Safe in His Arms

by Christine Scott

  Her question was answered before she even finished asking. A short way down the hall, he stopped, flicking on the lights in the bathroom. The floors were white tile with black trim. An old-fashioned clawfoot tub stood to one side.

  Wordlessly, Samuel lowered her feet to the floor, until she was standing unsteadily beside him. Turning on the taps, he allowed the water to flow into the tub. Then he turned to her and slowly began to undress her.

  With an impatience matching her own, he slipped off her tank top and unfastened her bra, dropping them both to the floor. The air felt cool against her clammy skin. Letting his eyes, not his hands, caress her, he took off her tennis shoes, then undid the button of her cutoffs. Jessie trembled as he slid them down, past her hips and over her thighs. He steadied her as she stepped out of them. They joined the quickly growing pile of clothes. When he hooked his fingers around the band of her panties, a delicious thrill coursed through her. Slipping them off, he dropped them, too.

  Steam rose from the tub, filling the room with moist clouds. When she reached for the zipper of his jeans, he brushed her hands away. Stripping out of his clothes, he tossed them aside and paused long enough to allow a moment for them to study each other.

  Then, taking her hand in his, together they stepped into the tub. Slowly they lowered themselves into the soothing hot water, positioning themselves so that they faced each other. Tilting her head back, Jessie sluiced water through her hair. Samuel reached for the shampoo, pouring it into his cupped hand. Turning her around, with her back to him, he gently worked the suds into her silky strands. Jessie closed her eyes and gave in to the sensations flowing through her body, cataloging each new feeling and storing it in her mind for a later day. For if this were to be their last time together, she didn’t want to forget even a moment of it.

  Lowering her head, he rinsed away the shampoo under the tap. Then, he traded places with her, shampooing his own hair, letting the steamy water wash away the bubbles.

  They took turns soaping each other. Their hands slippery as they glided their fingers over each other’s body. Not an inch of skin went untended. Carefully they cleansed away the remnants of the day’s toil, reveling in the moans of pleasure their ministrations brought. By the time they were finished, Jessie felt weak with wanting him, weak with a need only he could fulfill.

  Samuel unplugged the drain and stepped out of the tub. Grabbing a towel, he hurried to wrap her in its cocoon of warmth. Impatiently he hitched another towel around his waist, then half led, half carried her out of the bathroom.

  With their lips melded in a kiss, they stumbled into a bedroom that Jessie knew must be his. Tangled in each other’s arms, the boxsprings sighed as they fell across the length of the brass bed.

  Flicking aside his skimpy towel, Jessie indulged herself in an orgy of touching and exploring. Closing his eyes, Samuel lay back against the bedspread and gave in to her caresses. She ran her fingers through the damp hair of his chest, past the smooth flatness of his stomach, stopping only to cover him with her hand. Slowly, with a boldness she’d never felt before, she gave him pleasure.

  Until he could stand no more. With a low moan, he rolled to his side and pushed her down onto the bed. His impatient touch stoked a fire in her belly, making her hot and breathless with desire.

  By the time he entered her, she was warm and moist and past the point of readiness. She nearly cried out, overwhelmed by the emotions of the moment as he filled her. Did in fact, when he thrust himself even deeper.

  They mated with a fierceness that startled yet thrilled her. There was an urgency that wasn’t there before, an urgency that came from not knowing what tomorrow might bring. For all she knew, this very well might be their last chance to make love. Neither of them, it seemed, wanted to waste a second of their time together.

  All too soon the world shattered around her. Jessie’s breath quickened, catching in her throat. Her pulse throbbed in her veins. Raking her fingers down his back, heat flushed her body as she reached the shuddering point of climax. Her limbs still shaking from the impact, she wrapped herself around him and clung to him.

  When it was over, they lay exhausted in each other’s arms.

  Jessie listened to the sound of his breath as it slowly returned to normal. She measured the beat of his heart next to hers. The damp towels were sodden beneath them. Her hair was still wet, curling about her face. Her stomach ached with hunger. But none of the discomforts mattered.

  Not as long as he still held her.

  She knew she would always be safe in his arms.

  Chapter 13

  “The key is the diary,” Jessie insisted.

  With the memory of making love to her still fresh in his mind, Samuel frowned, finding it hard to concentrate as she moved about his kitchen dressed in one of his T-shirts. Her own clothes were in the washer, being cleaned as they prepared omelettes for dinner. While the T-shirt skimmed the tops of her knees, it did little to hide her lush curves. But that wasn’t what bothered him. What bothered him was the fact that she wore nothing underneath.

  She cracked an egg into a mixing bowl, adding it to the others already waiting. Pouring in milk, she picked up a fork and whisked the mixture into a froth. “Dora said my mother had many admirers. Her killer could have been any of them. If we could only find the diary, then maybe we could identify a man who might have been harassing her…someone who didn’t want to take no for an answer.”

  Samuel shook his head. “We’re grasping at straws. We don’t even know for sure that there is a diary. We only have Dora’s word that it exists.”

  “That’s why we have to look for it,” she insisted.

  “Jessie, even if we found the diary, who’s to say there’ll be proof in it that Eve was being harassed?”

  “What else could it have been?” she demanded, her fork clicking rapidly against the sides of the bowl. “My mother had just moved into Gull’s Cottage for the summer. She wasn’t here long enough to make an enemy.”

  “What about a jealous wife?” he pointed out. “Dora also said that the women of the town had clamped down on their husbands’ wayward activities. What if one of these husbands didn’t want to comply with his wife’s wishes?”

  Her hand stilled. She bit her lower lip, considering the possibility. Shrugging, she said, “I suppose there’s a chance…you know what they say about a woman scorned.” She looked at him, her gaze anxious. “Can you remember anything anyone might have said back then? Any gossip that might have been going around town?”

  “You mean, gossip other than about my own parents?” he asked, unable to keep the bitterness from his tone.

  Jessie’s enthusiasm faltered. A contrite expression crossed her face. “I’m sorry, Samuel.”

  Not as sorry as he was. No matter what they did, no matter how many different angles they looked at the situation from, it didn’t change the facts. The trail to Eve Pierce’s murderer always seemed to lead to his father.

  Perhaps it was time to give up, Samuel told himself. Time to end this fruitless search. Time to admit the truth—that his father had been the man who had killed Jessie’s mother.

  “It wasn’t your father,” Jessie said softly, as though she had read his mind.

  He met her gaze, holding it for a long moment. “How can you be so sure? Everyone else seems to believe he was guilty.”

  “Not everyone…Dora doesn’t believe it.”

  He sighed. “Dora was my father’s friend. They’d known each other since they were children. She’ll never think the worst of him.”

  “There are others, Samuel. Not everyone on this island has abandoned you and your family. Just because Sheriff Broward is so adamant—”

  “Sheriff Broward?” Samuel frowned. The mention of his name struck a nerve, leaving him uneasy. There was something about the man, more than just his swaggering conceit, that bothered Samuel. The night of the shooting at Gull’s Cottage, Broward had seemed defensive, angry when they’d questioned his investigation into Eve
Pierce’s death. It was more than just protecting his integrity. He’d acted like a man fighting his way out of a corner.

  “Sheriff Broward is a pompous jerk. I don’t care what he says,” Jessie said, interrupting his thoughts. “Your father wasn’t guilty, Samuel. Any man who could have raised a son as good and honest as you are couldn’t possibly have lifted a hand to kill another person. No matter what the circumstances might have been.”

  He stared at her, wanting to believe it.

  At his silence she continued, “What about the break-in? And the shooting? If your father was the killer, then how do you explain them? Don’t you see, Samuel? Someone believes we’re getting too close to the truth.”

  He hesitated, considering the possibility.

  “Samuel, you know I’m right. If we weren’t making someone nervous, then why would they go to the trouble of trying to hurt us?”

  “Not hurt us, scare us,” he said thoughtfully. “Whoever’s behind the break-in and the shooting, they had no intention of hurting either of us. If they had, we wouldn’t be standing here now. It was a warning, Jessie, nothing more.”

  “A warning about what?”

  “About sifting through the past. Someone out there is afraid of what we might turn up.”

  “What we’ll turn up is the truth behind my mother’s murder,” Jessie insisted.

  “Or just a scandal that someone would rather keep buried,” Samuel returned, forcing himself to be the voice of reason. “I’ll agree, this person—whoever it is that’s been harassing us—might be guilty. But they may not be guilty of murder.”

  Carefully Jessie placed the fork on the counter. She folded her hands at her waist and studied him, her expression defensive. “Why are you doing this, Samuel? Why are you trying to discourage me?”

  “I’m not trying to discourage you.” With a sigh Samuel rose from his seat at the table. He closed the distance between them and placed his hands on her shoulders. She held herself stiff, refusing to give in to his embrace. “Jessie, all that I’m trying to say is that I don’t want either of us to build up our hopes too high. We need to be prepared for the worst. We need to keep our minds open to all possibilities, including the fact that the past cannot be changed.”

  “So, you’re ready to believe Sheriff Broward. You want to give up on proving your father’s innocence.”

  “No,” he said, suddenly feeling very tired. “I’m telling you that I’ve been through this before. I’ve already tried to clear my father’s name. I don’t savor the idea of failing him again.”

  “You haven’t failed him, Samuel,” she whispered. Lifting a hand, she brushed her fingers through his hair and looked at him with a tenderness that made his heart melt. “You were a boy when he died. There was only so much you could do.”

  “I’m not a child anymore,” he said, meeting her gaze. “And I still can’t seem to do anything to help him.”

  “That’s why we can’t give up,” she said, with a determination he did not share. “No matter what our search uncovers, no matter how unpleasant it might be, we still have to know the truth. We can’t live like this anymore. At least, I can’t—” Her voice broke. Clearing her throat, she said, “Samuel, I need to find out who the monster is in my dream, the one that won’t let me sleep.”

  Quietly he said, “And what if the monster in your dream is my father?”

  She swallowed hard. He saw the muscles working in her slender throat, the uncertainty shadowing her eyes. “Then that is something we will have to deal with when the time comes.”

  If their search uncovered the fact that his father was guilty of the crime for which he’d been convicted, what sort of future did that leave for him and Jessie? Surely not one in which they could be together. For how could they face each other without their loyalties being challenged? How could they live with a constant reminder of such a horrible event?

  He’d been right all along.

  No matter how much he cared for her, it was hopeless. He and Jessie had no future. They never did have.

  Numbly he said, “You’ll stay here tonight, where I can keep an eye on you. I’ll sleep better knowing you’re safe. In the morning we’ll keep digging. We won’t quit, no matter what we turn up.”

  Her brow furrowed into a cautious frown. “Are you sure this is what you want, Samuel?”

  “No, I’m not sure of anything,” he admitted, his voice echoing the hollowness of his heart. “But it’s too late to stop now…even if we wanted to.”

  The next morning a long shiver racked Jessie’s body as they approached Gull’s Cottage. She attributed her disquiet to lack of sleep. Last night, despite the reassuring warmth of Samuel’s body next to hers, she’d been unable to escape the terror of her nightmares.

  The monster in her dream would not let her rest.

  Instead, she’d lain awake, watching as Samuel slept. She’d counted down the minutes until dawn, listening to each soft breath he drew. Her rapt gaze had followed the rise and fall of his chest. Silently she had marveled at the strength and power of his body, wishing she had the courage to wake him.

  Then, as the golden rays of dawn filtered in through the closed curtains, Samuel had finally stirred. They’d made love one last time. And, when it was over, neither of them had commented on the desperation that had fueled their passion. But she suspected they both knew its source had been fear. Fear that their time together was near an end.

  Now, in his truck, with clouds crowded in the morning sky, she looked in bleary-eyed dismay at the house that was hers. Compared to Samuel’s warm and cozy home, Gull’s Cottage seemed so cold and uninviting. Though she would never admit it to Samuel, she dreaded the thought of going back inside.

  Gravel crunched beneath the tires, as he pulled the truck into the driveway. Turning off the ignition, he sat in silence and stared at the house. Finally he glanced beside him, focusing his gaze upon her. “Ready?”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be,” she said, striving for a light tone and failing. At Samuel’s frown of concern, she forced herself to move. Pushing open the door, she stepped outside beneath the cloud-filled sky.

  A rumble of thunder, warning of an approaching storm, sounded as Samuel joined her on the stone path. Together they strode to the front door, their feet scraping against the uneven walkway. The small square of plywood covering the broken window in the door brought a chilling reminder. Last night, safely ensconced in Samuel’s protective arms, even though she’d had her nightmares, the break-in and the shooting had seemed ages ago. She’d almost forgotten the vulnerability, the horror she’d felt at such a violation.

  Pushing the troubling thought from her mind, she unlocked the front door and swung it open. When she started to enter, Samuel placed a staying hand on her arm. Jessie looked at him questioningly.

  “Let me go first,” he said quietly, “just to be on the safe side.”

  Trying not to let her relief show, Jessie nodded, stepping back to let him pass. With Samuel in the lead, they moved into the foyer. An eerie silence welcomed them, marred only by the erratic thumping of her heart.

  Because of the inclement weather, the rooms were dark, forbidding. Samuel snapped on an overhead light and stepped into the living room.

  Jessie hesitated, feeling rooted to the spot in the middle of the foyer. Instead of following him, she stood frozen, listening as he moved about the house, chiding herself for letting her fears get the better of her. Whoever had broken into Gull’s Cottage had done so when no one was home, she told herself. The shooting had occurred at night, under the cover of darkness. Obviously the person harassing her and Samuel didn’t want to be identified. There was no need for her to worry that she would be harmed in the middle of the day.

  Samuel’s footsteps grew louder as he returned to the foyer. His expression grim, he said, “It’s all clear.”

  “Good,” she said with a sigh of relief.

  His gaze narrowed as he searched her face. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”<
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  “Don’t be silly, Samuel. You need to check on the boat. You said it was important, right?”

  “Right,” he said, averting his gaze, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

  Jessie frowned. If she didn’t know better, she would say Samuel wasn’t being completely honest with her. But why? What possible reason would he have to lie? Brushing aside the unsettling thought, she said, “Samuel, you need to leave. And I want to start looking for the diary. Both of us can’t be together in two different places at the same time.”

  Scowling, he glanced around the house, taking in the ruined couch and the torn pictures. “What if something happens? I won’t be here to help you.”

  “Nothing will happen,” she said with more conviction than she actually felt. While she was touched by his concern, it was time for her to learn to stand up for herself. With their future so uncertain, she couldn’t become dependent upon him. “Besides, Dora’s just next door. If I need to, I can always go to her.”

  Jessie’s face warmed at the lie. Her neighbor was the last person she’d turn to for help. Dora might be Samuel’s friend, but she had yet to feel comfortable in the other woman’s presence. There’d been something distasteful about the pleasure Dora had taken in revealing to Jessie her mother’s sordid reputation.

  “Look, Samuel, what I’m trying to say is…we just can’t be together every second of the day. Our lives can’t be put on hold indefinitely.”

  He sighed. “All right, I’ll go. But I shouldn’t be long.”

  “Take your time,” she said, forcing a smile. “There’s no need to rush.”

  His gaze lingered on her face, as though searching for the truth. Reluctantly he turned to go. Two steps away from the door, with his hand on the knob, he hesitated. Whirling to face her, he said sternly, “Make sure you lock the door behind me.”