He wanted to know more. The idea of anyone striking Peggy appalled him. But it almost explained a few things: Her bluster. The fleeting look of anxiety in her eyes. Her eagerness to be liked.
She tried a smile at him. “Please?"
He let out a sigh. “Alright. What do you want?"
Her smile trembled at the edges. “Just some attention, that's all. Don't ignore me."
She climbed up onto the railing again and tried to look happy. She began to chatter in nervous relief. “A bath would be heaven, but that's asking too much. How do you stay clean in this wilderness? When I get back to civilization, I want to soak myself for a week!"
"You want a bath?” He felt the wave of recklessness crest and begin to spill inside himself.
"I'd love it."
Brent looked out at the lake. The rain had stopped. Sometime, when he hadn't been paying attention, the downpour had simply ceased. He knew he could get out the boat, pack Peggy into it, and take her across to the village before nightfall.
But something prevented him—something Brent preferred to ignore for the moment. Launching himself out of the chair, he grabbed her hand. It was small and warm, and felt delightful. He pulled her to her feet. “Let's go!"
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Chapter 3
Peggy catapulted headlong down the winding path beside the cabin. She ran, her hand gripped in his, her heart racing. The dogs chased them, barking delightedly. Peggy couldn't match Brent's long strides and ended up skidding on the moss and stumbling on the stones. She tugged on his hand, laughing.
"Wait, stop!"
"I thought you wanted a bath?"
"I do, but—"
"Come on!"
With a nimbleness surprising in a male so tall, he ducked under the branches of a big tree and doubled back on the path, so that they ended up on a dock that jutted from underneath the cabin's balcony. Peggy realized that the rustic cabin had been built on the boulders of a water-filled cave, and the cave served as a boathouse. Breathless, she peered inside and saw the shadow of a wooden boat bumping gently on its moorings.
Stretching from the boathouse onto the lake was a long dock. One in much better repair than the rotting structure Peggy had first used to set foot on the island. Brent released her hand and ducked under the low overhang of the cave. Lightly, he crept along the narrow catwalk until he reached the boat. Peggy could hear him rummaging in a footlocker, but she turned away and, still breathing hard, admired the panoramic view.
Now that the rain had stopped, an eerie mist arose from the surface of the lake. The still-eddying water looked like molten silver in the dying light of day. Along the shore, the gray silhouettes of tall trees stood like silent phantoms, one after the other growing smaller and smaller until they finally disappeared into the endless horizon of the Great Lake. The storm winds had left quiet waves, which slapped against the rocky shore.
Peggy caught her breath and hugged herself, struck by how alone they were on the enormous lake. The air smelled so clear and clean that it made her feel dizzy just to breathe it in. The silence was complete. So unlike the city, that, for a moment, Peggy wondered if she were somehow dreaming. Not even an animal rustled in the trees. Then, far away, a weird cry echoed in the distance across the flat lake.
"See those large birds?” Brent asked, his voice so close in her ear that Peggy jumped. “They are huge hawks which hover in the air currents high above. They have nests in the distant Porcupine Mountains. Don't worry too much about them. They almost never attack and eat humans ... at least, not living ones. Are you ready?"
She faced him and started to bluff. “What do you have in mind? You don't expect me to go swimming now, do you? In the lake?"
Brent scooped the crook of Peggy's arm into his hand and steered her out along the dock. The dogs frisked happily around their legs.
"Do you see a hot tub anywhere nearby? Yes, in the lake. You big city women have probably never heard of what we call skinny-dipping, but around here—"
"Skinny-dipping is not a practice totally unknown to me, you know. I grew up by the Atlantic Ocean."
"Good. Then get out of those clothes and—"
"It's broad daylight!"
"You want to wait until nightfall? When the other creatures come out? When those big birds start swooping around lower and lower? When—"
"Okay, okay, you convinced me."
He shoved a dry towel into her hands. The dock bobbed gently underfoot as they paced the length of it, so Brent held onto Peggy's arm to keep her steady. When they reached the end of the dock, Peggy turned and looked uncertainly up into his face. For a second, she thought about demanding a ride home.
Suddenly, she wanted to be back in the busy Manhattan streets, hearing honks, shouts, and roaring engines. The last thing she wanted was to strip down with a perfect stranger who might well be a crazed murderer and go for a swim in this huge, eerie lake.
"Listen.” She fought off the urge to tell him her worst fears. “This is—I'm not exactly—you see, I—"
He laughed at her. It was such a jolt to see him laugh that Peggy found herself staring at him. He had a nice face, a naturally sexy smile.
He said, “You're a coward, is that it?"
"I am not!"
"Then dive in."
"With my clothes on?"
"Your decision.” He released her to haul his ancient tunic over his head. “But judging by your lack of luggage, you're going to be very unhappy if you soak all your clothes for the sake of one unsatisfying bath. You're not as tough as you pretend, are you? Come on. I won't peek, if that's what's got you worried. Or maybe it's because you have nothing worth looking at?"
"It's not,” Peggy snapped, stung that he'd realized at least some of the truth immediately.
But he turned his back to her, and she hastily did the same so they were facing in opposite directions. As Peggy took off her shoes, she heard him drop his shirt on the dock and kick off his shoes.
Gripping her towel for dear life, she said tartly, “It's going to be cold, you know. How do you expect to get clean in a cold bath?"
"Quit stalling,” he said over his shoulder. “Last one in makes the bread and butter sandwiches."
She heard the jingle of his belt buckle and identified the sound of his jeans coming off.
She gulped. “This is very embarrassing, I'll have you know."
"For crying out loud,” he said. “We're adults!"
"We're strangers."
"Not for long. Come on, Peggy. You think I don't know what you've got under that sweater?"
"I know you know what I've got; I just don't feel like letting you see. I don't go in for this outdoors, one-with-nature stuff. I like movies and subways and restaurants and the good, honest smell of a bus driver who smokes cigars! But I—"
"Oh, for heavens’ sake,” Brent said.
And those were the last words Peggy heard before she was picked up by a totally naked male and thrown into Lake Superior. She came up sputtering and shouting epithets that would make any city cab driver blush.
The trees rang with the foul names she called him, but by the time she had flung the water from her eyes and opened them, Brent had dived into the water. The animals joyfully plunged in after him. When he surfaced fifteen meters away, Peggy was panting and struggling to stay afloat.
"You're really rotten,” she gasped.
"Need help?” he asked sweetly.
"Keep your distance!"
"You're going to have a hard time swimming unless you take off your pants, at least. I could do that for you, if you'd let me—"
"Stay where you are!” she bellowed.
Then, she swam clumsily over to the dock and grabbed a handhold. With the sound of Brent's laughter ringing in her ears, she ripped off her sopping clothes and heaved them up onto the dock.
Her sweater landed with a splat, her blouse followed. Peggy went on grumbling, but each item of removed clothing was a relief, she had to admit. She wa
s a good swimmer, but her heavy pants weighed her down significantly. She stripped them off and decided, what the hell, she might as well get rid of her thong panties and bra, too. At last, she was treading water, completely naked and strangely revitalized. Her heart lifted.
Lake Superior was warm—warmer than the air, at least. The fresh, tingling water rushed around her limbs, stealing through her pubic places and caressing her skin with sly insistence. She turned and saw Brent swimming lazily in the deeper water, playing with the dogs. He swam effortlessly—strong and swift in the water, a friend to the current, smooth as an eel.
He flipped onto his back and blew a jet of water into the air, and Peggy found herself craning to get a better view, a glimpse of his lean, muscular, and efficient body. And suddenly, she wanted to be near him. She wanted to see him, and feel the heat his body radiated in the water. She wanted to hear Brent laugh again, and she wanted to be near when it happened.
She dove underwater to get the weight of her hair behind her, and then she swam quickly out into the lake. Around him, the wolfdogs splashed merrily.
"Don't drown me,” he said when she was close enough to speak to. “You'll never get off this island alive."
"I should dunk you."
She stopped several feet away to tread water.
"That was a mean trick. What am I supposed to wear tonight?"
He grinned, still wrestling with one of the animals. With his dark hair slicked back, he looked like a pirate—an aristocratic pirate maybe, but still a swashbuckler capable of tossing a willful lady overboard.
"We'll find something for you to wear, don't worry. You're not really angry, are you?"
"I should be!"
"You look great,” he said.
And Peggy realized that his brown eyes were shining with appreciation as he studied her. She felt sure he couldn't see below the waterline, but he obviously saw something worth admiring. But she did have nicely shaped breasts, and he appreciated them.
He shoved the dogs away. “You're beautiful without your makeup."
Ridiculously embarrassed, she summoned a tart voice. “I won't mention your opinion to my cosmetologist next time I go for an appointment."
"Don't,” he said softly.
"Don't what?"
"Talk like that."
"I don't know what you mean, so—"
"I like you,” he said suddenly. “You're not the sophisticated bitch you pretend to be. You're nice. You're—I don't know exactly. Were you really crying over that book this afternoon?"
She felt strangely giddy, alone with him in the silent water, vulnerable. Peggy knew she was blushing and ducked under the water for an instant before answering. “I can't help it.” She avoided his bemused and curious gaze. “I've got a mushy spot for heroines with sad stories."
"Because you've had one yourself?"
"Now, look, psychiatrist, if you're going to analyze me—"
"I'm sorry,” he said. “It's none of my business. But I don't get the chance very often. You're the first female to turn up here in four years."
"Four years!” Peggy splashed water and stared at him, astonished. “You mean, you haven't had—I thought you were some kind of hermit monk, but I didn't really—do you mean to tell me you've been celibate for that whole time? How old are you?"
He laughed. “Painful, but true. Unless you count lusting in my heart, which, believe me, doesn't measure up to the real thing. Why do you find it so shocking? You don't exactly strike me as the stereotypical single, fantasy female on the prowl for great sex with no commitments."
"Well, but you're a man. And you're so..."
"So what?"
"Sexy.” She eyed him warily. “You know, hunky and natural, and a well-hung stud muffin, and—oh, I don't know. I'm sounding stupid, aren't I?"
"I'm going on forty and I like sex.” He threw his head back to look up at the clouded sky. “At least, I did. I thought I'd forget about it after awhile, but it's a natural appetite in all humans, isn't it? Like food and shelter, it's something we all need."
"Maybe you do,” Peggy said, without thinking.
That got his attention. “You don't like sex?"
"I didn't say that. I just meant—well, it's—what are you smiling about?"
He laughed again. “I have a feeling about you, Peggy."
"What? Wait, I bet I don't want to hear it."
"Have you ever been in love?"
"No,” Peggy said, like a shot.
"Ever had a lover? Even a short-term one?"
"What are you asking?"
Brent grinned. “How old are you?"
"I'm thirty."
"I don't believe that."
"Okay, twenty-nine,” she said.
But when he cocked his eyebrow, she admitted, “Well, twenty-eight, if you're a stickler for details."
"Twenty-eight,” he said. “A twenty-eight-year-old virgin?!"
"Now, wait a minute! I never said—"
"It's true, isn't it? I knew it."
His laughter sparked Peggy's temper. “I hate that! Stop it!"
"I'm sorry. I'm laughing at the expression on your face. Why are you so angry? It's not something you're supposed to be ashamed of."
"You have been in the wilderness too long.” She was mortified that he was trying to figure out some secret she'd supposedly been keeping for an extremely long time. “Look, I'm not terribly proud of it, all right? I mean, a girl can get away with being a novice for a while, but once you hit twenty-five and haven't done it, people start thinking you're weird. Lesbian or frigid or too neurotic. So, I just quit mentioning it, you know?"
"And you compensate by acting like the toughest thing in the world."
"It works,” Peggy snapped. “Nobody makes fun of me. I really hate being made fun of."
"So I've noticed."
She shot him a quick look to be certain he wasn't laughing at her. “I'm not completely ignorant, of course. I've read the manuals and plenty of sexy novels."
"So, you can talk and talk and talk, and pretend."
"Right. But I'm not ... there aren't any guys I feel like doing it with, you know? Sex isn't a big priority with me. Or maybe the right guy hasn't shown up yet. I know, that sounds stupid—"
"I think it's charming."
"Charming.” Peggy rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right."
"You're special,” Brent said.
Peggy couldn't look him in the eye. “You're making me blush again."
"I know,” he said. “That's charming, too. I have some soap on the dock. You first?"
She swam slowly away from him. Her head was in a muddle. She felt silly and pleased at the same time—excited by his compliments, but a little scared, too. Had he seen through her? To the real reason she didn't go looking for sex partners? She couldn't second-guess Brent, couldn't imagine what he was really thinking. Maybe he had her completely figured out. That thought worried Peggy.
The soap was where he'd promised. Peggy dove under the dock and came up on the other side for some privacy. She lathered her body, and then her hair, listening to Brent splash as he exercised. The two beasts clambered out of the lake and shook themselves off, then flopped down to watch their master swim. In time, he returned to the dock, and Peggy tossed the soap over to him.
"Still warm enough?” he called to her.
"Yes. I thought the water would be colder."
"It'll cool off quickly, now that summer's almost over,” he said.
Then he proceeded to explain about currents and northwesterly air flows from the far regions, warm pockets and the autumn equinox. He concluded by saying, “There's a colder current running through this part of the lake right now. Want to feel it?"
Feeling uncharacteristically game, Peggy said, “Okay, sure."
"Come on, then.” He swam out from the dock, and Peggy followed. They moved along at a steady pace, swimming out into the lake away from shore, heads above water to breathe gulps of cold, crisp air. The sky overhead was still g
ray with clouds, and the light had begun to fade a little further.
Neither spoke, and as she swam, Peggy experienced the strange feeling of entering something strange, some great abyss. The water, mist, and sky seemed to merge into one silvery-gray element she couldn't put a name to, but simply felt. It was liquid, yet airy—warm against her skin, but cool on her face and in her lungs.
It was a great emptiness. She could sense the water become deeper around her, and the cool air parted around her face with a soft rushing sound. The quiet grew around them until the only sounds on the entire planet came from their steady strokes.
Peggy's heart began to pound. The grayness was complete. The lake became a huge void, and she was but a tiny speck floating in its powerful silence. She stopped swimming and couldn't breathe.
"Brent,” she choked. For a moment, she was afraid that she was totally alone in the mist.
"I'm here.” In a moment, his head materialized before her. “You okay? A cramp?"
"I'm—I'm scared. It's too deep."
He caught her hand and drew her body toward his. Peggy felt his heat, his strength, and seized it, wrapping both arms around his shoulders. She pressed her body to his.
"It's okay.” He spoke gently to soothe her.
He held her snugly against his chest, floating. Her long hair swept around them, streaming out on the water's surface. Their legs tangled for an instant, and Peggy struggled to match the rhythm of Brent's easy kick.
"You're all right,” he said.
"I can't see anything,” she said, voice quivering. “Everything's the same color."
"You're all right,” he murmured again. “Relax. We're in a current, can you feel it? It's carrying us downstream a little, not dangerous. We'll be in the channel in a minute. It's all right. The dock's just a couple hundred meters that way. Can you hear the dogs barking?"
She could, but she clung to Brent, and in the next second, she was thankful he was holding her, for the water suddenly changed. The cold enveloped her. It seized her body with terrifying completeness. She cried out again. She knew Brent was speaking, trying to calm her, to allay her fear. He talked of weather and water, and the cycle of life.
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