He lifted his head with a jerk, realizing they had an audience. Julia caught someone murmur “Duke of Santas Aguas,” and Frank grinned ruefully. “My secret bullfighting identity is blown. If only I had a cape.”
She laughed at his joke, and he pulled her into his side to greet the people around them. As always, he was friendly and cheerful, introducing her as Senhorina Julia, who had lived on the air base as a child. That made the local Terceirans even more appreciative and it was several minutes before Frank and Julia could move toward a quieter part of town.
“That was crazy. You are crazy.” Julia shook her head.
“I told you I’d done this before.” He raised their linked fingers and kissed her knuckles. “I know bulls.”
“You’re full of bull,” she accused him. “But you saved that boy from being trampled, so I forgive you for putting me through that.”
“Thank you, meu bem. I’ll treat you to lunch to make up for scaring you.”
“And dessert.” She wasn’t a pushover.
“Certainly. I booked us a hotel room here so we wouldn’t have to hurry back to São Miguel for the night.”
She smiled. “Hopefully our room is far from the main water pipe.”
He brushed her cheek with his fingers. “I made sure of it.”
TWO DAYS LATER, JULIA stretched in bed, the early morning light reflecting off the mercifully taupe walls. Frank was gone, but he never went far. They’d worked hard getting the master bedroom back into a civilized appearance.
The smell of coffee wafted upstairs and she smiled to hear his baritone humming get louder. He poked his head around the bedroom door and grinned when he saw that she was awake. “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.” He carried in a dark wooden tray with two steaming cups and pastries on a plate. He wore his customary khaki shorts and unbuttoned white linen shirt that showed off his rich, dark skin.
She checked the clock, which had been flipped over at some point last night. “Nine o’clock? Why did you let me sleep so late? We have work to do.” She sat up in bed and wrapped the sheet around her.
He made an exasperated noise and carefully set the tray on the bed next to her. Rich pastries with powdered sugar and jellies made her mouth water. “Work, work, work. We have done the most important job, which was to cover up Benedito’s awful experiment in color selection. The new mattresses and bedding are on their way and fortunately the floors are stone and not covered with wall-to-wall pink carpet. Everything is good.” He handed her a thick red-and-blue pottery cup. “Drink.”
Julia accepted gladly. He had put exactly the right amount of cream and sugar in hers, which made her heart swell a bit. His coffee was deepest black, but she knew it always sweetened up a bit thanks to his habit of dipping a corner of his pastry. “If you don’t want to work today, what do you want to do?”
His significant expression made her pink up a bit. “Besides that, Frank!”
“What?” He gave her an innocent look. “I thought we could go to the beach on this beautiful sunny day.”
“The beach,” she mused. “I haven’t gotten much sun lately.”
“You see?” He pointed a pastry at her. “Good for your Vitamin D and your mood, correct?”
“Are you saying I’m moody?”
He held a pastry up to her mouth and she took a bite. “You are always in the perfect mood for me.”
She harrumphed but bit off a piece of…yum…pineapple-filled Danish. “Okay,” she said, once her mouth was empty. “You’ve talked me into it.”
“Great. We’ll pack a lunch and eat at that little cove south of here. Swim, sun, whatever we want.” He settled next to her on the bed and chatted to her about weather patterns on the island, migrating birds and whatever he found interesting and thought she might, too.
It was soothing and domestic to watch him drink down his coffee and gesture with his pastry as he strewed crumbs across their bed. Almost as if they were an old married couple that had settled into an easy morning routine. She had never had that with a man before.
“More coffee?” He pointed at her empty cup and she shook her head.
“I should get up and get ready.”
“What’s to get ready? Go to your bathroom and put your suit on.”
“Frank…” Really, he knew better after having four younger sisters, five if he counted Stefania.
“Fine.” He heaved a sigh and gathered the plates and cups. “I’ll be downstairs ruining my hands in the dishwater if you need me.” The kitchen had a perfectly functional electric dishwasher.
“Your hands are fine.”
He winked and hopped out of bed. “That’s what certain people tell me.”
She chucked a cabbage-rose pillow at his head and he darted out of the bedroom, roaring with laughter. She couldn’t stop giggling as well as she dug out her swimsuit and headed for the bathroom.
FRANK HELPED JULIA OUT OF the heavy-duty golf cart as they reached the dune above the beach. “Go down to the water. I’ll bring the supplies.”
She slung her totebag over her shoulder and stepped into the sand, her white linen cover-up blowing in the breeze. Belas Aguas had beautiful soft white beaches, unlike some of the other islands that had dark, volcanic sand or rocky coasts. The sand was cool and damp against her feet as she sunk into the top few inches.
Frank had packed enough gear to cross the Sahara instead of one small Atlantic beach, so she left him to it and picked her way down the dune to the water’s edge.
She stopped and stared at the horizon. Straight south of them was…nothing. Just cold seawater, until the ice of the South Pole. She shivered, not quite knowing why that bothered her. She quickly turned east, taking some comfort that Portugal and Africa were there, if thousands of miles away.
Frank came up next to her. He wore an unbuttoned cream cotton shirt over snug black swim shorts, a light dusting of dark hair highlighting the smooth tan skin underneath. “That’s the problem with island living. You look out to sea and think, ‘Here I am, alone on this rock, with nothing but water and birds around me.’”
She turned to him. “You feel that way, too?”
He wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “I told you I don’t come here often. Maybe that’s part of the reason—it makes me morose.”
“You? You’re so sunny and cheerful.”
“I have my moments, like everyone.” He kissed the top of her head. “Here, sit.” He unfolded a low-slung beach chair and settled it into the sand. “I have to set up the cabana.”
She craned her neck. “You brought a cabana?”
“Of course. We always bring one so my mother and the kids can get out of the sun. My mother is deathly afraid of sun damage and wrinkles and the kids get fussy unless they can lie down to rest in the shade.” He knelt in the sand and unzipped a white equipment bag, pulling out what looked like a mass of poles and matching white fabric.
“Do you need help? That looks complicated.”
“Super easy.” He extended several poles and quickly raised a square-topped, open tent as if it were a giant umbrella, hanging weights from each pole. “All I have to do is put on the sides and we’re good.”
Out came more white fabric and he snapped three sides to the top frame until they had a cozy little tent. He unrolled an area rug and set up a couple more chairs inside. A small portable music player, food cooler and side table followed.
“This looks like a sheik’s desert palace. Is this where the dancing girls come prancing in?”
He grinned. “Are you volunteering?” He took off his shirt and stood in front of her in only his short shorts.
“Maybe later.” She winked at him.
“Too bad.” He pouted. “I’ll be here if you change your mind. Or maybe I can change it for you.”
“You probably could,” she muttered. “You’re very persuasive.”
“Only with you, Julia.”
He had said that before. Despite the fact that he was one of Europe’s most eligible bachelo
rs and probably had women fling themselves at him regularly, she believed him. “Thank you, Frank.”
“No need to thank me for the truth.” He beckoned her into the cabana. “Here, come put your things inside and have some sangria.”
“Yum.” She didn’t resist when he poured her a mix of red wine and fruit juice, full of chunks of pears, apples and oranges.
“Not too much, though,” he cautioned. “Sun and wine can be a potent combination. I don’t want you to get a headache.”
“And I don’t want one, either.” She settled into a lounge chair. “I haven’t had one in several days, and I sure haven’t missed them.”
“You see? The Azores are healing you—you should extend your stay.”
She shook her head and laughed. “You’re incorrigible.” More likely it was Frank’s presence healing her. Ever since she’d come to Belas Aguas, the weight that had been sitting on her chest had lifted, only settling back briefly if she thought too much about what would happen when it came time for her to leave.
But it was too beautiful today to worry about that, even though she was a world-champion worrier. Frank lifted his glass of sangria in a toast and they clinked glasses.
She set hers down in the sand and yawned after she finished the sangria. “Let’s get into the water before I fall asleep.”
He was up on his feet before she finished her sentence, tugging her up from the chair. “First, you have to ditch the cover-up. I want to see your suit.”
She grabbed the hem and slowly pulled it up and over her head, enjoying his sharp intake of breath as she revealed her yellow string bikini.
“Swimming’s canceled.” He hustled her back into the cabana and made as if to close the front flap.
She wriggled away from him and dashed to leave.
He caught up with her in seconds and together they hurried down the beach and ran into the ocean hand-in-hand.
Julia screamed as the cool water splashed up around them. “Franco!” She hopped from foot to foot until either she adjusted to the temperature or went numb.
“Sorry, Julia.” He didn’t sound apologetic at all. “This is the Atlantic, not the Caribbean.” He bent and splashed seawater up at her and she kicked some at him in return.
“Frank, I’m getting goosebumps all over,” she complained, crossing her arms over her middle.
“I happen to like your goosebumps.” His gaze was focused on her breasts. Even through the light padding in the bikini, her nipples were visible peaks. He caught her around the waist and pulled her in close. Her legs automatically wrapped around him. “And can I tell you how much I like your bikini?”
“I can tell you’re sincere.” She wiggled against his erection, the biggest proof of his sincerity.
“Oh, I am sincere.” His fingers played with the nape of her neck. “Can I tell you how much I sincerely want to take your new bikini off?” He pulled the neck string and the yellow triangles were floating between them. “Very nice.” He stroked his fingers down her neck to her collarbone and then across the plump upper curves of her breasts.
“I float.”
He laughed. “Easier for me to reach.” He cupped each breast, his thumbs gliding over her wet nipples to tease them into hard peaks.
She arched back and enjoyed his warm hands playing over her. The water supported her weight so it was almost as if she were floating in midair. The water didn’t feel so cold anymore against her super-sensitized skin. In fact, she wouldn’t have been surprised to see steam rising from the ocean around them.
He dipped his head and captured a nipple in his mouth. She yelped in pleasure and grabbed his shoulders to keep from sinking. He found a side tie to her suit bottom and loosened it, finding her own wetness underneath.
She almost went underwater at that point, but he let go of her breast and braced her again. “Ever wonder how mermaids make love?”
“Why don’t you show me?”
He found her clit, circling and petting it. Occasionally the cool water swept over her, making her shudder in delicious shock. He kissed her lips, her cheeks, her neck, flicking her earlobe with his tongue.
“Oh, Franco.” She sighed, closing her eyes. It was perfection being in his arms under the warm sky. He murmured her name and kept touching her until she clutched at him, her climax pouring over her in a giant wave. He anchored her to the ground but let her fly toward the sun in pleasure.
He gathered her into his arms and carried her out of the water toward the cabana.
“Put me down, Frank.” She dropped to her knees in front of him in the sand, her fingers hooking over his waistband, the scrap of black fabric begging to be released. So she did, pulling the wet material down to his knees.
He caught her shoulders but couldn’t move his legs for fear of tripping. “Julia, wait…”
She was eye-to-eye, so to speak, with the pride of the Dukes of Santas Aguas. They must have been a virile bunch, if Frank was any indicator. “Good grief, Frank. However did you get all of that in your suit?” He was hard and thick, pearly fluid rising from him like foam on the seawater.
He gave a choked laugh. “I wasn’t like this when I put it on. Now come on, stand up.”
“No.” She sank onto her haunches and resisted his efforts to raise her. “Stop fussing, Frank.” His outraged squawk turned into a groan when she put her mouth on him. His skin was cool and salty from the ocean, quickly warming as she swirled her tongue around him.
She lifted her head and smiled up at his face, pulled into taut lines.
He broke then, kicking his suit free and picking her up as she squealed his name. He carried her toward the tent, but she stopped him. “No, here.”
“On the beach?” He gave her a sly smile. “Between the woods and the beach, you’re turning into a real nature girl.” He set her on her feet and grabbed a blanket out of the cabana. He tossed down the blanket and tugged the corners to smooth it.
Julia untied the rest of the bikini strings and lay down next to Frank. “You’re so beautiful.” She stroked his face, and he actually started to blush.
“Men aren’t beautiful.”
“You are.” She rolled onto her back, the sand soft under the blanket. “Make love to me under the sun, Franco.”
He swallowed hard and moved on top of her. “Julia, open for me.”
She eagerly did, and he slid into her. His thrusts were hard and possessive, making her gasp with pleasure. She tightened down on him and he groaned, his skin turning slick with sweat.
“Come with me, Julia. I can’t wait much longer.” He balanced his weight on one strong arm and stroked her sensitive nub again. She wrapped her legs around his waist and rocked with him, becoming one with him. His fingers teased and caressed her, and her climax built again. He noticed and thrust harder.
She cried his name as she came. He groaned in relief and followed, the sounds of their pleasure swirling in the air like the calls of the seabirds.
Frank rested his head next to hers, his breath still choppy and fast. Julia kissed his cheek and stared up into the sky. This was pure perfection—if only life could be like this forever. She shoved her worries away, determined not to let them intrude again as she held her wonderful man in her arms.
12
THE DREAM CAME AGAIN THE next night, the first time in the two weeks she’d been with Frank. Julia knew she was in their bed back in Belas Aguas and knew she was only dreaming. But she couldn’t stop it, couldn’t wake herself. She was crying in her sleep at what would come.
It hadn’t started out as anything but the typically drunk patient on a Saturday night in her Boston emergency department. He had come in for stitches for a scalp wound—nothing serious, but it looked as if someone had bashed him due to the bruising around the wound.
He’d only mumbled something about standing up under an open kitchen cabinet when she’d asked him what had happened. She had her doubts but he was a large guy, definitely big enough to take care of himself. His dark flannel shi
rt was covered in dried blood. His chart said his name was Mark.
She’d numbed his wound and prepared it for suturing, her needle ready to close the edges. She probably wouldn’t need most of the suture kit, which included several different clamps and a scalpel.
Julia inserted the needle into his scalp, trying to line up the edges of the skin as neatly as possible. He twitched. “Did you feel that?” He might need more local anesthetic.
“No, just do it.”
“Okay, but let me know if it starts to hurt.” She moved along the wound, knotting and cutting the threads.
She focused on her work but noticed Mark getting more and more agitated, twitching from side to side and breathing rapidly. He didn’t flinch when she poked him, so it wasn’t pain. Was he mentally ill?
Through an opening in the privacy curtain, she caught sight of Lyle, the retired cop who worked as a security guard in their emergency department. She jerked her head slightly in her patient’s direction and Lyle’s still-sharp instincts made him amble casually in her direction.
Lyle stuck his head in the room. “Julia, how’re you doing today?” His broad Boston accent always made her smile, but she was getting a weird vibe from her patient. Lyle was, too. He came into the room, his tan uniform pressed neatly and his silver hospital security badge shining on his chest. “How are you tonight, sir?”
“Gotta get out of here!” Mark jumped off the bed and jerked away. Julia yelped, her thread still sticking out of his head with the needle dangling in his hair.
“Easy, buddy,” Lyle tried to soothe him, thumbing his radio for back-up.
Julia tried to get out of his way but the agitated man grabbed her wrist. “Help me, Lyle!” she yelled. She vaguely remembered him tossing her away from him, her head cracking into the corner of the countertop.
When she opened her eyes next, she was on the floor, her head splitting in pain. Lyle lay near her, blood pulsing from his chest. He was pale and clammy, losing blood at an alarming rate. The patient stood about ten feet away, a red-stained scalpel in his hand. The scalpel from her kit. He must have grabbed it after shoving her and then stabbed Lyle.
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