Blue Velvet

by Iris Johansen

  "It's 'Lara's Theme' from Dr. Zhivago," Beau said, his voice husky.

  "Dr. Zhivago?"

  "A beautiful movie taken from a book by Pas­ternak. I have a copy of the book in my cabin on the Searcher. I'll give it to you once we're back on

  board."

  "Thank you. I'd like that." Her gaze was still fixed dreamily on the carousel. "You know, I've always wanted to ride a carousel. I was at a carnival in a little village in Nicaragua once, but it didn't have a merry-go-round "I'll buy you one."

  "What?" She turned to look at him in bewilder­ment.

  "I'll buy you the best damn carousel in the whole world," he said thickly. "Hell, I'll buy you an entire amusement park." He wanted to give her every­thing she'd never had. The experience, the beauty, the knowledge. He needed to give them to her.

  She laughed uncertainly. "You're joking," She rose to her feet. "For a moment I thought you were serious."

  He opened his lips to speak but quickly closed them again. "We'll talk about it later," he said. "Now where can I get rid of this combination of salt and sweat that's coating me? You promised me a bath." He looked around with a whimsical smile. "Somehow I don't think your very special house has a bathroom."

  "There's a spring-fed pool several yards north of here," she said with a grin. She picked up the car­ousel and set it carefully on the floor before open­ing the chest. "It's a little cold, but very clear." "That's where you sunbathe?" There was something in the smoky darkness of his eyes that caused a frisson of heat to tingle through her. "Yes, that's the place," she said, quickly reaching into the chest to pull out soap, a large folded terry towel, and shampoo. "It won't be very warm there now. It's almost dark." "You only have one towel."

  Her eyes flew to meet his and what she saw there made the heat in her loins turn molten.

  "Well need at least two," he said with slow deliber­ation. "You're all salty too." His voice dropped to velvet softness. "But don't worry, I'll wash every grain of it off you personally." He smiled inti­mately. "Very personally."

  She drew a deep breath. "You want me to go with you?"

  "I insist upon it," he murmured. "I always did have a lousy sense of direction. I might get lost in the forest and never be heard from again."

  "Then I guess I'd better come along," she said, reaching for a few more towels and a white cotton caftan. "I may need to redeem that promise you made to help me storm the bastille." Her voice was as light as his, and didn't reflect the fact that her heart was pounding so hard she felt as if she'd been running.

  She didn't dare keep up the badinage as they made their way down the ladder and along the path to the pool. She wasn't experienced enough to maintain that casual sophistication and was sure that at any moment she'd betray how nervous and uncertain she felt. Nervous and something else. Something exciting and moving and as beautifully primitive as the rain forest surrounding them.

  It was almost pitch-dark as they reached the bank of the pool and the water was only discernible from the bank by the occasional glitter of moon­light on its mirror surface.

  Kate dropped her towels and the caftan on the bank. "It's shallow enough to stand upright around the edges. It only deepens as you go toward the middle."

  "Right." Beau had already striped off his meager clothes and was jumping into the water. "Damn!" he exploded. "Where does that spring originate, the South Pole?"

  She burst out laughing. "I told you it was cold."

  "Cold, not frigid. Throw me the soap, will you?"

  She tossed it to him and then pulled the T-shirt over her head. There was no use being shy. Beau had seen everything there was to see last night on the Searcher. Besides, it was so dark here Beau was hardly more than a bronze blur though only a few feet away. It was reasonable to assume she'd be equally indiscernible.

  She inhaled sharply as she jumped into the water and she heard Beau's chuckle. "Definitely the South Pole, eh?"

  "Definitely," she gasped. She poured a little shampoo in her hand and began rubbing it into her hair. The curls were coarse and wiry with salt and she sudsed and rinsed it twice before she was satisfied it was clean. "I've finished with the sham­poo. Would you like to use it?"

  "I made do with the soap," he said carelessly. His voice was suddenly much closer and she looked up to see him only a few feet away. "I didn't want to wait. I wanted to get through in a hurry so I could have my treat."

  "Your treat?" She moistened her lips nervously.

  "Bathing Kate, bonny Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom."

  "Shakespeare," she identified, a trifle breath­lessly.

  "Right," he drawled, "but we're not going to dis­cuss literature tonight. That I promise you, sweet Kate. I only display that degree of restraint every century or so."

  "I think most of the salt is washed off now," she offered faintly.

  "But we have to be sure, don't we? I promised you every grain of salt." He was very close now and she could see the white flash of his teeth in his darkly shadowed face. "And I'll think we'll start here."

  The cold wet bar was against her throat and she gave an involuntary shiver. "Cold?" he murmured.

  "Let's see if we can fix that." He rubbed the soap briskly between his hands. "I'm going to like this much better anyway. And you will too, Kate. I guar­antee that you'll like it a hell of a lot better."

  He took the bottle of shampoo from her and tossed it and the soap on the bank. Then his hands were on her throat rubbing the lather from his hands into her skin with slow teasing skill. She stood perfectly still, almost forgetting to breathe as his hands moved to her bare shoulders rising out of the water. His hands were cold from the water and hard with calluses. Playboys shouldn't have calluses, she thought inconsequentially, but then Beau wasn't a stereotype. He was a law unto him­self. His hands weren't really cold either. She could feel the vital heat beneath the surface coolness and it was arousing an answering heat everywhere he touched.

  "Give me your left arm."

  She raised her arm from the water and his hands moved over it from shoulder to wrist with slow easy strokes that should have been soothing. They weren't. By the time he'd finished the other arm, her heart was beating wildly and her flesh was so exquisitely sensitive that every brush of his hands was actually painful. It was like something from an erotic fantasy to be standing here in this icy water in almost total darkness while a naked shadowy stranger ran his hands over her body in this inti­mately arousing fashion. Yet Beau wasn't really a stranger. They'd been through so much together that in some ways she felt she knew him far better than she did Jeffrey or Julio.

  And now the piece de resistance," Beau drawled. His hands closed upon her breasts beneath the water. She cried out and involuntarily surged toward him.

  "I've been wanting to do that since the minute I saw you in that bar," he said thickly- He was squeezing her gently and his thumbs were explor­ing the pink rims that encircled the hard crests of her nipples. "And I think you've been wanting it, too, haven't you, Kate?"

  She hadn't realized it, but she must have. The response was so immediate, the filling of an aching void so evident. "The water has washed all the soap off your hands," she said vaguely through the haze of heat surrounding her. It seemed impossible now that she'd even noticed the coldness of the water.

  "It doesn't matter, we'll never miss it," Beau assured her. "They say friction does just as good a job as soap."

  "Who says?" she asked breathlessly, not really caring. The nail of his thumb was toying playfully with the swollen tip of her breast.

  "I forget," Beau said absently, moving closer, "but I'm anxious to test the theory. Part your legs, love."

  She obeyed without thinking. "Why do—" She broke off as his knee suddenly was inserted between her thighs and he was lifting her, one hand moving from her breast to the curve of her buttocks to pull her forward so she was straddling his strong muscular thigh with shocking inti­macy. He pressed her back against the bank, rest­ing his other knee aga
inst it for support.

  "There, that's better." Beau's voice held the same breathlessness she was feeling. "Almost comfort­able. " His hand at her bottom was moving her back and forth on his leg. "A very comfortable ride, eh, sugar?"

  Comfortable? There was a distinctly mischie­vous note in that Southern drawl that made her aware he knew just how ridiculous that adjective was. That friction he'd mentioned was burning her with every motion and she felt she was learning by Braille the physical substance and textures of him. The hard bone beneath the resilient muscles, the slightly rough film of hair that was prickling against that most sensitive part of her. Her swollen breasts swung heavy and ripe against the sleek smoothness of his chest with every other move­ment and she could hear his breathing become harsher and more labored with every touch.

  His hand still cupping her breast was squeezing and relaxing in rhythm with the molten friction he was stirring in her lower body. His index finger encircling the budding tip was both inquisitive and arousing. "You have lovely little puckers all around this pretty thing," he said raggedly. "Is that because of the cold or what I'm doing to you?"

  "I don't know," she gasped. She didn't know any­thing that wasn't connected with the liquid aching need that was racking her entire body.

  "Then perhaps we'd better find out." The hand that was on her buttocks suddenly moved around and slid swiftly between her and his thigh. "I want you to be sure. It's a matter of personal pride." His fingers started moving, caressing, delving, teasing with a devilish skill.

  "Beau!" She arched forward against him, her hands clutching desperately at his shoulders. She uttered a low sound that was half guttural groan and half whimper as she felt two of those diabolic­ally knowledgeable fingers enter, stroke, burn, rotate.

  She was so close she could feel the thunder of his heart against her ear and his voice was shaking a little. "It's me, isn't it, Kate? Say it!"

  "It's you," she said, hardly knowing what she was saying. She would have said anything he wanted her to at that moment.

  "So tight," he muttered. "Oh, God, Kate, I can't wait. I want to be there."

  "What?" He'd added another finger with some difficulty and she was only conscious of the sensa­tion of fullness that pervaded her.

  "I want to ride, too, Kate." He laughed a little shakily. "With your permission, milady."

  She found herself trying to push down harder. "Yes, oh yes." She closed her eyes. "Whatever you like."

  "What a fantastically generous invitation. I just may take you up on it. It's going to be a long night." He pinched her nipple gently with his thumb and forefinger, sending a jolt of electricity shooting through her. "But unfortunately I don't want to start here. Maybe tomorrow I'll be ready for aquat­ics but tonight I want to feel all your silk and heat against me." His hand left her breast and wandered down to her waist. Then his fingers plunged forcefully upward and she gave a low gasp of pleasure. "Remember that," he said hoarsely. "Remember the feel of me. You're mine there now and I'll be back." His hand reluctantly left her and also moved to her waist. He lifted her off his thigh and up onto the bank with easy strength.

  She sat there dazed and bewildered. The warm humid air felt almost chilly on her wet nude body, but it wasn't the astringent shock it should have been. For Beau was suddenly beside her on the bank picking up a towel and drying her with care­ful thoroughness, his hands caressing and squeez­ing her occasionally through the soft material.

  "Bend over. I want to do your hair."

  He was thorough with that also and when he was done he combed his fingers through the damp curls before fluffing them lightly. "It's almost dry already," he commented.

  "It's so short it dries very fast," she said mun­danely. However, there was nothing mundane about the way she was feeling only inches away from him. She could smell the scent of soap and musk and feel the heat of his body reaching out to her.

  He handed her the simple white cotton caftan.

  "You'd better put this on." He picked up another towel and started to dry himself.

  She slipped the caftan over her head and pulled it down over her body. Even the loose folds of mate­rial were a teasing provocation against her flesh that Beau had sensitized so expertly. She could barely stand the touch of it against the swelling fullness of her breasts. "You haven't anything to put on."

  "The only thing I want against me tonight is you," he said as he gathered the towels, shampoo, and soap. "Grab our clothes, will you? I want to get back to your place with the speed of light."

  So did she and her movements were just as swift as his. It was only a matter of moments before they were climbing the ladder to the tree house. Beau dropped the bundle he was carrying on the wooden platform but stopped her as she would have opened the door. "Wait," he said, drawing a deep shaky breath, "I want to hold you a moment before we go inside." He took the clothes out of her arms and dropped them carelessly on top of the pile of towels. "Just hold you. I don't think I'm going to be able to do that once we get inside. I'm hurting too much."

  He took her into his arms and held her with lov­ing gentleness. She could feel the hard urgency of his need against her, but there was only affection and tenderness in the strong clasp of his arms and the brush of his lips at her temple. He rocked her and for a moment she forgot about desire as she was drowned in that warm glowing gentleness. Beau. Oh, dear, sweet, wild Beau. She felt her heart swell with emotion as her arms went around him to hug him fiercely to her.

  "Hey!" he chuckled. "Take it easy. Your enthusi­asm is much appreciated but very arousing." He reached behind her to swing open the door. "We'll continue this later." He pushed her gently into the room. "Much later."

  "All right." She watched him dreamily as he fol­lowed her into the room. In the glow of the oil lamp he was all sleek muscular power and dominant aroused male. Very aroused.

  "Take off the gown, Kate." His eyes were dark and smoky but the golden glints were leaping.

  She pulled the caftan slowly over her head but when she dropped it to the floor she realized he was no longer looking at her but across the room. There was a frown on his face and she watched him with puzzled eyes as he crossed the room to the chest against the wall.

  He picked up the carousel music box she'd set on the floor when she was riffling through the rattan chest for towels and placed it with great care on the exact center of the chest. "You should be more careful," he said gruffly. "One of us might have kicked it or knocked it over. Treasures have to be taken care of."

  She felt a warm glow start somewhere near her heart. “Do they?"

  He nodded, his eyes grave. "Yes."

  "I suppose you should know." She laughed shak­ily. "A rich man like you must have quite a few of them."

  "Not really. I guess you could say I have a good many valuables but that's something else again. You've got to care for something to make it a trea­sure." He was coming toward her with that smooth, lithe coordination. "Perhaps I didn't deserve to have a treasure before. Maybe I would have been too careless and irresponsible to care for it prop­erly." He stopped before her and his lopsided smile was boyishly endearing. "I wouldn't be that care­less now, Kate. Will you be my treasure if I promise to guard and cherish you very carefully?"

  The words were so simply eloquent, his expres­sion so beautiful that she couldn't speak for an instant because of the lump in her throat. His treasure for an eternity or merely for tonight? Somehow at this moment it didn't make any differ­ence. One night with Beau would be worth any pain she would have to suffer later.

  "If that's what you want me to be," she said breathlessly.

  "That's what I want." His hand reached up to cup the curve of her cheek with infinite gentleness. "You won't regret it, Kate." A dark frown suddenly clouded his face. "This doesn't have anything to do with that blasted bargain we made, does it? You know that's down the drain. You really want me, right?"

  "I really want you,'' she said, a tender smile tug­ging at her lips. How could he doubt it
when he could see the response he'd so easily ignited in her? He seemed to ignite all kinds of responses with no effort at all—and not only the physical. Tenderness, laughter, respect, admiration, love. Love? The word had come so easily to mind that it frightened her a little. She must be very careful not to think of that. It was far too dangerous in a rela­tionship that might prove as ephemeral as theirs.

  "Then that's what you're going to get," he drawled, the lightness back in his expression. "Every bit of me that you can take." He reached out and lightly cupped her breast in his palm. "Now."

  Then his arm was about her waist and he was leading her to the denim-covered mattress across the room. His fingers splayed out and rubbed her hip in a caress that was more affectionate than sensual. "I can't get enough of touching you. That incredibly silky skin with all that warm aliveness beneath it. I'm constantly wanting to reach out to play or rub against you like a cat with a satin pil­low." His hands on her shoulders were pushing her to her knees on the mattress before kneeling to face her. His eyes were glazed as he stared down at her naked breasts with an intentness that caused

  a shiver of anticipation. "I want to do that now but I'm afraid the time for play is over."

  "The light?" she asked. Perhaps she wouldn't feel so shy if she couldn't see the smoldering sensu­ality on his face.

  He shook his head. "I like you bathed in lamp­light. It gleams and shimmers on you like liquid gold." He slowly bent his head until his lips were only a breath away from one taut eager nipple. That warm breath kissed her even before his lips touched her. "Now let's see if I can make that pretty breast pucker again for me."

  She inhaled sharply as his mouth closed around her as he began to alternately nibble and suckle at the nipple that had been waiting eagerly for his attention. He was very gentle at first but she could feel the change in him as the moments passed. There was a tension and restrained savagery in the way he pushed her on her back on the mattress. Both hands were encircling her breast, now caus­ing it to swell into prominence. His mouth seemed to be trying to envelop the entire mound at times while his tongue flicked wildly over every portion of it. His nips became sharper and his face was flushed and heavy above her. "I can't get enough of you. I want to eat you alive." He suckled strongly and she arched up to him with a little cry. He was over her now, his lips still working frantically at her breast. He began rubbing against her like the cat he'd compared himself to and it was as erotic as his lips at her breast. Yet there was nothing of the sleek feline about Beau in that moment. He was all hard bone and supple muscles and aroused male.