Wild About Harry

by Linda Lael Miller

  What a line, observed the left side of Amy's brain. If this is a dream, don't let me wake up, countered the whimsical right side.

  As if to prove his assertion, Harry gathered a handful of the bruised, fragrant petals and began to rub them lightly against Amy's breasts and belly.

  She moaned helplessly as he lowered his mouth to her nipple, once again to drink from her.

  They landed in San Francisco some two hours later and although Amy's knees were still wobbly from Harry's lovemaking, she'd managed to grab a shower in one of the fancy airplane bathrooms and put on evening clothes.

  She wore a snowy-soft white jacket, with tiny iridescent beads stitched to it to lend a subtle sparkle, a delicate camisole top, and black silk slacks.

  As she and Harry descended the roll-away stairs to the tarmac, a pearl-gray limousine whisked to a stop beside the plane.

  "Wow," Amy said. "You really know how to impress a girl."

  Harry's grin was downright wicked. "You did seem pretty impressed," he agreed, and Amy knew he was referring to her unbridled responses to his lovemaking.

  She felt a little anticipatory thrill, because she knew she would return to Harry's bed that night.

  They dined in a restaurant atop one of San Francisco's finest hotels, and since the requisite fog had somehow failed to roll in, the view of the harbor and the Golden Gate Bridge was unobstructed.

  Amy had seafood of some kind—she would never remember exactly what—and she indulged in one glass of white wine. The sweet, pulsing daze she'd been wandering in turned to a feeling of giddy adventurousness.

  She wanted to neck in the rear of the limousine while they were driving back to the airport, but she was too shy to make the first move, and all Harry did was hold her hand and look at her as though she were a poem he wanted to memorize. Or a puzzle he couldn't solve.

  They had barely returned to the jet when two men in suits appeared. Harry obviously knew them, but they produced Customs badges anyway, and Amy showed them her passport. She was heart-stoppingly certain they were going to say she couldn't leave the country.

  "Have a good flight," one of them said to Amy with a smile, while the other shook hands with Harry.

  When the Customs agents were gone, Harry went to the cockpit to confer with the pilot. Amy strapped herself in and waited.

  After a few minutes, Harry's voice came over the intercom. "Sit tight, love," he said. "The flight check has been completed and we're about to take off."

  They'd been airborne almost half an hour when Harry finally returned to the main cabin. With a chuckle he unfastened Amy's seat belt and pried her fingers loose from the arm rests.

  "You're as beautiful as a moonflower," he said, holding her close and burrowing into the soft skin of her neck. "And despite the shower and that perfume you're wearing, I can still catch the scent of the rose petals."

  He left her, just briefly, to dim the cabin lights and turn on soft music. Then Harry drew Amy into his arms and they danced, and for Amy that was almost as keenly erotic as lying naked in a bed of flower petals.

  Emotionally, Amy was drowning. She thought of Tyler, in a desperate attempt to anchor herself to the only world she really knew, but suddenly he was only a sweet, fading memory.

  The music went on and on, and Harry and Amy danced tirelessly. Then he took her hand and led her back to his bed.

  Where before their lovemaking had had a fevered urgency, now it was leisurely and deliberate. Harry brought Amy to one release after another before he permitted her the final conquering she literally begged for, and the first light of dawn was sparkling on the blue waters of the sea when he finally allowed her to sleep.

  The thump and lurch of landing brought her bolt upright in bed, her eyes wide. Harry was fully dressed, wearing charcoal slacks and a lightweight white sweater, his sleek, raven-black hair glistening in the morning light.

  "Where are we?" Amy asked, pulling the sheets up under her chin even though she knew it was too late to hide herself from Harry.

  "Honolulu," he answered, grinning at her rumpled hair and dazed expression. "We'll only be here long enough to refuel, do some maintenance and change pilots, so take your time getting dressed."

  Blushing to recall how she'd behaved with this man, how she'd let him shape and maneuver her into every possible position for taking, Amy tried to get out of bed without letting go of the sheet. She wanted the blue terry cloth robe draped over a nearby chair, but Harry got to it before she did and held it out of reach.

  "On second thought," he said, his dark blue eyes full of mischief and passion, "don't bother to get dressed at all."

  ♥ Scanned by Coral ♥

  6

  * * *

  Amy settled into the airplane's big marble bathtub with a contented sigh. The intercom crackled out the announcement that the flight had been cleared for takeoff, and she gripped the sides of the tub as the craft hurtled down the runway and then catapulted into the air.

  Some of Amy's bubbly bathwater slopped over onto the floor.

  "They should have put a seatbelt in this thing," she muttered.

  Harry's laughter came over the intercom, along with a few chuckles from the pilot.

  "Push the white button on the panel, love," Harry told her. "After you get out of the tub."

  Red in the face, Amy snatched up a towel and scrambled out. She could hardly get to the intercom panel fast enough.

  Once Amy was dried off and dressed, her hair toweled and then combed into a casual style, she made the bed. The crashed rose petals had mysteriously disappeared, but their luscious scent lingered.

  Amy ventured out into the main cabin. She sat contentedly at one of the windows for a long time, looking down on the clouds—giant cotton balls stretched thin— as well as the sea, just enjoying the view.

  She was surprised when Harry showed up, carrying a tray. He'd brought her a gigantic fruit salad, a croissant and a little pot of special Hawaiian coffee.

  Amy gratefully accepted the food, but her tone of voice was testy. "Do the rest of the intercoms on this plane have minds of their own, or just the one in that particular bathroom?"

  Harry grinned and sat down in another seat, facing her. He was wearing jeans and a light yellow sports shirt, but he still looked elegant enough to play for high stakes in Monaco. "No worries, love. That's the only one with temperament."

  Amy popped a juicy piece of fresh pineapple into her mouth and looked out at the sea.

  "What are you thinking?" Harry asked softly at great length.

  She sighed, gazing at him with bewildered eyes. "I guess I'm waiting for the guilt to strike."

  He took a strawberry from her bowl and touched it lightly to her lips. Amy opened her mouth to receive the tidbit and felt a sweet tension begin to curl up tight within her.

  "Why would you feel guilty?" he asked quietly.

  Amy was practically breathless. She was going to have to talk to Debbie when she got back to Seattle, find out why a simple thing like having a man put a strawberry to her lips felt so much like a sweet seduction.

  "Because of Tyler," she said lamely. "Oh, I know we haven't done anything wrong." She wanted to tell Harry about her strange encounters with Ty, but she was afraid of the impression that would make.

  Harry raised both eyebrows. "Well, then?"

  "It's just that, well, I'd never been with anyone else— until you."

  Resting his elbows on the arms of his chair, Harry made a finger steeple beneath his chin. He sat quietly, ready to listen, and if Amy hadn't already been crazy about him, that gesture would have done it.

  "Instead of guilt," Amy stumbled on awkwardly, "I feel a sense of adventure and newness and excitement. Like, maybe I'm something more than a mother and an erstwhile wife."

  Harry's dark brows knitted together in a momentary frown. "Maybe?"

  Amy bit into a grape, chewing thoughtfully and then swallowing. "Tyler was a great guy," she finally said with a shaky sigh. "And God knows, I loved
him. But I don't think it ever occurred to either of us that I should have an identity apart from being a wife and mother."

  "Mmm," Harry said.

  Amy laughed. "If you ever get tired of being a venture capitalist, or whatever you are, you could be a shrink. You listen very well."

  He took another strawberry between his fingers and traced the outline of her mouth with the morsel until her lips parted. Just when Amy thought surely he was going to take her to his bed, he asked, "How would you like to try your hand at flying the plane?"

  Although her first instinct was to draw back and shake her head no, Amy made herself nod.

  Moments later, she was in the cockpit, in the copilot's seat, wearing earphones and staring at the instrument panel in utter ignorance. The pilot had gone to the rear of the aircraft, and Harry was occupying his chair.

  Over the next hour he taught Amy the function of most of the instruments and showed her how to gain and lose altitude. For a while, she was actually flying the aircraft herself, and the knowledge filled her with a kind of pride she'd never felt before.

  Finally, however, Amy excused herself and left the copilot's seat to the man who had come on board in Honolulu. She found a book in Harry's room and settled into one of the comfortable seats in the main cabin to read.

  Lunchtime came, and Harry clattered around in the galley, opening and shutting doors. A bell chimed, and he carried a tray forward to the pilot, then brought Amy a compact meal of Spanish rice and vegetables, along with a plate for himself.

  They ate in comfortable silence, not needing to talk, and then Harry went back to the cockpit. Amy tidied up the galley, thinking that was the least she could do, since Harry had done the cooking, then returned to her book.

  She was so absorbed in the story, a fast-paced spy thriller, that when Harry appeared, she was startled.

  He took the book from her hands and set it aside, then unsnapped her seat belt. Again, Amy was electrified by a perfectly ordinary thing.

  She knew what Harry wanted, and she wanted it, too, but the vamp in her made her offer a token resistance.

  "What if I don't go to bed with you?" she whispered. Even though the blood was thundering in her ears, Amy hadn't forgotten the incident with the bathroom intercom, and she wasn't taking any chances on having the pilot overhear such an intimate conversation.

  Harry ran his hands lightly over her thighs, easing her legs apart at the same time. "Then I'll have you right here," he said, his voice low, like thunder rumbling in a summer sky. After that, he kissed her, subjecting her to a preliminary conquering with his tongue. Then he bared her breasts.

  "I'll go," Amy moaned, as he nibbled at her. "I'll go!"

  Harry chuckled and lifted her legs, so that her knees rested over the arms of the seat. Then he opened the snap on her jeans.

  "Harry," she pleaded.

  He bent to nip at the crux of her womanhood and, despite the sturdy denim covering her, Amy felt the contact to the core of her being. She closed her eyes, loving the feeling of his hands cupping her breasts, and let her hips rise and fall as he bid them.

  After tormenting her for at least fifteen minutes, he took her legs from the arms of the chair and relieved her of her jeans and panties, then put her back into position again. The first foray of his tongue tore a raw cry from her throat, but Harry granted no quarter. He slipped his hands under her bottom and then feasted in earnest.

  When the first wave of satisfaction struck, Amy was grateful, because the sensations Harry was treating her to were so intense they were almost frightening. But that crest was followed by a second, higher one, and then a third.

  As Amy shuddered with the volcanic force of her pleasure, she clasped Harry's shoulders in both hands. Her vision blurred and she cried out at the top of her lungs, but there was no helping that. She was totally out of control.

  Her heart had almost settled back into its normal rate when he gathered her up and carried her to his bed.

  The taking of Amy Ryan had only begun.

  They landed in Fiji, then briefly, hours later, in Auckland, New Zealand, then in Sydney, where more Customs men came on board and inspected Amy's passport. Finally, they headed north again.

  When Amy finally stepped off the plane, into a lush tropical climate, she was amazed to see colorful parrots flying free, as robins did at home in Seattle. The sea was as blue as India ink, lapping at sugar-white beaches, and a spectacular stone house loomed in the distance, as imposing as a castle.

  "Where are we?" Amy asked, still in a fog from all the sweet, busy hours spent in Harry's bed.

  He laughed and kissed her softly on the mouth. "Paradise," he answered. "The island is named Eden, and not without reason."

  A Jeep was waiting at the edge of the private airstrip, and Harry flung the suitcases into the back with a practiced motion, then helped Amy onto the seat. The pilot was evidently staying behind to perform maintenance on the plane.

  There was a working fountain in front of the house, and two Australian sheepdogs came bouncing across the yard, barking gleefully, to greet their master.

  Harry took a moment to acknowledge the animals, then lifted Amy down from the Jeep.

  "You'll be needing a bath and something to eat," he said, his accent sounding more pronounced than before. "Then you'll want to catch up on all that sleep I've deprived you of since we left Seattle."

  An amiable housekeeper opened one of the stately double doors, and Amy stepped inside. She didn't notice much about Harry's house that first day, because she was too tired and distracted, and she was grateful when he led her upstairs to an airy suite filled with the distant sound of the tide.

  He undressed her, like a child, and they showered together. Even as Harry tenderly soaped and rinsed her exhausted body, Amy could barely keep her eyes open.

  At last, he wrapped her in a soft, giant towel and took her to bed. After pulling a T-shirt over her head, he tucked her under the covers and bent to kiss her forehead.

  "Sleep well, love," he said.

  Dimly, Amy was aware of Harry moving around the room, getting dressed again, and she wanted him beside her even though she hadn't the strength for even one more session of lovemaking.

  "Harry," she whimpered, patting the mattress fitfully with one hand.

  He chuckled. "No, love, not today. You're too tired."

  Amy fought to open her eyes, marshalled all her strength to ask, "What about you? Aren't... you tired?"

  Harry bent and planted a smacking kiss on her forehead. "On the contrary, my sweet little Yankee, I feel like I could take on the world with one hand lashed behind my back."

  "Don't...go."

  "Sleep," he ordered with mock sternness. Then he was gone and Amy slept.

  The room was bright with sunshine when she awakened, alone in the big bed and fully rested. Her suitcase was nowhere in sight, but when Amy opened the top drawer of a beautiful antique bureau, she found some of her clothes neatly stacked inside.

  Quickly she dressed. Beyond the glass doors leading onto the terrace, parrots made their raucous cawing sound and the tide recited its ancient, rhythmic poetry. After brushing her teeth, grooming her hair and applying lip gloss, Amy ventured out of the bedroom.

  She was ravenously hungry and nervous because there was no sign of Harry in any of the enormous, rustic rooms that lay between his room and the kitchen.

  The familiar housekeeper was there, stirring batter in a crockery bowl, and she greeted Amy with a gapped smile.

  "There you are, then," the woman chirped gleefully. "If I hadn't seen you arriving with me own eyes just yesterday, I would have sworn you were nothing but a story our Harry had made up."

  Amy was embarrassed, but she made an effort to be cordial. "My name is Amy Ryan," she said.

  "Elsa O'Donnell," said the housekeeper, with a nod and a twinkly smile. "You'd be Master Tyler's widow, then. Oh my, but we was fond of that boy."

  The reminder of her husband unsettled Amy a little. As much as sh
e'd loved Tyler, she'd never responded to him in quite the way she did with Harry. She just nodded.

  "Sit down," Elsa commanded good-naturedly, setting the mixing bowl aside. "I'll see about getting you some tea."

  Amy glanced at the clock and saw that it was two-fifteen. She'd not only slept away the night, but a good part of the day as well.

  By tea, Elsa meant a scone with jam and fresh cream, a plate of fruit, four delicate sandwiches and a pot of rich orange pekoe.

  Amy consumed the repast as politely as she could, considering that she was famished, then asked shyly, "Is Harry around?"

  "He's down at the beach, I imagine," answered Elsa, methodically putting away the ingredients of afternoon tea. "Headed straight for it after getting you settled yesterday, and was off to the water again this morning, right after breakfast."

  Amy rinsed her cup and plate and silverware at the sink, then set them on the drain board. "If I walk down there, will I find him?"

  "It's a big island," Elsa replied. "But I think you'll run across him. Just mind you don't go through the cane fields—there's snakes there."

  Amy shuddered, but even the thought of snakes didn't dampen her excitement at being in a new place and, yes, the prospect of seeing Harry again had its attractions, too.

  The sheepdogs joined her on the lawn, romping along beside her, and they were the ones who led her to Harry. He was in water up to his hips, examining the hull of a sleek sailboat, and his grin was as dazzling as the tropical sun.

  "So then, Sleeping Beauty has awakened," he teased, making his way toward her. He wasn't wearing a shirt, just cutoffs dark and sodden and clingy with seawater. "Welcome to the land of Oz."

  Amy, wearing shorts and a T-shirt herself, kicked off her sandals so she could feel the fine, pristine sand between her toes.

  Harry met her on the beach, and his kiss, quick and innocent as it was, sent her senses tumbling in all directions, just as always. He curled two fingers under her chin and grinned again.

  "If you're all rested up, love, I'd like to volunteer to wear you out again."