quickly across the narrow neck of the lagoon with Sheba at her heels. She was out of their sight in moments, and indeed she doubted if they would even have noticed. But their noise followed her, intruding into the lassitude of her thoughts, and she kept on walking south along the beach, well below the soft sand and as far as possible from the esplanade drive and the houses.
She crossed one rocky strip, then another, until her feet tired and she stopped on a tiny crescent of sand that seemed totally cut off from the world around it. The sound of the surfies was gone, the traffic noise didn’t penetrate to where she was. It was delightfully silent.
Sheba went haring off into the shadows, but Verna hardly noticed. She stood, idly scratching at one bare calf with the toes of her other foot, and stared at the mesmerising action of the waves as they churned gently at the sandy beach.
She would go to Madeline’s wedding, she decided suddenly. There was plenty of time for her to put her heart in order and muster the courage. Con would be there, of course, but not for her. She would make him vanish from her eyes as she made him vanish from her thoughts. It was easy enough.
She didn’t have to think of his hands on her body, of his lips caressing her, burning fire that would never die in her soul. She could forget that, if she made herself do it.
She looked out to see a school of dolphins passing, their high fins cresting the waves like miniature sails. How wonderful to be a dolphin, to swim free in the ocean without the concerns and heartaches of love. Or did dolphins really have that freedom? They were almost as smart as humans, she recalled. Maybe even more intelligent, according to some scientists. Would that mean that they, too, knew love?
Suddenly she had the urge to join them, to know their exuberance, their swift freedoms. It took her only seconds to strip away her clothing and she was into the water and away, cleaving the waves with sure strokes of her own.
But the dolphins wouldn’t wait for her; they disappeared into the moon’s brightness, leaving her alone in the shimmering phosphorescence of the water. And even without them, it was lovely. The salty, tangy water laved across her nakedness like a caress, like his caresses, touching secret springs of tenderness and intimacy. Verna rolled into the waves, riding with the flow of them and diving beneath them in a joyous burst of pure, physical energy.
And when she surfaced, she heard Sheba’s bark, a throaty, imperative command to her. The poor dog was worried about her, Verna realised, and suddenly was glad that somebody worried for her.
‘Sheba!’ she called. ‘Sheba ... come!’ And as she waved her arms, the black shadow gave one joyful yip and flung itself into the waves after her, paddling vigorously for the spot where Verna’s slender, pale figure seemed to shine in the moonlight.
They played together for a time, until the dog tired and sought to use Verna as an island. It brought her memories of that drive, the beautiful, mountain water at Mingo Crossing. Too much ... too many memories, she thought. It would be impossible to negate them all. So, sadly, she turned and swam to the brightening crescent of beach.
Tears blinded her eyes as she hauled on her clothing, using the T-shirt as a towel and then pulling it on wet. It couldn’t matter; it would wash.
Soon, too soon, she had reached the spot where Sheba had stolen the stranger’s trousers. She halted, eyes involuntarily sweeping the sea and the sand, but both were empty.
Had it been Con that morning? It must have been, she thought at first, but on second thoughts wasn’t so certain.
In her memory she could still hear the curses from the sea, and see the immense, masculine shape in the breaking waves. And on her lips, the taste of salty kisses that had fired her imagination and stolen her heart. It must have been Con; no two men could have such an impact on her physical senses.
Shaking her head, Verna raised her eyes to the emptiness of the sea, hoping against hope to see again that shadowy, fantasy lover, the one who’d kissed her but never hurt her, never torn her heart out by the roots and kicked it around like a football for his own amusement.
‘I hope you drown,’ she shouted with unexpected venom. 1 hope you drown and go to hell and I never see you again, Con Bradley!’
And the sea mocked her with its silence, laughing at her shouted lies as it tumbled the sand grains at her feet. Verna shook her head in anger and turned to stride resolutely away from the spot. She would never return, she determined; never as long as she lived. Twenty steps later, she halted to look back, and stood in startled silence as a tall, shadowy figure moved out into the moonlight.
It couldn’t be! But she knew in her heart, in the very essence of her being, that it was. And although her instincts cried out for her to run — to him or away from him, she wasn’t sure — she stood rooted like a mangrove, unable to move at all.
‘Please.’ It was the wind, she thought. The wind, or the muted rumbling of the surf. But the figure moved ever so slowly towards her, and she knew it hadn’t been the wind or the sea, but him.
‘Please, Verna. Please …’
Her mind shut out the voice. But her eyes couldn’t shut away the approaching figure, only paces from her now, and she couldn’t ignore die erect carriage, the broad, massive shoulders, the legs like tree-trunks beneath the ragged, cut-off jeans.
Another step ... another. She couldn’t face it. She turned and sprinted like a deer up the shining beach, all her senses trained behind her to where the thud of heavier footsteps grew closer with every stride.
‘Shcba! Sheba ... guard!’ she cried, the sounds flying like seagulls along the beach. And out of the pool of shadows came a swift black shape with ivory fangs that flashed in the moonlight even as a bay of anger flowed across them.
The dog moved like death, silent except for that initial war cry, flowing past Verna in a blur of motion as it leaped for her pursuer.
‘No ...!’ The command turned to a frightened, angry cry of agony that wrenched into Verna’s own heart like a dagger of ice.
‘Sheba ... back ... get back ... oh, stop it, you stupid dog!’ Even as she screamed herself, Verna was turning, eyes drawn with horror to where the mingled shapes of man and dog tumbled on the sand. And as the smaller shape disengaged itself from the larger, Verna flung herself down to take Con’s head in her arms, oblivious to the tears that flowed like rain against his sand-strewn hair.
‘Oh, Con ... I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,’ she whimpered, then cried silently as enormous arms gathered about her to hold her as she sobbed out her frustrations and her anger and her love.
‘Its all right ... all right ... all right ...’ His voice crooned it like a song until Verna’s body ceased to rack with her sobs and only shuddered with her fear now for his safety.
‘Did she hurt you? Oh, please let me see. I must,’ she said, struggling to free herself from the living chains that held her against him.
‘I love you, Verna,’ he answered, the words tumbling from the heaving chest in a ragged gasp. ‘I love you and I’ve alwa
ys loved you and I’m so terribly sorry I hurt you. I’m a fool, a blind, stupid fool. But it was only because I loved you so much it scared me.’
‘And I love you, you know that. I’ve loved you from the very beginning,’ she whispered. His arms pulled her to where he could touch her lips with his own, and Verna sighed in ecstasy as their mouths met and merged and their bodies seemed to melt together.
Then she felt him wince, and felt his agony as it flowed between them like a brand. But when she tried to struggle free, he held her immobile. ‘I love you. Will you forgive me, please, Verna?’ he whispered, the words hoarse with pain.
Verna tried once more to break free, to get where she could look at his injuries, to help him, but still he held her, and pleading mingled with pain in his eyes.
‘Forgive me,’ he whispered.
‘Of course I forgive you, you stupid, stupid man,’ she snapped, startling both of them as the words lashed at him. ‘But if you don’t shut up and lie still and let me see how badly you’re hurt, I’ll ... I’ll...’ She couldn’t finish it, and anyway, his arms did move to release her.
Con’s huge body flung itself back into a sprawl on the sand as Verna twisted around to run her fingers down the taut muscles of his legs. A cloud slithered across the dying moon like an omen, and she screamed out at him, ‘Where did she bite you, Con? Tell me where!’
Then her fingers felt a stickiness that wasn’t sea water, and he flinched with the pain of it.
‘Oh, my God,’ she whimpered, fingers trembling as they explored the jagged edges of the wounds on his calf.
‘It isn’t as bad as it looks,’ he grunted. ‘I think she wasn’t all that sure of what she was doing.’ He tried to lever himself upright, but Verna leapt to her own feet and pushed him back down again.
‘You don’t move,’ she cried. ‘I must clean that, bandage it.’
‘With what? I’m not going to die on you, my love,’ he said with growing steadiness. ‘Now just help me up and we’ll go into the water together and wash off the blood, all right?’
‘Don’t you dare move,’ she replied. ‘I’ll bandage it with my T-shirt.’ And in one motion she had stripped off the garment and tensed herself to rip it into strips.
Con’s eyes dropped from her face to where her bared breasts gleamed white against the darkness of her tan, and Verna felt a flicker of embarrassment. But it didn’t matter; she tensed herself again to rip up the T-shirt.
‘No!’ His voice halted her and she stood in shock as he spun to his feet and took the T-shirt from her hands before she could tear it.
‘Not this one,’ he said with a curious gentleness. ‘Not ever this one. Please put it back on.’ He held the garment as Verna struggled back into it, and while she wanted to argue with him, she didn’t.
‘Why not this one?’ she exclaimed, and then her eyes followed his own down to her heaving bosom, and she knew. Even upside down, she could easily read the logo. HELP CURE VIRGINITY.
And when she looked up to meet his eyes, her own mirrored the laughter she saw there. She’d bought that T-shirt years before, and had never summoned up the nerve to wear it or the right moment to throw it away.
‘That one is mine,’ he said. ‘I don’t care if I bleed to death without it.’
His arms reached out to close her within them, and as their lips sealed her acceptance of his wishes, Verna found herself bubbling with a contented laughter of her own.
They walked into the sea together, and although Verna knew Con really didn’t need the help, she was glad that he could lean on her as if he did. His powerful hands ripped the back pocket from his cut-offs and she used that, not her T-shirt, to sponge away the blood and reveal that he’d been right after all; the injuries weren’t all that serious, although he winced with pain and made a terrible show of being mortally wounded.
They made the slow trip up the beach in silence, content simply with the touch of each other, and it wasn’t until they’d reached the house and slipped quietly in through the back door that he whispered a warning not to waken Madeline.
‘All she’ll do is start abusing me again, even with you here,’ he said. ‘And while I admit that I deserve every bit of it and more, I’d rather take it from you. I love you, Verna, and I know that’s no excuse, but I...’
‘You’ll shut up and let me tend your wounds, that’s what you’ll do,’ she hissed. ‘And no arguments, either.’
Con started to object, but subsided immediately when Verna hissed to Sheba, who was observing the bandaging with great interest
‘I’m going to regret ever training her for you,’ he said. ‘I already do, if you want the truth.’
‘If you don’t shut up and lie still, you’ll regret it even more that you invented Dragon Lady the Editor,’ Verna hissed with mock seriousness. ‘Because she lives, you know, and she’s going to be part of your life for ever.’
‘Owww!’ he cried as she pressed too hard on the deepest puncture. ‘You were a better nurse before.’
‘Well, as soon as it’s some kind of civilised time, you’re going in for a tetanus shot,’ she replied. ‘And I’m coming along just to watch them stick the needle in.’
‘You’re vindictive!’
‘True, but I love you. And I don’t want you to be limping at the wedding.’
Con sat up abruptly, his large hands reaching out to take Verna by the shoulders. ‘Now see here, my love,’ he growled. ‘I still have some say in this. And I have no intention of waiting any longer than I have to get you properly to the altar. To hell with the leg!’
‘I was thinking of Madeline’s wedding,’ she replied with a grin, leaning forward to plant a quick kiss on his forehead.
‘Well, don’t! Because ours will come long before the eighteenth of March,’ he said.
‘You have to give a month’s notice of intent if you’re going to use a marriage celebrant’ Verna replied haughtily. ‘I checked. And that means that if you start everything off bright and early tomorrow — today — we’ll be just in time to make it a double wedding.’
‘Your wish is my command,’ he nodded, ‘but do we really have to wait that long? Surely I can arrange a special licence or something. There has to be a way.’
‘From now on, any manipulating you want to do with my life, you’ll have to get my permission first,’ Verna replied stoutly. ‘Besides, I rather fancy a double wedding, and Madeline would too.’
She leaned down to kiss him yet again, her mouth lingering this time on the bridge of his nose before sliding lower to meet his lips, and when they broke apart, Con shook his head in exaggerated indignation.
‘I’ll rue the day you ever met Madeline,’ he said. ‘She’ll tell you all my secrets and teach you all her bad habits.’
‘I already know all your secrets ... except one,’ Verna replied. ‘And I’ll know that one, too, before I go anywhere near an altar with you. Con Bradley.’
She shivered as Con ran his fingers over her shoulders and then traced intricate designs along the small of her back as his lips moved like velvet around her neck and nipped at her ears.
‘Dragon Lady, hmmmm? I’ll bet I could turn you into a little sugar dragon if I tried,’ he whispered. ‘And I will too, as soon as my war wounds are healed.’
‘And as soon as we’re married,’ Verna breathed in his ear, her body shivering with the delights of his touch as he turned her so his fingers could trace along the letters of her T-shirt. It was some time before she could speak again,
‘Con...’
‘What?’ His voice was muffled by the pressure of his lips against her neck.
‘I want you to tell me honestly ... was it you on the beach that first morning?’
‘What do you think?’ he whispered softly in her ear.
‘I think I want you to admit it,’ she whispered in reply.
‘Will you marry me if I don’t?’ His hands were still following the letters, and Verna could feel herself melting into him.
‘No ...
well, maybe ... yes. Oh yes,’ she cried as her defences crumbled.
Con’s whoop of triumph sounded like a drum in her ear, and he thrust her away from him, holding her like a child in his great hands. His eyes glittered with a soft gentle passion that softened even more as his love poured into them.
‘All you have to do is ask Sheba,’ he said with a wry grin.
Verna looked across the room to where the dog lay, huge red tongue lolling in her silent laughter.
‘I don’t care anyway,’ she said with a saucy grin of her own. ‘Every girl should be allowed her fantasies. I’ll keep that one for when you’re horrid to me.’
‘Well, personally I wouldn’t believe anything that dog told me anyway,’ Con laughed, hauling Verna back into his lap and crushing her within his arms. ‘She’s the most untrustworthy little mongrel I’ve ever seen’
~~~
About the Author
Victoria Gordon is the pseudonym and muse for Canadian/Australian author
Gordon Aalborg’s more than twenty contemporary romances.
As himself, he is the author of the western romance The Horse Tamer’s Challenge (2009) and the Tasmanian-oriented suspense thrillers The Specialist (2004)and Dining with Devils (2009)as well as the Australian feral cat survival epic Cat Tracks.
Born in Canada, Aalborg spent half his life in Australia, mostly in Tasmania, and now lives on Vancouver Island, in Canada, with his wife, the mystery and romance author Denise Dietz.
More on www.gordonaalborg.com and www.victoriagordonromance.com
THE BOOKS
As Victoria Gordon
Wolf in Tiger’s Stripes (2010)
Finding Bess (2004)
Beguiled and Bedazzled (1996)
An Irresistible Flirtation (1995)
A Magical Affair (1994)
The Sugar Dragon Page 17