Night, Sea, And Stars

by Heather Graham

  He was a stranger again as they left the Bonne Bree, and again she felt as if she had been dismissed. Did she love him? she wondered. Sometimes she hated him, when he mentally left her, when he watched her with cold lime eyes, his expression rigid.

  She hated him because he could love her passionately, but he didn’t seem to need her, and she had come to need him.

  It was impossible to talk aboard the seaplane. Ray had stayed with the Bonne Bree, but Michael was with them, and the pilot of the plane, who, of course, worked for Executive Charters. And even if they had been alone, it would have been impossible to carry on an intimate conversation above the noise level of the engines.

  The Pacific rushed beneath her. It was strange, but she hadn’t been afraid to board the plane. Flying now should terrify her, but she hadn’t been afraid at all. Maybe it was statistics—the odds against a person crashing more than once in a lifetime.

  She stared down at the water. It seemed endless, and endlessly dotted with tiny islands, sometimes miles apart, sometimes one on top of another. Speaking of miracles, it had been a miracle that Michael had found them.

  Skye shivered suddenly. They could have easily perished on the island, with no one ever the wiser.

  A prickle of feeling brought her vision to the front where Kyle sat beside the pilot. His eyes, as she had expected, were on her. But they held no glimmer of sharing. They were fathomless, cool, assessing… hard lime-green. What had she done to deserve such an expression? she wondered. How was he capable of changing so easily from the night?

  “There, Skye!” Michael, beside her, suddenly exclaimed. “Igua.”

  She could see the coastline coming into view, a beautiful place of white beach with one marked difference from the island she had just left—a stretch of handsome buildings beyond the sand, a harbor, an airstrip.

  People.

  People, she realized as the seaplane dipped and came in low for a landing, who were waiting for them.

  “Michael,” she murmured, feeling as if she were strangling, “I thought no one knew we had been found?”

  “Oh, hell, Skye, I guess we all forget to tell you with the excitement of this morning. The Australians changed their minds last night. They figured our radio contact could have been picked up by anyone anyway, so they informed my family and yours.”

  The Australians, she thought sadly, had had their period of grace, but she wasn’t to get hers.

  Before the engines had even ceased a crowd was racing toward the plane. Skye looked quickly to Kyle, but his eyes weren’t on her. They were on the crowd.

  And then Kyle was exiting the plane. From behind him Skye could see the reason for his haste. He was embracing a boy… a man… a handsome young man almost as tall as he, yet slender, promised breadth as yet not filled out. A dark youth, hair almost ebony, deep dark eyes alive with unashamed emotion. Skye’s heart tugged painfully at the scene.

  “Chris,” Michael murmured in her ear, and she nodded, before feeling an icy winter chill. Two women were taking the young man’s place—a lovely older woman with strong features and green eyes that surely identified her as Kyle and Michael’s mother, and another woman, extraordinarily beautiful, tall, shapely, statuesque; handsomely attired in a light navy outfit that matched from silver-blond head to exquisite toe.

  “Lisa,” Michael supplied unnecessarily.

  Skye closed her eyes and swallowed. She had not been an ugly shrew. She looked, as Kyle’s entire family did, as if she were not an outcast, but truly part of his charmed circle.

  And she had been encircling graceful arms around Kyle’s neck.

  Skye felt Michael’s steadying arm around her. “I believe there’s someone anxiously trying to get your attention…”

  Skye opened her eyes again, careful not to cast her vision in Kyle’s direction. And then everything happened so quickly she would never be able to sort out just what happened first.

  Michael was helping her from the plane, and Virginia was there, dove-gray eyes filled with tears, words incoherent as she embraced Skye. And behind Virginia was Ted.

  Skye was numb as he embraced her. She recalled all the pleasant things that were familiar, the scent of his after-shave, the touch of his tweed jacket against her cheek, the gentle appeal of warm brown eyes that lit easily to laughter…

  He pulled away to hold her at arm’s length, to look at her, to assure himself she was real. Skye met his gaze. She strained to offer him a tremulous smile; she tried to remember that this handsome man holding her with familiar arms was the man she had known and loved for four years.

  But he was a stranger. His words brushed her ears but she didn’t hear them. Kyle had made Ted a stranger. And then had become a stranger himself.

  Skye sensed Kyle’s eyes upon her. She turned, just slightly. His gaze, indeed, was upon her, fathomless. It appeared that he was going to come toward her, but his progress was halted. Lisa was attached to his arm. Her eyes, liquid and huge, were brilliant and pleading as she spoke words to him Skye couldn’t hear.

  Did Kyle mind that the woman hung on him like a leach? Skye wondered briefly. How much could he mind? She answered her own question with another question. Lisa was exquisite, and it appeared that she did love Kyle, did adore him.

  She would never give him a divorce.

  Skye caught Kyle’s eyes for an infinitesimal second. She couldn’t read anything but ice in them; his expression was rigid, cool, harsh. The stranger—he could take her, but she could never have all of him.

  She pulled her gaze from his willfully. She threw her arms around Ted’s neck, threaded her fingers through tawny hair, brought her hands to his face, pulled herself up on tiptoe, and kissed him—long, hard, passionately.

  Forgive me, she thought sadly.

  Skye heard a click; a brilliant flash of light exploded. The reporters were after their stories.

  She disentangled herself from Ted. “Can we get away from all this, please?”

  “Of course, darling, of course…”

  He began moving her through the crowd of jet-set curiosity seekers and reporters. Virginia clutched her other arm; they hurried toward a dark sedan and Skye was ushered in. She didn’t look back.

  “We’ve a suite at the Sheraton,” Ted assured her, holding her hand as the vehicle began to move. “We’ll get you settled, Virginia will stay with you, and I'll make our plans to return home. We can do whatever you wish, Skye. Stay here until you feel rested, start back immediately, whatever you wish.”

  Ted was good, Skye thought, closing her eyes. Was he actually missing an opening? she wondered. He was so anxious. She squeezed his hand, then glanced at his fingers. They were strong hands, just not the hands she craved to have touch her.

  “Skye,” Virginia murmured softly, “you are going to have to talk to the reporters to get them off your heels. We’ll arrange something. The Jaggers are all in the Sheraton too. Perhaps we can arrange something together.”

  “No!” Skye exclaimed, then at the bewildered expressions they both gave her she murmured, “Please, not right away… I… I just want to settle in, then I’ll make decisions.”

  “Of course, Skye,” Ted murmured soothingly. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything.”

  Two hours later she was still soaking in a bubble bath in which the majority of bubbles had dissipated.

  The water that had been steaming with heat was cold.

  What was Kyle doing now? she wondered. Her stomach muscles tensed. He was in the hotel, not far away. Perhaps at this very moment he was setting aside his differences with Lisa, the mother of the son he so adored, taking her into his arms, making up for time lost over the years.

  She didn’t realize she had groaned aloud until the bathroom door flew open and Virginia flew in. “Skye! Are you okay?”

  Her sister-in-law was usually so serene, with a quiet strength that suited her angelic prettiness to a tee, and at the sight of her gray eyes wide with alarm, her short brunette hair flying wildly,
Skye smiled.

  “Sorry, Ginny, I’m fine. Just pruning from sitting in the water so long.”

  Virginia handed her a massive snowy-white towel, and Skye wrapped herself in it as she emerged from the water.

  “I haven’t become an invalid you know,” Skye told Virginia, who continued to watch her with worry.

  “I know, I know,” Virginia murmured with a flush. “I just can’t tell you how worried I’ve been, how sick. I had just learned to accept… to accept Steven being gone, and then…”

  “Hush, Ginny,” Skye interrupted, impulsively hugging her and soaking her through the towel. “I’m alive, I'm here, I’m real.”

  Virginia brushed away the beginning of tears with the back of her hand. “Well,” she said briskly, “Ted should be back up any minute to tell us what arrangements he’s made. I’m sure, knowing you, that after all that time with nothing, you’re dying to dress up! I picked up a slew of things from the boutique in the lobby while we were waiting for the plane to come in—” Her giddy speech was interrupted by the ringing of the doorbell. “I wonder who that is?” she said, brows arched. “I doubt that Ted would ring.”

  “Go find out,” Skye said. She laughed as Virginia still appeared to be lost. “Ginny, answer the doorbell. I can hardly do so in a towel.”

  Giving her a sheepish grin, Virginia left the bath and exited the adjoining bedroom, closing the door behind her. Skye followed her out of the bath and glanced at the packages lined up on the bed, then quickly began to rummage through them.

  She paused uneasily and glanced around the plush chamber with the massive white quilted bed.

  There were only two bedrooms in the suite. Ted, after seeing her to the suite, propping her up in the thickly cushioned sofa in the sitting room as if she were an invalid, and assuring himself that she really was healthy and sound, had left her with Ginny to check with the French authorities who governed the island and straighten out her papers.

  After ordering a huge meal—she was famished—and talking with Ginny, she had sunk into the bath.

  She didn’t even know whose room she was in. Was Ted putting her with him? Or, suspecting that she had slept with Kyle and would need time now, leaving her to sleep with Ginny?

  Her heart seemed to stop for a moment. She couldn’t sleep with Ted, not tonight; she didn’t know if ever…

  Her glance moved to the twin hardwood dressers. She felt her heart began to pound again, then she sank to the bed with relief. An assortment of very feminine powders and perfumes filled the top space of the far dresser.

  “Skye!”

  “Coming!” she answered Virginia’s call. She could hear conversation from the sitting room, but couldn’t decipher what was being said or who was speaking. The other speaker, however, was male.

  She dug into the first bag and found an attractive off-white day dress with long sleeves, an A-line skirt, and full front buttons that ended at the neck in a tailored collar.

  And Ginny—bless her—had been thorough. The smart shopping bag also contained low sandals to match and pretty lace undergarments, even pantyhose.

  Skye hurriedly dressed, her curiosity piquing her. An official, she was sure, to welcome her back to the world of the living, to the island.

  Her hand froze on the knob before she could open the door. The drone of the man’s voice was familiar. It was Kyle. She was sure it was Kyle.

  “Skye?”

  Virginia’s call caused her to jerk open the door, and she struggled desperately to control her features, to wear an expression of cool cordiality.

  But the man wasn’t Kyle. Michael Jagger waited for her. “Skye!” He greeted her with pleasure, taking her hands and kissing her cheek. “You look stunning!”

  “Thanks,” she murmured, trying to hide her vast disappointment. Kyle was not coming for her. Had she expected him to cast Lisa aside dramatically and to appear at her door to proclaim his love and whisk her away from Ted? No, she thought, not after the show she had given him of throwing herself into Ted’s arms, kissing him heatedly.

  She felt a blush rising to her cheeks. What must Michael think of her? He knew she had been sleeping with Kyle; he saw her show of intense delight in another man.

  But apparently Michael Jagger didn’t judge. Strange, but he had become a very comfortable friend. She felt oddly as if, in some way, she knew Michael better than Kyle.

  “I’m sorry I took so long, Michael," she apologized. “What can I do for you?”

  Michael laughed. “I’m not sorry you took time at all, Skye. I’ve been getting acquainted with your sister-in-law.”

  “Oh!” Skye said, a smile creeping into her lips as she watched Virginia—quiet, shy Virginia—blush.

  “Anyway,” Michael continued, always able to make others feel comfortable, “we’ve arranged a press conference for you and Kyle in the ballroom for five o’clock. We told the reporters thirty minutes and that’s it. Then you won’t be hounded—”

  “I haven’t been hounded.”

  “Kyle had your calls diverted to our secretary. He didn’t want you bothered.”

  “Oh,” she said again. She didn’t know whether to be angry or not. Even away from her, even in the arms of his family, he was running her life. A rush of misery swept over her. She didn’t want to be back in the real world; she wanted to be back on the island with bark for a toothbrush and sand for a bed, back on the island where life and love were simple, basic, elemental.

  “Is that all right?”

  “Yes, Michael, thank you,” Skye murmured. She thought he would leave then, she wanted to close herself into a room and sort her life and thoughts, hide like an ostrich.

  But Michael didn’t leave. Virginia, stuttering peculiarly, was offering him a drink. They sat and talked. Skye talked but she didn’t know half of what she said.

  Then Ted was back and she was trying to smile for him, trying to be comfortable, trying not to cringe when he touched her.

  And then it was time for the press conference.

  It was only thirty minutes, but it was thirty minutes of pure hell. She sat next to Kyle, so close that she could feel the heat and tension of his body close to hers.

  More so than ever, he had slipped away from her. She didn’t know the man in the impeccably tailored suit, yet his scent was poignantly familiar from that first day. Against the pale blue of his shirt, his face was ruggedly bronze, his eyes were brilliant, shrewd… condemning when they lit upon her.

  Oh, dear God, she thought, floundering as his gaze turned to her as he answered a question about their food supply and diet. She had never seen facial muscles so rigidly set, a jaw so seemingly composed of granite.

  It was over. They had both done well, she thought vaguely. Not a word had been mentioned about illegal gold, not a word that linked them as anything more than two survivors.

  The reporters were ushered out; family was once more rushing toward them. Why do people always rush? Skye wondered. Why don’t we get even a moment?

  And then all she wanted to do was run. Chris was the first to reach his father, the first to be politely introduced to her. He showed her a sincerely friendly interest, and still she felt uncomfortable. He was an adult. Did he speculate about her relationship with his father? Or was she paranoid?

  Chris was called away by his uncle. Ted was busy speaking with a reporter who hovered persistently by the door. Their moment had come…

  Kyle turned to her with a dark glower. “We have to talk, Ms. Delaney.”

  Talk? About what? Last night had been their time to talk. Now was too late. His wife was coming toward him again with his son. “About what?” She said it aloud, bitterly.

  “Us,” he said curtly.

  “Us?” Skye laughed briefly, a quiet sound, but dry and harsh. “There is no us. I’m leaving shortly—with Ted.” Why had she said that? she wondered, praying she didn’t burst into tears. She couldn’t handle the situation; words she didn’t mean to say were coming to her lips.

 
“Is that what you want, Skye?”

  No, it wasn’t what she wanted at all, but how could she say anything else when it appeared that he hated her and was merely taking care of her still because she had become some type of an obligation…

  I think I’m pregnant, she wanted to wail out, but when she spoke it wasn’t those words. “Yes—of course that’s what I want. The island—what we had there—is over. I have my life…”

  “Kyle!”

  Skye’s hushed whisper was interrupted by Lisa Jagger’s soft voice. The woman was smiling as she approached the chairs where Kyle and Skye still sat, and again Skye was startled by her beauty. She appeared to be ageless; her manner impeccable.

  “What is it, Lisa?” Kyle asked, his voice brittle and snapping.

  “Excuse me.” Lisa smiled again, apparently aware that Kyle’s barely contained anger was directed more toward a difficulty between him and Skye than toward her actual interruption. She extended an elegant hand to Skye. “I haven’t met Miss Delaney yet. How do you do? Since my husband seems to have lost his manners, please let me introduce myself. I’m Lisa Jagger. Kyle’s wife.”

  “Dammit, Lisa—” Kyle began with thunderous irritation, but he was interrupted again, this time by an apologetic Michael needing his immediate attention to clarify a problem with flights.

  “I’ll be right back,” he told Skye, ignoring Lisa.

  Lisa shrugged and gave Skye a patient sigh. “You poor thing. What a miserable experience for you.”

  Skye twisted her lips into a meaningless smile. She had thought Lisa beautiful; she had believed Lisa did love Kyle, she had had been so perfect and charming. But her statements in private held a note that was vicious. Even as she smiled and simpered, a certain malice filled her eyes.

  “It wasn’t all that miserable, Lisa,” she replied, her voice cool and poised. “Kyle is so… resourceful.” She underscored her words with a meaningful pause. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe my sister-in-law is calling me.”

  Skye rose, wishing her height equaled that of Lisa Jagger. She began to walk away as calmly as she could manage.