Midsummer Man

by Zelah Roberts

  Because, beyond his own needs, his own agonising cravings, his instincts were telling him in no uncertain terms that she needed time to adjust to their newfound accord, time to relax, to feel comfortable with him again. And so he lay still, staring at the sky, trying to control his raging heartbeat and blazing arousal.

  Gradually, her body softened. After a while, she exhaled softly, and her warm breath tickled his neck. The sensation ran through him like electricity, and it was all he could do to hide his reaction from her. Restless warmth pooled in his groin. He wondered if the same thing was happening to her. When her warm hand slid tentatively over his waist, he took it as a sign that she might be ready and rolled onto his side to face her.

  She was, thank goodness. He couldn’t have held out much longer. Her eyes were wide, her pupils dilated and her breathing shallow. A full flush ran along her cheek bones.

  Gently, he said, “I promised you on your first day on the island that I wouldn’t touch you again.”

  Her eyes flickered anxiously. “You’ll break your promise?”

  “You’ll allow me to?”

  There was relief then tenderness in her expression. She reached up and stroked his face. He had a momentary random thought that he was glad he’d shaved so he was smooth for her, before her tiny, breathy answer drove everything out of his mind.

  “Yes.”

  His breath caught. Slowly, softly, he stroked his thumb over her lips. “I can touch you here?” he whispered. The contact jolted him. He’d missed that so much. The last fortnight had seemed like an eternity.

  Her lips parted and quivered beneath his thumb.

  Slowly, lightly, he kissed her with gentle butterfly kisses until she reached up around him in frustration to pull his head down. He deepened the contact then, letting his tongue dance and play with hers until they were both breathless and dizzy.

  He was as hard as a rock, but he resisted the urge to move faster, to strip her and take her right here, right now, with the wild ocean crashing against the rocks nearby.

  No. No. He wanted to stretch out the moment, to make it last forever, to give her every ounce of pleasure he could. She’d been deprived by her previous lover. She would not be short-changed by him.

  He lifted his head to look at her. With satisfaction, he saw that she looked glazed and heavy-lidded with passion, ripe and faintly desperate for more. With the lightest of touches, he feathered his fingers over the tender skin revealed by the vee of her shirt.

  “And here,” he said, quietly. “May I touch you here?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  The words were nothing more than a murmur. Unhurriedly, he unbuttoned her top and stroked open the soft fabric. She was wearing a simple, pretty bra—white, with a touch of lace. It displayed the delicious curve of her breasts in a way that made him want to groan.

  He was groaning. Belatedly, he became aware of the fact and glanced up at Holly’s face to see if she’d registered the sound.

  She had. Of course, she had. She was watching him look at her. He smiled. “You’re so damn lovely,” he said. “I don’t know how to contain myself.” But contain himself he did, drifting his fingers over her sensitive skin until she writhed and twisted, then used his mouth to drive her to even greater need. He breathed in the heady scent of roses from her skin, tasted her light, musky fragrance and his head spun.

  His hand strayed to the waistband of her jeans. He looked at her again. “And may I…? May I…?” He touched the button and she nodded.

  He rose onto his knees and took off her boots and socks, then slid the soft denim down her long legs. She was wearing tiny panties again—white and silky this time. Innocence and sexiness. Pretty.

  She rested her feet in his lap and he rubbed them with circular movements that he was amused to see made her stretch out like a little cat. Soon, her body was moving sinuously in time with his fingers, and her eyes were closed.

  He massaged her instep and her ankles then moved up to her calves, her knees, her inner thighs…

  She was aroused now, releasing panting breaths, and there was tension in the muscles beneath the silky skin. She was so beautiful.

  He edged closer then deliberately skimmed his thumbs over the soft, damp silk of her panties. She arched, crying out at the sudden flash of sensation. He pressed his thumbs more deeply, drawing lazy circles over the tender flesh, and she writhed.

  “Mac, please!”

  She was ready…more than ready. Another minute and she would be there, but he wanted to be inside her when that happened.

  He drew back to grab his wallet from his pocket, then fumbled to unzip his own jeans. His damn hands were shaking so badly that he could hardly unfasten them. He thrust them down, yanked his boots, boxers, shirt…everything off. He wanted nothing between them, nothing at all. The warm air stroked against vulnerable skin and he shook with sensation. Falling to his knees, he returned to caress her once more. She moaned.

  Oh, he loved her like this, eyes closed, so abandoned, so close to the edge…

  There was a condom—thankfully—in his wallet and he rolled it on with such alacrity that he didn’t realise Holly had opened her eyes and was watching him until he heard her laugh. He looked up and grinned ruefully. “I think I broke the world speed record there—” Then his gaze landed on her pretty breasts and all humour was forgotten. “Holly,” he said thickly, leaning towards her.

  But she sat up and drew him down beside her, so they lay side by side facing each other. “Mac,” she said softly.

  Unable to hold out another minute, he pulled her close. That bra had to come off. He had to feel her skin against his. He didn’t realise he’d said it out loud until she said, “Take it off, then.”

  He didn’t need telling twice. He had her out of her bra and panties between one breath and the next, then she was wrapped in his arms, pressed against him, skin against skin, and he was kissing her as if his life depended on it.

  Her softness pressed against his hardness, and he ran his hand down her back and over the delicious curve of her bottom. She smelled of pure woman, and he knew he couldn’t last much longer.

  “Please,” he gasped, nudging softly against her. He looked at her and saw the same overwhelming need reflected. She moved her leg, just slightly, but it was enough, and he slid inside her with a gasp.

  Hauling her tight against him, wrapping his arms round her, he moved deeply within her. His heart felt as if it would burst out of his chest. He thrust a hand in her hair and pulled her head close so he could kiss her.

  She kissed him back, her fire matching his. Everything was heat and movement and wildness. He was drowning, he was flying and she was losing it.

  Her body writhed in the confines of his arms, and she fought to get closer, to dance on him, then suddenly, wildly, she arched, stiffening and crying out in a long wail of pleasure.

  And the pressure, the heat and the pulsing tightness of her body embracing his and the glorious sound of her cry shimmering like angel music through him was enough to drive him beyond himself, beyond sanity, beyond the world—he was going to burst—and he exploded, catapulted into a heart-stopping hurricane of sensation that never seemed to end.

  Chapter Nine

  He’d never felt anything like it.

  So this is what it feels like with the woman you love.

  Afterwards, he held her gasping, trembling body in his arms—kissing, stroking, soothing her. After such intensity, he knew she needed comfort.

  Gradually, she relaxed, quieted then settled against him. He kissed her hair and her tummy rumbled.

  He laughed. “Was that apple all you’ve had to eat today?” he asked.

  “Yes. I left the house early to go to the helipad.”

  She’d left the house early to avoid him, and he knew it. James and Leonie hadn’t gone that early. But he let it pass.

  “How about that picnic now, then?”

  “Oh, yes!”

  He had to give it to her, Flora had outdone he
rself with the picnic. She’d packed a delicious meal of bread, assorted cheeses, apples and grapes and had thrown in a thick slab of fruitcake and a bottle of wine. Perfect.

  They tucked in with gusto, enjoying the creamy cheese, the sweet black grapes, the rich denseness of the cake and the sharpness of the crisp white wine. The fresh, salty sea air added an extra piquancy to the meal.

  Afterwards, Holly sighed with satisfaction then blurted, “Mac, what’s that over there?”

  He glanced where she pointed and saw a low line of clouds on the horizon. Glancing at his watch, he frowned. “It’s a fog bank,” he replied. “There’s one in the forecast, but it’s early. We should pack up and head home. When the fog rolls in here, it’s usually very thick and heavy.”

  Five minutes later, they were on their way. Mac held her hand but walked quickly, and she felt quite out of breath by the time they’d arrived back at the house.

  They were just in time. The fog descended suddenly within minutes of them reaching home, obscuring everything.

  “Wow,” Holly said, still catching her breath, staring out of the sitting room window at the swirling, dark mist, “I’ve never seen fog as dense as that.” The glorious view had gone, the pulsing flash of the lighthouse beam cutting through the mist the only sign that the world still existed beyond the windows.

  “Yes,” said Mac, busy turning on the table lamps. “It can get pretty bad here and lasts for days, sometimes. I’m glad James and Leonie got away before it arrived. Oh, and Flora and Pete have gone, as well. They wanted to go to visit the twins, and when I realised that there was only going to be you and me here, I gave them a few days off. I thought we could fend for ourselves.”

  Holly’s eyebrows shot up. “We’re here…on our own?”

  Mac turned, suddenly sharply aware of the wariness in her voice. After crossing the room, he took her hands in his. “Holly,” he said carefully, “we’re safe here. We’re geared up for bad weather, and we have our own generator and plenty of supplies. We won’t starve.”

  Her gaze avoided his. That wasn’t the problem, so what was? He thought for a minute, looking at his woman who hated to be pushed into things…then he knew. He tightened his fingers around hers. “And if you think it’ll be different—if you think I’ll be different when there’s no one here, you’re wrong. What we did out there on the beach today was lovely, but I don’t expect a repeat performance. I don’t expect anything of you. Right?”

  She glanced up at him and grimaced. “Sorry,” she said.

  He shook his head. “Idiot. Now, this afternoon… Do you want me to leave you in peace to do some writing, or if you like, we could watch a movie?”

  After some debate, they decided to watch the first Harry Potter. It was clear from the first magical chords that Holly was entranced by the plot, her inner child totally absorbed in the fantastic story. She curled up on the sofa, cuddled up against him and lost herself totally.

  Mac, who hadn’t seen the films since Leonie was young, enjoyed having Holly in his arms as much as he liked the movie itself. Moreover, he loved watching her reactions. She was rapt, mesmerised by the story, excitement and delight playing across her features as she watched the plot unfold.

  He would love to see her at Christmas, he thought. He could just imagine her excitement at decorating the tree or opening presents on Christmas morning. He hoped fervently that she would be with him on Christmas Day so he could see it for real.

  The movie finished, and she looked at him, pure pleasure in her expression. “Oh, Mac, that was stunning! That poor child, mistreated and alone, rescued and sent somewhere wonderful…”

  He smiled down at her. “Would you have liked that?” he probed, casually. “To have been whisked away from your childhood to another life?”

  If she hadn’t been curled up against him, he would have missed the quickly supressed flinch.

  She shrugged lightly and laughed. Was it his imagination, or did it sound a little forced? “Who wouldn’t?” she said, casually. “Who could resist the lure of Hogwarts?” She cleared her throat and glanced up at him. “I don’t suppose…you fancy watching another one?”

  At seven, they stopped for supper. Flora had left them a delicious beef casserole seasoned with thyme and red wine, so they heated it up and ate it at the kitchen table with chunks of crusty bread.

  Holly was bubbling over with enthusiasm for the movies and chatted animatedly as they ate. “I loved the wizard chess scene,” she said. “I’ve always wanted to play chess.”

  Mac laughed. “I’ll teach you if you like. There are loads of board games here.”

  “Really?”

  There was excitement in her voice, and he paused mid-forkful. “You like board games?” he asked, curiously.

  “I don’t know. I’ve never played any.”

  “Never?”

  “No.”

  She plainly didn’t want him to ask any more, but he couldn’t help but wonder. “Okay then. After supper…chess. But I warn you that I’m very competitive. I play to win!”

  At midnight, they reached a stalemate. He held up his hands, watching as Holly hid a yawn. “Okay,” he said, laughing, “I give up. You’re really good at this. I’ll not be able to touch you after a few more games!”

  Holly sat back and grinned. “Oh, I really loved that,” she said, satisfied. “Can we play some more tomorrow?”

  He nodded. “Sure. Tomorrow, we should introduce you to the joys of Monopoly. I’d suggest Scrabble, but knowing your way with words, I wouldn’t stand a chance!”

  They went to bed. Holly, to his intense pleasure, agreed to sleep with him. “We don’t have to do anything,” he said, as he extended the tentative invitation. “But even if you’d just like to sleep with me…I’d love it.”

  The expression on her face made it clear that she’d love it, too, and as they switched the lights off and climbed the stairs hand in hand, Mac knew that he wanted to do this with her every night for the rest of their lives.

  He took her to his bedroom. She’d never been in it before, and it felt right seeing her there.

  She wandered around, familiarising herself with the furnishings, the pictures, and he was suddenly reminded of their first night together. When she’d been nervous…

  Clearing his throat, he said, “I forgot— I meant to bring a glass of water up with me. Would you like one, too?”

  She glanced at him, blankly. “I…uh, yes. Sure. That would be nice.”

  He nodded. “There are T-shirts in the top drawer if you want one to sleep in. And the bathroom’s through there, if you want to use it,” he said casually, and left her to it.

  He gave her a good ten minutes before he returned, praying she hadn’t changed her mind in the meantime.

  But no, she was there, in bed, looking faintly apprehensive.

  Did she think he was going to push her to make love, even when he could see she was exhausted? Was that what her ex had done?

  He set the water down then pulled a pair of pyjama trousers out of a drawer and headed for the bathroom. He didn’t normally wear them, but he had a feeling Holly would feel more comfortable if he did.

  When he emerged, she glanced at him then away. “Everything all right?” he asked as he climbed into bed.

  “Uh, yes. Fine.”

  “Alright if I switch the lights out?”

  “Sure.”

  He turned off the lamp and the room fell into darkness. He rolled onto his back and said quietly, “Fancy a hug?”

  “Oh!” She gave a small laugh and rolled towards him. He put out his arm and cuddled her into his side. She was wearing one of his T-shirts. He liked it.

  “There,” he said. “That’s better.”

  She relaxed against him, settled her small hand on his chest. “Mac,” she said, softly, “thank you for today. It’s been the most perfect, lovely day ever. Earlier, when we were together…then the films and games…”

  A laugh rumbled in his chest. No other woman of hi
s acquaintance would have thought it a good day, let alone a perfect one. Most of the women he’d been acquainted with had enjoyed the high life—fine dining, exotic trips, shopping. None, until now, had ever enjoyed a day just for the pleasure of being together. Neither—now that he thought about it—had he.

  But with Holly, everything was different. With her, he didn’t care what they did, where they went. He just loved being with her.

  He smiled. “There are plenty more days where this one came from.”

  She sighed contentedly. “I hope so.”

  “I know so.” He raised a gentle hand and stroked her hair. “Now go to sleep. It’s been a long day and you need your rest.”

  Her whole body melted trustingly against his. “Okay. G’night.”

  He smiled in the darkness. “Night, sweetheart.”

  He lay in the darkness, listening as her breathing deepened into sleep. The day had been a success in lots of ways. He’d finally managed to get her to stop running and talk to him, and they had managed to resolve some of their issues.

  He had been shocked when she’d said she felt bad about the way she’d spoken to him. He and Leonie had been raised to express their feelings openly, and they had always been listened to. He wondered how different Holly’s childhood must have been for her to be so concerned at his reaction to what had been, in his eyes, nothing more than the expression of a few home truths.

  It wasn’t as if Holly didn’t have form when it came to speaking her mind. She’d certainly told Leonie straight when she’d discovered the younger woman was blaming herself for her kidnapping. But come to think of it, she hadn’t come down to dinner or breakfast after that episode. At the time, he’d thought that she was just avoiding him, but now he wondered if she’d been upset at speaking out that way.

  It was, he now realised, as if Holly had two sides to her character. The one he saw on a day to day basis was the adult—the mature, successful, perceptive woman, who was able to speak her mind freely and eloquently, especially if she thought it would help those she cared about. But the other side of her was the Holly of the past—the child, who, as far as he could see, was still struggling with the inhibitions and constraints instilled in her in childhood.