Theresa Weir - Iguana Bay

by Iguana Bay [SIM-339] (lit)

  Now her main concern was getting through the next few hours. She picked up her purse, slung it over her shoulder and followed Dylan out of the beach house, through the night to the dock.

  And this time she let him help her into the boat. She took her place in the passenger seat and waited, hands clasped tightly in her lap.

  Above them, it seemed that every star in the sky was .shining. Elise had never seen such a clear night. She'd never known the sky was so big. Below, the ocean was black, laced with dancing silver reflections.

  Dylan deftly untied the boat from its moorings, then started the motor. Then he eased the throttle open and they headed out toward open water.

  Do something, say something, she told herself.

  What? What was there to say? Small talk? Large talk? Something like, Dylan, I know this is going to sound crazy, but I think I love you?

  It did sound crazy. Even to her it sounded crazy. People would think she'd been brainwashed.

  A half hour later the motor faded to silence and the boat's hull sank into the water.

  Dylan moved aft and opened a compartment. "Just thought we'd stop for a minute," he said, tossing the anchor over the side. "That okay with you?"

  "Fine."

  More than fine. Better than fine. She wanted this time to last. She was secretly surprised and pleased to find that he wasn't as anxious to be rid of her as she'd thought.

  He settled back beside her, resting his bare feet on the siderail, hands behind his head, turning his attention to the sky.

  The wind was cool and damp on her skin, but Elise wasn't cold. There was an unreality-or maybe more like something magic-about being out here in the middle of the ocean, in the middle of the night, the stars like a blanket above them, Dylan beside her.

  "Really something, isn't it?" he asked, head tilted back.

  "I've never seen so many stars." It wasn't an exaggeration. She'd never even seen so much sky at one time.

  "I think this is where one of us is supposed to say that it makes a person feel small and insignificant."

  "Or blessed..."

  As soon as she'd said it, she felt self-conscious. It wasn't like her to spill her emotions or get melodramatic.

  "Yeah." His voice was thoughtful. "Maybe that's it." Then, "See the Milky Way?"

  She looked in the direction he pointed to the cloudy mist of fine glitter.

  "From here, the Milky Way looks flat, but we're actually part of a spiral galaxy. See that cluster of different colored stars?"

  She searched, but they all looked the same to her. "No..."

  "Come here."

  He stood. Her hand automatically went to his, and he pulled her up beside him.

  "Look at the Milky Way again."

  Her eyes shifted…

  "Now look at the southern section of it. See that group of different colored stars?"

  "No ..."

  He bent his knees and brought his face closer to hers, to check her perspective. She felt his fingers on her chin, gently turning, her face a fraction of an inch.

  "How about now?"

  "Yes!" They were different colors!

  "That's what's called the Jewel Box of the Milky Way," he explained. "It's about eight thousand light years from us. Now, see those four bright stars beside it?"

  She nodded.

  "That's the Southern Cross."

  Yes! She could see that, too! The bottom star was practically touching the ocean.

  "The Southern Cross can't be seen unless you're at latitude twenty-five degrees north, which leaves out all the continental United States."

  She turned toward him. The brightness of the night provided enough light for her to make out his features. It hadn't been that way at first, but now, looking at his face, she could almost see his past. She could see evidence of suffering and pain. The fine lines at the corners of his eyes told of sensitivity... sensuality.

  "Thank you," she told him, knowing he would think she was thanking him for showing her the stars. And she was. But she was also thanking him for being who he was, for being him. For playing One Thousand Questions, for building a boat, for raising homing pigeons, for taking her fishing, for saving someone's life.

  For kidnapping her. For taking her back ...

  "Don't thank me, Elise. You don't have anything to thank me for."

  "Yes, I do. I've never seen the Southern Cross."

  And I'll probably never see it again. And soon, very soon, I'll never see you again.

  "Ah, Elise..."

  As if unable to help himself, he pulled her close, threading the fingers of both hands through her hair, all the way to the ends, letting the strands slip through his fingers to slowly fall against her neck.

  "I've done a lot of crazy things in my life," he said, "but I have a feeling that taking you back is going to be the craziest."

  He lowered his head, and then his mouth was touching hers, moving over hers. She could taste his warmth, taste the ocean spray on his soft lips. y

  She wanted him. And she knew he wanted her. But she detected a gentle caution in him. The caution that was always there, in some small degree or another, etched deeply, all the way to his soul.

  His lips left hers, and he set her away, holding her at arm's length so that he was able to look down at her face. "What I said that day on the boat ... about not wanting you ... It wasn't true."

  Her breath caught. Her heart jumped. Her head was humming.

  This was it. Now was the time to put a stop to this if she was going to, if she wanted to. But she didn't want to. She swallowed. "I'm glad. I'm glad you want me."

  He smiled, slowly, beautifully. Maybe a little wistfully. "You are?"

  "Yes."

  And still he hung back, as if waiting for her to make the first move, giving her a chance to turn back. But she didn't want to.

  He thought she was experienced, thought-she'd done this too many times to count, with more men than she could possibly remember. He thought she was Sebastian's woman. He thought she stood for everything he hated, and yet, in spite of himself, in spite of everything, he still wanted her.,

  She looked up into his questioning eyes, eyes full of dark desire..

  She felt a stirring of fear-fear of the unknown-but she tamped it down, pushed it away. She slipped her hand under his soft T-shirt, felt him shudder. Beneath her trembling palms, his skin felt hot and satiny smooth. "Pretend this is my first time," she whispered. "Just pretend."

  Chapter 13

  Pretend?

  This was unfamiliar territory for Dylan.

  Here Elise was, asking him to treat her as if she'd never made love, when they'd both made quite a few trips around the block. And in all that time, over all those years, he'd never had any experience with a virgin. He knew nothing about such things. In fact, the only experience he'd had with virginity was when he'd lost his own at sixteen. And it hadn't even been memorable. Nothing for Dear Diary.

  Among his peers, it was considered wimpy if a guy was still a virgin at sixteen, but arriving at non-virgin status hadn't been an important goal in Dylan's life, not like it had been with most of his buddies. He hadn't been obsessed with attaining that macho state of studhood. Oh, he'd had the same hormonal urges, but they hadn't been anything a few hundred push-ups couldn't cure. He'd never felt the need to prove himself.

  So when he had a run-in with Bethany Ann, it just hadn't seemed fair.

  He'd gone to a party and gotten a little blitzed, so he'd decided to walk home and let the night air clear his head. Next thing he knew, Bethany was pulling up beside him in a convertible purchased by her daddy, asking Dylan if he needed a ride.

  He'd seen her around, seen her picture in the year-book, noticed her legs that went on forever, her chest that defied gravity. He knew she'd been Prom Queen and Football Queen, but he'd never talked to her. They ran in different circles. Completely different circles. She was Country Club, fancy dresses and high tea; he was pool hall, pinball machines and greasy T-shirts.
<
br />   But that didn't keep him from accepting her offer.

  Instead of taking him home, she'd taken him parking on a secluded back road.

  Wham, bam, thank you, sir.

  Not that he'd fought her off-he hadn't been practicing to be a monk or anything. When opportunity knocks...

  When he got home, he found out that she'd branded him with a matched set of talon marks across his back and the biggest, most disgusting-looking hickey he'd ever seen. It took three weeks to go away.

  And since then, that was how it had always been. Women had come to him. Some he'd taken, some he'd passed on. But when he took them, he always kept a part of himself locked away, removed. He never felt a deep need. He never lost his cool, never lost control.

  But now, looking down at Elise, seeing her face free of makeup, her clean dark hair smooth and unpretentious, seeming so much a contrast to all of the women he'd ever known, he could almost believe she was innocent. And, God, how he wanted to forget that Sebastian had ever touched her.

  Sebastian.

  It was hard to believe that he and Sebastian could be attracted to the same woman. Sebastian himself couldn't have devised anything more sadistic.

  "Pretend?" Dylan asked. "It's been a long time since I pretended anything."

  The moonlight reflected from her heavy-lidded eyes; her soft lips were parted in shy desire. Her small hands were on his sides, stroking his hot bare skin. He could feel every finger, every fingertip, every palm line, and knew that when she took her hands away, permanent impressions would be left on his tingling flesh.

  "How long? How long has it been since you've pretended anything, Dylan?"

  His legs were braced against the gently rolling deck; his hands were on her shoulders, poised to hold her back-or pull her close.

  "Years."

  "Since Spaceman Bob?"

  "Yeah." He smiled. How had she remembered a throwaway comment like that?

  The sounds of the ocean seemed to coax. The waves lapped against the hull.

  Rhythmic. Hypnotic.

  Night wind played with both their hair, whipping it around them. Salt water skimmed bare skin.

  For the past ten years Dylan had lived in a world of deception, where nothing was as it seemed. Where people lied and cheated and killed, where they turned on one another like rats in an overcrowded cage.

  It hadn’t taken him long to learn to distrust rather than trust. And now here he was, going against everything he’d learned. Here he was, holding Elise Ramsey’s warm sweet body in his arms.

  The truth was, he was afraid of her-because when he was around her, he lost control. With her, he forgot who he was, what he was.

  He forgot about the darkness in him.

  Her hands began to move higher across his heated flesh, making his heart jump, his breath catch in his throat. The fingers of one hand made contact with a flat nipple and proceeded to stroke it. Back and forth … "But you remember how to pretend, don’t you?"

  He shrugged, the movement at odds with his racing heart, with the blood pumping through his veins. “I don’t know”.

  He wanted her. God, how he wanted her.

  Don’t do it, he told himself. She’s Sebastian’s woman. But he knew it was too late.

  He hadn’t wanted very many things in his life, but he wanted Elise. More than he’d wanted anything, ever. He wanted to touch her everywhere, commit her body to memory. Savor every soft sound, every soft touch.

  He wanted to love her.

  And he dimly realized, with a logic he found hard to ignore, that the wanting he felt wasn’t just about now, wasn’t about a few moments spent achieving sexual gratification. This was more.

  Let her go.

  She belonged to Sebastian.

  “Dylan…?”

  There was an unsure tremor in her voice, as if she doubted her appeal, doubted he could want her in any way.

  Looking at her, listening to her, feeling her tremble beneath his hands, he could almost believe she’d never done this kind of thing before, almost believe she was innocent…

  He thought about yesterday, when she’d found his badge. She’d cried for him. That meant she cared for him, at least a little. He didn’t know why, or how it had happened, but she cared.

  If she could love me…

  His mind closed on that thought.

  In a very strange, un-Dylan-like flash of insight, he suddenly saw things quite clearly. It didn’t matter that Sebastian had touched her, because this wasn’t about Sebastian. It had nothing to do with Sebastian…

  This was about Elise and Dylan, nobody else. And in a way, it would be a first-at least for him, anyway. And maybe, just maybe, for her.

  Because he’d never really made love before. He’d tried to think of it as making love, but it had always been sex. Even with Melissa. Great sex, but sex all the same. But now he had the feeling that with Elise it was going to be different. It would be more than sex. Dylan was going to make love to Elise Ramsey. Long, slow, fiery love. He wanted to make her toes curl, make her moan and call his name.

  He brought up his hands to gently cup her face. “If this were your first time, you know what I’d do?” he asked, one thumb stroking her jaw.

  “What?”

  Her breathless anticipation sent his temperature up another degree. Her hands were stroking his stomach, her knuckles skimming his flesh just above the loose waistband of his jeans, making his muscles tighten.

  “I’d be careful not to scare you, not to go too fast. I’d be gentle. Slow.”

  He heard her breath catch, sensed that she held it, waiting.

  "I'd monitor your pulse rate... make sure we were both traveling at the same speed." He lowered his head and pressed his open mouth to the place below her ear. He tasted her smooth skin, felt her pulse jump under his tongue.

  She sighed a pleasure sigh and let her head fall back.

  His senses were heightened. Tonight the stars were brighter, the air fresher, the ocean seeming to hold more secrets....

  And Elise...

  Her skin was softer than any he'd ever felt, tasted better than any he'd ever tasted. Her body was sweeter, his need of her greater.... Far, far greater.

  Her small hands were caressing his body. Her breathless voice, her deep sighs, all combined to drive him crazy. He didn't want to let her go, not even for a minute. But he finally did, just long enough to open the bench seat and pull out a blanket. He spread it out on the deck, then reached up and peeled off his shirt, dropping it behind him.

  Then he was reaching for her again. He slipped the T-shirt up until she raised her arms so that he could lift it over her head.

  "How slow is slow?" she asked with that newly acquired huskiness that did strange things to his insides.

  He let the T-shirt fall from his fingers. "Are you familiar with thick molasses?"

  She laughed softly, deep in her throat. "That's what my whole body feels like right now."

  "You don't know how glad I am to hear that."

  "You're not in any hurry?"

  Looking at her standing there in skimpy cutoffs and a sheer bra, he suddenly felt in very much of a hurry. But he fought it.

  "We have all sorts of time," he said, reminding himself as much as Elise. "All night."

  All night.

  Dylan had been on all-night stakeouts that had seemed to drag on for a lifetime. But he had the feeling that tonight would simply be a flash, a shooting star, gone before it could be fully appreciated, fully savored. But he was going, to try. Lord, how he was going to try.

  Nature's lights shone down on them. In the soft glow Elise's skin was ivory. "Your skin..." He was used to deeply tanned women, and her pale skin seemed fresh and exotic. Exciting.

  "My skin?" That nervous doubt was in her voice again. "Is something wrong?"

  Through the sheerness of her bra, he could see two dark circles straining against the fabric. He brushed a thumb across each confined nipple, making it harden, making Elise catch her breath. H
e reached behind her and unhooked her bra, then slid the thin straps down her arms, freeing her breasts, baring them to the moonlight and starlight and his gaze. He'd never seen breasts so creamy white, nipples so pink, so innocent.

  "Your skin-" he took a deep, shuddering breath "-is beautiful. I just wish I could see you even better."

  "Feel me.... Just feel me...."

  He brought both hands up to caress her sides, moving up her rib cage. Touching... stroking... fingers barely brushing the sensitive flesh of her breasts, lifting them.

  She let out another sigh, closed her eyes and swayed toward him, her fingers digging into his shoulders. Her back was arched, her breasts lifted toward him, begging to be touched, begging to be tasted.

  "I've dreamed of doing this, of touching you like this," he whispered hoarsely. His hands slid around soft curves so that he could mold her round fullness to his hands, finally able to feel the taut, velvet-edged nipples against his palms. He began a slow, gentle massaging motion.

  A tremor ran through her.

  "Cold?" he whispered.

  "No." A breath, so light he could barely hear it. "Hot?"

  "Yes." Her voice, like her body, trembled. Under his hands her breasts swelled, heated.

  "Me too." His own voice was less than steady.

  Starting between her breasts, he skimmed his knuckles down her middle, inch by inch, down to the waistband of her jeans. Once there, he slipped his hand inside, fingers spread against her taut abdomen. He moved lower so that he could feel her heat through the silkiness of her panties.

  He squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them. Slow.

  He brought his hand back to the waistband of her jeans. With deft fingers he slipped the flat metal button free of the frayed buttonhole and tugged down the zipper.

  The boat rolled, and she grasped his shoulders, steadying herself while he slipped the soft denim over the curve of her hips until the cutoffs dropped around her bare feet and she stepped free.

  The boat pitched again, and she fell against him, the warm apex of her legs colliding with his aching desire. His mouth found hers, and he drove his tongue past her soft lips, deep inside, tasting her hot sweetness, his need growing, growing. He lifted her closer, pressing harder.