Hours to Cherish

by Heather Graham

  “Join me, won’t you?”

  Cat’s fingers trembled slightly as she heard his voice, uncannily at the exact moment she was debating the question herself.

  I shouldn’t, she thought, I shouldn’t even be sitting with him, listening to his music, laughing. Little prickles of danger seemed to riddle her system. But her fingers were ignoring the messages of her mind. She poured two glasses of wine.

  Cat walked back out on deck and handed Clay his wine. He noted with his eyes that she had decided to join him, and merely smiled a thanks and accepted his glass. Cat returned to her deck chair, sipping her wine as she watched him. This was a new side to Clay. Still clad in his white shorts, his body very sleek and bronze beneath the setting sun, his sun-bleached hair still damp, he made more than an attractive appearance. There was something very light about him, completely confident, but so comfortable and easy. At twenty-six there had been nothing light or easy about Clay. He had been perpetually tense; his mind had continually worked overtime. It was as if a little age had given him a little youth or perhaps that complete confidence he had acquired had taught him to allow himself to relax.

  “I’ve got one I think you’ll like,” he said suddenly, setting his wineglass down on the bow. He ran his fingers in a light strumming motion over the strings for a moment, and then launched slowly and poignantly into the opening bars of a song.

  Just these few strains of music seemed to reach out and touch Cat. She felt a warm trembling permeate her blood, as if the melody, and then Clay’s voice, encompassed her in an embrace.

  It was an old island song, one that she had always loved, especially those years back. Did he remember, she wondered vaguely? Or did this just happen to be a song that he knew?

  What was it about the song that always touched her so? The tune was pretty, soft and melodic, but it was more than that. The lyrics managed to epitomize all that was so beautiful and usually inexplicable about loving a person. Senses filled with the essence of nature … the simple, humble joy of lying down together … of always being with one.

  Cat lowered her eyes, clenching the stem of her wineglass so tightly that it was amazing it didn’t shatter. He was doing this on purpose to her, but suddenly it didn’t matter. She was ripped apart on the inside, and before his fingers had strummed the last chords, she was staring at him, and without preplanned purpose or intent she suddenly blurted, “Why were you in prison, Clay? Why wasn’t I notified? How—” Her voice finally choked. It had been naked, it had portrayed her agony. It had left her so vulnerable, letting him know how much she had cared, letting her know how much she still cared.

  Clay set the guitar down carefully, his eyes on Cat. She knew he hesitated, weighed his words, and was worried about the effect his answer would have.

  “Drugs, Cat,” he said softly. “Nothing big or deadly, but it was drugs.”

  “I don’t believe it!” Cat exclaimed. “You wouldn’t … you wouldn’t. I—” She caught herself. He wouldn’t, but he had just told her that he had.

  Clay moved over to her swiftly, balancing on the balls of his feet as he hunched in front of her, catching her chin with his thumb when she would lower it. “Thank you, Cat,” he said gravely. “Thank you for that faith. I never intended to be involved in that type of operation.” He hesitated a moment, searching out her eyes, then continued. “My boat broke up in some type of underwater cataclysm. I was rescued by Luke and the other two men you met today. They’re good people, Cat. But they’re from out islands that aren’t even listed on Bahamian maps. Luke has a big family, six children. A lot of little mouths to feed. They weren’t trafficking in anything hard—and I’m not condoning the practice—but they were just trying to survive.” He fell silent for a moment, then lifted his hands slightly in the air. “We were picked up,” he said.

  He moved back to the bow of the boat, gazing out on the horizon at the ethereal beauty of the setting sun. Cat covered her face with her hands for a moment, fighting the terrible urge to cry, fighting to control her reactions. But her head and heart were both swimming. His boat had wrecked; he hadn’t simply deserted her.

  She was on her feet before she knew it, moving over to him, tentatively reaching to touch his back.

  “Why wasn’t I told, Clay? Why wasn’t I contacted?”

  He turned to her, lightly caressing the straying tendrils of her drying hair. “I didn’t know who I was, Cat.”

  “Amnesia?” she inquired incredulously.

  He nodded.

  “But they must have taken your fingerprints. You were in the Navy, Clay, they—”

  “Cat,” he murmured softly. “I wasn’t in the United States, or even in the Bahamas.”

  “Where were you?”

  He paused for a moment, and the tension in him suddenly gave her consuming chills. She knew where he had been, and knowing, she determined never to question him again. Her eyes told him that he needn’t respond to that particular question in words.

  “They tried to find out who I was,” he said hoarsely. “But their methods weren’t terribly efficient.”

  “Oh,” Cat murmured, stepping away from him in confusion. She had been wrong to judge him without listening to him, and for that she was sorry. But things were still so unclear. He obviously knew very well who he was now, had known for some time, to have founded an evidently prosperous new business.

  “I never meant to leave you, Cat,” he said. It was a fact, firmly but gently spoken with no plea for forgiveness.

  But again Cat was moving without really knowing what she was doing. She turned back to him, slipping her arms around his neck, allowing her fingers to riffle through the crisp ends of his hair, to touch the satin-sleek bronze shoulders that so enticed her, to feel the powerful tension in his sinewed muscle.

  “I’m sorry, Clay,” she heard herself murmur, “I had no idea”

  And then she found herself moving closer, pressing against Him, parting her lips and inching to her toes to join her lips to his. What she had intended? she didn’t know. Something soft, perhaps easy, an apology. But that chemistry was there, that electrical tension that had compelled her years ago, that existed beyond the bounds of time. She felt his arms tighten around her, his hands course down her back, and then his lips begin to move. … Sensually. Aggressively. Dominating her advance. She was locked in his embrace, her entire body becoming attuned to his power, heat, and tension. His tongue wedged past her teeth, exploring her mouth fully and savoringly, slow, so slow, and yet determinedly forceful. His hands moved to cradle her buttocks, lifting her, holding her closer, melding her to his body heat, clearly imprinting on each of her contours the perfectness of their fit.

  Sensations washed over Cat, engulfing her. It was there, still there after all this time, with only him. That feeling—so intense, so shatteringly hot, a flame that erupted from within, so bright it blinded sun and moon alike, such wonderful, beautiful ecstasy that it was agony.

  She didn’t want the feeling again. It robbed her of control, of logic, of will. … And it could so easily leave devastation. …

  Clay’s lips left hers. They moved in a slow, moist trail along her cheek, creating tremors as they touched upon her earlobe. His teeth grazed over her flesh, nipping gently. A new wash of shivering sensation raged through Cat, evident, undeniable.

  “Clay …” she protested, attempting to step back. His arms held her in a grip of pure steel. Bracing her hands against his shoulder, Cat sought out his eyes. “Clay …” she murmured again.

  He smiled, but refused to release her. “Do you know, Cat, as I said before, you never have been sure whether you wanted to seduce me or not.”

  “Seduce you!” Cat protested. “No—”

  “I believe,” he murmured, “that you did step into my arms. And I’m also quite sure that you did kiss me, and I’m damned sure, Cat,” he added huskily, “that you do want me.” Please don’t deny that, he added silently to himself. Please, I won’t be able to bear it if you do.

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nbsp; For two weeks he had been living in torment. Watching her, his wife and his dream. All those hours of torturous dreaming. Now she was flesh and blood. And every day he had seen her, he had silently and distantly coveted her. Did she know that she tortured him? Appearing each morning in nothing but a scanty bikini that assured him his memory hadn’t been faulty. No, Cat was one woman oblivious to her physical attributes. She was a witch of the sea; her slender, elegantly shaped frame was the result of a life lived with nature. Still, it had been agony seeing her golden tanned, silky flesh daily, knowing that her curves were every bit as firm and full as they appeared.

  As he looked at her now, he saw the misted depth of her shimmering emerald eyes. Am I dreaming still, he wondered, or is this real? He couldn’t let her go now. Somehow he had to make her remember what it could be like what they had once had together.

  “Clay—” she began to murmur again in protest. He silenced her the only way he knew how. His lips seared down hard over hers, seducing as they punished, cajoled and yet branded and demanded. He slipped a hand into the V of her terry-cloth robe, and as he expected, he encountered her flesh, soft and silky and firm, filling his hand. A muffled sound escaped her that might have been a moan, might have been a protest, but if it was a denial, it was a lie. Beneath the graze of his exploring thumb he could feel the swelling of her breasts, the hard rise of her nipples.

  Then suddenly he had to see her, had to have her completely. Without releasing his hold, he deftly found the knot of her robe and released it, then, only then, he stepped back. She stared at him, her eyes brilliant and yet slightly glazed with a wondering shock, her lips wet and puffed from his kiss. Her robe hung open, and before she could think to object, Clay slipped his long, broad hands gently around her neck, sliding them along her shoulders to ease the robe from her body to fall to the deck.

  Against the amethyst and magenta of the dying sunset, she was a magnificent silhouette. Tall, lithe, as beautifully shaped and curved as a goddess from the sea. As golden as the sun sinking into the horizon. Her hair, that rich, dark hair that had filled his fantasies, swept over her shoulders in a velvet fan, wisps and tendrils waving over her breasts.

  She closed her eyes suddenly, thick-fringed lashes forming deep crescents over her cheeks. She is thinking, Clay thought disparagingly, I can’t allow her to think. He was about to move for her again, take her into his arms and deny that quarter, but he paused. Her emerald eyes flew open again, and she was moving for him.

  How many times had he dreamed it? This creature of divinity, enchantress, witch, striding toward him with that walk that was an effortless sail, hips swaying subtly, provocatively, hair floating with her like tendrils of silk.

  He reached out for her, crushing her to him, burying his face into her neck, into her hair. It was still damp, its scent was wondrously clean and fresh and ever so slightly perfumed from her shampoo. His hands moved to tangle into its sable length, his fingers reverently caressed it, and he brought the silkiness to rub against his chest.

  All around them was the sea, turquoise waters deepening with night to indigo, the rainbow dusk becoming an endless stretch of the darkest teal velvet. The world seemed to be theirs. It was as if they even owned the heavens.

  They should go inside, Clay thought vaguely. But he couldn’t bear to break the enchantment of the spell that held them both, and the nearest person was half a mile away. He took her lips again, but his kisses were fevered now. They moved passionately to cover her cheeks, her throat, her shoulders, and then return again to the sweetness of her lips once more. He felt her tremble—he felt his own trembling—and he felt the heat that was rising, igniting, flaring, melding them together in a single torch of desire.

  He brought himself down slowly, hands touching and memorizing the nuances of her shape, lips and tongue and teeth following suit, tasting the sweet nectar of her breasts, hips, belly, and thighs. And then when he was down, he drew her to him, demandingly and yet reverently, as though a part of him still believed her a vision, an ethereal spirit who could drift away into the night.

  Her discarded robe was their bed. With his wife beside him at long last, Clay released her only long enough to shed his shorts. Then she was in his arms again, his weight beneath hers to shelter her from the hardness of the deck. It was a little like their first time together, Clay noted vaguely. Cat had actually come to him, and then waited, quivering like a bowstring, and then suddenly taken flight, returning his kisses, his touch, with equal fervor, equal passion.

  He caught her face between his hands. “Dear God, Cat,” he groaned with husky vehemence, “how I want you. There were times when I lived for this …”

  Cat closed her eyes and shuddered, escaping his hold to lean down and kiss the hollow in his shoulders. Her teeth grazed against his flesh and she tasted the salt of the sea. Tears suddenly flooded beneath her lids simply because she felt so good. She hadn’t forgotten the rapture of this pleasure. She had just thought that it could surely never come again. His body beneath hers had the strength of a rock, the vibrancy and vitality of the sun. Every taut inch of him was hard with toned muscles, yet his body pulsed a tantalizing comfort, sheltering her, demanding from her. The crisp curls of hair on his chest teased her breasts mercilessly, the strong columns of his legs twined with hers, provocatively edging along the inside of her upper thighs. His hips, crushed to her, left no delusions to his complete and powerful arousal.

  And then he was lifting her, bringing her down again, and she was shuddering in earnest as he possessed her in an explosively driving force that left her feeling as if a ray of the sun had indeed burst within her. She gasped, suddenly still, savoring, absorbing the moment, but his hands were on her hips and he was beginning a slow, rhythmic undulation, guiding her along.

  And then the rhythm was out of control, building, flying, soaring. There were moments when Cat caught her husband’s eyes, and the dark density of passion within them spurred her to even greater heights with the pleasure of knowing she returned all that he gave. And yet still, deep within her, there was a core of fear. She had to be insane, because this ecstasy could only bring agony.

  Her fear was ignored because she was insane, half mad with the fire that ruled her body, the sweet deepening ache that pitched higher and higher until she felt she would scream.

  And then it felt as if they had joined the velvet night, becoming one with the brilliance of the stars that flecked the heavens. Clay arched, cradling her breasts, gripping her hair, splaying his fingers around her hips to pull her ever tighter in a final shattering thrust.

  Cat did scream. The sound was his name, a shivering cry of rapture and fulfillment. And then she was falling to his chest, burying her face into his neck, holding him tightly as the wash of sensations became gentle and mellow.

  They lay silent for a long while, the only rustle of movement that of Clay’s fingers as they continued to thread with fascination through his wife’s hair. And then, just as Cat was realizing she had been a fool because everything was going to be so much harder now, that there would be new pain to rip apart scars that had never properly healed, Clay spoke, tenderly, whispering softly in her ear.

  “I love you, Cat,” he murmured. “I really can’t tell you how much. There were times, so many times, when just the dream of you kept me going.”

  Cat froze in his arms, terrified to believe his words. Could he mean it? Oh, God, it had been so long. Had he really loved her all those years? Could he really love her now? It was possible. She knew it was possible even if she was afraid to believe, because she knew now that she loved him, had never stopped loving him no matter how she thought she had purged his memory from her life

  “Oh, Clay …” she murmured, holding her face tightly against his chest so that she didn’t have to face his eyes.

  “Do you think you could love me again, Cat?” he demanded softly.

  “I’m afraid, Clay,” Cat admitted, fingers tense against his flesh. “There’s so much I don’t know,
so much I don’t understand. …”

  “I’m going to talk to you,” he promised. “I’m going to try to explain everything. First thing in the morning.”

  “Why in the morning?” Cat asked, finally pulling her face from him to frown as she studied his.

  Clay smiled and shifted, adjusting himself to rise with a swift movement with her still clutched in his arms.

  “Because tonight is mine,” he told her, brows arching with a devilish twitch. “Because I’ve dreamed of you until I’ve almost lost my sanity. Because we’re going to drink wine and munch cheese in bed and make love until dawn. Because this is my fantasy, and my fantasy is real, and nothing, nothing is going to intrude upon my dreams tonight. Not even you, sea witch. Tonight you are the fantasy, and you’re mine.”

  As he carried her through the cabin doors, Cat simply had no desire to protest.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  SHE WAS SLEEPING SO soundly, so comfortably, so very deeply. The blazing light that suddenly caused an instinctive tightening of her eyelids was at first nothing more than an annoyance. Then a sharp tap on her posterior startled her from that hazy cocoon of sleep and her eyes flew wide open.

  The light, of course, was the sun, streaming through the now open porthole drape. Cat smiled ever so slightly. Had the sun ever streamed across the sky with such magnificence? Tossing her head and hiding her smile, Cat turned reproachful eyes to Clay, the deliverer of the awakening pat to her anatomy.

  He sat beside her on the bed, a grin stretched softly in the firm yet sensuous line of his lips. “It’s morning,” he told her, shrugging innocence in reply to her reproach. He sobered suddenly, reaching for her hand. “And I want to talk to you. I was thinking—well, actually I was thinking that neither of us had been thinking last night. And I don’t think this is the time to add complications.”

  “What are you talking about?” Cat murmured.

  “The facts of life.” Clay grimaced.