He kissed the undersides of her breasts and her bare midriff. Without pausing, he eased her back on the towel and slid his hand lightly over her stomach to rest at the top of her bikini bottom, where the elastic gave easily to admit his fingers and his hand closed over one smooth hip. Paige knew she should stop him, and now, but she wanted to allow herself just a few more seconds, a few more minutes of these sensations, so deliciously erotic.
She didn't only want to receive pleasure, she also wanted to give it. Her fingers slid through his golden hair, caressed his neck, fluttered across the muscular contours of his back, teased the taut muscles above the top of his swim trunks.
His lips lifted from hers. "Do you feel it yet?" he asked fiercely. "The communion of spirit that you told me about?"
In the silence that followed his totally unexpected question, Paige heard the sharp cry of gulls overhead, the curling rush of waves to the shore. She stared at his face above her, the handsome mask that persisted in hiding the mystery that was Chad Smith. She felt a pang of regret. Despite her craving for him and her longing to gratify this passion that seemed to penetrate to the deepest core of her being, she couldn't lie.
"No," she whispered, sick at heart.
"It's still important to you, though, isn't it? Isn't it?" His voice was husky.
"Yes, it's important." She felt on the verge of tears.
"Ah, Paige," he said with anguish, those two words seeming to express all the melancholy he had felt since his retreat into remoteness, and he rolled over on his back until he lay face up on the sand, one arm thrown over his eyes.
Paige lay beside him, painfully aware of her half-nakedness and her heart hammering in her chest.
When Chad spoke, his voice had returned to its normal tone, and he had regained complete control. He looked over at her, his head still resting on the sand. "Wrap that towel around you," he said. "You'd better leave."
"The top of my swimsuit is underneath you," she said, turning her face away to hide her embarrassment and chagrin. Chad found the top of her swimsuit for her and put it in her hand, then without another word he stood and strode into the Sea House, slamming the door behind him.
Numbly she fumbled with the ties of her bikini top, after which she gathered her belongings. She felt like a fool for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
In the grove of trees bordering the beach, she paused before climbing the incline to the Manse. It wouldn't do for the aunts to see her in such a state of agitation. Finally, after she'd calmed down, she let herself quietly into the Manse, hoping to sneak up to her room without having to manufacture polite conversation for the aunts' benefit.
This was not to be. The Manse was a flurry of activity with Aunt Biz barking out orders to Aunt Sophie and Aunt Sophie, flustered and holding a rumpled handkerchief to her red nose, scurrying about trying to obey.
Paige stood in the center of the wide downstairs hall and took it all in for a few moments. She asked hesitantly, "What's going on?"
Aunt Biz stopped in the middle of the staircase with a pile of clean clothes in her arms and looked down at Paige in mild surprise. "Why, Paige, I hope you don't mind. We've been invited to visit a friend in Macon, and we're going. We'll be leaving first thing in the morning."
Chapter 5
Always when her aunts seemed to be totally predictable, they inevitably went off the grid. Thus it had ever been, thought Paige in the wake of Aunt Biz's declaration, and thus it ever would be.
It wasn't just to visit their girlhood friend Emma, confided Aunt Sophie, but to get away from the horrid paint odor. They usually went to Macon in October. However, the letter they'd received from Emma that morning had invited them to come now because she had other plans for the fall.
"We'll be back after the paint inside the house has had a chance to dry," Aunt Biz said. "We'll still have time to visit with you after we return."
"You're welcome to come with us," ventured Aunt Sophie. "You remember Emma. She'd love to have you."
Paige did remember Emma, a soft sweet vapid lady who lived in a large white-columned house in the country and talked of nothing but her mostly imagined illnesses. Paige found Emma utterly boring. Give up the golden pleasures of St. Albans to go to Macon? "Thank you, but no," she told the aunts as kindly as she could. Besides, she planned to sew new curtains for the downstairs powder room. It was a convenient though spur-of-the-moment excuse.
So that was why she stood again on the ramshackle dock, shepherding the aunts and all their luggage into the Marsh Mallow, and avoiding the eyes of an unusually morose Chad Smith, whose unspoken opinion seemed to be that he'd be much relieved if she were leaving the island along with her aunts.
She sneaked a look at him when she was sure he wasn't looking, noting the wide purple smudges beneath his eyes, the grim set of his mouth, his refusal to look at her. She breathed a sigh of relief when the boat chugged away from St. Albans and disappeared in the twisting channels through the marsh grass.
She spent a quiet day with her sketchbook, staying in the vicinity of the Manse. During the afternoon—she wasn't sure what time—she heard the unmistakable putt-putt of the Marsh Mallow. So Chad had returned, she thought, and she was relieved. At least he wasn't stranded in a channel somewhere between St. Albans and Brunswick, tinkering with the Marsh Mallow's temperamental motor. She resumed her drawing. Chad would most likely spend the afternoon working at the Manse, and she'd stay away until he'd gone.
When she returned to the Manse, she found her mail stacked neatly on the doormat, courtesy of Chad. More letters from Stephen. She tore them open impatiently, frowning as she saw herself again addressed as "sweetheart" and resisting the impulse to tear all of them into shreds. Obviously Stephen had not yet received the letter she'd sent.
She was surprised when she went inside and found that Chad hadn't been working and was not finishing the painting of the downstairs hall as expected. A quick walk through the rest of the house told her that he hadn't been working on any other projects, either. He'd looked very tired in the morning, so perhaps he'd decided to take the afternoon off. As in when the cat's away, the mice will play, she thought wryly.
She decided to heat up last night's leftovers for her solitary dinner. She removed the oyster stew from the refrigerator and dumped it into a small pan before turning on the burner of the big old-fashioned electric range. Her hand was still on the switch when she heard an ear-shattering pop as a fist-sized spark leaped out of the centre of the burner. The air was filled with the acrid stench of scorched electrical wire.
Without hesitation she ran to the pantry where the circuit-breaker box was located and pulled the master switch, plunging the house into darkness. She stood for a moment, her heart thumping, before she was able to see sufficiently to move back into the kitchen and throw the kitchen curtains open to admit the light of the moon.
Something was wrong with the range, no doubt about it. She fumbled around in the kitchen for a flashlight, but she couldn't find one. She wondered if it would be dangerous to pull the master switch on again, if the range would again emit sparks. After a few moments' thought, she decided not to risk it.
Much as she disliked the idea, she would have to find Chad. In the aunts' absence, they were both responsible for the Manse and St. Albans, and perhaps he'd know what to do.
She headed down the oyster-shell path, her feet crunching with each step. There were two ways to reach the Sea House, and this time she decided to take the trail through the woods that approached the Sea House from behind.
Here and there, night creatures scurried about their business in the underbrush, but they didn't alarm her. Overhead an owl hooted from the branch of a spreading oak, his call ending on a single wistful note before he flapped noisily away in the direction of the marsh.
The lights behind the curtains of the Sea House reassured her that Chad was there. She had often wondered how Chad spent his spare time because he seldom lingered at the Manse after dinner. In fact, it had a
lways seemed to her that Chad looked forward to his evenings, though she never understood why. Yet she knew that he didn't leave the island at night because she'd have been sure to hear the agonized putter of the Marsh Mallow's motor. Perhaps he simply liked to read good books, and at this thought she smiled. The idea of a rugged good-looking slightly raffish bachelor like Chad spending every evening in his slippers and bathrobe, his feet propped up as he read, was more than a bit ridiculous.
The Sea House stood on the promontory, its walls washed silver in the moonlight. A freshening breeze gently ruffled the stalks of sea oats, and beyond the sand the surf tumbled over on itself in a froth of white bubbles.
Paige walked carefully along the side of the Sea House toward the front door, and she glanced in the uncurtained first window almost without a thought. She stopped short, however, when she realized with a jolt that she was interrupting something.
Chad leaned over the long table, a shock of hair falling over his forehead as it so often did, wearing nothing but a pair of cut-off denims. One hand was on the table, the other rested on the back of a straight chair and lightly touching the shoulder of a girl who sat gazing up at him, a smile playing across her features.
Paige didn't recognize the girl, but then she knew so few people here. Chad's guest was pretty in a feline sort of way, a redhead, with a straight, pointed nose and thin eyebrows winging upward across a wide brow. She wore a low-cut top, revealing an impressive cleavage. Her eyes met Paige's through the window.
"Chad, look! Someone is watching us!"
Chad glanced up quickly. When he saw who it was, he seemed to relax, though his expression remained cautious. "It's okay, Glynis," he said. "It's only Paige."
Though Paige had the strongest urge to bolt and run, she had no choice but to stay in order to avoid making a complete idiot of herself. Chad opened the door.
She'd had no idea he ever entertained female visitors—the island's remoteness seemed to preclude that. Chad with a woman was a possibility that had never crossed her mind. She didn't know what to think or what to say.
It was finally Chad who spoke first. "Well, what is it?" he said brusquely and with more than a hint of impatience.
"I—I didn't mean to interrupt," she said lamely. "There's a problem at the Manse, and I hope you can help."
"You'd better come in," Chad said, and to her immense surprise he took her arm and pulled her inside where she blinked in the unaccustomed light. "I don't like to leave the door open," he explained curtly. "The sand gnats are out in swarms tonight. Paige, this is Glynis McGuire from St. Simons. Glynis, Paige Brownell."
Glynis murmured a greeting and rested her chin on her hand. She continued to stare at Paige as though she were a piece of flotsam washed up on the beach. Well, she probably looked it, thought Paige unhappily, reaching up to smooth her windblown hair, suddenly conscious of her wrinkled shirt and too-short shorts.
"Chad," she said abruptly, "When I turned on the electric range there was a terrific popping noise as well as a spark, so I ran and pulled the master switch to cut off the electricity. The trouble is that I don't know whether it's safe to turn it back on."
Chad ran a hand through his hair. "You want me to look at it?"
"If you wouldn't mind. I'm without electricity at the Manse and—"
"And you think I know all about appliances and electrical systems, is that right? I've seen the wiring at the Manse when I've been down in the basement. It's medieval."
"But as the handyman—" protested Paige.
"As the handyman, I should be able to fix it. I know. And I also know that I don't understand a thing about electrical wiring."
"You mean you won't even come to look at it?"
Chad heaved a sigh of annoyance. Glynis grinned to herself and turned away from them, making a show of busying herself with a pile of papers on the table. Finally, when the silence grew unbearable, Chad said, "Later, after I've taken Glynis home."
Glynis looked up sharply from her papers. "You're not taking me home! I thought you said—"
Chad waved a hand to silence her. "Never mind what I said. I'll run you back to St. Simons in the boat. We'll finish our talk another time."
With a disgruntled look, Glynis began shuffling things into a folder, taking her time.
"Do you want to ride along in the boat with us?" Chad addressed this question to Paige.
"No, thanks," she said, making an effort to keep her voice even.
"We'll walk you back to the Manse."
"That's not necessary. I know my way around St. Albans, even at night."
"We're going that way anyway. We'll see you safely home."
He found a flashlight in a sea grass basket beside the door. When Glynis indicated that she was ready, she and Paige preceded Chad out the door and he locked it securely behind them. He took the lead, swinging the flashlight as he walked, casting lopsided shadows in their path as they made their way through the woods. They proceeded in single file, Paige following Chad and Glynis behind Paige.
At the back door of the Manse, Chad turned to Paige. "Do you know where the candles are?" She shook her head, wishing unreasonably, childishly, that he wouldn't go and leave her alone in the dark. "Here, take the flashlight," he said, his tone businesslike. "Check the drawers in the sideboard in the dining room. Aunt Sophie likes to eat by candlelight sometimes, and I've seen her storing the candles there. Matches too." For a moment he looked as though he might spare her a grin, but instead he turned toward Glynis, who murmured a goodbye and walked, hips swaying, toward the dock.
From the porch, Paige watched them disappear into the darkness, listening, when their footsteps had died, to the chirrup of crickets in the bushes. She almost ran after them, calling to them to take her along, but she thought better of it. She'd already interrupted their evening by intruding where she was clearly not welcome.
Heaving a sigh, she turned and went back inside, fixing the offending range with a baleful look. Nothing to be done about it now, she thought grimly. She poured her oyster stew back in its plastic container and opened the refrigerator, also electric and also not working until she felt it safe to turn the master switch back on. She shoved the stew inside and quickly shut the door. It was a good thing that she'd lost her appetite. She couldn't cook anything at the moment anyway.
The flashlight helped her to locate the candles and the matches without any problem. She struck a match and it flared in the darkness, illuminating for a moment the spooky shapes of the big antique dining-room furniture. Paige wondered disconsolately what she could do with herself until Chad returned. The Manse was downright scary with its big high-ceilinged rooms disappearing into blackness and large bulky furniture leaning in from every side.
Never before had she noticed how the wind blew through the trees outside, whipping little branches against the upstairs windows with a staccato clacking sound. One tree limb, perhaps on the oak tree outside the dining room, creaked alarmingly. It was enough to give anybody the shivers. Paige stared forlornly at the candle she'd lit. It wasn't bright enough to dispel the ghosts that seemed hidden around every corner.
But she was being silly, foolish. Nothing was going to happen to her, and besides, she'd never been afraid of the dark on St. Albans, had she? Maybe she should go to her room and try to sleep, but she discarded the idea almost immediately. She'd only have to get up again when Chad arrived.
Finally she settled on a glass of sherry in the parlor, a ritual she'd expected to give up while the aunts weren't here. The sherry was sure to have a calming effect, and tonight she certainly needed it.
The candle on the mantel in its tall old-fashioned sterling silver candlestick lit the parlor with a golden glow, dispelling some, but not all of the shadows. She splashed sherry from its cut-glass decanter into a stemmed monogrammed glass, then wandered over to sit on the old Victorian couch to wait for Chad, looking apprehensively over her shoulder before she sat down. Did she hear a faint scrabbling noise overhead? But Aunt Biz wou
ldn't put up with such a nuisance as mice. Squirrels, then. That's what they were. Squirrels, jumping from the branches of the oak tree to the roof. Paige pulled her feet up on the couch and huddled there, wishing Chad would hurry.
Seeking to occupy her mind with something, anything, to get it off the spookiness of the Manse in darkness, she puzzled over Glynis. Perhaps Glynis's presence explained Chad's usual eagerness to return to the Sea House every evening. No, that was impossible. Glynis could never have arrived and left St. Albans without either Paige or the aunts being aware of her. Unless she was completely mistaken, this was Glynis's only visit to St. Albans. But why had Chad invited her? There were all those papers, Chad's papers, that Glynis had made such a point of sorting. The papers only increased Paige's curiosity about Chad. There had been a stack of them, typed and double-spaced.
Paige poured herself another glass of sherry. She felt slightly less nervous about being alone in the big house, almost prepared to tackle the problems of the Manse's monster electrical wiring system when Chad returned. She peered at her watch, but the small numerals were too hard to read in this mellow half-light. It seemed as though Chad had been gone a very long time.
They were really such small glasses, she thought as she poured out still another glass of sherry, her third. Upstairs on the landing the grandfather clock chimed its mellifluous song, and somewhere in the middle Paige lost count and thought, oh well, what difference does it make what time it is?
She kicked off her sandals and lifted her feet up on the tiny footstool, its cover designed and worked in crewel by Aunt Sophie. Halfway through the glass of sherry she set it down on the little chest beside the couch and closed her eyes. Sherry was nice, she thought, wrapped up in the cozy cocoon of its warmth. Too bad that when the aunts were here they never got as far as a third glass.
If Chad had knocked when he came in, she would have had ample warning, but he didn't. Half dozing as she was, she hadn't even heard the chugging approach of the Marsh Mallow. He must have stood watching the candlelight flicker across her face, wondering whether he should disturb her or not. Finally he walked slowly into the parlor, making no sound. He stopped in front of the couch where she rested, and she, not knowing who it was, was frightened almost out of her wits. Her eyes flew open, and she comprehended only that the light from the candle was blocked by a solid masculine shape. She did what anyone, frightened as she was, would do. She screamed.
The Beach Bachelors Boxset (Three Complete Contemporary Romance Novels in One) (The Beach Bachelors Series) Page 24
