When she wrapped her legs about his, Rolf knew he’d found heaven. There could be no other place where he would feel so completely captivated, spellbound, or complete. He had come home, found his soul mate, become as one with his other half.
“I've dreamed about feeling like this all my life,” she whispered, echoing his thoughts as she stroked his cheek. He kissed her face, feeling the dampness of tears there.
If he could talk right now he would say the same. But every movement of her body against his sent him higher and higher, to a place where nothing else existed but the two of them, and the pleasure that being inside her brought.
Brigid ran her hands up and down his back, over the tautness of his buttocks. He knew just how to move to bring her the most exquisite rapture. The feel of him inside her, the weight of his strong body over hers, the soft yet firm pressure of his lips on hers was enough to make her dizzy—in fact she was in a kind of daze. A sensation was building in her, like a tide washing over her. She heard a scream and vaguely registered that it was from her own mouth as the sensation captured each part of her body, from her scalp to her toes. As Rolf sent her higher and higher, it was akin to flying. As she soared then topped the peak, only to drift in some wondrous place she'd never ventured before, ripples radiated out from her core to each extremity.
Still joined, Rolf turned them, so their positions were reversed. Brigid gazed down on him, touching his face, while the aftershocks swelled and shuddered through her.
His mouth curved in a smile. “Are you all right?” he asked.
“That doesn't begin to cover it.” She bent to kiss him. “That's never happened to me before, you know.”
At her shy admission, his smile turned to a full-fledged grin. “No kidding! Well, we'll have to see if we can make it happen again, won't we?” His palms cupped her breasts. Breasts that never felt so full and heavy before, and she copied his movements, moving her palms over his rock-hard nipples.
He certainly made it happen again before he reached his own climax. When they collapsed together, sweat-soaked and satiated, she murmured, “Wow!”
“Run out of superlatives?” he asked, nuzzling her throat.
“There are no words in the English dictionary to cover what I felt, Rolf. I think I love you.”
He placed his hands on her waist and lifted her, his eyes grave as he studied her. “You can't fall in love with a man just because he helped you reach an orgasm,” he said.
Brigid stroked his jaw, pressing two fingers over his mouth. “Probably not, but you can fall in love with the man who's haunted your dreams all your life. One who shared past lives with you.”
Turning onto his side, he pulled her down, so they faced each other. “How can you be sure?” He sounded unsure, which made her falter.
“How can anyone be sure of anything in life, Rolf? Some things have no rhyme or reason. You admitted that you felt we'd met before, and I had the same reaction on seeing you for the first time.” She pushed his damp hair back from his brow. “You can tell me you don't want me in your life or tell me to go jump off your lighthouse. But don't dare tell me you feel nothing for me.”
Brigid sat up, resting her cheek on her bent knees. The soft touch of his fingers on her back was as light as butterfly wings yet it sent tremors racing through her. How could she not feel this immense attraction to a man who could make her senseless with just a touch?
His long silence disturbed her. Not about to make the next move, she waited, and waited, while the silence went on.
* * *
In a turmoil of emotions, Rolf stared at the ceiling. Could love happen so quickly? Surely that was impossible. They certainly attained perfection in their lovemaking. The few times he and Cecile went to bed were mediocre compared to what he and Brigid just shared. Cecile did not seem to like sex very much and always appeared relieved when it was over, giving him the impression he wasn’t exactly the best lover in the world. Perhaps she was right, and perhaps this thing between him and Brigid owed more to this odd connection with the Norse legend.
As Brigid put her feet to the floor and bent to pick up her clothing, Rolf longed to pull her back, but hesitated too long. Without a word she went through to the other room, while he lay there wondering what to do or say next. In no time at all, she returned, fully dressed.
For a moment, she silently stood with a hand on the edge of the door. “It's all right,” she said at last. “You don't have to say anything. I understand. After all, we have sort of rushed things, haven't we?”
Rolf felt like an absolute idiot. Sitting on the side of the bed, he reached for his trousers and underpants and pulled them on. Pushing his hair back he stood, and then went over to stand in front of her. “Brigid...”
She put two fingers over his mouth. “Hush. Best not say something you might regret later. I don't want lies between us, Rolf.” She turned and absently patted Hanno who had come to stand beside her. “I'll go now, and we'll talk about it later.”
“Don't go. Please... stay,” he urged, but she had already shrugged into her jacket and turned for the door.
Without another word, she hurried down the stairs. Rolf went to the window and watched as she strode along the pathway. Hanno whimpered, his eyes sorrowful as he gazed up at him.
“I know, boy. I'm the world's daftest moron.” Rolf raked his fingers through his hair. “All I needed to do was come right out with it and say I cared for her. But how could I be sure? She’s so confident.” He flopped into the armchair, his face in his hands. “I've been too long on my own. I just don't know how to act with a female, do I?”
What was it coming to when he sat telling a dog his problems? Hanno licked his hand.
While they were making love, everything seemed perfect. They fit together so well, and he seemed to have satisfied her, she certainly was all he could ever ask for. Then he had to go and act like an adolescent instead of a man who should know his mind. Rolf muttered a few well-chosen curses. Idiot! No wonder she fled. It was likely she was right now wondering what possessed her to go to bed with him. All he needed to do was echo her words of love, but his cursed inbuilt reticence held him back.
Rolf pulled his sweater over his head, went upstairs, and out onto the balcony. For a long time, he leaned on the railing, staring at the waves pounding the rocks far below. The turmoil of the sea matched the turbulence of his thoughts.
Chapter Thirteen
Brigid parked her car by the waist-high wall along the side of the road skirting the beach. The street itself was deserted, but a crowd of about ten youngsters were larking about at the end of the jetty. The sea was churning now at high tide, so it almost reached the steps below the wall leading onto the beach. At low tide there would be about twenty feet of visible beach below where she stood.
The waves lashed the jetty and the kids were obviously playing a game of dare for they stood on the edge, then darted back as the next wave came up. Spray probably soaked them, but they didn't seem perturbed. Typical kids—not worried about such trifles as wet clothes. Their mothers would definitely not be so pleased with them when they arrived home soggy.
Damn! She brushed at her tear-dampened cheeks. Why did she have to go and blurt out that she loved him? Of course, it would have scared the daylights out of him. What man in his right mind wants a female declaring her love the first time they go to bed together? So juvenile and stupid! She was a mature woman for goodness sake and should have more sense, but it seemed so natural at the time. No doubt many women made the same mistake as her, mistaking sexual gratification with love. Her big mistake was declaring it.
He probably now thought her a crank. In this day and age, one bout of lovemaking did not a relationship make. He had admitted that he didn't feel adequate around women—she should have taken it more slowly, given him time to get used to having her around. A man accustomed to living alone wouldn't take kindly to a woman invading his world. He seemed self-sufficient and happy to be alone. Declaring she loved him was tant
amount to saying she wanted to move in with him, needed more from him than just an affair.
Damn and bugger it! She should have learnt at this stage of her life that her impetuosity was a foolish trait. Of course, no man on earth would refuse when a woman makes the first move as she did. Why didn’t she just have patience and let him set the pace? Brigit heaved a sigh. Too late now to feel sorry for herself.
Turning toward the row of houses on the other side of the road, she gazed along to the cottage she had decided to buy. Even on such a blustery and cool day it looked inviting. She imagined what the garden would be like in spring and summer when all the roses, lupins and other assorted plants were in bloom. It was a typical country garden, a bit overgrown but nothing some tender loving care couldn’t deal with. Digging her hands into her pockets, she began to stroll towards it. The old lady currently living there was off to live with her daughter soon and assured Brigid she was more than welcome to drop in at any time, so why not now? Perhaps it would take her mind of her current dilemma.
A sudden cry of distress from the end of the jetty pulled her up short, and she looked towards the source of the shout. The kids were all now waving their arms and yelling as they jumped up and down in an effort to gain attention. One of them, a boy of about eleven started to run towards her. At first, she couldn't hear what he was shouting but as he neared she clearly heard his scream of, “Help!”
Brigid broke into a run, meeting him half way along the jetty, calling, “What's wrong?”
“Pete's fallen in.” Tears streamed down his cheeks—or perhaps it was sea-spray, for his clothes were sodden. “Help, we need help.” Desperation shadowed his young face. “We can't reach him.”
Brigid glanced around. No other adult was in sight, so she gave him a small shove, urging, “Run to the hotel and tell them what's happened.” As he ran off, she turned and sped along the wet jetty as fast as she could, stumbling once or twice on the slippery surface.
The children were all screaming and a couple of them now lay flat on their stomachs peering over the edge and calling their friend's name. “He's drowned,” one said, his young face contorted with fear and panic.
Brigid ripped off her jacket and shoes and jumped into the sea. It was so cold that momentarily her breath froze in her throat. The murkiness and swell were so great she was unable to see a thing as she surfaced. Frantically she dived under, swimming about, but it was like swimming through mud, and the boy was nowhere to be seen. She surfaced again, dragged in as much air as she could and dove once more.
When her foot touched something solid, Brigid said a small prayer, hoping it was the boy and not some sea creature. Reaching down she felt around and then grabbed a handful of cloth. Her arms and legs felt as heavy as lead. Until now, she hadn't thought too much about the coldness of the water, but as she hauled the heavy weight upwards her strength began to wane, and her chest felt as if it was filled with ice.
Suddenly a pair of strong arms encircled her and the boy, holding them fast. As if she weighed nothing, she was hauled to the surface where she took in great gulps of air. The boy seemed to be lifeless as Rolf pulled him out of her arms. She trod water while he towed the boy to the ladder at the side of the jetty, where a man stood with open arms halfway up the ladder. Together they secured the boy over his shoulder.
As the man climbed upwards with his precious load, Rolf came back to her side, shouting, “Are you all right?”
Brigid had never felt so tired in all her life and the cold seemed to have seeped into every bone and muscle. Her teeth chattered as she managed a small nod. Pulling her into his arms, Rolf briefly held her close to his chest, before turning her over onto her back to drag her to the ladder. He helped her grab a rung then gave her a shove on the rear end. With great difficulty, she clambered to the top, falling flat on her face before crawling forward to allow him to climb up behind her.
The boy was already aboard the ambulance parked at the end of the jetty. As it took off, Rolf pulled Brigid close in a bear hug, muttering, “Fool of a woman.”
“What are you doing here?” she managed to get out through trembling lips and chattering teeth.
A strange look passed over his face, as he said, “I had this…call it a feeling. I just knew I needed to come after you. Good thing I did.” He began to walk, a supporting arm about her waist. “Let's get you out of these wet clothes. Then we need to talk.”
“About what?”
“About a lot of things. Mostly about me and my stupidity.”
The children were all hanging around at the end of the jetty looking dazed with shock. A couple of them said a meek thank you to Brigid and Rolf but looked too stunned to say more.
The hotel owner came up to them, saying, “Pete's mother said to thank you from the bottom of her heart. She's gone in the ambulance with her boy.” He looked Brigid up and down. “Best get the pair of you into some dry clothes as soon as possible.”
Brigid nodded. The cold and shock had caught up with her and she felt like a zombie. “Is the boy all right?” she asked.
“Yes. Swallowed a lot of water, but thanks to you he'll live.” He patted her on the arm. “You go on. I'll bring your clothes.” Brigid looked down at Rolf’s bare feet. No doubt they were as cold as his bare chest, which felt like ice. At least he had the forethought to discard his sweater before jumping in.
“Which room is yours,” Rolf asked as they went up the staircase, dripping water onto the carpet.
Brigid pointed to the door. Unfortunately, her room didn’t possess a private bathroom, so Brigid left Rolf there and went along to the one at the end of the hallway. When she came back to her room, snuggled into her towelling robe, another towel covering her hair, Rolf was sitting in the one easy chair, drying his hair. He looked snug in a robe, and warmth came from the small electric heater. As she closed the door after her, he jumped up, his eyes clouded with concern.
“Did you get a shower?” she asked, crestfallen that she hadn’t thought to ask him to share with her. But then again perhaps now wasn’t the time for such intimacy.
“Yes, I used the other bathroom and the publican’s wife kindly gave me this.” He touched the robe. “How do you feel?”
“I'm fine. I'm hardier than I look.” Brigid tried for a smile, but her mouth went awry. In truth she felt so tired all she wanted to do was climb into bed and pull the covers over her head.
“You sure? You don't look fine.” He reached out and touched her cheek.
“As a matter of fact, no I really don’t feel so good.” Brigid flopped onto the side of the bed.
Rolf pulled back the coverlet, gently moved her over and lifted her legs, then covered her with the quilt. Touching her face gently he whispered, “Get some rest. I'll be here when you wake up.”
“You will?”
Brigid vaguely heard his answer before she fell asleep, but could have sworn he said, “Always.”
* * *
Brigid blinked her eyes open and looked about the dim room. The only light came from the heater. Rolf lay stretched out in the armchair, his long legs crossed at the ankles. His chin rested on his chest as he gently snored.
As if he sensed her looking at him, his eyes opened, and he sat up straight, yawning. Pushing his hair back, he said, “I must have nodded off. Did you have a good rest?”
Brigid glanced at the small bedside clock. It said five past eleven. “Mm. Looks like I slept for a fair while. You should have come onto the bed to lie down—you don’t look too comfortable there.”
“I didn’t want to disturb you.”
“Silly. I doubt if anything would have woken me. I can’t remember being so tired.” She pulled her robe across her breasts as she put her feet to the floor. “I'm thirsty.”
“I'll get it. What would you like? Tea?” He was on his feet and moving to the small bench that held the electric kettle and cups.
“Yes, please.”
While he prepared tea, Brigid went along to the bathroom, cleane
d her teeth and brushed her hair. She grimaced at her reflection, where dark-rimmed eyes stared back at her. In the hope of bringing some colour to her face, she pinched her sallow cheeks, mumbled a curse, and hurried out of the room.
When she settled herself in the armchair, Rolf handed her a cup of tea, and then sat on the rug near her feet, sipping at his drink. After a short silence while they both stared into the heater, she asked, “Why did you come after me, Rolf?”
He moved closer until he touched her legs. “The funniest thing happened after you left.” Looking up at her he said, “I had a sort of vision.” That strange puzzled expression passed across his features. “I was coming after you anyway—once I had time to come to my senses and realise what a fool I'd been.”
“Vision?” she prompted, her heart beating faster at his admission.
“Yes. I was looking at the sea thinking what a holy mess I made of the situation and... Would you believe, I saw you in the water.”
Brigid stared at him. “You what?”
He put the cup down and went onto his knees, facing her. “As clear as anything I saw you struggling against the waves. And…” Hesitating, he rubbed his chin. “I saw me come to your aid.” Another long pause. “Only...we looked different.”
“Our Viking and his Celtic princess,” Brigid said softly in wonderment. “I believe you saw us in our past life together, Rolf.”
“I did?” There was no ridicule in his tone, just surprise and something else. Awe. Yes, he was awed by what happened. “I have a theory too,” he said then.
“You have?”
“Yes. When we first met, and you said you'd lived before, I wanted to tell you I had a feeling I'd also been here before and knew you already. I think it’s possible that when two people share a great love they’re bound together for eternity.”
“And you think we share such a great love, Rolf?” Brigid held her breath.
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