Island of Dreams

by Parv, Valerie

  If anyone else had suggested it she would have turned them down flat, but Harry was doing the asking. Standing before her, he was the image of solid dependability. The certainty had no logical basis, but she knew he would never allow her to come to harm. ‘I’ll do it,’ she said in a rush.

  Although she rarely ventured outside freshwater pools, she was a strong swimmer. Her aerobics classes would help, too, Harry explained, as they improved her lung capacity.

  She paid close attention while he fitted her with flippers which made her graceless on land but which he assured her would propel her effortlessly through the water. After wetting them for easier fitting he made her sit on a rock and dangle her feet in the water, moving them backwards and forwards until the flippers felt comfortable and secure.

  Remembering to breathe through her mouth was trickier, but she was reminded the first time the glass face-plate misted over. Harry cleared it for her then refitted it, adding a J-shaped snorkel tube which he clipped to the side of her mask. Through it she could see clearly with her face in the water, while breathing through the tube which protruded above the waves.

  Only once did the tube fill with water, choking her, but Harry showed her how to keep it clear by using her tongue to block the tube. Then he made her straighten and blow the water out before she resumed breathing as before.

  ‘Now you’re ready for the big time,’ he said.

  She contemplated the vast ocean breaking roughly over the coral bar at the entrance of the lagoon. ‘Not out there?’

  ‘I thought you’d agreed to trust me?’

  Her breath escaped in a rush. ‘I do. I’m ready.’

  ‘Good girl.’ Carrying her gear, she followed him along the waterswept raft of sand and coral until he stopped at a place where the sea foamed against the rocks. Beyond it was a lagoon of almost calm water. ‘The Aborigines call this the Dreaming Pool,’ he told her.

  She saw why as soon as they donned masks and flippers and entered the pool. Lit from above, the scene had the innocence of a Botticelli painting. She almost expected to see angels dancing on the surface. Instead tiny fish painted in bright enamel colours swung to and fro in the current like baubles on a coral Christmas tree.

  Harry threaded a piece of meat on to a short spear and approached the mouth of a coral cave. Her eyes widened as a moray eel emerged from its lair. She would have beaten a hasty retreat but for Harry’s insistent gesture to stay.

  The eel, its body as thick as a man’s thigh, arched its neck and snapped at the food on the end of Harry’s spear. The powerful canine jaws tore at the meat, then the eel withdrew into its lair and gulped. She could see the food moving down its throat. Moments later it slithered out for another offering.

  When the eel was bloated with food it began to store the titbits in its hole for later. Finally all the meat was gone and Harry signalled for them to surface.

  Gulping the salt-laden air, she pushed her mask back on to her hair. ‘I’ve never seen anything so amazing,’ she gasped. ‘Are all moray eels that friendly?’

  He tossed his spear and snorkel on to a rock. ‘Not all. Some are quite savage, but I’ve befriended this one. I named her Sweetheart.’

  Lisa laughed. ‘Assuming she is female, isn’t it overly intimate for an eel?’

  Humour danced in his eyes. ‘You know what they say? That’s a moray.’

  Linking her thumbs, she palmed a wave of sea water at him, catching him full in the face. ‘I’ll give you a moray.’

  ‘Oh, you will, will you?’

  She should have known better than to challenge him in his own domain. Before she could swim more than a few strokes away he dived and came up underneath her. Her kicks and protestations were to no avail. She was clamped against his chest, her arms pinned to her sides.

  His chest was slick with water and his swimming trunks clung to him, defining his masculine form with breathtaking obviousness. Breathing was an effort suddenly. She felt limp and boneless in his hold, her flippers trailing in the water as if she were a mermaid he’d captured in the pool. She had a sense of living a fantasy as he carried her to shore.

  Setting her down on the sun-toasted sand, he stripped her of flippers and mask, then bent over her, his eyes glittering fiercely. Desire ripped through her, catching her unawares. She was sure he could read her response in her face. What had happened to cool professionalism?

  He was no more composed than she was. His breathing was fast and shallow, and muscles in his jaw worked as if he was fighting a battle with himself. Whatever it was, she recognised the instant when he stopped fighting. His mouth loomed closer and her world turned incandescent. The tip of her tongue darted along her lips and she heard his indrawn gasp of response.

  ‘This wasn’t what I planned,’ he ground out.

  She hadn’t planned it either and she would probably live to regret it, but she no more wanted him to stop than the eel had wanted him to withdraw the food supply. ‘Is this a moray?’ she asked in a strangled voice.

  It was as if she’d flung down a challenge. Sparks of light flared in his eyes as he pulled her against the hard wall of his chest. ‘No, it isn’t. This is amore.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  RESPONDING to the pressure of Harry’s hand against the small of her back, Lisa arched reflexively against him. Sea water beaded his face and there was a line of salt on his upper lip. She traced it with a finger and he drew a sharp breath.

  His teeth closed around her finger and he pulled the tip of it deeper, sending a shudder convulsing through her. Her free hand slid around his neck so that she could urge his face down to her.

  Her breasts were crushed against his chest, which was slick with salt water. The effect was mildly abrasive, sending eddies of sensation racing through her. When he kissed her the salt taste stayed on her lips until she licked it off.

  He gave a groan of capitulation and slid a hand under the cup of her bikini top, starting a massaging motion which threatened to drive her out of her mind. Just when she reached the brink of mindless pleasure his touch turned teasing, coaxing her down from the heights, only to drive her even higher with his next knowing caress.

  The scents of sea, sand and shore filled her nostrils and she inhaled deeply, wanting to remember every detail for the rest of her life. Harry might deny that he wanted her, but the truth burned in his gaze and throbbed through his heated touch. They belonged together. She knew it as surely as she knew her own name. Nothing he could say could alter the fact.

  His fingers raked through the damp strands of her hair, smoothing them away from her face. Then he rained kisses on her upturned nose before ravaging her mouth as if he could never taste enough of her. ‘Lisa, my Lisa.’ His voice was thrillingly husky.

  ‘Love me, Harry.’ It was a cry from her heart.

  He lifted his head, his expression troubled. ‘Are you sure you know what you’re asking?’

  ‘I’m asking you to love me.’ If he didn’t respond soon she would be imploring him, her pride in shreds.

  ‘I can’t offer you forever. There’s no happy ever after.’ His warning was tempered by the contradictory thrust of his hard body against her thigh. She could almost feel the tug of war taking place inside him.

  ‘I can’t deny I’d like a happy ever after,’ she admitted, cupping her palm to his jawline. She felt his shudder under her hand. ‘But I’ll take whatever you want to give me, Harry.’

  Amusement lightened his steely gaze. ‘You’re only saying that to get your own way.’

  Yes, she was. Excitement gripped her as his iron control wavered. This time it would be different. This time he would grant her her heart’s desire, and she would know what it meant to be loved by him. She felt the sweet stirrings of her own power. ‘A woman’s entitled to her own way some of the time,’ she teased.

  His kisses trailed across her forehead. ‘Who taught you such nonsense?’

  ‘You did.’

  He lifted his head, his eyes bright with surprise. ‘How? Wh
en?’

  ‘When you convinced me to set goals and follow them, not letting anything stand in my way.’

  His growl of dismay resonated through her. ‘I didn’t have myself in mind as your target.’

  She nuzzled his ear playfully. ‘You make it sound as if it’s all my fault.’

  ‘It is. If you weren’t so wickedly beautiful and desirable it would be easy to leave you alone.’

  His weight pressed down on her, making her vividly aware of his need for her. ‘I like the way you leave me alone,’ she murmured, dropping her head back in ecstasy as his mouth grazed the sensitive cleft between her breasts.

  ‘I should,’ he said half to himself. ‘But you’re a fever in my blood. You drive me crazy, Lisa.’

  Not half as crazy as he drove her, she thought wildly as his fingers worked the strings of her bikini top loose. They fell away and he skimmed a finger around her unfettered breasts, sending her senses amok. ‘I’m not a child any more,’ she said on a taut breath of desire. ‘My father trusted you, and I do, too. I know you’ll always do what’s right for us both.’

  Her words had a galvanic effect on him. ‘What’s right for us is not what we’re doing now,’ he asserted, jack-knifing into a sitting position. When she tried to touch him she met iron resistance.

  Disappointment lanced through her. Didn’t he realise the depths of her torment? ‘You’re wrong,’ she said, bitterness sharpening her tone. ‘You’re not my guardian, no matter what my father asked of you. If you were I couldn’t feel the way I do about you. I know you wouldn’t do anything to hurt me.’

  ‘Which is precisely why I’m asking you to go back to the house.’

  Her confused gaze searched his face, but his expression was impassive. ‘You really want me to go?’

  ‘Yes, now.’ To stab his point home he swivelled and clasped his arms around his bent knees, staring out to sea with blinkered determination.

  What had she done to deserve his rejection? This time he couldn’t use her youth as an excuse. She had aroused him, she knew it. And she had offered herself to him with an abandon which made her face flame when she thought about it. No strings, so he couldn’t accuse her of wanting more from him than he wanted to give.

  Therefore the flaw must be in herself. With a strangled cry she snatched up her bikini top, tied it in place and fled back towards the house. Although she willed herself not to look back, she sensed that he was still sitting on the rocky foreshore, staring out to sea. His loneliness crashed in on her like a tidal wave. She could feel it all the way back to the house. Yet he had walled himself off from her. However lonely he might be, it seemed he preferred it to letting her in.

  Nothing moved in the rain forest as she made her way along the crushed-shell path. The air had a leaden quality, in contrast to the glorious freshness of the morning. The heavy sea over Drummer Bar must have warned of a storm on the way.

  The heavy stillness seemed appropriate, reflecting her thunderous mood. How many times was she going to throw herself at Harry and suffer his rejection before she accepted that he didn’t want her?

  Head down, she stormed through the main room towards the bathroom, then froze as a skittering sound came from the kitchen area. Hairs lifted on the back of her neck. Harry couldn’t have beaten her back to the house, so who was making the noise?

  When she saw the culprit a smile broke through her wintry expression. A pitta bird was foraging for crumbs along the counter top. Usually shy, the birds dwelt on the forest floor. She had heard their cheery ‘hello and wake up’ whistle in the early morning. She almost laughed aloud as the bird preened itself in front of Harry’s shaving mirror. And well it might. The combination of chestnut brown, black head, green back, blue shoulders and scarlet underside was dazzling.

  Hearing her, the bird gave a startled whistle and flew away over the waist-high wall. She wanted to call after it to come back, she was a friend.

  The connection was instantaneous. Harry was acting just like the bird, retreating as a reflex action. It occurred to her that there could be more to his rejection than she knew. He could have been badly hurt in the past. But, even if it was true, what could she do about it?

  She resolved not to think about it until she’d had a shower and washed off the salt water drying on her skin, making it feel tight and gritty. She made the shower a quick one. Although tempted to linger under the tepid spray, she remembered Harry’s injunction about conserving water.

  The cleansing spray, brief though it was, washed away some of her frustration. Her thinking was clearer by the time she emerged, swathed in a bath towel with another towel turbaning her hair. Beneath the towel her legs were a satisfying shade of brown from careful doses of the tropical sun. The island life agreed with her, outwardly at least. Inwardly she wasn’t so sure. Until she knew why Harry was so determined to keep her at arm’s length she would have no inner peace.

  There was no sign of him as she padded barefoot through the house, leaving a faint trail of damp footprints across the matting. At his bedroom door she paused. Maybe his room could tell her something that Harry couldn’t.

  His room was the twin of hers, with a wovenfrond ceiling supported by blackwood posts, seagrass matting underfoot, and waist-high stone walls with shutters left open to the jungle beyond. A glossy black native starling gave her a flame-eyed look of distrust before abandoning the wall for the safety of the trees.

  She moved deeper into the room. The furniture was spartan. A low double bed of bleached pine was covered, incongruously, she thought, by a rainbow-coloured Ken Done quilt. What had she expected—satin sheets?

  There was a desk and pine chest topped by a framed mirror, a straight-backed pine chair and an alcove screened by sliding louvre doors which served as a built-in wardrobe. The contents were arranged with almost military precision while an overnight bag sat open, packed and ready for use at short notice, on the floor. Once a journalist, always a journalist, she thought wryly.

  The chest of drawers held more promise. On top was a collection of typically male paraphernalia: keys, a wallet, black plastic comb, a matchbook from a Cairns restaurant, and a palm-sized leather notebook, the tooling on the front worn almost smooth.

  With a sense of foreboding she reached for the notebook and flipped it open. In the space for an owner’s address the details had been crossed out and rewritten until they were nearly illegible. The crowded pages bulged with reminder slips.

  In a scratched plastic sleeve at the back were several photos which she eased out. One showed a small boy in Scout’s uniform between two adults. Harry and his parents? The look of grim determination was unmistakable even at such a young age. It was Harry, all right.

  The second photo drove the breath from her body as if she had been punched. It was a wedding photo and the groom was Harry Blake. He looked devastatingly attractive in a grey dress suit as he gazed lovingly at a raven-haired woman in a white gown. Beneath her veil her eyes shone with a joy which sent spears of jealous recognition shafting through Lisa.

  How often had she surprised that same look in her own reflection whenever she thought of Harry? The woman loved Harry and he loved her enough to marry her. A roaring in her ears drowned out the birdsong. Helpless rage flooded through her as her fingers spasmed around the photograph. It took all of her will-power not to crush it into nonexistence.

  ‘Looking for something?’

  She spun around, her eyes glazed with shock. Harry swam into focus in the doorway. He was blazingly angry. Two strides brought him to her. She gasped as he ripped the photo from her hand. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

  ‘Trying to understand.’ The admission was forced from her aching throat as tears threatened to spill over. ‘I need to know why you don’t want me.’ There, it was said. She averted her eyes to hide the humiliation flaring in them.

  ‘What makes you think I don’t want you?’ His voice softened, drawing her head up in astonishment.

  He had pulled a pair o
f canvas shorts over his swimming trunks and they moulded his tanned hips. His chest was bare. It was all she could do not to run her fingers across it. ‘I wanted you to make love to me.’

  ‘Just because I didn’t it doesn’t mean I don’t want to.’

  The room lurched crazily. ‘Is it because of your wife?’ Saying the words gave them a reality which rocked her to her core. She wanted to curl up on his bed, wrap her arms around her legs, and cry herself into oblivion.

  Granite would have possessed more vitality than his expression as he nodded once. ‘Yes.’

  ‘You must love her very much.’

  Again, a single taut nod. ‘As much as it’s possible for a man to love a woman.’

  She had come in search of truth but had never expected it to hurt as much as this. ‘I see. She was standing in our way, wasn’t she?’ It had never occurred to Lisa that he was comparing her to another woman, and found her wanting.

  He thrust the photo into a drawer and slammed it shut as if closing the door on a painful memory. ‘Kim will always stand in the way,’ he said harshly.

  Perhaps she wouldn’t release him from their marriage. Perhaps, and the thought wrenched at her, perhaps there were children to consider. ‘But I didn’t ask you for marriage, only that you love me.’ Was even that asking for the moon? ‘Lots of people live together without commitment nowadays.’ Try as she might, she couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice. She had told herself she would settle for whatever he was offering, but it sounded such a poor bargain when spoken aloud.

  A hard laugh punctuated his answer. ‘You’re such a woman of the world these days, Lisa. Did Simon Fox convince you that love without marriage is a modern ideal?’

  ‘Simon wants to marry me,’ she said stiffly.

  ‘Then why don’t you accept?’

  ‘Because I don’t love Simon.’ As soon as the words were out she knew they were true. ‘I love——