Island of Flowers

by Nora Roberts

  Dillon sighed in mock exasperation. “Laine, if I have to drag you out of bed in the morning, you’re going to find yourself learning a great deal more than snorkeling. Now, are you going to walk back to the house, or do I carry you?”

  “If they could bottle your arrogance, Dillon O’Brian, there would be no shortage of fuel in this country!”

  With this, Laine turned and fled. Dillon watched until the darkness shrouded her white figure. Then he bent down to retrieve her shoes.

  Chapter Four

  The morning was golden. As usual, Laine woke early. For a moment, she blinked in puzzlement. Cool green walls had replaced her white ones, louvered shades hung where she expected faded striped curtains. Instead of her desk stood a plain mahogany bureau topped with a vase of scarlet blossoms. But it was the silence which most confused her. There were no giggles, no rushing feet outside her door. The quiet was broken only by a bird who sang his morning song outside her window. Memory flooded back. With a sigh, Laine lay back against the pillow and wished she could go to sleep again. The habit of early rising was too ingrained. She rose, showered and dressed.

  A friend had persuaded her to accept the loan of a swimsuit, and Laine studied the two tiny pieces. She slipped on what had been described as a modified bikini. The silvery blue was flattering, highlighting her subtle curves, but no amount of adjustment could result in a more substantial coverage. There was definitely too much of her and too little suit.

  “Silly,” Laine muttered and adjusted the halter strings a last time. “Women wear these things all the time, and I’ve hardly the shape for drawing attention.”

  Skinny. With a grimace, she recalled Miri’s judgment. Laine gave the top a last, hopeless tug. I don’t think all the fish in the Pacific are going to change this inadequacy. Pulling on white jeans and a scarlet scoop-necked top, she reminded herself that cleavage was not what she needed for dealing with Dillon O’Brian.

  As she wandered downstairs, Laine heard the stirrings which accompany an awakening house. She moved quietly, half afraid she would disturb the routine. In the dining room, the sun poured like liquid gold through the windows. Standing in its pool, Laine stared out at soft ferns and brilliant poppies. Charmed by the scene, she decided she would let nothing spoil the perfection of the day. There would be time enough later, on some drizzling French morning, to think of rejections and humiliations, but today the sun was bright and filled with promise.

  “So, you are ready for breakfast.” Miri glided in from the adjoining kitchen. She managed to look graceful despite her size, and regal despite the glaring flowered muumuu.

  “Good morning, Miri.” Laine gave her the first smile of the day and gestured toward the sky. “It’s beautiful.”

  “It will bring some color to your skin.” Miri sniffed and ran a finger down Laine’s arm. “Red if you aren’t careful. Now, sit and I will put flesh on your skinny bones.” Imperiously, she tapped the back of a chair, and Laine obeyed.

  “Miri, have you worked for my father long?”

  “Ten years.” Miri shook her head and poured steaming coffee into a cup. “Too long a time for a man not to have a wife. Your mother,” she continued, narrowing her dark eyes, “she was skinny too?”

  “Well, no, I wouldn’t say … That is …” Laine hesitated in an attempt to gauge Miri’s estimation of a suitable shape.

  Rich laughter shot out. Miri’s bosom trembled under pink and orange flowers. “You don’t want to say she was not as much woman as Miri.” She ran her hands over her well-padded hips. “You’re a pretty girl,” she said unexpectedly and patted Laine’s flaxen curls. “Your eyes are too young to be sad.” As Laine stared up at her, speechless under the unfamiliar affection, Miri sighed. “I will bring your breakfast, and you will eat what I give you.”

  “Make it two, Miri.” Dillon strolled in, bronzed and confident in cutoff denims and a plain white T-shirt. “Morning, Duchess. Sleep well?” He dropped into the chair opposite Laine and poured himself a cup of coffee. His movements were easy, without any early-morning lethargy, and his eyes were completely alert. Laine concluded that Dillon O’Brian was one of those rare creatures who moved from sleep to wakefulness instantly. It also occurred to her, in one insistent flash, that he was not only the most attractive man she had ever known, but the most compelling. Struggling against an unexplained longing, Laine tried to mirror his casualness.

  “Good morning, Dillon. It appears it’s going to be another lovely day.”

  “We’ve a large supply of them on this side of the island.”

  “On this side?” Laine watched as he ran a hand through his hair, sending it into a state of appealing confusion.

  “Mmm. On the windward slopes it rains almost every day.” He downed half his coffee in one movement, and Laine found herself staring at his long, brown fingers. They looked strong and competent against the cream-colored earthenware. Suddenly, she remembered the feel of them on her chin. “Something wrong?”

  “What?” Blinking, she brought her attention back to his face. “No, I was just thinking … I’ll have to tour the island while I’m here,” she improvised, rushing through the words. “Is your … is your home near here?”

  “Not far.” Dillon lifted his cup again, studying her over its rim. Laine began to stir her own coffee as if the task required enormous concentration. She had no intention of drinking it, having had her first—and, she vowed, last—encounter with American coffee aboard the plane.

  “Breakfast,” Miri announced, gliding into the room with a heaping tray. “You will eat.” With brows drawn, she began piling portions onto Laine’s plate. “And then you go out so I can clean my house. You!” She shook a large spoon at Dillon who was filling his own plate with obvious appreciation. “Don’t bring any sand back with you to dirty my floors.”

  He responded with a quick Hawaiian phrase and a cocky grin. Miri’s laughter echoed after her as she moved from the room and into the kitchen.

  “Dillon,” Laine began, staring at the amount of food on her plate, “I could never eat all of this.”

  He forked a mouthful of eggs and shrugged. “Better make a stab at it. Miri’s decided to fatten you up, and even if you couldn’t use it—and you can,” he added as he buttered a piece of toast, “Miri is not a lady to cross. Pretend it’s bouillabaisse or escargots.”

  The last was stated with a tangible edge, and Laine stiffened. Instinctively, she put up her defenses. “I have no complaints on the quality of the food, but on the quantity.”

  Dillon shrugged. Annoyed, Laine attacked her breakfast. The meal progressed without conversation. Fifteen minutes later, she searched for the power to lift yet another forkful of eggs. With a sound of impatience, Dillon rose and pulled her from her chair.

  “You look like you’ll keel over if you shovel in one more bite. I’ll give you a break and get you out before Miri comes back.”

  Laine gritted her teeth, hoping it would help her to be humble. “Thank you.”

  As Dillon pulled Laine down the hall toward the front door, Cap descended the stairs. All three stopped as he glanced down from man to woman. “Good morning. It should be a fine day for your snorkeling lesson, Laine.”

  “Yes, I’m looking forward to it.” She smiled, straining for a naturalness she was unable to feel in his presence.

  “That’s good. Dillon’s right at home in the water.” Cap’s smile gained warmth as he turned to the man by her side. “When you come in this afternoon, take a look at the new twin-engine. I think the modifications you specified worked out well.”

  “Sure. I’m going to do a bit of work on that cabin plane. Keep Tinker away from it, will you?”

  Cap chuckled as they enjoyed some personal joke. When he turned to Laine, he had a remnant of his smile and a polite nod. “I’ll see you tonight. Have a good time.”

  “Yes, thank you.” She watched him move away and, for a moment, her heart lifted to her eyes. Looking back, she found Dillon studying her. His expressio
n was indrawn and brooding.

  “Come on,” he said with sudden briskness as he captured her hand. “Let’s get started.” He lifted a faded, long-stringed bag and tossed it over his shoulder as they passed through the front door. “Where’s your suit?”

  “I have it on.” Preferring to trot alongside rather than be dragged, Laine scrambled to keep pace.

  The path he took was a well-worn dirt track. Along its borders, flowers and ferns crept to encroach on the walkway. Laine wondered if there was another place on earth where colors had such clarity or where green had so many shades. The vanilla-scented blossoms of heliotrope added a tang to the moist sea air. With a high call, a skylark streaked across the sky and disappeared. Laine and Dillon walked in silence as the sun poured unfiltered over their heads.

  After a ten-minute jog, Laine said breathlessly, “I do hope it isn’t much farther. I haven’t run the decathlon for years.”

  Dillon turned, and she braced herself for his irritated retort. Instead, he began to walk at a more moderate pace. Pleased, Laine allowed herself a small smile. She felt even a minor victory in dealing with Dillon O’Brian was an accomplishment. Moments later, she forgot her triumph.

  The bay was secluded, sheltered by palms and laced with satin-petaled hibiscus. In the exotic beauty of Kauai, it was a stunning diamond. The water might have dripped from the sky that morning. It shone and glimmered like a multitude of fresh raindrops.

  With a cry of pleasure, Laine began to pull Dillon through the circling palms and into the white heat of sun and sand. “Oh, it’s beautiful!” She turned two quick circles as if to insure encompassing all the new wonders; “It’s perfect, absolutely perfect.”

  She watched his smile flash like a brisk wind. It chased away the clouds and, for one precious moment, there was understanding rather than tension between them. It flowed from man to woman with an ease which was as unexpected as it was soothing. His frown returned abruptly, and Dillon crouched to rummage through the bag. He pulled out snorkels and masks.

  “Snorkeling’s easy once you learn to relax and breathe properly. It’s important to be both relaxed and alert.” He began to instruct in simple terms, explaining breathing techniques and adjusting Laine’s mask.

  “There is no need to be quite so didactic,” she said at length, irked by his patronizing tone and frowning face. “I assure you, I have a working brain. Most things don’t have to be repeated more than four or five times before I grasp the meaning.”

  “Fine.” He handed her both snorkel and mask. “Let’s try it in the water.” Pulling off his shirt, he dropped it on the canvas bag. He stood above her adjusting the strap on his own mask.

  A fine mat of black hair lay against his bronzed chest. His skin was stretched tight over his rib cage, then tapered down to a narrow waist. The faded denim hung low over his lean hips. With some astonishment, Laine felt an ache start in her stomach and move warmly through her veins. She dropped her eyes to an intense study of the sand.

  “Take off your clothes.” Laine’s eyes widened. She took a quick step in retreat. “Unless you intend to swim in them,” Dillon added. His lips twitched before he turned and moved toward the water.

  Embarrassed, Laine did her best to emulate his casualness. Shyly, she stripped off her top. Pulling off her jeans, she folded both and followed Dillon toward the bay. He waited for her, water lapping over his thighs. His eyes traveled over every inch of her exposed skin before they rested on her face.

  “Stay close,” he commanded when she stood beside him. “We’ll skim the surface for a bit until you get the hang of it.” He pulled the mask down over her eyes and adjusted it.

  Easily, they moved along the shallows where sunlight struck the soft bottom and sea lettuce danced and swayed. Forgetting her instructions, Laine breathed water instead of air and surfaced choking.

  “What happened?” Dillon demanded, as Laine coughed and sputtered. “You’re going to have to pay more attention to what you’re doing,” he warned. Giving her a sturdy thump on the back, he pulled her mask back over her eyes. “Ready?” he asked.

  After three deep breaths, Laine managed to speak. “Yes.” She submerged.

  Little by little, she explored deeper water, swimming by Dillon’s side. He moved through the water as a bird moves through the air, with inherent ease and confidence. Before long, Laine learned to translate his aquatic hand signals and began to improvise her own. They were joined in the liquid world by curious fish. As Laine stared into round, lidless eyes, she wondered who had come to gape at whom.

  The sun flickered through with ethereal light. It nurtured the sea grass and caused shells and smooth rocks to glisten. It was a silent world, and although the sea bottom teemed with life, it was somehow private and free. Pale pink fingers of coral grouped together to form a hiding place for vivid blue fish. Laine watched in fascination as a hermit crab slid out of its borrowed shell and scurried away. There was a pair of orange starfish clinging contentedly to a rock, and a sea urchin nestled in spiny solitude.

  Laine enjoyed isolation with this strange, moody man. She did not pause to appraise the pleasure she took in sharing her new experiences with him. The change in their relationship had been so smooth and so swift, she had not even been aware of it. They were, for a moment, only man and woman cloaked in a world of water and sunlight. On impulse, she lifted a large cone-shaped shell from its bed, its resident long since evicted. First holding it out for Dillon to view, she swam toward the dancing light on the surface.

  Shaking her head as she broke water, Laine splattered Dillon’s mask with sundrops. Laughing, she pushed her own mask to the top of her head and stood in the waist-high water. “Oh, that was wonderful! I’ve never seen anything like it.” She pushed damp tendrils behind her ears. “All those colors, and so many shades of blue and green molded together. It feels … it feels as if there were nothing else in the world but yourself and where you are.”

  Excitement had kissed her cheeks with color, her eyes stealing the blue from the sea. Her hair was dark gold, clinging in a sleek cap to her head. Now, without the softening of curls, her face seemed more delicately sculptured, the planes and hollows more fragile. Dillon watched her in smiling silence, pushing his own mask atop his head.

  “I’ve never done anything like that before. I could have stayed down there forever. There’s so much to see, so much to touch. Look what I found. It’s beautiful.” She held the shell in both hands, tracing a finger over its amber lines. “What is it?”

  Dillon took it for a moment, turning it over in his hands before giving it back to her. “A music volute. You’ll find scores of shells around the island.”

  “May I keep it? Does this place belong to anyone?”

  Dillon laughed, enjoying her enthusiasm. “This is a private bay, but I know the owner. I don’t think he’d mind.”

  “Will I hear the sea? They say you can.” Laine lifted the shell to her ear. At the low, drifting echo, her eyes widened in wonder. “Oh, c’est incroyable.” In her excitement, she reverted to French, not only in speech, but in mannerisms. Her eyes locked on his as one hand held the shell to her ear and the other gestured with her words. “On entend le bruit de la mer. C’est merveilleux! Dillon, écoute.”

  She offered the shell, wanting to share her discovery. He laughed as she had heard him laugh with her father. “Sorry, Duchess, you lost me a few sentences back.”

  “Oh, how silly. I wasn’t thinking. I haven’t spoken English in so long.” She brushed at her damp hair and offered him a smile. “It’s marvelous, I can really hear the sea.” Her words faltered as his eyes lost their amusement. They were darkened by an emotion which caused her heart to jump and pound furiously against her ribs. Her mind shouted quickly to retreat, but her body and will melted as his arms slid around her. Her mouth lifted of its own accord to surrender to his.

  For the first time, she felt a man’s hands roam over her naked skin. There was nothing between them but the satin rivulets of water
which clung to their bodies. Under the streaming gold sun, her heart opened, and she gave. She accepted the demands of his mouth, moved with the caresses of his hands until she thought they would never become separate. She wanted only for them to remain one until the sun died, and the world was still.

  Dillon released her slowly, his arms lingering, as if reluctant to relinquish possession. Her sigh was mixed with pleasure and the despair of losing a newly discovered treasure. “I would swear,” he muttered, staring down into her face, “you’re either a first-rate actress or one step out of a nunnery.”

  Immediately, the helpless color rose, and Laine turned to escape to the sand of the beach. “Hold on.” Taking her arm, Dillon turned her to face him. His brows drew close as he studied her blush. “That’s a feat I haven’t seen in years. Duchess, you amaze me. Either way,” he continued, and his smile held mockery but lacked its former malice, “calculated or innocent, you amaze me. Again,” he said simply and drew her into his arms.

  This time the kiss was gentle and teasing. But she had less defense against tenderness than passion, and her body was pliant to his instruction. Her hands tightened on his shoulders, feeling the ripple of muscles under her palms as he drew every drop of response from her mouth. With no knowledge of seduction, she became a temptress by her very innocence. Dillon drew her away and gave her clouded eyes and swollen mouth a long examination.

  “You’re a powerful lady,” he said at length, then let out a quick breath. “Let’s sit in the sun awhile.” Without waiting for her answer, he took her hand and moved toward the beach.

  On the sand, he spread a large beach towel and dropped onto it. When Laine hesitated, he pulled her down to join him. “I don’t bite, Laine, I only nibble.” Drawing a cigarette from the bag beside them, he lit it, then leaned back on his elbows. His skin gleamed with water and sun.

  Feeling awkward, Laine sat very still with the shell in her hands. She tried not only to understand what she had felt in Dillon’s arms, but why she had felt it. It had been important, and somehow, she felt certain it would remain important for the rest of her life. It was a gift that did not yet have a name. Suddenly, she felt as happy as when the shell had spoken in her ear. Glancing at it, Laine smiled with unrestrained joy.

  “You treat that shell as though it were your firstborn.” Twisting her head, she saw Dillon grinning. She decided she had never been happier.

  “It is my first souvenir, and I’ve never dived for sunken treasure before.”

  “Just think of all the sharks you had to push out of the way to get your hands on it.” He blew smoke at the sky as she wrinkled her