Hours to Cherish

by Heather Graham

  Cat paused for a moment treading water, startled as she found herself captured in a spotlight.

  He was letting her swim, all right—but he was following just far enough behind for safety.

  “You can come back up!” he advised her. He looked nice and rested, sipping a beer as he manned the small tiller.

  “I hope you split up on a coral reef or hit a sandbar,” she replied sweetly.

  Cat frowned as she saw his grinning expression suddenly change. The smile was radically erased from his face. “Get out of the water,” he yelled.

  “No, you think this is a joke—all highly amusing. Well I haven’t been amused and you can follow all you like, but I’d rather swim than accept a second of your brand of hospital—”

  Her words were drowned out by the splash of his body cutting cleanly into the water. She hadn’t been prepared for his jumping in after her and was caught off guard when the strength of his dive brought him beside her.

  “Let me go—” she gasped.

  “God damn it, this is no joke, and I’m not playing!”

  She was propelled to the cruiser’s starboard side and hoisted high into the air. Her shoulder, derriere, and head hit the deck hard, but before she could rage her protest, he hurtled over her. And then before she could even stutter, she was ignominiously dragged to her feet and swirled to stare into the spotlight.

  Her words caught and died in her throat. In the shaft of yellow that had bounced upon their heads just moments ago, two large fins speared the surface, cruising stealthily, turning in figure eights. She could feel his anger, intensified by fear, in the harsh grip he maintained over her shoulders. She tried to twist in his arms, to apologize, to thank him.

  He turned her himself, shaking her. “All this over making love. Okay, Cat. You want to make love, we’ll make love. I had thought to protect the vestal virgin, but I suppose deflowering beats death by shark bite.”

  Cat opened her mouth. She wanted to tell him that she was really very sorry about the whole evening, that she had acted like an idiot, made a total fool out of herself. She was even ready to explain that she had fallen in love with him and hadn’t known how to handle the situation maturely. Could he possibly understand such a thing? She really wasn’t usually so incompetent.

  She didn’t have a chance. Her mouth was nothing more than an open invitation as his lips burned hers. His tongue was hotly seductive, plunging deeply one moment, withdrawing with his lips a whisper away the next so that he might trace the line of hers, weave his moist trail along her cheek, to her lower earlobes, to her throat. She was hanging on to him again, her fingers splaying into the damp hair on his chest, working beneath the dripping sides of his opened shirt.

  She felt his fingers at her nape, struggling to untie the wet knot of the halter. Apparently he had a certain expertise, for the knot gave. His hands pursued a course over her body, peeling down the wet fabric until it gave and fell to her feet. Cat was stunned, but also filled with a raging fire, an exhilaration like nothing she had ever known. His hands teased the small of her back, cradled her buttocks, lifting her, pulling her, pressing her against him, and then she could feel the lean masculinity of his chest against her breasts, the nipples crushed and teased by his hair.

  His kisses ceased as he stepped back, dark eyes heavily upon her as he stared at her revealed before him. He had seen her before in a bikini, so the lush perfection of her body was no surprise. Slender, slender waist, full firm breasts, a tantalizing curve to the flare of her hips, and seductive emerald eyes that stared into his unblinkingly.

  She was clad in only a wisp of white lace over her hips. Clay shed his damp shirt, dropping it to the deck. He unbuckled his sodden and ruined belt, and stepped from his pants and briefs.

  Still she watched him, eyes holding his, dropping, widening just a hair, returning to his.

  He took her back into his arms. Her hands began to move this time, running across his shoulders, threading into his hair. He was startled, jolted, and then inflamed as she returned his kiss, her tongue moving with subtle seduction, her lips sweetly inviting, her delectable body moving against his, writhing, adjusting.

  He broke away again, only to sear a kiss into her shoulder, slide against her, to find and tease and hold her breasts with his mouth and his hands. He was a little crazy. The blood was pounding in his head and he lost all thought … all awareness of time. Somehow they had gotten to the bed below, and he was still tasting the nectar of her body, his fingers slipping beneath the band of elastic to remove that last wisp of lace, his lips tracing the beautiful line of her hips.

  Cat moaned as his hand moved between her thighs. She was past apology, past speech, past reason. Fear still hovered over her, but it was mainly obliterated by the fever of anticipation, the culmination of something that would ease the agonizing ache that was also so good.

  She felt his withdrawal from her, his hesitation. There was a rumbling anger and agony to his voice when he spoke. “Damn it, Cat, I never meant this to get this far. …”

  She reached out to touch him. Her hand slid down his chest; he caught it. “Cat …” She closed her eyes in an instant of misery. He couldn’t have led her so far without wanting her.

  A little cry escaped her and she twisted to burrow into his chest. He gripped the sides of her hair, pulling her back. “Cat,” he murmured again.

  Her hands were freed again. She touched him with a tentative assurance, sliding supple fingers low over his stomach, hesitating only fractionally, taking the step from which there would be no return.

  She felt him shudder, heard him groan, saw the intensity of his eyes as he moved over her. Instinct caused her to tense, but it made no difference. He was as gentle as his desire would allow, but there would be no pulling back.

  There was a moment of acute pain. Cat felt a scream of protest tear her throat. Suddenly she wanted nothing more than to rip away from him. But his lips stilled her scream, his arms held her secure. She lay still beneath him, braced against the demand of his passion, actually wondering how this could be considered such a rapturous act.

  But slowly the pain became just a throb and miraculously the fever of deliciousness returned. She wasn’t sure when, but suddenly she was undulating to his rhythm, writhing against him, her lips answering his, her fingers splaying, clutching his shoulders.

  Suddenly he drew away from her, taking his wonderful pulsing life away. “Please,” Cat gasped with confusion, but she felt his hands and lips covering her again, finding, seeking intimate spots that were now easy access. She hadn’t the power to protest, not that he would have allowed her quarter anyway. And then she was begging, and wondering how she had ever thought this anything but rapture.

  He filled her again, a passionate drive that was but an answer to her mad twists and pleas. Her need had become voracious, his hunger something she could appease. She learned what it was to float, to soar, to forget everything but the moment of wild magic. A moment that culminated in staggering ecstasy held her spellbound even as the feelings sweetly ebbed to contentment. It left her feeling exhausted but shiveringly pleased with the dual explosions that shook her body and yet suddenly unable to face the man beside her.

  He was watching her. She forced her eyes to his. He was studying her, his dark eyes intently enigmatic.

  “I’d better get you home” was all he said. But his hand touched her cheek once more, lightly tracing her body from throat to abdomen.

  Then he was gone, striding from the cabin, oblivious to his nakedness. Why should he worry, Cat wondered, he must know he has the body of a Greek god.

  She bit her lip then. Was this it? This feeling so intense it eradicated all others, and then the absolute misery of feeling bereft? She shivered, closed her eyes. God, how she adored him. …

  She finally managed to stand, swaying dizzily for a moment as she realized how achy she was. She kept her eyes from the sheet, and winced slightly as she returned to the deck, feeling naked and awkward.


  He stopped her as she reached for her sea-soaked dress, pulling her back into his arms for a brief moment. “You are beautiful, Cat. Simply stunning.” He smiled at her for a moment, brushing damp tendrils of hair from her face. “I wanted to make it good for you,” he said softly.

  She blushed. Surely he was well aware from her shameless moans and whimperings that it had become wonderful beyond description.

  He kissed her lips, gently, then both her breasts. “I’ve never met anyone quite like you, Cat,” he murmured, and then he was helping her replace her clothing.

  Alone in her room that night she had tossed and turned, burning with the memory her body wouldn’t allow her to forget. She alternated between joy and fear. She would die, surely die, if she didn’t see him again, and again. … And he hadn’t really wanted her. He had tried to stay away from her.

  But the next morning her fears were dissolved. Her father informed her that Clay had been in at the break of dawn to ask Jason’s approval for an immediate wedding. No bride was ever more ecstatic, more beautiful, more passionately in love.

  But although the ardor of the physical side of their relationship increased—and Cat rapturously learned that her husband was as enamored of her sensuality as she was of his—the very temperaments that had brought them together drove them apart.

  Clay wanted no interference in his life. He spent hours with Cat’s father; he spent hours pursuing the sea himself. And he was, as always, appealing to other women

  And then came the day when Cat overheard a conversation between two women of the lodge staff.

  “The girl’s beautiful … surely he couldn’t have married her only because of Windemere’s wishes—and sea charts.”

  “Well if he did,” came the other woman’s chuckle, “he’ll wind up sorry. He’s in for a lot more than he bargained for. She’s known as the Temptress of the Isles throughout half the Caribbean and Gulf. An independent and feisty lady, our Miss Cat.”

  It was that same night that Clay told her he would be leaving on a salvage trip. And unfortunately, he happened to be leaving with his two financiers—a brother-and-sister team—and the sister, it seemed, had little respect for the sanctity of marriage.

  They had been married less than a month. Cat told Clay she didn’t want him to go.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” he informed her. “Salvage is my job.”

  “I mean it, Clay, I don’t want you to go.”

  She had seen the hard twist to his jaw. “You’re my wife, Cat, not my keeper. I’ll be damned if I’ll be dictated to by you.”

  The nights that he was gone were torture. And then she decided that neither was Clay her keeper. Despite her father’s rigid disapproval, she took to scouring the seas herself, leading the lodge’s dive parties, actively participating in all social events.

  One night found her on the terrace with a handsome young diver from California. Cat was missing Clay, and resenting him, too. She intended to ease her hurt with a mild flirtation, just friendly words to try and convince herself that she was appealing, that Clay hadn’t married her because he knew her father wished it, because Jason held keys to the sea.

  Cat pushed her luck a little too far. Just as she was attempting to disengage herself from the arms that had crept around her, Clay appeared. She would never forget his eyes that night.

  He cut in, claiming her, just as the young Californian grew insistent. “I can understand where you might want to throttle this lady, friend, but sorry, I’d have to stand in the way. I’m her husband.” As he led her away, he muttered something about throttling her himself.

  She was frightened of his anger; more frightened that he had spent his time away with other women. He didn’t really love her. Only her forcing his hand and her father’s promise had given him to her.

  The argument that followed was terrible, but it ended passionately in bed. Yet when the storm had passed, the seas had not been calm. Clay curtly informed Cat she was his wife, his property, and that was that. If she wasn’t careful, she’d find herself left under lock and key.

  Cat’s pride wouldn’t allow her to tell him that all she wanted was not to be left.

  He was gone again in a few days. This time, his success was heralded across the world. He had recovered a treasure chest of José Gaspar the pirate off Cudjoe Key.

  Before he returned, Cat cornered her father. She insisted to know the truth of what she had overheard. Jason had admitted that he had expressed an opinion to Clay about wishing to see her married and that he had also demanded immediately that Clay consider nothing less than marriage.

  “You always needed a strong man,” Jason tried to tell her. “I knew what you were feeling, I know you love him. And he does love you, Cat. And with me in poor health, you’ll need someone to help you.”

  “Oh, Dad,” Cat murmured, “you know no matter what happens, I’ll be able to take care of myself.”

  “I know, Cat. But aren’t you happy with him?”

  “Of course I’m happy,” Cat assured him. “Very happy.”

  And she was, at times, when the strange truces would come between them. But Cat learned then how it hurt to love too deeply. If she ever learned to lose this feeling, she would never allow it to come again.

  And yet, if she had known at that time that she stood a chance of losing him, she would have forgotten her pride and all else. She would have welcomed him home with open arms, admitting all that frightened her, begging that they spend more time together.

  But as it was, she didn’t know how to handle her hurt when he returned. And so she greeted him as cold as ice.

  Clay, in turn, was grim and brusque. He refused to allow Cat to remain cold; his devilish laughter, touched with bitterness, rang dryly to her ears when he managed with pathetic ease to seduce her in their bed.

  And too soon he was leaving again, and he was holding her close, and she was clinging to him.

  “What’s wrong between us, Cat?” he asked softly.

  A pain had torn at her and she had answered honestly. “What can be right, Clay, when you don’t love me?”

  “What?”

  “I know why you married me, Clay. I’ve talked to my father. Don’t lie to me, please.”

  “Oh, Lord, Cat,” he mumbled, his fingers threading through the magnificent fall of her hair. “I won’t lie to you, certain things did happen, but Cat, we really need to talk. When I come back, we’ll clear the air of everything.”

  He had kissed her long and hard, and while he was gone, Cat had belatedly realized all the mistakes she had made in her marriage. Childish mistakes. Granted, Clay could be hard. He had flaunted many things in her face. But if she had been older, a little more secure in her love, a little more mature, he might have understood her tempestuous nature, gentled his handling of her, opened himself to her.

  None of the lessons of belated wisdom she gave herself were ever to do any good. Clay never returned. And in time, Cat knew she would never, never love that way again.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CAT WOULD HAVE LIKED to stay in her room, nursing old wounds, for the remainder of the day and night. She did manage to spend hours, just staring at the beamed roof overhead, thinking, trying not to think, alternately shivering and freezing, and growing so warm that tiny beads of perspiration broke out on her forehead only to turn to pinpricks of ice and she would feel the shivering chills again.

  When she dragged herself up, the room was beginning to grow dim. She took a look at her reflection and winced, touching a finger to her damp cheeks. I’ve been crying over him, again, she thought miserably. Damn him! I get him out of my life and he walks back in.

  But I was wrong so many times, she told herself. I simply wasn’t old or mature enough to handle love or marriage.

  Cat stiffened. I was jealous, yes, but not without provocation. It was easy to remember Clay’s charming smiles, the debonair look of the rakish pirate he bestowed so easily on other women. The trip he took, arm in arm with another woman, just afte
r their marriage … well, not arm in arm, maybe, but the blonde on the salvage operation had made no attempt to hide her desire for Clay, and Clay certainly hadn’t appeared to mind her attentions.

  And where the hell had he been for all those years, appearing now just in time to wreck her life? Pity she had been caught so off guard. She should have queried him, just to save herself this torment.

  There were shadows beneath her eyes already. She appeared taut and strained, as if she had aged years in the last few hours. Damn him, damn him, damn him! Cat closed her eyes, fervently wishing she could crawl back into bed and pretend the entire day had been a bad nightmare. She could just sleep and sleep. …

  No. She always made an appearance in the dining room, casually exchanging a few words with her guests, assuring herself that all was well. Clay Miller was not going to return and intimidate her. Heaven’s Harbour Lodge was hers, she was going to run it as she always did, and ignore him if he was rude enough to make an appearance.

  Cat dressed with very great care, winding her hair in a chignon and choosing a black halter dress with a swaying hemline. The neckline came high, forming a collar around her slender throat, but leaving her shoulders and back, other than three decorative straps, bare. The material was a simple polyester, but it clung to her shape nicely. Simple and casual Bahamian elegance. With a pair of heels and her hair piled high, she would almost match Clay in height, and for some reason—although she was determined to avoid him—that seemed important.

  Coral drop earrings and a matching bracelet completed her ensemble. Taking a step back from the mirror, Cat sighed and turned to leave the room. But her eyes lit upon the scrimshaw and she too picked it up, feeling the cool ivory with the palm of her hand. She had given Clay the scrimshaw. It had been a wedding present. Her fingers tightened around the ivory, and she felt tears forming in her eyes again. She quickly closed her eyes, stuffed the scrimshaw into a drawer, and fled the room.