by Joan Hohl
“Is it over?”
Sitting up straight, she winced at the twinge of pain at the base of her spine and brought her hand up to massage the stiffness in her neck caused by the hard rim of the aluminum chair. Glancing around, she saw the deck was empty of all the other people. What time was it?
“Over an hour ago.” Bruce laughed softly. ‘The party’s breaking up. It’s time to go home.”
“I’m ready.”
Moving carefully, Micki lifted her cramped body out of the chair, one hand going to her mouth to cover a wide yawn. In a young-girl, sleepy voice, she apologized, thanked, and said good night to her indulgently smiling host and hostess, then followed her father and Regina out to the hushed sidewalk.
Trailing a few steps behind the couple, she watched as her father’s arm slid around his wife’s waist, heard his low voice murmur something close to her ear. Regina apparently disagreed with what her father had said, for her head moved slowly in a negative shake. The argument, if that’s what it was, was obviously not over anything very serious. With a sigh of relief, Micki heard Regina laugh softly.
Dropping a few steps farther behind in order to give them complete privacy, Micki’s fingers curled tightly into the palm of her hand. Well, she’d missed it again. It had been six years since she’d gone to watch the Night in Venice and she’d seen practically none of it. And for exactly the same reason—thoughts of Wolf had absorbed her attention, her senses.
Angrily rejecting the image of him that rose in her mind, Micki centered her thoughts on the couple a few feet ahead of her, wondering if she could be the bone of contention between them. She hoped not, but had the sinking sensation that she was. For all Regina’s declared wish that they be friends, Micki was still very unsure of her. Their past relationship had been fraught with so much jealousy, so much resentment, that Micki was unconvinced of the permanency of their truce.
The minute Micki entered the house, Bruce ended her conjecturing.
“There is only one way to find out,” he stated in a tone of amused exasperation. “And that’s ask her.”
“Bruce, please,” Regina pleaded softly. “Not tonight, she’s tired and—”
“She’s wide awake now,” Bruce insisted, studying his daughter closely. “Princess, I’m going to ask you something and I want you to answer honestly. Will you?”
“Yes, of course.” Micki’s gaze flew from her father’s laughing eyes to Regina’s worried ones. What was this all about? Her father answered her silent question.
“I want to take Regina on a second honeymoon,” he said quietly, his suddenly serious, love-filled eyes resting on his wife’s face.
“And?” Micki prompted, confused as to what a proposed second honeymoon had to do with her.
“Regina insists that it would be selfish of us to go away at this time.”
“Selfish?” Micki repeated blankly. “I don’t understand. In what way would it be selfish?”
A satisfied grin spread over her father’s face. “You see?” he asked Regina before turning back to Micki. “Regina is afraid you’ll feel, well, deserted, if we went away so soon after your return home.”
“But that’s ridiculous!” Micki cried. “When were you thinking of going?”
“Not till the end of the month.” Bruce’s eyes filled with pride and tenderness as he studied Micki’s face. “It will take me until then to tie up some loose ends at the office.”
Micki looked directly at Regina. “By the end of the month I expect the majority of my time will be spent in learning my new job.” Her eyes swung back to her father. “I think a second honeymoon is a lovely idea, especially as I don’t remember you ever having a first.”
“It was impossible for me to leave the office at that time,” Bruce defended himself. “And since then the time just didn’t seem right.” Bruce paused before going on softly, “With one thing and another.”
“Well, then,” Micki spoke quickly, knowing too well that she was the one thing and Regina’s behavior the other. “If you feel the time is now right, then go, and don’t worry about me. I’m quite used to taking care of myself.” At the contrite expression that crossed her father’s face at her last words, Micki willed a sparkle into her eyes and shaded her voice with teasing excitement. “Where were you thinking of going, or is that a secret?”
“No secret.” Micki felt relief rush through her at the way her father’s face lit up. “I had thought San Francisco, I’ve always wanted to see it.” His voice grew eager. “We could rent a car, drive through the Redwoods, along the coast, Carmel, Big Sur.”
Watching Regina’s face, Micki could see her father’s eagerness reflected there. Although she had been arguing against the trip, it was obvious Regina wanted to go.
“Sounds super.” Micki spoke directly to Regina. “So do it. Make your arrangements and take off. I promise you I will be fine.”
Grabbing Regina up in a bear hug, Bruce spun her around, laughing. “What did I tell you, darling? Is my girl something special or not?”
“Very special.” Regina spoke for the first time. When he turned back to Micki, Regina mouthed a silent thank you at her.
Wide awake now, Micki murmured, “I think I’ll sit on the porch a few minutes,” when her father and Regina moved toward the stairs. ‘You two go on up, I’ll lock up.” Micki stepped out onto the porch, then turned back to get a sweater from the hall closet. A mist rolling in off the ocean had turned the air cool and clammy. Settling back on the porch lounger, she watched the mist swirl and thicken, turn the light from the street lamp into an eerie orangish glow.
The mist had been like this that morning.
Shifting irritably on the thickly padded cushion, Micki tried to push the thought away. She didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to remember. Her shifting, her silent protests, were in vain. The floodgate of memory, which had sprung a leak earlier, now burst completely, swamping her, carrying her helplessly back through time.
* * * *
Micki stirred when the warmth of Wolf’s body was removed from hers. Through eyelids heavy with sleep, she watched him, his form barely discernible in the gray, predawn half light. Moving noiselessly, he stepped into his jeans, fastened them and pulled a battered sweat shirt over his head. Fear shot through her as he moved across the floor to the door.
“Wolf?” Micki’s voice betrayed her fear. “Where are you going?”
At the sound of his name Wolf turned, the fear in her tone brought him back to the bed in a few long strides. Bending, he dropped a soft kiss on her lips.
“I have to move the boat,” he explained quietly, one long finger outlining her mouth. “Go back to sleep. As soon as I have her docked at the marina I’ll come back to bed.” His lips touched hers again, lingered, then he was moving across the cabin, out the door.
Micki closed her eyes tightly, but it was no good; she couldn’t sleep with him gone. Slipping out of the bed, and a moment later out of the cabin, she hurried into the tiny bathroom. She was stepping under the shower spray when she heard the boat’s engine flare into life. Bracing herself with one hand, she washed her body with the other while Wolf backed the boat away from the pier and swung it around. When the craft was relatively steady, she stepped out of the shower stall, grabbed for the towel, probably Wolfs, that hung on a small fitted bar, and rubbed herself down briskly.
Back in the cabin, she stretched languorously. The tautening of her breasts brought the remembered feel of Wolf’s hands, and her nipples set into diamond-hard points. Oh, Wolf. Just to think his name sent her blood racing through her veins, set her pulses hammering out of control. She couldn’t wait until he’d docked the boat. She had to see him now.
Glancing around, she grimaced as her eyes settled on her bikini and beach wrap, lying in an untidy heap where Wolf had tossed them. Shaking her head in rejection of the beachwear, she went to the cabin’s one small closet and rummaged through shirts and jackets— obviously too short to cover the bare necessities—until
her hand clutched and withdrew a bright yellow rain slicker. Pulling it on hastily, uncaring how incongruous she looked, she left the cabin, fastening the buckle closings as she went.
Not once did she pause to ask herself why she was where she was, with a man she knew practically nothing about. Not once did she wonder about how suddenly it had happened. She was there. It had happened. Never before had she felt so tinglingly alive, so totally happy. But she didn’t even pause to think of that. The only thought that filled her mind was that she had to be near him, see him. The whys and how of it would torment her later.
When she stepped onto the deck she came to an abrupt halt, her hand groping for something solid to steady herself with. An off-white mist lay over everything, muffling sound, obscuring visibility. The deck was beaded and slick with moisture. Placing her bare feet carefully, Micki moved cautiously toward the canopied section that housed the wheel, and the man who stood at that wheel, alert tenseness in every line of his tall, muscular frame.
She thought her progress was silent, yet the moment she stepped under the canopy, his left arm was extended backward.
“Come stand by me.” Wolf’s hushed tone blended with the cotton blanket that surrounded the boat.
Without a word Micki moved to his side, sighed with contentment when his arm closed around her, drew her close to his hard strength.
“Why didn’t you go back to sleep?” Still the same hushed tone, not scolding, a simple question. He did not look at her, and her eyes following the direction of his intent gaze, she answered as simply.
“I wanted to be with you.”
She saw his hand tighten on the wheel at the same instant the muscles in his arm tautened. He slanted her a quick glance and an amused smile curved his firmly etched mouth.
“I see you’ve made free with my shower and bath soap.” The smile deepened. “Bedecked yourself with the latest yachting creations from Paris also.”
“But of course,” Micki teased back. “This particular number was labeled MORNING SUNLIGHT THROUGH HEAVY GAUZE CURTAINS. Does my lord approve?”
Wolf’s soft laughter was an exciting, provocative attack on her senses.
“But of course,” he mimicked her seriously. “Still, I think I prefer the, er, more basic ensemble you were wearing earlier.”
Flushed with pleasure, Micki rubbed her warm cheek against his cool, mist-dampened sweat shirt. Misunderstanding her action and the pink glow on her face, he chided her softly.
“You’re a beautiful woman, babe.” Wolf’s soft tone brooked no argument. “Every soft, satiny inch of you. There’s no reason for embarrassment.” He paused, slanted another, harder look at her. “Do you feel shame?”
“No!” Micki’s denial was fast, emphatic. “Or embarrassment either.” Rising on tiptoe, she placed her lips on the strong column of his throat. “I’m—I’m pleased that you find me attractive.”
“Attractive?” Micki could feel the tension ease out of him. “I don’t think that adjective quite makes it.” Leaning forward, he peered, narrow-eyed, through the moisture-beaded window. “If I ever get this damn boat docked I’ll try to come up with the right one. Now be still and let me get on with it.”
Barely breathing, Micki watched as he inched the craft along through the mist-shrouded water, and sighed with relief when he murmured, ‘There’s the marina.” When he removed his arm, she stepped back ready to follow any order he might issue.
“Have you ever driven a boat?” Wolf asked tersely as he backed the vessel into the slip.
“Yes,” Micki answered quietly, then qualified, “But never one this large.”
“Good enough.” Their voyage through the mist completed safely, all his intent tenseness fled. His silvery eyes glittered teasingly. “You hold her down and I’ll tie her up.”
Suiting action to words, he drew her to the wheel, gave a few brief instructions, and then he was gone, swallowed up in the gray-white mist. A moment later she heard the dull thud as the securing line landed on the pier, and then another as he followed it.
When the craft was secured, its engine silent, Wolf slid his arms around the bulky slicker at her waist and held her loosely.
“You hungry, baby?” His low tone, the way his eyes caressed her face, drove all thoughts but one from her mind. “Do you want some breakfast?”
Micki was shaking her head before he finished speaking. Not even trying to mask her feelings, she gazed up at him, her eyes honest and direct.
“I want to go back to bed.”
“Good Lord,” he breathed huskily, his arms drawing her closer. “What did I ever do to earn you as a reward?”
Pleasure radiated through her entire body at the warmth of his tone, the emotion-darkened gray of his eyes. Her arms, made clumsy by the too-large raincoat, encircled his neck to draw his head closer to hers. A shiver of anticipation skipped down her spine as his hands slid slowly over the smooth, stiff material of the garment.
“Are you wearing anything at all under that slicker?” His face was so near, his cool breath fanned her lips.
Mesmerized by the shiny, tautened skin of his mist-dampened cheeks and the motion of his mouth, Micki whispered a bemused, “No.”
His parted lips touched hers in a brief kiss before she felt her lower lip caught inside his mouth, felt his teeth nibble gently on the tender, sensitive skin. Moaning softly, she flicked his teeth with her tongue. Instantly his arms tightened, crushing her against his hard body, and his lips pushed hers apart to receive his hungry, demanding mouth.
Awareness of him sang through every particle of her being. Squirming inside the stiff, confining coat, she strained her body to his, thrilled to the feeling of his body straining to hers.
“Wolf, Wolf.” The words filled her mind, whispered past her lips to fill his mouth.
Lifting his head, he stared deeply into her eyes, his own eyes now nearly black with desire. His gaze dropped to her mouth.
“Why are we standing here?” His murmured groan held near pain. One arm clasped firmly around her waist, he led her along the slippery deck, down the steps, and into his cabin. Releasing her, his hands moved to the buckles on the coat.
“I swear, if I don’t soon feel the silkiness of you against my skin, I think I’ll burst into flames.”
And in a sense he did, engulfing her in the conflagration.
* * * *
They didn’t leave the boat all that day or night. In fact they hardly set foot out of his cabin, except when hunger drove them to the tiny galley for sustenance.
At those times they worked together, mostly getting in each other’s way. Micki, clad in her mid-thigh-length beach wrap, juggled a frying pan around Wolf’s large frame as she endeavored to prepare a cheese omelet on the small two-burner cooking unit. Wolf, wearing a belted, knee-length terry cloth robe, stretched long arms around and in front of her in his effort to make a pot of coffee and open a jar of olives.
When Micki opined that had they followed the simple method of flipping a coin to determine who would get the meal the job would have been completed a lot faster, Wolf retorted that it would also have been one hell of a lot less fun.
They went through the same bumping into and laughing procedure while preparing a canned soup and canned corned beef sandwich supper, washed down with canned beer.
And both times, after appeasing the hunger of their stomachs, they went back to the appeasement of their seemingly insatiable hunger for each other.
They slept for short periods when exhaustion could no longer be held at bay, waking every time to come eagerly together, resentful of the hours of separation the need for sleep had imposed.
At one of those times, late in the night, Micki woke first and lay quietly, unmoving beside Wolf’s sleeping form. Touching him with her eyes only, she studied him minutely, imprinting his likeness on her mind, in her soul.
Although by now she knew him fully in a physical sense, he was still a stranger. A stranger she was deeply, unconditionally in love with. It
was a sobering thought. Sobering and somewhat frightening, for although he had murmured countless, impassioned, exciting love words to her, none had been words of love for her. But then, she had not spoken of her love for him either. Maybe it was all too new, too sudden for both of them. And maybe, she thought with a insight beyond her years, the avowals of love now would ring false, take on the shadings of an excuse for their wild coming together. Micki shrugged mentally. It didn’t matter. She’d face the reality of it all tomorrow. For right now, she knew she loved him, would probably always love him.
Micki’s eyes misted over as she stared at his face. He had made her so unbelievably, joyously happy. She loved her father dearly, yet she knew that should Wolf ask her, she would go with him anywhere in the world with never a backward glance. She had had no promises of undying love, had had no solemn words spoken over her, still she felt like a bride on her honeymoon. And no girl’s honeymoon, she was certain, had ever been more idyllic, more perfect than this one.
“Why are you crying?” Wolf’s tone, though soft, held hard concern.
Blinking against the moisture, Micki snuggled close to him.
“Because I’m happy,” she whispered, her lips brushing his taut jaw. “Haven’t you ever heard that women cry when they’re happy?”
“Yes, I had heard that” The movement of his lips at her temple sent tiny shivers down the back of her neck. “In fact there have been several occasions when I have been the recipient of those happy tears.” The admission was made tonelessly, without conceit. “But never for so little.”
“Little?” Tilting her head back, Micki looked up at him, her eyes reflecting her confusion. “I don’t understand. What do you mean—for so little?”
Lifting his head, he studied her expression, as if trying to determine if her confusion was authentic. Obviously deciding it was, he shook his head in wonder. “Always before, the tears were in response to a gift from me.” Wolf’s eyes held hers steadily, gauging her reaction. ‘Jewelry, flowers, things like that,” he shrugged, “but always a tangible, usually expensive, object.”
