by Mary Haskell
"What are you doing?" She squeezed onto the bunk beside him, careful not to crush the precious chart.
He meticulously explained the color-coded system, aware that it was important for her to understand exactly how it worked.
"Hey, that's bril iant." She went back to the stove and put two teabags in the smal pewter teapot. "Looks like one of Jack Johnson's brainstorms."
"Right." As a result of their many long discussions about his work over the years, Jenny could spot the individual marks of his associates' expertise almost as quickly as he could.
Larry found himself unable to concentrate on the project. His eyes traveled up and down his wife's form. The slightly uncomfortable stretching of a certain area of his shorts attested to the incredible effect she stil had on him. It was with considerable force of wil that he refrained from going up behind her and running his hands over that soft, enticing flesh. His fingers itched to touch the hard little nipples that jutted out of those ful y rounded breasts.
His eyes dropped to the scant bottom of the dark pink bikini. How he'd love to pul it down, to shove the charts out of the way and lower her naked form to the bunk, to kiss her in that delicious area below the bikini line.
She only let him once in a while, when she magical y crossed the line into uncontrol able passion. If he gave into his urges now it would make Jenny uncomfortable.
He pul ed the map up over the bulge in his pants. Spontaneous sex was not exactly a regular ingredient of their marriage. He accepted his wife's emotional reticence. To be honest, it had always been something of a chal enge to him, an intriguing turn-on.
He remembered his first impression of Jenny: her childlike sweetness, that quiet, wide-eyed innocent look. He had almost dismissed her, she had seemed like such a kid. He frowned, remembering his resistance to his mother's suggestion that he invite Jenny to a dance at the yacht club. How very close he had come to missing out on his discovery of the amazing depths of her personality.
He admired Jenny. Admired her, loved her, and needed her. The fact that his hot-blooded exuberance somewhat unnerved her usual y amused him; it was just that lately ... wel , lately sex seemed to be on his mind a lot.
Hey, what brought this on? His mind clicked back to their earlier conversation, causing him to grin rueful y.
Maybe he'd better skip his birthday this year.
"Oh, Larry..."
"Yes?" He forced his eyes to move from her bottom to her face as she turned to bring him a steaming cup of tea.
"Did I remind you to put Christy's Tuesday evening tennis match on your calendar?"
"No. Oh hel , Jen, I have a long-range planning board meeting on Tuesday."
Jenny's forehead creased. "She'll be awful y disappointed. Couldn't you skip one meeting? These are the semifinals in her ladder."
"I can't. I'm the one who's making the report."
"But—"
Larry tried to squelch the surge of frustration inside. "I never should have accepted a place on that board. I got a little over-conscientious about my civic responsibility. I'll try to get to the finals. Christy's sure to win this round."
"You can't get to the finals; they're being held next week. You'll be in Cleveland."
"Damn." He took a slurp of his tea and winced as the too-hot liquid scorched its way down his esophagus.
"Look, I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do."
"I know. We keep doing it to ourselves, don't we— letting ourselves get pul ed into one thing after another until there's no spare time left."
"Ain't it the truth. Sometimes I remind myself of Christy's hamster, running around and around in his little wheel, trying to make better time to get nowhere."
"Larry." The smal line of concentration etched itself between her brows. "Now probably isn't the best time to bring this up, but it looks like we won't have another chance to talk until next weekend, and I have to give Professor Clemens an answer by Friday."
"An answer about what?"
"He's very pleased with the work I've done so far, and he'd like to have me increase my hours."
Larry's hands tightened around the cup. "How much?"
"He real y needs me about thirty hours a week, but I told him I didn't think I could manage more than twenty-five."
"Jen! How are you going to manage that? You don't have five spare minutes a day as it is!"
Her frown deepened. "I only have six weeks left on the school committee, and I've already told everyone that this is the last year I can run the fair. Professor Clemens would like me to spend four of the hours working with him on Monday evenings. The kids are old enough to stay alone now for a few hours."
"But that wil cut into what little time we have together!"
She stood quickly and crossed back to the sink. "Larry, be fair. You're practical y never home on Monday nights, and if I try to work my schedule completely around yours I'll never do anything!"
Larry set the cup on the narrow shelf next to his arm. He breathed deeply in an effort to release the knot in his stomach. What she said was true, but he didn't know what he could do about it. There was next to no flexibility in his schedule. He'd give his eyeteeth to be able to play tennis in the middle of the day, or decide on a whim to take the kids on a picnic with a group of friends, or just sit down once in a while and read a good book instead of spending what time he had perusing trade journals. Why Jenny had this itch to go back to work baffled him. They certainly didn't need the money.
"Larry?"
"Sure, listen, you decide. If you want to do it, do it."
"You don't sound exactly thril ed."
He shook his head, trying to erase the frown from his face. "Honey, I'm sorry. I don't mean to give you a hard time about it. You're an excel ent researcher, so I don't blame the professor for wanting more of your time. It's just that you work so hard already." He smiled tenderly at her. "You're kind of important to me, you know."
Jenny threw him a kiss. "I know. The feeling is mutual." She washed out her cup, adding it to the neat stack of interlocking plastic cups. "But no need to fret; I'm strong as an ox." She crooked her arm to show him her not overly imposing muscle.
His smile widened. "Just my male protective thing, I guess. But Jen?"
"Ummm?"
"Wil you do me a favor and think about getting some help with the housework? Even you have your physical limits, you know." When she somewhat grudgingly nodded her assent, he returned to his chart.
Jenny swiftly replaced the pans and took Larry's cup to wash it and put it away. Her mind was as busy as her hands. She loved the research; it made her brain come alive. Professor Clemens, who lived three blocks away from them in Wel esley, was a renowned historian at Harvard. She had met him at a dinner party, and when he'd discovered her background in scholastic research, he had enlisted her services on smal jobs for lectures and special papers. Now he was writing a new textbook on the history of violence in Western society.
She had begun devoting smal chunks of time to plowing through resource books and ferreting out hidden facts, work that was engrossing and deeply satisfying to her.
But she had noted Larry's quiet concern over each new encroachment on her time. She glanced at the blond head determinedly bent over the charts, the marker moving with unerring accuracy. She knew that, despite her assurances that she didn't mind, he felt guilty about the disproportionate share of household matters that were left to her.
She went to the drawer under the bookcase and pul ed out a pair of panties and a bra. Better get socks, too; the nights usual y turned chil y. She closed the door of the head behind her and turned on the shower. She lathered and rinsed off, then just stood for a few minutes, enjoying the soothing flow of hot water over her body.
She final y dried herself off and smoothed moisturizer over her arms and legs. Her skin got so dry in the summer. Then, as she started to pul on her panties, she hesitated. She was al alone with Larry for the first time in ages. Joe couldn't possibly get back in less than another ha
lf-hour or forty-five minutes. Maybe... Do it, Jennifer. And, don't think about it or you'll chicken out. He is your husband. She neatly folded the towel over the rack, dropped the panties back onto the stool, and stepped through the door.
Larry looked up and froze. His purple marker slid un- guided into the middle of a sandbar and stopped. Jenny stood a few feet from him, her freshly washed wet hair clinging to her scalp and neck, her luscious bare body exuding the aroma of soap and that nice perfumey stuff she used on her skin. His pants bulged alarmingly, but he held himself in check. She'd probably forgotten to take her clothes into the head with her.
But she moved closer to him, running her hand over his shoulder and down his arm. He reached up to clasp her waist. "Lord, Jen, you're beautiful." He buried his face in the creamy damp softness of her stomach, sighing his pleasure.
Jenny began to relax. They were in the cabin of their own boat, hidden from the world. He pul ed her forward so he could take one of her nipples into his mouth. She closed her eyes and let the wave of desire engulf her.
His tongue, moving back and forth and around the hardening tip, sent quivers of delight racing through her.
Oh, it did feel good. His tender-touching fingers tingled slowly down her back, across the dwel of her buttocks, slipping with devilish erotic cunning into the cleft, sliding forward to tease the awakening core of her wanting.
His probing fingers touched and receded, touched and receded, touched again, sending shivery spasms up, through, around.
She moved languidly, pushing one breast then the other into his greedy mouth. She leaned into the deliciousness of the tasting, relishing lips, felt the desire, need, to be sucked into his ravening mouth, to be eaten, consumed. Her customary control had slipped away, disappearing into the hot- stroking fingertips, the searching mouth.
Larry stood slowly, sliding his body up hers, capturing her lips with his. His tongue tiptoed over her teeth, crept tantalizingly in and out of her welcoming mouth. He stepped back mere inches, his eyes, gray-hazed with desire, holding hers while he tore off his shirt and dropped his shorts to the floor. He rubbed his body against hers, kindling a fire-glow that scalded her flesh. She felt the thrust of his arousal between her legs, and she pushed herself against it. Longing gushed through her, rushing her veins, battering her reserve. She was tipping over the edge, her careful y hidden wanton streak exposed. Why did it scare her?
"Larry," she gasped.
He lifted her to his need and sank in groaning convulsions onto the bunk, thrusting, thrusting, carrying them both to a startling, shattering, mutual gratification. In the shuddering explosion of her rapture Jenny heard herself cal ing his name, heard it echo in her heat-consumed mind.
Through her foggy after-mist she peered down at her lover-husband, who held her on his lap, closer than close, his head forward on her chest, spent, regaled, tiny last shudders rippling through him. She dropped her forehead "onto the top of his head, her senses gathering in an unwanted rush of fretfulness. The solemn dictums of her upbringing cluck-clucked as she unwound her legs and dragged herself to her feet, shaken but delivered.
Larry stood and pul ed her to him, kissing her softly on the temple, caressing her hair with loving, grateful strokes. "Oh, honey," he whispered, "that was so good."
"Yes," she choked, stifling the sil y feeling that she had just done something naughty.
"I love you so much," his soft voice crooned.
She clung to him, seeking the comfort of his strong arms, glad he couldn't hear her mind's misgivings.
"Ummm." Larry sighed into her ear, then took her face in his two hands, pushing back her hair with a consummately tender gesture. "I hate to say this, but I guess we should get dressed. Joe will be showing up soon."
She nestled into his protective embrace, now reluctant to have it end. "Hmm. I suppose."
With one more lingering kiss, he pul ed away and went in to turn on the shower.
Within a short time they were back on deck, dressed in slacks and shirts, armed with warm sweaters and overnight supplies, watching the dinghy wend its way toward them.
Chapter Two
The lid on the huge pot rattled and jiggled, letting out hissing exclamations of steam. "Water's ready!" Gina yel ed.
Wil Samuelson kicked at the screen door with his foot, and Jenny ran over to let him out. He squeezed through, jockeying three large bags in his arms. "Whew!" He dropped them onto the long wooden table next to the outside gril .
Jenny made a grab, catching the top bag before it skidded off to the ground. "Good grief, Wil , you didn't have to bring the lobsters out, too. We're going to steam the clams first."
He turned down the gas under the pan. "Jenny, my sweet, I hate to tel you, but these are just the clams."
Her eyes widened. "Al those?"
"Al those wil disappear with frightening speed. I heartily recommend that the adults wield their authority and take the first serving, before the ravaging hordes of teens dive in."
She laughed. "You make it sound like we're feeding a Boy Scout troop."
"Not too far from it. Your two, my three, and Jeff. Six teenagers—and five of them boys. You should hold your fork at the ready at al times to stab any scavenging hands." He put on a heavy mitt, removed the lid, and, bag by bag, poured the clams into the open pot. "Okay, everyone. Twenty minutes!"
Jenny checked the settings on the two picnic tables on the veranda behind the rambling wood frame house.
Finding the tables in order, she walked to the end of the narrow dirt path that led to the wider footpath that crisscrossed the island. She could just barely see another house in the distance. The island was breathtakingly beautiful, careful y maintained, and offered the kind of privacy that could be afforded by very few. She stood at the crest of the hil and shaded her eyes. Although it was after seven, the July sun was stil brightly ruling the sky. With some difficulty she final y spotted the figures of two of the Samuelson boys.
Cupping her hands, she yel ed, "Dinner!"
Good news evidently carried fast; they waved, disappeared, and seconds later started up the path with Larry and Joe and the others fol owing. The two men had gone to a smal nearby cove to lay a bonfire for a gathering of teenagers later that night. There were coolers ful of soda and bags of pretzels and chips waiting to be transported. Jenny sighed in contentment and headed back to pour the melted butter and put the loaves of Italian garlic bread into the oven.
"Ummm, ummm, ummm, ummm." Martha Samuelson gave one ummm for each licked finger as she threw the claw shel of her thoroughly consumed lobster into the community discard bowl. "And ummm." For the thumb.
"Ditto," echoed Larry, clasping his hands across his bel y. "I'll never be the same." He looked across the table at Jenny. "Do you think you could learn to love a fat man?"
"No. You wil be served only water and carrot sticks for two days."
Martha stood and began gathering up paper plates and napkins to toss into the plastic trash bag. "That is, of course, as a snack after the pancakes, homemade sausage, and fresh strawberries with cream you're getting for breakfast tomorrow."
"Oooh." To an appreciative audience, Larry did an authentic-looking pratfal off the end of the bench and stretched out, playing dead.
"Hey!" Jeff Greene ran over to view the body. "He looks like the guy in that old Hitchcock movie we saw on TV. Remember, Rick? The Trouble with Larry? The trouble with Larry was that he was dead," he announced smugly.
Rick jabbed him in the ribs. "That was Harry, you jerk, not Larry."
"Ah, same difference."
Bil y Samuelson, tal , broad-shouldered, and handsome at eighteen, ambled over. "Maybe we should construct a raft and cast him adrift in the ocean. It would be a fitting end for a sea-loving man."
Jenny stood and stretched. "Now hold on, he might be reusable. After al , you shouldn't go around disposing of husbands; they're hard to come by."
Bil y moved closer to her. "There are lots of men in the world, Jenny. Isn't it t
ime you tried someone younger?"
It was a joke with a barely veiled innuendo. Jenny suddenly realized that it was the first time Bil y had used her given name. She was flattered through her amusement.
Larry sat bolt upright. "Just a darn minute! My body isn't even lukewarm and this cal ow, randy whelp is making a play for my wife. Wil , Martha, what kind of a son are you raising?"
Wil put out a hand to pul Larry to his feet. "Sounds to me like we're raising one who's not only normal but has good taste."
"In that case,"—Larry imposed his body between Jenny and Bil y—"I think I wil stick around for that breakfast.
I may need my strength."
Bil y shrugged in good-humored defeat and took off to join the rest of the young crowd that was assembling in the cove.
Al the adults joined in the clean-up. "Where are Rick and Christy?" Jenny asked. "They should be helping."
Larry poured the stil -warm pot of water down the drain in the outdoor set-tub. "I told al the younger group to beat it. They were itching to join their friends, and we'll have this mess cleaned up in a hurry."
Joe showed up with a dish towel and started on the washed pans. "As soon as we're through, let's go down to the beach and light up our bonfire."
"With al those kids?" Gina secured a twist-tie around the fil ed trash bag.
"Hel no. We laid one in the other cove."
Jenny pushed her stocking-clad feet a few inches nearer the fire and wiggled her toes contentedly. There was a comfortably familiar feel to the dichotomy of a warm front and a cold back. It was part of the lazy-summer, old-friends, safe-ritual routine she so enjoyed.
Larry was trading tax and corporation stories with Wil , a partner in his accounting firm, while the others nodded in peaceful lethargy. Jenny's mind slid happily over some of the joyful moments of the past few days.
