Island of Flowers

by Nora Roberts

  O’Brian was an enigma, a man whose moods seemed to flow without rhyme or reason. And what did she know of him? He was her father’s partner, but his position was unclear. He was a man who knew both the sky and the sea, and found it easy to move with their freedom. She knew too that he was a man who knew women and could give them pleasure.

  And how, Laine wondered, does one fight love when one has no knowledge of it? Perhaps it was a matter of balance. She deliberately released the tension in her shoulders. I have to find the way to walk the wire without leaning over either side and tumbling off.

  “It seems you’ve taken a side trip,” Dillon commented, pulling a rag from his pocket. He grinned as Laine gave a start of alarm. “You’re a miserable mechanic, Duchess, and a sloppy one.” He rubbed the rag over her cheek until a black smudge disappeared. “There’s a sink over there; you’d better go wash your hands. I’ll finish these adjustments later. The fuel system is giving me fits.”

  Laine moved off as he instructed, taking her time in removing traces of grime. She used the opportunity to regain her composure. Hanging up the borrowed overalls, she wandered about the empty hangar while Dillon packed away tools and completed his own washing up. She was surprised to see that it had grown late during the time she had inexpertly assisted Dillon. A soft dusk masked the day’s brilliance. Along the runways, lights twinkled like small red eyes. As she turned back, Laine found Dillon’s gaze on her. She moistened her lips, then attempted casualness.

  “Are you finished?”

  “Not quite. Come here.” Something in his tone caused her to retreat a step rather than obey. He lifted his brows, then repeated the order with a soft, underlying threat. “I said come here.”

  Deciding voluntary agreement was the wisest choice, Laine crossed the floor. Her echoing footsteps seemed to bounce off the walls like thunder. She prayed the sound masked the furious booming of her heart as she stopped in front of him, and that its beating was in her ears only. She stood in silence as he studied her face, wishing desperately she knew what he was looking for, and if she possessed it. Dillon said nothing, but placed his hands on her hips, drawing her a step closer. Their thighs brushed. His grip was firm, and all the while his eyes kept hers a prisoner.

  “Kiss me,” he said simply. She shook her head in quick protest, unable to look or break away. “Laine, I said kiss me.” Dillon pressed her hips closer, molding her shape to his. His eyes were demanding, his mouth tempting. Tentatively, she lifted her arms, letting her hands rest on his shoulders as she rose to her toes. Her eyes remained open and locked on his as their faces drew nearer, as their breaths began to mingle. Softly, she touched her lips to his.

  He waited until her mouth lost its shyness and became mobile on his, waited until her arms found their way around his neck to urge him closer. He increased the pressure, drawing out her sigh as he slid his hands under her blouse to the smooth skin of her back. His explorations were slow and achingly gentle. The hands that caressed her taught rather than demanded. Murmuring his name against the taste of his mouth, Laine strained against him, wanting him, needing him. The swift heat of passion was all-consuming. Her lips seemed to learn more quickly than her brain. They began to seek and demand pleasures she could not yet understand. The rest of the world faded like a whisper. At that moment, there was nothing in her life but Dillon and her need for him.

  He drew her away. Neither spoke, each staring into the other’s eyes as if to read a message not yet written. Dillon brushed a stray curl from her cheek. “I’d better take you home.”

  “Dillon,” Laine began, completely at a loss as to what could be said. Unable to continue, she closed her eyes on her own inadequacy.

  “Come on, Duchess, you’ve had a long day.” Dillon circled her neck with his hand and massaged briefly. “We’re not dealing on equal footing at the moment, and I like to fight fair under most circumstances.”

  “Fight?” Laine managed, struggling to keep her eyes open and steady on his. “Is that what this is, Dillon? A fight?”

  “The oldest kind,” he returned with a small lift to his mouth. His smile faded before it was truly formed, and suddenly his hand was firm on her chin. “It’s not over, Laine, and when we have the next round, I might say the devil with the rules.”

  Chapter Seven

  When Laine came down for breakfast the next morning, she found only her father. “Hello, Skinny Bones,” Miri called out before Cap could greet her. “Sit and eat. I will fix you tea since you do not like my coffee.”

  Unsure whether to be embarrassed or amused, Laine obeyed. “Thank you, Miri,” she said to the retreating back.

  “She’s quite taken with you.” Looking over, Laine saw the light of mirth in Cap’s eyes. “Since you’ve come, she’s been so wrapped up with putting pounds on you, she hasn’t made one comment about me needing a wife.”

  With a wry smile, Laine watched her father pour his coffee. “Glad to help. I showed myself around a bit yesterday. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “No, of course not.” His smile was rueful. “I guess I should’ve taken you around the house myself. My manners are a little rusty.”

  “I didn’t mind. Actually,” she tilted her head and returned his smile, “wandering around alone gave me a sort of fresh perspective. You said you’d missed all the stages and still thought of me as a child. I think …” Her fingers spread as she tried to clarify her thoughts. “I think I missed them too—that is, I still had my childhood image of you. Yesterday, I began to see James Simmons in flesh and blood.”

  “Disappointed?” There was more ease in his tone and a lurking humor in his eyes.

  “Impressed,” Laine corrected. “I saw a man content with himself and his life, who has the love and respect of those close to him. I think my father must be a very nice man.”

  He gave her an odd smile which spoke both of surprise and pleasure. “That’s quite a compliment coming from a grown daughter.” He added more coffee to his cup, and Laine let the silence drift. Her gaze lingered on Dillon’s empty seat a moment. “Ah … is Dillon not here?”

  “Hmm? Oh, Dillon had a breakfast meeting. As a matter of fact, he has quite a few things to see to this morning.” Cap drank his coffee black, and with an enjoyment Laine could not understand.

  “I see,” she responded, trying not to sound disappointed. “I suppose the airport keeps both of you very busy.”

  “That it does.” Cap glanced at his watch and tilted his head in regret. “Actually, I have an appointment myself very shortly. I’m sorry to leave you alone this way, but …”

  “Please,” Laine interrupted. “I don’t need to be entertained, and I meant what I said yesterday about not wanting to interfere. I’m sure I’ll find plenty of things to keep me occupied.”

  “All right then. I’ll see you this evening.” Cap rose, then paused at the doorway with sudden inspiration. “Miri can arrange a ride for you if you’d like to do some shopping in town.”

  “Thank you.” Laine smiled, thinking of her limited funds. “Perhaps I will.” She watched him stroll away, then sighed, as her gaze fell again on Dillon’s empty chair.

  Laine’s morning was spent lazily. She soon found out that Miri would not accept or tolerate any help around the house. Following the native woman’s strong suggestion that she go out, Laine gathered her stationery and set out for the bay. She found it every bit as perfect as she had the day before—the water clear as crystal, the sand white and pure. Spreading out a blanket, Laine sat down and tried to describe her surroundings with words on paper. The letters she wrote to France were long and detailed, though she omitted any mention of her troubled situation.

  As she wrote, the sun rose high overhead. The air was moist and ripe. Lulled by the peace and the rays of the sun, she curled up on the blanket and slept.

  Her limbs were languid, and behind closed lids was a dull red mist. She wondered hazily how the reverend mother had urged so much heat out of the ancient furnace. Reluctantly, she strugg
led to toss off sleep as a hand shook her shoulder. “Un moment, ma soeur,” she murmured, and sighed with the effort. “J’arrive.” Forcing open her leaden lids, she found Dillon’s face inches above hers.

  “I seem to have a habit of waking you up.” He leaned back on his heels and studied her cloudy eyes. “Don’t you know better than to sleep in the sun with that complexion? You’re lucky you didn’t burn.”

  “Oh.” At last realizing where she was, Laine pushed herself into a sitting position. She felt the odd sense of guilt of the napper caught napping. “I don’t know why I fell asleep like that. It must have been the quiet.”

  “Another reason might be exhaustion,” Dillon countered, then frowned. “You’re losing the shadows under your eyes.”

  “Cap said you were very busy this morning.” Laine found his continued survey disconcerting and shuffled her writing gear.

  “Hmm, yes, I was. Writing letters?”

  She glanced up at him, then tapped the tip of her pen against her mouth. “Hmm, yes, I was.”

  “Very cute.” His mouth twitched slightly as he hauled her to her feet. “I thought you wanted to learn how to fly a plane.”

  “Oh!” Her face lit up with pleasure. “I thought you’d forgotten. Are you sure you’re not too busy? Cap said…”

  “No, I hadn’t forgotten, and no, I’m not too busy.” He cut her off as he leaned down to gather her blanket. “Stop babbling as if you were twelve and I were taking you to the circus for cotton candy.”

  “Of course,” she replied, amused by his reaction.

  Dillon let out an exasperated breath before grabbing her hand and pulling her across the sand. She heard him mutter something uncomplimentary about women in general.

  Less than an hour later, Laine found herself seated in Dillon’s plane. “Now, this is a single prop monoplane with a reciprocating engine. Another time, I’ll take you up in the jet, but …”

  “You have another plane?” Laine interrupted.

  “Some people collect hats,” Dillon countered dryly, then pointed to the variety of gauges. “Basically, flying a plane is no more difficult than driving a car. The first thing you have to do is understand your instruments and learn how to read them.”

  “There are quite a few, aren’t there?” Dubiously, Laine scanned numbers and needles.

  “Not really. This isn’t exactly an X-15.” He let out a long breath at her blank expression, then started the engine. “O.K., as we climb, I want you to watch this gauge. It’s the altimeter. It …”

  “It indicates the height of the plane above sea level or above ground,” Laine finished for him.

  “Very good.” Dillon cleared his takeoff with the tower, and the plane began its roll down the runway. “What did you do, grab one of Cap’s magazines last night?”

  “No. I remember some of my early lessons. I suppose I stored away all the things Cap used to ramble about when I was a child. This is a compass, and this …” Her brow furrowed in her memory search. “This is a turn and bank indicator, but I’m not sure I remember quite what that means.”

  “I’m impressed, but you’re supposed to be watching the altimeter.”

  “Oh, yes.” Wrinkling her nose at the chastisement, she obeyed.

  “All right.” Dillon gave her profile a quick grin, then turned his attention to the sky. “The larger needle’s going to make one turn of the dial for every thousand feet we climb. The smaller one makes a turn for every ten thousand. Once you learn your gauges, and how to use each one of them, your job’s less difficult than driving, and there’s generally a lot less traffic.”

  “Perhaps, you’ll teach me to drive a car next,” Laine suggested as she watched the large needle round the dial for the second time.

  “You don’t know how to drive?” Dillon demanded. His voice was incredulous.

  “No. Is that a crime in this country? I assure you, there are some people who believe me to be marginally intelligent. I’m certain I can learn to fly this machine in the same amount of time it takes any of your other students.”

  “It’s possible,” Dillon muttered. “How come you never learned to drive a car?”

  “Because I never had one. How did you break your nose?” At his puzzled expression, Laine merely gave him a bland smile. “My question is just as irrelevant as yours.”

  Laine felt quite pleased when he laughed, almost as though she had won a small victory.

  “Which time?” he asked, and it was her turn to look puzzled. “I broke it twice. The first time I was about ten and tried to fly a cardboard plane I had designed off the roof of the garage. I didn’t have the propulsion system perfected. I only broke my nose and my arm, though I was told it should’ve been my neck.”

  “Very likely,” Laine agreed. “And the second time?”

  “The second time, I was a bit older. There was a disagreement over a certain girl. My nose suffered another insult, and the other guy lost two teeth.”

  “Older perhaps, but little wiser,” Laine commented. “And who got the girl?”

  Dillon flashed his quick grin. “Neither of us. We decided she wasn’t worth it after all and went off to nurse our wounds with a beer.”

  “How gallant.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure you’ve noticed that trait in me. I can’t seem to shake it. Now, watch your famous turn and bank indicator, and I’ll explain its function.”

  For the next thirty minutes, he became the quintessential teacher, surprising Laine with his knowledge and patience. He answered the dozens of questions she tossed out as flashes of her early lessons skipped through her memory. He seemed to accept her sudden thirst to know as if it were not only natural, but expected. They cruised through a sky touched with puffy clouds and mountain peaks and skimmed the gaping mouth of the multihued Waimea Canyon. They circled above the endless, whitecapped ocean. Laine began to see the similarity between the freedom of the sky and the freedom of the sea. She began to feel the fascination Dillon had spoken of, the need to meet the challenge, the need to explore. She listened with every ounce of her concentration, determined to understand and remember.

  “There’s a little storm behind us,” Dillon announced casually. “We’re not going to beat it back.” He turned to Laine with a faint smile on his lips. “We’re going to get tossed around a bit, Duchess.”

  “Oh?” Trying to mirror his mood, Laine shifted in her seat and studied the dark clouds in their wake. “Can you fly through that?” she asked, keeping her voice light while her stomach tightened.

  “Oh, maybe,” he returned. She jerked her head around swiftly. When she saw the laughter in his eyes, she let out a long breath.

  “You have an odd sense of humor, Dillon. Very unique,” she added, then sucked in her breath as the clouds overtook them. All at once, they were shrouded in darkness, rain pelting furiously on all sides. As the plane rocked, Laine felt a surge of panic.

  “You know, it always fascinates me to be in a cloud. Nothing much to them, just vapor and moisture, but they’re fabulous.” His voice was calm and composed. Laine felt her heartbeat steadying. “Storm clouds are the most interesting, but you really need lightning.”

  “I think I could live without it,” Laine murmured.

  “That’s because you haven’t seen it from up here. When you fly above lightning, you can watch it kicking up inside the clouds. The colors are incredible.”

  “Have you flown through many storms?” Laine looked out her windows, but saw nothing but swirling black clouds.

  “I’ve done my share. The front of this one’ll be waiting for us when we land. Won’t last long, though.” The plane bucked again, and Laine looked on in bewilderment as Dillon grinned.

  “You enjoy this sort of thing, don’t you? The excitement, the sense of danger?”

  “It keeps the reflexes in tune, Laine.” Turning, he smiled at her without a trace of cynicism. “And it keeps life from being boring.” The look held for a moment, and Laine’s heart did a series of jumping jacks.
“There’s plenty of stability in life,” he continued, making adjustments to compensate for the wind. “Jobs, bills, insurance policies, that’s what gives you balance. But sometimes, you’ve got to ride a roller coaster, run a race, ride a wave. That’s what makes life fun. The trick is to keep one end of the scope from overbalancing the other.”

  Yes, Laine thought. Vanessa never learned the trick. She was always looking for a new game and never enjoyed the one she was playing. And perhaps I’ve overcompensated by thinking too much of the stability. Too many books, and not enough doing. Laine felt her muscles relax and she turned to Dillon with a hint of a smile. “I haven’t ridden a roller coaster for a great many years. One could say that I’m due. Look!” She pressed her face against the side window and peered downward. “It’s like something out of Macbeth, all misty and sinister. I’d like to see the lightning, Dillon. I really would.”

  He laughed at the eager anticipation on her face as he began his descent. “I’ll see if I can arrange it.”

  The clouds seemed to swirl and dissolve as the plane lost altitude. Their thickness became pale gray cobwebs to be dusted out of the way. Below, the landscape came into view as they dropped below the mist. The earth was rain-drenched and vivid with color. As they landed, Laine felt her pleasure fade into a vague sense of loss. She felt like a child who had just blown out her last birthday candle.

  “I’ll take you back up in a couple days if you want,” said Dillon, taxiing to a halt.

  “Yes, please, I’d like that very much. I don’t know how to thank you for …”

  “Do your homework,” he said as he shut off the engine. “I’ll give you some books and you can read up on instrumentation.”

  “Yes, sir,” Laine said with suspicious humility. Dillon glared at her briefly before swinging from the plane. Laine’s lack of experience caused her to take more time with her exit. She found herself swooped down before she could complete the journey on her own.

  In the pounding rain they stood close, Dillon’s hands light on