by Jan Colley
He rubbed his face and checked his watch again. Come on, come on. His hands slapped a drumroll on his thighs. He was so wired. If that detective had not burst in on the scene, he would be deep inside her sweet body now, where he’d wanted to be since the second he first saw her. There would be one more expression to add to his catalog of “Lucy” expressions. He wanted to be an inch away from her face, to watch that sweet mouth curve into a smile of pure satisfaction.
His body signalled its approval of the direction of his thoughts just as his cell phone beeped. It was Clark Seller in the Sydney office.
Clark could barely contain his excitement. The Minister for the Interior for the islands had unexpectedly decided to attend a Pacific Tourism Council in Sydney. He could meet with Ethan tomorrow.
Tomorrow! Damn, damn. Ethan groaned. How could he leave tomorrow without straightening this mess out?
Lucy’s face swam in front of his eyes as he’d last seen it. Let down. Scared. He would never have believed himself capable of putting that look on anyone’s face. Especially not on her face.
And then his world tipped a little on its axis. It was an indistinct slide of his insides—distant, like a dream in which you’re falling over a cliff. A beautiful soundless freefall, without fear—after all, it’s just a dream. Right?
Clark’s insistent voice intruded and Ethan did something unprecedented. “You handle it.”
“What?” Clark was incredulous, but Ethan reassured him that he was more than equipped to handle this preliminary meeting. There would be no negotiations. It was more or less just a feeler.
He hung up and opened the car door. He’d had it with cooling his heels out here.
Lucy’s apartment building was beside a busy intersection and the traffic lights had just turned green so he had to wait half a minute to cross the road. The wind was blustery and turned to the south. Bitterly cold, he rubbed his arms as he dodged through the line of stationary vehicles.
He opened the gate and passed through just in time to see the underground garage door closing behind a red sports car. Lucy’s red Alfa Romeo.
Cursing, he turned back to fumble at the gate latch just as her car drove right past him.
“Red. Red!” he shouted at the traffic lights and broke into a trot. The lights were not on his side. They went amber and she barrelled through and turned right. Ethan had a near miss with a white utility van as he raced across the road and jumped in his car.
And went nowhere fast. The driver of the van was blocking his way to the far-right lane and the lights stayed red. By the time he finally got going, she must have had nearly five minutes on him. Not being familiar with the one-way-street system in this town cost him precious time and he swore viciously when he ended up going full circle and arrived back outside her apartment building. But at least from here he knew the way to Summerhill.
Where else would she go? Fuming, he raced through the streets and got onto the ring road that led out of the city and toward the West Coast.
Annoyance drilled his temples. Lucy McKinlay had cut him off at the knees. What was he thinking? Turtle Island was his ultimate deal. His biggest, his last, his final revenge. Where was his infamous focus? He was not handing over control. No way. This was still his baby.
Come on, Rae. Think! He held engineering and business degrees. Solving problems was his forte. Political, legal, employment—how could one small personal dilemma slip under his grid and turn his lights out?
It was an utterly wretched ninety-minute drive with no sign of her car ahead, but there was more than one route to the mountains. Finally the turn-off to the ski village flashed by and he decelerated. The weather was closing in fast. Ethan thought fleetingly of the hunting party and hoped they were home safe.
Soon, on the long driveway up to the lodge, he caught sight of a flash of red by the stables and swung the steering wheel that way. Surely she would not be fool enough to go riding when dusk was on them and a storm was brewing.
It must have been zero degrees with a windchill factor of formidable proportions when he alighted. The rain was just starting in earnest—big, fat skin-shrinking drops with the promise of more. He ducked his head and raced for the stable entrance.
Lucy sat huddled with her knees drawn up to her chin in a corner of Monty’s stall. Her face was a mixture of sullen surprise and resignation.
“No.” Ethan shook his head.
Petulantly she jerked to her feet. “I know that. Leave me alone.” She froze him with a look of such disdain, he hardly registered that she’d pushed past him.
Her turning her back on him, walking away, sharpened his temper. Frustration gnawed at him, born of the simmering sexual tension he had kept reined in all this long day. He made a grab for her arm, but she easily shook him off and walked out into the night. It took him a few seconds to register she had just walked out on him—again—and then he followed, almost disbelieving.
Icy rain slashed at his face the moment he was out the door. The wind howled, buffeting him. Such was the deluge, it took him a while to make her out because he, naturally, was looking toward their vehicles.
Lucy, unpredictably, had stomped off in the direction of the house with her arms wrapped around herself. She still wore a light knit top and a leather jacket that was more stylish than protective against the elements.
His temper surged, warming him. He ducked his head and set off after her, snagging her arm in a vice-like grip. It was hard to make out her face in the gathering darkness and driving rain, but her eyes flashed dangerously.
“Leave me alone!”
He pulled her to a standstill. “Get in the car.”
She attempted to release her arm, to no avail. “Just what is your agenda, Ethan?” Her voice surged and faded as the wind whipped parts of the question away.
“Right now, it’s to get out of this blasted storm. Get in the car.”
She pulled away, successfully this time, swearing colorfully.
“Spoiled brat!” he yelled after her in complete exasperation.
With a resigned glance at the two cars parked outside the stables, he caught up to her and fell into step beside her. It was slow going into the teeth of the driving southerly and both of them hunched over grimly, not looking at each other.
“Stop running away from me,” he demanded through clenched teeth.
“You stop running after me,” she retorted. “Why are you trying to hurt Summerhill?” She pulled up smartly and faced him.
“I’m not.” He took his hand from his pocket and turned her toward the house, urging her on. “It’s my job, Lucy. Do you really think Magnus doesn’t suspect what’s going on here? That’s why he asked me to look into it.”
“So you admit it.” She shook her dripping head in disgust. “You’re running around digging up dirt so you can kick us out of the club.”
“It’s not like that. I can help you.”
“We don’t need your help,” she snapped, but her voice sounded decidedly shaky now.
Ethan swiped at the water streaming down his face, and peered at her. Her pale hair was plastered to her head. In the glow of the house lights, ten meters away, her eyes were dark smudges, the color of the storm.
His heart lurched and squeezed. Ah, Lucy, what are you doing to me? He planted his feet stubbornly.
“You being nice to me today.” Her voice shook. “Giving me the rope to hang myself. Making me trust you so I’ll tell you what Magnus needs to get us off the list.”
He rocked back on his heels. “Wrong.”
“You’re using me to cover up your affair with Juliette.”
The sour taste of injustice flooded his throat. “Wrong again. But there are problems here.”
“If you take us off the Global List, we’re finished.”
“The situation isn’t irretrievable. I can make Magnus see that.”
She turned away from him again. “Maybe you won’t be Magnus’s golden-haired boy when he knows that you’re his wife’s lover.�
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Her foot was on the bottom step of the veranda before he hauled on her arm. “For the last time, I am not Juliette’s lover.”
“Oh, bugger off!” She poured all her strength into freeing her arm, but he held fast and turned her.
“Listen to me. Someone sent me some newspaper clippings a few days ago. Juliette was investigated for the death of her first husband. No charges in the end, but I had to make sure.”
Lucy’s mouth dropped open.
Ethan took advantage of her momentary immobilization to move a step closer. “I had to check it out but I couldn’t get her on her own here. So I followed you down south.”
She swallowed, her eyes as big as saucers. “You thought she…?”
He nodded. “She threw me out. But I talked to her here last night. She went through hell as tabloid fodder for two years. Even though there was no evidence, everyone in the States thought she was guilty. That’s why she moved to Australia. New name, new age, new husband.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? Does Magnus know?”
Ethan put his hands on her shoulders. “That’s why I didn’t tell you. He’s bound to find out at some stage. She made me swear not to say anything until she’s had a chance to talk to him.”
“Do you believe her?”
He nodded. “Yeah, I do. She’s a nice lady who’s had a rough time. Do you believe me?”
Lucy wrapped her arms about herself. “So you’re not having an affair with your boss’s wife?”
He shook his head.
She held his gaze, her chin raised. There was a mighty struggle in her face. The desire to believe him warring with distrust. The hunger for his words to be true. Had she never trusted, never felt supported?
He grabbed her hands in his. “Let’s get it all out in the open. All of it.” He turned her and pushed her up the remaining steps, out of the deluge. At the door, he put his hands in her hair, combing it back with his fingers, squeezing the moisture out. “Lucy, I don’t want Juliette, but I do want you. I have been asking questions, but I’ll do everything I can to help.” He touched her face gently. “I’m worried, Lucy. I’m worried that your brother is in over his head and dragging you down with him.”
She nodded. “I’m a little scared, too. I had a visitor this morning, the lodge’s former meat supplier, before you arrived. He’s already got a judgment from the civil court for unpaid accounts. Now he’s threatening to put us into liquidation.”
Ethan swore under his breath. He knew from his inquiries that the rot had spread a lot farther than the local butcher. “No wonder you were upset this morning.”
She looked up at him, dripping and shaking with cold. “Tom just runs rings around me lately. He won’t tell me what’s wrong.”
He pulled her close. “We’ll sort it out.” He felt her head bump against his chest and heard her muffled “Okay.”
Fierce with relief, he crushed her to him. She shivered, and it went bone-deep as his arms pressed her saturated clothes to her body. Then he lifted her off the ground and against him. “You’re driving me mad,” he muttered. “It’s all wrong, but God help me, Lucy, I want you. Only you.”
And then he was kissing her deeply with a hunger that was more to do with feeding a soul than assuaging a need.
They made puddles on the step. “We need to get you warm,” he told her when he noticed she was practically shivering out of the circle of his arms. “Inside.”
He followed her up the stairs, holding her hand, knowing he was walking headlong into repercussions. They passed his room, her boots squelching in time with his thumping heart. Once he entered her room, there would be no going back.
She stopped at a door on the other side of the second floor from the guest accommodation. Lucy could hardly open the door, she was shaking so much.
“Shower.” She pointed to the bathroom as he closed her door.
Ethan put his hands on her hips and walked her ahead of him into the bathroom. The decision was made. He wouldn’t shy from it—he would face it with his usual consummate efficiency. There had to be a way to fit this vital and growing need for her in with achieving his goals.
Reaching into the stall, he turned the shower on. Lucy flipped the fan heater on and shed her soaked-through jacket and boots while he lifted two big towels from the top of the vanity and threw them on the floor. And when steam began fogging up the glass shower door, he pushed her gently inside the stall, kicked off his shoes and followed himself.
Lucy’s eyes closed in bliss as the strong jet of hot water rained over her, seeping through her clothes. A sigh, deep and tremulous, rose from her lips and eased his tension somewhat. She let the spray run on her back for a minute then pulled him close so he could enjoy it, too. Together they faced the spray. His hands began rubbing, in short, hard strokes down her back and sides.
Minutes passed and finally her shaking subsided. She looked around in wonder, as if she wasn’t sure how she came to be in this place. In her shower, fully clothed and with him. And then her eyes warmed as she focused on him.
Ethan’s blood began to hum. Fear, distrust, betrayal, all extinguished now. He’d seen this in her eyes today also, on the wall by the sea and later in the car. Heavy-lidded, pupils dilated with sultry awareness. His body took that last leap into an adrenaline-drenched response.
His hands felt as useless as frozen legs of lamb as he peeled her top over her head. Rose-pink lace with pale green ribbon; the sight of her bra erased any thought of Turtle Island or repercussions. Suddenly the only relevant detail he craved was whether her underwear matched.
For about one second, until Lucy reached behind her and flicked her bra free with one hand. Now he was just impatient to see the rest of her. He helped push the bra up and off her shoulders.
He wanted his hands on her, but his focus did seem to be skew-whiff at the present. He was momentarily halted by her fingers at his shirt, and he would have to say she won in the dexterity stakes. All buttons undone in the time it took for him to undo the snap at the waistband of her jeans.
Ethan slid the heavy denim down her legs and took her panties with them. Did they match? He couldn’t remember because by then, he was running his hands up the back of her legs, amazed at how long and lithe they were for someone so small. He really must slow and pay attention, but he did not want to miss a single second, or bypass a single inch of her. He wanted to see and taste and feel everything.
As he stood to full height, his hands stopped on her behind. Smooth, curved, a delicious handful. Lucy meanwhile, busied herself with his slacks and Ethan let out a careful breath as he was freed completely from the shackles of wet clothing.
Finally naked—and for a little while, it seemed enough just to look. With his hands cupping her bottom and hers resting on his chest, his mind was at peace with the confessions and decisions of the last hour.
Her skin had the soft luster of pearl. Her arms and shoulders were delicate, her body slim but not angular. Sweetly rounded curves next to his long slashing lines of lean muscle. So many contrasts, not only to him but to anyone he’d been with before. Mostly, he felt so big next to her small frame.
Water cascaded down her face and body and she shimmered like the fairy he had thought of when he first saw her. Her small hands rested flat on his chest, providing yet another shocking contrast to his own coloring.
Need for her rolled through him, burst out in a ragged exhalation. He placed his hands on hers—they were warm now—and felt his own heart pumping through them. Ethan shut the water off and backed out of the shower, pulling her with him. He swathed them both in one large soft towel.
They maneuvered into the bedroom still bound in the towel. Lucy’s cheeks were rosy, her breathing quick. He pulled the towel closer around them, warm, damp bodies bumping against each other as they jostled.
Light drifted in from the living room and combined with the open bathroom door to cast an eerie glow. Ethan looked around the big room, his gaze halting at an armchair by the
window with a stuffed toy holding a balloon. His heart stopped. Raising his hands to his head he pulled the towel down over his face, swearing succinctly.
“What is it?”
He looked down into her face, shook his head wryly. “We have to go to my room.”
“Your room?”
“Condoms.” His face screwed up into a grimace. “I had a couple in my wallet, which is still in the car. But I have some in my case.”
Lucy smiled easily and opened her mouth to speak. Then a muted flash of orange lit the room, snagging her attention. Next thing he knew, she had twisted away, leaving him clutching an armful of damp towel and nothing else.
She ran over to the window, dragging aside heavy drapes. “Look!”
Nine
Lucy waited for another stab of lightning. There was a young magnolia to the left of her window, its branches reaching just below her sill. Right now, it whipped about gracefully. The storm had worsened while they were in the shower.
The music of it enthralled her. The wind howled menacingly and she felt the eaves of the old house vibrate under the force of it. The rain was heavy and hard on the old iron roof. And something deeper—a long roll of thunder, not too far away. She closed down a quick, skimming thought that it rumbled a warning.
The tree thrashed in a flamboyant dance. Its branches reached up in an entreaty. Will I? Do I trust him enough? She sensed Ethan come up behind her and she began to sway with the wind. Then a great flash of sheet lightning lit the room up again. Lucy laughed in pure delight.
He moved in close and put his hands around her waist. They looked almost black against her paleness. She put her hands on top of his and leaned back into his warmth, still swaying. The thunder rolled on, making the house shudder—or maybe it was just her. The lightning continued to strike, moving around the valley in an arc.
Their reflection in the window danced, faded, surged, like her thoughts, her fears, the need piercing her. Thousands of raindrops raced each other down the glass. He was hard to see in the window because he was so dark. As she swayed, they moved in time to the rhythm she created. Their hands were light on her body and her movement meant they slid over her, branding her with the touch she directed.