by Renee Roszel
She was suspended in his arms for barely a second before he deposited her on the ledge beside him, but it seemed like a much longer, more significant span of time. They had been very near for a wink of eternity, their lips hovering, their eyes clinging—and then it had ended, but for the lingering touch of his hands. His fingers slid over the swell of her hips, tarrying there an instant too long to be an accident. She exhaled and shivered, her eyes going wide and struggling to focus in the general area of his broad chest.
When he finally released her, he asked, “Are you all right?”
She jumped. “I... Sure. Let’s go on.”
He took her hand with gentle authority, and this time she found herself savoring the feel of his fingers more than she’d ever savored a touch in her life. By merely lifting her down from a rock, Ransom had affected her totally—more than any other man’s calculated attempts at seduction. Her body hummed in response, her lips tingled, as though she’d just been soundly kissed. What had his eyes said, his hands done, to make her yearn to be beneath him on the ground, his hard, male nudity driving her wild?
She followed clumsily behind him now, her legs functioning like melting putty. She saw nothing on the way but his profile and the powerful sway of his shoulders as he descended with her in tow. She prayed she wouldn’t embarrass herself and stumble against him like a lumbering cow. But she also prayed she would stumble against him. Though she was more behind than beside him, her mind orchestrated the fantasy so that he would instinctively turn as she fell and she would plunge into the solid heat of his chest, the encompassing protectiveness of his arms. She wanted to feel his fingers splayed across her back, moving, igniting, exploring secret, soft places—
“What?” she gasped, her voice a half whisper, half cry when she felt a burning touch on her cheek.
“I said, we’re on the beach, you can let go of my hand,” Ransom repeated, his expression curious. “Where did you go, Sara? Are you sure you’re all right?”
The hand on her cheek slid away, leaving its impact in a scorching path along her mist-dampened jaw. His flesh always felt so enticingly warm against hers, like a steaming mug of hot chocolate pressed between cold hands after a dash through a Kansas blizzard. “I... Of course I’m all right. It’s just that in Andover, we don’t get much experience climbing mountains. I guess...I was concentrating on not falling,” she lied, hoping it sounded plausible.
“I see,” he said, his tone dubious. “Then you can quit concentrating now.” A squeeze on her fingers told her she was still clutching his hand.
She released her hold as though his fingers had become a nest of wasps.
The ocean lapping against the beach and the faint calling of unseen seabirds filled the disconcerting gap of time while Sara picked invisible lint from the oversize parka she was wearing. She cleared her throat more than once, at a loss for anything casual and not incriminating to say. In desperation she headed toward the sea until she could see the foamy waves as they tumbled up the sand and then fell away, disappearing back into the fog. She stuffed her offending hand into her coat pocket. How awkward this was turning out to be. Why didn’t she just wear a flashing neon sign that read I’m Infatuated With Ransom Shepard? It couldn’t be any more blatant than her recent dull-witted behavior.
“So,” Ransom asked, breaking through the quiet, “which way do you want to walk?”
She scanned the gray-shrouded world around her and shrugged. “What difference does it make?” She wasn’t in the mood to care about such trivialities as directions.
“Good attitude,” he agreed, sounding very near. “I have a feeling you would have had an opinion on the subject last week.”
Curiosity getting the better of her, she twisted to face him. “Is that an insult?”
He lifted a shoulder casually. “In a way.” Taking her arm and gently propelling her along the beach, he said, “We both suffer from the same malady, Sara.”
She squinted at him, suspicious. “Oh? And what might that be?”
“We’re both love—”
“Don’t you dare suggest I’m love-starved,” she protested, yanking her arm from his hold.
He glanced at her quizzically.
She backed away, chiding, “Who’s coming on to whom this time?”
He moved to confront her directly, his gaze narrowing. “I was about to say we are both lovers of achievement. Workaholics. I had no intention of suggesting you were love-starved. How would I know a thing like that?”
His stern candidness made her cringe, and she wished she could shrivel up and blow away, never to be seen again. How would he know such a thing? Of course he wouldn’t. She’d given him superhuman powers to read minds, it appeared. Sick about revealing a glimpse of her lonely workaday life, she averted her gaze. When that didn’t put enough distance between her and Ransom’s looming presence, she began to trudge away from him.
“Sara,” he called softly.
Taking his sympathetic tone as a show of pity, she spun around pointing accusingly at him. “And another thing. I said that about love-starved, not because I am love-starved, but because you are!” She knew she was spouting off about things better left unsaid, but she didn’t want him to think for one moment that she was not a completely fulfilled woman—no matter how flagrant a lie that might be. “You said it yourself. You need a woman. I should have steered clear of you. I’m no babe in the woods, I know that... that men are ruled by their hormones. I know—”
“Just what do you know, Sara?” he growled as long, familiar fingers grasped her wrist. Sara’s eyes flew open. Until she’d felt Ransom’s touch at her wrist and heard his menacing question, she hadn’t realized she’d squeezed her eyes shut to staunch threatening tears.
“Tell me what you know,” he repeated gruffly. “How love-starved am I? Am I so sexually frustrated that I’m likely to throw you on your back and ravage you on this beach? Is that what you think?”
She grew rigid, apprehension slicing through her as he took an intimidating step forward. She stared up at him, at hard eyes that gleamed like glacial ice, and she knew for the first time how really powerful a man he was and how helpless she was in the face of his rage. Self-defense class or no, it would be an impossible task to stop this man if he set his mind to having his way with her.
She blinked, her eyes large and liquid. “I...I...” she said brokenly. “You’re hurting me, Ransom “
That wasn’t strictly true. In fact, he was holding her wrist tenderly. Still, he was so angry she anticipated pain and was positive that at any second he’d begin to squeeze.
“You don’t know the meaning of suffering, darling,” he whispered, rancor heavy in his tone. With a growled curse, he curled her arm behind her back, arching her against his body. Sara experienced a strange, sweet torture at the contact. His scent filled her brain, fogging her mind. “Dammit, Sara,” he warned, his voice rumbling with restrained anger. “I’m doing my best to ignore the winsome innocence you flaunt—”
“Flaunt?” She echoed the odd word unaware she’d even spoken.
“I admit it. You’re good. Better than any woman I’ve run up against in the past five years.” He flashed a brief, contemptuous show of teeth.
Because she was unable to form a coherent thought, Sara said nothing.
“Dorf was right. I need the solace of a woman’s body,” he admitted roughly. “I haven’t had a relationship with a woman since my wife’s death.” He paused, and Sara could feel the tension rampaging through him, the thudding of his heart. “The trouble is, I don’t want another woman in my life. Except for those who’ll offer me a little warmth in bed. Since you, knowing better, came on this walk with me, I thought you might have changed your mind. Have you decided to give me that warmth and ask for nothing in return but your own sexual satisfaction?” He lowered his head a fraction, his lips parting in mute invitation. “Can you say yes, Sara?” he asked.
She moistened dry lips, her gaze fixed on his wonderful mouth as it came
nearer, ever nearer, with the languor of the passage of the sun across the sky. Her heart was hammering against her rib cage, and she knew he must be aware of her desire to touch that mouth again. But fear loomed, too. If she did, she knew she would be forever lost.
“Well?” he urged, his voice beguiling, his lazy, sexy smile sending her senses spinning. “Say yes,” he coaxed, his heated breath tantalizing her cool lips.
She sighed as some woman somewhere replied with the most breathy yes she’d ever heard. It took a moment for Sara to recognize her own voice, and it horrified her to find the answer had come from her own uncontrollable lips. Appalled, she stammered, “I—I mean no!”
“I know what you mean,” he assured her, a sudden frost hanging on the edge of his words. “And since I’m so damned love-starved, I may take you up on your offer.” Nostrils flaring, he growled, “It’s amazing what a fog can reveal, isn’t it, Sara.. .my love.” The sarcasm in his endearment was so sharp it made her flinch.
“One more thing,” he said, his tone deceptively detached. “So you won’t brand me less than a gentleman, keep to your right along the beach. The house isn’t far.”
She stumbled backward as she was abruptly released from his tenacious hold on her body and her soul. When she’d regained her balance, she cast her gaze around, bereft and forlorn. Ransom was nowhere to be seen.
Confused and too feeble to stand, she sank to the sand and cradled her head in her hands, trying to decipher what had just happened. “What did he mean, he knew what I meant?” she whispered brokenly. “I don’t even know what I meant.”
THE NEXT DAY dawned rainy but free of fog. Sara escaped the house unscathed. At least she didn’t have an embarrassing run-in with Ransom. No doubt he was out making his rounds of the bird cliffs. “Just as well,” she muttered raggedly.
Last night had been difficult, and dinner had been a stiff affair. Affair! The word conjured up heated visions of Ransom—his muscular body, that irresistible dimple in his chin, those silvery eyes—drawing her willingly into his arms murmuring soft endearments of undying love. Squelching the thought, she yanked up the hood of her parka. Undying love, indeed! The man was completely self-centered as far as lovemaking was concerned. And if his ego had been a volcano, its eruption would blot out the sun forever!
Ohh! She simply couldn’t stand him. Pain or no pain, grief or no grief, a person could only take so much indignity. And Sara had taken her share and more from Ransom Shepard. That little scene on the beach had been unforgivable. He’ll take me up on my offer! She sniffed derisively. The jerk should live so long!
By his black scowl and clipped conversation at dinner, even Lynn and Tag were beginning to sense fierce tension between them. The evening meal had been uncomfortably rigid. And Sara decided that was just fine with her. The less conversation she had with the bothersome Mr. Shepard during this final week of captivity, the better.
Hearing youthful laughter, she headed down to the beach where Lynn and Tag were cavorting with Baby and Boo. As she was about to make herself known, Tag took off his ball cap and tossed it into the sea.
Sara stared, perplexed. “What did you do that for?”
He pointed toward the dark water. “Watch.”
She squinted, losing sight of the cap as it floated on the indulating surface. “What am I watching?” she asked, moving up beside him.
Without warning, something lunged from the depths, lifting the cap skyward. Just as quickly, both the beast and Tag’s ball cap disappeared, only to resurface time and again on the snout of some large fish. It was heading down the beach, but staying some fifty feet out.
“What’s going on?” Sara asked.
“Come on!” shouted Lynn as she sprinted along the sand in the same direction as the sea creature.
Sara shook her head, but began to jog after the two teens. A few minutes later, when she rounded a bend, she saw Tag picking his way along a peninsula. At the very end of the rocky outcropping, he stood tall, held out his hand and called, “Potluck!”
Surging up from the water came the beast, depositing the soggy cap in Tag’s outstretched fingers.
Lynn shrieked with glee, clapping her hands. “What a smart dolphin.” She turned to Sara and exclaimed. “He taught Tag that trick.”
Sara watched the boy make his way back to the beach. “Who taught Tag that trick?”
“Potluck! He’s a dolphin,” Lynn said. “Tell her Tag.”
He shook saltwater from his cap before clapping it back on his head. “The first day Dad and I got here, the wind blew my cap off. I saw this dolphin catch it and head off with it. Since it was my favorite cap, I followed and yelled at him to bring it back.” He smiled sheepishly. “ ‘Course I didn’t expect to ever see the cap again, but I got down here to Sea Lion Cove and he was swimming around.” Pointing toward the arm of rock, he said, “So, I went out there and yelled at him to bring me back my hat. And darned if he didn’t!”
“See?” Lynn giggled. “Tag learned a trick.”
He punched her playfully in the arm. “Oh, yeah? I see you ain’t learned nothin’ yet.”
She punched back. “I learned not to get my hat wet.”
“It’s been raining all morning. Your hat’s wet, too, dummy.”
“Dummy!” Lynn chirped. “Who washed his red shirt with his white underwear, Mr. Pink Panties?”
Tag lunged at Lynn, and she squealed, taking off down the beach.
“I’ll get you for that, Motormouth!”
Sara found herself abandoned, as Tag, Lynn, Boo and Baby scampered off. She sighed, unable to shake a heavy feeling of forlornness that had shrouded her ever since her fight with Ransom. One bright spot, she noticed, was that the rain had stopped and there was a break in the clouds. A shaft of sunshine made the sand sparkle like broken bits of smoked glass. The air around her held the scent of salt, lush plantlife and the faintest hint of warmth. Except for the fact that she would have to wile away the hours in the same time zone as Ransom, this might turn out to be a pretty day.
“Hey, you down there!” shouted a woman from the direction of Ransom’s house.
Sara looked up to see someone with long dark hair waving at her, “Up here,” the woman called again. “I came to visit.”
She smiled encouragingly, so Sara hurried up the easy incline from the beach and came face-to-face with a lovely young woman. She had a round face, black eyes and straight black hair, thickly plaited into a single braid that hung over her shoulder almost to her waist. There was a child, a boy of about two, sitting on the thick mat of lush tundra vegetation beside a big basket and a metal cooking pot. When the child saw Sara, he picked up the empty basket and held it out to her, laughing.
“Hello,” the woman said, offering a welcoming hand. “I’m Lilly Merculieff. I know we’ll meet in a couple of days at the Halibut Festival, but I couldn’t wait.” She indicated the direction of the village. “I’m from town, in case you haven’t guessed. Since Rance went fishing with my husband, Dan, I thought you might like some company. How’d you like to gather eggs and berries with me?” She shrugged and grinned. “It’s sort of a woman’s thing around here—if we want to eat, that is. The guys brag and fish. We women gossip and gather.”
Sara smiled, happy for anything to take her mind off Ransom. “I’d love to help,” she said. “But what’s the Halibut Festival?”
“Oh, hasn’t Rance mentioned it?” Hoisting her son, who still clutched the empty basket, she said, “He will. It’s this weekend. We celebrate the beginning of summer, Everybody comes.” She indicated the pot. “Mind carrying that? Danny’s getting pretty heavy.”
“I don’t mind,” Sara said, scooping up the big pot. A rush of excitement skittered through her at the idea of going to an island party. She only hoped Ransom intended to invite her and her sister. As things stood now, she wasn’t all that sure. “What’s this for?” she asked, gesturing at the pot.
“Mossberries. I’ll show you after we get the eggs.”
They headed back toward town along the cliffs. Danny, chunky and dark-eyed with wispy hair standing up all over his head, was alternately carried or, when he get too cranky, allowed to scamper along with the two women as they hiked. The walk was pleasant, and as they went, the cliffs grew treacherous before petering out to a mild rocky slope.
“I’ve wanted to meet you,” Lilly said. “I saw Lynn in town a couple of times. She’s a little handful, isn’t she?”
Sara laughed. “A big handful, actually.”
“Oh!” Lilly exclaimed, pointing. “There’re our guys. In the red outboard.” She waved and shouted.
Both men looked up and waved back. Sara didn’t know quite what to do, so she lifted an arm in mute response. “I thought your fishing boats were bigger than that,” she remarked more to herself than to Lilly.
“They are. That’s Dan’s outboard, strictly for fishing on a quiet afternoon with a buddy.”
Sara pulled her eyes from Ransom. Even far out on the placid surface of the Bering Sea, he was a formidable-looking man.
“It’s good to see Dan and Rance together again,” Lilly went on, “Dan was Rance’s best friend when the Shepards visited every summer. It’s been too long since he’s been to his family’s place.”
There was a pensive sigh in Lilly’s voice, and Sara had to ask, “I understand his wife’s death was hard on him.”
Lilly nodded solemnly. “Yes. They were so happy. I’ve never seen a man take to married life as well as Rance did. He adored Jill so.”
Jill? So that had been his wife’s name.
Lilly frowned as though she’d spoken out of turn. Touching Sara’s arm, she said, “Listen, I’m sorry. But naturally you know about the accident.”
Sara nodded, and Lilly brightened. “Anyway, we’re all glad he’s finally coming out of his depression over Jill’s death and, well, with you here and all...”