by Penny Jordan
‘You’re so perfect I can hardly believe you’re real,’ he said softly at last, and then his mouth was burning a path over her skin, kindling a need within her to arch her body beneath him and entice him to possess the throbbing peaks of her breasts with the hard warmth of his hands.
His mouth stroked against her skin, the rough rasp of his beard as he explored the slender curve of her shoulder making her shiver with delicious response. Her breath caught in her throat as his lips moved questingly downwards, seeking and then finding the taut nipples he had aroused. Sensations exploded inside her as Lisa felt his mouth against her breast. Her fingers curled protestingly into the thick hair of his nape, her gasp of protest checked by the spiralling pleasure building up inside her. When she felt Rorke tugging impatiently at the zip of her shorts, protest couldn’t have been further from her mind.
This was what she wanted; what she had been born for, she thought wildly as she felt the feverish urgency of his hands stroking over her stomach, holding her, lifting her against him until she could feel his own arousal.
His lips followed the path of his hands, shock waves of incredulity washing over her at the intimacy of his touch, and then he was removing his own shorts, and the hard maleness of his body was against hers; his skin burning with a dry heat echoed by his lips as they moved feverishly over her skin. Locked in his arms, Lisa could think of nothing but that she loved him and wanted desperately to be a part of him, even though she was surprised that he should have chosen this moment to make her his own.
Perhaps the ferocity of the storm had reminded him of their own mortality; and indeed, she sensed a storm equally ferocious building up inside him as the urgency of his lovemaking increased and she was swept along in the fierce swell of it, unable to reason or protest.
Rorke trembled with the pent-up force of his desire for her, a husky groan of protest leaving his lips before they burned against hers. His whole body seemed to be on fire, burning against her, turning her blood molten with need.
‘Lisa, Lisa!’ He muttered her name hoarsely against her skin like a refrain, his eyes blind with the urgency of his growing need for her. ‘Lisa!’
He moaned her name against her mouth, his hands moulding her hips as he lifted her towards him and she felt the tense urgency of his need.
There was a brief searing moment of pain, lost in the sweet savagery of his possession, when they were both swept by the storm of their emotions.
Later while Rorke slept Lisa looked down at him, marvelling at their new closeness. Now they were man and wife, in deed if not in actual law, and that would soon follow. Lost in a happy daydream it was some time before she could rouse herself sufficiently to check that all was in order on deck. The storm, like their lovemaking had left behind it an oasis of perfect calm. When she went back to the cabin Rorke was still asleep sprawled on the bunk, his breathing deep and slow.
There wasn’t really room for both of them on the bunk, and rather than disturb him, Lisa spent what was left of the night in her own cabin, longing for morning, longing to whisper the words of love that had trembled on her lips when he made love to her but which, then, she had been too shy to utter. How glad she was that Rorke had been her first lover. How she longed for his arms around her, his mouth on hers…
‘Lisa…’
At first the deep voice was an intrusion on her dream state, and then when she opened her eyes and realised who it was who was standing there, Lisa smiled happily, taking the mug of coffee he proffered.
‘Rorke…’
She had been about to ask him if he still loved her, but he was already turning away, his voice completely matter-of fact as he told her that the storm had died away.
He rubbed his forehead as he spoke, and Lisa noticed the bruise darkening it.
‘Are you feeling okay now?’ she asked him. ‘I was so worried…’
‘I’m fine. A little bit of concussion, I suspect—all I can remember is going out like a light and then nothing until I woke up this morning…’
‘Nothing?’
Lisa stared at him. Was he teasing her?—but no, he was perfectly serious.
She took a deep breath, laughter bubbling up inside her. ‘You mean you don’t remember anything?’
He shrugged, heading for the door. ‘No. Thanks for getting me down to my cabin, by the way—that couldn’t have been easy. Nor undressing me. God knows what would have happened to me if you hadn’t been there. I want to get back as fast as we can—Father will be worried.’
Now wasn’t the time to discuss what had happened between them last night, and Lisa suppressed a chuckle, imagining how she would tease him later about not being able to remember their lovemaking. Concussion had strange effects on people, she knew that, and she ought perhaps to have realised the potential danger of Rorke suffering from it last night, but she had been so relieved that his injuries weren’t any worse that it hadn’t occurred to her.
‘Breakfast in fifteen minutes,’ Rorke warned her, ‘and don’t come on deck before—I’m going for a swim.’
What would he say if she told him that there was no need for her to stay below, that she already knew his body—intimately!
Three hours later the island was in view. There had been scant opportunity for any conversation. In fact Rorke seemed curiously tense, and once or twice Lisa had found him watching her silently.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asked hesitantly when she saw him watching her for a third time, a curiously intent expression in his eyes. ‘Have you changed your mind about—about us?’
‘No, God help me,’ he told her softly. ‘I ought to—you’re far too young to be tied down in marriage, yet, Lisa, but it’s either that or make love to you anyway, and I can’t see Leigh approving of that, can you?’ he asked wryly.
‘You want me very much?’
‘More than you can imagine.’ he told her succinctly. ‘And desire is notorious for clouding men’s minds. I ought to have sent you packing the moment I knew how I felt about you, but by then it was already too late…’
She took a step towards him, hoping that he would kiss her, but he had already turned away and was concentrating on bringing the schooner into the channel through the coral.
* * *
The telephone ringing woke her. She struggled downstairs to answer it, smothering a faint sigh as she recognised her agent’s voice.
‘Bowry’s want those illustrations for the new children’s series earlier than planned. How are they coming along?’
‘Quite well,’ she reassured him, ‘but how early is “earlier”?’
‘Well, I thought I’d take what you’ve done to show them—they went wild over that first one you did on spec.’
‘Well, I’m about halfway through,’ Lisa began slowly. ‘Well ahead of schedule—mainly because I’d planned to give myself a week off when Robbie has his half term.’ Her work was a special and private joy, partially because it enabled her to earn her own living at home, and partially because she was doing something she particularly enjoyed. When she had left home her sense of self-worth had been so low; but gradually over the months and years her self-confidence both in herself and her ability had grown. She was not under any illusions about her talent; she was never going to make the Royal Academy, but she did have enough ability to make a small name for herself and support herself and her child.
‘Look, I’ll come round and collect what you’ve done so far,’ Greg suggested.
Lisa agreed, putting down the phone with a faint sigh when they had finished. Greg wouldn’t be too pleased to hear what Rorke wanted her to do. She could complete her existing contract, but what would happen after that? She had a little money put by, but it wouldn’t last her very long if she was forced to live on it. And yet if she refused to go; if she never saw Leigh again…
All morning her common sense battled with her emotions. Leigh who had stood as father to her needed her, but if she went to him she stood to lose so much; her independence not least of all.<
br />
She was still racked with indecision when Greg arrived. He gave her his usual perfunctory peck on the cheek as she let him in. Lisa smiled warmly at him. In addition to being her agent, Greg was one of her closest friends. She had met him just after Robbie’s birth and although he had never said so, Lisa knew that he believed Robbie to be the result of a brief and unhappy teenage affair. He had helped her tremendously with her work, encouraging her to persevere and eventually getting her the commissions that enabled her to work from home.
He was in his late thirties, divorced and very much a man about town. Lisa would have been blind not to notice the look in his kind brown eyes whenever they rested on her. She often wondered ironically why she was destined to attract such gentle, kind men and yet to love a far different type; a type personified by Rorke with all his inbuilt arrogance, his intense masculinity, and worst of all his wilful blindness.
‘Mmm, these are very good, Lisa,’ he pronounced when he had finished examining the work she had done so far. ‘The best to date, I think—the expressions you’ve managed to put into these faces!’ He indicated a group of small woodland creatures Lisa had sketched. ‘I’m sure they’re going to be delighted with them, Lisa, and I’ve got some good news—well, it could be good news. They’ve dropped a hint that they’re looking for an artist for a new series they intend to bring out—another range of children’s books, and you’re a serious contender for the illustrations. They’re set in Scotland—the Highlands, so you could well get a free holiday thrown in so that you can get yourself some atmosphere. I should know definitely by next week, and I’m sure these,’ he waved the folio of sketches, ‘will clinch it!’
‘Greg—Lisa bit her lip, pondering the best way to break the news to him, and it was only as she searched for the right words that she realised that without admitting it, subconsciously her mind was already made up—it had to be, otherwise she would not be wondering how to tell Greg that she wouldn’t be going to Scotland—at least not in the immediate future.
‘Lisa, is something wrong?’
She was just about to tell him when the doorbell rang.
‘Want me to get it?’ Greg suggested helpfully. He was standing closer to the hall door than Lisa, and she smiled her agreement rather abstractedly, still wondering how she was going to break the news to him.
The sound of Rorke’s voice in the hall mingling with Greg’s lighter tones shocked her. She was standing in front of the fire, her hands clasped in a gesture of subconscious supplication.
‘I believe I left my gloves here last night,’ Rorke announced tersely. ‘I wouldn’t have interrupted you, only they happened to be a gift from a close friend.’
‘Helen?’ Lisa queried swiftly, anger colouring her skin, her eyes glittering in an entirely feminine reaction.
‘And if it was?’
Suddenly realising that Greg was watching them curiously, Lisa said levelly, ‘If it was, I’m surprised you didn’t take more care of them. Or were they left here simply as an excuse to come back and spy on me?’
She could tell from the dull tinge of red creeping up under his skin that her barb had found its mark.
This was the price one paid for knowing a person too well, she thought achingly. No wonder when marriages broke up it could be with such acrimony; there was nothing like intimacy to reveal the other’s weaknesses and how best to make use of them.
She felt sick, hating herself for allowing her feelings to betray her into such an acid comment, but the thought of Rorke cherishing the gloves Helen had given him more than he cherished the child she had given him sickened her.
‘Old friends, I take it?’ Greg interrupted, watching her.
‘Not friends, exactly,’ Rorke replied for her, his eyes warning her to say nothing. ‘Lisa is my wife.’
Lisa could tell that Greg was stunned by Rorke’s statement. He looked first at Rorke and then at her for corroboration. His urgent, ‘Lisa, is this true?’ drew a brief nod of her head from her.
‘We’ve been separated for years,’ she said huskily, hoping he would understand all that she could not say; and forgive her for the hurt she knew she was causing him. ‘I…’
‘What I think Lisa is trying to say,’ Rorke interrupted reaching for her hand and giving it a warning squeeze, ‘is that we’ve both had a change of heart. We’re going to wipe the slate clean; make a fresh start. She’s coming back to the Caribbean with me.’
‘Lisa?’ Greg was plainly disbelieving. ‘Lisa, is this true? You said nothing…’
‘We haven’t known ourselves very long,’ Rorke told him coolly. ‘My father is very ill, and wants to see Lisa. That was what originally brought me here.’
‘Leigh has been like a father to me,’ Lisa said huskily, her eyes pleading with Greg for understanding. ‘I…’
‘Of course I understand, Lisa,’ he assured her quickly. ‘I suppose that means that you won’t be interested in the new contract.’ He sighed ruefully. ‘A pity.’ He turned to Rorke. ‘Lisa’s a very talented artist, although she tries to pretend otherwise. But then of course you’ll know that.’
‘I don’t think Rorke is particularly interested in my artistic talents, Greg,’ said Lisa in a tight voice.
‘As I recall it,’ Rorke drawled in a deeply suggestive tone, ‘we didn’t have enough time to get round to swapping hobbies.’
Even though he said nothing it struck her quite forcibly that he hadn’t been surprised to hear about her work, but surely she was wrong?
‘So Robbie’s your son,’ Greg murmured, obviously feeling ill at ease. ‘There’s a distinct resemblance.’
Lisa saw Rorke’s mouth tighten grimly.
‘Er—Lisa—look, I’d better be going. I’ll take these along and see what they think.’ He looked uncomfortably at Rorke. ‘About the others…’
‘I’ll finish the contract, of course, Greg,’ Lisa assured him, walking with him into the hall.
‘I’m sorry about all this,’ she apologised quietly, aware of Rorke behind her in the living room. ‘It’s…’
‘Look, you don’t have to explain a thing to me. I hope you’ll be happy, Lisa.’ Greg reached out, touching her hair and smiling wryly. ‘I thought I’d give you time—not rush you because I could tell things had gone wrong for you, but it seems I took too much.’
‘Touching!’ Rorke sneered behind her as Lisa closed the door on Greg. The acid sound of his voice triggered off a bitter reaction, and she whirled round, anger blazing from her eyes.
How dare you sneer at Greg!’ she stormed. ‘Without him Robbie and I could never have managed!’
‘Typical of you,’ Rorke grimaced. ‘That’s your standby isn’t it, Lisa, find another man to shoulder your responsibilities.’
‘Don’t you mean your responsibilities, Rorke?’ Lisa flung at him. ‘Yes, that’s right’ she told him bitterly. ‘Robbie is your child—your child, Rorke, and nothing you can say or do can alter that, no matter how much you may want it to.’
‘Still sticking to the same old story? Come on, Lisa, we both know I’m not Robbie’s father, don’t we?’
‘Mummy, Mummy, I’m home!’
Lisa bit back the angry words she had been about to utter and turned to welcome Robbie with a hug and a kiss.
She had a neighbour with whom she shared the chore of taking Robbie and his friend Jonathan to and from school, and Robbie was full of the day’s happenings, pausing briefly to glance uncertainly at Rorke before continuing with his saga.
Lisa listened, but all the time her heart was thudding as though she had been running. Robbie was Rorke’s son; dear God, she had thought she was over the agony of hearing him deny it, but it was still as fresh as ever; the anguish of Rorke’s rejection of them both still just as intense. She could remember every detail of those days leading up to her flight from the Caribbean.
CHAPTER FOUR
AT the time it had all seemed to happen so quickly—as quickly and without warning as the storms that swept the Cari
bbean, but with hindsight and maturity Lisa had come to accept that the love she had thought so shining and perfect had been flawed almost from the very start. For one thing there had been Rorke’s resentment of her; she had been too blind to see it at the time, but when she looked back…
Even now it made her throat ache to remember how happy she had been when they returned to the island. Leigh had been there to greet them, and she had blurted out their news, seeing her joy reflected in his eyes. Had it been Leigh who had suggested the engagement party? She seemed to remember that Rorke had demurred, but it had never crossed her mind, then, that he might be having second thoughts. It had taken Helen to point that out to her; to feed the poison of doubt to her drop by drop.
She hadn’t even been unduly concerned that Rorke couldn’t remember their lovemaking. She had quizzed Mike discreetly about concussion and its after-effects, and had been satisfied enough, then, with his description of its effects not to worry too much about Rorke’s loss of memory. It would come back to him, she felt sure, and then they would laugh together about it. Had his memory of what happened between them ever resurfaced? Lisa wondered bitterly, watching him as Robbie trotted over to him, completely unawed and quite obviously a little bit excited about the advent of this strange male into his young life. If it had would Rorke deliberately repress it; refuse to admit how he had wronged her, and more important than her, wronged Robbie? Rorke’s family had owned St Martins for many generations; it was Robbie’s birthright that Rorke had deprived him of when he deprived him of his name, but it wasn’t Robbie’s loss of possessions that upset Lisa, it was the fact that he would never know the love of his father. Of course the little boy had been curious and she had striven to answer his questions as honestly as she could. He knew he had a daddy who lived a long way away, and mercifully beyond that he had not questioned her. Lisa was no fool, though. The day would come when he would want to know more, and now here was Rorke, bringing that day closer by insisting that they return with him to the island.