Island Hearts (Jenny's Turn and Stray Lady)

by Vanessa Grant

  “Lady,” Lyle murmured in her ear as he pulled her into the elevator, “you are going to be trouble.” They were alone finally. He pulled her hard against his chest and glowered down at her.

  She admitted, “I’ve spent my life getting into scrapes. Do you think you can handle that?”

  “Getting you out of trouble?” The elevator door opened and he took her hand and led her across the hallway.

  He opened the door for her, his hand still holding hers. “George, where’s your ring?”

  She stared down at the white band where her wedding ring had been. Till death do us part, she thought.

  The memory seemed like a story she had once read. A pleasant story, warm, but not real anymore.

  “I put the ring away.” She pulled her hand away self consciously, adding abruptly, “It’s a wedding ring, and I’m not married anymore.”

  She swept away from him, through the door and towards the window. “And you don’t need to help me out of scrapes. I usually seem to land on my feet – more or less. I just thought I should warn you that I’m—”

  “Volatile?” he suggested, smiling. He leaned against the door, watching her move restlessly towards the window, then swing back to look at him.

  “Do you mind?” she asked, frowning at him.

  “Honey, you’re gorgeous! Come here.”

  She stared out the window. It was starting to rain outside. She was thirty years old. How could she be so incredibly shy?

  She said uncertainly, “You wrote a song for me?”

  He nodded, but she wasn’t looking. She said, “I’m sorry about you and Hazel. I hate thinking of—”

  Exasperated, he said, “George, shut up and come here!”

  She swung around. He wasn’t smiling any longer. “Come here and let me kiss you.”

  She was frozen, eyes wide. He looked so confident. Did he know how good he looked, leaning back, the smooth fabric of his slacks pulled tight over his thighs? He shifted, took a step towards her. His hands were at his sides, fingers spread, just touching his thighs.

  Nervously, she stepped back. She felt the cool night air from the window on her neck.

  “George,” he said warningly. “Why did we come up here? Because you’re sorry about Hazel? Or because you want to go to bed with me?”

  She gasped and swung away.

  “Oh, hell! George—” Then he was across the room, his hands on her shoulders.

  She jerked to pull away from him. She said wildly, “Let go of me! I don’t need you! I don’t need anyone!”

  His lips found hers, smothering the wild protests. “I think you do,” he said softly. “I hope you do, darling.”

  She shuddered. His hands were on her shoulders. She leaned her forehead against his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “Lady, stop talking!” His lips covered hers, smothering the sound, then withdrawing. His arms slipped down and cradled her against him. Still holding her close, he walked them back to a large overstuffed sofa and sank down on it with her held against his chest.

  “Is that better?” he asked, feeling her head against his chest. He smoothed back the curls, his fingers feeling the contours of her head through the soft crown of golden hair.

  She wiggled, pushing closer into his arms. “You’re not much bigger than Robyn,” he said softly, his hand settling on the curve of her hip.

  She pushed closer. “It’s not a father I’m looking for.”

  He let his fingers explore the softness over her waist. “I’m not feeling very fatherly at the moment,” he confided, shifting to bring her closer. “Oh, darling! A man can only take so much of this torture! I want to take you in my arms and seduce you, make love to you.”

  Her fingers spread out on his chest, trying to feel him through the thickness of his jacket. She smiled as she felt his reaction to her touch. “Do you?”

  “You witch!” He caught her chin between his fingers, tipping her face upwards for his kiss. “You’re the magic princess,” he told her, brushing her lips gently with his, touching his tongue to the inner edge of her upper lip. “I’m afraid if I touch you, you’ll disappear like Cinderella.”

  “I’m scared too,” she admitted, her lips parting for his searching tongue. “When I met you at the airport, I thought— I thought you’d just look at me and you’d know.”

  Lyle grasped her wrists, lifted them up along his chest until her hands curled at the back of his neck.

  His hands moved from her wrists to cup her face for his kiss. He kissed her lightly, softly, then drew back a little to watch as his fingers slid back down to explore the contours of her neck, the gentle swelling that started just below her shoulders in the front.

  “Shh,” he ordered her. Her eyes widened and lost focus as his fingers found the peaks of her breasts through the stiff fabric. “Do you like that?” he asked, his eyes taking the answer from hers. “Kiss me, honey.”

  Her lips lifted, parted, touched his. Her fingers curled in his hair as the kiss began. He was going to wait, to let her kiss deepen, let her set the pace. Then her fingers felt along the tensed muscles of his neck, the fingertips of one small feminine hand coming to rest on the soft sensitive skin of his throat.

  His lips plundered the soft invitation of her mouth. He found he could draw a groan from her throat with the touch of his tongue on her inner lips. She shifted and he held her with one arm, his other hand exploring the wonderful feel of her, settling on her thigh as she moved her leg restlessly against him.

  The muscles under his fingers tensed as he explored. Her hand traced his throat to the barrier of his shirt. He drew her close, his heart thundering, his hands pushing the cotton skirt away, so that his fingers could feel the heat of her outer thigh.

  Then he found the buttons of her blouse, pushed the fabric back and looked down at the thrust of her breasts against her bra. It was a sexy, lacy wisp of fabric, pushing up her rounded white breasts for his eyes. He touched the upper skin gently, feeling the roughness of his hands against her softness, stroking, his own passion surging when she groaned and writhed in his arms. He bent down to the softness, probed the lace with his lips and took a rigid nipple in his teeth through the lace.

  Gentle with his teeth, his heart thundering. George gasped and twisted, pulling against him and arousing herself even more. He slipped his hands under her shirt at the back, his fingers spreading, holding her as she twisted.

  George. Wild and wanton in his arms. He pulled the softness close, felt her straining against him. Her fingers pushed at his jacket. He raised his head and found her lips seeking, taking his with a warm, open passion as her body tormented his with its closeness.

  He pulled her down with him, onto the carpeted floor where he could lay her, lean over her and bury his face in the warm curves, probe the fullness of her uplifted breasts. He felt her fingers at his collar and he pulled his tie off with a rough, impatient jerk.

  “Lyle…” She was spinning, grateful when he laid her down on the floor because she was trembling with weakness and need. His hands, his lips. She wanted him, needed him to— oh, God! Could anyone feel like this and live?

  Her fingers were fumbling, blind, trying to get closer, past his jacket and the silk of his shirt. Her breasts were swollen against the fabric restraint of her bra, his lips teasing through the fabric.

  His hands were hot under her breasts, his tongue tracing fire on the swollen curve. “Tell me what you want,” he whispered, his hands spreading down over her trembling midriff.

  She lifted swollen eyelids to him. Her breath hurt her chest. Pulses thundering everywhere, a hot, heavy pulse beating at the center of her. She’d never have dreamed she could ask, but she spread her fingers through the hairs of his chest, felt his heart slamming against it, saw his face filled with a desperate need.

  “You,” she whispered. “Lyle, make love to me.” His hands tightened, squeezing her breasts and she gasped, “I want to feel you against me, naked.”

  He lifte
d himself away from her and she said painfully, “Please don’t stop, whatever you do. Lyle, I— I went to the doctor. I’m— ready for you.”

  His palm rubbed gently along her midriff, up over her bra. He watched her eyes. “I know you’re ready for me,” he said softly. “Lie still, darling. You’re going to need me the way I need you.”

  He took her hands away from his chest. She could almost see herself reflected in his eyes. Lying below him, her shirt parted over swollen breasts, her full skirt strewn around her legs. He found the front fastening of her bra and let her breasts spring free, watching and claiming them with large palms, bending his lips to one hard peak, then the other. His tongue stroked at her rigid arousal, sending her body writhing.

  He lowered himself over her, finding her lips again, pulling her softness against the bare chest exposed by his open shirt. His fingers sought the fastening to her skirt.

  “It’s a wrap around,” she gasped, moving to give him access to the belt that anchored the skirt.

  The skirt was gone, and his hands were drawing the clinging tights down along her legs. Then there was nothing to make a barrier for his hands or his lips as he explored her white softness, finding all the ways that he could bring a moan of desire to her lips.

  When she could bear no more, she found her hands gripping his chest, digging into the muscles. She explored the hard ridges that led to his abdomen, followed a sprinkling of hair down to the buckle of his belt where it had pushed hard into her own body. Then her fingers fumbled and his were there to help her.

  He gasped as her fingers explored farther, groaning, “George, if you— oh, darling…” He shifted, pulling her under him, his hard bare thigh sliding between her legs.

  Then he was over her and she was open, waiting for him, her hands gripping him suddenly, urgently, pulling him into her as he thrust down, taking her, making her his in a spinning explosion that took them both tumbling into a wild, urgent carousel.

  Sound roaring in her ears, hands and lips and skin, his rigid maleness possessing her void. The tension built and built, blood pounding through her veins. Coiled like a spring, she felt herself pushed past the point of no return, heard her voice crying out his name, her fingers clutching. Then she lost everything. There was a long, shuddering explosion, a spasm that flooded over her, then slowly receded, leaving her weak and spent, tangled in his arms…

  Sometime later, when she could open her eyes, George let herself enjoy looking at the smooth exhaustion of his face, his lowered eyelids, the tumble of unruly hair across his forehead, the faint sheen of perspiration on his skin.

  His eyes opened, deep blue staring into hers. Her fingers touched his lips as he said softly, “That was something, wasn’t it?”

  Her lips curved. She saw his eyes dropping, enjoying the curve of her breasts. “It was incredible,” she found herself saying.

  His hand possessed her breast, cupping it without passion. “Maybe we could do it again sometime?” His thumb found a softened nipple, and stroked it gently to rigid attention.

  “Now?” she asked, gasping from a fresh surge of desire.

  “Yes, now,” he agreed, bending to her lips again, drugging her with a deep kiss. “I need you again,” he whispered against her lips.

  Outside, the wail of a siren grew and came closer. He stiffened, hearing it.

  “The hospital,” she said.

  “Visiting hours,” he reminded them both. “Robyn.” He drew his lips back, his hands still telling her of his desire. He saw her face, the vulnerable parting of her lips. He half smiled, asking, “Will you keep it warm for me? For later?”

  “Later,” she agreed, letting her hand caress the hard core of his need.

  “George, you devil!” His breath was hot in her ear, his hands pulling her back. She slipped away, came to her feet, standing over him, looking down.

  Her breath quickened as he took in the wonderful sight of her standing in front of him. Her hands settled on her hips, her breasts thrust out slightly as she taunted softly, “I wouldn’t want you to forget.”

  “George…” He stood up, moved towards her. She stepped back, picking up her clothes from the floor in a smooth motion.

  “Will you stay with me tonight?” he asked hoarsely.

  “Yes.” Her clothes were in her hands, half-covering the warm flush of her skin. “I love you, Lyle.”

  He said quickly, “George, you don’t have to say that. We’ll take it easy. I don’t want you to feel trapped, or—”

  “I don’t want to take it easy.” She took a deep breath, said on a rush, “I want you. I want— oh, Lyle! I hope you really meant it when you said you loved me, because otherwise I’m making a big fool of myself. I— but I don’t care. Oh, damn! I don’t know how to say any of this! But you fished me out of the water. I crashed on your island, and you took me in.” She smiled, but her eyes were suddenly vulnerable. She whispered, “You wouldn’t cast me off, would you? You wouldn’t do that to a stray lady?”

  He moved towards her. She stepped back nervously.

  “George, stop running away long enough for me to catch you!”

  He caught her in his arms, clothes and all. “I love you! God! You’ve known that for ages. I love you and I want every bit of you that you can give. Today and tomorrow and forever!” He buried his face in her soft throat, groaned, “Now, please, lady! Get your clothes on before I forget I’ve got a daughter waiting for us to visit!” He laughed, “I’ve got a very special present for her: you!”

  Chapter 10

  Robyn was propped up on cushions, the back of the bed elevated to help her sit. One leg was thick under the blankets, wrapped in bandages.

  “How are you doing, honey?” Lyle bent to kiss her cheek.

  She half smiled. Her eyes were unfocused, groggy from the painkilling drugs that had been administered. “The doctor said my leg’s good as new,” she mumbled. “Is George here? I want to tell George.”

  “I’m here.” George moved to let Robyn see her without twisting her neck. “And I heard. It’s wonderful news, love.” She took her hand and felt the girl’s fingers curl in hers.

  Robyn’s eyes drooped. Her voice was a bit muffled. “Do you think you would like to marry my daddy?” She gestured vaguely to the other side of the room where a red headed girl was busily devouring a comic book. “Marg’ret had her mummy die, and her daddy married a new one.” She opened her eyes. “My daddy’s pretty nice.”

  “Yes, he is.” George found she had a lump in her throat.

  “Do you think it’s a good idea?” the girl asked anxiously, but her eyes closed before she could hear the answer.

  Lyle took George’s hand and gently freed it from his daughter’s. He said softly, “I think it’s a good idea. I’ve been trying to tell you that for quite a while.”

  She turned to face him. “You never actually asked me. If you want a woman to marry you, you’re supposed to ask.”

  He gripped her upper arms, bringing her closer. She could feel his breath on her face. “You made it pretty clear that you didn’t want— George, will you marry me? I vowed to myself that I wouldn’t push you, but you admitted that you love me, and—”

  “Yes,” she said, her hands spreading against his chest.

  “—there’s got to be a way that it will work. I—”

  “Yes,” she said again.

  “Yes?” His hands tightened painfully on her arms. “George, you— I know you don’t think— don’t want to live on a lighthouse. If we—”

  “It doesn’t matter.” She raised up on her tiptoes, brushed her lips against his in a fleeting caress. “I don’t care. I want to marry you. I want to be your wife and Robyn’s mother and— and I want you to give me a baby. You keep trying to protect me from getting pregnant. I’m thirty and if I’m going to have a baby I should—”

  “George, I love you.” He silenced the words coming from her lips. She snuggled closer against him. He said, “About the lighthouse—”

  She
got her fingers on his lips, saying, “I don’t care. If it’s what you want, I’ll try it. I thought it mattered. When I left your island, I realized pretty soon that I loved you, but I didn’t think I could live there. That’s why I thought it would be good if Jenny and Jake got interested in a documentary.”

  “To give me more choices, you said?”

  “So you could leave the lighthouse. If you wanted.” She couldn’t read the expression in his eyes.

  “You mean, if I wanted you?” He pushed her away a little, to see her face better.

  She frowned. “You don’t like that, do you? Yes, that’s what I was thinking. That I loved you, but I couldn’t live there. That I didn’t think it was good for you or for Robyn to stay away from the rest of the world for too long – or for me. I thought— I’m sorry, but that’s what I thought.”

  He caught her back to him. She realized then that he was laughing, his voice husky against her lips. “Why didn’t you tell me what you were thinking, you stubborn woman?” He parted her lips with his, tasted deeply of her sweetness. “I was going mad, thinking you were trying to straighten out my life for some damned altruistic motive. Can you stand one summer?”

  “One summer of what?”

  He kissed the corner of her mouth, her nose, the soft skin of her eyelids. “Green Island. My mother wants Robyn to visit her for a while. I had to concede that it would be a good idea, because she’s close to a physiotherapy clinic there, and Robyn seemed to enjoy being there. She was making friends with a couple of sisters that lived next door. You could come back with us, meet my mother, and marry me.” His lips claimed hers for another long kiss.

  She said yes, but he didn’t seem to hear. He went on, “We could leave Robyn with my mother for a while, go back to Green Island for a couple of months. We’d have the plane, and— well, we might spend a lot of time in the bedroom, so you wouldn’t see too much of the island.”