Island of Dreams

by Parv, Valerie

  ‘I’m surprised you didn’t work it out for yourself. I needed a gimmick to put the agency on the map. You were it.’

  ‘But you offered me marriage.’ She couldn’t believe he would use her to such an extent.

  ‘I meant it, too. The publicity would have been a dream.’

  ‘You’re unbelievable,’ she gasped as shock piled upon shock. If only she hadn’t let Harry leave he could have helped her to deal with this. Added to the destruction of her flat, it was too much. Her head began to spin.

  Simon grasped her roughly by the elbow and gave her a slight shake. ‘Don’t faint on me now, darling. I need you to help finish the search.’

  With an effort she collected herself. ‘It isn’t here. You’ve looked almost everywhere.’

  ‘Everywhere but among the things you took with you. Come on.’ He steered her towards the bedroom, where her travel case stood inside the door.

  Alarm shrilled through her. Now that he had no reason to keep up an act Simon’s mood was dangerous. For the first time she realised that he might mean her serious harm. She resisted his urging.

  Her strength was no match for his. He jerked her across the floor so hard that she stumbled through the bedroom door and fell against the bed. His hooded gaze roved over her sprawled figure. ‘Worried that I might take away more than the photo? It’s tempting.’ She held her breath, then he made a dismissive noise deep in his throat. ‘It isn’t worth the risk. But if I don’t find the photo I might change my mind.’

  His threat made her heart pound so loudly that she was sure he must hear it. Afraid to anger him further, she strove to sound calm. ‘There’s no need for violence, Simon. We know each other. I’ll help you if I can, but I’m afraid it’s a wild-goose chase.’

  ‘A golden goose is more like it. Nice as it is to have your belated co-operation, I think I can manage alone.’

  He unzipped her travel bag and began pulling her things out of it, barely glancing at the articles of clothing as they fell to the floor.

  ‘I’ve already searched the bag. There’s nothing there,’ she said when she could stand it no longer.

  ‘You’d make a lousy Customs officer.’ He took out a pocket knife and snapped it open. The sight of the gleaming blade sent waves of nausea through her. He ripped the lining of the bag, searching every inch of it. With a curse he threw the remnants aside and looked around. ‘It has to be here; I can feel it.’

  ‘You’ve already looked everywhere.’

  ‘There’s still one possibility.’ His eyes gleamed fanatically as he picked up her parents’ wedding photo from the floor. A moment ago he’d discarded it without a glance.

  Tendrils of rage coiled through her and she launched herself at him, reaching for the photo with desperate fingers. He mustn’t be allowed to contaminate the most precious memento she had of her parents. ‘Leave that alone,’ she screamed, her nails raking at his face.

  He fended her off effortlessly, holding the photo aloft with his free hand. ‘This is important to you, is it?’

  ‘It’s all I have to remind me of my parents. Give it to me.’

  ‘Get out of my way.’ With a mighty shove he bowled her backwards on to the bed and raised the photo high. The glass smashed against the edge of her dresser and her parents’ photo tumbled to the floor. He paid it no heed, more intent on a sepiacoloured photograph which had been wedged behind the first. ‘What have we here?’

  As he tore the photo out and dropped the frame alongside her on the bed, she saw that it was the picture Harry had described to her.

  ‘It was there all the time.’ No wonder her mother had so carefully bequeathed Lisa the wedding photo. She had treasured it for its own sake, not suspecting that the antique frame concealed a secret.

  ‘What a surprise,’ Simon said nastily, sounding as if he didn’t believe her. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her upright.

  Her wrist burned as she attempted to twist free. ‘You’ve got what you want—let me go.’

  ‘Let her go, Fox, now!’

  The command crackled through the air as Harry barrelled through the open bedroom door. He looked like a man possessed.

  Fear for him gripped her. ‘Harry, he’s got a knife,’ she cried.

  Harry’s eyes shifted briefly to her then scorched Simon again. ‘Knife or no knife, if he doesn’t let you go I’ll tear him apart with my bare hands, so help me.’

  ‘Who needs her? I’ve got what I wanted.’ Simon thrust her against Harry, almost bowling them both over. Automatically Harry’s arms closed around her and she clung to him, revelling in the strength of his hold and the reassuring aura of his presence. Harry glanced down at her.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes; he didn’t touch me.’

  ‘It wouldn’t pay him.’ He turned his attention to Simon. ‘You may as well give up. The police are on their way.’

  For the first time Simon’s arrogance faltered. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘You’re the only one with access to Lisa’s keys and contact with Tyler Thornton. A phone call to a finance editor friend of mine confirmed that your agency’s in financial trouble. It all adds up.’

  With a savage cry Simon held the photo high. In his other hand he held a cigarette lighter, which he ignited. The flame hovered a hair’s breadth from the photo. ‘Either I walk out of here or this goes up in smoke.’

  Her panic-stricken gaze flew from Simon to Harry. She knew how badly Harry wanted the photo. Her heart ached for him.

  ‘Burn it.’

  Simon looked as startled as she felt. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I said burn it, Fox. I don’t give a damn.’

  His arm tightened around her as tears stung the backs of her eyes. How could Harry sacrifice something so important to him? Unless he hoped to bluff Simon into surrendering.

  She held her breath as the flames licked at the photo, but Harry remained carved out of granite. The heat of his muscles inflamed her senses and she wondered if he knew that he was holding her tightly enough to snap her in two. Somehow it felt good. She was safe at last.

  Sirens rent the air around them and pounding footsteps approached the flat. Two police officers shouldered her and Harry aside to get to Simon. ‘Is this the man?’

  ‘That’s him.’ The ice in Harry’s voice chilled Lisa until she remembered what he’d just done to Harry. The remains of the photo smouldered on the floor. One of the officers stamped it out.

  What followed was a confusing blur of interviews, statements and gathering the charred photo remains as evidence. Lisa thought it would never end. At last the police pronounced themselves satisfied and left. Simon had already been taken away under arrest.

  The silence in the ruined flat was deafening. She slumped on to a slashed chair and rested her head in her hands. ‘I can’t take much more of this.’

  Harry’s hands dropped to her shoulders and he massaged them gently, easing her tension. ‘You won’t have to. It’s over now.’ Irresistibly he urged her to her feet, supporting her all the while. ‘Come on, we’re getting out of here.’

  ‘But I’ve nowhere else to go. I suppose a hotel…’

  His look was amused and affectionate. ‘Do you always talk so much when you’re being rescued?’

  ‘Am I? Being rescued, I mean?’

  ‘Leave it to me.’

  They must be four of the sweetest words in the English language, she thought as he guided her out of the flat and locked it behind them. Downstairs his rental car waited, and he opened the passengerdoor for her. ‘Get in.’

  ‘But where are we…? Sorry.’ Her barrage of questions tailed off when she saw his impatient frown. She was talking too much again.

  She made herself relax as he drove off. There would be time later to tell him how sorry she was that the photo had been destroyed. Knowing how much it meant to him, she wondered at his calmness.

  Wherever he was taking her, she was safe; that much she.knew. She decided to sit back and enjoy
being rescued. At least it gave her the gift of a little longer in his company.

  Twilight bathed the landscape in gold as they drove out of town along the Kennedy Highway. She recognised Smithfield, although they didn’t stop at the famous Henry Ross look-out. The road wound through steep hills clad in dark rain forest which enclosed them as if they were driving through a tunnel.

  ‘We’re going to Kuranda!’ she exclaimed in sudden realisation. ‘I haven’t been there since Mama and Papa died.’

  ‘I have a house up there,’ he explained. ‘I was only staying at Hides for convenience.’

  Until he knew whether the photo was to be found, she thought dismally. She pushed the thought away. What was done was done. ‘We lived there for two years,’ she said, unaware of the gladness which coloured her voice at the memory. ‘It was the longest we ever stayed in one place. I really felt at home there.’

  He glanced at her, then back to the winding road. ‘Why did you sell the house, then?’

  ‘Papa left me no choice. In his will he stipulated that the house was to be sold and I was to have the proceeds, which I used to buy my flat and make a few small investments.’

  ‘Maybe your father was afraid you’d become a recluse, alone in the rain forest,’ Harry observed.

  She sighed. ‘He was probably right. But I still miss it. From the front veranda you could see all the way across the Barron Gorge.’

  Ten minutes later he pulled up in Kuranda and she could hardly believe her eyes. ‘It’s our house! Don’t tell me you bought it? Oh, Harry, how wonderful. But how did you manage it?’

  Her delight sparked an answering light in his steely gaze. ‘When I saw it advertised I sent a proxy to the auction. Maybe part of me hoped that one day I could bring you back here.’

  Almost overcome, she bit back the tears of joy which threatened to overflow. ‘What a lovely thought. Oh!’

  Her cry of surprise was prompted when Harry swept her into his arms and carried her across the wooden veranda, fumbling the door open before carrying her over the threshold.

  Inside, she gave him a shy smile. ‘I thought you only did that with your bride.’

  For once Harry’s silver tongue seemed to desert him. ‘You do,’ he said at last.

  Uncertainty descended on her like a cloud. ‘Harry?’

  ‘I guess in my own way I’m trying to propose to you,’ he said gruffly.

  ‘You want to marry me?’

  ‘If you’ll have me.’

  She could hardly speak for the lump which rose in her throat as large as an apple. Around it, she gasped, ‘Of course I’ll have you, Harry Blake. I’ve never wanted any other man since the day we met.’

  ‘Not even Simon Fox?’

  ‘Simon was never my lover, Harry, you must believe me. Today I found out that I was only a marketing tool to him.’

  Closing the door to shut out the night, he opened his arms. ‘Why are we standing here discussing Simon Fox?’

  Because there was so much she wanted to say and she didn’t know where to start. His arms seemed like the best possible place. When they enfolded her his embrace was like a homecoming, and she sighed, nestling against him. ‘I do love you, more than anything in the world.’

  His lips grazed her hair. ‘I love you, too. The thought of anyone harming you makes me murderously angry.’

  ‘Which was how you looked when you stormed into my flat today,’ she murmured. ‘I thought you were going to kill Simon.’

  His fingers flexed against her back. ‘I wanted to.’

  Her uncertain gaze went to his face. In the gathering dark the planes and angles looked forbidding, until she saw the warmth which gleamed in his eyes. ‘But marriage, Harry. Are you sure? What about what happened to Kim?’

  He gave a hollow laugh and stroked her hair possessively. ‘Staying away from you was supposed to keep you from harm. It didn’t work too well, did it?’

  ‘I suppose not.’

  The stroking continued all the way down the side of her face to her throat until eddies of pleasure began to spiral through her. ‘So I’ve decided the best way to take care of you is to keep you under my eye.’

  ‘It sounds like heaven to me. But what about the photo?’

  Tiny kisses feathered her forehead. ‘I thought I made it clear that your safety was what mattered. I said I don’t care about the photo and I mean it.’

  She meant more to him than his story. The awareness made her giddy with satisfaction, until a worry-frown etched itself into her brow. ‘What will happen to your book?’

  ‘I’m giving up non-fiction as of now. No more investigating controversial subjects which could put you at risk.’

  When she made a murmur of protest he added, ‘I shan’t give up writing altogether. Without the photo there’s no proof that your aunt was Lyudmila Duskov, so it won’t work as non-fiction. But I can write the story of the two sisters as a novel. It might even be more fun that way.’

  ‘My husband, the best-selling author,’ she experimented. ‘It sounds wonderful.’

  He cupped her chin in one hand and brought her face up, his eyes dark. ‘Which part?’

  Her eyelashes feathered her cheeks as she shielded her suddenly shy gaze from him. ‘Can’t you guess?’

  ‘I think so.’ His hand slid to the nape of her neck and he crushed her mouth against his. The hunger in his kiss resonated through her until she parted her lips in eager response, thrilling to the crashing chords of ecstasy playing through every part of her.

  Rocked tightly against him, she became aware of his urgent need for her and knew a thrill of pride. He wanted her, now and forever. A river of molten lava poured through her, filling every crevice with an answering desire as bright and powerful as an explosion of shooting stars.

  When he led her to his bedroom it seemed somehow symbolic that it should have been the room her parents had shared. The furniture was new, of course, the bed a king-sized water-bed covered in downy grey velvet. It teased her skin when he settled her against it.

  The rippling movement beneath her made her eyes widen. ‘I’ve never made love on a water-bed,’ she confessed in a hesitant whisper.

  His smile radiated love. ‘Want to know something? Neither have I.’

  Knowing that she was the only woman he’d ever brought here made the moment special beyond her wildest dreams. ‘I do love you.’ she repeated, knowing she would never tire of saying it or being told that he loved her in return.

  His shirt dropped to the floor and he stretched out beside her, his chest hard and warm against her side. His fingers worked the buttons of her shirt until it fell open and he could kiss her breasts until she cried his name in feverish abandon.

  He mastered his own needs in order to make slow, exquisite love to her until she cried aloud with the beauty of it. When his passion could no longer be bridled she was more than ready to journey with him to the edge of the world and back, her cries of release mingling with his husky words of love. It was an ending and a beginning, and her heart overflowed with joy.

  Much later he brought a tray to their bedside. The champagne glasses she recognised, but not the food. When he pressed a piece against her lips she understood. ‘The wongai fruit! It has a lot to answer for.’

  He grinned. ‘Remind me never to feed them to the tourists. If they’re always this effective we’ll never get them to go home.’

  Her sigh of contentment rippled between them. ‘Right now I feel so good that I don’t care if they all stay.’

  ‘Not all the time,’ he cautioned. ‘We’ll need some privacy.’

  ‘Quite a lot of it, if tonight’s any guide,’ she mused.

  ‘You’re not sorry you agreed to marry me?’

  She chewed her lip. ‘Never, although second marriages can be a challenge.’

  He frowned. ‘You mean Kim and me?’

  ‘No, you and me. Remember, as far as Alf Nawi and his people are concerned, we’re already married. We did spend a night in the cave of lovers.�
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  He dropped a kiss on the end of her nose. ‘Then the sooner we make it official, the better.’

  Her smile lit up the room. ‘I thought we just did.’

  As he took the champagne glass from her fingers his eyes gleamed with a fire that she was sure she would come to know intimately in the future. When he opened his arms she went into them willingly, the sense of homecoming making her want to cry with happiness. ‘That was just for practice,’ he said. ‘Every good marriage starts with a rehearsal.’

  And she had no doubt that theirs would be a very good marriage indeed.

  eISBN 978-14592-7736-6

  ISLAND OF DREAMS

  First North American Publication 1996.

  Copyright © 1992 by Valerie Parv.

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or In part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, Including xerography, photocopying and recording, or In any Information storage or retrieval system, Is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

  All characters In this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any Individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

  This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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