by Penny Jordan
Stephanie felt her stomach muscles clench as she fought against a wave of longing to be with him as she looked at his familiar and beloved face.
Time dragged, losing all real meaning. She couldn't sleep, waking almost hourly to check on the radio bulletins.
All day she was lethargic and tense. Luckily, the yard was not too busy, apart from callers coming to enquire about Gray and his boat following the item on TV.
Gray had been right, Stephanie decided as she left the yard that evening; his entry in the race had indeed caused an upsurge of interest in the yard.
The week dragged on, her sleepless nights beginning to take their toll.
Carla rang her almost every day, solicitous and concerned for her; more like a good and close friend than the woman who was her rival. She was invited to their house several times, but she refused, knowing that she was hardly likely to be a social asset in her present anxious mood.
Gray was still among the lead yachts, and they were now in the dangerous seas round Ireland.
At last her sleepless nights took their toll, and she woke one morning having slept heavily and dreamlessly to the news that one of the lead yachts in the race had capsized, with the loss of at least one member of the crew.
Gray's yacht was one of the smallest ones in the race—he was its sole crew—and she expelled a taut sigh of relief as she realised the damaged boat could not be his.
Even so, the accident increased her anxiety. The weather was changing, growing more dangerous, and there were reports of heavy seas and other yachts in trouble.
On the last day of the race, Gray and three other yachts were in the lead, but they were encountering heavy seas, and the helicopter carrying the TV crew following the race had reported that conditions were last becoming dangerous.
Just before lunchtime a bulletin on the radio announced that another boat had capsized, with no sign of any life on board. The announcement was followed by the information that the Air Sea Rescue were searching for the one-man crew of the yacht Good Hope, sailed by Gray ...
Stephanie went cold and clung desperately to her desk as she listened with disbelieving ears to what she had dreaded hearing all along.
Gray's boat had overturned and Gray was lost at sea. She knew all too well what that meant, and if the Air Sea Rescue team had not found him already, then there was scant hope for his survival, unless he had been picked up by another contestant.
Almost immediately the phone rang, and although she knew it would probably be Carla she didn't answer it. The pain of what she was feeling was unendurable, intolerable, almost unbelievable, as though somehow it wasn't quite real and that soon she would be able to open her eyes and discover that it was all part of some dreadful nightmare.
There was no one in the yard as she walked through it like someone in a trance, heading almost automatically for the narrow path that followed the coast.
It had started to rain, and the wind was cold, gathering in force as it swept in from the sea, but Stephanie ignored it. She could barely feel the icy sting of rain on her skin for the greater pain in her heart.
Gray was gone... lost... drowned as Paul had been; and in her overwrought state she felt as though she had been the one to cause his death; as though she had brought him bad luck by loving him. She was crying without realising it, hot tears pouring down her cold cheeks, her body shivering convulsively, locked in the grip of intense pain.
How long she walked she didn't know. It began to grow dark, and her body hurt. She had walked almost in a complete circle, along the estuary, over the mouth of the river, then down the other side, and now she was almost back in the village. The walk had exhausted her physically, but mentally . . .Walking had done nothing to ease her inner pain.
As she approached the cottage she saw that the lights were on, and she shuddered, anticipating the ordeal that lay ahead.
When Paul had drowned, Gray had shielded her from all the formalities, protecting and cosseting her from the reality of what had happened, but there was no one to protect her now.
They would all be there, the police, other authorities .. .the Press, somehow they must have found a way into the house. The police, she supposed tiredly, reluctantly approaching the back door and pushing it open.
The kitchen was empty. They would all be in the sitting-room, she thought, numbly crossing the hall.
As she reached for the sitting-room door-handle it turned from the other side. She stepped back, waiting. The door opened and Gray emerged, his black hair tousled, his face drawn in lines of exhaustion.
For a moment she stood rooted to the spot, unable to move, unable to believe the evidence of her own eyes, and then with a sob of relief she flung herself into his arms and felt them close round her.
'Gray .. .Gray .. .1 thought you were dead!' She was gabbling wildly, but he seemed to understand because he cradled her reassuringly against his body, ignoring her soaking clothes and bedraggled appearance.
'It was a mistake. They thought the sinking yacht was the Good Hope because of its size, but it wasn't. I saw the other yacht capsize and turned back to help him. That's why I'm here now. That delay meant that I'd lose the race, and the guy from the other yacht had been pretty badly knocked about when it capsized.
'Carla tried to ring you to tell you it had been a mistake, but there was no answer. Alex recognised from the TV bulletin that the yacht wasn't the Good Hope and that there'd been a mistake, and they knew that you'd be listening to the radio and that you wouldn't realise. She couldn't get through to you. Where have you been ?' he added roughly, holding her away from him and cupping her face in his palms. 'God, I've been driven damn near out of my mind worrying about you. I didn't even know where to begin looking.'
'I went for a walk,' Stephanie told him shakily. 'I just wanted to be by myself. Oh, Gray .. .I thought I'd lost you. I thought .. .'
She was crying in earnest now and he took her back in his arms, soothing and comforting her.
'We'll have to get you out of these wet things. I'm the one who should have come home in that state, not you,' he teased her, trying to lighten the situation.
'You didn't win the race. Are you very disappointed ?' The relief of finding him safe was making her slightly light-headed. She knew she ought to go upstairs and get changed into something warm and dry, but she was so desperate to be with him that she was practically inventing conversation just to stay.
'Not really. The yacht proved that it could do everything we claimed, sufficiently so to ensure that we get a fair number of orders, and there'll always be next year.'
'No way,' she told him fiercely. 'If you think I'm going to go through this again . . .'
She wasn't even aware of the betraying possessiveness in her voice and face, but Gray was, and as he looked down at her he was gripped with a sudden surge of love and need.
He had been frantic when he rushed back and found her missing. The moment Carla told him they had been unable to get in touch with her he had guessed she would believe he was dead, and he had cut through the red tape of his rescue of a fellow entrant in the race and his own subsequent withdrawal from it with a despatch that had left the authorites at the small port where he had put ashore stunned and rather bewildered.
'I think you'd better get upstairs and out of those wet clothes,' he began, only to break off abruptly.
Was he remembering what had happened last time she had come in wet and cold ? Stephanie wondered. She shivered in sudden need and love. Even now she had hardly believed he was real; real and safe and here with her. He started to release her and she ached to cling to him.
'Go on, go upstairs and get into something warm and dry. I'll find us something to eat.'
He was as good as his word, and the appetising smell of pasta and rich sauce that greeted her as she walked into the kitchen, dressed in a soft woolly dress that outlined her curves, made her realise how long it was since she had eaten a proper meal.
They ate off trays in the sitting-room, and
this time she refused more than a single glass of wine.
Gray had switched on the television, and they were just in time to catch the news, which included an item on his rescue of the other entrant and to announce the winner of the race.
The warmth and comfort of the rich pasta coming on top of the shock she had sustained earlier in the day made Stephanie feel sleepy and relaxed. Slipping off her shoes, she curled up on the settee feeling warm and comfortable.
Her eyes started to close and, although she tried to resist the wave of tiredness washing over her, within minutes she was deeply asleep.
When she woke later the room was almost in darkness, illuminated only by the flames from the fire.
She was pillowed against something hard and warm, which she only gradually realised was Gray's shoulders.
'That must have been some walk you had today. You've been last asleep for almost three hours.'
'I haven't been sleeping well,' she admitted, knowing that the darkness would conceal from him the reasons for her inability to sleep. She felt him move slightly, and instinctively she moved with him, not sure how she came to be in his arms, but knowing that she didn't want to leave them.
The reality of how it felt to believe that she had lost him for good swept over her, making her go rigid and shudder. As Gray felt the vibration pass through her body he asked softly, 'What is it?'
'I was just remembering how I felt . . . Gray!'
He heard the agony in her voice, and she felt his quickly indrawn breath.
His hand cupped her face tilting it up towards' his own. 'You'll never lose me,' he reassured her huskily. 'Never!'
And then he was kissing her, his mouth soft and gentle, only that tender pressure wasn't what she wanted; she wanted more, and her lips told him so, clinging urgently to his as her fingers dug into the solid muscles of his arms.
'Hold me, Gray. Hold me and never let me go.'
She wasn't conscious of whispering the pleading words against his mouth, only of her need to be with him, to be part of him.
She trembled as she felt the sudden upsurge of desire through his body as his kiss deepened and their mouths clung as though desperate for the taste and texture of one another.
She slid her hands under his sweater, feeling the padded muscles of his body, resenting the presence of his soft woollen shirt; burning up with a need and pain that only his love could assuage.
'Stephanie, don't do this to me. You're making it impossible for me to stop,' Gray moaned against her ear. 'I want you so much.'
When her only response was to scatter frantic kisses over every inch of his face, he cried out hoarsely, 'Stephanie, Stephanie, feel what you're doing to me,' and taking her hand he placed it against his body, shuddering tensely as her fingers touched the hard evidence of his arousal, straining at the fabric of his jeans.
The brief contact thrilled and tormented her. She wanted more, so much more, and she wanted it now, with a frantic urgency that was a legacy from her long afternoon of pain.
Her fingers found the fastening of his jeans and then the zip, overlooking the fact that this was the first time they had ever performed such an intimate exercise.
Gray made no move to stop her, plundering her mouth with achingly demanding kisses that echoed the fierce need she could feel burning in herself. His hand cupped and stroked her breast, feeling the urgent burgeoning of her flesh through the fine silk of her bra and the wool of her dress.
As her hand slipped inside his jeans and caressed the hard flatness of his belly above the edge of his briefs, Gray gasped with pleasure, and in the firelight she saw the vulnerability and need in his face, as he closed his eyes and swallowed hard past rigid throat muscles before giving himself up to the pleasure she was inducing.
'I shouldn't be letting you do this,' was his moaned comment as she dragged her nails tormentingly through the soft, fine line of hair her questing hands had revealed. But when she tugged impotently at his jeans, wanting more of him than they allowed her to enjoy, he helped her to ease them off and then tugged off his sweater and shirt with a ruthless despatch that made her mouth go dry with excitement.
'Is that enough?' he demanded hoarsely, watching her wide-eyed concentration on his body. 'Or do you want me to take off more?'
She swallowed, all too conscious that all he had on was the dark barrier of his briefs, and even they could not prevent her from being aware of the power of his body as he stood silhouetted against the fire.
'I ..' She didn't know what to say; how to tell him how much she desired and loved him.
'Do you want to see me? To touch me?' he demanded roughly, his body shuddering tautly in response to his words. 'Come here.'
She went to him like a sleep-walker, standing completely still as he undressed her, the stillness of her outer body in direct contrast to the frenzied tumult building within it.
The firelight highlighted the rosy peaks of her breasts, and their sensitivity intensified as Gray took her in his arms with a low groan, crushing her against his body as he kissed her with fierce passion
Just the sensation of his mouth moving against hers was enough to make her ache with need. She twisted against him, gasping with pleasure when his hands slid over her body to cup the rounded softness of her bottom and lift her against him.
'We should go upstairs.' He mouthed the words against her throat as he caressed it with his lips, but she shook her head, terrified of breaking the spell between them.
The sensation of his mouth against her skin, exploring the shape and texture of her breast made her shake with desire. It seemed a lifetime before his lips eventually possessed the aching heat of her nipple, making her arch wildly against him as she felt the onset of a wild spasm of pleasure.
'Stephanie ... Stephanie, I want you ... I need you.'
He released her so abruptly that she staggered slightly, sinking down on her knees, clasping his thigh for support.
As he bent down to lift her up she touched her lips to his thigh in an instinctive gesture of love.
'Stephanie!' The taut thickness in his voice, the way he shuddered and then tensed told her how much he had enjoyed her tentative caress, and she repeated it, letting her lips linger and taste the unique flavour of him.
'Stephanie. No!' He groaned the protest like a man under torture, as she grew more confident and her tongue stroked tantalisingly along his inner thigh, his body tensing under its need to thrust against the torment of her mouth.
Stephanie heard the thick sound of pleasure and protest stifled in his throat and felt a heady upsurge of her own female power. She could make him weak and fill him with the same need that filled her; she could make him ache for the touch of her hands and mouth in the way she ached for him.
She felt his hands come down and grip her shoulders ready to force her away as her lips continued to drift across his skin, but when she reached higher and her nails dragged teasingly through the fine hair coating his thighs, they fastened instead in the thickness of her hair, urging her against him with hoarse words of praise and need as he gave in to his body's unashamed desire for the delicate caress of her mouth.
That she, who had never before even contemplated sharing such intimacy with anyone, should derive such pleasure from his body's response to her touch was an awesome experience, and when Gray suddenly cried out in hoarse protest, picking her up and fastening his mouth over hers, she yielded herself completely, melting against him, softly inciting him to fit his body against hers and fill her with its potent strength.
He released her only to put her down on the rug and cover her with the heat of his flesh, entering her with a harsh cry of need that melted her bones and filled her with dizzying pleasure.
They made love with a wildness that half shocked her, falling asleep in one another's arms, only to wake and make love again, more slowly this time, until their bodies exploded in fierce surges of pleasure that left them drained and at peace.
CHAPTER TEN
Stephanie woke
up alone in her own bed, and knew from the angle of the sun shining in through the window that it was late . .. very late.
She got up and dressed quickly, going downstairs, anxious to see Gray, pausing outside the kitchen door as she heard voices.
Her blood turned to ice as she recognised Carla's. To her knowledge Carla had not visited the cottage once since she herself had arrived, and she hated the thought of her being here now. Had Gray told her about last night? Had he begged her to leave her husband .. .had he ...?
She was just about to make her presence known and push open the door when she heard Carla saying unhappily, 'Gray, I like Stephanie, and I hate deceiving her like this.'
As she stepped back from the door in shock, Gray's response was lost to her.
She reached the stairs and stumbled up them to the sanctuary of her own room, Carla's betraying words ringing in her ears. Her mouth was trembling and she tried to keep it still. Carla's words could have only one meaning. Gray had been using her ... carrying on his affair with Carla, despite what he had told her. Oh, how bitterly ironic it was that Carla should be the one to feel remorse, and not Gray.
How could he do this to her? How could he use her like this? How could he have changed so much?
She curled up on her bed, frozen with shock and grief. She heard the back door open and close and a car start up, and knew that Carla had left; but still she didn't move.
She heard Gray come upstairs and knock on her door.
'Stephanie, are you awake?'
If she didn't reply, he would come in and she couldn't face him yet, she thought in panic.
'Yes . .. yes. I'm getting up now,' she called back, hoping the closed door would distort her voice enough for him not to recognise its betraying tremor.