by Maddie James
His eyes grew wide as his gaze played over her face. Then in jerky movements, just like a spoiled child, he rushed toward the door. He turned and laughed as his hand hit the knob. “No, Claire. No, it's not. It's far from over. The sooner you realize that, the better."
He slammed the door on his way out.
* * * *
The ocean beckoned and she came.
Crossing the bridge from the mainland to the islands, Claire had felt a giddy sense of relief, even though Jack's voice had faded as she'd neared the sea. Had he simply nagged her until she returned and then quit?
Or had she been nagging herself?
And now, standing in the dark, searching the moonlit beach, waiting, she could hear nothing. No more silent communication to which she had become accustomed. There was nothing. She grimaced at the irony of it all. The night breezes whipped around her body, her satin gown flowed about her. Her toes dug deep into the warm sand.
Waiting. Waiting.
Where was he? Where was Jack?
Claire sank into the dune facing the ocean, refusing to let the tears come. She had given up everything. All of it. For him. For Jack. Vicki now held the keys to her business, and when there was a buyer, it would be gone. She'd let the lease go on her apartment. She'd drawn every available penny out of her savings and soaked a good portion of it in renting the light keeper's cottage for an entire year.
Thankfully, Rick had left, though reluctantly. She'd picked up her life and moved lock-stock-and-barrel to a near-deserted area of the island.
And for what? All for a man, a voice, an image of a love she'd thought she'd never have? If it ever existed at all?
Crazy, Claire. You are going crazy.
But he will come. He had to come to prove her sane.
To prove that all of this wasn't for nothing.
She'd promised herself hours ago that if he didn't come she wouldn't cry. But she did anyway. Tears flowed silently down her cheeks. Not for what she'd given up, or for what she'd driven away. And not for what she'd left behind. But because of what she'd not yet had. Because of what she craved, desired and longed for. And the possibility that it would never be.
She rose. Dusting particles of sand from the back of her gown, she turned and faced the cottage, suddenly glad she'd had the insight to rent it for the year. If Jack didn't come to her she wouldn't go back to Cincinnati. She would stay here.
Forever.
Where she belonged.
Her only regret was that she had left her mother. She would have packed all her belongings and moved her to the islands, as well, but her mother would never have agreed to that. She was perfectly content living out the rest of her days in solitude on the Ohio farm, as generations before her had done. Not to mention that her recent illness had weakened her physical body—but, thank goodness, not her spirit. Her mother was the only person she knew who seemed to have life in perspective. She'd bid her daughter farewell with a kiss on the cheek and the promise she would visit in the spring.
The bond Claire shared with her mother was strong. Very strong. But the pull she felt to return to the islands was stronger. She knew she had to return and her mother hadn't resisted. She'd simply nodded as if she'd anticipated her daughter's actions.
As if she'd already known.
Hell, she'd practically pushed her out the door.
It was difficult to shake the uneasy feeling that her mother understood, and had so readily accepted, something that Claire could barely understand herself.
Slowly, reluctantly, she returned to the cottage. At the last instant, before she turned off the porch light, she let her gaze play across the scene in front of her once more. The sliver of moon made little light for her to see, but she knew he wasn't there. If he was out there, she would know it before she ever saw his face.
* * * *
The stone summoned.
As though his body had no control, Jack rose from his sleep after several hours of unconsciousness and returned to the stone. His mind still fuzzy from the deep sleep and the rum, he shook himself to clear his thoughts as he stared downward. Was it today he had covered the stone's face with sand? Or was it yesterday? He shook his head. Whatever the day, it did not matter, for the stone was now uncovered and shining bright in the light of the quarter moon. He blinked, couldn't believe his eyes. It had taken him quite a while to cover it, but now, it was as if he'd never bothered.
Suddenly he was as alert and as clear-headed as ever. Could this be it? Could this be the sign? Would this be the night?
For whatever reason, the stone had magnetically drawn him here.
For whatever reason, the sand was now blown away. And Jack Porter decided to try once more, to risk the feelings of defeat. To step on the stone and see what would happen.
He did.
In the same manner as before, he lifted his right foot and placed it in the center of the stone. At the slightest touch, he felt the lightning-like current pass through his foot and travel up his leg. Then his left foot joined his right, and in a flash, he was swirled, transported, and plunged into a dark void.
* * * *
Midnight.
The quarter moon rose, lighting the sandy beach more than the previous night. The stars and the surf twinkled in the clear yellow radiance. The surf roared endlessly in her ears and Claire was reminded of the night of the brewing hurricane. The night Jack came to her and made love to her. She stood at the foot of the boardwalk facing the lighthouse and wondered.
Who was Jack, anyway?
A voice. He was a voice.
She'd given up every inch of her life for an incredibly stupid and asinine act of passion? A sexy voice? A ghost? Oh Lord! Again, even after she swore she wouldn't, the tears came.
When the soft hand rested on her shoulder, however, she calmed. Eyes closed, she listened for his heartbeat. She waited for the warmth of his breath against her neck. Pausing, she sighed and listened for the hush of his voice. It had to be him. There was no one else around.
Please God, let it be him.
Slowly turning, she reined in her anticipation of seeing Jack, but when her gaze settled on the man's face, she gasped and jerked back.
"Rick?"
"Claire, I had to see you."
She exhaled deeply, a bit disoriented. “Oh, Rick. Let's not get into this again. How did you find me?"
"I followed you."
Anger boiled inside her. “You what?"
"Claire...” His voice was soft, alluring. “Claire, come with me. I'll show you the world. I'll give you everything you ever dreamed. We'll add adventure and mystery to our lives. I love you, honey. Forget this guy. Come with me."
She inched back a little, somewhat frightened, although she didn't know why. Perhaps it was the devil-spawned look on his face. Finally, she mustered some courage from deep inside. “I want you to leave, Rick."
Fire leapt into his eyes and she was truly frightened. “I'm not leaving unless you leave with me."
"Rick, this is ridiculous. I'm starting a new life. And I'm very sorry to be so blunt, but you're not in it. I can't help that, it's just the way I feel.” She backed away. “Now will you please leave?” She hated the way that sounded, like she was pleading with him.
Rick stepped forward. “No. You're coming with me, Claire."
Shaking her head, she answered quickly. “No. I'm not."
"Yes.” He reached for her arm.
She jerked it away. “No, Rick!"
"You don't understand, Claire. You don't have a choice."
One more step backward. “I think I do! What are you going to do, kidnap me?"
Glancing to the top of the boarded stairs, Rick stared across the dune. Slowly, his gaze returned to her. “If I have to."
Wide-eyed, she risked a sideways glance upward. Two men—two very dangerous looking men—glared down at her. Swallowing her fear, she turned a hard stare on Rick, trying to make some sense of the situation. Kidnap? What the hell was going on here?
&
nbsp; Rick is going to kidnap me?
Another step backward. “I don't think so, Rick."
He lunged. “Like I said. You don't have a choice."
She didn't respond. Frantically turning, she raced with bare feet across the beach, kicking up sand behind her—hoping some of it flew high enough to get into Rick's face. Glancing sideways, she saw his goons turn to run across the boarded walk.
Faster. Oh my God! He is trying to kidnap me!
Her toes dug deep into the sand dunes as she ran toward the lighthouse. She didn't dare look back. She only hoped that her bare feet gave her more leverage in the sand than Rick's tennis shoes did him. The men shouted to one another behind her, but she refused to give in, refused to look at them, concentrating only on getting away.
Where to? Where would she go? This part of the island was secluded, hell; it might as well be deserted. There was no one. No one to help her. No one to get her out of this mess.
Her feet plowed and churned the sand, slipping as she ascended the steep dune toward the lighthouse. She realized the cottage was out of the question, she'd have to cross their line of direction. The lighthouse was her only salvation. Perhaps her feet could fit between the small squares of the chain-link fence and she could climb over, buying her some time over these big-footed men. Perhaps...?
She slammed into the fence. A few yards to her right, she saw the gate and the lock—Unlocked! As she reached for it a gunshot blasted into the fence a few feet away.
"I don't want her killed, you fools! Forget the gun!” She heard Rick shout at them from behind her.
Thanks for small favors, Rick.
Panting, nearly crying, she screamed as she swung open the gate and passed through. No time to lock up. Racing toward the shelter of the lighthouse, she tore through the short expanse of sand.
The heavy door of the lighthouse beckoned to her.
Oh please don't let it be locked. Please, oh please...
Both hands gripped the old brass door pull. She mustered up all the strength she had and pulled. The door hesitated, and then swung open. She slipped inside, turned, and pulled it closed.
Not thinking about the consequences of her actions—not thinking that if Rick and his goons got inside that there would be no escape, she swirled, looking for a hiding place. There was none. In fact, there was nothing but the tall circular stairway spiraling up from the ground to the top of the structure.
She took the stairs. Running scared, running on pure adrenaline, she took them two at a time. As she ascended, she felt safer, until about a third of the way up. A faint shaft of light plunged upward when one of Rick's goons opened the door.
Be quiet. Be very still.
Maybe they'll think you went out the crack in the back. Maybe they'll leave. So she waited in the shadows. Barely seeing their movements below. She waited ... until the sound of heavy footfall echoed inside the round chamber below.
Run!
Keep running, Claire. Keep going. Up and up.
Fight for it,
Claire. Fight for your freedom.
But she was too winded. Tired. Too tired to fight it. Too tired to run. After all, what was at the top?
Nothing.
Nowhere to go but down. She didn't relish the thought. Her pace slowed and she knew she wasn't going to make it.
C'mon, Claire.
The footsteps grew louder behind her. She slowed.
C'mon, Claire!
Lifting her foot one last time, with a final burst of energy, she tried, but her toe slipped off the step and she fell forward with a scream. Large hands, not Rick's, grasped her waist and pulled her up. Turning to face him, with one last bit of energy, she clawed at the man.
"Get your hands off me! I'm not going anywhere with you."
"Yes, you are, Claire. You're coming with me.” Rick stepped up confidently behind the man. She didn't see the third man, and hoped he'd run off in another direction. Pinned between the staircase rail and Rick's goon, she felt his body press entirely too close, and by the look in his eyes, he was enjoying the position.
"Get him off me, Rick. Now,” she snarled.
"If you stop struggling, I'll agree for him to let go."
She glared. “Why are you doing this, Rick?"
His gaze narrowed. “I don't want anyone else to have you. Ever.” Fingers of panic spread across her back. The man holding her crowded closer. She wanted to puke down his neck.
"Get this slimy bastard off me, Rick.” She twisted her body away from him.
"Stop struggling and I will."
His face possessed the most irritating smirk.
"Fine. I'll stop struggling."
He nodded to the man and he released her. She immediately bolted up the stairs.
"Get her!"
It only took another instant, but again, she was caught in the man's vise-like grip. He pounded her against the iron railing, pain radiated from her spine. “It's not going to work! You can't force me like this!"
Rick sneered. “It looks like I already have.” He laid a soft finger on her sweaty cheek. “I promised you adventure, baby. Just think of this as a new kind of adventure. One in which you have no control.” His finger trailed down her neck to her breast and dipped into her cleavage. The man holding her chuckled. “The possibilities are endless."
She looked from Rick's face to the man holding her against the rail. His eyes were too hungry. And she didn't like the way he was looking at her breasts. My God! What in hell did Rick have in mind for her?
Once more. I've got to try once more.
With her breasts distracting both Rick and the other man's, she acted quickly. Bracing herself against the railing, she quickly thrust her knees up and kicked the man opposite her square in the stomach. He faltered back. Claire ducked under Rick's arm, and tripped down three or four steps.
Reaching out, Rick lunged, catching the hem of her gown and yanked. The satin ripped, she tripped forward against the wall. Rick wrestled her until she stopped kicking. He stood and pulled her up against him. “You're really playing the game aren't you, Claire?” His lips almost touched hers.
"I don't play games,” she sneered back.
The lighthouse appeared to rumble then, with sparks of light rotating three-sixty inside the thing. In an instant the deafening noise vanished, and the Claire heard the sweetest sound....
Hannah!
The sound of her name shot up through the cylinder, suspended there, drifting up like a life-rope. Time stopped. A contradictory sensation of fast-forward and silent slow motion grabbed her. She glanced over her shoulder to the dark circle of floor below, and saw him.
She gasped. Jack?
Her chest heaved with both exhilaration and fatigue. Turning backto Rick, she briefly studied his face and knew what she had to do. Once more she looked over her shoulder and saw Jack's outstretched arms and the slight nod of his head.
Trust me.
With a power she didn't know she possessed, she kicked, clawed and screamed until finally, oh, so finally, she broke free. Pushing Rick. Kicking the other man out of the way. She knew what she had to do.
In one swift movement, she leapt over the railing, teetering on the edge of the staircase, too many feet high above the floor. Too many feet to think about surviving a fall of that distance. And without another thought, she jumped.
"Claire!"
The single word ripped from Rick's throat and trailed behind her body as she dropped into the dark abyss below.
She fell.
Falling free of Rick, free of her past, free of the pain, free of a life that had never really been lived.
Free. Free at last.
With a soft thud she landed in Jack's arms and they closed securely around her. She felt him lovingly cradle her body to his. At once he became her salvation and her life, meshing his soul with hers. She trusted him, truly trusted him.
Only him.
He would never let her go.
He would never hurt her. He would
love her always.
In the next instance, within a flash of light and a soundless streaming vessel of colors, he stepped away from the center and carried her through the crack in the back of the lighthouse. Claire felt a strange sort of sensation. Like that of returning somewhere after a long absence.
Like coming home.
With the waxing of the tide...
No love, no friendship can cross the path of our destiny
Without leaving some mark on it forever.
—Francois Mauriac
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Chapter Seven
Waking from a drug-like sleep, Claire rolled over and snuggled into the warm body next to hers, drawing her lover closer until his heated skin seared hers where they touched, which was nearly everywhere. A delectable feeling of fullness rose from within the pit of her stomach and traveled throughout her body until reaching each of her outer extremities.
Moaning softly, she pressed her mouth against a hairy chest. The slight touch zinged over the tender skin of her lips; his arms closed around her and she heard his own guttural moan. One of his hands settled low over her buttocks, squeezing and kneading her fleshy backside. The fire banked within her earlier, in the wee hours of the morning, suddenly leapt to life again, each movement of his hands and touch of his skin sending the flames licking higher and higher into her core.
Swiftly, he moved over her and pinned her against the soft bed.
Again his mouth descended, his body moved against hers, and Claire felt the now familiar urgency of his demands and the trembling of her own femininity as she anticipated his plunge into her body.
The man was insatiable.
Jack!
Her brain swirled with thoughts of their previous hours of lovemaking. Her breathing deepened within her chest. He entered her with a thrust so powerful, and so excruciatingly sensual, she rose up off the bed to meet him as her body sheathed his. And she wanted him, oh, how she wanted this—this wild act of mating, this complete giving and taking of one another's bodies. No demands, only mutual trust and fulfillment.
She craved it, and thought that perhaps she was the one who was insatiable.
He took her once more. And she let him. She wanted Jack. Wanted him more than she'd ever wanted any man. And her body now responded familiarly to his wants and his desires. She knew instinctively how he would feel and how he could make her feel. Her body hungered for him. She felt incomplete without him. She needed him to make her whole.