by Jan Colley
The storm noise intensified to a crescendo any orchestra would have been proud of. It seemed the lightning, having belted every valley and hill and mountain and gorge around Summerhill, was now coming for the house itself. Confrontation. She glimpsed the stables and outbuildings as they lit up, a beacon of courage. But then their reflections shifted.
Nestling her head into his throat, her arms slid behind her to pull him closer. His hands firmed on their teasing exploration of her abdomen and rib cage. At the very moment his fingers brushed over the tingling tips of her breasts, she felt the unmistakable thickness of him push between her thighs. Trance-like, she watched their reflections melting into the rain trailing down the windowpane. Lightning seemed to strike and flow from his eyes.
“Are you the devil?” she breathed.
His teeth flashed in a brief smile, then he was kissing her neck while his fingers pinched and stroked her nipples. Lucy’s insides melted and started to flow and she squeezed her thighs, trapping him. His groan puffed hot into her ear.
Then the shock of him gliding hot and hard against her blurred the blasts of lightning. A ragged sob washed from her throat as the heavens poured down outside. A distant rolling tension started deep down, relentless as the thunder. Gone were all thoughts of consequences or the future—she surrendered to the storm within.
Ethan nipped into her neck and she rocked back against him, her breasts filling his palms. Man, this was heaven, and he never wanted to stop.
She swayed and undulated against his shaft and then loosened her grip. Hot as lava. He groaned. This was hell, and he needed more.
Keeping one hand on her breast, he moved the other down to stroke the smooth skin of her bottom, gently tugging then pushing back to create a delicious rhythmic friction for both of them. Her ragged gasp, his heavy one, added to the turbulence outside.
Another clout of lightning lit the room and she leaned forward, with only his hand at her breast to stop her toppling. And he knew what she wanted. Him. Inside her now, like this. From behind.
He wanted that, too. But her face…it was a promise he’d made to himself. To watch her come apart.
And storm or no storm, he did not do unprotected sex; it wasn’t part of the plan.
Sensing his impending withdrawal, she clamped her legs together, whimpering a denial. He persisted—sweet agony—and turned her. She gulped air. There was nothing sleepy about her eyes now. Demanding, fierce with need. Their bodies surged together, mouths seeking, sucking, sampling. Her arms were around his neck. Rock-hard nipples chafed his rib cage, which dragged another groan of impatience from his throat. If she didn’t stop, he’d lose it.
She didn’t stop. She pushed against him and, unprepared, he stepped back. And again. She had a plan but his mouth was too busy, too full of her to ask. She kept pushing till they reached her bedside table and she yanked open the drawer and pressed something into his hand. Then she hauled herself up against him, pressing and swaying and rubbing.
He fumbled with the packet, the blood roaring in his ears. She moved one hand down between them to help. He pressed her hand into his side with his arm. Not helping!
In the few seconds it took to sheath himself, he dragged in a lungful of air and tried to slow things. Ethan was at ease with the act of love, if not the emotion. If ever he could be generous, make it special, it should be now. Because he cared now as he’d never done before.
He forced himself to block out the lithe body gyrating against him, those impatient little breaths deep in her throat and her busy hands roaming and stroking. His arms slid around her waist and he drew her close, smiling tightly at the impatience in her eyes.
“Easy,” he murmured.
Then his mouth took hers so deeply, so possessively, he swallowed her protest and she sagged against him.
She hadn’t reckoned on being gentled, he guessed. He molded her body against him, inhaled the clean warmth of her, swayed with her and felt the hum deep in her throat. As his tongue teased over and under hers, she stilled and accepted.
But only for a few seconds. What she then did to his tongue should have been a felony. In a shock of disintegrating control, he imagined that part of her, the mouth that he dreamed about, on another part of his body, mimicking that motion. That other part of his body that was now straining between them, demanding critical attention.
His hands moved down to the back of her thighs and he braced and lifted her against him. Her legs instantly locked around his waist.
And then she did it. Reached down and cupped him while sliding up and down against him. Before his knees buckled, he turned and they fell on the bed with a whump!
He buried his mouth into the fragrant hollow at the base of her throat, inhaling deeply. When her arms tightened around his back, he raised his head. The eerie flashing of the lightning clouded her eyes. He touched his lips to hers, a soft whisper of a kiss, at the instant he slid into her body. Both of them exhaled, stilled.
So hot. The pleasure of being deep inside her was all concentrated there in a burst of tingling vibrations. For moments he lay, holding his breath, letting his body breathe for him. He felt a single thread of steel form and run the length of his insides, pulling tighter and tighter.
Their eyes were locked on each other’s, building an immeasurable, searing passion. His surprise at the intensity of it glowed in her eyes. It robbed them of breath, girding them for something a little dangerous, but vital and inevitable.
Then Lucy hissed in a quick breath through her nose and licked the corner of his mouth. “Not easy,” she pleaded.
Lifting slightly, he took some weight on his knees and slipped his hands under her buttocks. Then she lifted her hips jerkily and his descent into the storm began.
She met him eagerly, triumph glowing in her eyes. He pulled her body up against him with every stroke. Within the confines of her body, there were no limits, only rising layers of euphoria. In one deep stroke, he could feel her boundaries. With the next, he floundered as she stretched and flowed and tightened around him. He forgot everything else. This was all that mattered. Lucy, here, under him.
Their hips whipped like well-oiled pistons, smooth, deep, in complete tandem. A dizzying surge of vibrations plucked at the steel thread inside, quivering to every extremity. In a mind that was rapidly being obliterated by raw sensation, Ethan sensed a sultry, subtle change. From warm inside to drenchingly blazing hot.
She was close. She surged against him and he arched his back as her nails dug deeply into his flesh, urging him on. She was close and he needed to see, but her head had rolled to the side. He would not let her hide. He breathed her name, once, then again, louder. She turned her face and her eyes snapped open.
Lightning slashed through the window again and Ethan got what he wanted. Lucy, helplessly crying out against his mouth, unable to contain the flow of ecstasy.
Ethan pitched headlong into the storm and soared out over the valley. He felt the thread snap and blow the back of his head out, then streak through him to blast out of the soles of his feet.
She ripped his guts, his heart out.
They stretched on their sides in her bed, sighing in pleasure, freed from the shackles of a shrieking tension built up over days—decades—of need.
Several long minutes passed and their breathing returned to normal. Moving her head to the side, she peered at him drowsily. “You are the devil,” she whispered, licking her parched lips.
His eyes fixed on her face, brightening with humor. “You’re not quite the angel I thought you were.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Could have something to do with a big box of…” He turned his head to squint at a box lying on its side in the open drawer of her bedside table. His arm rose and he twisted it around. “Sixty condoms…”
“It was a joke,” she protested mildly. “A farewell present from a silly friend in New York.”
His head sank back onto the pillow and the bed shook with his lazy laughter.
>
Lucy giggled. “It was fun coming through customs. I haven’t used any of them, till now.”
He crooked an eyebrow.
“Six months.”
“Honored.” His head inclined in a salute.
He turned her palm. “Who was your last?” Then he pressed his lips to it. “Was he special?”
That one little act brought a rush of emotion to her throat. Way to make a girl feel special, she thought.
They sat up, arranged pillows behind their heads and pulled the duvet over them.
“He was my tutor. I’d started a film-making course in New York, paid for, as usual by my poor father.”
She stretched and put her arms behind her head.
Lucy had had one or two promising relationships before Jerry, but she’d learned at an early age that to expect love just because you gave it was setting yourself up for a fall. Sure enough, one day she discovered she was far from the first of his students to have gone down that road.
From there, she ceased to see herself as a love interest, realizing she was one in a long line of gullible girls. The thrill was gone. She ended the relationship and abandoned the course.
“What made you come home?” Ethan asked, stroking her hair.
“The break-up with Jerry sort of coincided with Dad’s stroke.” She turned into him and snuggled under his chin. “I suddenly realized how aimless and self-serving my life was. And failing on the course. That was the third course Dad had shelled out for over the years.”
“Poor little rich girl.” He dropped a kiss on her head.
“I never did get the chance to tell him I was sorry. I mean, I did, but after the stroke. Who knows whether he understood.”
Those first few days after the stroke still haunted her. Her father was so confused about what was happening to him. He would stare at his useless hand, his uncooperative leg. He had stared at her, too, as if he could not place her.
“Maybe he should have told you he was sorry.”
It was his tone that lifted her head. “What did he have to be sorry about?”
“For neglecting you all those years, blaming you for what your mother did to him.” His voice was quiet. “Sounds to me like he didn’t deserve your compassion.”
She laid her head down again and snuggled in closer. They listened to the rain beat loudly on the roof and the wind keen. Lucy felt she never wanted to move from here.
“You do realize—” Ethan put his hand under her chin and tilted her face up to him “—being naughty, charming your way through life—it’s all just a cry for attention.”
She blinked at him. How did he see that so quickly? It had taken her some years to figure that out.
A tiny spurt of something broke inside her. It was so unexpected, so unfamiliar, it almost hurt. She’d have called it hope if she hadn’t crushed it down ruthlessly, as was her habit.
She’d long since given up hope of a kind word from her father, a kiss or cuddle like she’d had when she was small, before Belle had left. Long since given up hope of a fairy-tale love. It was best that way. She was living proof. The love word made people run—her faster than most.
She leaned close and kissed his chest. She would enjoy tonight. Tomorrow would come. For now, keep things nice and easy.
He lifted her chin toward him again. “Let’s make a plan.”
She grinned, shaking her head. “You and your plans.”
His index finger traced the shape of her lips. “You are very beautiful,” he murmured. “And you were not part of the plan.”
No, Lucy thought sadly. I never am. But her smile didn’t slip.
“Told you about Turtle Island, didn’t I? It’s going to be huge. It’s going to be the premier luxury resort in the world. It’s also going to take up most of my time over the next couple of years.”
Her heart sank even as hope burgeoned inside. And again, she quelled it. Don’t get your hopes up. He’s already talking about leaving, and that will be that.
“But the islands are only three or four hours away. You can come visit. We’ll drink kava in the sun.”
“That’s a nice idea,” Lucy told him brightly and, as was her way, pushed the maudlin thoughts aside.
“Get an assessment done, Lucy. Soon. I’ll get those business plans drawn up, we will sort out this mess with Tom, and you can start putting some of those ideas into effect. You do own fifty per cent of this operation.”
She sighed. “He won’t listen.”
“He damned well will. There’s more to you than he thinks. Let’s show him.”
Let’s. What a small, inconsequential word. She tried to picture it in her mind, the shape of it, the number of letters. From his mouth, it meant two. Two of them. Together. Us.
Hope and longing flared again. Get it out of your mind. She rubbed her cheek up under his chin. He could use a shave. She could use some sense.
She looked down his relaxed body. So long, so strong. Her hand smoothed the light sprinkling of hair on his broad chest. What a view.
A muscle in his upper thigh twitched. Lucy turned her head to lick at his nipple, see it respond. Her finger glided slowly lower, over his tawny belly. She raised her face again, and nibbled on the bristles along his jawline. They kissed, deep and lingering. His arms tightened and she felt his hands spread wide. Her heart stuttered.
Much later, the sounds of his ecstasy trickled from his lips after a torturously slow and gentle seduction. He smoothed her hair, still looking intently into her eyes. Something flowed between them—a sensation as lush and complex as a fine wine. He’d filled her with a million pinpricks of light and sweetness that swelled and burst and streamed through her with agonizing slowness.
It was the best—and the worst—she had ever felt. She tore her gaze away and pushed him and curled up hard into him. Whimpering with gratification, she hoped he did not notice the couple of baffling tears she shed.
They dressed haphazardly and wandered downstairs in search of food, barefoot and holding hands. The electrical storm had long passed but heavy rain and high winds still lashed the house. Lucy’s quiet and sultry chatter checked at the sound of distress in the kitchen. They opened the door to find Ellie, Summerhill’s housekeeper, calling into the radiotelephone, looking and sounding agitated.
Lucy moved to her side immediately. “What is it?”
Ellie stared at her. “What are you doing here?” She broke off to look at Ethan, a puzzled line appearing between her brows as she took in their disheveled appearance. “I thought you were in town. Your car…”
“It’s down at the stables. Ellie, what’s wrong?”
“Oh, Lucy, it’s a terrible mess. There’s been an accident.”
Ellie spoke into the RT in her hand. “Summerhill to Tom, can you hear me, Tom?”
Another faint crackle, nothing intelligible. The older woman looked at Lucy’s worried face. “I got the first call about ten. His radio was wet and running out of power. There was a landslide. The hut they were in— Craiglea—was nearly wiped out. They decided to try to make it to the ford. Tom said it wasn’t too bad at that stage. But he was wrong. From what I can make out, one or both Jeeps were washed into the river in a flash flood.”
“Oh no,” Lucy whispered.
“Anyone hurt?” Ethan demanded.
“The signal was weak, but I don’t think so. I think he said they all ended up in the water and have lost everything, rifles, food, wet-weather gear, the lot. He saved just the one radio.”
Lucy and Ethan stared at each other. Guilt radiated between them. While they’d been enjoying themselves, they hadn’t given a thought to the hunting party. And now those people, people close to them, were in danger.
“Search and Rescue, Ellie, have you called them?”
Ellie nodded. “The local police are tied up. There’s flooding right along the river. They have sent for police from town to assess the situation.”
“Are there other huts?” Ethan asked tersely.
“Which
side of the river, Ellie?”
“Mountain side. Fernlea would be the closest.”
Lucy looked at Ellie in consternation. “That’s miles. They’ll never make it in this weather on foot.”
Even as she said that, something niggled in her brain, some long-distant memory. She pushed it aside to listen to Ellie.
“Not easy to find either. It’s straight up into the hills. Stupid, stupid.” She tsked. “Why didn’t they stay put at Craiglea? Made the best of it? I talked to Tom at three, soon as I knew the storm was on the way. He wanted to show Mr. Anderson one more spot.”
“Any ideas, Ellie?”
The older woman inhaled, looking at each of them in turn. “We stay put and wait. It’s up to the police to decide if Search and Rescue can attempt a river crossing in the dark while the storm is still going on. We’ll just have to hope Tom and the others can find some shelter and keep warm.”
“How many of them?” Ethan asked, looking at Lucy.
“Tom, Stacey, Magnus and Mr. Endo, one of the other guests.”
“Oh, my,” Ellie suddenly exclaimed. “I suppose we should tell Mrs. Anderson and Mrs. Endo. I’ve talked to Marie, Stacey’s wife.”
“I’ll go to Juliette, you take Mrs. Endo. Ethan, put some coffee on. And keep an ear out for the radio.”
“Shouldn’t we go after them?” Ethan asked.
Ellie shook her head adamantly. “There’s enough fool folk in the bush for one night. The police should be here soon. Just pray this storm lets up.”
Ten
Ethan made a big pot of coffee and fiddled with the radio, to no avail. Soon Juliette and the Indonesian woman joined him and Lucy and Ellie in the kitchen. Juliette confessed to lying awake worrying about the storm. Ethan felt sorry for the Indonesian woman. Her English was poor and there was no way of knowing how much she understood.