For a moment her vision blurred, but she blinked away the sudden tears and told herself she might as well get used to it. She would tell him goodbye later, after everyone else had gone.
She lingered until they had all left, and when at last they were alone he said, "I'm glad you stayed. Let's get some fresh air."
He opened the door to the garden, and she preceded him through it. She searched for the proper words.
"I hope you found a wonderful new camera," he said when they stood outside in the moonlight.
Alix took a deep breath. "My camera was never broken," she said.
"I know that," he shot back, surprising her. When she looked up at him in astonishment, he only smiled down at her.
"Did you think you could fool me?" he asked. "I sensed that you needed time to think, so I played along with your ruse."
"I—I don't know what to say," she said after a moment of acute embarrassment.
"Say you'll come back to Minorcan," he said, putting an arm around her and turning her around so that she was facing him.
She lifted her chin. "I waited until the others had left to tell you that I'm not coming back." Saying the words out loud was like self-inflicting a wound.
"So it's over between us?" A note of despair crept into his voice.
She shrugged helplessly. "Yes."
"All because of a silly misunderstanding?" She detected no bitterness but sadness permeated his tone.
"You said you could never trust me again after you learned about Daniel." She struggled for control.
"After I found out that Daniel was your former lover, I was torn by jealousy. I was hurt that you hadn't shared that with me."
"I tried to tell you."
Ponce heaved a great sigh. "I know. I can only apologize. When you were ready to tell me, I wasn't ready to hear it. I was afraid that whatever confession you were ready to offer would separate us again, and I couldn't bear that. If I've learned anything, Alix, it's that it's important to work out problems as they arise. If you'll give me another chance, that's the way we'll handle them in the future."
His voice was husky with emotion, and there was no doubting his sincerity or his earnestness.
"But you said—"
"I said too damned much," he retorted and crushed her to him with a passion she could not resist.
His lips burned upon hers with a desperation born of longing, and she responded, as always, with equal desire. He released her lips briefly to demand, "Tell me you'll stay!"
She tore herself from his arms. "No," she said.
She could hear his breathing, felt the pain in his heart.
"Would you mind telling me why?"
She walked slowly away from him, then turned. "When I love a man, I lose myself. I give up my independence and my freedom. I become everything he wants me to be. And when it's over I feel like nothing. I can't go through that again."
"I don't want you to be anything but yourself. Why do you think I wanted you in the first place? It was because you had a certain quality, a freshness, as though you had sidestepped the pain that goes with living."
"I told you I've had plenty of pain," she reminded him.
"I know you have. But it's your independence that made it possible for you to snap back without becoming jaded or blasé about life."
"After it's over between us, after we've given each other a few months or years of our lives—"
He took a step toward her, clasped her hands in his. "It will never be over between us, Alix. I love you. I treasure you above all things. I want you to marry me."
The silence seemed heavy with possibilities. She gazed into his eyes and saw tenderness and devotion, and she looked into the future and saw them together. He had been her friend, and he had been her lover, and now it was clear to her that he could be something more. Ponce was someone she could depend on all through the years, and he knew he could depend on her.
Oh, there were no illusions. She knew his faults as well as he knew hers. But they had been through enough to know that their relationship was worth working for, no matter what the obstacles. In Ponce Cabrera she had finally met her equal.
Joyful tears flooded her eyes. "Oh, Ponce," she said, her voice muffled by his chest as he took her in his arms. They stood that way for a few minutes, listening to the steady rhythm of their hearts. She seemed to be absorbed into him so that she did not know where Ponce began and Alix ended. Her well-primed nerve endings felt every breath and beat of the heart as though they were not two, but one.
Gently he tipped her face upward and kissed each eyelid. "It's settled then," he said.
She inhaled a deep, shaky breath. It felt so wonderful to be sure. "Yes, it's settled."
Ponce reached into a pocket and removed an object wrapped carefully in white tissue paper.
"I suggest that we seal the deal," he said. He lifted her hand and slipped a ring on her finger.
It felt uncommonly heavy. When she looked down, she saw the large, square-cut emerald ring that had been meant for King Philip's bride.
She was speechless.
"I want you to have it right away, before anything happens to it," said Ponce, smiling down at her.
She closed her fingers over the ring protectively, getting used to the heft of it.
"I wouldn't let any harm come to it," she said.
"You never can tell. What if the ring were to be lost, as King Philip lost Elizabetta's jewels at the bottom of the sea? You might use its loss as an excuse to ban me from your bedroom."
Alix kissed him gently on the lips. "Never," she whispered.
"Speaking of bedroom, it's been entirely too long. I suggest that we repair to mine, where we can discuss this further."
"That's a remarkable idea, and I agree to accompany you—on one condition. That we don't discuss anything."
With a hearty laugh Ponce swept her into his arms, jewel and all, and carried her upstairs to his bed, where they discovered once again how golden love's treasure can be.
From the "Chit-Chat" Column in Personality Magazine...
Treasure Talk—Wedding bells rang in St. Augustine, Florida, last week for Ponce Cabrera, 36, and fellow treasure salvor Alix Pendenning, 28.
Cabrera, whose most recent find was a casket of jewels on the long-lost treasure ship El Primero de Mayo, presented his bride with a giant emerald once meant for Elizabetta, wife of King Philip V of Spain.
Uninvited to the wedding was Cabrera's archrival and competitor Luke Stallingrath, who yesterday scrapped plans to salvage Santa Catalina in the Florida Keys after his ship broke up on an uncooperative coral reef during Hurricane Butch.
"Looks like the only ship I'll be salvaging for a while is my own," groused Stallingrath.
The newlywed Cabreras, honeymooning on a secluded island off the coast of Spain, could not be reached for comment.
Page forward for the next book in the
Beach Bachelors Boxset.
TOUCH OF GOLD
Touch of Gold
Beach Bachelors
Book Two
by
Pamela Browning
Award-winning Author
Chapter 1
The late afternoon sunshine touched Paige's face with gold. Inhaling deeply, letting the pungent sea air dispel the odors of the city that clung to her skirt and jacket, she swept her eyes over the blue water and the wind-ruffled marsh grass beyond. No sign of Aunt Biz in her little motorboat. With a twinge of exasperation she wondered if the aunts had received her letter.
If they hadn't, of course, she'd be stranded here at the lonely private boat dock on St. Simons Island. She'd have to walk back into the village and try to find someone—anyone—who could provide a lift to St. Albans.
She sighed and adjusted the flowing paisley scarf around her neck. Her skirt flapped disconcertingly around her legs in the wind. Even though there was no one around, Paige leaned over and futilely tried to anchor the skirt at a more modest length. Giving up, she considered removin
g her jacket, finally deciding against it even though the May sunshine was becoming increasingly warm. The jacket would be just one more thing to transfer to Aunt Biz's boat. When she came. If she came. With a feeling of discouragement, Paige sat down precariously on her largest suitcase. For the sake of comfort, she unbuttoned one more button on her blouse and wondered if this trip was worth the bother.
Her feeling of unrest had been building since last October when Aunt Sophie had written about the young live-in handyman she and Aunt Biz had hired to help repair the house. Good, Paige had thought at the time, they need someone to take care of that big old barn of a place. After all, they'd been living alone there for a good ten years, ever since Uncle John had died, and the house hadn't been in good shape then.
Subsequent letters and phone calls that they made from town had, while raving about how wonderful Chad the handyman was, given Paige cause for alarm. Chad was so kind to them, but when the plumbing broke down he didn't know what to do. Chad was extremely handsome, but when tried to change the rusty old locks on the doors, he botched the job and they'd had to fetch a locksmith from St. Simons.
Privately Paige thought they'd better get themselves a new handyman, but she didn't start to become truly alarmed until she began to think more and more about the two elderly ladies living on isolated St. Albans Island with this Chad, who was evidently some stray boat bum they'd picked up when his boat was stranded along the Intracoastal Waterway.
Who was he, anyway? Paige's concern about her aunts coincided with a problem in her own personal life, one that needed time and distance to put into perspective. So when she'd been able to arrange an indefinite leave of absence from the airline, she wrote to the aunts and told them when to expect her. And here she was, looking for Aunt Biz who, without the convenience of a telephone, could not even be reached to be told Paige was waiting for her.
She watched several large pleasure craft cruise by on the Intracoastal Waterway, a mostly inland, easily navigable safe passage for boats which stretched from Massachusetts to Florida. Here at St. Simons Island, one of the Golden Isles between the Intracoastal and the Atlantic Ocean off the coast of Georgia, sailors on the waterway were treated to an ever-changing panorama of marsh and sea and sky.
Perhaps because of the very spaciousness of the surroundings or the state of mind caused by it, every color and every sound seemed magnified, reflected and reflected again in the huge mirrored expanse of water. And on St. Albans, the smaller private island where the aunts lived, feelings seemed intensified by its very remoteness. At least it had always seemed that way to Paige.
How long had it been since she had visited St. Albans? Paige had to think for a moment. It would have been five years ago, just before she enrolled in college as a freshman. Shortly afterward her mother, Aunt Sophie's and Aunt Biz's niece Elisabeth, the daughter of the only aunt to leave St. Albans and marry, had died following a long painful illness.
Paige had spent an intensely sad summer here then, trying to pull herself together and decide what to do with her life. After Mother's medical bills were paid, there hadn't been enough money to finance her college education. But the aunts, her great-aunts really, intervened. Aunt Biz, who managed the aunts' considerable fortune, insisted on paying Paige's way through the University of California. Paige would always be grateful for that. And if now, in their old age, they needed help, she would do whatever she had to do. Besides, she loved them dearly.
Lost in her reverie, she didn't hear the boat approaching at first. But then there was no mistaking it—the tinny knock-knock of the ancient motor on the Marsh Mallow, the aunts' rusty old skiff.
She stood up and joyfully waved both hands at the tiny boat approaching in the distance. She had begun to doubt that they were going to come for her at all. But there was dauntless Aunt Biz sitting in the stern of the boat and wearing her blue captain's hat.
Only something was wrong. It wasn't Aunt Biz who sat in the boat, plowing a wide white wake through the calm waters of the Intracoastal. Aunt Biz was lean, yes, but not muscular; Aunt Biz didn't have broad shoulders, nor did she incline herself forward like that, one elbow on her knee as she steered. And the hair that blew back from the edges of the blue cap was tawny fair, golden in the sun, not Aunt Biz's familiar straight gray mop. As the boat drew closer, Paige realized who it must be: Chad Smith, the itinerant handyman.
He aimed the boat at the dock and pulled it expertly alongside. With disregard for her expensive suit, he threw her a line that had been lying in the water in the bottom of the boat and said, "Here, toss this over that piling for me, will you?" The motor coughed as he shut it off.
He leaped to the dock and stood regarding her with a half smile, apparently liking what he saw. "Paige Brownell?" he said, and his voice was low and pleasing.
"Yes," she said, brushing droplets of water from her face.
She hadn't been prepared for someone so distractingly masculine, so rakishly handsome. He stood with his thumbs hooked in the belt loops of his faded blue jeans, gazing lazily down at her through half-closed eyelids. His look, long and languid, slid from her eyes to her mouth, where it lingered as sensuously as a forbidden caress.
He raised his eyebrows in quick interest and let his eyes drift possessively down her curvaceous figure, skimming, for the moment, over her high round breasts pressed tautly against the fabric of her jacket. He stroked his eyes the length of her body, which was now tight with unexpected tension, responding involuntarily to the aggressive scrutiny of this man.
His visual caress came to rest boldly on the low neckline of her blouse, unbuttoned to an almost immodest level. She felt a warm flush of excitement rising from her breasts to her throat, finally suffusing her cheeks with an unaccustomed blush. Chad Smith favored her with a roguish grin, which only disconcerted her more. She felt as though every nerve in her body were exposed to his devastating eyes.
He removed his thumbs from his belt loops and thrust his right hand forward. "Chad Smith," he said.
Paige hesitantly extended her own small hand, which he enveloped in his larger one. "How do you do?" she said, wondering if her equilibrium had deserted her. Her hand, clasped in his, was actually trembling.
He leaned back and looked at her, a sharp, teasing look. "This isn't a proper welcome for you. Aunt Biz said to take care of this matter exactly as she would do. And I have a good idea that she would have done this."
Without warning he swept her into his arms and planted a much too enthusiastic kiss on her lips. His mouth was warm and alluring and tasted of salt; Paige felt the play of hard muscles in his chest as he held her too closely. Suddenly his kiss, which was begun in something akin to jest, changed in character. His lips, at first hard and passionless, took on a disposition of their own, not soft, but supple, not gentle, but seductive. They moved against hers with a studied effect, eliciting the most exquisite sensations.
Against her will, Paige found herself responding to their incredible sweetness. Her lips accommodated to his as though she'd been kissing him all her life. His arms enclosed her, pressing her to him in a powerful embrace that made it all but impossible for her to breathe. And he was intensifying the kiss, deepening it, asking for more, much more, than she was willing to give. Finally he released her abruptly and stood looking coolly down at her without a word.
Paige gasped in defiant outrage and then, concern for her aunts overriding any sense of propriety, she caught her breath and asked quickly, accusingly, "Aunt Biz and Aunt Sophie—are they all right?"
"Fit as two fiddles, and full of fiddle-faddle," he said, grinning nonchalantly as he turned away from her and swung her two suitcases into the skiff. Why, the nerve of it! He was acting as though nothing had happened!
He went on, "Aunt Biz was all set to fetch you, but the boat motor wouldn't catch, and then Aunt Sophie came running out on the dock with some wild tale about a pot that was boiling over, and Aunt Biz abandoned the motor-repair project and awarded it to me. She and Aunt Sophie are still
trying to unboil the pot." No matter what his effect had been on her, there was no evidence whatever that she'd had a corresponding effect on him. At least the aunts were safe; Chad's story about the pot boiling over sounded typically like both Farrier aunts.
His casual manner infuriated her after his forceful and demanding liberties. Still, she didn't know what to do about it. She stood watching him as he stowed her suitcases in the skiff, admiring, in spite of herself, the ripple of his muscles straining beneath his thin shirt.
One part of her longed to retreat along the dock and walk—no, run—back to the village, where she might or might not find someone to transport her to St. Albans Island. Yet the other part of her, the Paige who had been traveling all day, was so weary that she longed to see her aunts, longed to rest and put her feet up and be coddled.
There were only two choices, really. She could get in the skiff with this man, or she could not. Much as she would have preferred to find her own way to St. Albans, leaving him now would probably create more problems than it would solve. First, if no one could take her to the island, she would have to spend the night at a hotel, and her suitcases were already stashed in the Marsh Mallow. Then there was the worry of Chad Smith going back to her aunts and telling them that she had refused to get in the boat with him. What would they think?
Finally common sense won out. She'd go with Chad Smith but keep her distance. She warily accepted Chad's hand and climbed down into the boat, sitting gingerly in the bow on a seat that was damp with spray.
"I can't guarantee that this motor will start," he warned, pulling on the starter. The old outboard motor, ever unreliable, groaned and died. Paige raised her eyebrows in concern, but Chad Smith grinned at her with what she supposed was meant to be reassurance. He pulled again, and this time the motor whirred and caught, filling the air with acrid fumes.
The Beach Bachelors Boxset (Three Complete Contemporary Romance Novels in One) (The Beach Bachelors Series) Page 17