She'll Never Know

by Hunter Morgan

  She felt her knees grow weak and she leaned against Ty's sturdy body for support as she stroked his warm skin along the waistband of his shorts. She wanted to slide down into the sand in his arms, wanted to make love with him.

  He covered her mouth with his again and she closed her eyes, surrendering to this desire that she didn't understand for this kid. Didn't care at this moment if she understood. She let him lift her shirt over her head and drop it to the sand at their feet. Next came her bikini top. Her nipples hardened as the cool ocean air and his fingertips brushed against them.

  Smiling, she reached out and tugged his shirt over his head, letting it fall behind him. They kissed again as he stroked her breast with an unhurried hand.

  Then suddenly, the strange feeling came over Jillian again. She tore her mouth from his, tightening her arms around him, pressing her breasts to his bare chest She scanned the beach. It was dark now, and silent except for the crash of the waves washing up on the shore behind Ty.

  "What is it?" he whispered. "What's wrong, Jilly?" He brushed her hair from her face. "I don't want to push you, but you know it's what we both want."

  She shook her head. "That's not it." Her gaze darted across the dark beach that stretched in every direction around them. Engulfed them. There was someone out there. Someone watching them. "Let's go up to the house," she breathed, almost afraid to let go of him.

  "Here's okay, you know," he whispered, stroking her bare back beneath her shirt, ever so gently. "No one can see us this far from the water. Too dark, now."

  "No." Her tone was emphatic, bordering on frantic. "Let's just go up to the cottage." She gazed into the darkness, unable to see anyone or anything, but knowing he was there. "I don't want you to leave," she whispered in his ear, her arms still tight around his neck. "I just want to go inside."

  He picked up their clothes, and hand in hand they ran across the sand, over the dune and onto the front porch. Shivering from fear rather than cold, she fell to her knees in front of a pile of seashells she had collected, covering her bare breasts with one arm. The key was hidden in one of the bigger ones; she had started leaving it there when she went for walks, for fear of losing it in the sand.

  Where is it? Where is it? Her mind screamed as she turned over shells, sending some skittering over the edge of the porch into the sand. Her hand, at last, found the cool metal of the key, and she leaped up, jerking open the screen door. Her hand was shaking, though; she couldn't turn the old lock.

  Ty reached over her shoulder and turned it with one click. Inside, she closed the door behind him, locked it, and then threw herself into his arms. Here, she felt safe.

  Jillian threaded her fingers through Ty's hair and pulled his head down over hers. She didn't care what his mother thought, or Penny who cut hair, or anyone in this town. All she cared about was the ache in her body almost as great as the one in her heart.

  "Ty," she murmured, tears filling her eyes. "Make love to me."

  "Ah, sweetie, it's all right," he soothed, caressing her bare back. "Don't cry."

  She lifted her chin, looking up into his hazel eyes as she drew his mouth over hers, kissing him hungrily.

  It was as if all the fears, all the pent-up energy of the last few weeks was suddenly channeled into this one kiss. He caressed her bare breast with his hand, brushing his thumb rhythmically across her nipple. She slid her hand down below the waistband of his board shorts and cupped one muscular cheek, than dragged her fingernails over his skin.

  "Mmmm," he groaned.

  She pulled her mouth away from his, panting hard, and took a breath and kissed him again. Touching Ty like this, kissing him, feeling his hard, muscular frame against hers felt so familiar in the world of unfamiliar she now lived in. It felt so good to know what to do, how to react. He felt so good.

  Jillian hooked her thumbs into his board shorts and pulled them down. Ty's hazel eyes were heavy-lidded; he was smiling. He stepped out of his shorts and grabbed hers. They stood naked, barefoot on the hardwood floor in the middle of the living room, kissing again. She loved the taste of him, the feel of his arms around her.

  "Come here," Ty whispered, turning to sit on the couch and pulling her with him.

  She sat on his lap, straddling him, looping her arms around his neck. There was no way to deny his desire for her now. She pressed her groin to his, enjoying the prickly sensation of his pale, crisp hair against her skin.

  Ty slipped his hands down onto her buttocks and she lifted upward, using her hand to guide him into her. Jillian closed her eyes, throwing her head back in the sweet sensation of the moment. She slid her arms around him, rested her head on his shoulder, and began to move slowly, stroking him, pleasuring herself at the same time.

  He nipped at her neck and earlobe, whispering sweet, silly things in her ear. He drew his tongue over her lips... her eyelids.

  She smiled. Laughed, drunk with sensation. A part of her wanted to stay like this forever, drifting in the pleasure, in the sanctuary of his arms. But deeper urges pressed her onward. She was overcome by the heat of the hot, humid evening and of their lovemaking, and she pushed her damp hair off her forehead.

  She moved faster, grasping the back of the couch with both hands, straining against him one moment, moving with him the next.

  Too soon, she felt that tightening sensation deep inside. Her muscles contracted and she threw back her head, crying out as the orgasm swept over her. Ty moved slower, then faster, coming inside her as the last ripples of pleasure washed through her.

  "Oh," Jillian moaned, relaxing her head on Ty's shoulder, her arms wrapped tightly around him. "I think I needed that."

  She laughed, and he laughed with her, pushing her backward until he was looking into her eyes. "Just glad I could help you out, ma'am."

  Laughing, she gave him a shove and climbed off his lap. "Don't call me that. You make me feel like I'm robbing the cradle or something."

  He flopped down on the couch and caught her wrist, dragging her down on top of him. Stretched over him, Jillian rested her head on his shoulder and, for a moment, lay there listening to the sound of the waves breaking on the beach. Then she sighed loudly.

  "So, now what am I going to do?" she asked, feigning distress.

  "About what?"

  "You. Me. I just told the police chief this morning that there was nothing sexual going on between me and Mrs. Addison's son."

  Ty kissed her temple, chuckling. "You're sweet, Jilly," he whispered. And then he sang in her ear, "Sweet as Tupelo honey."

  She laughed. "What?"

  He tucked one hand behind his head. "It's a song. Van Morrison. She's as sweet, as Tupelo honey," he sang, smoothing her cheek with her palm. "Even if you can kick my ass," he finished matter-of-factly.

  She laughed and tried to get up, but he caught her around the waist. "Where are you going?" he asked.

  "To the bathroom and then to get us a beer."

  He let go of her so quickly that she almost rolled off him, onto the floor. "Well, why didn't you say so in the first place?" He watched her walk out of the living room. "Just so you don't have ideas about putting your clothes back on."

  "Nah," she answered over her shoulder, smiling. "I'll be right back, sans clothes."

  Tonight she didn't want to be alone.

  * * *

  The Bloodsucker stood barefoot in the cool sand, his hands in his shorts pockets, watching the cottage in the darkness. Jillian had closed the curtains the moment she and Ty had gone inside, but he had been able to see their silhouettes because the light in the living room had been on and he had been here in the dark.

  He had watched them kiss on the beach. Seen Ty take her T-shirt off and drop it in the sand. His, too. Had she also taken off her bikini top? He had been too far away to tell, but he didn't think so. Jillian wasn't like that. Not his sweet, lost Jillian.

  After they had kissed, she had said something to Ty. She had looked around as if she knew the Bloodsucker was there. She must have felt hi
s presence the same way he felt hers. She was beginning to feel the connection between them, and that thought excited him.

  The Bloodsucker had been very disappointed when they had run across the sand, over the dune, and into the cottage. He had liked watching them kiss, though it was a little embarrassing. It made him feel funny. Squirmy. But he liked it because if he was very still, if he breathed evenly and shallowly, he could imagine what it was like to have Jillian kiss him.

  Now she and the college boy were inside, behind the drawn curtains. When they had first gone in and closed the curtains, he had been able to see them because they'd been standing in front of the windows. He had watched them hug and kiss, but then they must have sat down. To watch TV maybe? No, the cottage had no TV. No air conditioning. Best of all, no phone.

  The Bloodsucker hadn't meant to follow Ty and Jillian tonight. Certainly not when they went back to the cottage. He had intended to just go for a walk on the beach and then go home to clean out the refrigerator. He always kept detailed records of house maintenance and upkeep and it was definitely "clean the refrigerator" night.

  But there was something about Jillian, about her lovely blond hair, her delicate oval face, and her tragic circumstances that he couldn't resist. He had followed her across the beach—unseen, of course—and over the dunes. Now he just stood in front of the cottage, watching the living room window, imagining what it would be like to be Ty, to be inside with her.

  In the living room, on the couch, he knew they had to be talking. He was good at conversation. He liked to talk. And there were so many things he wanted to say to Jillian. So many things they needed to discuss.

  The Bloodsucker slid a bare foot forward, toward the porch, yearning to draw closer. To look in the window. Just a peek.

  But the steps creaked. What if they heard him? Would Ty come outside? Would he holler at the Bloodsucker?

  No. The Bloodsucker could come up with a logical explanation as to why he was on the porch. He was good at explanations. Good at making things up that people would believe. They believed because they wanted to. Because they wanted to believe in good people like him. Like themselves.

  The Bloodsucker clasped the rail and slowly lowered one foot onto the step. The wood groaned, and it sounded loud in his ears... but not so loud that they would hear inside, he thought.

  He took the next step up. Then the next, each time pausing. Waiting. He couldn't hear Ty and Jillian talking right now, but maybe it was because she had the fan going. He knew she had bought an old-fashioned box fan; he'd seen her at the store. And they could be so noisy.

  Reaching the porch, the Bloodsucker paused for a minute and took a deep breath. He placed his hand on his breast pocket and felt the ridge of the photo. He didn't have to take it out. Just knowing it was there was enough.

  Another deep cleansing breath and he slid his bare foot across the uneven floorboards that were badly in need of some paint. Another two steps and—

  A shadow rose up suddenly in front of the curtained window, and the Bloodsucker held his breath. He heard Jillian laugh. It was low, sexy laugh... like Marlene Dietrich's in her movies. He didn't like Jillian laughing like that, not with Ty, at least. He wanted that laughter to be his and only his.

  He heard Jillian's voice again. Ty's lower rumble. She had gotten up off the couch, stood there for a moment to say something, and now she was walking away. Down the hall maybe?

  The Bloodsucker slid one foot behind him, then the next, backing toward the step. He didn't want to go, but he knew he had to. To be caught here now would complicate things and he wanted no complications. Another night he would come for Jillian, just not tonight.

  Another night, maybe he would even come for her here....

  * * *

  Monday at one, Jillian walked out of the shop to take her lunch break. Jenkins was still there, finishing a seascape he intended to leave to replace one she'd sold out of the window Saturday. She stood beside him, studying his latest artwork. "You want some lunch?" she asked. "I packed an extra turkey sandwich. Plenty of sweet tea."

  The old man sighed and got to his feet slowly, as if every bone ached. He set his brush on the easel, his hand unfaltering, and then reached for the arm she offered. She hadn't mentioned his blindness, but he knew she had figured it out.

  She headed for a bench across the boardwalk in front of the store that was shaded by a wooden slatted awning built by a Boy Scout troop. There were only a few of them, and older folks were known to get into fights over them. The other day Millie had threatened to call the police on two women if they didn't stop shaking their fists at each other over who had dibs on the covered bench.

  "Business has been good today," Jillian said, making conversation. She flipped the back of the seat so they could face the ocean while they ate and she sat down, touching Jenkins's sleeve to indicate he could sit.

  "I know that," he grumbled. "Blessed bells been ringing all morning. Disturbing my concentration."

  She opened the insulated lunch bag she had purchased at the drugstore and unzipped a sandwich baggie. She set the sandwich on a napkin and handed it to him. "How can the bells disrupt you?" she teased, unfazed by his grumbling. She'd known him long enough to realize it was just his way. "You can't see the ocean anyway."

  He took a bite of the sandwich and chomped on it noisily, the way only old people seemed to do. "I see it in my head, girl!" He took another bite. "Now what's this I hear about you runnin' some kid? Where's that tea you promised me? I'm not sittin' here getting any younger."

  "Here's your tea." She pushed a plastic cup from the sub shop into his hand with tea she had poured from a small plastic container kept cold in Millie's refrigerator. "And where did you hear such a thing? You shouldn't be listening to gossip."

  "Not gossip if it's true." Mayonnaise oozed from the corners of his mouth.

  She pushed a napkin into his hand and gazed out over the sunbathers to the blue ocean that stretched out before them. It looked as if it went on forever. "Ty Addison. You know him?"

  "I know him. Sassy mouth. Smart boy."

  She smiled as she reached for her tea. She made it herself with tea bags and fresh lemon and sugar. It was too sweet for sassy-mouthed Ty, but she craved it. "You know," she said indignantly, "I don't know how old I am."

  "You know you're old enough to be too old for him." He looked down between them as if he could see into her lunch bag. "You bring any fruit? A man my age needs fruit, every meal."

  She popped open a recycled Chinese food container and set it between them.

  Jenkins wiggled his nose that was so big it looked as if it took up half his face. "Cantaloupe. Good. I like cantaloupe." He reached in with his painted-stained fingers. "It better be ripe."

  "It's ripe and you know it is because you can smell it." She took the last bite of half her sandwich. "Just for the record, I didn't set out to 'run' with Ty or any other man. It just happened." She looked at him. "But so what? It's not as if I have anywhere to go. Anyone to go to."

  He popped a piece of cantaloupe into his mouth, his unseeing dark eyes staring out at the ocean. "There's one thing I've learned in life, girl, it's that you got to look forward. No sense dwelling on what bad things have happened to you. It'll just hold you back—keep you from being what you were meant to be. Drag you down, it you're not careful."

  She thought about what Ty had said about Jenkins. He obviously hadn't had an easy life. The drinking, the loss of his wife, the prison time. Now his health. He certainly had the right to dwell on the past if anyone did.

  "But I don't even know what happened to me," she said in frustration. "How do I move on if I don't know where I started from?"

  He popped another piece of melon into his mouth and sucked nosily. "Start here."

  She put the second half of her sandwich back in the baggie for later. "What?"

  He pointed to his feet. "You start here."

  She squeezed her eyes shut behind her sunglasses.

  "That's wha
t Ty says, too. That I can just start new here. Go wherever I want to go. Be whoever I want to be." She dropped the sandwich into the lunch bag. "Pretty easy to say when you're twenty-three and the whole world is there for you."

  "What other choice you got?"

  Jenkins was looking at her, and though she knew he couldn't see more than a few shadows, she felt as if he could see her. Perhaps better than she could see herself.

  "Jenkins, someone tried to kill me. That's how I ended up with the amnesia. A bullet wound in my neck sent a blood clot to my brain."

  "Didn't hear that."

  She stared at her hands on her lap. She was beginning to tan; her skin had gone from deathly pale to a warm brown. "I haven't told anyone."

  Oddly enough, Ty had never asked, not even when he found the bullet wound scar on her neck. Jenkins was the first person she had told. And now that she had said it aloud, it seemed all the more real.

  Someone had tried to kill her.

  So, the weird feeling she got in the cottage sometimes—that she was being watched—might not be her imagination. The other night on the beach with Ty, she had been sure someone was watching her then. Was it whoever had tried to kill her? Was he coming back for her? If so, why was he trying to kill her? She knew it had to have something to do with the nightmare, but how?

  To Jillian's surprise, she felt Jenkins's touch. She looked down to see the huge hand, wrinkled, liver-spotted, and stained with paint contrasted against her much fairer, smaller hand. "Nobody has all the answers. Me least of all. You just don't want to ruin the possibilities you got coming to you, over things that already happened. That's all I'm saying." He let go over her hand and got up. "Thanks for the sandwich, girlie. I got to get home. My soap'll be coming on before long and I got to feed my fish."

  She watched him walk back across the boardwalk to his easel, a slight limp making the going slow.

  "See you tomorrow," she called after him.

  He didn't look back. "Lord willin' and the creek don't rise."