by Ann Major
Her eyes shot sparks. “Then it’s up to me to destroy the mood.” She picked up a great lump of sand and threw it at him. He backed away from her fast and headed toward the cottage.
"Don't run," she shouted bossily. "You'll just get sick again. The last thing I want is to have you lying in your bed again and me doing your bidding."
That stopped him. He turned back with a smile. His look was long and hard, but there was laughter in his voice.
"Honey, you should never have put an idea like that in my head—me in bed, you doing what I say for once."
She scowled. "And don't call me honey! You know I hate it."
"That's only because you haven't heard it often enough."
"I have no intention of getting any friendlier with you—"
"Honey," he drawled huskily, "you're going to do a lot that you have no intention of doing. And soon, my love. Soon..."
“I am not your love.”
He grinned.
*
Later, as Tad was servicing his Cessna, he was coldly furious with himself. Every second he spent with Bancroft increased the level of intimacy between them.
Dammit to hell! It wasn't as if he didn't know how treacherous she was. Why couldn't he leave her alone? Why couldn't he just pack his bags and take Lizzie and return to Jackson Downs?
He knew too well all the complications a woman of Bancroft's infuriating inclinations could cause in his life. But even as he told himself this, he remembered the feel of that soft, silky body clinging to his when she'd slept with him in her bed. He remembered how she'd nursed him so carefully and how lonely he’d been this past year.
More than anything he wanted to banish that glazed look of haunted sadness he saw so often in her eyes and the loneliness from his own heart.
Eight
Ouch!" Tad shouted, strangling. "Take it easy! I'm a convalescent, you know."
Jess jammed the cold metal spoon into his mouth, and a bitter glob of medicine burned all the way down his throat.
"Really?"
Tad was sprawled across the bed, on top of a pile of plumped pillows. He swallowed the last bit of medicine and wrinkled his nose. This nasty grimace was so overdone that even she laughed, flushing prettily.
Her face lost all its primness, and when she started to move away, he grabbed her hand. "I know something you could do, if you really want to make me feel better," he whispered.
The pulse in her wrist quickened beneath his thumb. Then she stiffened and tried to pull away. He held on, grinning.
When she saw she couldn’t escape until he let her go, she sank down on the edge of the bed.
"All right," she said. "Since you're set on being stubborn, I guess this is as good a time as any to talk about Deirdre."
"Again?" he thundered, letting her go. "Hell! More than anything, I want to forget her! Bancroft, why are you so obsessed with her and the way she died?"
“Because I want to know what’s going on. But for now, since you don’t want to talk about her, I’ll content myself by going for a swim where she last went swimming," Jess confided. "Only this time I want to go all the way to the reef."
"What? There are great whites out there."
"Something about that place bothers me."
"Something bothers me, too! Deirdre died out there," he growled.
"I'm not so sure about that. Besides, just because you're a man, you have no right to tell me what to do."
He gritted his teeth and sat up amidst the tangle of pillows on the bed. "Does everything always come down to that—man against woman—who's bossing who?"
"With a male chauvinist such as yourself—yes."
He struggled for control of his temper.
"Like most men, you think you know more. Just as you think you should be obeyed."
Beneath the sheets, he clenched his hands into fists. His mouth twisted into an unpleasant scowl. Dear God, she was impossible! How had he ever imagined for a minute they could live together and he could keep her safe on Jackson Downs?
She leaned over him to straighten a pillow.
"I learned long ago that I was perfectly capable of running my own affairs," continued Madam Doctor Impossible.
She bent lower, and her breasts accidentally grazed his bare arm as she put her hand to his forehead. His skin flamed to her touch.
And he was supposed to be conquering her.
With the dizzying smell of her so close, it was difficult for him to concentrate on her inane arguments, but he managed. "As well as running the affairs of everyone else you happen to encounter."
She drew her hand back from the pillow. "The world could do with a smart woman to run it. You men have had your chance. That's why it's in such a deplorable state! I'll bet it won't take me a week to set things straight at Jackson Downs."
His dark face turned a bright tomato-red. Just as he was about to shout his rebuttal, she returned to their original topic—her swimming.
"It'll be all right, Jackson, if I swim there again."
"I said no!"
"I've got to find out what really happened to her. Maybe I’ll have a psychic experience and channel her and she’ll tell me."
“That’s ridiculous coming from you.” His hand closed roughly over her arm. "And I don't want what happened to her to happen to you!"
"It won't."
"If this is a battle to see which one of us is the more thickheaded, it's me!" he yelled.
"I never doubted it for a moment."
He ignored that. "I'm going, too." He shoved sheets and medicines aside and leapt from his bed.
He never wore much to bed, and he was suddenly conscious of her gaze raking his broad shoulders, of her gaze running lower, following the ripple of muscle-ridged abdomen even lower to the white elastic band of his jockey shorts. He felt hot blood crawl up his neck to his cheeks. Damn, he was blushing! Like a high-school kid. He grabbed the sheet and covered himself.
She watched this evidence of modesty on his part with suppressed amusement.
Damn her for being a doctor.
She said only, "This is just the sort of macho nonsense I'd expect from you, Jackson. If you go swimming, you'll have a real relapse in an hour."
He was hopping around in the sheet, still blushing, looking for his clothes—which she’d hidden. "What do you mean—real?"
"You know what I mean, you big malingerer."
He smiled sheepishly. Then his gaze darkened as he took in the sensual beauty of her. Her golden hair fell about her shoulders in silky disarray. He decided it was time to show her who the boss was. "Can I help it if—for some quirky reason—I don't want you gobbled alive by sharks? If I want you near me?" he whispered huskily. He let his sheet drop a little.
Jess's eyes fell from his face to his brown chest again. She caught her breath. "I know too well what you want. You told me, remember? I'm a temple and you're the barbarian who wants to sack me."
"And you sulked over that for two days." The soft sound of his laughter taunted her.
He came closer. His sheet fell lower. He was as hot as fire. As hard as stone.
She backed away. He had her on the run. Now it was she who was blushing.
God, she was beautiful. So beautiful, he was almost tempted to drop his sheet and let her see how much she aroused him.
"If I was sulking," she said in a prim but slightly breathy tone, "it was because you were so obstinate there was no other way to communicate with you."
"Never mind!" he rasped. "All that matters is what I want now."
Involuntarily her hands came to rest on her hips. Her gaze drifted sensuously up and down his seminude body. "What do you want...now?" she whispered.
The air between them was charged.
"The same thing you do, honey."
Like one spellbound, she came a step closer.
Her mouth was a lush, pearl-flushed pink. Her silver-gold hair fell wildly about her neck.
What he wanted, what he ached for, was to kiss her. To fee
l her lips quiver beneath his, her arms tighten around him, to feel the press of her soft breasts against his solid chest. He almost groaned aloud, so acute was his torment.
She expelled a sharp breath. "What I want is to go swimming. By myself!"
He had followed her into a dark corner. Her eyes widened as he placed one hand on the wall behind her with studied casualness and leaned forward so that his great body towered over hers. Less than an inch separated them. They were so close he could feel her body heat. So close the scent of orange blossoms invaded every cell in his system. So close the dark intensity of her gaze mesmerized him.
He lifted aside the molten gold of her hair, pushing it away from her neck. "Jess..." He said her name in a gentle tone, reaching for her, lowering his lips.
She swallowed and stood very still. Gently he tilted her chin back. His unerring mouth found the sensitive place at the base of her throat, and he kissed the fiercely quivering pulsebeat there.
She gasped as she felt his wildness. Heat spiraled crazily inside him. Then she drew away.
Desire for her was melting his bones. With a low groan he let her escape.
"I'm going to swim alone, Jackson."
His features hardened. He shrugged. "Okay! Heaven help the sharks!"
Nevertheless, he wasn't nearly so indifferent as he pretended. With sulky misgiving, he followed her about the house. He stomped, slammed doors, and made every remark he could think of to try to goad her into not going as she got ready.
She ignored him. All too soon she was in her sexy, glove-tight black suit and marching officiously out the door carrying her snorkeling gear. Quickly he went to his bedroom, gathered his own gear, put on his suit and raced after her.
When he got to the beach she was already walking knee-deep into the waves. Her smile triumphant, she waved to him as he hopped about on the hot sand. He was furious as he struggled into his own flippers. He watched her disappear beneath the smooth, placid surface.
Then he waded into the shallow water. She swam farther and farther away, with him snorkeling behind her at a grudging distance. It took them a quarter of an hour to reach the reef. They swam amongst a school of fish that cavorted so enthusiastically they roughened the surface of the ocean.
A nagging worry plagued him—hordes of small fish brought bigger fish.
It was difficult to keep his eye on her in the rough water. He watched the school of fish stir the water. She kept swimming onward.
Just as they reached the reef, he saw the elongated dark body of something huge roll beneath them in the water. Another immense sea creature slid by him. A shark! Doubtless, there were more he couldn't see.
A pair of dolphins cavorted in the distance. Dolphins or no, he didn't like swimming with big things.
At just that moment Bancroft dove. Her black fins flipped water and then disappeared beneath the turquoise waves. Something immense brushed his leg. What was it? Where was Jess?
Hell!
What kind of wimp was he to let her run things? Rage strangled all his other emotions. He quickened his speed to catch her, using long, hard strokes to cut the water.
He waited for her to surface. Then he grabbed her by the hair.
She thrashed wildly in his arms.
He let her go. He ripped his mask off his face. "Swim to shore," he yelled.
She pulled her snorkel out of her mouth and lifted her mask. "What?"
"Sharks!"
"I'm not afraid..."
"Swim back or I'll drag you back. If we splash a lot, that attracts them."
"I know that! What do you think I am—some idiot?"
"Honey, you just read my mind."
If they'd been on shore, she might have slapped him. Instead all she could do to show her anger was to narrow her eyes and tread water mulishly.
"Swim or I drag you. It's your choice," he growled.
"Some choice." But something in his fiercely determined expression startled her into obedience. She swam toward shore. He followed her, keeping a wary eye on those large, dark shapes darting about, making a meal of the teaming fish.
When they reached shallow water and Jess was trying to race ahead of him, Tad caught her and yanked her into his arms. The heat of his body burned into hers.
"You could have gotten us both killed!" he bellowed. "Those sharks—"
"Shark," she hissed nastily. "I just saw one, and he was only a baby. The rest were dolphins. If you're so scared, why didn't you just stay on the beach?"
His blue eyes flamed as they swept over her flawless womanly form. He wanted to hate her, but his hatred had blurred and changed into a new, more powerful emotion that he could not recognize. All he knew was that she was Jess. His Jess. Infuriating, stubborn, impossible...and yet his stomach felt hollowed out at the thought of something happening to her.
His grip was making reddish marks on her arms. "I came after you because I didn't want you to die...the way Deirdre may have died," he muttered roughly.
His words fell away, fading into the silence of the glimmering afternoon, and yet the low, throbbing emotion that had governed them remained.
Her face was soft, sad, hauntingly lovely.
The familiar gnawing ache her nearness always aroused was back in his gut, only stronger than ever before. There was a wildness in him.
An answering wildness was shining in her eyes.
He jerked her closer, his large hands spanning her waist, their imprint burning through the wetness of her suit. For once, she did not resist him. His skin was mahogany dark against her paler body; his muscles sinewy and dangerous, her curves soft and feminine, molding him.
The sensation of her body pressed into his inflamed him. The creamy mounds of her full breasts pushed against the hard wall of his chest. Every muscle in his body tightened, and slowly his gaze lifted to her face. She began to tremble as the full force of his passion jolted through her.
Her dark, glowing eyes met his, and he felt her soul reaching out to him even as she fought an inward battle against the arousal of her senses. The wildness was drumming in his own pulse.
Pulling her closer until he felt the taut, quivering warmth of her body responding to his, he knotted his fingers into the tangled masses of her hair. He felt as if every moment of his life had led to this moment. Waves crashed against white coral. It was all he could do to resist pulling her down in those warm, roiling waters and taking her. But anyone could see them. He had to take her somewhere they could be alone.
Her fingertips came up tentatively and brushed the wiry vee of wet curls that grew on his chest, and she pushed at him to disengage the arms that locked her body to his.
Her touch set him on fire. He tightened his grip and drew her even closer.
Her eyes widened as she felt beneath her fingertips the flexing of his muscles, smooth as hammered steel, latent in their sexuality.
He could feel her heart racing, her breath quickening. Her fierce excitement mingled with his own.
When their eyes met and held, he felt the power of her stubborn will battling against her desire.
Her body stiffened.
"Don't," she whispered. "You don't really want me! You never did. You were hers! Always hers! Never mine! You blamed me for ruining your life! Well, what do you think you did to mine? You used me! I never loved Jonathan. And I ruined his life because I couldn't love him."
“What?” His hands bit into the soft flesh of her upper arms as she tried to pull away.
"Let me go. I—I want to talk about Deirdre right now. Not us. Or at least I want to think about her."
"Deirdre!" Damnation! "Now?"
Jess's big, grave eyes implored him. "Now."
Every male nerve in his body was aroused. He felt enflamed, enraged. He was so frustrated he wanted to smash something to bits if he couldn't have her. Instead he watched the surf breaking on the reef.
Reluctantly, gently, he released her.
For a long moment she looked at him. Then she walked slowly toward the
beach.
He felt like a bottled-up volcano.
He bit his lip until he tasted blood. Until pain brought back his self-control. Then he went after her, throwing his snorkeling gear in the sand beside hers.
Their eyes met again, and they both felt the new awkwardness between them.
"It's gorgeous down there, but eerie," she said in a strange, unsteady tone.
"Hell."
"I could almost hear things breathing, sucking in and out like a respirator. I mean everything under there is eating everything else, and when you watch it for a while, the beauty turns into ugliness. It's sinister. Something beautiful will lure something equally beautiful to its death."
"It's the cycle of life and death," he said. "Deirdre loved it here. She loved the reef."
“I wonder if she was lured here.” Jess's mood was pensive. "Why did she take the money and then come here? Why? I have so many unanswered questions. I don't think she died in the water. I wish now that we’d kept in touch and that I'd known her better. But I never really could because except for a few summers and college, we grew up apart after our parents divorced. She and Mother always had so little money that they had to live with my uncle in New Orleans. I stayed with my father and lived all over the world."
Damn. Tad didn't want to talk about this again. Aloud he said, "I know. She envied you and what she imagined as your exciting life."
"Exciting! Ha! Those camps were like a prison."
As always Jess's haunted, lonely eyes touched some deep chord within him. He knew too well what it was to feel starved for affection.
"You survived," he said.
"Yes, but I dreamed of being part of a real family and having a home life."
"I was part of a real family. It only makes it worse when your own marriage fails."
"Maybe. All I know is I always wanted to feel close to Deirdre. But I just couldn't somehow. Maybe it was a mistake the way our parents split everything equally, even their daughters, when they divorced. Dad believed in clean breaks. Anyway, my only chance to get close to her was when we were in college, but she always resented the fact that Dad and I had so much more money than she and Mother. She knew nothing about the loneliness of my childhood, of the sadness and guilt I felt about the poverty I saw in all those countries where we lived. Deirdre thought I had everything. But she was wrong. And now she's gone. So utterly gone."