by Joan Hohl
Again, to her amazement, he appeared to hear her. He gave her another wave, then turned and began swimming for shore.
Closing her eyes, Andrea sighed with relief. Unwilling to examine the depth of her feelings, she opened her eyes to check his progress. The sight that met her horrified gaze made her blood run cold.
A short—too short—distance behind Paul, six arched black fins sliced through the water in silent menace. Stark terror clawed at Andrea’s throat as she watched those fins close in on him.
Sharks!
Andrea opened her mouth to cry out.
Nothing.
Deadly fear snaked through Andrea’s body, freezing her to the hot sand. In her mind’s eye, she could see the large, gaping jaws and jagged curving teeth. Bile flooded her mouth. She worked her throat, swallowing, swallowing, forcing down the silencing obstruction of abject terror.
The gliding fins grew nearer to the swimming man, then began to circle him in ever diminishing cycles. Unable to move, breathe, think, Andrea watched in horrified fascination, expecting, dreading, the inevitable fury of thrashing water and the sickening spread of crimson on the undulating surface of sapphire blue.
No. No. The litany began inside her head, and grew until her skull could no longer contain it.
“No! Paul! No!”
Suddenly Andrea broke free of the paralyzing fear. Screaming his name, she ran toward the water.
“Andrea. No.”
The breeze carried the sound of his voice to her. As if by command, her legs refused to move ... The sensation was similar to the dream she’d had the day before, only this was no dream, it was a living nightmare.
Sobbing, gasping for breath, Andrea stood, seemingly rooted in the sand, crying, praying, sobbing his name. Then, suddenly, the sobs lodged in her throat and she stared, incredulity stunning her mind as she watched the sharks circle Paul and then glide back out to sea.
In numbed bewilderment, Andrea stood mute, staring at the man swimming at a leisurely pace toward shore, toward her. She was too shaken to call out to him to hurry. She was too traumatized to feel relief.
The shock freezing her mind and senses slowly began to recede with each long, smooth stroke that brought Paul closer to the calm waters inside the cove. Her pent-up breath began to ease from her constricted chest.
Too soon.
Andrea saw something from the corner of her eye. Afraid to look, yet knowing she must, she turned and skimmed a gaze over the roiling waves near the rocky right arm of the enclosure. Her insides liquefied.
The sharks were back. Coming in more swiftly, the dark fins seemed to slide through the turbulent waves building to fling themselves against the rocks. They were all around Paul before she could open her mouth to scream a warning.
Dear God! No!
The inner scream seemed to unlock the odd immobility anchoring her legs to the beach. Andrea didn’t pause to consider that she could do nothing to help him, nothing except lose her life with him. Her horrified eyes riveted to the encircling fins, she began to run.
Andrea was waist deep in water when she came to a sudden halt. Her expression of stark terror gave way to wide-eyed wonder as she saw a long, glistening steel-gray body leap from the waves in an arching swoop, then dive again, long thin snout first.
Dolphins!
Never noticing the chill of the sixty-degree temperature of the water lapping her chest, unmindful of the tears streaming down her face to mingle with another salty moisture, Andrea laughed aloud as she watched the beautiful mammals swim and leap playfully around Paul. Like an echo of her own, she heard Paul’s laughter ripple across the waves to her.
Then the dolphins, too, were gone, streaking away around the rocky jetty as swiftly as they’d appeared. Repressing an urge to wave goodbye to the sleek creatures, Andrea observed them until they disappeared. Then she returned her concerned attention to the man swimming toward her.
Hurry, please hurry, Andrea urged him silently, thinking his progress too languid, too slow. The frayed edges of fear still danced along her nerves. Fighting reactive tears, she pleaded mutely. Please, Paul, please hurry, hur—
Andrea shuddered; her mind rebelled in strident protest.
Not again!
The solitary evil-looking fin slid through the water, around the right-side jetty, and directly toward Paul.
This was not possible! Andrea’s emotion-battered mind whimpered. It was too much ... much too much.
Andrea’s warning cry lacked strength. “Swim, Paul! There’s another one behind you!” She saw him turn his head, and then he did the strangest thing imaginable.
Paul stopped swimming. Treading water, he slowly rotated his body in unison with the circling shark. The enormous fish closed the circle around Paul with each successive sweep. When the fin was within a few feet of him, Paul thrust his arm to one side. The fin disappeared beneath the surface of the ocean. When it again broke the surface, the fin was moving away, heading out to sea.
Andrea was stupefied. What in heaven’s name had caused that monster to turn away? she wondered in senses-dulled amazement. Then a memory stirred at the fringes of her mind. Hadn’t she once heard or read somewhere that a shark could be deflected by a hard rap on the snout? When he’d flung his arm to the side, had Paul delivered a . .. ?
Andrea’s thoughts scattered. Paul had swum close enough to shore to stand. After slicking his hair back from his face, he walked toward her. He didn’t look terrified or traumatized or even frightened. He was smiling!
His smile broke her.
Emitting a strangled half-sob, half-laugh, Andrea ran to him and launched her trembling body toward the solid strength of his. Clasping him tightly around the waist, she buried her face in the wet silk on his chest.
Paul went still and rigid for a moment. Then Andrea felt his chest expand as he inhaled, heard the deep sigh he expelled an instant before his arms closed around her in a breathtaking confidence-restoring embrace.
He was safe ... safe! The realization reduced Andrea to a quaking mass, capable of nothing more than a babble. “Paul... sharks ... I was petrified ... I wanted to help ... The dolphins ... I couldn’t believe ... I...”
“Andrea.” His low voice was as soothing as the hand he stroked lightly down her spine.
Uncaring of the tears pooling in her eyes, Andrea lifted her head to gaze up at him. His sculpted features were softened by infinite tenderness. In contrast, a spark of raw sensuality smoldered in his dark eyes. He lowered his head, slowly, as if in defiance of his own will. His voice deepened to a rough-velvet groan.
“Oh, Andrea.”
His lips touched Andrea’s with the delicacy of sheer gossamer. His mouth made no demand on hers. His kiss was sweet, calming, reassuring.
Andrea sighed.
Paul made a sound, a murmur, a sigh. Then he molded his mouth to the soft contours of hers. The pressure his mouth applied to hers was controlled and barely perceptible. The hands he slid over every inch of her back were warm and restless, a tactile denial of his passionless kiss.
Andrea felt the sweetness of his kiss, the hungry movement of his hands, to the outermost edges of her being. Her soul took flight. Her body melted. Her mind surrendered. Moaning softly deep in her throat, she parted her lips and pressed her mouth to his. And for one glorious instant, she caught a glimpse of paradise. The instant ended too soon and left a bone-deep yearning inside her with its passing.
“No, Andrea “ Paul whispered, drawing his head back. “Not like this. You’re too vulnerable now.”
“You could have been killed!” she exclaimed, shuddering as the memory slammed back into her mind.
“No.” Paul smiled and shook his head. “I was never in any danger.” His smile curved into a teasing tilt. “I told you there was nothing to fear.”
“Nothing to fear?” Andrea cried indignantly, pulling out of his embrace. “Those were sharks out there!” she said in an agitated gasp ... as if he hadn’t known.
“Dolphins,”
Paul corrected her, his lips twitching.
The ordeal had stretched Andrea’s nerves to the limit, and they were beginning to unravel with reaction. “Paul, I know what I saw!” she said heatedly. “And I know there were sharks out there!”
Reaching out to her, Paul curled his hand loosely around her arm. “Come,” he said gently. “You’re upset. I’ll take you back to the house.”
The terror she had suffered, the relief of anticlimax, and even his gentleness—especially his gentleness—did Andrea in. Tearing her arm free, she stepped away and said in a measured tone, “I told you earlier that I am not a child, Paul. Don’t treat me like one.”
“Treat you like a child?” His smile hinted at a deep inner longing. “Ah ... Andrea, if you only knew.”
Reaction was taking its toll on her. Andrea turned it on him. “If I only knew what?” Once started, she couldn’t stop. “I don’t understand you. I don’t understand what you’re hinting at but not saying! I... I... Dammit! I’m going home!” Skirting around him, she ran up the beach. She was too angry and upset to recall that home was precisely where Paul had offered to take her.
* * * *
He could have caught her without half trying.
It wasn’t the first time Andrea had had the thought since running away from Paul hours ago.
In the intervening hours she had taken a shower, force-fed herself a piece of toast and a glass of milk, and cried a lot. The really infuriating thing was, Andrea didn’t even know what she was crying about.
Calmer, but feeling restless and moody, Andrea curled up on a chaise lounge to watch the sun do its spectacular nightly performance by vividly painting the sky with breathtaking hues as it slowly nose-dived into the horizon.
This evening, Andrea was supersensitive to the splashes of pink and red, gold and violet. A copper sheen gilded the deep blue of the sea. Nature was so glorious, she mused, sighing. Why did living have to be so painful at times?
One of those times had occurred when Paul had eventually made his way to the house from the beach. The very fact that he had lingered on the beach for over an hour after her precipitous flight hurt Andrea in a way she didn’t—or wouldn’t—understand. Reacting to the inner pain, she had displayed a cool, distant exterior.
Paul appeared neither dismayed nor deterred by her attitude. “You forgot your things,” he said, smiling as he handed her the beach bag and the leftover muffins.
Refusing to be caught with her emotional guard down, Andrea dredged up a return smile and a civil tone. “Thank you for bringing them.” She started to back away from the door. He stopped her without raising a hand, or his voice.
“Will you be all right?”
Andrea lifted her chin. “Of course,” she said with assurance, lying through her teeth. She felt tight-years away from all right. “I’m just a little tired,” she went on, giving him the understatement of the century. “I shouldn’t have fallen asleep in the sun ... It... ah, always drains everything from me,” she improvised—badly.
“I see.”
Though his inflection didn’t change, Andrea read the expression in his eyes and knew he saw through her. She knew that he knew that she was lying. Still, she continued in the same vein. “Yes, so I think I’ll make it an early night.” Grasping the door, she closed it partway as she stepped back. “Ah ... I’ll see you later.” Her tone negated the promise in her words.
“Never doubt it,” Paul murmured, reaching forward to tug the door from her trembling fingers. “You’re enrolled in my class, remember?” Without waiting for an answer, he gently shut the door.
Andrea stared at the door for a full thirty seconds. Remember? Remember? she thought wildly. She only wished she could forget!
If anything, she had felt as if she were unraveling since he’d left her standing at the door, fighting tears born of confusion and frustration.
Still too tense to remain in one spot for more than a few minutes, Andrea jumped up and wandered through the house. After spending the last four years dodging her two flatmates, the house seemed too large, too empty.
As she was empty.
Shying away from the thought, Andrea went to her bedroom. The thought went with her. Empty. That was her story in a nutshell. Empty life. Empty dreams. Empty body. At the last thought, Andrea clapped her hand over her mouth to muffle a groan.
She had wanted him to fill the emptiness of her body.
With the silent acknowledgment, the memory of that afternoon came flooding into her mind, swamping Andrea all over again. She had told Paul she didn’t understand ... It was probably the biggest understatement of her life.
Weakened by trauma and reaction, Andrea was powerless against the questions that hammered inside her mind.
Why had she responded the way she had to his voice?
Why had he said there were no sharks?
Why had he put her away from him?
Why? Why? Why?
The questions pounded, pounded in her head. There were no answers, only more questions. Andrea grimaced and rubbed her forehead. She might not have any answers, but she was developing one beauty of a headache.
Andrea was rummaging in the medicine cabinet for some aspirin when her aunt returned home.
“Andrea, sugar, we’re back,” Celia called from the living room. “Are you decent?”
That depends on your definition of the word, Andrea replied silently, flushing with the memory of her experience on the beach. “Yes,” she answered aloud.
“Then come have a glass of wine with us,” Celia called. “I want to show you what I bought.”
Despite the throbbing in her temples, Andrea had to smile. When it came to shopping, Celia was like an excited, wide-eyed child; every purchase delighted her. Since coming to stay with her aunt, Andrea had often found herself hoping that she could retain just a smidgen of Celia’s enthusiasm for life when she herself reached her middle years.
“I’ll be there in a minute,” Andrea said, tossing two of the white tablets into her mouth. She grimaced with distaste as one of the tablets scraped her tongue on the way down.
Damn! Andrea thought as she walked into her bedroom. She didn’t know which was worse, the pill or the pain. She scooped her lightweight robe off the bed as she passed by. Pulling the cover-up over her thigh-length nightshirt, she crossed the room to the door.
Andrea didn’t really want a glass of wine. Her headache was doing fine without any help from the fruit of the vine. But she had hopes that the animated company of her aunt and Blaine might banish the tormenting questions that had caused the blasted headache in the first place.
In the end, Andrea had the glass of wine anyway and, to her surprise, the throbbing ache subsided somewhat— whether from the wine or the lively conversation, she didn’t know, nor did she care. She was simply grateful that the pain had eased.
Celia proudly displayed her shopping loot to Andrea. Then taking turns, and sometimes both speaking at the same time, she and Blaine told Andrea about their day.
When Andrea finally retired for the night, she mused that, although Celia’s and Blaine’s day in San Francisco sounded like fun, it was rather ordinary in comparison to the hours she had spent with Paul.
All the memories, tension, and drama—along with the accelerated pounding in her head—rushed back with the thought of his name to haunt Andrea.
Thinking about taking more aspirin, she started for the bathroom, then stopped short, her eyes glittering with the light of firm determination.
Pills hadn’t helped. Wine hadn’t helped. A few pleasant hours of lighthearted conversation had helped. Perhaps, Andrea reasoned, it was time she did something to help herself.
Without giving conscious thought to her movements, Andrea began to pace off the width of her bedroom.
All right, start from the beginning, she told herself. Let’s see if we can make any sense at all out of the odd things that have happened since the advent of the flesh and blood man who is the mirror image of a fantasy m
an.
Her brow puckered in concentration, Andrea paced the soft carpet, back and forth, back and forth, trying to make sense of the seemingly senseless.
The first order of sense alignment was the acceptance of the fact of Paul Hellka’s existence. It seemed impossible—had seemed impossible to Andrea from her first sight of him through the window of the coffee shop. But Paul was most assuredly real. He walked, he talked, he laughed, he ... Andrea’s breath caught, but she forced herself to complete the thought. He kissed. She moaned. Lord, did he kiss!
Okay, pull yourself together and get on with it, Andrea chided herself. Paul might look as if he’d walked out of a dream—her dream, but he was real. And, as if the fact that Paul so closely resembled her fantasy man weren’t enough, the similarities didn’t end there.
Andrea knew those similarities were the root of her headache and her restless pacing. With cool intent, she skimmed those similarities, one by one, from her memory.
In her dreams, her love had said, “You have nothing to fear .. .” In reality, Paul had repeatedly said, “You have nothing to fear...”
In her dreams, her love had tenderly opened the doors of paradise to her. In reality, Paul had tenderly given her a similar exquisite experience.
While she had been running around frantically in the mist of her dreams, her love had called to her... “Andrea.” While she was running frantically toward the water that afternoon, Paul had called to her... “Andrea.”
Her dream love had raised his arm in farewell. Paul had raised his arm to her from the water in exactly the same way.
Were all those similarities happenstance? Mere coincidence? Andrea demanded of her tired mind, all the while pacing, pacing. And even if they were, she followed the thought thread warily, there was still something very strange about Paul Hellka.
Andrea shook her head impatiently. What was it about the man that threw her off balance? From their attitude, it was obvious that neither Celia nor Blame considered Paul in any way strange or different.
But he was different! Andrea insisted silently, raking a trembling hand through her hair. He had tied off her braid with seaweed! Wel!, that wasn’t too different, she conceded. But what about that incredible release she’d experienced? Paul had brought her to ecstasy without laying a hand on her!
