by Gayle Wilson
And then his mouth began to lower again, descending a fraction of a millimeter at a time. Her eyes closed, an involuntary response because she truly wanted to watch what he was doing, and she couldn’t. She could do nothing but anticipate what he would do next. She was powerless to resist him. Without will. Without control.
His lips finally settled around the areola, exactly as Gardner’s had often done, and then he, too, began to suckle. With the first pressure, her lower body exploded, arching upward again and again into the hardness of his.
She was mindless with want. With need. And when his teeth delicately touched on either side of the sensitive nipple, nibbling erotically, she lifted her legs, locking them around his hips.
An effort to increase their closeness. To become one with him. Again and again she arched into his arousal as waves of sensation roared through her body. The roughness of his jeans rubbing against the skin of her inside thighs was as erotic as his callused palm had been. As erotic as his mouth moving over her breast.
But she wanted more. She wanted the heat of his sweat-dampened skin sliding against hers. His moisture jetting to join the torrent of hers. His body moving inside hers, driving away the pain and loneliness and need of the months she had been forced to exist without him.
Despite everything that now lay between them, all the hurt and lies and betrayals, nothing about this had changed. And she could no more deny what she felt for Griff than she had been able to deny herself the night she had come out of the fog to place her trembling hand in his. The night Gardner had been conceived.
Her fingers found the fabric of his shirt, tearing at it, desperate to pull it free of his jeans. She wanted to spread her fingers against the dark, hair-roughened chest. To move them slowly over the flat, ridged stomach. To slip the tips of them inside the low waistband of his jeans. To unfasten the metal buttons one by one until flesh met flesh.
“Claire,” Griff whispered.
His mouth was no longer against her breast. The moisture it bad left there was caressed by the breath released with her name, and she shivered with the subtle eroticism of that sensation.
“I need you so much,” Griff said, his voice hoarse, the soft Virginia accent she had loved more pronounced.
A need she understood. And echoed.
“Tell me yes,” he begged softly.
The words were almost shocking. Interrupting what had been happening. They seemed...out of place. Certainly out of place between the two of them.
She had never told him no. Not even the first time. And Griff had never before verbally asked her permission. He hadn’t needed to, of course, and she wondered why he would believe he should now.
It confused her. And then it made her wonder. In all the years she had known him, Griff Cabot had never begged her for anything. Why would he now?
The frantic movements of her hands had stopped, her once-desperate fingers locked unmoving in the material of his shirt. “I need you so much,” he had whispered. A need based on his love for her? Or on something else? Something that had never before had any place in their relationship.
She had seen his despair when she had stood hesitantly at the door watching him. And had seen his pain when she had tried to convince him of Hawk’s betrayal. Had Griff turned to her for comfort? Using her body for solace for failure and betrayal?
But whatever happened here, whatever happened between them, shouldn’t be about comfort or loneliness. Not even about her fears for Gardner. If she and Griff made love again, it should only be about them. About how much they loved one another. Just as it had always been. And maybe...maybe this wasn’t what tonight was about.
With her continued stillness, Griff pushed himself up, lifting his upper body away from hers to look down into her eyes. His were again cold. Dark and unreadable.
“Tell me yes,” he had said. And she hadn’t.
And still she didn’t. No matter how much she wanted to make love to Griff, she knew it wasn’t the time for this. It wouldn’t solve any of the unresolved issues that lay between them. It would simply be another complication. And there were already enough of those in what was happening. More than enough complications.
“Claire?” Griff said softly. A question.
“No,” she whispered.
No explanation. She couldn’t have made one. Even she didn’t fully understand why she hadn’t said yes. Why she hadn’t agreed to what they both wanted.
Griff nodded, his lips thinned, cruelly compressed. The same lips that had drifted so knowingly over her breast. Then he pushed away from her, the movement abrupt. Removing his body from all contact with hers.
The positions involved in making love are always slightly awkward, but there was something inherently more embarrassing about assuming them and then having to retreat from their intimacy. When she looked up, Griff was standing beside the bed, looking down on her. She realized that she was lying exactly where he had placed her, unmoving, her breast exposed, still damp with the moisture of his mouth.
Slowly, she pulled the straps of her bra and shell up over her shoulder again, her own movements clumsy now. An awkwardness between two people for which intimacy had never before been awkward. Or uncomfortable.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
She rolled to her side and put her feet on the floor, sitting up on the edge of the bed. She realized that she was shaking. She wanted to stay here a moment, maybe put her head in her hands, as Griff had done.
But this was his room. His retreat. So she put her palms against the edge of the mattress and pushed up. Tiredly. Moving like an old woman. She expected him to try to stop her, but he didn’t He didn’t move. He didn’t say another word to her.
“Tell me yes,” he had begged.
She hadn’t.
And right now, at least, she supposed there were no other questions between them that really mattered.
Chapter Twelve
The cruiser was no longer moving. Perhaps that was what had awakened her, Claire thought, lying in the stifling darkness of her stateroom, listening to the silence. There was no lulling vibration of the powerful engines. She had been far too aware of their sound as she tossed and turned in this lonely bed after leaving Griff’s cabin last night. Now there was no engine noise thrumming like a heartbeat through the hull. Which meant, she supposed, they were back in Miami.
That’s where Griff had ordered Jake to take them last night. Back to where this misadventure had all begun. And, after too few hours of restless, nightmare-interrupted sleep, she was back again to wondering what happened next. And to the realization that she had no control over any of it.
Claire Heywood wasn’t accustomed to feeling helpless. She had always had control. Of her career. Of her life. Always. Until someone opened a second story window on New Year’s Eve and took her daughter. She closed her eyes, trying not to think about the images that had seethed in her brain last night.
Images of Gardner. Wondering if someone would make sure she was warm and hold her when she fretted. Wondering how they would know to sing the same lullabies to her as Claire had. Wondering if her baby were alone and frightened instead, somewhere in a darkness that matched this one.
Images of Hawk. Remembering her impressions of him, formed in the few times she had met him. Wondering if she were right to suspect him. Right to tell Griff what she believed. Wondering if Lucas Hawkins could really be cruel enough, vindictive enough, to have been the guiding hand behind Gardner’s kidnapping and everything that had happened since.
And images of Griff... Those had been the hardest to deny. It was so hard to push all thought of him from her consciousness. Almost impossible because he was here. And because she knew that all she had to do to change what had happened between them was to go back to his cabin.
To open the door to that dark room where he was sleeping and let him make her forget. Forget the pain of this. At least for an hour or two. To have that respite from thinking about things she could do nothing about, all she had
to do, she thought again, as she had thought so many times last night, was to go to him.
Instead, she closed her eyes, squeezing them tight against the burn of tears. She pushed her legs out from under the weight of the sheet. It was too hot, heavy against her bare skin and damp with the ever-present south Florida humidity.
She opened her eyes, turning her head toward the porthole, wondering if it were too early to get up. There was the faintest hint of gray in the blackness of the sky. It was not yet dawn. Which meant Jake was probably still asleep in the narrow crew cabin that had been built into the side of the pilothouse. As Griff almost certainly would be in his stateroom next door.
Next door, she thought. Next door. But of course, considering what had happened last night, he might as well be as far away from her as he had been before this all started.
She sat up on the edge of the bed, wondering about the oppressive heat. Maybe the air-conditioning didn’t work if the engines weren’t running. Or maybe Jake, sleeping topside, hadn’t realized how hot it would be down here without it.
There would be a breeze on deck. At least there would be a breath of fresh air that wasn’t contaminated by regret and worry, which seemed to have permanently thickened the atmosphere of this room. And it would do her good to watch the sun come up.
The promise of another day that, please, dear God, had to be better than the one that had just passed. Claire had always found a sense of renewal in watching the streaks of gold edge upward from beneath the rim of the ocean and push into a dark sky. Despite everything, she knew she would feel better watching that eternal phenomenon.
She stood up, not bothering to look for the robe she had bought to go with the thin cotton nightgown. There would be no one else on deck, and besides, part of the purpose of going up was to escape the heat and humidity. Putting on more clothes wouldn’t accomplish that.
On bare feet, she crossed the floor to the door. Once there, she hesitated, unconsciously listening. There was nothing. No sound. Only a silence that seemed as deep as the unnatural stillness on the island had yesterday.
Pushing away the image of what she and Griff had found there, she opened her door and walked down the short, deserted companionway to the stairs, resisting the urge to look toward the door of Griff’s room. As she climbed, the air around her seemed to freshen as well as brighten. She took a deep breath, savoring it.
Daylight was a little nearer than she had thought. Near enough that objects were almost discernible. As she watched, eyes adjusting, shapes began to form out of the surrounding darkness. The ghostly white hulls of the other cruisers in their moorings nearby. The outlines of the marina.
She walked over to the rail, her bare feet making no sound on the varnished deck. Or if they did, it was soft enough to be hidden by the low splash of the waves. No one was stirring on the nearby boats.
They would be soon, she decided, leaning against the rail. Pleasure boats or working boats, for most of them the day started at dawn and ended when the sun set. The water lapped seductively against the side of the yacht, a larger wave occasionally hitting the bottom rung of the ladder with a sharper, distinctive slap.
The monotony of sound was relaxing. She lifted her face, trying to let the salt-tanged breeze blow away the miasma of disappointment and worry that had oppressed her since there had been no kidnappers to meet them on the key. Griff had promised, she told herself. Promised her that no matter what, he’d get Gardner back. And she still believed that if anyone could—
There was a sound behind her. It was dark enough that she reacted just as she would have in the city, looking over her shoulder, eyes searching for whoever or whatever had made the noise. She expected to see Jake walking across the deck to join her. Or Griff, appearing at the top of the stairs, unshaven, the stubble of yesterday’s beard on his lean cheeks, his eyes as tired as they had been last night.
There was no one. She turned all the way around to be sure. Her eyes moved across the cruiser, sweeping slowly from stern to bow. Everything looked eerie in the strange half-light of dawn, but it seemed there was nothing—and no one else—on deck.
Maybe the noise, whatever she had heard, had come from the yacht on the far side. She took a step in that direction, craning her neck to see if someone had come out on deck. Her bare toes bumped against something.
The object was small and light enough to go skittering across the polished deck as if she had deliberately kicked it. Curious, she bent, eyes searching in the near dawn dimness to find it. The defective transmitter, she realized. She picked it up, holding it up to the light It must have fallen off when she and Jake had been struggling to get Griff on board.
A reminder of all that had gone wrong, she thought. A reminder she didn’t need. She turned, intending to toss it over the side. She had raised her arm, poised to throw, when she realized there was no reason to add this to the other garbage polluting the ocean. She had seen more than enough flotsam during the hours she’d searched for Griff to understand how much was already out there.
Instead, she closed her fingers around the transmitter. She’d dispose of it later. Or give it to Jake. Maybe it could be fixed, although she wouldn’t want to trust anyone’s life to it again. She glanced toward the helm in response to the thought of handing the transmitter over to Jake.
Hawk was standing by the rail on the opposite side of the yacht. He was watching her, blue eyes luminescent in the darkness, his strong features set, composed and unsmiling. He must have just come over the side, she realized. That had been the noise she heard.
He was wearing jeans and nothing else. And he was barefoot. As hers had been, his footsteps would be silent crossing the deck. By intent, she realized. Silent by intent. Her eyes lifted slowly from his feet. When they reached waist level, they stopped again, no longer focused on Hawk or on what he was wearing, but on what he held in his hand.
It was a knife, as broad and long as a bowie knife. The blade turned slightly as he adjusted the grip of his hand on the haft. The moving blade caught a shaft of light from the rising sun, reflecting it onto the varnished planks.
Her heart jumped, literally skipping beats in its normal rhythm. Other than that fluttering pulsation, nothing about her body seemed capable of movement. Her terror, invoked by that subtle flicker of light off the edge of his knife, was paralyzing.
She had always hated the thought of blades. The thought of being cut. Some people feared being trapped in a fire. Or drowning. Some were terrified of airplanes. But her own personal phobia had always been a fear of being attacked in some dark alley. Of feeling a razor-edge blade slice into her skin.
Still unbreathing, she watched Hawk take a step toward her. He turned his head, looking toward the helm. She couldn’t make her eyes follow his. Not even to see if Jake were there. Then Hawk looked toward the stern, blue eyes searching the length of the yacht, just as hers had done only seconds before.
When his gaze came back to her, his brows lifted, their meaning obvious. A question. Despite her fear, she certainly recognized the expression. She wasn’t sure, however, exactly what he was asking. Where the others were? Did he really expect her to tell him that?
Slowly, she shook her head. He was Griff’s friend, she told herself. Even the scenario she had described to Griff to explain what Hawk had done didn’t mean she believed he would be angry enough, or crazy enough, to want to hurt the people who were on this cruiser. Jake was his friend. She had helped Hawk set up the meeting he wanted with Steiner. And Hawk had once been willing to die for Griff—or to kill for him. Surely now...
As he took another step away from the railing, his eyes again scanning his surroundings, he reminded her of some sleek predator. Totally alert. Looking for danger.
Looking for danger. For some reason the phrase echoed in her head. That was exactly what Hawk appeared to be doing, she realized. But why would he expect danger here?
Because he thought Jake or Griff would by now have figured out what he had done? After all, she had, a
nd she wasn’t nearly as skilled at this game as the two of them.
Was Jake still asleep? she wondered. And why not? So far there had been no sound. The cruiser, the whole marina, was as quiet as the island had been yesterday. Suddenly the unwanted image of Diaz’s body was in her head. His throat cut from ear to ear. With the knife Hawk was holding?
With that thought, she took an involuntary step backward, pressing again the rail. Hawk’s fair head tilted again. Listening to something? Or questioning her movement? Using the knife, he pointed at the stairs that led belowdecks.
Where Griff was sleeping. Was he looking for Griff? My God, could he be insane enough to want to do to Griff what he had done to Ramon Diaz? What someone had done, she amended, trying to think rationally, despite her terror.
This time she made no response to his question, not even the small negative movement of her head she had made before. He pointed again with the knife, stabbing it toward the companionway. Demanding information?
It was almost daylight, she realized. The sun was creeping up over the horizon behind her, illuminating the marina with its thin, pale light. Surely someone on one of the other boats would come up on deck soon and realize what was going on.
Or maybe, disturbed by the rising sun, Jake would stir, come out of the crew cabin and see Hawk. See the knife he held and understand what was happening. Jake never seemed to sleep. Surely—
“That’s far enough,” Jake said.
His voice was low, but commanding. Maybe Jake wasn’t one of the hotshots, as he had called Jordan and the others, but still, right now he seemed an answer to prayer. It was almost as if she had conjured him up with the force of her fear.
Somehow Claire managed to pull her eyes away from their terrified fascination with the knife and look to her left. To where Jake’s voice had come from. He had come around the bridge, and she wondered how long he had been hiding there. Since before the first sound she had heard, of course. The narrow cabin where he slept was on that side of the cruiser, so Jake would have had more warning of Hawk’s arrival than she.