The Flyer

by Marjorie Jones

  “There’s something I have to tell you first, Paul. It may change your mind about me.”

  He stopped swaying, hooking her chin with one finger and looking so intently into her eyes that she grew dizzy and weak. “Nothing you say could make me change my mind.”

  Hypnotic. Everything about him, from the way his flesh rolled over sinewy muscle and that little curl landed in his forehead, made her want him. She couldn’t fight it anymore.

  His lips brushed hers in a gentle tease for barely a second before he claimed her mouth. Swirling heat rose from her belly to encapsulate her limbs and her mind. He tasted of ale and light when she opened her mouth and drew him inside. Strong hands roamed her back, searing her through the thin material of her nightgown.

  A slight moan caught in the back of her throat, making light of the fact she couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. She could only feel.

  In a rush of heady excitement, Paul pulled away to rest his forehead on hers. His breath came in gasps, his lips parted slightly in a wry grin. “If you tell me to leave now, I’ll feed myself to the crocs, I swear to God.”

  Her throat closed over a sudden lump. “I won’t tell you to leave.”

  What was she doing? Panic almost made her freeze, but she pushed it aside. She was a grown woman. And no matter how much she tried to deny it, she was in love with Paul Campbell. What that meant for her future, she was afraid to even guess. But there was no helping it. She’d fallen. Hard.

  “Are you sure?”

  She could only nod.

  Seemingly without effort, he lifted her. His muscles bunched beneath her fingertips, sending erotic fire to the pit of her stomach. He carried her down the hall and into her bedroom, where he laid her softly on the coverlet. Kneeling on the floor beside the bed, he trailed his hands over her calves, lifting the fabric of her nightgown as he went. His touch was like fire, searing an image into her mind she’d never had before.

  It was the image of forever.

  How did one define heaven or hell? For Paul, he found both in Helen’s touch. The dawn of heaven coupled with the fires of hell in the gentle caress of her fingertips. Her hands were everywhere at once, scorching his back, his arms. One hand circled his hip and found his shaft, already hard and ready, beneath his strides. With deliciously wanton fingers, she stroked him. Her touch was like magic, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted more.

  He needed more.

  Pulling away from his mouth, she threw her head back, exposing the flesh of her throat in a silent plea. He obliged, tasting the sweet salt of her skin while she thrust her hips in deliberate invitation.

  His body thrumming with erotic anticipation, he spread her legs with his knee. Clumsy and as fired as a boy in his first blush, he pulled at the gossamer nightdress until her legs were bare. The sound of his breath hovered in his ears, even as his heart beat so loudly he was certain Helen could hear it as clearly as her own.

  With effort, he pulled his lips away from her creamy, delicious neck and found the tip of one breast through the light-as-air fabric. She arched against him, silently begging for more while her fingers fisted in his hair. He pulled the nightgown away with his teeth and bit her nipple gently, soothing the sting with his tongue. She tasted like the sweetest fruit he’d ever known.

  His hands trembled with need. Her flesh was smooth and hot beneath his fingertips, almost too precious, too rare to touch. Unable to resist for another moment, he traced the inside of her thigh until he reached her center. He parted her, sliding along her slick heat before gliding one finger inside. She was tight and hot, the walls of her sex pulling and begging for more. He added a second finger, and her hips bucked against his hand in an alluring rhythm.

  With his thumb, he rubbed the small nub of her desire, already hard and swollen. Her cries of pleasure mounted, reaching for a crest only a woman could know. He kissed her breast, nipping and biting in an alternating pattern that made her shift and writhe beneath him like a wild creature. He’d known she would be this passionate, this alive. It made him feel alive, as well, but he would see her reach that place before he sought his own release. She deserved to be worshiped. To be loved.

  She was on the edge of the pinnacle, unable to catch her breath as tiny beads of sweat formed on her forehead and between her breasts. He removed his hand, stroking the soft interior of her thighs as he swirled the tips of her breasts, first one then the other, with the tip of his tongue. She tasted like the air beside the ocean just before a storm, salty and pure.

  “Don’t stop, please don’t stop,” she panted, her fingers running through his hair, urging him to take her more deeply.

  He chuckled, amazed at the power of her desire. His own body begged for the same, but he controlled it, just as he controlled her.

  Deliberately, he slid his mouth down her belly, pausing at her navel to lick and suckle. He kissed the soft patch of curls above her most secret place once before parting her with both hands and replacing his missing fingers with his mouth. Her shout of desire fed the pulse of his blood while he licked and teased the one place on her body that could drive her to the edge of reality.

  Her fingers fisted in the quilt while her head tossed back and forth. She bit her bottom lip to keep herself from screaming her lust. He inserted first one finger, then the other, thrusting gently while he continued to taste her sweet flesh.

  At once, she came undone, the walls of her sex pulsing beneath his attentions like an uncontrollable wave at sea. He didn’t slow, continuing to love her there until she begged him to stop.

  Smiling at the wonder of pure love, he slid up the length of her splendid body, nibbling his way back to her neck, and her wonderfully sweet lips.

  Helen reached between their writhing bodies to fumble briefly with the fasteners on his strides. When she unhooked them, her hand sought inside, gripping his shaft with gentle passion. His breath caught, and a moan tore from his throat. Her touch was like fire and magic. She stroked him with gentle fingers and a firm hand until he thought he would explode.

  Unable to withstand the sweet torture for more than that single moment, he removed his strides and his shirt, kicking off his boots. At the same time, Helen drew her gown over her head and tossed it, uncaring, to the floor.

  Glorious in her nudity, Helen’s breasts were the perfect size for his mouth. Slower than before, he lay beside her, stroking the tip of her nipple with his thumb while he tested the weight of one breast. She looked at him with a trust and a belief that made his heart stumble.

  She’d been hurt. He would make sure she never felt that way again. He would love her forever, and nothing could ever make him stop. He positioned himself above her, supporting his weight on one elbow, unwilling to take his gaze off her lovely features. The haze of desire filled dark eyes that gazed back at his. Her legs circled his hips, the soft inner flesh of her thighs searing him to the center of his soul.

  Her hips raised to meet his shaft, and he entered her in one swift, lust-driven thrust. His mind swirled with rapture and need so deep, he no longer knew himself. Only her. Only the ancient dance that brought them together with shared lust. She met his slow, deliberate thrusts, taking him to a height he’d never been before. She called his name, begging him to push her over the edge of the precipice. He answered her, increasing the pace of their loving, thrusting harder and deeper until his heart raced, and his lungs burned. When she climaxed a second time, he allowed himself only the smallest of seconds to relish in the victory of her escape before he arched his back and thrust one final time. Her body pulsed around his shaft. When he came, everything he was, and everything he wanted to be for her, poured out of him.

  He collapsed—his body spent and his mind still hovering in that place between light and dark, life and death. Her fingers stroked his back. Her breath warmed his cheek. He rolled beside her, bringing her against him—unwilling to let go. The scent of lovemaking and woman caressed him, soothed him while he kissed the top of her head and prayed to whatever god wou
ld listen.

  She belonged to him and, no matter what might happen tonight, tomorrow, next week, she would belong to him forever.

  12

  Good morning,” Paul whispered into the softness of Helen’s hair. The mussed strands tickled his nose.

  “Good morning,” she answered, rolling into his side as though she were made for him. They fit together perfectly, her full hip warming his thigh.

  “Do you think we should get up? Doc will be coming in to work soon, won’t he?”

  “Doc?” She snuggled closer. In an instant, she went from cozy and warm, like a kitten, to claws and teeth. “Doc!”

  Helen rushed from the bed, pulling the coverlet with her and wrapping herself in a design that would have made any Roman goddess proud. The breaking dawn peeked through the window, igniting her one bare shoulder and the long, willowy lines of her neck to a burnished gold. It played in her hair, offering bright highlights in the otherwise tangle of black.

  “What are you doing?” she cried, her eyes wide and her bottom lip quivering just enough to make him think of newborn pups.

  “Looking at you.”

  “Get up! You have to leave. Now!”

  She found his strides next to the bed and threw them at him. They would have caught him on the side of the head had he not plucked them from midair with his free hand.

  “I think it’s rather late for that, isn’t it?” he answered with a half grin. “The damage is done, love.”

  “Aren’t you just the comedian this morning? You have to leave before anyone finds you here.” She threw his shirt on the bed, dropped to her knees, and vanished.

  Paul leaned to the edge of the bed, sliding along the cool sheets. Helen rummaged beneath the bed, her bottom outlined in detailed relief by the quilt, the rounded cheeks moving back and forth in delightful display of panic.

  And then she was back, her head popping over the side of the bed like a little bird. “Where are your shoes?”

  “Shoes?” He frowned. “I can’t remember exactly.”

  “Oh!” She struggled to her knees, pulling and tugging at the uncooperative quilt. “Don’t you realize how dangerous this is? Nobody can find you here!”

  Paul reclined on his borrowed pillow, lacing his fingers behind his head. “Why the bloody hell not?”

  “My reputation, for one thing.”

  “Please, love. Nobody gives a hyena’s hind end that I’ve spent the night.”

  She froze, blowing a lock of hair out of her face, and stared at him. “There are plenty of people in this town just waiting for me to fail.”

  “So?”

  “So? So, I have to live here. I don’t need … rumors keeping me from doing my job.”

  “I have to live here, too. You don’t see me panicking.”

  “It’s different for a man, and you know it, Paul Campbell.”

  The front door of her flat rattled, then opened. “Helen? Are you in here?”

  Helen blanched. “It’s Doc! He can’t find you here!”

  A knock sounded on the bedroom door. “Helen? Doc’s here. What should I tell him?” Nanara asked, her voice hushed and conspiratorial.

  Helen rushed to the door and cracked it open just enough to poke her head through. “Nanara, oh heavens! How am I supposed to know that? Tell him … tell him I overslept and I’ll be downstairs in a moment.”

  “Good morning, Nanara,” Paul called in his thick, rich voice.

  “Morning, Paul,” Nanara replied.

  “Will you two please keep your voices down?!” Helen’s throat choked on the harsh whisper.

  “Aren’t you and Paul flying to the gathering again this morning?” Doc’s voice penetrated the thin walls.

  Based on the lack of color in Helen’s cheeks and the way she chewed on her lower lip, the sound resembled a death knell. “Yes. That’s right.”

  “It’s getting late, dear. But not to worry, Paul isn’t downstairs yet, either.”

  Helen spun in Paul’s direction, her eyes threatening him with great amounts of bodily injury should he so much as think of speaking. “Not one word!” she whispered.

  “My lips are sealed,” he quipped.

  Turning imploring eyes on Nanara, she continued. “Tell Doc to go back downstairs,” she begged. “Please, get him out of here!”

  Paul smiled, his stomach full of tiny knots as Helen struggled to pull a dress over her head without dropping the quilt.

  “I’ll keep him busy in the back yard … garden … whatever it’s called, and you can sneak out the front, then come back like you’re,” she explained, her head disappearing into the folds of her black dress before immediately reappearing, “just arriving for the morning.”

  “Why don’t I simply climb out the bedroom window, shimmy down the drainpipe, and knock on the front door like a good little bushranger?” He was teasing, and the instant he’d finished speaking, a wonderful shade of pink stained her cheeks, turning them the same color as a wild rose.

  “You wouldn’t dare! Someone will see you this time of morning. Promise me, you won’t!”

  He couldn’t hold back anymore. He laughed. The pure kind of laugh that came with true happiness. It had been years since he’d felt it, probably since before the Great War. He hadn’t been sad, exactly, all these years. But he’d been missing something. Something beautiful and exciting. He hadn’t realized until now just what that something was.

  Helen.

  Helen’s panic. Helen’s quirky style and bright eyes. Helen beseeching him not to climb out her bedroom window for all the world to see.

  “Helen?” Doc called from the front room again. “Are you quite well? Who are you talking to?”

  She cringed. A second later, heavy footfalls echoed through the hall and stopped outside the door. “Did you call me, child?”

  She squealed.

  Doc might have thought she’d fallen and couldn’t speak, or he might not have heard her at all and assumed something was wrong, but for some reason, he opened the door.

  “Are you hurt, Helen?”

  Helen stared at the older man, seemingly unable to move, or even breathe.

  “Helen?” he repeated, reaching for her as though he would catch her before she fell.

  “I think the cat has her tongue, Doc. Though I can attest that last night, she was in full control of all of her—”

  “Paul!” she screamed, her voice high and more than adorable. In a flash of brightly colored quilt, she bolted out of the room.

  Doc chuckled. “It’s about bloody time.”

  The bush seemed bigger than it had before. The sun was brighter and higher. The wind not quite as harsh. Even the rickety sound of the creatures in the trees were less threatening than they had been the last time Helen had wandered through the gathering at the Fortescue River.

  She’d checked on her patients from her visit two weeks ago, verifying that Nanara’s mother’s eyes were completely healed. Jayla and her husband had made as much of a recovery over the loss of their child as one might expect after only two weeks. The celebration was in fine form, and everyone was happy.

  Or maybe they only seemed happy because Helen was. She couldn’t imagine looking onto the world right now and seeing anything other than pure bliss.

  At the moment, she was tending to a man who had sliced his foot several days before her visit. As it was too infected to close with stitches, she had cleaned it and applied a balm. At the moment, she was dressing it with cotton gauze.

  Paul was nearby, playing with a collection of sticks with a group of young girls. Every so often, her gaze would travel across the sandy ground and catch him looking at her, a smile perched on his soft, full lips. A rush of pleasure wound through her veins.

  “Come quickly! Come quickly!” called a little boy who ran from the outside of the camp.

  Paul leapt up from his game and caught the naked child in a two-handed grip around his shoulders. “What are you hollering about, Kaleb?”

  “Djuru was
climbing down into the gorge. The rocks fell on him. He isn’t moving,” Kaleb answered, tears running over his dusky cheeks.

  Helen hurriedly finished bandaging the old man’s foot and gathered her things. “Kaleb? Can you take me there?”

  The boy nodded.

  She looked at Paul, who handed the child over to a woman who might have been his mother. “I’ll need a few strong men to go with us in the event Djuru can’t climb out on his own.”

  “Of course,” Paul responded, already moving in the direction of Blue and several others.

  Within a short time, a rescue party had been formed, and they began to trek through the sparse forest.

  More than an hour passed, and they had yet to reach the site. Sweat soaked her shirt, making the thin fabric stick to her flesh. No matter how many times she pulled it free, it would once more plaster to her skin.

  “Here.” Paul handed her a canteen for the tenth time since they’d left camp. “You haven’t been drinking enough.”

  “Thanks,” she muttered, putting the warm metal rim to her lips and swallowing a mouthful of tepid water. “Do you think it’s much farther?”

  “Hard to say,” he grunted as he climbed over a rock, then bent to help her over it.

  “Jiminy Crickets, if they left from camp, it can’t be much longer, can it?”

  “They were hunting.” Paul shrugged his wide shoulders. “The hunters can follow any number of game into these hills for more than a day, easily. But I think we’re close. Kaleb didn’t travel overnight to get back.”

  “How do you know for sure? For all we know, he could have run for days to reach the gathering.”

  “Nah. He doesn’t have any brambles in his hair, and the paint on his back hasn’t rubbed off. It was a day trip at most.” He glanced down at her, his crooked smile firmly in place. “What?”