A Woman's Heart

by Gael Morrison

  A silence so complete, Jann could hear Peter's heart pounding against her ear and the soundless lap of the water touching the shore, could hear the trill of the grasshoppers rubbing their legs together.

  And beyond that silence came fear, as loud as the screech of a siren, and as jolting as the peel of an alarm. She buried her face against Peter's chest, desperate to still the noise, desperate, also, to hold on to what they had shared.

  He held her now as though they had never been separated, as though he never intended to let her go again. But how could she stay?

  She now knew the joy, the exhilarating ecstasy of truly making love, but in the making of love, she had realized she did love and the only possible finish to that was pain.

  Pushing hard against Peter's chest, Jann fell backward through the icy water. She rose spluttering to find him reaching for her, and resolutely paddled beyond his grasp.

  "We have to talk," he called after her, his voice low and insistent.

  There was nothing to say. Only that they had made love and everything had changed. She could no longer trust herself to be near him or to do what was right.

  He stroked powerfully through the water after her, and just as determinedly, she stroked away. If he touched her, she'd be lost. Sucking in a faltering breath, not caring about her bathing suit or if she retrieved it, she staggered up the rocky edge of the pond, resolved not to allow his magic to engulf her again.

  The risk was too great. If she gave up her heart, it might be smashed under the heel of this stranger.

  And she was not about to lose her baby because she couldn't hang on to her heart.

  Snatching up her clothes, she flung them on. Peter emerged naked from the water, looking just as powerful as he had before and infinitely desirable. Her breath snagged as he moved toward her, the touch of his hand on her arm making her tremble.

  "Why are you running?" he demanded, his eyes on fire.

  She stood as tall as she was able, knowing with every fiber of her being that she loved this man, but knowing, too, that she could never let him know.

  "We made a mistake." Her words created a void in her heart.

  "Is that what you think?" He tilted up her chin, his eyes searching hers.

  She ran her tongue over lips gone suddenly dry, her brain shying away from the knowledge of her love. She couldn't think about that now, not with him so close. He confused her, made her long for a life she couldn't have, for a love she dare not risk. To think rationally, with her head not her heart, she had to be alone.

  Or she'd be lost. And if she was lost, so was Alex. "I'm not denying I enjoyed making love to you," she said, facing Peter squarely. "But it wasn't important." Simply life and death.

  He gripped her arm so hard it hurt.

  As she had that other time, she managed to laugh. She was getting good at this denial. If it went on much longer, it would be her soul that was destroyed.

  "Men and women make love all the time without it having to mean anything," she went on, desperate to obliterate the pain in her heart.

  He recoiled as though he'd been slapped.

  Her breathing quickened.

  He gave her a long hard look, his face whitening beneath his tan, then, with a slow intake of breath, he turned away. With all the will she possessed, she prevented words of retraction from escaping her lips.

  * * *

  This man was a stranger—not the man who had held her and listened to her and dispersed her guilt like dust in the wind. This man, clothed in the same expensive suit he'd worn the first day they met was so distant it was as if all that had gone between them had been a mirage.

  And it hurt, although she had no one to blame but herself.

  Shivering, Jann drew her forefinger across her lips, still craving his touch. Somehow, impossibly, she had summoned the strength to deny that craving.

  At the pool's edge, Peter had turned from her and slowly dressed. It had been terrible to watch the way he held himself, the way his muscles tightened across his shoulders and his neck corded with strain. It was almost as though he truly cared.

  A drop of sweat dripped slowly down Jann's hairline. She longed to wipe it away, to be rid of the evidence of her distress, but if she made any movement, if she pulled her hankie from her dress pocket, Peter would look at her again, and if he did that, another part of her would die.

  She had fled from him once already. She couldn't bring herself to do it again. Before he had finished dressing, she had left the magic of the pool behind, plunging down the steep pathway until she reached the car. Flinging herself into it, she held herself stiffly against the door, averting her eyes from his and praying he would let her be.

  And he had. Without a word or gesture, he climbed in beside her and started the engine. With blinding precision, he had driven the ocean highway back to Lahaina; while she sat frozen, determined not to show fear even when they passed the steepest cliff.

  Now there was the dance to get through. She had told him she preferred to go alone, but when the time came to leave, he had settled into the rowboat with a stubborn cast to his lips. He walked beside her now as though he were in a race, his quick, angry steps shutting her out more effectively than she had him.

  Music poured from the hall and bathed the town in sound. She tried to close her ears to it, to keep its beat at bay, for she loved to dance, had spent hours when she was young watching her parents pirouette around the living room locked in each other's embrace. Sometimes separately, sometimes together, her mother and father had taught her the steps to every dance they knew, until, exhausted, they had all collapsed together on the sofa, helpless with happiness and laughter.

  But she didn't want to dance tonight. Not with Peter. Holding herself apart from him was as difficult as withdrawing from a drug. If she fell into his arms, she might never come out.

  For, rightly or wrongly, she loved him.

  Jann lifted her chin. If she could get through tonight, that left only tomorrow. Then, she'd be safe. She'd be home with Alex.

  First thing Monday morning, she would phone Mitch. It would be better now if Peter did have unsupervised access, for she could no longer be near him and not betray how she felt.

  Glancing sideways, she squashed the last pang of her old apprehension. She knew enough about Peter now to know he would never steal her baby. He might be ruthless and determined, but it wasn't his style to slink away in the dark of the night. His personal code of honor was too scrupulous for that.

  He turned to look at her. "Planning on running away again?" His words were hard, though his voice was even.

  She gazed at him squarely, even though her insides turned to water. The pulse at the base of his throat throbbed and he lifted his hand as though he couldn't stop himself from touching her. At the last possible instant, he let his hand drop.

  The music's volume suddenly surged.

  "Something happened at the Pools," Peter said. "Running won't make it go away."

  "I'm not running away."

  He drew closer. "We need to talk."

  "No," she said quietly, yet with a vehemence that shook her. "Talking won't change anything."

  "You don't know that."

  "The only thing between you and me is Alex. He's all we should be concerning ourselves with."

  She turned and rapidly walked away, but he followed her up the short flight of stairs to the hall. In the doorway she faced him again, meeting his questioning eyes.

  "We have to stay away from each other," she said firmly.

  "How do you suggest we do that on a forty-foot sailboat in the middle of an ocean?"

  "It's thirty-seven feet," she corrected, then nodded toward the crowd on the dance floor, "and at the moment, we're not in the middle of an ocean."

  "You're right." His gaze shifted to the mass of gyrating merry-makers, then came back to her. "But what if I don't choose to stay away from you."

  His words settled coldly in the pit of her stomach. Then with a suddenness that stole her
breath, he reached for her camera bag and handed it to the coat check girl. Gathering Jann's hand in his, he placed his other hand on the small of her back, and swept her away.

  The race was over and the party had begun. Triumphant hands waved champagne bottles high and corks popped like bullets in a battle. Glasses were filled, spilled, and filled once more. Throughout the room, caution was flung to the winds and a bubbly effervescence took its place.

  The dance floor was a mine field of swirling, sweaty bodies and over-enthusiastic contortions. Holding tightly to her waist, Peter steered Jann into the middle of the melee.

  Within minutes she was breathless. Peter danced the way he moved—with precision and grace. He swirled her and twirled her, her turquoise dress flying up one moment and streaking down the next.

  The exuberant atmosphere gradually lifted Jann's mood, while at the same time deadened her apprehensions. Her heart felt less leaden, and her body felt light.

  Then as the band belted out the final bars of an old sixties rock and roll song, a dancer bumped heavily into Jann, pushing her hard against Peter's chest.

  The world seemed to stop.

  His hand tightened on her waist and they swayed together, her breasts flattened against his chest and her hips thrust forward.

  His eyes searched hers, reaching into her soul and demanding a response. Her heart quailed, knowing there was no way she could hide the love she felt for him, no way she could deny it.

  The air grew still, like the deathly silence before a storm, and Jann staggered beneath the weight of a surging desire.

  Then the band started afresh, sliding into a sensuous pulsation of blues. The music tore her soul, biting through her defenses and opening her heart to the air.

  Where they touched, there was heat; where they didn't, she was numb. Her hands stole up Peter's arms and linked at the base of his neck.

  He touched her bare back where her dress dipped sharply, his spine-tingling caress electrifying her. With deliberate slowness, he pulled her closer.

  Slower and slower, they danced, and hotter and hotter. Like lava over rock.

  He laid his cheek against her cheek, his newly shaven skin smooth and warm. His scent was intoxicating, its blend of musk and vibrant sea breezes filling Jann's nostrils and weakening her with desire.

  Leaning away from him, she stared up into eyes turned a lustrous smoky-green. Solemnly, searchingly, Peter lowered his head and kissed her.

  His mouth moved slowly over hers at first, as though reluctant to release any portion of her lips to the air, then with greater intensity, matching the cadence of the song. Note fell upon note, kiss deepened into kiss, until Jann neither knew nor cared where Peter's lips left off and her own began.

  Sensation erupted within, beginning with a tremor and mounting swiftly into a crescendo. Helpless with desire and shaken to the core, she sank against him.

  Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the song ended. With a roaring in Jann's ears, her blood flooded through her veins and the sound of Peter's heart beat into her consciousness. She clung to him as tightly as a ship-wrecked sailor to a beam.

  Another song began, but although other dancers boogied, the two of them barely moved. Like two boats rafted together awaiting rescue in a storm, they were buffeted to and fro by the music surrounding them.

  Peter's hand drifted up Jann's back and trailed along her neck to her chin. He gently tipped her face upward, his eyes locking with hers. She could see in them how he felt as clearly as if he had spoken.

  He wanted to make love to her again, and was fighting that want.

  Raising her hand to her crystal, she examined her own soul. She wasn't sure whether it was the crystal pulsing beneath her hand or simply the rapid thumping of her heart, but suddenly she knew with all her heart, mind, and body, that she wanted to make love to Peter as much as he did to her. That she would rather drown in his arms than catch a lifeboat to safety.

  "Let's go," Peter growled.

  "Yes," Jann breathed, not moving an inch.

  Placing his arm around her shoulders, Peter pulled her along with him, marking a path through the dancers as easily as a ship with radar. People jostled and flailed against her, but Jann scarcely noticed. She could think only of Peter and the way he made her feel.

  Through the hall's smoky haze, the sharp outline of the open door was visible. The brilliant stars beyond transmitted a promise of passion so powerful, Jann trembled.

  Peter pulled her closer, the warm haven of his body stilling her shivers.

  She could no longer hide how she felt, no longer wanted to. Her longing must be as evident in her eyes as in the flushed heat of her face.

  Barely slowing as they passed the cloakroom, Peter retrieved Jann's cameras and led her out the door.

  Away from the building, the night's breeze was as soft as the breath of a baby. Touched by the cool of the evening air, the flowers lining the streets and wafting overhead in baskets, trees, and bushes threw off a fairyland mixture of intoxicating fragrances.

  Nearer the docks, the scent became that of salt and sea breezes, lodging in Jann's heart as a symbol of taking chances.

  Her heels tapped softly on the rickety wooden boards of the dock as they made their way toward the rowboat. Once in it, his oars sliding smoothly through the water, Peter propelled them towards Heart's Desire like two love birds flying homeward to their roost.

  Jann raised her hand to her face, grateful now for the cover of darkness. The desire she felt for Peter had erupted on her cheeks in two feverish patches. Panic, too, bubbled in her chest. When they had first met, Peter had suggested he believed her well experienced in the art of making love. At the pools, too, their lovemaking had been spontaneous and fever-lit. On her boat, with privacy and time, would he expect something she couldn't deliver? Would she give him her all and have nothing left?

  The rowboat bumped gently against her sailboat's hull. Grasping the metal rung of the ladder, Jann slipped off her high heels and flung them into the cockpit, then climbed the ladder in her bare feet, piercingly aware of Peter as he followed slowly behind.

  Scrambling over the side, she welcomed the warmth of the teak deck beneath her toes. Peter dropped down beside her and touched the curve of her waist. She faced him.

  Chapter 13

  Peter's eyes smoldered like emeralds in a chest of king's ransom. Then he draped his arms across her shoulders and pulled her trembling body close.

  As soon as they touched, a trembling of another, more intimate sort welled within. She eagerly offered him her lips.

  Desire transformed the lines of his face, softening them with want and rendering them vulnerable. He dropped one tender kiss on the corner of her mouth then ranged up her cheek and across her forehead, burning a pattern of love on her skin. Passion rose, and she met his sensuality with her own.

  As weightless as the touch of the butterfly, as intoxicating as a drink of cognac, Peter's lips alighted on hers. Softly, at first, then hardening into urgency, he kissed... then withdrew... then kissed again.

  Heat raced through Jann's veins, her nipples hardening and her breasts filling. She needed to be touched, to be captured by his lips. With a soft moan, she pressed against him, bathing in the sensations continuously washing over her.

  She spiraled upward on a wave of desire, then just when it seemed she could go no higher, his lips deserted hers and traveled slowly... deliriously slowly... down her throat toward her breasts.

  He cupped them with his hands so they rose from the confines of her scoop-necked dress and glistened in the light of the moon.

  "I want you," he murmured against her throat. "I need you." He pulled her towards him as though he would never let her go, then, with a suddenness that seemed to stun, for his face stared starkly into hers, he drew away.

  As slowly as he'd retreated, her heart broke.

  "Peter," she whispered, reaching for him, touching his face with her finger.

  Laboriously, slowly, he drew in a breath, as
though the mere act of breathing was beyond his capabilities. "You're so beautiful," he said hoarsely, then glancing to the sky above, his lips turned down in a rueful smile. "More beautiful than the stars."

  Shocked by the desire exploding within and the numbness following in its wake, she stared past his eyes and up toward the heavens, amazed at the comparison he had made. A meteor blazed overhead, its passage piercing the night's blackness as her love for Peter pierced her soul.

  "Peter," she whispered, surrender in her heart.

  He stared down at her, and she felt his body go rigid.

  "Jann, we can't do this." He turned away. "We have to talk about Alex."

  Despair and fear rocketed through her. She'd fallen in love with Peter, had dared to think he might love her too, but their love was as unattainable as the stars, as impossible.

  On unsteady feet, she turned away and staggered down the companionway to her cabin.

  * * *

  Jann clung to her coffee mug with both hands and lowered her face to the steam rising from the hot, black liquid. If only the steam could obliterate what she was feeling, could cover it in a cloak of opaque whiteness and dull the pain. With a sigh, she scanned the sky. It overflowed still with stars, each more brilliant than the lights on a Christmas tree, but each star seemed a lie, for there was no illumination in her heart.

  Peter was back on board at last, was sleeping below deck. She had heard him leave as she retreated, had heard the scrape of his shoes against the ladder and the splash of his oars as they hit the water. A sound that had grown softer as the rowboat drew away. As each stroke increased the distance between them, Jann's heart had broken a little more.

  It had seemed then as though she had sat on the edge of her bed for hours, although according to the snail-slow hands of her clock, it was only a fraction of that time.

  And then he was back, his footsteps quick and determined, as though he felt nothing of the anguish engulfing her. The creak of the settee told her just when he lay down.

  Her loins ached to think of him asleep, with his face more vulnerable than wakefulness would allow. She still wanted him, and in a way not merely physical. She wanted his body and also his soul, but most of all she desired his heart.