by Ginna Gray
He feasted his eyes on her small, perfect breasts lifting from the cups of the bikini bra, rose-tipped and lush, their shape yielding to the tug of gravity, and felt a rush of heat to his loins.
She lay supine before him, longing and apprehension swirling in her glazed eyes. Slowly, his gaze wandered lower over her small waist, the slightly concave belly with its dainty navel, the sweet curves of hips and thighs, the glossy nest of mahogany curls at their apex. Her skin was silky smooth all over, like flawless porcelain, tinted a pale peach by their days in the sun.
Travis burned for her. He felt the fire from his toes to the roots of his hair. like molten lava, his blood sizzled through his veins, settling hot and heavy in his loins.
His searing gaze lifted to hers, and he saw the flicker of uneasiness mixed with desire.
"Travis..."
"Shh. Just he still," he ordered in a raspy whisper.
Sitting astraddle her thighs, he rubbed sunscreen between his palms and cupped them around her breasts. His hands moved in slow circles over the malleable flesh, squeezing gently, lifting, shaping, his lotion-slicked thumbs sweeping back and forth over the taut nipples.
Rebecca whimpered and arched her back, but when she reached for him, he pushed her hands away. "No, don't move. I'm not finished yet."
Staring straight into her eyes, he coated every inch of her body with lotion. His slick hands glided over her neck and shoulders, down her arms all the way to the tips of her fingers. Chest, midriff, belly and legs received the same attention. Still holding her gaze, he moved back, lifted one of her legs and braced her foot on his raised knee. With feathery strokes, he smoothed sunscreen over the ankle, across the delicate arch. Then, one by one, he coated each toe. By the time he finished and reached for the other leg her eyes were bright and feverish and her breath hissed through her parted lips in erratic gasps.
When done, he stood abruptly and stripped off his trunks. Rebecca swallowed.
"Travis, we can't," she protested faintly.
"Sure we can." He dropped down on the blanket and in one fluid motion covered her body with his.
She gasped when their warm flesh met and melded. Travis groaned and shuddered. Taking the weight of his upper body on his forearms, he cupped the sides of her breasts and nuzzled the silken valley between them, drawing her woman smell, tinged with the floral scent of sunscreen, deep into his lungs.
"Tra-Travis, it's.. .it's broad daylight."
"So?" He dragged his open mouth up over one lush globe and took her nipple into his mouth. Rebecca cried out and arched her back. She clutched his hair with both hands and rolled her head from side to side.
"S-Someone might... see us."
"Don't worry. There's no one else on this side of the island," he muttered, mouthing the velvety areola. With the tip of his tongue he flicked the engorged bud and tasted the slight bitterness of sunscreen and the salty tang of seawater.
"But... wha-what if someone comes?'"
"They won't." He caught her mouth with a hot, open kiss. Rebecca gave a desperate little growl and dug her fingers into his back.
After that there was no need for words.
Occasional moans and sighs and pleasured gasps were the only sounds from the entwined couple during the passion-filled interval that followed. Overhead, sea gulls squawked and tattered palm leaves stirred with a dry clatter. A playful breeze wafted over them, bringing with it the smells of sun and sand and salt air. It caressed their heated skin and toyed with the ends of their damp hair. A few feet away the gentle surf whispered against the shore, edging ever closer to their tangled limbs. The sun beat down on-their sleek, undulating bodies as time drifted by, unnoticed, and the world beyond the gritty blanket ceased to be.
* * *
Sated and utterly spent, Travis kissed Rebecca's neck one more time and raised up on his forearms. Her eyelids lifted as though they were weighted with lead, and she gave him a slumberous smile. He felt a rush of fierce satisfaction. She had the look of a woman who had just been well loved.
Emotion flooded him. Love. Tenderness. A soul-deep contentment. Unable to speak, he cupped the side of her face with his hand. Sweeping his thumb back and forth over the hollow beneath her cheekbone, he studied her lovely face. The swelling was gone, thank heaven, and so were most of the bruises. The cut at the corner of her eye had healed to a thin pink line. Only there did her skin still have a faint yellowish tint, and that she was able to cover with makeup whenever they left the island.
"Rebecca. Sweetheart, I..."
He tensed as a faint sound registered. He raised his head and looked out over the water, squinting his eyes against the glare.
"What is it? What's wrong?''
Rolling off of Rebecca, Travis sat up and cupped a hand over his eyes, keeping them trained on. the small dot approaching across the turquoise water. "You'd better get dressed. It looks like we're about to have company."
"What!" Rebecca jackknifed into a sitting position and snatched up her swimsuit. "I knew someone would come by. I just knew it."
"Take it easy, honey. They're still too far out to see anything. You've got plenty of time." Nevertheless, while they dressed, Travis positioned himself between her and the boat, shielding her from curious eyes with his body.
By the time the fishing boat reached the pier they had returned to the house and were standing on the deck waiting. Raphael waved to them from the deck of the Juanita before jumping onto the dock to secure the mooring lines. Travis frowned. For a moment he thought the little fisherman had brought Evan back, but the man who walked down the short gangplank had gray hair and weighed at least thirty pounds more than Rebecca's ex-husband.
He felt Rebecca tense beside him. He looked down at her pale, taut face and tightened his grip on her hand. "Is that who I think it is?"
She bit her lower lip, her gaze glued to the man striding up the pier toward them. "Yes. That's my father."
Dear Lord, Rebecca thought. I'm not ready for this.
In truth, she knew that she would never be ready for this meeting, but there was no way to avoid it. She drew a shaky breath and lifted her chin.
Her father had always intimidated her. One sharp word, one disapproving look from those hawkish eyes and she dissolved. But not this time, she told herself. No longer would she come to him as a supplicant, desperately seeking his love and approval.
Richard Quinn stormed toward them, his piercing stare locked on his daughter. Everything about him—the set of his jaw, his stiff carriage, his long stride—radiated anger.
A shiver rippled through Rebecca. Travis squeezed her hand again and murmured, "Easy, sweetheart. Easy."
Her father climbed the steps to the deck like a storm trooper. Coming to a halt, he fixed her with a furious glare, his lip curling disdainfully as he took in her attire. Rebecca did not think it was possible, but his eyes hardened even more when he noticed her hand clasped in Travis's.
"So it's true," he bit out. "Evan told me you were shacked up with some ne'er-do-well, but I didn't want to believe it."
"Hello, Father," Rebecca said with a trace of irony.
"Don't 'hello, Father' me. And don't use that tone, either. I had to cut short my cruise in the Mediterranean to fly hack here and straighten out this mess, and I'm in no mood for your snippiness. How could you walk out on Evan and get some quickie divorce? And without so much as a word. Have you lost your mind, girl?"
"Father, please. Could we go inside and discuss this calmly?"
Her composure, fragile as it was, seemed to throw him, and his eyes narrowed. "Oh, very well. And for heaven's sake, put some clothes on. That bikini is indecent. You would not have dared to flaunt yourself that way when you were married to Evan. He wouldn't have allowed it."
Rebecca did not respond to the caustic comment. Gritting her teeth, she lead the way inside. Once there, she excused herself and hurried to her room to change.
Unburdened with an overabundance of modesty, Travis did not bother. Besides,
he had no intention of leaving Richard Quinn alone, not even for the short time it would take him to change clothes. He didn't trust the man.
"Have a seat," he said, and when Richard sat down on one of the rattan sofas, Travis took the one across from him, slouching on his bowed spine. He propped his sandy feet on the coffee table, folded his hands across his bare abdomen, and met the older man's disapproving glare head on.
Richard squinted at Travis. "Don't I know you? You look familiar."
"The name's McCall. Travis McCall. I grew up in Crockett."
"McCall. McCall," Richard mused, giving Travis a steely look from beneath beetled brows. Travis recalled that the fierce stare was a tactic Richard Quinn often used to intimidate people. It worked on most, but Travis weathered the look with bland unconcern. "You Colin McCall's boy? That hotshot attorney back in Crockett? The one that married Margaret Monahan?"
"One of them."
"Humph! Never could figure out what Maggie saw in the man." To Travis's surprise, briefly, Richard got a faraway look in his eyes and his face softened. "She was a pretty little thing. I courted her myself. Would have married her, too, if that father of yours hadn't blown into town and swept her off her feet."
That bit of news came as a shock to Travis. His mother and Richard Quinn? He shuddered at the thought. He wondered if she knew what a narrow escape she'd had. By heaven, the next time he went home he was going to make a point of telling his dad how much he loved him.
Travis grinned at Richard. "Yeah, I've heard the story. Dad and my Uncle Joe were roommates in college. Uncle Joe was dating Aunt Dorothy at the time and when Dad came home with him one weekend, he fixed him up with her younger sister Margaret." Travis's grin grew, turning from smug to taunting. "The rest, as they say, is history."
Richard shot him an annoyed look and dismissed the matter with a disgruntled, "Humph!"
Silence followed. Travis, his expression mildly amused at the older man's obvious frustration, stretched hugely, then relaxed back into his lazy sprawl. Behind his insouciance, however, he was coldly watchful, his body taut with catlike alertness.
"When my daughter returns, I wish to speak to her in private," Richard blurted out angrily. "You'll have to leave."
Travis regarded him with a level stare. "Not a chance."
Accustomed to having his orders obeyed without question or pause, Richard was so stunned, for a second all he could do was goggle at Travis. "Now, see here," he blustered. "You listen to m—"
"No, you listen," Travis snapped, all trace of good humor gone. "The last time I left Rebecca alone with a visitor it was that ex-son-in-law you think so highly of, and the bastard beat her up. So save your breath. I'm staying."
"That's a black lie!" Richard roared.
"No, Father. It's true."
Rebecca walked into the room, wearing a thick terry cloth robe. She had taken time to rinse the salt water out of her hair and comb out the tangles, but she hadn't bothered to dress.
Travis subjected her to a narrow-eyed inspection, his keen gaze probing her face with concern. The brief respite had calmed her, he noted with relief. Her face was still taut and pale, and she still seemed fragile, but the look of panic had gone from her eyes.
"I don't believe you," Richard snarled. "You're lying to cover your own guilt. Anyway, even if he did slap you around a little, it's no more than you deserve. You can hardly blame a man for losing his temper when he discovers his wife has been cheating on him.''
Rebecca sat down next to Travis, adjusted the folds of the long robe over her knees and looked steadily at her father.
"It isn't possible to cheat on an ex-husband, Father," she said with such admirable poise that Travis wanted to cheer. "Aside from that, Evan never needed an excuse to hit me... as I think you very well know.''
"And just what do you mean by that?"
"I mean that Evan's abuse goes back almost to the beginning of our marriage, and if you didn't know, or at least suspect, it was because you didn't want to know.''
"That's a he!"
"Oh, Father." Rebecca shook her head sadly. "How could you not have known? Didn't you ever wonder, even once, why I had so many 'accidents', or how I got all the bruises and cuts? Or sometimes didn't you wonder why I was stiff so often and couldn't have visitors? Of course you did, but you chose to look the other way."
Richard's mouth compressed into a straight line. He almost vibrated with fury. After a taut moment he made a dismissive gesture and bellowed, "Why the devil are we even discussing this? It's not important. The point is, you married a rich, influential man. Someday soon he's going to be a U.S. senator. Maybe even president. Are you so stupid that you'd throw away all that over something so paltry as a slap or two?"
Rebecca flinched. If her father had struck her himself he could not have hurt her more. His callous disregard for her pain and her feelings told her louder than words ever could how little he valued her.
Travis's feet hit the floor. He bit out a curse and tensed as though he were about to leap across the coffee table, but she put a restraining hand on his knee. "No, Travis, don't."
"I had a long talk with Evan before I came here," her father went on, ignoring her stricken expression. "Despite all you've done, he has generously offered to take you back. I want you to go pack your things, Rebecca. You're returning with me tonight. I've already booked us seats on the evening flight."
She struggled to hold them back, but tears filled her eyes anyway. "Father," she began in a shaky voice. "Right after you left on your world trip, I learned I was pregnant."
Travis jerked as though she'd slapped him, and his head snapped around in her direction. She could feel his gaze boring into the side of her face, but she kept her eyes focused on her father. For an instant joy lit Ins face, but the look faded when his gaze dropped to her flat abdomen.
"You can't imagine how thrilled I was," she went on doggedly, heedless of the tears that streamed down her face. "I was finally going to have someone to love, someone who would love me back unconditionally. I wanted that baby so much." Her chin wobbled, and she put her hand over her mouth to control it. "So much," she mumbled against her palm.
She looked at her father's wavering image through the wall of tears banked against her lower eyelids. "I was in my fourth month when Evan threw me down a flight of stairs," she said in a stark monotone. "When I woke up in the hospital they told me I'd lost the baby. I knew then that I had to leave."
Her father waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "That was an irrational decision, made when you weren't thinking clearly. For Pete's sake, girl. You can have another baby, but husbands like Evan Hall don't grow on trees. Now, go pack your bags."
The trembling started deep inside. At its core was a hurt so deep Rebecca thought it would surely kill her. Whatever hope she still had that her father loved her withered and died on the spot, and she knew it would never be resurrected.
The awful shaking increased, and she folded her arms tightly across her midriff. Swallowing the knot in her throat, she raised her chin and in a quavering voice said, "No, Father. I won't go."
Richard shot to his feet. He looked ready to explode. "I'm warning you, girl. Either you get on that plane with me tonight or I wash my hands of you. Is that clear?"
"Why you sorry—''
"No, Travis." She laid her hand on his arm and shook her head. "Let me handle this."
Rebecca stood up on wobbly legs, still hugging herself tightly. She looked directly into Richard Quinn's furious eyes and drew a deep breath. "Goodbye, Father."
Chapter Twelve
Richard Quinn looked ready to explode. His jaw bulged, and his fierce stare stabbed into Rebecca. "You'll regret this," he snapped, and pivoted on his heel.
"Say, Quinn," Travis called after him. "Take a message to Evan for me, will ya?"
Pausing with his hand on the doorknob, Richard glowered back over his shoulder. "What message?"
"Tell him that if he ever again gets within so much as a
mile of Rebecca I'll break every bone in his body.''
Rebecca's jaw dropped. She looked at Travis with a mixture of gratitude and fear. He had made the statement matter-of-factly, his voice mild, almost pleasant, yet the very calmness of his tone added a chilling menace.
"You wouldn't dare! Evan is a very important man—"
"Not only would I dare, I'd enjoy the hell out of it."
Richard clenched his jaw. He sliced a look of pure hatred between Travis and Rebecca, then turned to leave.
"Oh, one more thing," Travis called, stopping him again. "If I were you, I'd advise him against running for public office." Travis smiled coldly. "You see, I'm with the FBI. I promise you, if Evan Hall even tries to get elected dog-catcher I'll dig up every bit of dirt there is on him and feed it to the press, including his propensity for wife-beating. Somehow, I don't think the voting public would like that."
"How dare you. If you think your threats—"
"Oh, they're not threats. I mean every word."
Richard slammed the French door behind him with a force that rattled the glass panes. The finality of the sound struck Rebecca like a blow to the heart.
Woodenly, she walked to the doors and watched her father stomp down the steps and storm away out onto the pier.
It was over. Really over.
All of her life she had lived with the secret fear that her father would withdraw from her completely, that she would lose what little regard he felt for her. Now she had.