by BJ James
Mesmerized, Eden had watched him throughout their journey. Now the transformation was complete. He’d emerged from the shell that surrounded him like a marvelous animal waking from a pain-filled sleep. And, God help her, he was still so wickedly charming her heart hadn’t a chance of surviving him intact.
Seeing Adams like this was more than she’d dared to hope for and all she feared. Yet, when his hand closed over hers, drawing her before him, Eden wished desperately this day would never end, that he could always be like this.
“Do you remember?” he asked against her cheek as his body fit closely with hers.
“The summer you taught me to sail?”
“Mm-hmm.” He laughed softly. “Of all the musketeers, you were my best pupil.”
“That’s because I was your oldest pupil, Adams. Also, because you cut me some slack because I was the smallest.”
“You were a little thing then. But not anymore.”
“I grew.”
“I’d say so.” Adams chuckled. “In all the right places.”
“Okay, smarty,” Eden drawled. “I’m talking inches.”
“So am I, sweetheart. So am I.”
Eden searched for a snappy comeback, but before her befuddled mind could manage one, as the sloop passed an uninhabited cay, Summer Island came into view.
The next few minutes were spent tacking along the riverside of the island to the first in a scattered row of docks dotting the bank. Securing the sloop went smoothly and quickly. Adams was first on the dock, then he turned to her with the courtesy she’d once expected and had come to expect again.
“Summer Island hasn’t changed much,” Adams observed as they strolled side by side along the boardwalk from the dock, past the house, then to the shore. “Sea Watch,” Adams read the name etched into a piece of drift. “Who lives here?”
“Friends. Recent friends—no one you would know. Devlin O’Hara bought this house a few years ago. It was a belated wedding gift for his wife, Kate.”
“He loves her,” Adams asserted, staring up at the massive structure of Sea Watch. A house that was perfect in its surroundings. A house as lovely as any he’d ever seen anywhere in the world.
“It took them a while to admit it, but I’ve never seen two people more in love. I’d like you to meet them, but they won’t be back for a while yet. Their daughter, Tessa, is deaf, but there’s new hope she might hear.”
“They’ve gone to check it out?” Adams asked, but he knew the answer before Eden replied.
“Devlin would move heaven and earth for Tessa.”
“I’d like to meet them someday. To thank them for the use of their island, if nothing else.”
Long before the conversation ended, long before they reached the sandy beach, the whisper of the surf surrounded them. The tide was out, the sea was calm. Swimming in the salty water would be no more difficult than swimming in a lake.
They were ankle deep in the warming water when Eden cast off the terry-cloth sundress that covered her swimsuit. “Race you,” she challenged, and splashed deeper into the tide. “First one to China wins.”
Then she was gone from his sight, her body slicing through the water like a dolphin. Adams delayed only long enough to rescue her dress from the threat of a changing tide. He’d brought no suit, but this wouldn’t be the first time he’d swum in his clothes. Or in nothing at all.
Eden surfaced and, with a dare-you fling of her head, tossed her hair from her face and beckoned for Adams to join her. She didn’t have to dare him twice. His golden-brown body arced through the air, the sun and the sea like a knife. Three powerful strokes and he surfaced at her side. But before he could catch his breath, she was gone again.
For a time they played the game the way they had as kids. Tagging, diving, skimming the sandy bottom of the sea, riding the swells of the surf with one in pursuit of the other. Then, trading tags and doing it all again.
Until at last, instead of tagging her, Adams caught her in his arms. Holding her scantily clad body close, he brushed her hair back and leaned near as if to whisper a great secret. “Still want to try for China?”
“China?” Catching the glint in his eyes, Eden laughed. “So that’s what this was about. Tiring me out so you would get there first. No fair.”
“Does that mean you forfeit?” He grinned then, and it was the grin Eden remembered. The one that always swept the breath from her.
“You planned this,” she accused. “Planned to exhaust me so I had to forfeit.’
“Who tagged who…whom first?” He countered. “You did, sweetheart, so how does that make me a cheat?”
“Okay. Okay. A forfeit, then.” With a mock glower, she demanded, “What do you want?”
“A kiss.” Adams was as startled as she. He didn’t know until now that he’d intended to kiss her. But when he was honest, he knew he’d wanted and needed her kiss for days.
“Just one,” Eden warned as the beat of her heart matched the rush of the sea.
“Just one,” Adams promised. But when he drew her to him, his strong body a caress against the slenderness of hers, both knew in their hearts that his promise was empty words. One kiss for lovers too long apart would never be enough.
“Adams…” Faltering, she linked her arms around his neck and leaned her forehead against his bare chest.
“It’s okay, love. It was just a kid’s game, and foolish. You don’t have to—”
Her head came up, her bright gaze locked with his. “I do. God help me, Adams, I do.”
“Are you sure, sweet Eden?” he whispered hoarsely. “Please be sure.”
As she let the surge of the tide lift her to him, her breasts brushed his chest and her lips skimmed his. Once, twice, three times, before he groaned and caught her hard against him, before his mouth ground down on hers, before her lips parted, taking his tongue, meeting its caress with a caress of her own. Touching his body as he touched hers. Wanting him, needing him. Loving him.
With each touch he kissed her again and again. And with each she responded. And all the while, as they were lost in one another, the tide nudged them gently toward shore.
When Adams’ feet brushed the tumbling sand, surf swirling around them, he caught her in his arms. He didn’t ask again. All his questions had been answered.
There was a gazebo hunkered in the sand where shore and dunes melded, but he remembered glimpsing a deck with a chaise. One, no doubt, other lovers found convenient in their urgency.
From the boardwalk he moved to the stairs, but Eden’s weight was as nothing. On the sun-scoured deck, he set her down, bent on stripping her like the madman she’d made of him. But Eden was there first. Like witchcraft, a flick of her wrist and the bandeau slipped from her breasts. Another flick at the left, then the right side of her bikini, and the last scrap of fabric that hid her from him slipped away.
She was so beautiful, needing no forgiveness from the unforgiving light of midday. So beautiful that he couldn’t spend the time he wanted to woo her, to worship her. So beautiful that all he could do was draw her down with him to the chaise.
From that moment, the day became a blur. Adams never knew when he left her to shed the last of his clothing. From the moment she took his hand, bringing him back to her, back to her waiting body, he only remembered muttering, “Are you protected?”
Her stuttered, hesitant answer, “N…yes,” rang in his mind like a godsend, then was forgotten as he drove deeply within her. Then nothing mattered but the healing balm of her welcoming softness, her heat. And finally, the sweet shudders that racked her body in harmony with his.
Four
His touch woke her.
The brush of his fingertips though the tangle of her hair drew Eden from a deep sleep. “Better wake up, sweetheart.”
Her lashes were heavy on her cheeks, her body languid and far too comfortable to move. She sighed and stirred, and Adams’ low chuckle drifting over her was as beguiling as his touch.
“You’re like a kitten,
soft and purring,” he murmured hoarsely, the memory of her gentle cries as he made love to her forever branding his heart and mind. Looking at her now, curled beneath the beach sheet he’d scavenged from the sloop, it took every ounce of his resolve not to take her back in his arms. Even as every particle of wisdom he’d ever claimed, or thought to possess, argued that he mustn’t make love to her again, he wanted her so badly he could barely restrain himself. Adams knew, then, that he would have loved her. Against every reason, except the day had passed too rapidly, and now the angle of the sun had moved beyond the small circle of shade the umbrella he’d opened over her had provided. The gaily patterned shelter had served its purpose for a while. But now even it couldn’t protect Eden from the slanting, burning rays.
As he watched her sleep, he realized that beyond the thin tan lines left by a garment no larger than a G-string, her body bore no marks of pallor. Eden’s skin was a virtually flawless golden-brown. Certainly not the darkness of a compulsive sun worshiper, but neither was she a stranger to bathing naked or nearly naked on the beach. The image of her frolicking on some sandy shore, with only the sun, the wind, the sand and nearly nonexistent tiny threads to cover her, almost defeated his faltering resolve.
What lonely shore had she graced with her bare loveliness? he wondered. And had it truly been lonely?
Anger gripped him. Anger that another man might have seen her as he had, touched her as he had. Made love to her as he had.
Was there a lover? Did she wake like this for him, languid and content? With a look and a touch, did he want her again? Take her again, in the sun, in the sand, in the surf?
Adams’ hands had curled into fists when he realized he hadn’t the right to question. Or the right to be angry. What did he know about Eden? Who had she been? Who was she now? Who, more than Eden Claibourne, widow, innkeeper, old friend?
He had to know. His right to question or not, he must.
“Eden,” he coaxed softly. “Time to wake up. If we don’t get you out of this sun, you might turn into a cinder.”
“No.” Like the kitten, she purred and stretched. Her lashes fluttered, revealing a dreamy gaze. The towel slipped from her breasts and caught at her hips, but she didn’t care. For this day, decorum had been cast to the wind and the sea. She wouldn’t be coy; she was too honest to pretend. “Not a cinder.” A lazy note was in her voice. “But a starveling for sure.”
“You’re hungry.” So was Adams, but not for food.
“As a bear.”
Considering his lecherous mood, and despite all determination to the contrary, Adams suspected that in the course of the remaining hours of the day, she would need all her strength. He offered the obvious remedy. “I brought the basket from Lady. We can dine in the gazebo and take a break from the sun.”
“We could go in the house,” Eden countered. “I have a key. When Kate and Devlin are away, I check on the house and grounds.”
“Is that often?”
“No. Once Devlin O’Hara was a wanderer, but loving Kate and Tessa has tethered him contentedly in one place. Now both he and Kate are taking courses at the college. And both do quite a lot of volunteer work with children who have hearing problems.”
“Because of their daughter, Tessa?”
“Yes.” Eden stood, dragging the towel with her. Folding it around her body, she tucked the ends securely over her breasts. “The gazebo or the house?”
“The gazebo,” Adams said after a hesitation. Not because he was unsure of his choice, but because his thoughts still dwelt on Eden and deserted beaches. Which beach? Where? With whom?
He was becoming obsessed with wondering.
“You hate it, don’t you?” she asked him in a quiet voice.
Adams caught a startled breath, wondering if she’d read his thoughts or if he was that transparent.
“You need to be outside because you hate being cooped up,” Eden suggested before he could respond or question. “That’s part of why you were so restless this morning, isn’t it?”
“That’s part of it.” It was a part of the truth, if not the strongest factor. He hated being confined. After years locked away in a prison, Adams had come to accept that he always would.
Satisfied by his sketchy agreement, Eden shifted her attention to the basket. When her hand collided with his, she looked up to find his seething gaze on her. Misinterpreting his turmoil, she touched his face, stroking the harsh lines that bracketed his mouth. “I understand what it’s like to feel closed in, Adams. I know that even friendly walls can be confining.
“After my husband died and I came back to Belle Terre, it was a long time before I lost that caged feeling.”
“You weren’t in prison.” His voice held no rancor, no hint of the questions her comment provoked.
“Not like you mean. There were no bars and no guards. In fact, the opposite was true. But that’s ancient history. A story I’m sure you wouldn’t find interesting.” Eden took her hand from the basket. From the warmth of his touch, which made her deliciously aware of much more recent history. One they shared. “For now we should think of the present. And that’s Adams Cade, Eden Clai-bourne, Summer Island and Cullen’s basket.”
She laughed huskily, the sound quiet, enticing. “The gazebo awaits, and I’m starved.”
“As head steward, Cullen is a miracle.” Adams finished the last strawberry, then the last sip of champagne, and slid his plate and the fragile flute away. “Where did you find him?”
“You could say I inherited him,” Eden explained. “Cullen’s family has been with my husband’s family for more than a century. Nicholas and he were both the last of their line. When Nicholas died, in Cullen’s mind, he became mine.”
“The honor of old family traditions, sustained by love.” Adams had known men like Cullen. “It’s all he’s ever known, and without someone to take care of he would die.”
Eden’s face was veiled in sadness. “After Nicholas’ death, I couldn’t stay on Fatu Hiva. It seemed obscene to stay in his Pacific paradise. But the island was Cullen’s home. I thought he would be happier there. He was adamant in his refusal. Finally, I realized Cullen couldn’t stay without Nicholas any more than I could.”
“He’s adjusted to the cultural differences?”
“Perfectly. But it really wasn’t such a difference. He’d always traveled with Nicholas. And though wines became his passion and his specialty here, he does everything. Cullen even oversees the planning and planting of the gardens.” Eden smiled now. “Though he does mourn the lack of orchids and ylang-ylang.”
“Nicholas Claibourne of Fatu Hiva,” Adams mused aloud. “The Marquesas archipelago and the Pacific Ocean are both a long way from the Atlantic and Belle Terre.”
“You’re wondering how Nicholas and I met.”
“A man of such an exotic life—isn’t it natural I would?”
“It was nothing dramatic. We were classmates at the university. Nicholas came to study art and design with a visiting professor. I was in the same class. He was older, his education delayed by illness. We were drawn to each other. But when the class was finished, Nicholas returned to Fatu Hiva.”
“But he came back for you.” Adams watched her in the shadows of the gazebo, imagining the vibrant young woman she would have been. Was it any wonder that a man with the soul of an artist would want her?
“I didn’t see or hear from him for a year. In that year my grandmother and grandfather died within months of each other. When I graduated, I thought no one cared. Then I looked up, and Nicholas was there.”
“He’d come for you.” Adams grieved that he couldn’t have been there for her. When she lost her grandparents, the only family she’d ever had. When she graduated with honors. He’d wanted to hate the wealthy, worldly Nicholas Claibourne. Instead, he was grateful for the kindness of a man he’d never known.
“He asked me to marry him, to come with him to Fatu Hiva. There was nothing for me here anymore, so I said yes.”
Adams
had listened to every nuance of every word. There was affection in her voice when she spoke of her husband and his exotic land. But Adams caught a hint of another emotion lying beneath the surface.
Eden spoke as if she’d been happy with Nicholas Claibourne, happy in his land. Yet not enough to stay. When he was gone, she had come home to Belle Terre. Adams wondered why.
“Did you love him, Eden?” he asked softly.
There was sadness again, in her voice, in her eyes. “As much as he wanted me to.”
Before he could question the cryptic remark, she was clearing away their meal. A repast better suited for a gala than an impromptu picnic. But Eden had assured him that such was the masterful hand of Cullen. The chef at River Walk was famous now, and the dining room was always filled to overflowing because of his talent. But before he fell under the tutelage of Cullen Pavaouau of Fatu Hiva, he was only a cook.
“If you’re ready for a walk, there’s someone I’d like you to see.” Eden had begun this journey thinking Adams needed quiet, with no strangers. But the man she spoke of was far from a stranger. “It isn’t a great distance, and he would never judge you. He’s probably lonely about now, with Tessa and Kate and Devlin away.”
Summer Island was a gated community. A single guard watched over the privacy of six homes spaced over three miles of shore. Not a taxing task, but solitary. She rarely came to the island without stopping at the gatehouse for a visit.
“You want to tell me who this lonely person is?” Adams asked suspiciously.
“Nope.” She shook her head, sending her hair flying in a rich cascade about her bare shoulders.
“You’re going dressed in a towel?” Adams interest was definitely rising.
“He’s seen me in less.”
“He has, has he?” His first thought was that this was the lover with whom she sunned and played half-naked. His second thought was to doubt his first.
Eden had no other lovers. She was too honest, too innocent, to entertain more than one lover. He was sure of it. Without realizing when or how, Adams had come to trust Eden, the woman, as he had Robbie, the lonely tomboy.
