Once they were in the forest, the temperature dropped several degrees, and it almost felt damp. The massive mangrove tree roots twisted across their small dirt path, and they had to weave around them. He kept her hand firmly in his—there would be no injuries on this trip if he could help it. The dull roar of the waves was muted in the forest, replaced by a light screeching of birds and the rustle of wind through the canopy. The hike through the forest was short, and they soon broke out into the private beach beyond.
They kicked off their shoes and left them at the edge of the path, not wanting to get sand in them as they crossed the beach to the waterline. Bits of driftwood and rocks littered the sparkling white sand. There was no one on the beach. The cruise director had said the entire stretch of beach was privately owned. Eliza walked slightly ahead of him, her bare toes pushing through the sand and dark hair swinging as she walked.
At the edge of the water, crushed seashells snaked a line down the beach. He stepped back several meters from the encroaching tide and set down the basket and backpack. He fished out a blanket and spread it. The sand was already warm to the touch with the tropical sun beating down. They would have their beach time now and retreat to the house when the heat became too much. He motioned for her to sit. They watched the waves slowly lap the beach, rustling the quarry of broken shells and then retreating.
“Are you ready for lunch?” he asked.
“Is that what’s in the basket?”
“Yes. The Portofino made a special lunch, just for us.” He started to unpack the basket, and she raised her eyebrows at him, apparently impressed.
“They certainly seem to want to make you happy,” she said. The Portofino had done a spectacular job with lunch, he had to admit, with white china bowls and silverware wrapped in cloth napkins. There was a small platter of cubed fruits and fresh mozzarella salad, some antipasto, and a woven basket filled with slices of freshly baked bread. A bottle of sparkling water and two crystal glasses capped the meal. He handed her a glass, poured some sparkling water for each of them, and proposed a toast.
“To guilt-laden cruise line owners, for giving us a beautiful day,” he said. She smiled, they clinked glasses somewhat dramatically, and each took a sip. They buried their glasses partially in the sand so they would stay upright and busied themselves with the food.
“You’re right, the Italians do have excellent cuisine,” he said. They made small talk about the food, and he discovered she liked Thai and Mexican food as well as Italian, and yearned to travel all over the world. He loved the ease with which they could talk. She was always surprising him with her commentary, her sideways tilt on life. She was too terse, parsimonious with her words, and he felt he was always left wanting more from her. He knew there was more inside than she willingly shared, and that intrigued and frustrated him at the same time. He harassed her for some critical pieces of information, including her favorite flower and ice cream flavor.
When they were finished with eating, he packed away the food as she lay back on their blanket, dark sunglasses fixed in place and toes digging their way into the warm sand. Her eyes were closed behind the glasses. Her dark hair spilled across the light gray blanket, and he had the urge to scoop it up in his hands and press his face into it. Instead, he pulled out the book he had brought along. He lay down next to her on his stomach, close, so that his arm nearly grazed hers. Propped up on his elbows, he found the place he had earmarked last night. Without preamble, he started reading aloud from Pride and Prejudice …
“‘Elizabeth’s spirits soon rising to playfulness again, she wanted Mr. Darcy to account for his having ever fallen in love with her.’” David stole a glance at Eliza—she had immediately opened her eyes and turned on her side, watching him intently behind her sunglasses. He continued reading. “‘How could you begin? said she. I can comprehend your going on charmingly, when you had once made a beginning; but what could set you off in the first place?’
“‘I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.’” He looked sideways at her again, but she was saying nothing, so he kept on. “‘My beauty you had early withstood, and as for my manners—my behavior to you was at least always bordering on the uncivil, and I never spoke to you without rather wishing to give you pain than not. Now be sincere; did you admire me for my impertinence?’”
David couldn’t restrain a small smile now, thinking of Eliza’s impertinence. Of course, she was never uncivil, but she certainly had more than a bit in common with the outspoken lady heroine who stole Mr. Darcy’s heart. “‘For the liveliness of your mind, I did.’
“‘You may as well call it impertinence at once. It was very little less. The fact is that you were sick of civility, of deference, of officious attention. You were disgusted with the women who were always speaking, and looking, and thinking for your approbation alone. I roused, and interested you, because I was so unlike them.’” At this he nearly stopped, because she had touched him. Using her fingertip, she traced it along the back of his hand as it lay on the blanket. He held perfectly still, allowing it, and continued reading after only the barest of pauses.
“‘Had you not been really amiable, you would have hated me for it; but in spite of the pains you took to disguise yourself, your feelings were always noble and just; and in your heart, you thoroughly despised the persons who so assiduously courted you. There—I have saved you the trouble of accounting for it; and really, all things considered, I begin to think it perfectly reasonable. To be sure, you knew no actual good of me—but nobody thinks of that when they fall in love.’” Her fingers splayed out and traced a path up his arm. He felt his heart speed up with that light, unintentionally seductive touch. She edged a little closer to him, pretending to peer at the book, but mostly coming close enough to graze his arm with her body. He soldiered on.
“‘Was there no good in your affectionate behavior to Jane while she was ill at Netherfield?’
“‘Dearest Jane! Who could have done less for her? But make a virtue of it by all means. My good qualities are under your protection, and you are to exaggerate them as much as possible; and, in return, it belongs to me to find occasions for teasing and quarreling with you as often as may be … ’” Her fingers certainly teased him now, and had worked their way up his arm and over the thin layer of his short-sleeved shirt. She edged closer still, so she could reach her fingers into the hair at the back of his neck. He shivered, and he was having a hard time keeping his voice steady. This wasn’t exactly the response he had expected, but he was far from complaining about it.
“‘… and I shall begin directly by asking you what made you so unwilling to come to the point at last. What made you so shy of me, when you first called, and afterwards dined here? Why, especially, when you called, did you look as if you did not care about me?’” He thought ruefully of his first day with Eliza, wasted in his unwillingness to cross the arbitrary line in his head about propriety and gratitude. She pressed her body against his arm in an attempt to come close enough to breathe on his ear. His breathing became ragged.
“‘Because you were grave and silent, and gave me no encouragement.’” She sat up, all of a sudden, and seemed to be adjusting her clothes. He kept his eyes glued to the page, but wondered furiously what she would do next.
“‘But I was embarrassed.’
“‘And so was I.’
“‘You might have talked to me more when you came to dinner.’
“‘A man who had felt less, might.’” He glanced back at her. She had removed her shirt, revealing a thin blue bikini strap crossing her back. She lay down, eyes closed and sunglasses gone, her hands resting on her now bare stomach. The blue triangles of her bikini practically glowed next to the white satin of her skin. He lost any breath that he had left, not to mention his place on the page.
&nbs
p; “Keep reading,” she said, eyes still closed. That was possibly the most ridiculous thing she had ever said. One finger still holding his place in the book, he slid his hand across her stomach and curled it around her back. He pulled her close, tucking her halfway under him. He ardently pressed his lips into hers, feeling her come alive under him. He tossed the book aside, moving so he could more properly and thoroughly kiss her. Her hands gripped his shoulders and pulled him down. He was trying to not crush her with his weight, but she seemed to want him there, pinning her body to the blanket. He moved his kisses along her jaw, toward her ear and neck, greedy for the shiver that came when he did so. His hand lifted the small of her back slightly off the blanket to more insistently press her body into his. Stop now, stop now, his mind screamed, but his lips continued to kiss and nibble their way down her neck to her shoulder. Can’t do this … need to stop. A war raged between his desire for her and his better self that knew it was wrong—not here, not now. Eliza’s hands had moved between them again, reaching down. What was she doing? She seemed to be fumbling with the buttons on her shorts. Aagh! He grabbed her hands around the wrists and hauled them up over her head. Holding both of her small wrists in one hand, he propped himself up away from her body with the other.
“Eliza, please stop!” he said. His voice was hoarse, and he was shocked at how hard he was panting.
“Why?” Her eyes blazed, her voice whispery and raw.
“Because you are driving me crazy!” he said, stating the obvious. He loosened his hold on her hands, realizing his death grip might be painful to her. She worked one of her hands free, gripped him behind the neck, and drew him back to her.
“That’s the point,” she said. She pulled his face back down to her bare neck. He drew in a sharp breath, his mind whirling as his lips automatically kissed her neck. His hand grazed a line down her silken arms and around to her back again, feeling the thin line of the bikini strap. A simple pull …
“No!” he cried, using every ounce of restraint he could muster to push himself away from her. He rocked onto his back and elbows and completely separated from her. The shock and hurt of his violent departure were plain on her face.
“Why?” she whispered, her voice stricken.
“Because you are leaving tomorrow!” His frustration turned to anger and spilled out into his voice. She cringed away from him, and he wished he could suck the words back into his mouth. No, no, no. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She caved in on herself as she rolled up to a sitting position, fumbling for her shirt and trying to work her arms through the holes. He hovered over her, not wanting to touch her but needing to comfort her.
“No. Eliza. Please. I’m sorry.” He rushed the words out. She moved away from him, hiding her eyes by letting her hair fall over her face. He reached his arms around her and stopped her fumbling with the shirt. She struggled against him, but he didn’t let her go, locking his arms tight around her until she stopped and just sagged in his arms.
“Eliza, I’m sorry, so sorry,” he whispered, groveling as best he could. Her eyes were closed, but small tears leaked from the corners. Waves of guilt surged through him. He pressed his forehead lightly into her hair, closing his eyes and wishing he wasn’t such a complete idiot.
“I want you more than you can possibly know,” he whispered. She had to know that, with the way he reacted every time he was within arm’s reach of her. “I just … ” He searched for the thing that would make this better. “It would hurt too much.”
She flinched under his arms, causing fresh pain to stab through him. “Please, Eliza,” he begged, unable to think of anything else to do. “Please say you forgive me.” She didn’t move or speak.
They sat there, locked in silence for an agonizingly long minute. How had it come to this? He had tried to make this a perfect day, a last remembrance, and in a moment he had ruined it all. The agony of it was like a snake writhing inside him, biting and crushing him from the inside out. Finally, she took a long deep breath and straightened in his arms. He released her, and she turned to face him. The tears were wiped away by the wind, but he could still see the pain in her eyes.
She reached up and put her arms around him and hugged him. “It’s okay, David.”
He let out a gasp and pulled her into his lap. He held her for a long time. She finally pulled away from him, snuggling down in his arms the way she had the first time they kissed, resting her head on his shoulder and breathing softly on his neck. It still sent shivers down his spine, but more importantly, it told him that she forgave him—or at least that she didn’t hate him. He sighed, tension seeping out of his body.
They sat that way for a long time, not thinking, just being. After a while, the heat of the blazing sun made him realize she had never managed to put her shirt back on. He gently disentangled her from the shirt, untangled it from itself, and then slipped it over her head. She put her arms through it and then stared into his eyes for a moment, still sitting in his lap. She smiled and rose up. Before he could get too anxious that she might demand to leave, she held her hand out to him. He took it and sprung up from the blanket.
They drifted down the beach, holding hands. The ocean occasionally washed their toes with warm Atlantic salt water. They spared their tender feet from the broken shells by walking just outside the water line. He spotted one white, perfect half shell, unbroken and glistening on the wet sand. He bent to pick it up. It wasn’t pure white, but had a faint touch of pink—the exact color of the blush that rose in Eliza’s cheeks. He slipped the shell into his pocket.
His heart ached from the hurt he had caused her, but fingering the shell in his pocket somehow eased the pain. He stopped walking and pulled her around to face him, gazing into her warm brown eyes. The agony was gone, but they were rimmed in red. He kissed her lightly on her eyelids, her forehead, and her cheeks, wishing he could kiss away the sadness. She smiled at him, the true Eliza smile that he treasured.
“Do you want to leave?” He had to ask. She had hardly spoken, and he wanted her to know she was not trapped here with him.
“No.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. He waited, inwardly trembling at what she was gathering her courage to say. “David, I want to spend every moment with you that I can.” A small, shy smile graced her face.
He exhaled involuntarily. It occurred to him that he didn’t deserve her, and that he would do just about anything for her. “Your wish is my command.” He smiled and bent to softly kiss her.
Chapter 10
Farewell
The embarrassment still burned in her chest like a tiny flame licking at her heart. Earlier, on the beach, she thought it would consume her. Only David’s obvious pain kept her from simply fleeing. He had been so gentle, begging her to forgive him—her forgive him—when she was the one who had presumed way too much.
She lay on the couch with him now, her head on a pillow in his lap, staring at the fire he had insisted on starting. It fascinated him that the massive white stone fireplace started with the push of a button, so it blazed in front of them, in spite of the tropical heat seeping into the house. He idly played with her hair as it fanned out across the pillow, occasionally stroking her head as well.
What had possessed her to throw herself at him on the beach? She knew the answer, but it was painful to admit. She had wanted something to remember him by, after their tragically brief time together. It seemed logical—he was incredibly handsome, she loved him, and she was never going to see him again. Now she cringed, thinking she had nearly made the same mistake as her mother, caught up in a whirlwind summer romance that would amount to nothing. Worse, her ridiculous attempt at seduction had briefly threatened to ruin the beautiful moment they had. When David pulled away from her, saying it would hurt too much to be with her, the pain had sliced through her. Eventually, it had dawned on her that David had stopped because he actually cared about her—that it woul
d hurt him too much to love her and then never see her again. That had settled her heart into an aching sadness at how little time they had. He was everything she had hoped to find in someone and several things it hadn’t occurred to her to look for.
“What are you thinking?” he asked, pulling her back into the present.
She looked up at him, finding concern etched on his face. “I was thinking about you,” she said, not wanting to lie.
He smiled, blue eyes sparkling. “What about me?”
Her voice caught in her throat. She didn’t know if she could say the things she was feeling. She touched his face with her fingertips. She loved doing that. “About how good you are to me,” she whispered.
His face changed abruptly, and he seemed staggered by what she said. He recovered quickly. “You deserve someone who will treat you right, Eliza. Promise me …” He blinked and looked away.
“What?” she asked.
When he looked back at her, his face was severe. “Promise me you won’t ever settle for anything less.” Then his face softened. “Okay?”
She nodded and looked away before she could start to cry. Cursed tears always showed up at the least convenient of times. He went back to stroking her head and running his fingers through her hair.
She cleared her throat. “This place is amazing.” Her eyes swept the room, taking in the polished wooden beams of the floor and the modern furniture. It was easily the most luxurious house she had ever been in. “Can you imagine living here?”
He gave a short laugh. “Well, that’s not likely on a Navy salary.” His tone turned serious. “Is that important to you?”
Curiosity burned in his eyes, and it always sent her stomach fluttering. She sat up, so she could rest her hand on the back of the couch and stroke his shoulder. She wanted to touch him while she still could. “Not really. It’s kind of impersonal, don’t you think?” she said. “It’s beautiful, but it would be like living in a magazine.”
Life, Liberty, and Pursuit Page 12
