Night, Sea, And Stars

by Heather Graham

  And then he could become an absolute stranger. A power she couldn’t touch.

  When she emerged from the hut, he was nowhere to be seen. She forced herself to eat, although the overabundance of coconut she was consuming was beginning to make her sick. It went down like cardboard.

  Still, Kyle didn’t return.

  She spent part of the day collecting water, determined to survive without him. But as the dreary hours passed with painstaking slowness, she became more and more agitated.

  I’m a coward, she told herself morosely.

  And she was a coward. As night fell, she began to shiver. She managed to get a fire started, but it was weak. Kyle hadn’t been out with his spear, so there was no fish to eat. Only by severely lecturing herself could she force more fruit into her system.

  She had never felt such miserable confusion. No matter what he thought, she wanted him near her. Despite his harshness, despite the cruel things he had said to her, she knew she loved him still. She knew why he had easily had so many mistresses, she knew why his wife clung to the thread of their marriage.

  And she knew that if he came back, she would fall at his feet and beg that he believe in her and just allow her to be near him, anyway he chose it to be at all.

  “No,” she whispered aloud to herself. She had to cling to something. Pride was all she had. She couldn’t bear to think of herself as a clinging, begging woman…

  “I’ll go to sleep,” she told herself. “And when I wake up, it will be day. I’ll be all right.”

  Tossing and turning, and fighting waves of terror, she tried to sleep within the little shelter offered by the hut. But the island seemed to come to life that night. She could hear things rustling through the trees, she could feel things crawling on her; the ocean seemed to set up a wail that threatened and howled.

  Skye grit her teeth against her fears. She counted sheep all the way up to one thousand. She shifted position endlessly.

  And she didn’t dare open her eyes. She knew her poor fire was dying out.

  It was exhaustion that finally claimed her. But not even sleep brought the release she craved. Her dreams were more torturous than ever.

  Steven was there. He kept screaming out that it was dark. He kept pointing over her shoulder, and telling her that more darkness was coming. It would claim them, it would bury them, it would take them to hell. Night birds, dark and red-eyed, assailed them. Their screeches tore the black skies asunder. They were in her hair, they tugged and pulled, their screeches turning to demented laughter.

  “It’s so dark! It’s so dark! Help me!” Steven screamed.

  But she couldn’t help him. She was screaming herself. She was fighting off the birds with the hell’s-fire red eyes. She was pleading that they leave her alone. She fought and flailed and screamed and screamed.

  “Skye.”

  Her eyes flew open, but she was still fighting madly. Her eyes were glazed, fogged, and she trembled with a terror she still couldn’t control.

  “Skye.” The voice was soft and soothing. Her hands and nails struck against flesh, but he held her patiently. She finally became subdued, crying softly as strong arms encompassed her.

  “It’s all right, I’m here,” the voice soothed over and over again. “And the fire is going again, Skye. It isn’t dark anymore. I’m here, my darling, let me hold you.”

  “Kyle,” she choked in a panting gasp.

  “Yes, I’m here.”

  “You left me,” she accused him softly in a daze.

  “I’ll never leave you again.”

  His fingers stroked her hair comfortingly. He could feel her shivers, he could feel the cold clamminess of her skin. She made no protest but sat still dazed as he stripped her clothing from her. He brought her down beside him.

  Something of what had transpired between them entered her mind. “No,” she murmured.

  “I’m just trying to warm you, babe,” he murmured, and his strong arms and powerful frame came around her.

  He was warmth, and he was strength. His heat radiated to her, and she finally stopped shivering. She wanted the feel of his smooth skin against her; she buried her head into the mat of his chest.

  “I’m not a thief,” she murmured, a touch of indignation in her voice.

  He smiled at the soft, reproachful hurt in her voice.

  “I know you’re not,” he said soothingly, enveloping her more thoroughly. Desire sprang into his loins as his manhood brushed between her thighs, but he contained himself, making no movement. He had come to comfort her; he had come at her first cry. His feelings for her went beyond anything so natural. He had only stayed away because near her, he couldn’t think. He had hurt her; he couldn’t take her.

  But she shifted, parting her thighs, sliding against him. “Make love to me, Kyle,” she murmured. Only then could she be warm, only then would the nightmare be vanquished entirely.

  He couldn’t take, but he couldn’t refuse to give.

  And long after he had filled her with warmth, exhaustion, and peace, he lay awake.

  Tomorrow he would have to tell her what the repercussions of his discovery might be. They no longer needed to fear drug smugglers. Someone more deadly would be looking for gold.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “You’re making absolutely no sense to me,” Skye said warily. Kyle had apologized for yelling at her, but not for accusing her. There was a subtle difference there, she thought bitterly. “If someone was trying to steal gold, why tamper with the plane? What good would their gold do them on the floor of the Pacific? And nine out of ten that’s where the plane should have gone down.”

  “I believe there is some type of tracking device attached to the case,” Kyle explained quietly, idly poking at the morning fire. “The case has a false bottom and false sides. Something important is concealed. And our thief is probably an expert diver. He would know the general vicinity in which we would lose power. He would have planned carefully.” He switched his gaze from the low flames to Skye. She had taken to combing her hair the customary hundred strokes every morning and every night before the fire, which made him glad of his gift. He loved to watch her, and he loved the feeling of domesticity. He lit a cigarette as he watched her through the smoke haze that rose. They were definitely becoming creatures of habit. He was down to two a day—one of which was always with her as she combed her hair in the morning. It dawned on him awkwardly just how comfortable—barring quarrels and that strange distance they both kept—it was becoming to live with her.

  Skye stopped combing and chewed uneasily on an edge of the tortoiseshell. “Then why hasn’t this thief appeared yet?”

  “What? Oh.” Kyle inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. He shrugged. “There could be a number of reasons. One, he might be waiting for the turmoil of our disappearance to die down. Two, he might be waiting for the turmoil of the gold’s disappearance to die down. Three, he might have a job he can’t just leave without creating suspicion.”

  Skye bit harder on the comb, trying to quell the shivers of deadly apprehension his tale elicited. “So,” she said quietly, “you believe that eventually the person who engineered the whole deal will appear.”

  Kyle nodded.

  “So you think we’re in danger.”

  “Yes.”

  Skye stood angrily, tossing her comb into the sand near the fire and planting her hands on her hips as she glared down at him, the firelight catching the amber of her eyes and giving them a dazzling gleam. She was shaking, she was afraid, and the only way she could deal with it all without going crazy was to throw it back to him.

  “What are you saying? Why are you telling me this? Someone is going to come to this island with the belief that we’re dead and the intent to make us so since we’re not, and you’re simply sitting there telling me that is the way it is! And you calmly tell me that yes, we’re in danger, and all you can do is smoke your stinking cigarette!”

  Goaded by her tone, Kyle stiffened and rose slowly, approaching her until h
e stood an inch from her, towering over her. For a moment it looked as if he wished to strangle her, and Skye had to swallow to keep herself from backing away. She wished she could take back her words. He was trying to explain a situation to her, but she was so frightened and so frustrated. There wasn’t a direction in which she could possibly look that would offer any type of an answer… any help.

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Delaney,” he said with steel in his voice, “I intend to do all the chivalrous things, but I can’t carve out a gun for you from a coconut shell, only take the first bullet.”

  “Oh, God,” Skye gasped, covering her face with her hands.

  Kyle was immediately struck with remorse. Christ, he should be handling the situation better. If only he were sure she was all she looked and claimed to be.

  What did it really matter? he wondered. He had called the rules of the island; he had wanted her, he had taken her. A tic tightened in his cheek. He wanted her still, forever. She belonged to him now; he would cherish and protect as well as possess. Didn’t she know that? That he would happily die before allowing a hair on her head to be harmed? He reached to tell her so, but as her hands moved from her face, courage was burning in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said curtly, backing away from him now. “Perhaps you can tell me what we might do.”

  “Skye,” Kyle said with a long sigh, “I didn’t tell you any of this simply to scare you. You have to be prepared to watch everything. You can’t go running after a ship like you did—”

  “The day we saw the drug smugglers,” Skye interrupted impatiently. “I know that. You told me then we’d have to be careful.” But she swallowed again. “This is different, this is… is…”

  He finally saw the slight quiver to her lower lip. “This is worse,” he finished for her quietly, “and it’s serious. But it’s not the end— you just have to know where we stand. And”—he finally smiled for her, longing to reach out and touch her—“I do have a plan.”

  “What?”

  He saw the relief in her features. She was relying on him. If only he were invincible, he thought.

  “We’re going to get off the island.”

  She understood him immediately. “A raft?”

  “Hmmmm.”

  He didn’t need to touch, she came to him. “Oh, Kyle, can we? Do you think we can build one that will get us somewhere?”

  He smiled again, captivated as always as he stared down into her eyes. Her hands, petite and soft, were against his chest. He brought his arms around her and gently dipped to kiss the tip of her nose. “Yes, we can do it.”

  Suddenly he crushed her to him, his fingers entwined in the silk of her hair. He would get them off the island, but he would be damned if he would let her go then.

  He released his hold and she raised her head, her eyes meeting his with confusion.

  “Kiss me,” he commanded her, stunned by the harshness of his voice. He felt a shiver ripple through her lithe body, saw the flare in her eyes. But the flare was touched by the passion that could rule her and she complied, lacing surprisingly strong slender arms around his neck and raising her head to his. Her lips met his fully, parting at the fullness of his, meeting him with a staggering volatility. The sweet heat of her mouth was his, the fiery vibrancy of her delicately voluptuous form. He held the embrace, tongue thrusting deeply, consumingly, as if to meld with her for all time, for moments of a hell’s-fire eternity. Something about the hot, vibrant passion she gave him was reassuring; he finally released her, meeting her open eyes. “The arguing stops here,” he told her. “We live together, we love together, we trust together.”

  Skye nodded, loath to bring her arms from his neck. Oh, God, she thought desperately, if only… if only she could stay with him and have him until they turned old and gray. She wouldn’t care if they never left the island, if she lived all her days at his side, listening to his velvet voice, feeling the ripple of muscles beneath her fingers. “The arguing stops here,” she murmured. They didn’t really argue so much, did they?

  “And no more prim Ms. Delaney.”

  “What?” Skye’s brows furrowed in a frown.

  “We’re going to be careful, Skye. We’re going to build a raft. But in the meantime, we’re not going to stop living.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  He smiled enigmatically and traced the outline of her lips with a gentle finger. “I’ll show you later,” he murmured. “For the moment we have a raft to build, right?”

  “Yes.” Skye returned his smile. “We have a raft to build.”

  By late that afternoon Skye was wishing they had long ago decided to build a raft. She enjoyed spending the time with Kyle, being with him constantly, working at his side. The hours passed like quicksilver. She learned which trees were most buoyant, which vines would create the strongest ties. She ventured farther into the plateaued ridges of the island than she had ever dared before, and listened contentedly as Kyle explained how the action of volcanoes and earthquakes had charted the Pacific. He told her about the islands he visited, about peoples, places, and things. He kept her laughing half the day. The only note of seriousness came when he told her they were going to attempt to camouflage the hut so that they could see before they were seen. Skye silently helped him with a thatching that Kyle assured her would blend their living quarters with the island from any distance.

  “I must compliment you, Ms. Delaney,” he teased when they were done with work for the day.

  “Oh?” Skye had an itch on her cheek and she rubbed it against his shoulder.

  “You haven’t been at all prim.”

  “No,” she agreed, appreciating the smooth tension that rippled from his shoulder to her face as she rested against him.

  The sun was slowly setting. It’s rays were majestic shades, delicate shades. The sand was bathed in a soft mauve haze while the sky was streaked with vibrant violet and magenta. The ocean was turning a mysterious indigo, whimsically tipped by the foam of rising whitecaps.

  The breeze was strong, fanning the natural paradise, shaping shadows with the dipping palms. A breath that was pure magic was in the air.

  “You were going to show me something,” Skye murmured lazily against the taut skin of his back. “Something about living.”

  “Ummm…” he murmured in return.

  He spun suddenly and caught her in his arms, assailing her with slow, heated moist kisses along her shoulder, lifting her hair to allow his lips to wander sensuously to the nape of her neck and back to her earlobe. The soft whisper of his breath, then the grazing of gentle teeth and the touch of his tongue, sent her into quivering spasms as waves of sensation washed over her.

  “Kyle…” she murmured, burying her head against his chest, feeling and loving the brush of coarse hair against her cheek.

  He moved back from her, holding her shoulders. The fire he had stoked just moments before leaped high and Skye could clearly see his fine profile, chiseled to be arrogant, formed to be proud, against the radiant colors of the night. His lips were full and sensuous, easily tightened, but easily forming a smile, easily touching her with such volatile results.

  “Kyle,” she murmured again. She was coming to know him so well that she could feel him with every fiber of her body, a body acutely attuned to his…

  She was coming to know him so well. And yet, she thought, a chill meeting her, she didn't know him at all. She didn't know him off the inland, she didn’t know the man he was in real life. Even now he could close himself to her, even now she could wonder what caused the fierce expression in his countenance.

  He had a past; he had a life. He chose not to share it with her. And suddenly she realized that she had been glad, that she had gone to him many times ignoring the possibilities of other lives, of their situation changing.

  She didn’t want to change anything. She didn’t want to know anything. She could and would pretend that the world outside of their rose and violet sunset didn’t exist.

  His fingers tensed upon her
shoulders and she looked at him wonderingly. His eyes flickered now with a tense emotion she couldn’t understand, and then he shook her slightly.

  “Don’t ever turn away from me, Skye,” he said hoarsely.

  She shook her head, unable to comprehend his mood. Turn away? She was waiting for his lead. Something in her silent answer, in the open depths of her amber eyes, must have been right. His mood mercurially changed. He laughed and scooped her high in his arms, his whispers throaty as he carried her fully clothed into the indigo surf.

  If ever man was meant for paradise, this was he.

  His laughter continued as he swirled her in huge circles within the dark, cool bath of the ocean. Her laughter rose to join his. They spun and spun as the colors intensified, as magic ruled the coming of the night. And then their laughter stopped as they looked deep into one another’s eyes. Kyle was still. He finally moved to kiss her; his eyes holding hers until their lips touched, and then closing slowly.

  He held her still as he strode out of the water, until he reached the high burning fire and deposited her gently, tenderly, beside it.

  “Are you cold?” he asked as she shivered.

  She nodded.

  “I’ll warm you,” he promised, still gentle, still achingly tender as he worked upon the buttons of her fraying blouse, his fingers trembling. They watched one another as he eased the fabric from her shoulders.

  Skye stood then, shedding her damp shorts with innate grace. Kyle rose before her. She reached for him, sliding her fingers beneath the band of his pants. A thrill, the heat she had been promised, suffused through her as she heard his groan, felt the contraction of his stomach muscles. She held his eyes as her fingers found the button, released the zipper, held his eyes as she eased her fingers over his bare buttocks, sliding his shorts to the ground. Stepping from them, Kyle kicked them aside.

  A sudden streak of gold filtered through the magenta of the dying day. It met with the glow of the fire; it covered them with a sheen of warm, provocative, glorious light.