Once in a Lifetime

by Ginna Gray

  "Yeah. More so than you might think."

  Vaguely she heard the despondent note in his voice, but she was too keyed up to question it.

  "Not that I wasn't scared, mind you. A few times I thought I was going to die of pure fright. I still shiver to think of it," she said, her voice turning somber.

  With the admission, the spurt of high-spirited triumph faded, and Abigail began to tremble in earnest as the fright and the tears she had held at bay all evening came rushing to the surface. "Oh, David, for a while there I thought... I thought we were going to die." Her voice wobbled at the end, and at once, David's uninjured arm tightened around her.

  "Aw, Abbey, baby, take it easy. It's over now. We got away. And we'll get out of this mess yet, you'll see."

  Abigail believed him. She had complete faith in David. But her shivers intensified anyway. The thought of how close they'd come, of what that hulking beast, Ivor, might have done to her—to both of them—didn't bear thinking about.

  "Hold me, David," she murmured against his neck. Her arms went around him as his big hand stroked her back. She clutched his strong body with all her might, unable to get close enough. She buried her face against his neck and inhaled his scent. Her lips nibbled and her tongue stroked, and she tasted the salty tang of seawater on his skin. Her fingers clutched at him, her movements becoming wild and frantic.

  Catching her urgency, David crushed her to Mm. "Oh, God, Abbey. Abbey. It feels so damn good to hold you again."

  They kissed and touched and stroked, and kissed again, both consumed by the desperate need .to prove, in the most basic way, that they were, indeed, still alive, that they truly had managed to survive the terror and danger of the past few hours. They were driven to taste and touch and smell and see and hear. Both had to experience again that feeling of oneness and joy they had found only with each other.

  All rational thought fled. Driven, Abigail became a purely sensual creature, acting solely on instinct, primitive instinct that demanded she reaffirm the precious life force that pulsed within her. Her breathing became raspy, her movements frenzied. Her hands slid down his bade and burrowed under his bikini undershorts. Her fingers dug into his tight buttocks, squeezing, flexing. Despite the mild night,

  Abigail's shivers increased, and she strained closer, greedily absorbing his warmth.

  Roughly David snatched at the fasteners on her bra, jerking the hooks free. He tore the flimsy garment from her and tossed it aside as he rolled onto his back, bringing her to lie on top of him. His thumbs hooked under the elastic waistband on her panties and shoved them down around her knees. Wiggling and squirming, her mouth still fused with his, Abigail worked the scrap of cotton the rest of the way off and kicked it aside.

  She smoothed her hands down his sides and encountered the narrow band of elastic at his hips. Her open mouth ran over his neck, his collarbone, the thatch of dark hair on his chest. She scooted lower and kissed and nipped her way over his hard abdomen to the band of elastic on his scandalous undershorts. She nuzzled lower, her breath warming the wet cloth and the swelling bulge that strained against it.

  David's body jerked, and he groaned and clutched her shoulders. "Oh, Lord, Abbey, hurry. Hurry! I can't stand much more of this."

  Abigail sat back on her heels and surveyed him through narrowed eyes—his magnificent body, his dear, battered face, that outrageous strip of leopard-print silk that stretched across his hips and molded his swollen manhood. Love filled her heart, and her chest ached with possessive pride. Her lover. Her love.

  "Abbey, please."

  Smiling, she peeled the leopard print down his legs and tossed it over her shoulder. Kneeling again between his thighs, she touched him intimately, her fingertips stroking with a tormenting feather-light touch that made his hips jerk.

  The gentle caress pushed David over the edge, and with a low growl, he rose up, grasped her hips and brought her forward until she straddled his body. Gazing into his eyes, she obeyed the silent urging of his hands and lowered herself onto him. Slowly, oh, so slowly—their bodies achieved that perfect fit. Abigail gasped. David growled again and arched his neck.

  A taut stillness. A breathless savoring. Then the movement began.

  Moaning, her fingers clenching in the hair on his chest, Abigail threw her head back, lost in pleasure. David surged upward powerfully, setting the pace, driving them to the brink. Abigail's hips rocked to his rhythm, her urgency matching his.

  The release came quickly, an explosion of pleasure. Abigail cried out as the exquisite convulsions overtook her. Her back arched, her head went back, her nails dug into his chest. Pushed over the edge by her ecstasy, David's hoarse cry followed hers as he reached his own completion, his hips lifting off the deck.

  When it was over, Abigail collapsed limply on his chest. She lay gasping for breath, vaguely aware of David's thundering heartbeat, the strong rise and fall of his chest beneath her cheek. A moment later his moan jolted her back to reality as efficiently as a bucket of cold water in the face.

  "Oh, my stars! What have I done? Your arm!" Abigail scrambled off of him and knelt at his side, wringing her hands, her expression stricken. "Oh, David, I'm so sorry. I don't know how I could have forgotten your injury. Are you all right? Did I hurt you? I don't know what came over m— That is... well, I do, of course, but... I mean... you're wounded and in pain and I—" She gave her hands another twist. "Oh, dear."

  David chuckled. "I don't think you have to worry anymore, sweetheart. Believe me, if that didn't kill me, nothing will."

  "Oh, God..." Abigail groaned. "I'm so sorry."

  "Hell, I'm not." Raising on one elbow, he hooked a hand around her neck and brought her face down to his for a lingering kiss that set Abigail's heart to thrumming and made her forget what she was saying. When their lips parted, he grinned at her dazed look. His brown eyes sparkled with wicked delight. "But you know, baby," he whispered, "if you're gonna keep on seducing me this way, you're gonna have to get over being embarrassed about it afterward."

  "Seduce you! Why, I did no such thing! It was—"

  David chuckled and fell back on the deck, and Abigail made a face.

  "Oh, you," she admonished, giving him a poke in the ribs.

  Still laughing he got to his feet and extended his hand to her. "C'mon. Let's go below and get this thing bandaged so you can quit worrying and we can get the hell out of here. We left a trail even a city slicker could follow in the daylight."

  Bypassing the banquette seat where Chelsea lay curled up with her toy, Abigail seated David on the bed with strict instructions not to move. After slipping into her baggy walking shorts and shirt, she scurried around gathering bandages and medicine and hot water and soap. The makeshift bandage she had applied hours earlier was streaked with dirt and grime and soaked with saltwater. When she cut it away, she sucked in her breath.

  The bullet had only grazed him, but it had gouged a nasty furrow in his upper arm. The wound was deep and raw, and the flesh around it looked swollen and angry. Abigail knew from the stiff way David held his arm that it was painful, but as far as she could tell, no serious damage had been done.

  Fussing over him like a mother hen, she cleansed the raw wound with soap and water first, the poured alcohol over it.

  "Ow! Ow!" David yelped, flinching. "Dammit, that burns!"

  "Oh, poor baby." Abigail patted his cheek as though he were four years old. "You men are such big hairy-chested heroes. You stand toe-to-toe and beat each other to bloody pulps without a peep, but act like crybabies over a little alcohol."

  Grumbling something about a fight being different and women not understanding, David gave her a sour look as she smeared antibiotic cream on the wound.

  When she'd finished applying a fresh bandage, she helped him put on a clean shirt, and as he buttoned it, she gathered up the supplies. Bending over, she picked up the dirty bandage from the floor and straightened to find David watching her.

  "Nice tush," he said, wriggling his eyebrows
in an exaggerated leer.

  Abigail looked back at him through narrowed eyes. He grinned, waiting for her reaction. Oh, no you don't Not this time. Beneath that rough exterior David was a caring man, but he was also, she was fast coming to realize, an outrageous tease. Well, if he thought he could retaliate for her crybaby remark by getting her all flustered again, he had another think coming.

  She subjected him to a slow, frankly lascivious once-over that finally settled on his rear end. Her sultry gaze lifted, and she smiled. "Yours isn't so bad, either."

  He looked so stunned, she had to bite the insides of her cheeks to keep from laughing as she turned and strolled out with a deliberate hip-swaying walk.

  He caught up with her as she was stretching to return the first-aid kit to the overhead cabinet in the galley. Catching her chin in the V of his palm, he turned her face up and kissed her long and hotly, then straightened and looked into her eyes. "Mouthy female," he muttered.

  "C'mon, the sun is coming up." Grabbing her hand, he led her toward the steps. "It's time to get out of here. And you're going to be the skipper."

  "What?" Abigail hung back. "Me, drive this boat? I can't do that!"

  "Steer, Legs. Steer. Not drive. And you have to. My arm is too stiff to do it, and it's throbbing like hell. Anyway, I don't think I have the strength to turn the wheel."

  "Oh, my stars. Well, if your precious boat ends up wrecked on the coral reef, just don't blame me."

  David paled. "Don't even say that."

  The sky was turning a pearl gray as they climbed up on deck. Under David's watchful eye, Abigail weighed anchor. On the bridge he explained all the dials and gauges on the console, instructed her on how to start the engines, how to operate the throttle, how to keep the boat on a steady course. Concentrating, Abigail chewed on her bottom lip and nodded.

  He turned the key and pressed the starter, and the engines rumbled to life, vibrating the deck under their feet. Abigail looked at David, looked at the array of dials, swallowed hard and grasped the wheel with one hand and the throttle with the other.

  "Okay, let 'er rip," David said.

  The unfortunate choice of words aptly described their roaring takeoff across the cove. The boat reared up and lunged forward like a highspirited horse that had been spurred.

  "Holy shi—!"

  David flew backward in a drunken stagger and would have fallen off the bridge if he hadn't grabbed the rail. Abigail would have, too, if she hadn't been clutching the steering wheel with a death grip.

  "No! No! Cut back on the throttle!" he yelled.

  Abigail jerked the lever back. The engine roar changed to a purr, and the prow dropped. Except for the forward drift of momentum, they were at full stop.

  David stumbled forward holding his injured arm close to his side, and gripped the rail around the console with his other hand. "Dammit, Abbey! Where did you get your driver's license, out of a grab bag?"

  "There's no need to be insulting. I told you I didn't know anything about driving a boat. And for your information, I happen to be an excellent driver. On land."

  He made a disbelieving sound. "I think it would be best," he said in a tight voice, "if I operated the throttle. You just concentrate on steering."

  That was fine with Abigail. She preferred to keep both hands on the wheel anyway. Besides, the gas pedal ought to be on the floor where it belonged.

  With David controlling their speed, they eased through the water at a crawl. Because of nerves and inexperience, Abigail had a tendency to overcompensate but she did all right until they entered the narrow passageway leading out of the cove.

  "A little to the right," David instructed, and Abigail gave the wheel a turn.

  "No! Too much! Left! Left! Left!"

  She spun the wheel left, and immediately he changed his tune.

  "Not that much. Right! Right! Look out for that bank! Back to the left! Dammit, woman! What're you trying to do? Run us aground?"

  "I turned the way you said every time!"

  "I said a little to the right, for Pete's sake! A little!"

  Through the entire passageway the boat zigged and zagged from one bank to the other, scraping overhanging limbs and bumping the sandy bottom, with David yelling directions every breath and Abigail frantically trying to follow them. When at last they hit open waters, it was a toss up who was more relieved.

  David sighed and muttered a fervent "Thank God," but his relief was premature and short-lived. On the open sea Abigail skippered the boat with all the finesse and skill of a demolition derby driver. David was just grateful that there weren't many other boaters out at that hour.

  He was exhausted, he was hungry, his arm hurt like hell and he would have given ten years of his life for a cigarette, but he didn't dare go below to search for one with Abigail at the helm.

  He watched her, poised and tense over the wheel, gripping so tight her fingerprints were no doubt permanently imbedded in the surface. He shook his head, his feelings a mixture of exasperation and affection. How could an otherwise competent woman be such a menace behind the wheel of a boat? His boat, for Pete's sake!

  David endured the entire trip in a state of high anxiety that overrode even the pain in his arm. Nothing in his thirty-seven years had ever looked so good to him as the island of Rincon lying peaceful and serene in the early-morning sunshine. Of course, Abigail bumped the pier several times and nearly sheared the inside ramp off the boat house before the Freewind was berthed, but at least they made it. When David turned off the engines, he hung his head for a minute, savoring the relief.

  As they stepped off the Freewind, he did not let his gaze even flicker toward the hull. Between the boat getting shot to hell and gone and Abbey's Keystone Cops brand of skippering, he had already resigned himself to putting it into dry dock for repairs and paint before he left Alhaja Verde to return to work.

  Work. He paused in the act of locking the boat house and thought about how strange that sounded. The high-pressure job with Telecom International, the constant travel it entailed, his carefree bachelor life-style, all seemed so remote, like part of another life. Though he'd met her only a few days ago, Abbey was the center of his world now, and he could not imagine a future that did not include her.

  The trend of his thoughts startled him. Hey, take it easy, Blaine. That's crazy. You're letting yourself get caught up in the drama of the situation. That's all.

  This was an interlude. When this business was settled, Abbey would return to Waco and her bookstore, and he'd fly to Brussels to check on the security at Telecom's operation there. In a few months this wild escapade would be just a distant memory. Why, before long neither of them would be able to recall what the other even looked like, he told himself staunchly.

  He turned and found Abigail watching him, her beautiful aquamarine eyes full of concern, and a painful tightness squeezed his chest.

  "You look terrible. Here, lean on me," she said, and slipped her arm around his waist as they started up the pier.

  Feeling woozy again, he accepted her assistance without protest. Yes, their parting was inevitable, but it would be for the best.

  The tightness in his chest increased, and he closed his eyes. Dammit! Even if he were ready to settle down—which he wasn't—it wouldn't be fair to Abbey. She was just beginning to come out of her shell and experience life. She was ripe for a little excitement. And after living with that old battle-ax for most of her life, she deserved a chance to spread her wings.

  They were almost to the house when Abbey drew back, pulling David to a halt as well. "David..." Her fingers tightened on the side of his waist, and even through his exhaustion and confused thoughts he heard the apprehension in her voice. "David, someone is here."

  His eyes snapped open, and his scowling gaze shot toward the house. There on the deck were two red-haired women.

  David cursed, and Abigail looked at him with real alarm. "Do you think they're Sergio's agents?"

  "Worse. Those are my sisters."


  "Oh, dear."

  "Exactly." Sighing, David urged Abigail forward. "C'mon. We might as well go face the terrible twosome. They've seen us, so it's too late to make a run for it."

  Abigail's nerves twanged like a cheap guitar as they climbed the steps to the deck under the watchful eyes of the two women. She had no idea what kind of reception to expect from David's sisters. By now they would know that she and David had made use of their house, and regardless of his assurances otherwise, she felt like a trespasser.

  How would they feel about their brother bringing a woman to their house? Especially one who spelled nothing but trouble? They were going to hate her, Abigail just knew it. By the time they reached the deck, she was feeling sick to her stomach. David's grumpy pessimism wasn't helping matters, either.

  It was not quite seven o'clock, and the sisters were both in nightgowns and robes. One sat decorously in a padded lounger with a soft smile of welcome oh her face. The other one perched on the railing, hands braced on either side of her hips, swinging her bare feet and eyeing them with undisguised curiosity.

  David stopped at the top of the steps and glowered. "Great. Just what I need. What the hell are you two doing here?"

  The woman sitting on the railing raised her eyebrows and answered his grumpiness with a droll, "It's wonderful to see you, too, brother dear. And we own this place. Remember?"

  "That's right," her twin chimed in. "We should be asking you that question. Erin and I weren't expecting you until next week. Though, of course, you know that you're always welcome," she hastened to add.

  The sisters had addressed their remarks to David, but Abigail was uncomfortably aware of their scrutiny. The woman on the lounger cast discreet glances her way, but the other one studied her with unabashed directness.