by BJ James
“She doesn’t want to. For Jordana this is a place to be shared with Patrick.”
Nicole looked down at their joined hands. The bracelet glinted about his wrist. Had he brought Brett here? Had she listened as raptly to his story of Jordana and Patrick? Had she felt heartsick and ashamed for envying a truly rare and abiding love?
“Hey.” Jeb’s fingers skimmed along her jaw, lifting her face. “What’s this? Have you forgotten already?”
“Forgotten?”
“That this is a happy place. Long faces aren’t allowed.”
Nicole stared up at him, her mind reeling at the tenderness she saw. Brett didn’t matter, nothing mattered except the feel of his hand at her throat and the look in his eyes. “I haven’t forgotten.”
“Then where’s my smile? Gotta have it, you know, or I’ll think you don’t like my surprise.”
“I like it.” A slow smile, straight from her heart, spread across her face. “I like everything about Eden.”
“That’s my girl.” Then he kissed her, a simple brushing of his mouth against hers, but enough to send tremors rushing through him. He’d known that her mouth would be soft and, when she got past the first surprise, yielding. What he didn’t expect was the flash of need and desire that was nearly his undoing. He’d wanted her before, but never quite like this.
Drawing away while he still could, his breath coming in hard deep gasps, he tried to smile. “Jordana says this place is magic.”
Nicole didn’t answer, she had no words. She’d been kissed, but not like Jeb kissed her. Never like Jeb kissed her. The shock of all the nameless needs he stirred in her left her confused, a little afraid, and desperate for more.
The wind whirled through the garden, the rustle of leaves rose to a chortle. Jeb closed his eyes, hearing the laughter of children, recalling, deliberately, the one addition Jordana had made to the garden. A stone buried at the children’s feet, covered now with ivy. But he didn’t need to see to remember the words carved in slanting script.
Where There’s Laughter There Must Be Peace And Truth, And No One Can Be Sad Or Frightened.
Truth.
Jeb Tanner, retired stockbroker extraordinaire, was anything but the truth.
He’d been angry with Simon for sullying Eden again with the troubles of The Black Watch. Now he saw himself as the greatest offender of all.
“Enough.” Scooping up the cap his kiss had tumbled from her head, he shot to his feet, a curse under his labored breath, reviling his thoughts, himself. In his anger, he had presence of mind enough to see the bewilderment in her eyes. And he hated himself more.
“Sorry.” He wrapped a hand around her cheek. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” Pretending to misunderstand was easier for both of them. “I just remembered something I promised to do for Patrick.”
“Then I shouldn’t delay you.” She needed a moment to regain her composure, and to discover if she were glad or sorry he backed away. “Go on and I’ll be along later.”
He hadn’t sunk quite low enough to lead a woman into a virtual wilderness, then leave her. He wasn’t quite that angry or that desperate.
“We came together, Nicky. We’ll go back the same way.” He didn’t hear the harsh note in his voice, nor see her flinch as he took her hand again to lift her to her feet. “If you’d like, you can spend time on the beach while I do what I need to do. Jordana has some extra swimsuits at the pool house. They might be a bit roomy, but should suffice. If you tire of walking, or get too much sun, there’s a cabana on the South beach.”
He sounded like a tour guide. Cold-eyed, bored, handing out information in a monotone. Nicole looked away, grasping at his suggestion. “I think I’d like to walk for a while on the beach.”
“The suits—”
“I don’t need a suit.”
“As you wish.”
He led her back to the main grounds. Retracing their steps as carefully as before, he kept tree limbs from her face, moss from her hair, touching her only when he had to, releasing her quickly each time. As if the feel of her skin was abhorrent.
At the path leading to the South beach, he handed her the cap, muttered a terse, unintelligible comment that might have been goodbye, take care, or go to hell, and strode away to a small building behind the main house.
* * *
Nicole scuffed her bare toes in the sand. A broken sand dollar tumbled to the edge of the surf, scattering tiny bits of its center over the sand. There was a legend about those gull-shaped pieces, but she couldn’t recall it. She didn’t try. After all, there were legends about everything, weren’t there?
Charleston had more legends than one could remember, Kiawah had Folly’s Castle, Eden had the children’s garden. Who knew? Perhaps one day there would be a legend of an idiot woman who pined away...
She stopped, staring blankly at the shell. “For what?” A memory, a dream, out of confusion? All of the above?
“Like a fool.”
Jeb had kissed her, and each time it rocked her to the depths of heart and soul. But what had it meant to him? Was his interest in her simply the natural condition of a stranger in a strange land gravitating to an old friend? Or was it more?
Frustrated, she spun in place and back again, wondering where to go, what to do. On one hand, she could stand here all day playing twenty questions when she didn’t have twenty answers. On the other, she could enjoy a rare holiday in a rare place. Common sense opted for the latter.
“Smart cookie,” she muttered. Now if her mind would only listen to reason. Doggedly she set out to walk away her troubles. Walk them right into the sand, she would.
Thirty-seven-and-one-half minutes later, as she glanced at her watch out of habit, she realized she’d done exactly that. Or, at least, had put them into perspective.
“Wisdom sometimes walks on bare feet,” she misquoted the adage shamelessly. Her mother, who had been old enough to be her grandmother, and given to salving what she considered life’s little problems with endless proverbs, would be proud.
Always a Band-Aid when she needed a bandage, but she’d learned to hold on to her pride and make the best of what she was given.
For a while Tony had given her more. And then Jeb.
“Jeb.”
She scuffed the sand again, and knew her barefoot wisdom was for naught. She was as guilty as her mother, a Band-Aid for a bandage, a temporary measure for a permanent condition.
“I love Jeb Tanner. I have loved Jeb Tanner since I was fifteen. I will love Jeb Tanner until the day I die.”
There, dammit! She’d dreamed it, thought it, felt it, at last she’d said it.
“I love him,” she said again, whispering when she wanted to shout, knowing she never could, and accepting it.
A playful breeze kissed her cheek and caught the words, as if it shared her secret and would keep it. Nicole smiled a sad smile and wondered if Eden offered an invisible shoulder to cry on.
But she wouldn’t cry, not even for Jeb. She’d finished with her tears for him a long time ago. But she hadn’t finished with him. Not by a long shot. He’d begun by seeing her as ‘the kid’ and ended by seeing the woman. He wanted her, and he was fighting it.
“He’s going to lose. I’m going to see to it.” Tossing her cap to the beach, she tilted her chin, letting the breeze ruffle her hair. “My gift, to me,” she murmured. “From Eden.”
* * *
Jeb found her later, sitting in the sand, staring at the sea.
“All done?” she asked without looking away from some distant point.
“What?” He frowned down at her, her hat was gone, her nose was sunburned. “Done with what?”
“The favor.” She looked up at him. “The one you promised Patrick.”
“Yeah.” He swallowed and nodded. “All done.”
Busy work. He’d worked like hell, and all it had been was busy work.
“I think Patrick’s lucky to have a friend like you.”
“Maybe.” In the flush o
f the sun, her eyes were greener than he’d ever seen them. He flexed his fingers, wanting to touch her cheek, feel the heat. “I...ah.” He looked away. The sea was as calm as a lake, an irresistible invitation. “Would you like to go for a swim?”
“No.” Swimming meant two choices, skinny-dipping or accepting a suit from Jordana’s closet. He’d assured her no one would mind. He was dead wrong. Someone minded all right. Nicole Callison minded. She was already wearing one stranger’s clothes, a second would be too much.
“Tell me about Brett.”
“What?” For Jeb the question came out of nowhere and left him totally perplexed.
Nicole climbed to her feet; dusting sand from her hands, she grasped his wrist, lifting it until the bracelet glinted in the sun. “Tell me about Brett.”
“How do you know about Brett?”
She gestured to the gold band lying against his tanned arm. “This, and later Mitch.”
Jeb remembered. “When he went through that nonsense about playing pirate, crying ‘land ho’ from the rigging.”
“He said she was a woman much like me.”
“She is.” He offered nothing else, asking instead, “What more would you like to know?”
What did she want to know? That Brett was wonderful and exciting? Special to Jeb? Didn’t she know that already? Wasn’t the bracelet proof of it? “I don’t want to know anything. It’s none of my business. Forget I asked.”
She turned away, anxious to put space between them.
“What the hell?” Jeb caught her arm, spinning her around. “What’s the matter with you?”
“What’s the matter?” Her voice was low, a whisper barely heard above the wash of the surf. “You know as well as I do.” Her breasts heaved beneath the clinging T-shirt. “Damn you, Jeb Tanner, you know. I’ve loved three men in my life. My father, my brother and you. One day you walked out of my life without a backward glance. Three years later Tony did the same. I never heard from him again. Not a word. Not even when our parents died. I lost a friend, I lost a brother and one by one, my parents. It took a while, but finally I put all the heartache behind me.
“Then one day you walked into my gallery and back into my life. And it began again.”
“What began again, Nicole?” His throat was dry, his heart pounded in every sinew and nerve.
“Do you want the words? Do you need them?”
“Yes.” The admission was a growl, guttural, harsh. “With every dotted i and crossed t.”
“Desire,” she flung at him. “There’s your dotted i. Want, a crossed t. Need, thrown in just for the hell of it. Yes, I was fifteen and too young. But I’m not fifteen, anymore, not by a long shot. There.” She jerked her arm from his hold. “Are you satisfied? Is that enough?”
As the force of her violent move backed her away, he went with her. Advancing one small step at a time. He’d fought himself, he’d fought for honor and integrity. But he couldn’t fight Nicole. Not when she stood before him, a magnificent woman, throwing down a gauntlet no man could refuse. “No, it isn’t enough.”
“Then what more do you want?”
“This.” His hand flashed out, catching in her hair, yanking her roughly to him. “I want this,” he muttered as his head dipped to hers. “I want you.”
His mouth closed over hers, hard and demanding, with all the pent-up passion he’d fought. He didn’t know what he expected, or if he expected anything at all, but when her mouth opened beneath his, responding with passion for passion, it rocked him to the very core. If he’d thought to stop with a punishing kiss, the thought was lost.
As he tore his lips away, lifting his head, searching for a place, he knew nothing on earth would stop him from making love to her here, now. On Eden. In the sand if there was nowhere else.
The cabana. It stood at his back, he’d nearly forgotten it. Sweeping her from her feet, he held her close to his chest. Sand flew as he spun around. He wondered vaguely what he was doing, then Nicole sighed and kissed the sensitive flesh at the side of his neck as she buried her face in his shoulder.
Then he didn’t think at all.
The cabana was only a shanty with four corner posts and a thatched roof over beach sand. A crude and tiny square of shade and cool, but enough. One kick sent a bench tumbling from his way. Setting her on her feet, he kissed her again, and her mouth was enough to drive him mad, if he weren’t already there.
His shirt drifted to the sand, and he lost his breath as her palm stroked over his chest. His fingers were clumsy with the knot at her breasts. The twisted knot gave an inch, then uncoiled. His rasping curse turned to a prayer as the shirt floated to join his, and her breasts were free for him to caress and to kiss.
“Nicole,” he whispered as he bent to take a taut nipple in his mouth.
Dazed with wonder, she gave herself to pleasure she’d never known. But soon, as her hands moved over his bare back, as his tongue curled and tugged at her breasts, it wasn’t enough. She wanted more. She needed more.
“Jeb.”
Only his name.
Lifting his mouth from her breast, he looked deeply into her eyes. Desire mirrored desire. She ached for him, for all of him, as much as he ached for her.
“It isn’t enough,” he whispered cryptically. “But with you, will it ever be?”
There was no time to ponder what he meant, no time to care, as he drew her down to a careless bed made of discarded clothing. Grasping her wrists, pinning them to the ground at each side of her head, he rose over her. For a long, slow moment he looked again into her eyes. There was fire in them, emerald fire, as his mouth moved over her face and breasts, but he wanted a conflagration. He wanted the untamed passion, he wanted the madness, the need, the hurt, the sweet pain. He wanted her to writhe with it, and cry out. He wanted her to tremble with wanting, as he trembled.
And even then, it wouldn’t be enough.
“Jeb.” She strained to his kiss, never sure if it would fall on her breasts, an aching nipple, or the hollow of her navel. Never really sure that she would survive the next onslaught, but certain she would die without it.
Her head thrashed to and fro. She fought against his pinioning hold. She wanted to touch him, caress him, drive him to the brink. She wanted more. She wanted everything.
“Jeb!”
“Yes.” He moved over her, his lips brushing hers in a long languid kiss, as his body joined gently with hers. Then gentleness was beyond him.
Every tortuous pleasure he wanted for her she gave to him. Their bodies merged, then merged again, and again, and again. Hotter, wilder, demanding and giving. Spiraling down and down into the pulsing darkness of release.
“Nicky! My sweet Nicky,” he cried on a shuddering breath.
Her own cries answered.
Then the world was still.
* * *
Jeb braced an arm on a corner post of the cabana as a minuscule patch of white drifting in the ocean became a sail. The Gambler would be docking in less than an hour.
He hadn’t bothered to dress. It was a little late for modesty, and common sense and honesty. It was late for everything. But he could explain. “You asked about Brett.”
Nicole paused in the act of looping the rope at her waist. She looked at his straight, unyielding back, at the bracelet. “It doesn’t matter. It’s none of my business.”
“She’s a friend, a good friend,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “The bracelet is a token of thanks. If you read the entire inscription, you’d see.”
“Fine.” She bent to gather her shirt from the sand.
“Matthew and Mitch have one exactly like it.” So did Simon, but it wasn’t necessary to bring someone she didn’t know into this.
“Why?”
“The way she figures it, the man she loves, her husband now, is alive because of us.”
“Is it true?”
“Maybe.” He shrugged. “There was trouble here, they hid on the bluff, then put out to sea. They’d been drifting for
a day when we found them. Jamie had a shattered hand and was delirious. They might have survived long enough to make it to shore.”
“But they might not have.”
He shrugged again. “Who knows.”
They were only the sparsest facts of a much larger story, but intuition told her she wouldn’t hear any more. Shouldn’t. “Then I’m glad you could help.”
“Yeah.” He turned then. Magnificently male, and heartbreakingly sad. “The sloop will be docking within the hour. We need to get away before darkfall. If you’d like to take a shower, wash away the sand, there are six bathrooms in the house.” Collecting his rumpled clothes, he didn’t look at her. “Use any one you like.”
“All right,” she said, but he was striding away, and still without a backward look.
* * *
Nicole sat in gathering shadows; hands folded to still their restlessness, she looked up at the portrait of Jordana. A special woman, a special place.
“Thank you for sharing your Eden,” she whispered. “I’ll never forget.”
Rising, she went to the door. The scent of flowers drifted to her. With a steady hand she reached out to pluck a wild rose from a vase. A memento.
Just like that, it was done. As she stepped through the door, closing it behind her, her day on Eden was ended. She had run an emotional gamut here—from elation to despair—as passion was spent and madness returned to reason, with not one tender word.
The moon was rising, the waiting sloop gleamed in its early light. As she took one last look about her, there were no regrets for the bargain she’d made with herself.
As long as she lived, she would never regret loving Jeb.
Eight
“Annabelle!” Nicole stopped abruptly as the bell over the gallery door jangled her nerves. If she were as tall as Jeb, she could stop the chiming on one note. But she wasn’t as tall as Jeb, and she didn’t intend to spend the day mooning about him.
“Good morning.” A dark look flashed at her. “Although, for the life of me, I can’t find anything good about it.”
