White Wedding

by Jean Barrett

The steady hum of the generator in the cellar below was comforting. Together with the shutters over the windows, it helped to muffle the moan of the wind outside. That was good, because the constant wind was a reminder of all the horrors of the past twenty-four hours. She wanted to sleep, to blot out those images before having to deal with them again in the morning.

  But sleep was elusive. Maybe none of them on the island would be able to rest tonight. How could they when they were haunted by a nameless menace?

  Was Jack asleep? She listened for sounds from the direction of the sofa, but there was silence at that end of the room. It was a minute later when his deep voice floated across the stillness.

  “Lane?”

  She hesitated a second before revealing her wakefulness with a wary “Yes?”

  “Can I say something that’s on my mind? Just one something, and then I’ll let it go.”

  There was a solemn, pleading quality in his voice that made her heart sink. Oh, no, she thought, he’s going to start in again about his longing for a child. And she couldn’t—she just couldn’t listen to that!

  What could she say to him? How could she tell him that, yes, she wanted children herself someday but that it had to be for all the right reasons? That the desire by itself was no basis for a reconciliation? He’d be so exhilarated that he wouldn’t hear the second, vital part of her admission. She risked being overwhelmed.

  On the other hand, Jack deserved a chance to offer his explanation. There was no way around it.

  “What is it?” she whispered, steeling herself for his assault.

  But she had misjudged him. It was another subject over which he was fretting. “About this overprotectiveness you’re forever accusing me of...” He paused, and she could hear him shifting on the sofa. “Well, I’d just like to clear up something about it, and then we can both go to sleep.”

  “Go on.”

  “It’s just this. A man tries to defend what he cherishes. That’s what my overprotectiveness of you has always been about, and what I guess I failed to make clear to you. It never had anything to do with the differences in our ages or our situations. It’s...well, what I said. A man’s way of demonstrating that he cares for what’s his, only maybe I was extreme about it sometimes. That’s all.”

  There was another silence, and across the darkness separating them she could feel his eagerness for her understanding.

  “Does—does any of this make sense to you, Lane?”

  There was an anxious catch in his voice that tugged at her heart. He was waiting for her answer, and she was unable to respond. She couldn’t help it. His explanation had been so awkwardly, endearingly expressed that it touched her at her most vulnerable level. She couldn’t get the words out, and in another minute she would be weeping like a fool. Damn it, she was weeping!

  “Lane, what in— Oh, God, you’re crying!”

  She could hear the rustle of his covers as he swung himself off the sofa. Before she could stop him, he was across the room and climbing into the cupboard bed. She could feel the mattress giving under his weight. The next thing she knew he was under the comforter and his arms were around her, gathering her close against the solid wall of his chest.

  “I’m not crying!” she said fiercely. She tried to push him away, but she didn’t try very hard. His stalwart length squeezed against her softness was irresistible.

  “I’ve made you cry,” he insisted remorsefully, his arms tightening possessively.

  “All right,” she confessed between sniffs, “I’m scared. That’s why I’m blubbering.”

  “Don’t cry, sweetheart,” he implored, rocking her gently. “Don’t cry. I know our situation here is bad.” He paused to plant soothing kisses in her hair. “But it wasn’t that I was trying to trap you on a remote island where you couldn’t get away. I swear I never planned that. All I wanted was to court you again in a romantic setting, and now it’s all gone wrong and become dangerous. But it’s going to be all right. We’re going to get out of this mess, you’ll see.”

  “Wrong,” she said. She found a corner of the sheet and dabbed at her wet eyes. “That isn’t what I’m scared about.”

  “No?”

  “No. I’m scared about us, Jack. That’s why I’m being such a baby. I’m scared of where we’re headed because I think I could stand anything but repeating the heartache when our marriage broke up. I don’t want to ever hurt like that again.”

  “We won’t let it happen,” he murmured. “We’ll be very careful this time.”

  “Will we?” Her hands, which seemed to have minds of their own, began to investigate him, satisfying her curiosity. “You’re wearing a T-shirt and boxers,” she said.

  “What?” he asked, bemused.

  “Never mind. What are you doing over here, anyway? You were supposed to stay on the sofa, remember?”

  “I’ll go back in a minute. Tell me first.”

  “What?”

  “You know what. Tell me that you never stopped missing me, that you were lonely without me. Because I’ve missed you, and I’ve been lonely without you.”

  “Jack, please...”

  “Let me show you, sweetheart. Just let me...”

  She did let him. She couldn’t help herself. She let his mouth find hers in a deep, prolonged kiss of stroking tongues and pleading whimpers. She let his warm, skillful hands slide inside her gown to cup and caress her swollen breasts, to tease her nipples into rigid, yearning peaks.

  There was nothing passive about her submission. Her own mouth was equally active, her hands busy relearning the texture of his thick black hair, the planes and angles of his marvelous face, the sensual strength of his body.

  I shouldn’t be doing this, Lane thought. We could be making a big mistake here.

  But she didn’t stop him, and she couldn’t stop herself. Magic. She wanted the magic of them together.

  His voice was husky, unsteady when his mouth finally lifted from hers. “I don’t have to be wearing a T-shirt and boxers,” he whispered. “I don’t have to be wearing anything.”

  “No,” she said weakly, “I guess you don’t.”

  He shed the garments, impatiently thrusting them out of the way under the comforter. Without urging, she peeled away her own nightwear. There was nothing between them now but the heat of their needs. A heat that was intensified when his body pressed against hers, when his mouth closed in turn on the buds of her breasts, sucking tenderly, moistly.

  If Lane had forgotten how exciting a lover Jack Donovan was, he offered renewed proof in the wanton activity of his lips and tongue, in the sorcery of his fingers between her legs as they carefully, thoroughly probed the silky petals of her womanhood. He awakened in her yearnings that were so powerful she couldn’t find words to express them. All she could do was writhe with the pleasure his skill was providing her.

  Jack managed to convey his own longing in a hoarse, barely controlled whisper. “Can’t wait. I’ve got to be inside you.”

  She appreciated his urgency. Her hands had been aware of his pulsing arousal for some time now. Parting her thighs, she invited his hard body over hers, welcomed his slow, deep penetration.

  He rested when their melding was complete, allowing both of them a moment to savor the fullness of their joining. “Can you feel it?” he demanded in an amazed whisper. “How we’re even better than we were before?”

  “Yes,” she whispered back, equally awed as her every sensory ending renewed the memory of them together. It all felt richly familiar and yet somehow new and fresh.

  The lull lasted only briefly. They were too raw with need to delay the ultimate fulfillment. Jack began to move inside her. She answered his abandon with her own compelling rhythms. Seeking, straining, they built the miracle of a blinding ecstasy, crashing almost simultaneously into a sweet oblivion.

  “Fantastic,” Jack pronounced in the lingering aftermath. She couldn’t see his joyous smile in the darkness, but she knew it was there.

  “No argument,” she a
greed, wearing her own smile of contentment.

  He rolled on his side, gathering her close. “Cuddling,” he said with satisfaction. “I think I’ve missed this more than anything else. Remember?”

  “I remember,” she said happily.

  “I don’t think I’ll be going back to the sofa tonight.”

  “No, I don’t think you will.”

  Seconds later Lane chuckled softly. “Know something? That warning note in my room was right. You are a killer.”

  But Jack didn’t hear that part. He was already asleep, his arms holding her tightly.

  * * *

  LANE RESISTED THE SUMMONS.

  She felt so secure under the comforter, with Jack’s body beside her own radiating a blessed heat, that she didn’t want to wake up. But the rapping persisted. She struggled reluctantly into a sitting position, shaking off the fog of sleep.

  What time was it? She couldn’t see a clock, but there was a weak, gray light in the room. Not the night-light from the bathroom. This was stronger, though it was coming from the same direction. Then she understood. Jack must have forgotten to close the bathroom shutter. The window there was admitting the first faint streaks of daybreak. It was morning.

  The summons came again. This time it was a scratching sound. Someone was at the door. Fully alert now, she glanced down at Jack. He was still snoring softly. She wouldn’t disturb him. Not unless she had to.

  Easing herself off the bed, she reached for her robe on a nearby chair. Bundling into it, she padded across the floor and laid her ear cautiously against the outside door. Did she dare risk opening it to whoever was out there? But what if it was one of them from the house needing help for another emergency?

  Whoever was on the other side must have heard her or sensed her presence behind the door. There was more insistent tapping, joined now by a pleading voice. A familiar voice.

  “Jack, let me in. I promise it’s all right. None of the others are up yet, and I was very careful slipping away from the house. No one has to know I came out here. Please, I need to see you.” There was a pause and then a low, seductive laugh. “You won’t be sorry. Jack?”

  If Lane had stopped to consider it, she would have ignored Jack’s eager visitor. Not because there was any danger out there but because a confrontation could be deeply embarrassing. She had a sudden suspicion about this situation, though, and was determined to know if there was cause for her hunch.

  Impulsively she unlocked the door and cracked it inward, revealing herself in the narrow opening. She found herself facing what could only be described as a female in heat. There was no evident wildness about Ronnie Bauer’s lust, however. She was wrapped in her expensive fur, every strand of her glorious black hair in place and her sensual body reeking of a lethal perfume.

  Finding Lane at the door, and not the lover she had been scheming to corner, Ronnie drew back with an astonished gasp. “You! But I thought after the note—”

  She caught herself, but not in time. Her slip verified Lane’s suspicion. It was Ronnie who was responsible for that malicious threat placed in her bedroom, not Stuart or anyone else. She could see the whole thing in the woman’s furious expression. Ronnie had created the nasty warning to frighten her away from Jack, confident that if she eliminated what she regarded as the competition he would be a willing playmate. She hadn’t been prepared for her maneuver backfiring on her. No question about it. Ronnie was a silly, foolish woman.

  Lane handled it by remaining deliberately calm and polite. “Jack is still asleep. Would you care to leave a message?”

  Ronnie glared at her murderously, uttered a vicious curse and pivoted in a swirl of mink. She was rushing along the arcade back to the house when Lane closed the door on the scene.

  She turned to find Jack awake and sitting up in bed. He wore a troubled frown.

  “You heard?” she asked him, starting toward the bed.

  “Enough. I’m sorry, Lane. I never thought she’d take it this far.”

  Lane stopped, staring at him. The look on his face, the tone of his voice. They awakened in her a slow, awful realization. “You knew,” she accused him. “You knew all along that it was Ronnie who left that note and disgusting puppet on my bed. And you used it to lure me out here. You let me think I could be at risk when—”

  She couldn’t go on. She was shaking with hurt and anger over what she considered an unforgivable deception.

  “Lane, no. It wasn’t like that. Just let me— Oh, damn!” In his haste to reach her, he had dragged the comforter with him as he left the bed. He tripped over its heavy folds as he tried to wrap it around his lower half to cover himself.

  “Save your explanations, Jack. I don’t want to hear any more tales.”

  She began to move around the room, snatching up her things and stuffing them into the overnight bag. In her misery, all she could think about was escaping the guesthouse with its taunting reminder of her gullibility last night. Jack kept dancing around her, getting in her way.

  “Would you just listen to me? All right, maybe I did guess it was Ronnie. She’d said something stupid and reckless to me yesterday, like, `I’d do anything to get you, Jack.’ Only there was no way I could be sure, and I didn’t—”

  He paused to hitch up the slipping comforter, muttering over the hindrance it was causing him.

  “Will you move out of my way, please? And you look ridiculous stumbling around in that thing.”

  “So what the hell am I being modest about?”

  He flung the comforter aside, affording her a full view of his splendid, naked physique. Lane swallowed and hastily looked away, irritated with herself that the sight of him like this could still turn her into jelly.

  She found her coat and slipped it on over her robe. She didn’t care what she looked like as long as she got out of here. Overnight bag in hand, she headed for the door. Jack was close behind her.

  “You haven’t let me finish. I’m trying to tell you that I couldn’t be sure it was Ronnie. It was only a guess. I couldn’t take a chance on your safety.”

  Hand on the doorknob, she half turned. “The point is, she was someone you did consider as being responsible for that sick business, and you should have shared it with me. You didn’t because you still don’t regard me as an equal partner. It’s an old story with us, isn’t it, Jack?”

  In the end she was glad he was naked. It prevented him from following her out of the guesthouse.

  Chapter Nine

  Last night had been a mistake, Lane realized as she hurried along the covered walkway to the lodge. A fatal mistake. She had trusted Jack, made love with him. She had permitted herself to think that a reconciliation was possible. But nothing had been resolved. The whole situation was more complicated than ever. All a mistake, and she was paying for it. She felt crushed.

  Needing to divert herself from her pain, she made herself aware of the weather. The snow of last night had ended, leaving only a thin covering over the existing accumulation. It had been just a flurry, after all. Thankfully, there would be no surprise blizzard. It was a small comfort, however. The new snow was powdery and the wind’s velocity stronger than ever, making for fresh whiteout conditions. The ice below was totally obscured by the stuff.

  Turning her gaze in the opposite direction, she could see through the slowly gathering light that there were little cyclones of snow on the land, as well. They would make the renewed search for Chris more difficult than ever.

  Hugging the shelter of the stone arches as much as possible, Lane moved on toward the house. The wind whipped her cinnamon hair in her face. Ronnie’s perfect hair must have been loaded with spray. How else could it have resisted this gale?

  Lane wished she hadn’t remembered that. She didn’t need any reminders of the scene at the guesthouse. Ronnie’s image intruded again, however, when she neared the side door to the lodge. How was she going to get in if the woman had locked the door behind her? Jack had a key for himself, but Lane had no desire to go back there to
borrow it.

  The door turned out to be unlocked when she reached it. In her hasty retreat Ronnie had forgotten to be cautious. There was further evidence of her agitation when Lane slipped into the lodge. Ronnie’s fur coat had been carelessly abandoned on a dining room chair. No sign of the woman herself. Lane was grateful. She had no wish to deal with Ronnie Bauer in a vindictive mood.

  In fact, there was no one around as Lane crept through the shadowy stillness in the direction of the stairs and her bedroom. Not surprising, since it was very early. The ticking grandfather clock in the lounge reminded her of that. It also made her remember that this was Sunday, the day after Christmas. Had it been only Friday afternoon that they had all arrived on the island? It seemed a lifetime ago. A lifetime of fear and worry. Unless help reached them, or the weather permitted them to escape, could they last another twenty-four hours until the sleighs arrived?

  Don’t dwell on it, Lane ordered herself as she passed through the foyer. Count the small blessings. Like not encountering anyone on her way to her room. She must look like something out of the woods lugging her overnight bag, with her hair all wild and nothing on under her coat but a robe.

  Her relief turned out to be premature. At the top of the stairs an unexpected figure emerged from the gloom, startling her.

  “I’ve been looking for you, Lane.”

  It was Allison. She was fully dressed, even wearing makeup, but there were shadows under her eyes. She must have spent a terrible night. Lane, remembering her own night in the guesthouse, felt an immediate guilt.

  Allison, however, didn’t seem to be aware of Lane’s questionable appearance. Nor was she interested in explanations. “I need to see you,” she said.

  “It’s just getting light, Allison. I know it’s hard, but try to be patient. We’ll all look for Chris this time just as soon as we can.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Lane had relaxed when she realized it was Allison waiting for her in the hallway. But she suddenly didn’t like the look or the sound of her friend. Allison was composed. Too composed after her distraught condition of last night. She seemed like someone who has made peace with themselves and is calm and ready on the eve of a fateful battle.