Night, Sea, And Stars

by Heather Graham

  Interlude

  June 27, San Francisco

  “He’s dead,” Lisa Jagger said flatly, her voice carrying the trace of a despair along with trembling resignation. Her finely manicured fingers were curled around a sherry glass, and she watched the liquid swirl. She shivered and took a deep, convulsive breath before bringing sorrow-filled eyes to meet those of her son. “He’s dead, Chris, we have to accept it.”

  Chris Jagger was a mature twenty; intense brown eyes and well-groomed black hair made his sharp but pleasantly angled profile appear older.

  But at the moment he was a boy faced with the loss of a father he adored. He fought tears, but they formed in his eyes anyway.

  “He isn’t dead!” The hard exclamation came from across the room. Michael Jagger, five years younger than his brother Kyle, didn’t leave his position by the huge bay windows in the drawing room of Montfort—the family home on the outskirts of the city— but his determination permeated the air. He drew scathing eyes from Lisa to rest them gently upon his nephew. “Kyle isn’t dead,” he said more quietly. “He’s been missing for two weeks. And the area of the Pacific we’ve traced him to is huge. We’ll find him, Chris.”

  “Michael,” Lisa murmured awkwardly, “I don’t like you raising false hopes.” At forty Lisa Jagger was still a beauty. She wore her platinum hair in a shoulder-length layered cut; her eyes, a clear and drowning blue, were artistically made up, and her skin retained a smooth, soft glow of youth.

  “Don’t you want to hope, Lisa?” Michael inquired softly.

  Caught off guard by her brother-in-law’s gently insinuating tone, Lisa floundered. “Of course,” she said quickly, then snapped, “You think I’m hoping he’s dead, Michael, but you’re wrong! I believe I’m closer to Kyle than either you or Chris! I’m his wife…”

  Estranged wife, Mike Jagger thought as Lisa shrilled along. He knew very well that Kyle’s eagerness to return to the States at the first possible moment had been to put an end to the charade that had gone on for years.

  “And if you’re thinking that I do really wish Kyle dead because of the divorce plans we played with, you’re terribly, terribly wrong!” Lisa managed a very heart-tugging cry. “We’ve discussed divorce, yes, but… we’ll never really do it. If we could only talk now, we could have a reconciliation. I can’t really let Kyle go… nor he me…”

  Oh, Christ, Mike thought with disgust as Lisa sobbed on. Reconciliation! He doubted if his brother had touched her ten times in as many years. Was Chris falling for his mother’s histrionics? he wondered. No, a glance at the boy told him that although he was too well bred to insult his mother openly, Chris was no fool. He didn’t even glance Lisa’s way, but turned his attention to his uncle.

  “Do you really believe Dad will be found?” he asked eagerly.

  “Yes,” Michael said adamantly. “I’m going to look for him myself,” he added. “The company’s pilots are good, but this is something I have to do myself.”

  Chris had been idly pacing the spacious drawing room, staring blankly at the oriental carpets. Now he stopped, and stared piercingly at Michael. “I’m going with you.”

  Michael shook his head with a soft smile, looking so much like Kyle that Chris felt his heart catapult. The brothers were very much alike, not so much in actual looks, but in manner, the twist of a smile, and the light of the eyes.

  “You need to be here, Chris. Your father needs one of us to be running the company.” Michael Jagger didn’t want the boy with him if what he discovered was debris and bodies.

  “I don’t think either of you need to go,” Lisa protested, afraid her strong-willed son would insist upon going anyway. “That producer the woman passenger was having an affair with has called out all kinds of special rescue fleets. Surely if they can be found…” Lisa was disgruntled to find both men ignoring her.

  Chris was looking very mature again, no sign of fear or tears on his handsome face. “I’m going to go tell Gram you’re off to look for Dad yourself, Uncle Michael. And then I’m going in to the office.”

  With a smile Chris left his mother and uncle.

  Lisa glanced plaintively to Michael. “You will let me know as soon as you find… anything?” Her beautiful hands trailed possessively over the fine brocade upholstery of the mahogany sofa that faced the massive granite fireplace. “I do love Kyle, you know.”

  “Do you know, Lisa,” Michael said, finally leaving the windows to approach the woman. He hunched before her. “I don’t know if you love Kyle—I doubt it very much. I’m not even sure at times that you love Chris, but I do believe you would dearly love a reconciliation with my brother. You’re getting older now, Lisa. And your failed love affairs are talked about all over. And you know, Lisa, I even think you always preferred my brother. You just thought for too long that you could do anything to him. But he never was a man you could step on, Lisa. I think we both know that. And I also think he’s going to come back absolutely furious that you didn’t sign the divorce decree yet.” With Chris out of the room, Michael felt himself well capable of telling Lisa exactly what he thought. He was too sick and worried himself, too afraid to handle what acts she had to put on.

  “You’re a fool, Michael Jagger!” Lisa hissed. “They can’t even find a trace of debris! Kyle is dead!” Tears formed in her eyes, and they were real tears. Lisa was confused. She knew Kyle’s feelings for her bordered on hate, indifference, and disgust. She knew all the courtesies extended her over the years had been for Chris’s sake. She knew that even now she sat in the Jagger home, playing court, because of her son.

  But for all that she had done, Michael was right. There was no other man in the world like Kyle Jagger. Though his death would leave her in a far better position than the promised divorce, she didn’t know what she really wanted. She did want to believe that Kyle was alive somewhere with all his vibrance, that he would fall in love with her again, that she would be the only woman in his arms.

  But that was unlikely. And freed from her at last, Kyle well might marry again. And Lisa thought she just might prefer him dead, so she could dream of him, rather than know another now called herself his wife, slept in his bed, became mistress of his home.

  “You wait and see, Michael,” she hissed venomously, “if Kyle is alive, there will be no divorce. I plan to take my rightful place as his wife once again.”

  “Really?” Didn’t Lisa know how much Kyle had confided in him? Michael wondered. Sure, Kyle had given in to Lisa’s demands many times. For Chris’s sake. But Chris was a man now. “I don’t know,” Michael said lightly, rising and pulling the front page of the newspaper that covered the crash off the end of a marble coffee table. “If he is alive, then so probably is his passenger.” Michael couldn’t prevent a teasing twinkle to his eyes. “And his passenger is quite a woman…”

  “Oh, shut up!” She snapped. She didn’t need Michael’s opinion of Skye Delaney’s attributes; during the past weeks, Lisa had studied every word in print about the woman. She rose and took a cigarette from a handsome ivory-inlaid box. “Don’t forget Kyle’s companion is going hot and heavy with that producer. And even if she and Kyle were to play a bit, he would never be serious.

  Michael laughed despite his deep fears. “Dear, dear, Lisa! Who are you trying to convince?” He turned his back on her, striding across the polished hardwood floors and smart oriental carpets with a snap to his feet that denoted purpose. “Good-bye, Lisa. I’m going to see my mother, and then I’m off. I will find Kyle. And I’m not too sure he’s going to be pleased to find you at Montfort waiting.”

  Michael missed the calculating look that Lisa quickly hid by lowering her lashes. “I won’t be at Montfort waiting,” she said cryptically. “That is, if you do find Kyle…”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  June 30, the South Pacific

  Inland the mosquitoes were bad. Cursing as he slashed at the insects attacking his flesh, Kyle continued his perusal of the jungle anyway.

  Yesterday he had foun
d the plane’s log. He could quit searching, but it had given him something to do, something to fill the long days.

  His nights were filled.

  Kyle tried to force his mind from Skye, tried to concentrate on the abundance of trees and grass that flourished on the island. But no matter what, a vision of beguiling amber cat eyes came to him.

  Skye no longer made any pretense of denying him. She had even come to him the next night, oddly thanking him; then, as darkness had fallen, she had teased him, telling him she had promised to get even.

  He had watched warily as she had moved toward him straddling him, running her fingers through his chest hair.

  He had watched the perfection above him, the heave of beautiful, full, rounded breasts, rose-tipped, proud above a lithe, thin torso, an incredibly slender waist.

  And before their lovemaking was over, he had told her that he loved her.

  She had stiffened momentarily before becoming consumed in their fire again. He knew she didn’t believe him. They were words easily said in the heat of passion. And he didn’t know if he meant them himself. He knew that he wanted to possess her, that he wanted her in his bed every night—be it a bed of sand or silk—that he wanted to care for her in a way he had never taken care of any woman.

  But was it love? He had disdained the emotion for so long. And the relationship that had come to them physically had stilted their speech. She came to him in the night, and if she didn’t come to him, he would take her. He never tired. And he was fully aware that he could always create arousal, elicit a sweet response, a passion deeper than any he had known, a beautiful, wonderful passion, so earthy, so heavenly intimate.

  A fine sweat broke out across his brow. Strangers by day, lovers by night. He wanted more. He wanted her by the light, he wanted her to repudiate her past, the home she dreamed she would return to, the man she probably thought of and cherished by day.

  He would never let her return, but how would he stop her?

  I will, he assured himself. I will stop her. If he had to kidnap her and isolate her and surround her with guards, he would keep her.

  It might not be easy, he reminded himself, and the flash of desire that accompanied his thoughts made him dizzy. He found a boulder protruding from the grassy floor and sat upon it, noting as he breathed deeply that his darkly tanned torso was slick with a cold sweat.

  She had told him once that she was afraid of a pregnancy. She hadn’t mentioned it again, and she had come to him willingly time and time again.

  Was she an ostrich with her head in the sand? If so, the better for him. There were no lies between them. They both knew the potential consequences of their torrid stay upon the island.

  And he would continue to make it as torrid as possible.

  A flash of pain jackknifed him. It was all so ironic. His first marriage had been forced on him by a pregnancy.

  He was in the Air Force when he met Lisa. He had always loved flying, and the Air Force would train him and offer him the education he couldn’t otherwise afford. It was at a dance off base.

  At nineteen, and in uniform, Kyle Jagger was devastating. He’d been around a little, of course, but was still in no way prepared for Lisa Alden.

  Her dress that night was flame red. It dipped low enough to reveal half of high, pointed breasts.

  And she came straight to him, requesting a dance.

  When she danced, she swayed, she moved against him, she tantalized with her eyes, she seduced.

  And late that night she taught him things he had yet to know. It was a cheap hotel room, but it was a night he would never forget.

  He discovered in the morning that she was the daughter of one of the town’s leading industrialists. And he also discovered, upon returning to base, that half his company had been beguiled into hotel rooms with her.

  But he enjoyed Lisa. Base was dreary. Lisa, although capable of cruelty, was fun. She asked for no promises from him, she was beautiful, she was there.

  And she began to see him exclusively. And then she began to tell him that she loved him. And before she could begin to make him nervous, she told him in tears that she was pregnant and her father would kill her.

  He wasn’t in love, but he had been involved. He had enjoyed her thoroughly. He was obligated, and so he married her. And he intended to make his marriage work, to give it a complete go.

  He was startled when his son was born over a month ahead of time. He had thought to question.

  And then he realized how completely he had been used. He knew from the moment Chris was born that the boy wasn’t his. But even then he said nothing, not a word to still the nervous questions that now finally came to his wife’s eyes.

  The child wasn’t at fault. He was a beautiful, husky, healthy baby boy. And when his tiny fingers curled around Kyle’s, Kyle ceased to care. He lost what liking and admiration he had had for his wife, and turned all his attention to the child he would claim.

  Maybe it wasn’t entirely Lisa’s fault. Maybe she realized she had lost the man she had come to love and need through her own treachery. And she was struck with the terribly sad realization that the truth would have stood her so much better. Kyle could forgive. If she had come to him honestly, he would have married her anyway. They would have had something.

  Three months after their marriage, they were entirely estranged. They lived in the same house; they slept in the same bed; they hardly ever touched one another.

  Lisa started going out at nights. Kyle was stationed in Europe, and she suddenly announced that she wanted to enter her father’s business. She spent most of her time in the States. The care of the infant Chris, then the toddler Chris, fell to Kyle. He would come home every night, dismiss the sitter, and care for his son himself. He knew Lisa slept around; he just didn’t give a damn. He was finding his comfort elsewhere on the few occasions when he found time to form friendships. He was a very busy man, even then creating the foundations for his company as he worked late into the night, long after Chris had fallen asleep.

  Kyle went to work for a major airline when he returned to the States. He asked Lisa for a divorce. She refused him, telling him tearfully how the child, who loved him, would be hurt. Kyle claimed he could get custody. Perhaps he could have. But he didn’t want Chris lacking a mother, no matter how worthless she was proving to be. They bought a house, a large house with several bedrooms. Kyle couldn’t bear to sleep with her anymore.

  He spent his free hours with his son, and working. Lisa was constantly gone, also working with her father. She very seldom made a meal, she was seldom there when Chris needed her. Yet she continued to claim she loved her son. And Chris did love his beautiful, vibrant mother.

  Kyle tolerated his living situation as he slowly created Executive Charters. His younger brother had by then acquired his pilot’s license, and together they flew the first flights.

  Executive Charters took off. The company was well out of the red in its second year.

  Kyle bought the mansion outside of San Francisco. More and more jets were purchased, more and more pilots hired. At thirty he was surprised to find himself a millionaire.

  He brought his mother to live at Montfort. And he offered Lisa an extremely handsome settlement to give him at least a legal separation. She accepted. But she returned to Montfort often to visit— rather than take Chris away, she explained. And so she kept a suite of rooms at Montfort, and made it almost her home, much to the chagrin of Michael Jagger. He had seen his sister-in-law in action a few too many times. But he said nothing. Kyle didn’t care what she did, so long as Christian wasn’t hurt. And Michael was vaguely aware that Kyle, badly burned, had no intention of marrying again. Lisa was his shield; she kept all his affairs safe, his mistresses at bay.

  But then Chris had reached his twentieth birthday and no longer needed to be protected. Kyle’s feelings about a divorce began to change. And apparently Lisa, too, began to realize that occasionally seducing Kyle didn’t improve his opinion of her. The idea of half a f
ortune being entirely hers began to look better and better… She had no power, no influence over Kyle and she knew it,

  Kyle drew a ragged breath and brushed his fingers through his hair. The sun had begun to sink as he had been lost in painful memory.

  He didn’t really hate Lisa. He could still remember how lovely she was, how vibrant. She was spoiled, she was pampered. She had definitely used him. What he felt now was pity. He could still remember the last time they had been together. She had come to his room and something had stirred within him. She was made right, and she had all her moves down pat. But it had all been mechanics, resulting in simple release.

  And Lisa had thought she had something back. The next day she had begun to lord it again—queen for a day. He knew her, he knew she was incapable of not being a user…

  A dry, bitter laugh escaped Kyle.

  Skye had called him a user. But of course she couldn't know. He would have stayed with Lisa, probably even remained faithful, if she hadn’t sought companionship elsewhere first, left him continuously. Marriage had, at one time, meant everything to him. It was a vow.

  Time had warped his ideals, and emotions. So now he didn’t understand himself. He only knew that he couldn’t let Skye go.

  He stood then, thinking of Skye. He wanted to be back with her, even if awkward silences reigned between them. Night would fall.

  Night—hell! he thought with a grin subtly streaking across his features. He wanted to change things, this afternoon would be as good a time as any to start.

  He whistled as he returned to camp, unmindful now of the mosquitoes that followed him. As he broke from the grass, he saw her, legs outstretched to the tide, torso balanced on the palms of her hands as she looked out to sea. He increased his pace, jogging silently across the sand until he was upon her, eliciting a startled cry from her as he pounced upon her, encircling her into his arms and rolling with her across surf and sand. He felt the vital warmth of her body, the feminine softness of her as her breasts were crushed to his chest. Her eyes were slightly alarmed, wide as he rolled her on top of him. Then she was turning a beautiful shade of pink as he slid his hands beneath the remains of her blouse and pulled her head down to savor her lips. He felt the pounding of her heart as he drank deeply.