by Nora Roberts
Unaffected by vertigo, Dillon looked out to sea. The breeze teased his hair, tossing it into confusion. “You have the remarkable capacity of knowing when to be quiet and making the silence comfortable,” he remarked.
“You seemed preoccupied.” The wind tossed curls in her eyes, and Laine brushed them away. “I thought perhaps you were working out a problem.”
“Did you?” he returned, and his expression seemed both amused and annoyed. “I want to talk to you about your mother.”
The statement was so unexpected that it took Laine a moment to react. “No.” She turned away, but he took her arm and held her still.
“You were furious last night. I want to know why.”
“I overreacted.” She tossed her head as her curls continued to dance around her face. “It was foolish of me, but sometimes my temper gets the better of me.” She saw by his expression that her explanation would not placate him. She wanted badly to tell him how she had been hurt, but the memory of their first discussion in her father’s house, and his cold judgment of her, prevented her. “Dillon, all my life I’ve been accepted for who I am.” Speaking slowly, she chose her words carefully. “It annoys me to find that changing now. I do not want to be compared with Vanessa because we share certain physical traits.”
“Is that what you think Cap was doing?”
“Perhaps, perhaps not.” She tilted her chin yet further. “But that’s what you were doing.”
“Was I?” It was a question which asked for no answer, and Laine gave none. “Why are you so bitter about your mother, Laine?”
She moved her shoulders and turned back toward the sea. “I’m not bitter, Dillon, not any longer. Vanessa’s dead, and that part of my life is over. I don’t want to talk about her until I understand my feelings better.”
“All right.” They stood silent for a moment, wrapped in the wind.
“I’m having a lot more trouble with you than I anticipated,” Dillon muttered.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“No,” he agreed, looking at her so intently she felt he read her soul. “I’m sure you don’t.” He walked away, then stopped. After a hesitation too brief to measure, he turned toward her again and held out his hand. Laine stared at it, unsure what he was offering. Finding it did not matter, she accepted.
During the ensuing drive, Dillon spoke easily. His mood had altered, and Laine moved with it. The world was lush with ripe blossoms. Moss clung, green and vibrant, to cliffs—a carpet on stone. They passed elephant ears whose leaves were large enough to use as a canopy against rain or sun. The frangipani became more varied and more brilliant. When Dillon stopped the car again, Laine did not hesitate to take his hand.
He led her along a path that was sheltered by palms, moving down it as though he knew the way well. Laine heard the rush of water before they entered the clearing. Her breath caught at the sight of the secluded pool circled by thick trees and fed by a shimmering waterfall.
“Oh, Dillon, what a glorious place! There can’t be another like it in the world!” Laine ran to the edge of the pool, then dropped down to feel the texture of the water. It was warm silk. “If I could, I would come here to swim in the moonlight.” With a laugh, she rose and tossed water to the sky. “With flowers in my hair and nothing else.”
“That’s the only permissible way to swim in a moonlit pool. Island law.”
Laughing again, she turned to a bush and plucked a scarlet hibiscus. “I suppose I’d need long black hair and honey skin to look the part.”
Taking the bloom from her, Dillon tucked it behind her ear. After studying the effect, he smiled and ran a finger down her cheek. “Ivory and gold work very nicely. There was a time you’d have been worshiped with all pomp and ceremony, then tossed off a cliff as an offering to jealous gods.”
“I don’t believe that would suit me.” Utterly enchanted, Laine twirled away. “Is this a secret place? It feels like a secret place.” Stepping out of her shoes, she sat on the edge of the pool and dangled her feet in the water.
“If you want it to be.” Dropping down beside her, Dillon sat Indian-fashion. “It’s not on the tourist route, at any rate.”
“It feels magic, the same way that little bay feels magic. Do you feel it, Dillon? Do you realize how lovely this all is, how fresh, or are you immune to it by now?”
“I’m not immune to beauty.” He lifted her hand, brushing his lips over her fingertips. Her eyes grew wide as currents of pleasure jolted up her arm. Smiling, Dillon turned her hand over and kissed her palm. “You can’t have lived in Paris for fifteen years and not have had your hand kissed. I’ve seen movies.”
The lightness of his tone helped her regain her balance. “Actually, everyone’s always kissing my left hand. You threw me off when you kissed my right.” She kicked water in the air and watched the drops catch the sun before they were swallowed by the pool. “Sometimes, when the rain drizzles in the fall, and the dampness creeps through the windows, I’ll remember this.” Her voice had changed, and there was something wistful, something yearning in her tone. “Then when spring comes, and the buds flower, and the air smells of them, I’ll remember the fragrance here. And when the sun shines on a Sunday, I’ll walk near the Seine and think of a waterfall.”
Rain came without warning, a shower drenched in sun. Dillon scrambled up, pulling Laine under a sheltering cluster of palms.
“Oh, it’s warm.” She leaned out from the green ceiling to catch rain in her palm. “It’s as if it’s dropping from the sun.”
“Islanders call it liquid sunshine.” Dillon gave an easy tug on her hand to pull her back as she inched forward. “You’re getting soaked. I think you must enjoy getting drenched in your clothes.” He ruffled her hair and splattered the air with shimmering drops.
“Yes, I suppose I do.” She stared out, absorbed with the deepening colors. Blossoms trembled under their shower. “There’s so much on the island that remains unspoiled, as if no one had ever touched it. When we stood on the cliff and looked down at the sea, I was frightened. I’ve always been a coward. But still, it was beautiful, so terrifyingly beautiful I couldn’t look away.”
“A coward?” Dillon sat on the soft ground and pulled her down to join him. Her head naturally found the curve of his shoulder. “I would have said you were remarkably intrepid. You didn’t panic during the storm yesterday.”
“No, I just skirted around the edges of panic.”
His laugh was full of pleasure. “You also survived the little show in the plane on the way from Oahu without a scream or a faint.”
“That’s because I was angry.” She pushed at her damp hair and watched the thin curtain of rain. “It was unkind of you.”
“Yes, I suppose it was. I’m often unkind.”
“I think you’re kind more often than not. Though I also think you don’t like being labeled a kind man.”
“That’s a very odd opinion for a short acquaintance.” Her answering shrug was eloquent and intensely Gallic. A frown moved across his brow. “This school of yours,” he began, “what kind is it?”
“Just a school, the same as any other, with giggling girls and rules which must be broken.”
“A boarding school?” he probed, and she moved her shoulders again.
“Yes, a boarding school. Dillon, this is not the place to think of schedules and classes. I shall have to deal with them again soon enough. This is a magic place, and for now I want to pretend I belong here. Ah, regarde!” Laine shifted, gesturing in wonder. “Un arc-en-ciel.”
“I guess that means rainbow.” He glanced at the sky, then back at her glowing face.
“There are two! How can there be two?”
They stretched, high and perfect, in curving arches from one mountain ridge to another. The second’s shimmering colors were the reverse of the first’s. As the sun glistened on raindrops, the colors grew in intensity, streaking across the cerulean sky like a trail from an artist’s many-tinted brush.
�
��Double bows are common here,” Dillon explained, relaxing against the base of the palm. “The trade winds blow against the mountains and form a rain boundary. It rains on one side while the sun shines on the other. Then, the sun strikes the raindrops, and …”
“No, don’t tell me,” Laine interrupted with a shake of her head. “It would spoil it if I knew.” She smiled with the sudden knowledge that all things precious should be left unexplained. “I don’t want to understand,” she murmured, accepting both her love and the rainbows without question, without logic. “I just want to enjoy.” Tilting back her head, Laine offered her mouth. “Will you kiss me, Dillon?”
His eyes never left hers. He brought his hands to her face, and gently, his fingers stroked the fragile line of her cheek. In silence, he explored the planes and hollows of her face with his fingertips, learning the texture of fine bones and satin skin. His mouth followed the trail of his fingers, and Laine closed her eyes, knowing nothing had ever been sweeter than his lips on her skin. Still moving slowly, still moving gently, Dillon brushed his mouth over hers in a whisperlike kiss which drugged her senses. He seemed content to taste, seemed happy to sample rather than devour. His mouth moved on, lingering on the curve of her neck, nibbling at the lobe of her ear before coming back to join hers. His tongue teased her lips apart as her heartbeat began to roar in her ears. He took her to the edge of reason with a tender, sensitive touch. As her need grew, Laine drew him closer, her body moving against his in innocent temptation.
Dillon swore suddenly before pulling her back. She kept her arms around his neck, her fingers tangled in his hair as he stared down at her. Her eyes were deep and cloudy with growing passion. Unaware of her own seductive powers, Laine sighed his name and placed a soft kiss on both of his cheeks.
“I want you,” Dillon stated in a savage murmur before his mouth crushed hers. She yielded to him as a young willow yields to the wind.
His hands moved over her as if desperate to learn every aspect, every secret, and she who had never known a man’s intimate touch delighted in the seeking. Her body was limber under his touch, responsive and eager. She was the student, and he the teacher. Her skin grew hot as her veins swelled with pounding blood. As the low, smoldering fire burst into quick flame, her demands rose with his. She trembled and murmured his name, as frightened of the new sensation as she had been at the edge of the cliff.
Dillon lifted his mouth from hers, resting it on her hair before she could search for the joining again. He held her close, cradling her head against his chest. His heart drummed against her ear, and Laine closed her eyes with the pleasure. Drawing her away, he stood. He moved his hands to his pockets as he turned his back on her.
“It’s stopped raining.” She thought his voice sounded strange and heard him take a long breath before he turned back to her. “We’d better go.”
His expression was unfathomable. Though she searched, Laine could find no words to fill the sudden gap and close the distance which had sprung between them. Her eyes met his, asking questions her lips could not. Dillon opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again before he reached down to pull her to her feet. Her eyes faltered. Dillon lifted her chin with his fingertips, then traced the lips still soft from his. Briskly, he shook his head. Without a word, he lay his mouth gently on hers before he led her away from the palms.
Chapter Nine
A generous golden ball, the sun dominated the sky as the car moved along the highway. Dillon made easy conversation, as if passion belonged only to a rain-curtained pool. While her brain fidgeted, “Laine tried to match his mood.
Men, she decided, must be better able to deal with the demands of the body than women are with those of the heart. He had wanted her; even if he had not said it, she would have known. The urgency, the power of his claim had been unmistakable. Laine felt her color rise as she remembered her unprotesting response. Averting her head as if absorbed in the view, she tried to decide what course lay open to her.
She would leave Kauai in a week’s time. Now, she would not only have to abandon the father whom she had longed for all of her life, but the man who held all claim to her heart. Perhaps, she reflected with a small sigh, I’m always destined to love what can never be mine. Miri said I should fight as a woman fights, but I don’t know where to begin. Perhaps with honesty. I should find the place and time to tell Dillon of my feelings. If he knew I wanted nothing from him but his affection, we might make a beginning. I could find a way to stay here at least a while longer. I could take a job. In time, he might learn to really care for me. Laine’s mood lightened at the thought. She focused again on her surroundings.
“Dillon, what is growing there? Is it bamboo?” Acres upon acres of towering stalks bordered the road. Clumps of cylindrical gold stretched out on either side.
“Sugarcane,” he answered, without glancing at the fields.
“It’s like a jungle.” Fascinated, Laine leaned out the window, and the wind buffeted her face. “I had no idea it grew so tall.”
“Gets to be a bit over twenty feet, but it doesn’t grow as fast as a jungle in this part of the world. It takes a year and a half to two years to reach full growth.”
“There’s so much.” Laine turned to face him, absently brushing curls from her cheeks. “It’s a plantation, I suppose, though it’s hard to conceive of one person owning so much. It must take tremendous manpower to harvest.”
“A bit.” Dillon swerved off the highway and onto a hard-packed road. “The undergrowth is burned off, then machines cut the plants. Hand cutting is time consuming so machinery lowers production costs even when labor costs are low. Besides, it’s one miserable job.”
“Have you ever done it?” She watched a quick grin light his face.
“A time or two, which is why I prefer flying a plane.”
Laine glanced around at the infinity of fields, wondering when the harvest began, trying to picture the machines slicing through the towering stalks. Her musings halted as the brilliant white of a house shone in the distance. Tall, with graceful colonial lines and pillars, it stood on lush lawns. Vines dripped from scrolled balconies; the high and narrow windows were shuttered in soft gray. The house looked comfortably old and lived in. Had it not been for South Sea foliage, Laine might have been seeing a plantation house in old Louisiana.
“What a beautiful home. One could see for miles from the balcony.” Laine glanced at Dillon in surprise as he halted the car and again leaned over to open her door. “This is a private home, is it not? Are we allowed to walk around?”
“Sure.” Opening his own door, Dillon slid out. “It’s mine.” He leaned against the car and looked down at her. “Are you going to sit there with your mouth open or are you going to come inside?” Quickly, Laine slid out and stood beside him. “I gather you expected a grass hut and hammock?”
“Why, no, I don’t precisely know what I expected, but …” With a helpless gesture of her hands, she gazed about. A tremor of alarm trickled through her. “The cane fields,” she began, praying she was mistaken. “Are they yours?”
“They go with the house.”
Finding her throat closed, Laine said nothing as Dillon led her up stone steps and through a wide mahogany door. Inside, the staircase dominated the hall. Wide and arching in a deep half circle, its wood gleamed. Laine had a quick, confused impression of watercolors and wood carvings as Dillon strode straight down the hall and led her into a parlor.
The walls were like rich cream; the furnishings were dark and old. The carpet was a delicately faded needlepoint over a glistening wood floor. Nutmeg sheers were drawn back from the windows to allow the view of a manicured lawn.
“Sit down.” Dillon gestured to a chair. “I’ll see about something cold to drink.” Laine nodded, grateful for the time alone to organize her scattered thoughts. She listened until Dillon’s footsteps echoed into silence.
Her survey of the room was slow. She seated herself in a high-backed chair and let her eyes roam. The room
had an undeniable air of muted wealth. Laine had not associated wealth with Dillon O’Brian. Now she found it an insurmountable obstacle. Her protestations of love would never be accepted as pure. He would think his money had been her enticement. She closed her eyes on a small moan of desperation. Rising, she moved to a window and tried to deal with dashed hopes.
What was it he called me once? An operator. With a short laugh, she rested her brow against the cool glass. I’m afraid I make a very poor one. I wish I’d never come here, never seen what he has. At least then I could have hung on to hope a bit longer. Hearing Dillon’s approach, Laine struggled for composure. As he entered, she gave him a careful smile.
“Dillon, your home is very lovely.” After accepting the tall glass he offered, Laine moved back to her chair.
“It serves.” He sat opposite her. His brow lifted fractionally at the formality of her tone.
“Did you build it yourself?”
“No, my grandfather.” With his customary ease, Dillon leaned back and watched her. “He was a sailor and decided Kauai was the next best thing to the sea.”
“So. I thought it looked as if it had known generations.” Laine sipped at her drink without tasting it. “But you found planes more enticing than the sea or the fields.”
“The fields serve their purpose.” Dillon frowned momentarily at her polite, impersonal interest. “They yield a marketable product, assist in local employment and make use of the land. It’s a profitable crop and its management takes only a portion of my time.” As Dillon set down his glass, Laine thought he appeared to come to some decision. “My father died a couple of months before I met Cap. We were both floundering, but I was angry, and he was…” Dillon hesitated, then shrugged. “He was as he always is. We suited each other. He had a cabin plane and used to pick up island hoppers. I couldn’t learn about flying fast enough, and Cap needed to teach. I needed balance, and he needed to give it. A couple of years later, we began planning the airport.”
Laine dropped her eyes to her glass. “And it was the money from your fields which built the airport?”
“As I said, the cane has its uses.”
“And the bay where we swam?” On a sudden flash of intuition, she lifted her eyes to his. “That’s yours, too, isn’t it?”
