‘It’s not!’
‘Right.’
She swung her legs over the edge of the hammock and moved to get out. ‘I’ll just get up then,’ she said, ‘and let you get your beauty rest.’ She slapped her hands on her hips and glared at him. ‘Enjoy it, Mr. Sawyer.’
‘You might as well call me Aidan now that we’re married.’ He grinned at her annoyance, his vanishing in a flash. Then he reached out a hand and yanked her back in. She fell across his chest, then scrabbled to pull away, but he held her fast.
‘Take it easy,’ he admonished as she clawed at him, the heat of his body doing terrible things to the desire she had been fighting down all night.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Keeping you here.’
‘Why? I thought you wanted sleep?’
‘It would be lovely,’ he said, ‘but I want us to look like newlyweds more. And you should too, unless you want one of Daddy’s sermons on marital bliss,’ he told her flatly. ‘So we’re going to look like we’re exhausted from a night of passion, and not be up and running out of the hut at the first crack of sunshine.’ He pressed her head against his chest, and she could hear the steady thump of his heart. ‘Lie down and relax. We’re falling asleep in each other’s arms whether we want to or not and we’re not coming out of this hut till midday. If then.’
‘You’re joking.’ She lifted her head and stared at him.
‘No.’ He pressed a palm against her back, moulding ; her body more fully against his. ‘I’m damned well not.’
The strength of his hold and the firmness of his tone told her that he meant every word of it. She sighed. The solid warmth of his body tempted her. And the sleepless night was getting to her. She couldn’t fight it—couldn’t fight him. Didn’t even want to try.
‘You going to do it?’ he asked, his voice soft in her ear.
‘I guess.’ She tried to sound off-hand. She was enchanted with the view from his shoulder down across the muscled chest and belly to where the waistband of his trousers rode low on his hips.
‘That’s better. This is at least going to be a morning after for the books.’ He paused and sighed.
Courtney raised her head and looked down into his face. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘Books.’
‘What about them?’
His mouth twisted wryly. ‘I was just thinking about books—about you and your children’s books.’
‘How so?’
The grin became almost painful. ‘They all get married and live happily ever after, don’t they? In books?’
She didn’t want to think about that.
Happily ever after was precisely what her parents expected from them. And for some reason Aidan seemed determined to see that they got it—even if it killed him and Courtney in the process.
It very nearly did. They almost died of sleeplessness. And desire. And frustration.
The nearness. The wanting. The sharing every night of the hammock that demanded togetherness. Everything conspired against them.
Especially her parents. While before the wedding they had hovered around, talking, smiling, making suggestions, wanting to get to know Aidan better, wanting to catch up on Courtney’s news, now they were the souls of discretion.
Now they seemed to vanish for hours at a time. Whenever Courtney came and offered to help wash or sew or teach the children something, her mother shooed her away.
‘It’s your honeymoon, darling,’ she said time and time again. ‘You spend it with your husband. I understand.’
She didn’t, of course. No one did. Except, strangely enough, Robert.
The third day when Courtney was trying to avoid Aidan in the evening so that they didn’t end up together in the hammock any earlier than they had to and so was sitting in the shadows where her mother couldn’t see her, weaving a mat out of reeds for one of the Indian women, Robert came up and dropped down beside her.
‘How’s marriage?’ he asked, giving her a smile.
Caught with her guard down by the suddenness of his question, it took her a moment to get her mask of good cheer in place. ‘Just fine,’ she said brightly.
But he just shook his head as if he doubted her and said, ‘Honeymooning en famille isn’t easy, is it?’
Found out, she agreed. ‘Not very, I guess.’
He tipped his head back and leaned against the wall of the hut. ‘I wouldn’t think so. Glad it’s you and him rather than you and me.’
She gave him a sideways look, surprised somewhat.
‘You know,’ he went on, ‘if I were you, I’d get a move on. You don’t have to hang around here. You might end up divorced before you leave if you do.’
Her stare was open now. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean all this enforced togetherness with forty people looking over your shoulder. It can’t be the best of all possible honeymoons.’
‘No.’ There was no denying that. And no need to, thank heavens.
‘So, go.’
‘I’d love to, but…’ She gave an ineffectual wave of her hand, trying to make a gesture sum up her frustrations in all her dealings with her parents.
‘Don’t worry. You made them happy by being married here—even if it wasn’t to me. Now make yourself—and Aidan—happy. Get out of here and enjoy your marriage by yourselves.’
‘I’d love to,’ Courtney said, unsure whether she meant it or not. On the one hand, she would have done it in a minute if her marriage to Aidan had been what everyone thought it was. On the other, she wanted to stay, to prolong the little she had as long as she could.
But that was foolish and she knew it. The sooner they cut their bond, the better for both of them. For Aidan because freedom was what he wanted in the first place; and for her because the sooner she was apart from him, the sooner she could begin to get over him and get on with her life.
‘Go for it,’ Robert said. He gave her a wink and a grin, then leaned across and bestowed a brotherly kiss on her cheek. Standing up again, he ruffled her hair, then sauntered across the compound to his own hut.
Courtney sat for a long time watching him go. Then her eyes turned towards the hut she shared with Aidan. In the darkness of the doorway he was standing there watching her. When their eyes met, he turned and walked back into the hut.
Moments later he came back out of the hut with a towel slung around his neck. Without looking her way, he strode down the path towards the river. Obviously he wasn’t too worried about creating the impression that they were lovers tonight.
Courtney waited until he had been gone several minutes, then got to her feet and, carrying the mat she had been working on, moved towards their hut.
‘Oh, there you are, darling,’ her mother said. ‘If you’re looking for Aidan, he just went down towards the river.’
Courtney smiled. ‘Thanks.’ She turned towards her hut, and was stopped a second later by her mother saying, ‘Aren’t you going to go with him?’
‘Not tonight. I’ll wait for him here.’
Marguerite beamed at her. ‘Wonderful idea. You can be prepared then.’ She rubbed her hands together with such glee that Courtney wondered if even out here in the jungle her mother got magazine articles about being the total woman. Did she expect her daughter to stand at the door of the hut in a black negligee and nothing else, perhaps? Just waiting for her man to come home with a tapir for supper?
She didn’t know, and she certainly wasn’t going to ask. But she knew Robert was right—she and Aidan had to move on.
‘Goodnight,’ she said. ‘Say goodnight to Daddy too.’ And she went into the hut before her mother could comment further.
When Aidan came she was waiting for him fully dressed.
‘I think we should leave tomorrow,’ she said without preamble.
He blinked in the marginally brighter kerosene-lit hut. ‘You do.’ His voice was expressionless, acknowledging her words, not commenting on them or questioning them. She had no idea what he felt.
&nbs
p; ‘Yes. I was talking to Robert and he said he thought… he thought…’ she blushed as she got to this part ‘…honeymoons ought to be conducted in more privacy. And whether or not that’s the case…’
‘It is,’ Aidan said flatly. He flung his damp towel on to the table and kicked off his shoes. The shirt he was wearing was hanging unbuttoned down his chest, and he began to do it up now as Courtney watched the movements of his fingers.
‘Well, yes.’ She jerked her eyes away from his chest, her mind away from the effect he had on her, and tried to remember reasons for leaving as soon as possible. ‘That’s what he meant. And although it really doesn’t apply to us, of course, I’m sure you have plenty of things to get back to, and I know I do and…’
‘You made your point,’ Aidan said gruffly. He pulled a comb out of his duffel bag and bent slightly at the knees to bring his head in line with the blotchy mirror that hung on the wall opposite. He combed his hair, but his eyes connected with hers by way of reflection.
‘So, shall we?’
‘Whatever you want.’ He scowled at his reflection, then at hers. Then he stood up straight, turned and stared at her, then raked his hand through the hair he had just combed, destroying all his effort. Her eyes widened in amusement. His narrowed in irritation.
He stalked across the room and put out the lamp, plunging them into the dark of the jungle night. Then he came over and lowered himself carefully into the hammock beside her. His body fitted against hers perfectly, the way it always did. She felt the tremble of desire surge in her again.
‘It’s probably a good idea,’ he said almost into her ear. ‘I don’t think I can stand another night like this.’
CHAPTER TEN
Leaving was easier—and harder—than Courtney had expected. Easier because Robert paved the way for her. Some time the next morning he got her parents aside and told them that it was time for her and Aidan to get a start on their own life together. Or words to that effect.
Whatever he said, it worked. For when Courtney merely mentioned the following afternoon that she and Aidan had to leave, her parents had apparently had enough time to rationalise letting her go.
‘A husband must leave his father and mother and cleave unto his wife,’ her father intoned, ‘so I suppose the same applies to wives too.’ He gathered her in his arms and gave her a hug. ‘But we’ll miss you, my dear.’
For the first time, Courtney believed that he actually would. His wedding sermon had impressed her, had made her proud of him, had taught her to see him in a new light. And she knew, as she hugged him in return, that in his way he loved her very much. ‘I’ll be back,’ she promised.
‘Of course you will,’ her mother said. ‘You won’t even be that far away if Aidan is working in Boca Negra.’
‘Oh well, we’re not… not quite sure where we’ll be,’ she floundered. ‘I have to go back to the States of course, to give the letter to Uncle Leander and the bank.’
‘Ah yes, Leander,’ her father muttered. ‘Well, I can’t say too much bad about the old devil. He did manage to send my daughter to me to get married, though it wasn’t his intention.’
‘No, it certainly wasn’t,’ Courtney agreed. She didn’t want to speculate on what Leander would think of her marriage.
‘But that’s the way it is with the will of the Lord,’ her father went on. ‘He uses the strangest instruments to accomplish His will.’ He ruffled her hair. ‘Go, then. And God be with you, my dear.’
She gave her parents each one last hug. ‘I’ll see you soon,’ she promised.
‘Of course you will,’ her mother agreed as they were shoving off. ‘You’ll be back for the baptism.’
‘What baptism?’ Aidan and Courtney asked together, looking around the tribe who had gathered to see them off. There didn’t appear to be a pregnant woman in the lot.
‘The baby’s.’ Marguerite gave an impatient shake of her head.
‘What baby’s?’
‘Why, yours, of course.’
Courtney thought the silence must have stretched the length of the Amazon. Her eyes met Aidan’s briefly, then flinched away again, not able to contemplate the pain she saw there. Reaching out, she gave her mother a last quick hug, forgiving her for a faux pas she would never know she had made. Then she sat down in the bow of the boat while Aidan pushed them away.
He yanked the starter, the engine sputtered to life, then, with a quick wave of his hand, he guided them out into the channel, around the bend, and into the jungle again.
They were alone.
And that was when it became harder to leave than she had thought.
For that was when she faced Aidan, her husband, without the artifice, without the sham, without the facades that had been necessary for the last week and a half.
And that was when she realised just how hard it would be to let him go.
She trailed her hand in the water, staring down into the murky depths, lost and aching.
‘Get your hand out of there,’ Aidan barked. ‘You want to get it bitten off?’
She jerked her head around to see him glaring at her. ‘What would bite it?’ she demanded. ‘You swim in the river.’
He scowled at her, muttered something about piranhas and alligators and other natural disasters. But she thought he couldn’t be serious. After all, he did swim in the river, and she had never heard him comment or worry aloud about piranhas and such before. He was clearly just in a bad mood, and intent on taking it out on her.
But why? She would have thought he would be happy. Jumping for joy, in fact. The charade was over.
In case he’d forgotten, she said so.
‘Yeah,’ he agreed grimly. ‘But we’re still married.’ He made it sound as if, even though the cell door had opened, the prison walls were still there.
‘Well, rest assured, I won’t hold you to it,’ Courtney said sharply.
His green eyes narrowed. ‘Nor I you,’ he growled. His knuckles were white as he gripped the tiller.
‘Good.’ But she didn’t mean it. And she was sorry he did.
The thought that she would have to leave him in a few short days nagged at her as time sped past. She supposed she should be grateful they were travelling upstream. Even with the engine doing the work, it took longer. And for all that he didn’t seem inclined to talk or be friendly in the least, Aidan didn’t appear to be hurrying.
He stopped frequently to swim, nothing more being said, she noted, about the dangers of being in the water. And when she mentioned it, he scowled at her.
‘I’ll be careful,’ he said. ‘Besides, I’m hot.’
‘I am, too.’ Which was nothing but the truth. And she was getting hotter by the hour, partly because of the increasingly humid day and partly because her desire for Aidan was increasing too. Maybe swimming was Aidan’s answer to cold showers. She hadn’t swum with him so far, at first preferring to keep a distance between them, then not wanting to provoke the passion that simmered beneath the surface after they were ‘committed’ to each other… especially after they were ‘married’.
But now she changed her mind. Now, she discovered, she wanted to provoke. She wanted Aidan. And if she couldn’t have him—well, maybe a swim would help a bit. And maybe—the guilty thought flitted across her mind before she could stop it—it would drive him over the edge of his control.
‘I’m coming in, too,’ she announced, and began to unbutton her shirt.
‘You can’t.’ He seemed to strangle on the words, and he looked at her, horrified, as she finished unbuttoning it and tossed it into the bottom of the boat, then stood and undid the snap to her trousers. ‘Courtney!’
‘Why not?’ she asked as the pants slithered over her hips. Aidan swallowed convulsively, unable to tear his eyes away. Then, without even noting whether he followed her, she slipped over the side of the boat into the cool river water. She ducked under for a moment, then surfaced, water streaming down her face as she turned to look up at him.
‘Come on
in,’ she encouraged. ‘The water’s fine.’
He seemed about to refuse. A whole barrage of emotions warred on his face. But finally he shrugged and stripped quickly down to his underpants. This time he didn’t take them off when, keeping his back to her, he dropped into the water on the opposite side of the boat.
When he surfaced he regarded her levelly over the bow which separated them. She looked back at him.
He is my husband. Immediately she tried to banish the thought. Only in name, she reminded herself. He didn’t want to be. He was trapped, caught in a marriage no more of his choice than the first one he had made.
And it was up to her to see that he got out of it, no matter what she would have wished.
That meant no more smouldering on her part. No more aching desire. No more come-hither glances which, even though she meant them, could only bring disaster to them both. She needed to sublimate all her urges.
The thought made her smile. It was so like what her lather would say. Well, in this case he was right. And there was no time like the present to get on with it.
‘Race you across the river,’ she challenged. And before he could reply, she had flattened out on the water and was churning towards the far shore, not waiting to see if he would follow.
He did. Almost effortlessly, he surged past her and was hauling himself up on to a log on the opposite shore while she was still several yards out. He watched her from beneath hooded lids as she stopped swimming, scrabbled for a toehold on the bottom, found one, and began to walk towards him.
All at once she felt horribly self-conscious, as if he could see every inch of her, inside and out. And as if he could read every thought in her head—most of them having to do with him, and none of which he would like a bit, she was certain. So much for all her sublimated urges. She stopped, tempted to turn and swim back to the boat.
‘What’s wrong?’ He cocked his head, looking at her.
‘Nothing.’
‘Well, come on then. Or are you trying for a headstart in the other direction?’
She smiled brightly. ‘It’s a thought.’
The Marriage Trap Page 13