Shanahan's Revenge

by Julie Mac

  She lifted her face to the sky, closing her eyes and letting the rain fire its incessant bullets against the softness of her skin. She lifted her arms wide, twirling and pirouetting on the sand, her hair snaking dark and wet around her shoulders.

  Within seconds her silk robe was soaked. It clung to her body and grasped at her legs. She loosened the belt, intending to discard the inhibiting, clinging garment, just as another bomb-like explosion shattered the atmosphere. In the dazzling flash of radiance that accompanied it, she saw a figure running towards her. She stopped in mid-pirouette, her arms flung wide.

  The night plunged into wet blackness again, then he grabbed her in what seemed like a flying rugby tackle. She felt the breath knocked from her body as they went down in the sand together, rolling over and over, locked in a fierce embrace.

  She struggled wildly, confined by the steel-like bands of his arms. She screamed, and heard only snatches of his growled instructions, close to her ear: ‘Madness—not safe—shouldn’t be out here—stop struggling—for God’s sake, Kate!’

  She stilled. He held her tight for a few seconds more, then loosened his hold. She lay on her back beneath him, her breathing fast and shallow under his confining weight. He eased himself up so his weight was off her body, but one arm still wrapped protectively over and around her.

  His head was close to hers and she heard him panting in the darkness. She felt the heavy sting of rain on her face and body and became aware of the tangle of her robe around her legs.

  Another bolt of lightning surged in an electrical streak from cloud to earth, and in its silver brilliance she saw his face above hers. Water streamed from his hair, and his handsome features were contorted in a paroxysm of agony, his eyes squeezed closed.

  The lightning hung in the sky for two or three seconds and in that time, she reached out to touch his face with her fingertips.

  ‘What is it, my love?’ she asked with a fierce urgency, raising her voice to be heard above the storm. Vaguely she noted the crash of thunder was slightly longer coming this time; the storm was moving on.

  She tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled his head down closer to hers.

  ‘Tell me. What is it?’ She repeated her question. ‘Are you hurt?’

  ‘I’m not hurt, but by God, you could have been.’ His words were thick with anger. ‘What drove you to behave like a silly, brainless schoolkid?’

  Kate gasped in indignation.

  ‘Oh no you don’t,’ he muttered as she struggled again, intent on sliding out from under him. He increased the pressure of his arm over her so she was pinned to the sand.

  ‘You could—have—died,’ he ground out. He lowered his head further still and she felt his lips move close to her ear.

  ‘You could have died in those direct hits of lightning,’ he repeated more quietly. ‘And I couldn’t—couldn’t bear—to lose you that way.’

  Kate’s exultation now owed nothing to the electrical storm. He loved her. He cared enough to risk his life for her.

  ‘But I’m alive, Sam. I’m breathing. My heart is beating. See?’

  She grasped for his hand in the darkness, pushed up her T-shirt and placed his hand on the slippery wetness of her naked skin.

  She heard the sharp intake of his breath, and then his mouth was on hers, hard and urgent, pushing her head back in the sand, the rasp of his new beard harsh against her delicate skin. The rain ran from his head onto hers, but she didn’t care. She closed her eyes and responded to his kiss with her own primitive haste. She opened up to his invasion, revelling in the sensations produced by the punishing caress of his lips and tongue.

  She felt the movement of his hand on her heart, and at the same time her pent-up well of her desire burst and flooded her body in a hot tide.

  ‘Now, please,’ she pleaded against his mouth, barely coherent. ‘Please. Love me, here, now.’

  His hand stilled, and he withdrew his mouth—but so fractionally, his lips brushed hers when he spoke.

  ‘Not here, not now,’ he muttered. ‘This is madness!’

  ‘Yes, Sam, yes! I want you!’ She locked two hands around his head and pulled his mouth onto hers. She heard his low groan and allowed herself a tiny smile of triumph. Her love made her as powerful as the thunderbolts that rent the sky. Physically she might be smaller than he, and her body was weak with need, but she was rendered strong by the surety of her love, and the certainty that this man would make her whole.

  His mouth crushed onto hers again, creating a tidal wave of pure pleasure which radiated from her very centre, filling her heart and lungs and head, and causing her fingers to clasp convulsively at his hair.

  She moaned softly, bereft, when he withdrew from her mouth. The rain pounded onto the sand beside her head, so she heard only snatches of his words. ‘Crazy—got to get you out of the storm—back to the house.’ He moved as if to stand and she grasped at his bare, rain-slicked arms.

  ‘No! Here.’ She almost had to scream to make herself heard over the growl of receding thunder. ‘Please. Now!’ She grabbed again at his arms. ‘I want you, Sam Shanahan.’

  Defeated, he uttered a low, animal-like growl and dropped his mouth to hers.

  And together they surged and ebbed in an elemental ritual as timeless as the rhythm of the ocean, and she cried his name over and over. He kissed her eyes, her temples, her neck, her body and then his mouth returned to claim hers tenderly.

  Locked in a cocoon of wet blackness, they became one.

  Once again the sky was torn apart by a brilliant flash, which to Kate seemed more powerful and more exciting than the rest. In its ethereal glow, she saw his face above hers, his eyes wide and suffused with love and wonder as they searched her face. Then the lightning flickered, and in that split second she saw wild desperation as his face distorted in an agony that was also an ecstasy.

  She screamed as the thunder exploded above them. It seemed to enter their bodies, reverberating and convulsing and driving all rational thought from her mind until she was aware only of a bright, pure, white heat which filled her being.

  Awareness of her surroundings returned as the last rumble of thunder rolled away into the distance. The rain beat on her arms as they encircled his back, and she heard his breathing, ragged and fast, close to her ear. Her mouth rested against a pulse in his neck; his heart beat strong and hard.

  Her sense of loss was acute when he eased himself from her body and stood up. He reached down, grabbed discarded items of clothing with one hand, and with the other hoisted her up to stand in the circle of his arms. Her legs felt weak and she sagged against his strength.

  ‘Can you walk back?’ He asked the question, but without waiting for a reply, he bent to scoop her into his arms.

  ‘No.’ She caught his arms, as thunder cracked over the headland. ‘I’ll stay on my feet and run—it’ll be quicker.’

  He took her hand and they ran together along the beach. The rain filled their eyes, and sudden gusts of wind buffeted them. Once, lightning illuminated their journey. Kate thought of the strange picture they must make: his wet, muscular body glistening, his dark hair wild and matted to his forehead; her own smaller body, gleaming ivory, her robe trailing like some ghostly silver garment, her hair flying in sodden ropes behind her.

  A light in the log cabin guided them. At last they ran across the springy grass and onto the deck. Relief from the pelting rain was blessed. Sam dropped the wet, sandy clothes he carried, pulled her to him briefly, then pushed her back to examine her by the light spilling onto the deck from her bedside lamp.

  He laughed, that low, rumbly laugh, which kindled a nub of warmth within her now-chilled body. ‘If those old boys on the board could see their golden girl now …’ His chuckle deepened. ‘On the other hand, no, they’d all have heart attacks on the spot.’ He pulled her close again, and kissed the top of her head. ‘Actually,’ he added. ‘I don’t want anyone to see you like this, ever! Apart from me, of course.’

  She lifted her fac
e and smiled up at him. ‘They might just be a little bit surprised at your appearance right at this moment, too, Mr Sam Big Shot Forestry Consultant Shanahan.’

  She laughed happily and pulled back to examine herself. Sand clung in dark patches to her legs and arms. She reached up and patted the back of her head. Yep! Plenty of sand there too. She felt the sodden weight of her once elegant silk robe, still hanging off her shoulders; she shrugged her arms and it slithered in a wet heap onto the deck. She stood before him naked and experienced no shame or shyness. Her body belonged to him now, and the knowledge felt like a homecoming.

  Her teeth were chattering as he led her through her bedroom and into the ensuite. He wrapped a large towel around her while the double-jet shower warmed, then he helped her in, and followed. While she stood under the luxuriously hot stream, he gently washed away the crusted sand from her body, then he poured shampoo onto his hands and massaged it into her scalp.

  Presently, she returned the favour herself. ‘Bend down so I can reach your head,’ she commanded, and playfully pushed him away his plundering mouth. She rinsed the last of the shampoo from his hair, dodging the soapy drops, then he turned her body so her back leaned into him.

  He soaped his hands and began a slow, sensual massage. She watched his lean, brown hands work their magic, the long fingers surprisingly light and sensitive against the softness of her skin. She sighed and leaned into his shoulder, tilting her head back and slightly sideways, so his mouth could reach hers.

  Water ran into her eyes and she had to squeeze them shut. It trickled into her nose, and she muttered against his lips: ‘Mr Shanahan, we’ll have to stop making love with water running down our faces.’

  ‘I think the answer is that big bed I saw in the room next door,’ he growled. ‘Or is that too ordinary for madam?’

  In answer, she twirled around and caught his face between her hands. She pressed her mouth to his and murmured between kisses: ‘The bed will be—just fine. And I promise—the mattress—is not made of sand.’

  Presently, he carried her to the bedroom and deposited her gently on the bed, which was deliciously soft and dry and comfortable. He loosed his towel, letting it drop to the floor, and stood for a moment gazing down on her. ‘So beautiful,’ he breathed. She lifted her lips in a contented little smile. ‘And you, my darling, you’re the most glorious man I’ve ever seen.’ She exulted in the strong handsome face, the powerful chest, the long, lean legs.

  She stretched out a hand, pulling him down on the bed beside her. ‘I hope you haven’t seen too many men in this state,’ he muttered against her mouth.

  ‘Not many,’ she said simply and honestly. He uttered a low and very male grunt, and pulled her to him protectively.

  He trailed tiny scratchy kisses from the base of her throat, down to her tummy, and kissed all around the little grazes made by the sand when the rogue wave dumped her this afternoon—or was it yesterday? Kate sighed. That wild roller-coaster ride seemed so long ago.

  Presently he returned to her mouth, and muttered, ‘Promise me you’ll never go dancing again in a thunderstorm.’

  She uttered a little laugh and moved her body so every part had contact with his skin. ‘I wasn’t exactly dancing.’

  ‘Whatever. Just don’t do it again. Okay? Ever!’

  She claimed his mouth and kissed him thoroughly, then released him. ‘And what, may I ask, do you have against thunderstorms?’ she asked throatily. ‘I have rather pleasant memories of that particular one.’ She slid her hand down his chest, but he stilled her touch. He rolled away and lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, and Kate felt a treacherous little lurch of fear in her heart.

  ‘My father died in a thunderstorm,’ he said quietly. She gasped, and leaned over him to kiss his cheek, then she lay her head on his shoulder, and wrapped her arm across his chest.

  ‘How—why?’

  ‘He was driving a tractor when the storm started. It was sudden, and the lightning bolts were directly overhead—like they were on the beach. Lightning strike is not common, but it does happen, more often than people think. He was killed instantly.’

  Kate wept quietly. She wept for the little boy with black curls, playing in a golden Canterbury field, she wept for his father and her mother and her Aunt Rose and Trojan and her own foolish impulsiveness that had caused this man so much pain. The tears flowed freely. He held her while she cried, and uttered soothing noises. He stroked her hair, and when her tears were spent, he kissed the salty trails on her cheeks and licked the salt from her lips.

  ‘Make love to me again,’ she whispered urgently. ‘Right now. Please Sam.’

  ‘Not so fast, my beauty,’ he murmured. ‘This time, we make love slowly—and I set the pace.’

  Chapter 10

  Silence greeted Kate when she woke. The rain had ceased to beat on the roof, and the thunder had rolled its last sometime in the early hours, after she and Sam had fallen into an exhausted and deep sleep.

  He was gone but his pillow was still warm. She hugged it to her, savouring his male scent. He wouldn’t be far away. She smiled, remembering. Her memories were real—her body and the warm pillow told her that. She sat up in bed and stretched luxuriantly, letting the sheet fall to her waist. She looked down and saw the tiny pink abrasions where his stubbly growth of beard had left its mark on her skin, and she smiled again. My body has known his, and it is changed forever.

  Her tummy told her she was hungry, and her thoughts turned to breakfast. If hunger equated to exertion, he must be starving, she decided, laughing out loud. Bacon and eggs were probably the order of the day, but they’d have to make do with coffee and whatever she could find in the pantry and the freezer.

  She threw back the sheet and swung her legs onto the floor. She found a spare towelling robe hanging behind the bedroom door, and as she shrugged it on she realised the world was not quite as silent as she’d first thought. The rain and thunder might have stopped, but the sea, whipped by the storm, roared as it surged and dumped on the beach.

  She pulled back the curtains covering the wide glass expanse on the beachfront wall of the cottage, marvelling at the washed beauty of the world outside.

  She stepped through the sliding door and onto the deck.

  First she saw a towel, dropped halfway down the beach, then she spotted his dark head among the churning waves. She crossed to the wooden seat beneath the big old pohutukawa tree that overhung the deck, and sat watching for several minutes as he swam out through the foaming surf. His head kept disappearing behind huge mounds of sea, then she saw him arrowing shoreward on a curling wall of water, spray flying behind him.

  He pulled himself from the surf, and her lungs were squeezed as he walked from the water, clad only in a pair of black, figure-hugging trunks, the early morning sun burnishing his body a glowing old gold.

  He paused while he wrapped the towel around his hips and looked towards the cottage. His face was shadowed; she saw no smile to answer her own and decided he probably couldn’t see her in the shade of the pohutukawa tree.

  All thoughts of breakfast forgotten, she crossed to the edge of the deck, ran lightly across the grass, leapt, arms windmilling, down the little bank that led to the beach, and followed his own big footsteps through the sugary sand towards him, the oversized robe flying around her legs. He smiled then, and when she pulled up in front of him, he bent and kissed her cheek.

  ‘Hey. I’m sorry, big boy, a peck on the cheek is not good enough!’ She laughed, reaching up and running her nails through the dark stubble on his cheeks, then she stood on tiptoes and pressed her mouth to his, tasting the salt of the sea. At the same time she reached one hand down to tease at the edge of the towel.

  ‘No.’

  Such a tiny word, Kate thought, in the eternity of suspended breathing that followed. Such a tiny word to provoke such vicious fingers of cold fear to clutch at her insides. Her hand was still, her mouth motionless against his.

  She felt him withdraw a little, th
en he took her arms and put some space between them. His eyes were sad. A dark lock of hair was plastered across his forehead, and she thought her heart would crack in two.

  ‘No, Kate,’ he said again, quietly, still holding her arms. ‘Last night was … unplanned. I didn’t intend it to happen. Not then anyway. There are some … some things you must know about me before—’

  ‘You have another woman, don’t you?’ She was proud of the steadiness of her voice. ‘That’s it, isn’t it?’

  ‘No.’ He said it quickly and vehemently, and the cold, grasping fingers clutched her gut and twisted it.

  She could bear Sam Shanahan to have a relationship that needed terminating. She could compete with another woman, and she could almost stand the jealousy. But she couldn’t bear for him to be a liar.

  ‘What then?’ She heard the brave challenge in her voice, and knew he wouldn’t be able to answer. Not that he needed to. She’d seen the photo of him and Justine, had known the score, right from the start. She thought of the … the love and the trust and the generosity with which she’d given him her body last night, and she felt sick to the stomach.

  He looked down at her, his eyes narrowed slightly.

  ‘Come up to the big house. Get some clothes and come with me.’

  She felt the bitter smile twist at her lips. He needed clothes. He couldn’t give her the verbal equivalent of a ‘Dear John’ letter in reverse without the dignity of clothing. She breathed deep gulps of salty air into her lungs. ‘Tell me here,’ she said, aware of the traitorous bubbles of anger rising rapidly through her bloodstream and causing her voice to crank up a notch. ‘Up in the beach house. Tell me and then go—go from this farm.’

  She pulled from his grasp and turned her back on him. ‘I think, under the … the circumstances, that’s what my aunt would want,’ she tossed over her shoulder as she began marching up the beach towards the house. ‘Certainly it’s what my father and my grandparents would want.’