High Ground

by Madelon Smid

  “Gladly, but I’m not going out in the rain. Climb over here, and then I can slide out from under you.”

  Cat viewed him warily before peering out at the tumultuous rain slashing at the windows. The heavy vehicle bucked beneath another slap of wind. She raised herself and crawled onto his lap. Liquid nitrogen couldn’t have hardened him faster than her firm bottom pressing against his penis. He let her feel his response, enjoyed hers.

  She grabbed the dash and lifted her hips. “Get over,” she hissed.

  Josh curled his hands around her hips and lifted her higher, so he could get over the console. When he heard her sharp intake of oxygen, he let his right hand drift from her hip, trailing lightly across her bottom, before he reached for the wheel and hauled his legs across. He twisted like a braided breadstick into position. Cat fell back into her seat and scrambled for the seatbelt, her breathing fast.

  He adjusted the driver seat and mirrors, snapped his seatbelt into place, and pulled out onto the highway. Rivers of rain poured across the dark surface. The sedan hydroplaned with increased speed. He slowed. Billowing black clouds swallowed the last of the sun.

  Cat leaned over and played with the radio settings. “Do you think we’re driving into a hurricane?”

  “Don’t know, having never been in one. I usually head north or west out of D.C., or fly when I go on a climb or vacation. I haven’t visited Florida since college.”

  “Hurricane season lasts June to November.”

  “You’ve been my live-in-lover for fifty-six days now.”

  Cat gasped. “We’re talking about the weather here.”

  “Just saying. You came to me in late August. We’re heading into mid-October. Seems impossible. If it’s hurricane season, why Florida? Why not Istanbul or New Mexico?”

  “RG wants us close. I have a place in the Keys. No one knows I own an island there, but the three of us. I left the property registered in my Gogo’s name.” She answered Josh’s perplexed expression, “My grandmother…she willed her home to me. We should be safe there, until RG calls us back to D.C.”

  Josh tightened his fists on the wheel and fought the wind. It gusted seventy miles an hour at a guess. “Anything.” He nodded at the radio.

  Cat turned up the volume, glancing at the clock on the dash. “Weather report should be on in a few minutes. You okay to drive?”

  “Sure. I’ve been in worse. Sam and I were caught in a snowstorm in the Caribou Range of Idaho one winter. Winds whipped up fresh snow ’til you couldn’t see your hands in front of your face, but we kept trekking. This is nothing.”

  “Keep telling yourself that.”

  They were on the famous Seven Mile Bridge with a dozen more ahead before they decided to call a halt. The bridge swayed under the impact of the hundred mile per hour wind gusts forecasted. The wipers couldn’t keep up with the deluge of water falling on them. The sedan crawled along, while they searched for a safe place to pull over.

  “Getting on this bridge wasn’t one of our smarter choices,” Josh stated, his hands calm on the wheel. He scrutinized the watery tarmac stretching for miles.

  “The sooner we reach my place the better,” Cat insisted. “If anyone did follow us, this is the perfect weather to lose ourselves in.”

  “Permanently.” Josh spoke laconically.

  “Do you find this whole thing a big joke?” Cat lashed out.

  “Cool your jets, Cat.” He glanced at her. “No. It’s not a joke, but it’s just another moment in time we’ll get through. I choose to do it by staying calm. I don’t see agitation as a constructive mind set.”

  “Just get us off this bridge.” She crossed her arms and hunched deeper into her seat.

  An excruciating twenty-two minutes and eighteen seconds later, they crawled off the bridge and swung into a rest stop.

  “We’re going to have to sit tight until this thing passes.”

  For once, Cat didn’t contradict him. She fiddled with the radio trying to get a clear signal. Everything hissed, popped, and crackled around them. The sea flung itself at the shore of the key on which they’d stopped. Rain beat at the windows, twigs and leaves ripped from the trees knocked against the car. Racing black clouds darkened the sky and made it feel like night had descended.

  “It’s been over forty hours since we’ve slept. Why don’t you crawl into the back seat and stretch out. I’ll make do here.” With the words, Josh reclined his seat and moved until he found a more comfortable position.

  “Good idea. We’re in the dark zone.” She tossed her backpack onto the back seat and taking advantage of the extra space provided by his lowered seat, maneuvered between the buckets into the back.

  He breathed in a lungful of her scent, felt the brush of her bent arm as she levered herself over the console. Her head dipped forward sending strands of silk across his face. Then she moved past, leaving him so alive to her, so needy, he almost buckled and begged.

  Rustling noises came from behind him. He heard the squeak of her hip sliding along leather. She settled herself with her head at the end of the bench seat at a diagonal to him. While on her part it would be a practical choice, allowing them to cover both directions of approach, he said a silent thank you. He could view her face in repose, register the fan of long lashes settling on her cheeks, the rise and fall of her breath as it slowed and deepened. Like most people in the military, Cat could fall asleep instantly and wake alert even faster.

  Josh took a long look at what he could see through the watercolor windows. He too closed his eyes. The radio droned on, with minimal weather reports, signaling a hurricane wasn’t imminent. He turned it off, emptied his mind, and slept.

  ****

  Inch by inch, Cat shifted on the leather seat easing her throbbing shoulder. The car shuddered around them. It felt like a curious giant picked it up and shook it to see if anything would fall out. She wondered if the fist would crush them or toss them into the churning sea. Did Josh’s steady breathing indicate he slept? She saw his eyes blink open. She closed hers quickly as he looked back. Minutes passed like hours. Their breathing grew more strained, louder, filled the silence. She felt like she balanced on the sharp blade of an enormous knife. Outside, a heavy branch buckled under the strain, snapped off, and crashed to the ground. The upper branches scraped across the door.

  “We have to get out of here. If you’re not willing to drive, I will.” She propelled her body through the narrow opening to the front seat, pausing to see if he’d move over. He raised his seat and started the car. She wiggled her way into the passenger seat, clipped her seatbelt into place. The rain slowed, encouraging a run for real cover. He pulled onto the road, accelerated. The wind whipped itself into a frenzy cascading water over them. He drove over more bridges linking small Keys, until they hit a larger island.

  “Make a right turn at the junction and go two miles.

  He ended up in the parking lot of a marina.

  “Creole Lady’s tied up at the end of the third dock.” She leaned into the back, collected her pack, pulled out a chamois, and began to wipe down the vehicle. “Park in the lot behind the clubhouse.” She tossed the chamois at him. “Finish wiping it down while I get the plates off. Make sure you get every place we touched. RG will have someone pick it up, but we won’t take a chance of whoever is after you getting it first.”

  “You’re crazy, if you think we’re taking a small boat out in this. Let’s go into the Clubhouse and get something to eat. I can use dinner if you can’t. Looks like the dining room is still open.”

  She pulled on thin leather gloves. “I don’t want anyone to see you. This is the best time to move, everyone is glued to their TV sets behind wooden shutters. The wind has gone down a little.”

  She fought with the door, forced it open against the shrieking wind.

  Minutes later, he stepped out beside her. “Put it on the record that I’m totally opposed to this decision.”

  “Put in the record, I don’t give a flying fig,” she yelled
back. Their gazes locked, struggled for supremacy. She tossed her wet hair off her face, looked away. “Let’s get going.” She shouldered her backpack, the license plates poking out the top, and raced for the pier.

  “You’re worse than a Kamikaze pilot,” he yelled over the noise of the sea slapping against boats, and boats banging against docks. “I don’t have to worry about a bullet through the brain, because you’re going to drown me.”

  She smiled. “Be in the moment. There is nothing to fear in the moment.” She threw his words back at him. She took some satisfaction in knowing her pace and the weather forced him to shout at her. He wouldn’t like losing his Zen cool. She tossed her pack into the bottom of a slim cruiser. A clear plastic canopy covered two thirds of the boat. She jumped down, began unsnapping the back to gain access to the controls. “Untie the painters and jump in,” she called to him.

  He stood irresolute for what seemed like minutes. She didn’t know what she’d do if he refused. She wanted him safe on her island, and he should trust she wouldn’t risk his life out of stubborn desire to have her way. Checking the gauges, she turned on the bilge pump and started the motor, confident in her ability to negotiate the rough waters.

  “What the hell.” He tossed off the painters, leapt into the cruiser as the wind started peeling it away from the dock. He shoved their bags through the opening in the clear plastic and followed them in, closing the snaps as if the flimsy barrier could secure them from the storm.

  The waves hit them broadside. She battled the wheel for control and won, keeping them headed at a steep angle away from this key on a southwest heading.

  Josh started searching the seat lockers for life vests, found a couple, and tossed one at her. “Put it on,” he yelled over the engine, his eyes demanding compliance. He shouldered into his.

  “My house is on Turtle Key, only a quarter of a mile away.” She reassured him. “Once we turn around the curve of the land, we’ll be protected by a bigger island.” To appease him, she shrugged into the jacket, controlling the bucking craft with one hand, then the other.

  She fought the wild sea maneuvering in a long curve around the point. In minutes, they hit quieter water, protected from the wind by the old growth trees covering the island behind them. “That’s Turtle Key ahead.” She pointed at a tiny island. Trees hid all but the tip of what looked like a small shack.

  Josh peered through the windshield, but didn’t comment. Crouching under the low canopy, he let his loose body absorb the hammering of the boat over the rough waters.

  Cat brought the boat on a wide curve around the end of the island and entered a small bay. A wood plank pier shrouded in rainfall emerged from the shoreline as they drew closer. Josh worked the snaps on the canopy and stood in the icy rain, shivering until she brought the boat alongside the sturdy wooden jetty. He jumped onto the slippery wood, the stern painter in hand, and went down on one knee with a curse. She tossed him an extra line. He brought the bow in closer to the pier, managed to get the line around a cleat on the bow, and pull the cruiser close enough to grab the bow painter. The maneuver stretched him over a foot of open water between the cruiser and the jetty. She grimaced when salt water spewed over him with every wave. The boat secured, they grabbed their bags and ran.

  Set on stilts, her home mimicked the Stiltsville houses built over open ocean, except hers rose from the rocky base of the small key. With rain pounding on the thatched roof, the cottage looked a little world weary, a little romantic, and a lot safe. A steel security pad at the side of the door looked incongruous on the faded wood. She lifted the front plate and hit a series of numbers. The lock on the door clicked. They barreled in, knocking against each other in their rush to get out of the rain.

  She shoved him. He pushed back. Their life vests and jackets hit the floor in a syncopated rhythm. In the gloom, she registered the clunk, clunk as he kicked off his shoes. Heavy wooden storm shutters covered the windows. She left them in place and switched on some table lamps. Golden circles gleamed over the aged wooden floors, picked up the comfortable couch and armchair. A stone fireplace, wood ready for instant lighting, centered the back wall.

  She turned, reached past him, seeking the ceramic vase that held the matches. Shivering, she looked up into the epicenter of all her problems, his eyes. They turned from cold gray to black as his pupils expanded.

  ****

  Josh’s attention zeroed in on her clinging T-shirt, under which she wore no bra. The wet cotton delineated every shivering curve. Her lips fired words, but he no long heard them. He surfed an adrenaline wave higher than a tsunami with his senses on overload. The need to possess and conquer her swamped him. His predatory stillness warned her. She stopped talking. Her eyes widened. They came together like two titans at war.

  It wasn’t a kiss, so much as a fight for territory. Her nails gouged his shoulders, scraped the skin in long tracks across his back. The pain fired auxiliary energy into his system. He grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled, getting a better angle on her mouth. His tongue delved deep, forcefully met and fenced with hers. He gave his arrogant warrior no quarter, battled this woman who assumed he couldn’t look out for himself.

  Hunger for victory drove them both higher. He felt the sting of her bite where his jaw met his neck, the vulnerable spot inviting death. He jerked on her hair, bent her back over his arm, and plundered her breast through the transparent T-shirt. He backed them further into the room, searching for a bed, a couch. She put her foot behind his knee and tripped him. They sprawled on the floor. Her fingers flew down his buttons, opened his fly, found him, gripped him. He swelled in her hand. Straddling him, she bent and licked his nipples, his chest.

  Only the element of surprise allowed him to flip her, stripping off her shirt in one smooth move. At the sight of her creamy breasts, he roared his need. He gorged himself on her taste, sucking the soft flesh into his mouth, tonguing her taut nipples. The taste of her, smell of her, couldn’t satisfy his hunger. His hands engulfed the heat between her legs, he cupped her, swore when she lifted herself into his hand. Rearing above her, he tore at her buttons and zipper, pulling her slacks down over slender hips. He found the strip of silk covering her and yanked it down her legs. Trembling fingers traced the silken flesh of her belly and thighs. Beautifully toned muscles rippled as she moved restlessly beneath him. He tested her readiness, barely finding the sanity, grateful for the flood of moisture he discovered. He plunged into her, took her high cry into his mouth as he touched the heart of her. He held still, forced himself under control, sank himself into her again. And again. He would never get enough of the feel of her.

  She wrapped her endless legs around him. Muscles outside his experience grasped and pulled at him. Three more soul satisfying strokes and she imploded around him. He let go, jetted everything that was Joshua Chandler into her—his life force, his ego, his spirit.

  Their breathing leveled. He felt the smoothness of her calf brush along his. He cupped her breast, whispered his lips across the creamy curve with no instructions from his brain. “No condom,” he muttered.

  “On the pill.” Her foot ran up and down his calf. Her fingers combed through the hair at the nape of his neck, brought his mouth to hers.

  He hardened within her, his breath catching. His lips fastened on hers with renewed passion. She tore her mouth free, sent it on a foray over his biceps, shoulder, jaw, testing the textures of his skin. Flames leapt from tamped down embers. They rolled across the mat, matched so closely by the heat of passion they melded into one being.

  This time they controlled the climb, took the time to whisper discoveries, absorb responses, delve for greater knowing. He ascended with her in increments, stretching her, stretching time, the pleasure so intense it could only be absorbed inch by inch. She climaxed, climbed, and climaxed again. They gave each other access to a higher plain, a place of purity. Left in no doubt she made his world better, he reached yet another peak in her arms. High ground, Cat bringing the best of herself into
a world of soul-searing ecstasy. They met in a place beyond sight and imagination.

  He laid her on the bed, lit the fire, and returned. She rolled onto her side away from him. Expression impenetrable, he curled around her, drew her shivering body into the heat of his and back into the fires of passion. When she rose to set the security alarms, he held his breath anticipating her rejection. She crossed to the bed and offered herself again. He took her over and over, refusing her time for retreat or thought. She laid her head on his chest and slept. At intervals, he fed the fire and checked on the progress of the storm. Always, he returned, gathered her body close, and felt his hunger for her spin out of control.

  “Insatiable,” she whispered, lifting her hips, as he slipped into her again.

  “Incredible,” he whispered back, measuring his length in her. She sighed voluptuously, stretched her arms above her head, and moved her hips in small circles, inciting him. He drove deeper, took her faster, claiming her fully and forever. They climaxed, dropped from the heavens together, and fell into sleep on the same breath.

  He woke to sunshine and peace. The storm had passed in the early morning hours, leaving a world washed new, him feeling reborn. Making love with the woman you love must be the ultimate nirvana. Elation thrummed through him.

  Even as he reached for her, he weighed the empty silence of the room. His fingers stroked across cold sheets. He sighed, sat up, and rested his elbows on his bent knees. His hands worked out the tension from his neck, his mind worked at the knotty problem of Cat. Still on the run. Am I going to spend my life waiting for her to walk into my arms? Will she ever concede it’s where she wants to be?

  He climbed out of the bed, stepped into his jeans, and went looking for her.

  He found her on the beach near the dock. The cruiser no longer glided like a tethered swan. He searched for it, found a wooden structure by the water that looked like an ancient boathouse. She’d already hidden the boat where it was safe and ready for flight. Cat, hair pulled into a high knot, wearing cut-off denims and a yellow bikini top, lifted another downed palm branch and threw it on a good sized pile. Cleaning up after the storm, he concluded. The tension in her raised shoulders told him that wasn’t all she hoped to clean up after. She’d distanced herself. He felt like he took a punch to the heart. Where he found belonging, she found the need to flee.