by Penny Jordan
For a moment rage flared in his eyes and then he said softly, ‘I don’t normally need to. They’re all too keen to come into mine.’
It was an unkind reminder of her own behaviour at eighteen and her skin took colour from it, her eyes filling with pain.
‘Just what the hell were you thinking about?’ Simon demanded savagely. Don’t you know the risks you just ran in running out of air alone…never mind anything else?’ He saw her shiver, not knowing that she was thinking of the octopus, and casually picked up and tossed her her robe. ‘Here, put that on.’
She did so quickly, half surprised to realise how unembarrassed she had been by her nudity…but not as unembarrassed as Simon had been unaroused, she told herself bitterly.
‘What made you do it?’
Haltingly she told him about her dream, and the strange conviction that had followed it, expecting with every breath to hear him making some derisory comment, but instead he merely expelled a weary breath, and said quietly, ‘You could have wakened me. Dear God, Christy, have you any idea what I went through when I came in here to wake you up and found you missing? You could have fallen overboard, anything. I was so sure you would never do anything as foolhardy as diving alone, that it was half an hour before I thought to check the gear. I didn’t even know where to begin to start looking for you. A hundred things could have gone wrong. You know that. You know that solo diving is the most dangerous of all. Why the hell do you think I was so insistent on us both wearing safety lines?’ She watched him push a weary hand through his hair, surprised to see how tired and strained he looked. Of course he probably felt some sort of responsibility for her…She might not be the woman he loved but he was a responsible human being; she had to acknowledge that.
Six years ago she had been his for the taking, and he had wanted her, she was sure of that…but he had held back; denied himself because he knew he was not prepared to give her what she wanted. He was more than a responsible man, she thought tiredly, he was an honourable one…She wished she had not made that discovery; she wished she could find some flaw in him that would make it less easy for her to love him. What was she like, this woman he had loved…and probably still did love? And why did she not return his feelings? Perhaps she was already married…
‘Now what are you thinking about?’
Christy looked up at him uncomprehendingly, noting the rawly strained note in his voice. ‘Your eyes have gone dark grey,’ he told her, suddenly reaching out to cup her chin, ‘they only do that when you’re upset or worried…’
‘I expect it’s shock.’ She managed to make her voice sound convincingly light, shivering a little as she tried to move away and for a few seconds it seemed as though he would not release her.
‘Have a hot shower, and I’ll go and make you a drink. You’ll feel better after a few hours sleep.’
‘I don’t want anything to drink.’ She turned away from him, not wanting him to see the weakness in her eyes. She didn’t know how long she could endure his presence in the intimate confines of her cabin without throwing herself into his arms and clinging to him for comfort. Every time she closed her eyes she could see the octopus and feel her own fear…taste it almost in her mouth.
‘Very well.’ His mouth compressed and she had the feeling that somehow she had angered him.
Her shower was comforting but nothing like as comforting as the secure strength of Simon’s arms would have been, she acknowledged as she climbed into bed. She fell asleep almost instantly, her body and mind both exhausted.
She dreamed about the octopus; horrible, tormented dreams where she writhed helplessly in its tentacles, calling for Simon. But it wasn’t the sound of her own screams that eventually woke her and brought her torment to an end, it was Simon shaking her awake, his face anxious and oddly pale as he stared grimly into her sleep-hazed eyes.
‘What the devil’s going on?’ he demanded harshly. ‘You were shouting loud enough to raise the devil.’
‘A bad dream,’ she told him briefly, dragging her eyes away from the sight of his bare torso only inches away from her hand. He was sitting on the edge of her bed, lean fingers loosely grasping her shoulder, the taut muscles of his thighs tense as he leaned towards her.
She waited for him to go, tension holding her body in a painful vice; wanting him to leave and yet not wanting him to do so, her face averted from his, so that when he grasped her shoulders urgently and half lifted and half pulled her back against him, she was too surprised to struggle.
‘Come here.’ His voice was surprisingly gruff. ‘You’re all tense.’ Her lower back was resting against his thigh, his fingers skilled and supple as he massaged the tight tension between her shoulder blades, finding the pressure points and slowly releasing them, so slowly that she was barely aware of relaxing against him; only of the delicious flow of warmth from his fingers to her skin and the corresponding sense of well being driving out fear and dread. At first when she felt the light warmth of his mouth against her skin she thought she must have imagined it; conjured up that tantalising sensation of delicate exploration because her senses craved it so much, but when it happened again she knew that she had not. Instantly her body tensed, but Simon’s hands gripped her upper arms, his voice raw and husky as he muttered, ‘Don’t stop me Christy…don’t stop me, we both need this,’ and then he was turning her in his arms, pushing her down against the bed and sliding the straps of her nightdress down off her shoulders, slowly revealing the twin curves of her breasts. Outside waves lapped soothingly against the sides of the ketch, the slow rocking motion of the boat lullingly sensuous. Almost as though it were a dream Christy raised her arms, clasping them behind Simon’s head, her mouth parting softly in anticipation of the possession of his.
His kissed her slowly, lingeringly, as though his mouth took pleasure merely from the sensation of tasting the softness of hers. Her breath sighed out of her, her body melting, yielding, as Simon pushed away her cotton nightdress and slowly caressed her, his hands cupping her breasts, smoothing across her rib cage, shaping her narrow waist and then the full curve of her hips; the smooth femininity of her thigh.
Desire flamed tingingly to life inside her, her mouth clinging yearningly to his. It was like floating slowly down to the bottom of the sea; washed by the seductive warmth of sun-warmed water. Simon lifted his mouth from hers, and her fingers burrowed protestingly into his hair, her body arching…pleading. His tongue traced the moist outline of her lips slipping slowly between them, touching, tasting, until she was wild with the need for more than the gentle seduction of his mouth against her own. Her fingers curled into the smooth muscles of his back, her breasts swelling, her stomach aching as she arched her body into his.
She caught his indecipherable mutter and thrilled to the ring of raw need in it, smothering soft sounds of pleasure into his skin as he released her mouth to trail hot, biting kisses along her throat.
Her hands stroked feverishly over him, unable to absorb enough contact with his skin to satisfy her. She touched her mouth tentatively to his flesh, stunned to discover how hot it was, almost burningly so, but when she made to lift her head, Simon’s hand entwined in her hair, holding her locked against him, his voice hoarsely unfamiliar, as he muttered in her ear. ‘Yes…yes. Christy…kiss me…God you can’t know how my body has ached for the sweet touch of your mouth and your hands.’
His words seemed to release something deep inside her, setting it free; setting her free to touch and kiss, to tease him with lightly delicate kisses against his throat and chest which drew jerky mutters of need and praise from his throat. When her tongue brushed delicately over his nipple, he cried out harshly, surprising her, her body wantonly aware of the arousal of his and eager to be closer to the maleness of it. When he moved away from her her body ached with anguish and rejection and as though he read her feelings in her eyes, Christy heard him curse and then say her name thickly as he tore off his shorts and then took her back in his arms, pressing her urgently along the leng
th of his body, muttering soft words into her skin as he soothed it with hot kisses. The touch of his mouth against her breast made her shudder with pleasure and cry out his name, wantonly arching in supplication which he rewarded with slow sucking caresses that destroyed her self-control and left her clinging helplessly to him, until he took her hands and placed them against his body, inciting her to touch and caress him until his own breathing was harsh with pleasure.
A sudden loud bang from the deck startled them both, Christy freezing beneath his caress, Simon’s muttered, ‘Hell what was that?’ tense with male frustration. Almost immediately Christy became aware that the ketch was no longer moving as gracefully; that in fact they were being buffeted much more strongly by the current. In a daze she felt Simon move away from her. ‘I’ll have to go topside and check what’s going on. The wind’s changed; I can feel it in the current. Hell and damnation,’ he swore, sitting up and reaching for his shorts. ‘I wanted to get in another dive before the weather broke.’ Gone was the aroused lover, and in his place was the writer, angry because the proof for his novel looked like eluding him.
‘I’ll get dressed and come up too,’ Christy told him when he stood up and opened the door. ‘You might need some help.’
It was a good ten minutes before Christy felt able to follow him; ten minutes during which she had once again to acknowledge that she had been saved from revealing to Simon the truth, not by her own caution but by events outside her control. What control? she asked herself bitterly. She seemed to have precious little of that commodity when Simon was around. And what of Simon himself? Sooner or later he was going to expect to take their lovemaking to its natural conclusion. He would not understand any refusal…How could he when she had just made it more than obvious that she wanted him? Unlike her he apparently did not need to feel love to experience desire. She already knew that he loved someone else, but that did not stop him from desiring her. Her hands shaking, Christy went topside. Simon was engrossed in listening to the radio, and sensing his concentration she did not speak. After a few minutes he turned to her and said briefly, ‘The weather’s on the change. I thought it might be. With a bit of luck I could get in just one more dive. Now tell me carefully exactly where this aperture is?’
Christy did so, but added dully, ‘But it’s no use, you won’t be able to get inside. It’s very narrow, I had to take off my tanks to get out again.’
‘Damn.’
She could sense his disappointment, touch it almost.
‘I could go down again.’ She made the offer tentatively, trying to control her own shudder of fear. Dear God, could she find the courage?
Simon seemed about to refuse and then he said decisively, ‘We’ll both go down. It’s taking a risk to leave the boat, but I’m not prepared to let you go down there alone again.’
They prepared for the dive in silence, Christy leading the way once they had found the coral wall. This time, without the adrenalin of excitement pumping through her veins the opening looked impossibly small. Simon looked at it for several seconds and Christy wondered what he was thinking.
Before they had dived he had told her what he wanted her to do. He wanted her to scour the sea bed and hand out to him any small objects she could find, be they sand-and coral-encrusted or not. He was hoping, she knew, that somehow they might be lucky enough to find some artefact that would prove that they had indeed found the Golden Fleece, and as she manoeuvred herself through the opening Christy prayed that she would be successful.
It was a long slow business; the sea bed was several feet below the opening and it was tiring constantly diving down into the darkness, using the small light Simon had given her to search diligently for something small enough to take back to him. She found several indistinguishable lumps of coral and sand, dutifully carrying them back, wondering all the time if ultimately they would prove to be of any benefit. On her third return journey Simon tapped his watch and showed it to her. They had already been down just over an hour. She held up one finger to indicate to him that she would make one more journey and he nodded his head.
This time the fear that she had kept at bay on the other journey’s overwhelmed her. What if she should meet another octopus? They liked dark deep places such as this. Simon would not be able to help her. He could not get inside the aperture. Fear shuddered over her, and she fought against it, telling herself that the most dangerous thing she could do was to panic, but all the time she was searching the sea bottom she was tense, constantly looking over her shoulder, haunted by the memory of that dark, sucker-covered tentacle.
She desperately wanted to go back, but as yet she had seen nothing she could possibly carry, and then, just as she was on the point of desperation she saw it, half protruding from the sand, the quite unmistakable handle of some sort of jar, easily recognisable in spite of its covering of weed. She grasped it gently, terrified that it might break and that she would have to start looking all over again, relieved too that she would soon be able to go back to Simon and safety to realise the import of what she had discovered. To her surprise it lifted quite easily, sand spilling from it. It was quite large, and amazingly appeared to be completely intact, not a jug as she had first thought but some sort of drinking vessel. Holding it carefully she swam quickly back. Simon was waiting for her, and she handed him her trophy, sensing his stunned surprise, as he placed it carefully in the rope basket with the other things she had brought. Then he was helping her through the aperture, holding her tanks as she took them off, quickly strapping them back on for her once she herself was through and then swiftly guiding her back along the wall, monitoring their climb upwards, helping her towards and into the ketch as her tired body threatened to give way to the insidious pull of the slowly increasing current. Now, standing shivering on board the ketch she could see only too easily all the many unpleasant fates that could have overtaken her that morning. The current had greatly increased, the sea boiling ominously over the coral. She shivered again and Simon ordered peremptorily, ‘Go below and shower, you look frozen.’
‘What about you?’ She hesitated, missing the closeness they had shared earlier, and yet knowing that it would be wise to preserve a distance between them.
‘I’m okay. I’ll come down later, once we’re out of these waters. There’s a storm blowing up.’
Christy looked at the sky, which still looked placidly blue, and yet there was a slight brassiness to the golden haze of the sun; a tension in the air which didn’t spring entirely from her own inner turmoil.
By the time she had showered and dressed, the promontory was slowly fading behind them. Simon left her in charge of the wheel while he went down to shower and change and when he came back up Christy went below to make them both a meal. It was while they were eating it that he made his first reference to her finds.
‘I have no idea what we’ve got. The drinking vessel looks interesting and God knows what’s buried beneath those lumps of coral. I think the best thing to do is for us to return to England—we can have them properly examined there, and while we’re waiting for the results I can start work.’
‘But I thought you wanted to write your book here,’ Christy protested, a sudden spasm of intuition telling her that it was in some way because of her; because he no longer wanted to be so dangerously alone with her that he was suggesting this course. So much for her earlier belief that he intended to make love to her! It was no real surprise to discover that she felt pain and disappointment instead of relief.
‘I did, but I’ve changed my mind.’
‘Then once we get back you won’t be needing me any more,’ she managed to say quite casually.
‘I engaged you to work for me until the book’s completed.’ His voice was unusually harsh. ‘What’s the matter? Afraid Miles might not approve?’
She had almost forgotten that he believed her to have been involved with Miles and she blushed guiltily, wondering what interpretation he had put on her feverish response to his lovemaking. Did he think she w
as promiscuous, or perhaps simply suffering from sexual frustration? Neither thought was particularly flattering, but surely infinitely preferable to him discovering the truth, she reminded herself wryly. Surely anything was preferable to that now that she knew there was no hope of him ever returning her love?
CHAPTER EIGHT
THEY flew into Heathrow from St Lucia almost twenty-four hours later. The items Christy had retrieved from the sea bed had been packed in a crate and were on board the 707 with them as were all Simon’s papers and notes relating to Kit Masterson.
She had half expected him to suggest that she return home to the vicarage, but he seemed determined to hold her to their original contract. There was plenty of room for both of them in his Knightsbridge apartment he told her, adding cynically that there was also the presence of his housekeeper if she was concerned about the moral ethics of sharing the apartment with him.
They drove there in silence from the airport, Christy because she was too tired after the long flight to make polite conversation and Simon because he seemed to be engrossed in deep thoughts of his own.
In order to while away the journey Christy had tried to do some more drawings of Kit Masterson, but to her chagrin the only face that would take shape beneath her pencil was Simon’s. Not even the addition of a dashing Elizabethan beard and an ornate gold earring in one ear had been able to destroy that likeness, and in the end she had had to crumple up what she had done and dispose of it in her handbag. Now they were back in London—far sooner than she had expected. Did the woman Simon loved live here—was that one of the reasons for their precipitous departure? It was a thought that hadn’t occurred to her before but now that it had, her whole body ached bitterly with jealousy and pain. Who was she? She could, of course, always ask Simon, but she doubted that he would answer her. Why should he? She thought of what he had told her about his early life, and how for a brief span of time she had thought that perhaps he was telling her because he wanted them to be closer but all he had ever wanted from her was the fleeting satisfaction of making love to her—nothing more. And now it seemed that even that desire had gone to judge from the speed with which he had whisked them both back to England. And yet he had spoken derisively about moral ethics. Her moral ethics and the chaperonage of his housekeeper, or had that merely been a subtle warning? After all she had made no attempt to reject his advances, despite the fact that she had not refuted his suggestions that she and Miles were involved in some sort of relationship. Too tired to sort order from her muddled thoughts Christy closed her eyes and let the familiar sounds of the London traffic well over her. When she opened them again everything was silent.