For God's sake, they were still in the car, she registered dimly. They were still merely playing. Playing very, very intimately. The darkness seemed to surround her.
She stiffened and drew away from him abruptly.
"Alexi!"
He caught her hands. She stared into his eyes. At that very moment, she wanted the earth to open up and swallow her. She groaned.
"Alexi, shh--"
She couldn't understand that he meant to soothe her; she knew only that she had led him where he had gone and that she had then pulled away from him.
She tore at the door handle and wrenched it open. She was so awkward, caught upon his lap in the small bucket seat.
"Alexi!"
Sobbing, she stumbled over him. Her shoes were lost; her nylons were a tangle. She yanked them off and set out upon the sand, running. The night was dark, with only the moon and the stars to guide her, but it didn't matter; she didn't know where she was running to, only that she had to escape.
Pine and sand were beneath her feet. Bare feet. The beach was out there, through a trail of pines that both sheltered and mysteriously darkened. Ahead, she could hear the waves, so soft and gentle here. Waves of the mighty Atlantic.
She reached the beach, the sand soft and cool now beneath her feet. She looked up and saw the stars and the crescent of the moon, and she inhaled raggedly, desperately.
She gasped, startled, as arms swept around her. Rex's arms.
"Oh, don't!" she pleaded. She couldn't look at him. He turned her around anyway, pulling her to his chest, running his fingers down the length of her hair.
"Please, don't. I'm so sorry. I--" she said brokenly.
"Alexi, stop. Listen to me. Stop."
She tried; she couldn't. She felt as if she sobbed raggedly for the longest time, yet she couldn't pull away from him; he held her firm. Then she tried again to tell him how embarrassed she was and how sorry, and he comforted her again. At last she inhaled a long, ragged breath and exhaled it and stood still.
Rex pulled off his shoes and socks and took her elbow. "Let's sit in the surf. And you can tell me about it." "No!"
"Yes. I deserve that much."
"No, no, just forget about me, please. Believe that I didn't mean to do what I did--"
"Come on, Alexi."
She had little choice. Before she knew it she was sitting in the surf beside him and the waves were rippling over their feet and he was as unconcerned about his dress trousers as she was about the hem of her knit. He didn't make her talk at first; he just held her against him, her head against his chest, his arms around her waist, his chin resting upon the top of her hair.
"John Vinto?" he asked.
She shuddered.
"What in God's name did he do to you?" Rex exploded.
She didn't want to start crying again--and she knew he wasn't going to let her go. When she started to talk, she discovered that she could do it almost impersonally, as if it had happened to someone else, as if it were history, long gone.
"I, uh, I knew a lot of what he was doing. Granted, it took me a while. The spouse is always the last to know it all. And I was so desperate to make my marriage work, you know. I had more or less run away from a great home to make it on my own. My parents hadn't wanted me to marry John. Gene didn't even approve of him. It was simply so hard to admit I'd made a mistake...."
Her voice trailed away for a moment, and then she shrugged. “I became ill during a makeup session one day and came home. John was in bed with another of his models. I think it was then that I realized he probably fell a little bit in love with every woman he photographed. It hurt, though. A lot. I didn't make any threats or accusations or anything. I just turned away. I tried to call for a cab. By then the girl was running out of the house only half-dressed, and John was slamming down the receiver. He said that we had to talk. I said there was nothing to talk about; nothing would change my mind. I wanted a divorce. He became irate. He kept telling me that I didn't want a divorce. I tried to call a cab again, and he told me that I couldn't live without him, I couldn't survive without him, that I wanted him--and that he'd prove it to me." She stopped speaking, staring out at the ocean, wincing. It seemed so horrible even to say aloud. So humiliating. So degrading.
Rex didn't say anything. He tightened his arms around her. She wasn't even aware that she was speaking again.
"It was an awful fight. I realized what he meant, and I threw the phone at him and ran. He caught me and dragged me through half the house. He kept telling me that I was still his wife." She lowered her head. "And, of course, I was his wife, and just the night before, I'd loved him. I just can't describe the terror of being powerless. Of having no control over being forced..."
"My God," Rex whispered. Like quicksilver, he moved his fingers gently over her cheek. “To think that I accosted you like that on your first night at the house. Alexi, I'm so sorry. So, so sorry." He was silent for a moment. She felt his kiss, tender and light, over her brow. She felt his arms around her, and she wasn't afraid; she felt secure.
"You kept working with him!" Rex said incredulously. "You should have taken the bastard to court."
She shook her head. "Do you know how hard it is to prove spousal assault? I would probably have lost--and the publicity would have marked me for the rest of my life." She sighed softly. "John didn't want the divorce. I did threaten to take him to court. That was the only reason he agreed to the divorce--no-fault and quick. I agreed to finish out the Helen of Troy campaign as long as he swore never to touch me or come near me again."
"Alexi, Alexi..."
She felt the soft brush of his kiss again; she felt the strength of his arms. The night was cool with the breeze, but the water was" warm as it washed over her feet.
"I'll kill him!" Rex swore suddenly, savagely. He was tense, as taut as piano wire. "I swear, I'll damned well kill him!"
Alexi twisted, startled by the vehemence, by the passion, by the caring in his tone. He was her willing champion, a fury in the night. Touched, she stroked his cheek, somewhat amazed that he could show such fierce concern.
He caught her fingers and kissed them, and she met the dark fires of his eyes. She inhaled sharply, feeling everything within her quicken. She wanted him so badly! So very badly. And she was so frightened that she would pull away again. He wouldn't want her. He was fierce against brutality and injustice, but he could not want her again. A neurotic who teased.
But he was smiling, and smiling so gently, while the starfire blazed in the depths of his night-dark eyes. He kissed her fingers again, reverently, then dropped them, and to her amazement he was up beside her, struggling out of his jacket and vest and then his shirt as she stared up at him, incredulous of his strange, abrupt behavior.
"Ever been skinny-dipping?" he demanded.
She flushed, staring at the ocean while he stripped. "Rex, you saw what just happened!"
His trousers landed in her lap, then his briefs. In the darkness she saw the bright flash of his muscled buttocks as he raced past her, splashing seawater all over her knit. In seconds he had swum out into the surf. "Come on!" "Didn't you ever watch Jaws?" she retorted. "I promise you--no great white is in water this hot!" "How about a small shark?"
"Minutely possible, but highly implausible. Come on! I dare you. I double-dare you."
"Rex..."
"Alexi! Come on! The least you owe me is a bit of good ogling."
She bit her lower lip, then recklessly stood. What else could happen? He knew the truth now. Her worst nightmare had already happened. Rex knew that she was basically asexual. And that she couldn't really help it--and why.
He'd sworn he'd kill John. She trembled suddenly, remembering his vehemence. It had just been a turn of phrase, she told herself. Rex didn't even know John. "Come on!" Rex called to her.
She hesitated only a second longer. She pulled her knit over her shoulders, then hastened out of her lacy undergarments. Even in the darkness, she could see the rich grin that slashed acros
s Rex's features where his head bobbed along with the waves.
This was crazy. It was so dark. But she plunged into the water anyway. It was cool with her whole body immersed. Alexi had never been skinny-dipping. It felt divine. She dived and swam, shivering as she broke the surface again. She looked around. She couldn't see Rex anymore. His head wasn't above the water.
Then she felt him. Below her. Far below her. He tugged on her foot, and she gasped, laughing as her face almost slipped beneath the waves. But he didn't pull her down.
He explored her.
She felt his hands all along her legs. Felt his touch as he cradled her buttocks, felt his mouth grazing her belly, felt his kiss against her thighs....
She gasped, alive, electric, kinetic against the warmth of the Atlantic and the sheen of the moon. He had to breathe; surely the man had to breathe. He couldn't stay down forever. ...
But he could stay down a long time. A long, long time. Long enough to part her legs. Long enough to dive between them. To touch, to stroke, to glide...
He broke the surface, pulling her against him. She could barely stand against the sand and the water, the coil of sweetness was so tight within her.
"I'm going to drown," she warned him.
"No," he told her.
She barely knew the feel of his chest; she discovered it then: thick, dark hair a rich wet mat upon it. He let her touch him, then he swept his arms around her, and his kiss on her lips was demanding and thirsting and merciless, sweeping her away. She couldn't breathe; she couldn't protest. He broke from her, lifting her, and his mouth encircled her breast, drawing it in. She arched back, gasping, moaning.
"Rex..." she pleaded. "You know...I can't."
He slid her wet, sleek length against his own so that their bodies rubbed together provocatively. He waited until their eyes met, and he smiled triumphantly. "Oh, but you can."
He lifted her again, carrying her against the waves until they had just reached the shore. He laid her there and quickly stretched atop her, burrowing his weight between her thighs, kissing her hastily again, stealing breath and strength and protest from her. Kissing her so quickly, again and again. Her lips, her throat, her breast, her belly, her thighs, the very core of her, deeply, so deeply...
"Alexi."
He- was above her, his eyes on her.
"Watch," he whispered. "You can. We can."
He touched her so erotically. And she watched. And she gasped again, crying out with the sheer pleasure of it, and he slowly, completely, insolently, possessively...electrically sank his body deep within hers.
Chapter 8
Me and thee and a jug of wine."
There was the most wonderful, laconic smile on his face. He was still stark naked and not a bit bothered by it. Flat on his back, Rex lifted his hands to the heavens and sighed with contentment.
Alexi had no choice but to smile, too, curling on her side to watch him. The moon was high overhead and the stars were shimmering over the sand and the water, and she had never imagined that night could be so beautiful. She leaned on an elbow and drew a tender line down the length of Rex's cheek.
"We haven't any wine," she reminded him.
"Ah, true. Me and thee, then. In Eden. This is heaven." He drew her on top of him, lulled and sated to an exquisite point where he could pause now and savor and appreciate each little nuance of her, of the things that passed between them. He could feel the sand, gritty against his back, cool, fascinating. He could feel the sand she brought with her, those tiny pebbles against the endless silken smoothness of her flesh. She leaned against his chest, slightly flushed. Her eyes were as brilliant as gems, more wondrous than all the stars in the heavens; her beautiful lips were curled into the most awkward little smile. Her hair was still soaked, a tangled mane swept clean from her flesh now, yet it showed off the elegant lines of her delicate, exquisite features. He leaned on his elbows, laughing as she went off balance and then pouncing on her as she lay on her back in the sand, touching her cheek because he had to and studying the length of her in the moonlight because he had to do that, too.
"Helen of Troy," he murmured softly, "the face that beyond a doubt launched a thousand ships. Face and form..." Softly, tenderly, with an awed fascination, Rex explored her length with his fingertips as well as with his eyes. Breasts this lovely had never graced the pages of a fold-out magazine, he thought, then corrected himself. Well, all right, maybe they had once in a long while, but not often. Long, lean torso, slim waist, the most feminine flare of hips and buttocks...
Even her kneecaps were glorious.
"Sweetheart." He grinned at her. And then he groaned softly in mock agony. "Had they seen her body, too, they could have launched a million ships."
"Rex, stop!" Alexi protested, but he had her laughing and she couldn't help it. She laughed until his head dipped over her and his face brushed her nipple. Then he took it into his mouth, sliding his teeth, and then his tongue, gently around it. She felt a sharp sizzle of desire strike her anew just from that action, and her breath caught as she threaded her fingers through the deadly-dark wings of his hair, trying to draw him to her.
His eyes, darker than the sea at night, far darker than the midnight sky above them, met hers.
"I'm not, you know," she murmured. "I'm not anything like a real Helen of Troy at all. I'm..."
Quite ordinary. Those were the words she was looking for. She never had a chance to find them.
"No, you're not Helen of Troy. And you're not fantasy."
Rex smiled as he leisurely stroked his fingertip over her lower lip. She was really so beautiful that night. And maybe it was part fantasy. They were on the beach, and there was nothing on the horizon, nothing at all. They might have been the last man and woman on earth, or the very first. The breeze was gentle and balmy and the water was warm and the earth seemed to cradle them and blanket them in some welcoming, tender embrace. And she really didn't look like the Helen of Troy image at all; she was all natural. All...divinely natural, from wet hair and face to her gloriously naked body. Her eyes, her expression, the beauty in her features... were all innocence. The curve of her body was wanton and lush. The combination was nothing less than magical.
Rex dipped his head to kiss her mouth. He raised himself just a breath away from her.
"No, you're not Helen. You're Alexi Jordan, and I--"
He broke off abruptly.
And I love you very much.
Those had been the words he had been about to say, he realized. They stunned him; they shocked him. He'd known he'd wanted her. Any male over the age of twelve who lived and breathed would have wanted her. He'd known that he could enjoy her company, that she could be fun and feisty and proud and temperamental, and even soft at times.
He just hadn't known that he was falling in love with her. Nor was it a particularly bright thing to have done. She was Helen of Troy, right? A woman who would be returning to a certain world. A woman who probably needed that world, had to have a certain amount of adoration in her life. She'd stay awhile, and then she'd go, and then he'd...
He'd spend the rest of his life missing her.
"Rex?"
Something in her tone was very soft and vulnerable. He'd forgotten. She'd come to him after a bad finale to a bad marriage, and she was as delicate as the fine marble she so resembled. He had to fall out of love with her. But not now. Not tonight.
"Alexi Jordan," he whispered, "is far more beautiful than Helen of Troy could have ever been."
"Flatterer," she said accusingly.
"Mmm-hmm," he agreed. His one leg lay cast over her. The prickly hairs of his chest tickled the soft flesh of her breasts mercilessly. He casually cupped her cheek and murmured huskily, "Think you want to go again?"
His were bedroom eyes if she'd ever seen them, and this dusky velvet patch of earth and water was the most erotic bedroom she had ever known. She smiled, wondering at the infinite tenderness in the man. He'd known exactly what to say, and when. And he'd known exactly
what to do, and when. She'd never known a man more the epitome of the male, and she'd never begun to imagine that such a man could show so much sensitivity.
"Think you can?" he asked.
She gazed into his eyes and stroked her fingers over his cheek, savoring the shaven flesh. "Piece of cake," she told him, and she set both palms against his face, bringing him down to her. She reached for his mouth first with the tip of her tongue, rimming his lips with that delicate touch before she molded her mouth to his. She felt the great rush of his breath and the fascinating hardening of his body, muscles tensing and stretching and tautening with his growing sexual excitement.
Earth, wind...and fire. It was Eden.
She felt his touch against her, her breasts, her hips, the curve of her buttocks, the soft flesh of her inner thigh. His kiss seared her, and when his lips left her flesh, the breeze came to kiss it afresh. He whispered words that meant nothing and everything, and she knew that she whispered in return, like a breath of the sea, like the cry of the waves. Each cry, each whisper, was fuel to the fire, and each fire was a lapping flame creating sensation anew, a heightened tension. She dared anything. She touched him intimately; she exulted in the swell and pulse of him. She soared to the heat and thunder of his rhythm, and she felt the tiny little piece of death that blacked out the world with the wondrous force of the climax that he brought to her upon the beach just as the very first touch of dawn burst upon it to bathe their Eden in beauteous magenta.
Floating as if she were indeed adrift upon the waves, Alexi returned slowly to the earth beneath her, feeling again the fine grit of the sand and the coolness of the ocean at her feet. His arms went around her, and she rested on them. Only then did she shiver, watching the sky as the first tiny arc of the sun peeked out over the horizon like a shy young maiden.
"It's morning," Rex murmured.
"It certainly is," Alexi agreed. She shifted up onto her elbows. Rex stood and walked into the water, hunching down to splash water against his face, then standing again to stare out at the rising sun.
Alexi smiled, biting her lower lip. The sun was beautiful--but not nearly so magnificent as the man who stood before it, a tall, strong silhouette against that golden arc. She liked the whole of him very much, she decided, from the breadth of his shoulders to the muscles of his buttocks and thighs. She wondered if there was any more wonderful way to meet a lover than to come to him in this Eden, as he termed it.
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