His eyes held hers. She couldn’t conceal her arousal. She felt nervous, vulnerable, but she wanted him to see her need. He let go her left hand and slowly, softly brushed the palm of his hand over the thrusting nipple of her right breast. She gasped and bit her lip to stop from groaning aloud.
His voice was a harsh whisper as he said, “I’m trying to make you want me, George.” Both his hands covered the swelling of her breasts in a fleeting erotic caress. “I want to make sure you know whose arms are holding you.”
She shivered at his reminder of the heated dream she’d woken from only days ago.
“Lyle, I—” Her words were lost as his lips touched hers. He brushed a gentle kiss on her lips, then traced the fullness of her parted lips with his tongue. Her lips parted farther, inviting him to deepen the kiss. Instead, he drew back.
She shivered, standing alone. “Lyle, what do you want from me?” She could hardly breathe. She needed his touch, his hard arms, his hands on her naked flesh. “It’s you,” she whispered. “I can’t sleep for dreaming about you. I— Please, I’m not good at this. I’ve never— I don’t know how to do this,” she admitted helplessly.
“Then kiss me,” he ordered roughly. “Don’t talk.”
She reached her hands up, threaded fingers through his waving hair and pulled his mouth down to hers. Then his arms slid around her back and pulled her close as his lips took hers… softly, then harder, drawing her shyness away. Her hands were moving, tracing the contours of his heavily muscled shoulders, her lips open wide to his kiss. She moved, feeling her breasts pushing hard against his chest.
When she felt him moving away, her need had grown so great that she didn’t hesitate to whisper a plea, “No, please! Please don’t stop. Lyle…”
His husky laugh turned into a groan. “Honey, I’m not.Come here.” He urged her down onto the thick, soft carpet, whispering, “With you touching me, your body soft against me, I’m shaking so badly I don’t think I can stand up a moment longer.”
She trembled, feeling the heat of him as he drew her close in his arms. A hot pulse was beating somewhere near the center of him. He was leaning back on a cushion, with her cradled against his chest. Her hands fumbled against his shirt, then slipped inside, feeling the roughness of the hairs growing on his chest, spreading out to feel his shirt against her palms, her eyelids dropping with passion as she touched him.
He groaned aloud as her fingers glided over his tight, male nipples, then his arms were hard around her, pulling her up over him. His hands slid up under her thin shirt, exploring the shape of her back, his fingers rough and callused on her white skin. When he pushed the shirt up, she found her arms lifting to help him.
Then her swollen breasts felt the roughness of the hair on his chest and she lifted her hands, pulling his head down to her lips again, the tension of her lifted arms pressing her softness hard against him.
Spinning… music soft in her ears… heated lips on her face, her neck. His lips left her skin, and she dragged her eyes open to see his face only inches away, bathed in the soft light from a lamp on the other side of the room.
She saw him watch her mouth, as her tongue moistened her swollen lips, felt some wanton part of her respond to what happened in his eyes as he saw her arousal. When he leaned back from her, his skin pulled against hers and his eyes followed the curve of her throat, the rising swelling of her breasts. She pulled a deep breath in, feeling her chest rise and his own breath catch in his throat as he watched her.
She was amazed at the excitement growing in her, just from watching his eyes watching her, wanting her. She whispered his name and touched his face softly, fleetingly with her fingers.
“Cold?” he asked as her flesh trembled.
“No,” she breathed, her eyes telling him why she trembled.
“George,” his mouth formed the name, his lips coming closer, brushing her throat, then lower to the swelling his eyes had caressed so heatedly. “I love calling you George,” he said, his lips drawing one rosy peak into his mouth. She writhed in his arms, clutching at his shoulders, thrusting herself against him. His hands dropped to her hips, pulling her close against him as his tongue drew softly over her aching flesh. “You’re so damned feminine,” he whispered, his lips moving to the lobe of her ear. “All woman… soft and hot and loving…”
She lost track of the words. There was only heat and needing… his hands… his lips… her own hands boldly fumbling with the belt buckle at his waist… the rough feel of her jeans being pushed down over the flesh on her legs. The shuddering sweet agony of his leg thrust against the hot, naked skin of her thigh.
There were no words, only soft sounds of need from her throat and from his. His hands… Oh, God! His hands touching places she had never known were for touching, for loving… and his kisses everywhere… his skin warm and man-rough under her lips and her fingers.
He was driving her beyond sanity with his touch and his breath on her skin. She was wild, writhing in his arms, need exploding through her and giving words to her impassioned moans.
“Please…” Her fingers dug into the knotted muscles at his back. She couldn’t open her eyes, but she could feel what would be in his deep blue gaze. “Now,” she whispered, the restraint that Scott had taught her long forgotten.
She gasped as he shifted over her, trembling, waiting, needing.
There was a terrible stillness, then his hand resting on the trembling flesh at her waist. She felt a shudder run through his body, then he drew back from her.
“George, you— honey, you’re not prepared for this, are you?”
“What?” The air seemed abruptly cool. He was staring at her, some pain deep in the blue eyes. She shivered. “What do you mean?”
His hand moved along her soft skin, settled on the gentle curve of her abdomen. “You’re not on the pill, or— or anything like that. And, out here— I don’t have any way to protect you.”
She closed her eyes briefly, painfully sucking in a deep breath. He pulled her heated flesh closer and she felt him all along the length of her. “It doesn’t matter,” she whispered. She found his hand and brought it against her breast, shuddering as he touched her.
He jerked away, staggering slightly as he got to his feet. He stared down at her and she felt her arms coming up to cover herself from his eyes.
“It matters.” His voice lashed her harshly.
“I’ll have your child,” she whispered. “Give me your child, Lyle.” She felt the fullness in her abdomen, a sudden overwhelming desire for the knowledge of life growing in her.
He moved away from her, jerked his jeans from a tumbled pile of clothing on the floor. His face was hard, but she saw his fingers tremble on the belt. “Don’t talk,” he ordered harshly. “You’re a passionate woman who’s been alone too long. Right now you’d say anything. In the morning you’d be running for that helicopter.”
He laughed harshly. “I’ve made one mess already. My daughter has no mother. I’m damned if I’ll father a child I might never see.”
She couldn’t move, couldn’t bring her arms up to cover herself. She couldn’t take in his words. Later, their meaning would come to her, hard and painful with the daylight. His eyes were on her and he could see everything. She knew she should be scrambling for her clothes, covering herself, but she still needed his possession of her with a pain that was growing into a hard knot at her center.
He managed to get the belt of his jeans fastened. He gave her one last harsh stare and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him and leaving her alone on the carpeted floor, staring at the jumble of his shirt mixed up with her own clothes.
Chapter 8
“…announces that the arrival of flight 302 from Victoria will be delayed…” The loudspeaker was drowned out by the clatter of dishes from a nearby cafeteria, concluding with “…five-twenty.”
Twenty minutes more.
George ducked around a young couple dragging a screaming toddler, found herself a quiet s
pot in a bookstore that opened into the airport waiting room. She felt her full skirt settling around her legs as she stopped moving. Nearby, a businessman glanced away from the book display on the wall and let his eyes travel appreciatively over her feminine curves.
Lyle had never seen her in a skirt. Would he like it? Would he notice that the blue matched her eyes?
Would he be happy to see her?
He’d been so silent the morning she had left. Robyn had cried, throwing herself into George’s arms, while Lyle stood rigidly behind his daughter, his hands deep in his pockets, his eyes searching the sky for the helicopter they could already hear.
The last minutes had passed so quickly. The big machine landed on the pad, the doors were thrown open and a mailbag thrown out. Russ had pulled her arm and she’d been suddenly halfway up the steps into the chopper, looking back and finding Lyle walking away with the man who had gotten off the helicopter, moving quickly towards where Robyn was sitting in the trailer of the tractor waiting for him. He was carrying the mail bag and he didn’t look back.
Look back, she’d pleaded silently, but he hadn’t heard. As if he wanted her to go. Russ sat beside her, belted her in when her own fingers fumbled, then handed her a small package that lay limp in her hands.
“It’s from Lyle,” he’d said curtly, before moving forward to talk to the pilot.
She’d fumbled with the flap of the big envelope. Fifty dollars. His credit card. A cassette tape with her name written on the label. A slip of paper with his mailing address on it, but not another word.
She hadn’t let herself cry, but she knew tears would come the moment she was alone. They’d landed at the coast guard base in Prince Rupert. Someone had called a taxi and Russ had ushered her into the back seat, himself in the front. Before leaving the base, Russ had made a phone call and determined that Dorothy was once again in hospital, this time in labor.
“I’ll get you settled in a hotel first,” he’d muttered as they got into the taxi.
“I’m fine,” she’d protested, feeling his disapproval and not knowing just what Lyle might have said to him, or what he was thinking of her.
“Lyle said to look after you,” he’d insisted stubbornly.
“I don’t need looking after.” She had to be alone. She leaned forward and told the taxi driver, “The hospital first, please. Then— could you recommend a central hotel? In walking distance to everything?”
“The Rupert Hotel,” the driver said. Russ said, “The Crest.”
“The Rupert then,” said George. Russ shrugged and had the sense to let her have her way.
George would have liked to see Dorothy, to see the baby through the nursery windows after it was born. Seeing the baby would have made her feel that she was part of Lyle’s family. Why was she leaving, when everything inside her crying for her to stay? This morning, if he had asked her to stay, she thought she might have said yes.
She checked into the hotel. Her room had a window on the ocean. She stared out, seeing the water and wondering what Lyle would be doing now. The relief lightkeeper had stepped off the helicopter as she and Russ got on. He and Lyle would probably be talking, going over the temporary man’s duties. If she had stayed, they could have done more songs. At night, when Robyn went to sleep, she and Lyle could go downstairs and close the door on the world.
She thought about the seaplane companies she knew were based here. She could charter a plane— would they take Lyle’s credit card? In a couple of hours she could be back on Green Island. She hadn’t realized that walking away from Lyle would hurt so much. She’d told herself that it was a sexual thing, that she could have an affair with him and be free of it. Last night she’d tried to lose herself in his arms. He hadn’t let her, had insisted she see the possible consequences of their passion.
Babies. Love. He hadn’t said that he loved her, but she had seen it in his eyes. She was almost certain that he did. He wanted her to come back, yet she was afraid of losing herself in his strength, terrified she wouldn’t be able to be what he wanted of her. She was almost positive she couldn’t live in a place like that, shut off from the world, immobilized on an isolated island.
She loved him.
No!
When had that happened?
It couldn’t work. She’d never been able to be what Scott wanted. It would be the same with Lyle. He wanted her to stay with him, to embrace his lighthouse life along with himself and Robyn.
She turned away from the window, picked up the telephone.
Jenny’s voice sounded warm over the line, “Yes, of course I’ll accept the charges. George, are you all right? Where are you calling from?”
“Prince Rupert. And I’m fine.” She closed her eyes and pictured Jenny, surrounded with video tape cartridges, Jake somewhere behind her getting excited over the newest video.
“When the operator said you were calling collect, I thought something must be wrong.” Jenny’s laughter came clearly as she asked, “Surely you didn’t forget to pay the bill on your calling card? Did they cut you off?” It was the sort of thing George might do, forgetting to pay because she was busy getting into an adventure somewhere.
“I lost the card,” George admitted. “I lost Lady Harriet.”
“What?” Jenny squealed. “What did you say?”
“I sank her. I’m okay, but Lady Harriet is wrecked on a rock near Green Island lighthouse.”
George heard Jake’s voice in the background, then Jenny asking quietly, “George, are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine. Really, Jenny. I’ve just gotta get my paperwork straightened out. I’ve lost my wallet and my checkbook.”
“I’ll wire you a plane ticket,” her cousin said quickly. “Prince Rupert? You can pick it up at the travel agent there.”
“No, don’t. I don’t need it.”
She was going to use Lyle’s credit card. She wanted the symbolic intimacy of using his card.
Jenny said something low-voiced to Jake, then, “George, please don’t disappear on me. I’m worried about you.”
Always running away, Lyle had accused her. Never letting the people who loved her get close. Where was she going?
“George, where are you going? Can you salvage the boat?”
“No,” she’d answered absently. “I’m coming to you, if you can put me up for a while.”
The next day she’d tried to spot Green Island from the sky as the jet was climbing. She lost her bearings as the jet circled and couldn’t tell if the island she fixed on was Green or not.
In Vancouver, she managed to fill the better part of four days with dashing around. It was almost like the days after Scott’s death, when she’d torn into desperate activity, refusing to think.
She borrowed Jenny’s car and took the ferry to Victoria to see her insurance agent. He glared at her and asked a lot of questions, informed her that this claim would send her rates sky high if she ever tried to insure a boat again.
In Vancouver, her bank. New checks applied for, new banking card issued on the spot. She was once more connected to the convenience of modern banking, able to get money anywhere she could find a BMO banking machine. New driver’s license. New Mastercard coming in a couple of weeks.
She went shopping. She bought a soft cuddly bear for Robyn. The bear had a big bib that bore the words I love you. She also bought some Love’s Baby Soft perfume and bubble bath. She used Lyle’s card for the bear, her own money for the perfume. She packaged them with Lyle’s credit card and a check for fifty dollars, and sent the whole thing to him by registered mail.
She put a letter to Robyn in with the package, giving Jenny’s house as her return address. She didn’t write to Lyle. She didn’t know what to say to him. She wasn’t ready to come to terms with Lyle yet. She bought a classic Walkman for herself and listened to the tape Russ had given her from Lyle. She played it for Jenny and Jake one evening.
“Very professional,” Jake said, sitting up with that alert look she’d seen on hi
s face when he was caught up in an exciting project.
Jenny was watching him, half-smiling. “You said he was the lightkeeper? What’s his name? What does he look like?”
“Lyle. Lyle Stevens.” She thought of the films Jake and Jenny had done and she added, “He’s very good looking. Very photogenic, I would imagine.”
Then she moved quickly, because she could see that Jake was interested and she wanted to hold back and think about this. Did Lyle want her interfering with his life? Did he still want her? Did she want to interfere? It would mean a relationship with Lyle.
When she was seventeen, being in love had meant giving herself up to Scott, letting him enfold her and take control of her life. What did it mean now?
She could have a baby.
She closed her eyes tightly, feeling stirrings within herself, seeing Lyle bent over her, watching a small child with wispy red hair nursing at her breast.
What kind of a mother would she be? What sort of wife to a man like Lyle? Could she be all the things Hazel hadn’t been for him?
He wanted more than Scott ever had. Lyle wanted a partner. Intimacy.
She and Scott had never really had intimacy. She’d felt warmth and protectiveness from him, but she’d never given him anything more than her adoration. It was all he’d wanted. He hadn’t wanted to know what made her tremble, what made her joyful. And although she’d worshiped him, she’d never seen him as a human man with frailties and fears. She’d thought they had everything.
Lyle wanted more.
Or did he? What if she was reading him wrong? What if he didn’t feel any of the things she thought he felt? It was impossible! If she let him get that close – if she let anyone get that close to her – she’d never be safe again. The thought terrified her!
She booked a charter flight to Montreal. Two days later she canceled it. She made reservations for a flight to Mexico, then inexplicably boarded the ferry to Vancouver Island and went to visit her mother in Campbell River.
She was afraid to run, and afraid to stay. She was terrified of the implications of loving Lyle. The only thing that frightened her more was the thought of never seeing him again.
Island Hearts (Jenny's Turn and Stray Lady) Page 30