She got into the Cherokee and, although she’d intended to drive back to the house, she found herself driving, instead, to the end of the dock, where she pulled up next to Zach’s pickup. Out in the harbor, in a rain that was being driven almost horizontal by the screaming wind, she saw the big white launch making its way toward the dock. A sailboat was lashed to the side of the launch and Allie saw that its mast was snapped off near the top, the broken piece hanging high above the deck, the remnant of twisted, flapping sail whipping dangerously in the vicious wind.
The man at the wheel of the launch must have been the harbormaster, the man they’d called Gordon. The other man in the boat, holding on to the sailboat as it was being brought in, keeping it under control, was Zach. Even at a distance, she recognized that tall, lean figure in the bright yellow foul weather gear, his dark hair flattened by the rain. His back was toward her and his head was turned up, into the rain. He was keeping an eye on the broken mast, watching as it smacked back and forth against the long wire stays that were all that held the broken part high aloft. It was close to being torn loose by the fierce wind, and Allie could see that if it broke away, the long wires, thirty, maybe forty feet long, already under high tension, would slash out in uncontrollable, unpredictable directions.
Knowing better but still not stopping herself, she was immediately out of the car, running down the ramp, fearful for Zach’s safety in the raging storm, and feeling, inexplicably, a need to be close to him, to help him. Even as she ran, she understood how foolish she was being. What possible help could she be? Zach was thoroughly at home in this environment. It was she who was completely unfamiliar with it. Still, her feet kept running down the slippery ramp, her fingertips grasping at the rails to keep herself from sliding on the wet metal surface. Down on the floats, close to the water’s edge, the wind was blowing even more wildly, and she ran for the last float, where the two men were bringing in the launch and the disabled sailboat.
The harbormaster saw Allie as the boat pulled in close. He was holding the launch as steady as he could in the rough water, maneuvering the bulky craft up to the far edge of the float. Straining to be heard above the roar of the wind, he yelled at her to grab the boat’s line nearest to her and make it fast on that side. As she reached for the line, he was signaling Zach that they would have to untie the sailboat and bring it into the nearest empty slip, a tricky bit of work at any time.
At just that moment, Zach looked around from where he’d been untying the sailboat. He saw Allie, hanging desperately onto the launch’s bowline, straining against the boat’s drag, struggling to keep her footing on the slippery, wet surface of the float.
The violent oath that burst from him was drowned in the shrieking wind. With a single motion, his hands retied the loosened line, and with a couple of long strides down the length of the boat, he was on the float and beside Allie before she knew he was coming.
He had seen immediately how unsure her footing was on the treacherous surface, how she was fighting to keep her balance against the drag of the big launch and the twisting, conflicting forces of the current and the fierce wind that were pulling against her. She was in much greater danger than she realized!
From behind, his arms went powerfully around her, grabbing with one hand the line that she was struggling to hold and, with his other hand holding her upright, pulling her back tight, steadying her against his own straining body. They were close to the edge of the float, and he had to draw her down with him, her body molded to his, as he crouched low to tie up the heavy launch. Gordon had cut the motor back and Zach yelled at him that the line was fast.
Then he dragged Allie away from the edge of the water, his fingers digging ferociously into her arms as he turned her to face him.
“You idiot! What are you doing here?” He seemed barely able to control himself and Allie felt he would crush her in his hands. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?” He glared fiercely down at her, his face close to hers. Allie was terrified by his fury and felt her own eyes fill with tears. He repeated his words, shouting at her, “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”
She was so frightened she couldn’t breathe. He was dragging her up the ramp and along the dock to where the Cherokee was parked. He yanked the door open and pushed her roughly into it.
“Get out of here! Go back home and don’t you ever try anything like that again!” He slammed the door shut, turned, and ran back to the launch, where Gordon was waiting for him to help with the damaged sailboat.
Allie sat, silent and shaking, trying to stop the tears that flowed helplessly. She couldn’t understand Zach’s rage. And she couldn’t understand why she’d felt compelled to help him; how had she not realized that what she had been doing would be dangerous—to herself or to anyone else?
Then, as the moments passed, her frightened tears were gradually turning into tears of anger. Who did he think he was, yelling at her like that? Dragging her around like a sack of potatoes. Scaring the wits out of her. Her arms could still feel the fierce pressure of his fingers crushing her and she wanted to pound her fists against his broad chest.
At last, with an occasional sob still catching in her throat, Allie started up the motor and drove down the dock, past The Lobster Pot, along the town’s main street, back along the highway and through the wooded places that led to the beautiful house high up on the dunes above the beach, all being lashed by the driving rain.
* * *
Allie slammed the door of the Cherokee behind her and stalked across the driveway. When she got into the house, she slammed that door behind her, too. She pulled her dripping poncho over her head and threw it violently onto the chair next to the door.
She couldn’t decide if she was more in a rage at Zach or at herself. What could she have been thinking, driving out into that storm, trying to help bring in that damned boat? They didn’t need her, that much was perfectly clear, and she had only put herself in danger.
And those people in the diner! So rude! What were they so afraid of? What was all this about “outsiders”?
It was all so stupid!
As for Zach, whatever it was that had compelled her to drive out into the storm, to get herself down to the water’s edge, to put herself at risk to help him do a job he needed no help with, this craziness had to stop. He didn’t want her around. He couldn’t have made that any clearer. He had practically thrown her into the Cherokee. He had yelled at her and told her to get out of there. What more explicit message did she want?
“Enough!” She glared at herself in the oval mirror that hung on the wall next to the front door. “Enough of this craziness! Allie Randall, he’s right. He called you an idiot. You are an idiot. It’s time to start acting like a grown-up woman, and put this foolishness behind you. Now go in there and get to work!”
She went directly to the studio, and at last she was able to work for several hours, capturing in paint the dazzling view from the window, letting all the emotional upheaval of the storm and Zach’s fury and her own fear and anger find their way into her painting. At last, the turmoil of the morning and the night before had found their creative path, and Allie was able to let it all come together on her canvas.
As she worked through the afternoon, the storm gradually eased off, and the rain fell more lightly. By five o’clock, sunlight was filling the sky, purple and gold above the thunderclouds disappearing to the west, and the birds’ song could be heard from the dripping trees.
Allie painted until the light was gone, and only then did she realize she’d had no solid food all day. The time had come to finish up for the day, so she cleaned her brushes and took off the paint-smeared shirt. She dropped it on her worktable and turned off the light in the studio.
In the kitchen, she took a leftover beef casserole from the fridge and set it on the counter, to be microwaved later. Then she went into the living room and stood for a long time at the big window, looking out over the ocean.
The sea was calmer; the waves were rolli
ng in smoothly on the shore. Her own mood was calmer, too. The painting had allowed her tumultuous feelings to find their own natural rhythm, and to her surprise, what she now felt was only pure sensation, a sensual response of her whole body that had begun hours before, on the dock, in the moment when Zach’s arms had locked around her, pulling her body back against his, the wind and the rain blanketing them both, his fingers digging into her arms, his ferocious rage, making her weep—
Now, as she looked out over the shimmering water, she knew she was no longer angry at Zach. The painting had taken her anger away, leaving only the memory of him, as though embedded in her skin, in her nerves. Her whole body had not forgotten him, and the feel of his hard body was with her still, in rich, sensual memory, along her arms and down the back of her legs.
* * *
Zach hadn’t forgotten, either. There on the dock, with the storm violent all around them, her hair whipping back against his face in the wind, he had held her in his arms. He had felt her, warm and vibrant as she struggled against the taut line. He had pressed her slim, graceful body hard against his own, her lithe, feminine form forced to mold itself to his as he crouched low to cleat the line. He could not forget. The muscles of his chest, his arms, the insides of his thighs, could not forget the feel of her straining up against him. He could feel himself tightening as he remembered.
He knew that she didn’t understand what it had done to him, seeing her out there, whipped by the storm, trying so helplessly to drag in that big boat. She couldn’t know, of course, what lay behind his terror. And he couldn’t forget how, in his mindless, terrified hands, she had shivered helplessly, as his panic exploded out of him, uncontrollable, making her cry. Of course she hadn’t understood, one slip of her foot on that treacherous surface—oh, God! He couldn’t bear to let his mind go in that direction.
But the feel of her lay along his skin, driving away all other memories. He had thought it would never be this way again. After so many years, he no longer expected that any woman could reach inside him, stir him, make him—all of him—come alive and feel powerful.
It was just as well there was hard, heavy work to be done. He needed these hours to get some control of his churning emotions. Not until evening approached, and the boats were safe and all the harbor damage was repaired, did Zach allow himself to listen, finally, to the insistent message his body’s memory was sending him. He had not forgotten. He could not forget.
Now, at the end of the day, when the harbormaster and the fishermen and everyone else had gone home and the dock was empty and quiet, Zach finally gave himself some time to think. He lowered his long body down onto the dock, sliding down to rest against one of the tall pilings, and looked out over the rain-washed harbor at the sun just disappearing at the horizon, the last rays blazing up over the water.
For a long time, he thought about Allie, and about himself, and about how he’d yelled at her, and about the feel of her in his arms. And he knew, at last, what he had been fighting against since the first moment, weeks ago, when he’d first seen her step off that plane—what he had not allowed himself to know until this morning, when he had slammed that door and left her weeping inside her car.
A big, slow grin gradually spread over his face, deepening the furrows at the sides of his mouth and the sun-etched lines at the corners of his eyes. He was letting himself, finally, realize the truth about himself and Allie Randall, and he knew what he was going to do. He took one slow, deep, deep breath and then another. The grin grew even broader as he unfolded his long legs and stood up. He put his head back and laughed aloud into the quiet, sunset sky. He strode down the floats to the ramp, his stride gradually lengthening until he broke into a run, loping happily up the ramp and along the dock to his truck.
Zach’s decision was clear and certain. He was going to drive up to that house by the beach—his house, damn it!—and he was going to take Allie Randall in his arms again, and this time, he was not going to let her get away from him. This time, there would be no confusion of emotions. He was going to let himself enjoy her—enjoy her, damn it—all of her, all the sweet, graceful, young beauty of her.
He drove the green pickup smoothly, confidently, through the little town and onto the highway. Zach was still grinning broadly as he drove along Route 6.
“I’m going up to that house,” he said aloud, “and—if she’ll have me—I’m going to take that woman to bed!”
* * *
Allie went upstairs and ran a hot bath, adding fragrant bubble lotion. She had finally realized she was exhausted and needed some pampering and some sensual comfort. A good long soak in a bubble bath might soothe the quivering tensions in her nerve endings that Zach had set in motion.
She piled her hair into a thick coil on top of her head and fastened it in place with a big plastic clip. Then she peeled off all her clothes and dropped everything into the clothes hamper. She stepped into the tub and sank down into the luxurious, steaming water, slowly letting the strain ease out of her muscles.
After a while, a delicious sleepiness crept through her and, in an almost dreamy state, she lathered herself with the French soap that was her only really extravagant indulgence. She could feel her skin respond to the sensual combination of smooth soap and rough washcloth, and by the time she had rinsed herself off and stepped out of the tub, she was completely ready for a hot meal and a good night’s sleep.
She patted herself barely dry with one of Adam’s thick towels and wrapped herself up in a big terry cloth robe that hung at the back of the bathroom door. Her hair was still piled up on top of her head, and the strands that had escaped clung damply to the back of her neck. She was just about to brush her hair when she heard the sound of tires coming to a stop on the gravel driveway at the front of the house, and the heavy sound of a truck door being opened and closed.
“He’s here!” she said aloud.
She could not have said what finely tuned sensitivity told her that it was Zach who had just come into her driveway. She was almost down the stairs when she heard knocking on the front door.
When she opened the door, the light behind her glowed warmly on him, revealing him with one upraised arm resting casually against the doorframe, the other hand braced against the opposite side, blocking any exit. In the soft light, he looked steadily into her eyes and a slow smile appeared at his mouth.
His eyes moved slowly, almost lazily, over her damp face and hair, noting the clip that held the thick golden coils and the wet tendrils clinging to her neck. He let his gaze drop down, resting on her bare throat where it disappeared into the soft fold of the thick white robe. Zach was not asking her permission to let his eyes rest wherever he chose.
Before she could speak, he lifted his eyes to hers, his smile broadened.
“I owe you an apology,” he said. “I was way out of line.” Again, his eyes moved slowly over her face, savoring every feature, and then, again, they dropped to the folds of her robe. “There was no call for me to be so rough with you.”
Aware of her nakedness beneath the soft terry cloth, she brought one hand to her throat, holding the robe closed.
“You scared the hell out of me, Zach. What was that all about?”
She surprised herself by challenging him. Another fight with Zach Eliot was the last thing she wanted now. She understood, suddenly, with crystal clarity, what it was she wanted. She wanted him to hold her again, and she wanted more than that—she wanted much more.
In the dark, his face and his long, lean body were lit only by the light from inside the house but she could see his mouth tense slightly, momentarily, and then ease again.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said softly. “You scared me, too, but it doesn’t matter now.”
His hand moved from where it had been braced against the doorframe.
“I’m coming in, Allie.”
He took one step across the threshold, close to her and with a single, slow motion, without asking her permission, he undid the sash of her robe. He sli
pped his hand inside her loosened robe, around her naked waist, and pulled her toward him.
She didn’t try to stop him. She didn’t want to stop him. Her whole body, her whole being had been hungry for him to come to her just this way. She couldn’t think beyond this moment.
His hands moved inside the soft white robe, his fingers exploring the smooth skin of her back, her hips; drawing her closer. His eyes were on her exposed breast, watching it rise and fall as her breathing deepened and became faster. And then he looked up into her eyes and saw there her willing consent to what he had come here to do.
With his hand at her back, holding her close, and his eyes still fixed on hers, he reached up and pulled the clip from her hair and let her hair fall loosely, damply to her shoulders. The clip dropped from his fingers unheeded and now, at last, he allowed himself the luxury of burying his hand deep into the sensual warmth of her hair.
She made no move to cover herself, to resist him, to prevent what was coming. Zach saw her lips part slightly, and he kissed those soft lips, feeling her breath against his mouth, feeling her back arch slightly toward him. Her eyes closed, and again he kissed her, gently, allowing himself to enjoy the willingness of her mouth.
She was mesmerized. Her arms were loose, relaxed at her sides, all of her was opening and yielding. Until this moment, she had not dared to realize how hungry she was for Zach. But now, with his hand at her back and his mouth on hers, she knew the truth, she knew what she wanted. She wanted everything there could be between them.
He continued to kiss her softly; small, gentle kisses. And when he slipped the robe off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor around her feet, she made no move at all, waiting, watching him as his eyes moved in a long caress over her naked body and her own excitement grew more intense as she saw his pleasure in her. His eyes returned slowly, sensuously, to her face and, smiling, he brushed those ragged, sweet bangs away from her eyes. And then he grinned broadly, his expression happier than she had ever seen it. Abruptly, he bent down and in one smooth gesture he lifted her off the floor, scooping her up high in his arms.
Summer on the Cape Page 13
