by Lyn Denison
“No lantern in your backpack, hmm?” Bailey asked lightly.
“I wish. There’s food left from lunch in the icebox and some wine. I’ve also got a flask of coffee that was for after lunch so it will probably be lukewarm.”
“I’m sure it will be delicious.” Bailey freed Fliss’s hand at last. “Maybe we should eat now, while it’s still light and we can see what we’re doing,” Fliss suggested and Bailey agreed.
They set about sharing out the food and then Fliss poured the last of the wine into two glasses and handed one to Bailey. “To our adventure,” she said.
“To our adventure.” Bailey clinked her glass with Fliss’s. She indicated the food with her wineglass. “A glass of wine, almost full, a snack, still delicious, and you and I, alone in the”—she paused— “not exactly the wilderness, but almost.”
Fliss laughed. As far as she was concerned being here with Bailey was ambrosia to her.
They finished the small amount of food, the wine and the coffee and Fliss packed everything away. The light was fading now and Fliss shivered.
“Cold?” Bailey asked and Fliss shrugged.
“Just that it’s getting darker.”
Bailey spread the rug over their legs and instinctively they moved closer together.
“Thank heavens I decided to bring the waterproof sheet as well as the rug,” Fliss said, her body warming where it touched Bailey’s.
“Very well prepared, Girl Guide Fliss,” Bailey teased with a laugh. “Are you sure you’ve never spent the night here?”
“No. Never.” Fliss shook her head. “And I’m beginning to feel bad again.”
“Don’t. It’s an adventure, remember?” Bailey drew a pattern in a small patch of sand by her side. “Do you often bring, well, friends, to see the beach?”
“No.”
“Not even a special friend?”
“Well, my best friend Chrissie and I found the beach. I haven’t introduced you to her because she’s away at the moment. She got engaged a month ago and they’ve, Chrissie and Paul, have gone to New Zealand to visit Paul’s relatives. He was born there. Chrissie and Paul have known each other since they were ten.” Fliss shrugged. “I think Chrissie’s probably shown Paul the beach.”
“And you’ve never brought a boyfriend here?”
Fliss felt herself blush. “I don’t have a boyfriend.” She slid a quick glance at the other woman but Bailey was apparently concentrating on her finger painting in the small patch of sand.
“Oh,” she said. “Well, I guess you’re only eighteen. There’s plenty of time for all that.”
“Boyfriends aren’t exactly on my agenda,” Fliss said. “And I’m nearly nineteen.”
Bailey raised her eyebrows as she looked at Fliss.
“I’ll be nineteen in, well, seven months.”
“I see.” Bailey turned back to the sand pattern, but not before Fliss had seen her amused smile. “So you haven’t factored a boyfriend into your equation?”
“No.” She sighed, and moved the icebox around a little, nervous energy making her wish she could go for a run up and down the beach. She desperately wanted to tell Bailey she thought she would prefer a girlfriend, that she suspected she was a lesbian, but she had no idea how to broach the subject. “Do you have a boyfriend?” she asked before she realized she was forming the question.
Beside her she felt Bailey stiffen and she turned back to her, contrite. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. It was really rude of me.”
“No ruder than I was asking you about your private life.” Bailey sighed, too. “I suppose I do have a boyfriend.”
She supposed she did? Fliss felt an assortment of emotions churn inside her. Uncertainty. Confusion. And a sharp thrust of jealousy. “There was something in a magazine ages ago, about that sports reporter.”
“Grant Benson.”
“That’s him.” Fliss swallowed. “He’s pretty cute.”
Bailey’s fleeting smile was self-derisive. “Oh, yes, he is that.”
“Do you love him?” Fliss asked, thinking the whole world had stopped, waiting for the other woman’s answer.
“In a way.” She’d taken hold of Fliss’s hand again. “He says he loves me.”
Why wouldn’t he? A pain clutched at Fliss’s heart as she looked at Bailey’s beautiful face, all planes and angles now in the descending dusk. Bailey Macrae could have any man she wanted.
“He’s asked me to marry him,” Bailey continued flatly.
Fliss’s pain intensified. “Are you going to say yes?” she asked, her throat tight.
“I don’t know.” Bailey shook her head. “Probably not.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t love him the way I should love someone I want to spend the rest of my life with.”
“Oh.” Unconsciously, Fliss drew Bailey’s hand into her lap, clutched her hand between both of hers.
“That’s one of the reasons I’m here. To think about where I want to go with my career and”—she shrugged—“to decide if I want to accept Grant’s proposal.”
Fliss sat silently, not knowing what to say. But her heart sank even lower. What could she offer Bailey Macrae that could compare with marriage to a handsome, successful television personality and a career of her own in television? She knew she was in love with Bailey but—
“I had to get away, to think things out,” Bailey continued.
“Have you—?” Fliss swallowed. “Have you decided?”
“About Grant, yes. I’ll have to refuse his proposal. About my career, no. And now I’m even more”—she shook her head— “unsure, I guess. These past few weeks, with you, spending time with you, seeing the island, I’ve been—I’ve had such a good time.”
“Even tonight, stranded here?”
“Even tonight.” Bailey agreed with a quick smile. “It’s as though I’ve stepped away from my life and into a new one, one I haven’t dared let myself think about.”
“Is that a good thing?” Fliss asked courageously, while a small voice inside her wanted to know what she’d do if Bailey answered in the negative.
“Oh, yes,” Bailey replied, without preamble. “From here, right at this moment, it’s where I want to be.”
“Great.” Fliss grinned. “But you know, as the night wears on and the floor of the cave”—she tapped the rock beside her—“gets harder, I’ll understand if you change your mind.”
Bailey laughed softly, the sound teasing Fliss’s nerve endings, making her yearn for more, so much more than Bailey could give her.
Bailey shook her head a little. “I’ve never met anyone as honest, as good-natured, as—If I say wholesome will you evict me from the cave?”
“Wholesome?” Fliss gave an incredulous laugh. “When I think wholesome I see plaits with bows, plump, rosy cheeks. Pollyanna or Anne of Green Gables.” She shrugged self-derisively. “As you can see our library on the island was full of old classics.”
“Well, you’re definitely not plump. No plaits.” She touched a strand of Fliss’s fair hair. “And the pink tinge in your cheeks is the color makeup manufacturers strive for but never achieve.”
Fliss felt herself flush. “I really don’t mind wholesome,” she said softly.
“And you shouldn’t mind. It’s definitely a compliment and it’s not an asset you see much these days.” Bailey sighed. “Thanks for seeing me through these past weeks, Fliss. I really do appreciate it so much.” She held Fliss’s gaze in the waning light. And then she leaned forward and her lips touched Fliss’s cheek.
For long, wondrous moments Fliss was stunned. She felt the touch of Bailey’s lips lingering tantalizingly as Bailey drew back. Fliss’s finger went unconsciously to her cheek, to the spot Bailey had kissed, and she swallowed. Before she had even held the thought inside her she’d leaned forward and put her own lips to Bailey’s soft mouth. Then she drew back. Kissed her again. And she felt heady at the sensation of softness, at the thrill of sensual excitement that shot th
rough her body, settling in the pit of her stomach.
She watched the expression on Bailey’s face change imperceptibly, saw the flicker of matching desire smoldering in her eyes.
“Fliss, I—” Bailey swallowed and Fliss was sure she heard the other woman’s heartbeats accelerate to match the race of her own.
Chapter Six
“Your lips are so soft,” Fliss breathed, and she lifted her hand, gently traced the soft swell of Bailey’s lips with her fingertips.
Bailey sat almost mesmerized, and then she gave a low husky moan deep in her throat and her lips settled around Fliss’s finger.
Fliss’s body was on fire. The sensual sound of Bailey’s groan, the soft, so very soft lips—Desire gathered inside her, centering low in her stomach, gathering between her legs.
She took her finger from Bailey’s mouth and replaced it with her own lips again. For one earth-shattering split second the world stopped turning and then tilted crazily.
They murmured together and moved into each other. Bailey’s hand released Fliss’s and slid urgently around Fliss’s back, settled at the base of her spine. She brought her other hand up to cup Fliss’s jaw and then her tongue tip slipped into Fliss’s mouth and Fliss was completely lost.
It was a kiss like none Fliss had ever experienced. And so much more than she’d ever imagined it would be. The few clumsy kisses she’d shared with guys her own age paled into insignificance. None had fanned the raging fire that Bailey’s had.
When they finally drew apart, minutes or hours later, they were both breathing as though they’d run a marathon.
“My God! I—Fliss, I—” Bailey drew a ragged breath. “I shouldn’t have done that, let that happen.”
“Why not?” Fliss asked almost absently, her focus still on Bailey’s incredible mouth.
“It’s just— I’m so much older than you are.”
“Six years. So what?”
“And I—”
“Didn’t you enjoy it?” Fliss asked thickly.
“Oh, yes. I enjoyed it.”
Fliss gave a slow smile and Bailey swallowed convulsively. Her eyes met Fliss’s, then her gaze dropped to Fliss’s lips and she moaned again, that same sound of libidinous wanting that drove Fliss insane.
Fliss reached out, took Bailey’s face in her hands. She let one thumb tip gently tease Bailey’s mouth before she lowered her head and they kissed again. And again. Long, drugging, so sensual kisses that made Fliss throb with wanting.
Fliss gasped a shaky breath. “I want to touch you,” she breathed against Bailey’s mouth. “And I need you to touch me.”
Bailey’s head moved back and Fliss let her lips slide slowly downwards to settle in the hollow at the base of Bailey’s throat. She nibbled the soft skin, moved incitingly down to the intriguing valley between Bailey’s breasts to the limit of the neckline of her shirt.
Her fingers slipped beneath the bottom of Bailey’s shirt, luxuriating in the warm smoothness of her skin. She paused on Bailey’s midriff, her lips finding Bailey’s again and the small, sweet sounds the other woman made gave Fliss the courage to slide her hands upwards to cup Bailey’s full breasts.
Fliss could feel the hardness of Bailey’s nipples beneath the palms of her hands and when she rasped the taut peaks with her thumbs through the lace of her bra, they moaned in unison.
Bailey reached out for Fliss. “God, we should be—Oh, Fliss, I’ve been trying not to—I’ve wanted this for so long.”
“I have, too.” Fliss could barely allow herself to believe this was happening. Only in her dreams had she dared imagine this.
Her fingers teased Bailey’s nipples again and the other woman fumbled for the bottom of Fliss’s shirt.
“Let me touch you, too,” she breathed throatily and Fliss pulled her own shirt over her head before reaching out to help Bailey off with hers.
She reached around for the clasp of Bailey’s bra and paused. “Is it too cold?”
“No.” Bailey shook her head. “No,” she repeated with a gulping laugh. “I’m so hot I could start a bushfire.”
Fliss laughed too and unhooked Bailey’s bra. She drew a sharp breath as Bailey’s bare breasts glowed pearly white in the fading light. “You’re so beautiful.”
“Let me see you, too.” Bailey unhooked Fliss’s bra and ran her fingertips over the small mounds to touch the rosy peaks. “You’re beautiful too.”
“They’re not very, um, substantial,” Fliss apologized.
“They’re perfect,” Bailey said huskily and lowered her head to take one of Fliss’s taut nipples into her mouth.
Fliss lay back, not feeling the hardness of the rock floor of the cave that was barely covered by the waterproof sheet. Her entire body was on fire as Bailey’s lips caressed her breasts. She pulled Bailey on top of her, thrust her hips against Bailey’s thigh. She burned so hotly for release.
“Touch me,” she breathed and Bailey moved slightly to the side, reached down, undid the press-stud on the waistband of her jeans. It snapped so loudly it almost drowned out the sound of the ebb and flow of the sea.
Bailey paused. “Fliss. Are you sure you want this?”
“I want it more than I’ve wanted anything in my life. Don’t you?” she asked softly, thickly.
“Oh, yes,” Bailey said. “A hundred times, yes.” She drew down the zipper on Fliss’s jeans, slipped her hand over Fliss’s flat stomach and paused when she reached the soft, damp curls. She covered Fliss’s lips with her own and then her fingers slid into Fliss’s wetness.
Fliss arched against her and tumbled into orgasm. She clung to
Bailey until her tremors subsided and then she began to apologize. “Don’t.” Bailey kissed her tenderly. “You were wonderful.” Fliss deepened the kiss, gently changing their positions. Her lips tantalized Bailey’s breasts until she moaned. She found the first button on Bailey’s jeans, and then the next, until she could reach inside, feeling the hot dampness. She matched her finger strokes to the rhythm of Bailey’s hips. Then Bailey cried out Fliss’s name and held her tightly.
Fliss smoothed back her damp hair. It was almost dark now but she could see the sparkle in Bailey’s blue eyes. She settled soft, light kisses on Bailey’s forehead, her eyelids, the tip of her nose. And then her lips.
They settled into each other’s arms, flesh to flesh, legs entwined and Fliss pulled the rug over them. They slept for a short time until the cold seeped in and Fliss stirred.
Bailey’s arms tightened around her. “Not the softest of beds,” she said wryly.
They stretched their cramped muscles and Bailey shivered.
“You’re cold,” Fliss said and felt around, came up with a shirt. “I can’t see if this is yours or mine.” She put it up to her face and inhaled the scent of Bailey. “It’s yours,” she said huskily.
Bailey’s hands reached out, touched Fliss’s bare breasts and they fell into each other’s arms again, kissing, fumbling in the dark, caressing, murmuring their arousal.
Eventually they struggled into their shirts and clung to each other for warmth, sleeping fitfully until the sky began to lighten.
Fliss lightly kissed Bailey awake and indicated the unfolding sunrise with its streaks of vibrant colors reflecting on the water.
“It’s beautiful,” Bailey said, struggling into a sitting position.
“Like you,” Fliss smiled at her.
And Bailey was still beautiful, Fliss thought bitterly as she lay alone eight years later with those painfully pleasurable memories of making love with Bailey returning to tantalize her. Beautiful, like that glorious sunrise. It would be so easy to go downstairs to her.
Amazingly, no one had missed them that night and they hugged their secret to them. From that night they’d made love whenever they’d had the chance. In the car. In the grass-covered sand dunes with the clear blue sky above them. In the cottage on the headland. And once, here in Fliss’s bed. It had been so perfect, with the incredible, intoxicating feel of fore
ver.
Forever. Fliss caught back an acerbic laugh. What a painful, unamusing joke. She’d been so caught up in the promise of forever with Bailey Macrae that she’d never even considered it would end. But it had, and when Bailey left the island she’d taken all Fliss’s hope of forever with her.
Fliss turned over, yearned for the oblivion of sleep. Below, on the foldout sofa that same beautiful Bailey Macrae waited.
“Okay, Felicity Devon. Come clean.”
Fliss looked across the breakfast table at her sister. She swallowed her mouthful of cereal. “Come clean about what?”
Petra sighed and added yoghurt to her plate of fruit. “I’m not a baby you know. I’m nearly nineteen.”
“I know you’re a fully-fledged adult.” Petra went to interrupt her but Fliss held up her hand. “I mean it, Pet. I have only admiration for you, for the support you’ve been for me since mum died. You’re a talented artist. You’re funny. And—”
“Grown up,” finished Petra.
“Exactly,” Fliss agreed.
“Then why won’t you treat me like one and tell me what was going on last night?”
“Nothing was going on last night. What could be going on? I went over to the Macraes for dinner and Bailey drove me home.” Fliss shrugged, outwardly casual. “End of story.”
“So what did you eat?”
Fliss blinked, disconcerted that Petra had changed the direction of the conversation. “John concocted something called Tuscan meatballs and Bailey made pavlova with fresh fruit for dessert. It was all delicious.”
“How did she know pavlova was your favorite dessert?”
Fliss gave a wry smile. “I think it’s safe to say that pavlova is ninety percent of the population’s favorite dessert, don’t you think?”
“Maybe.” Petra looked pensive. “You know you could sell your story to the tabloids. The Night Bailey Macrae Made Me Pavlova.” Petra giggled. “You could make a fortune.”
Fliss shook her head.
“So, you had a great meal, and—?” Petra persisted.