Island Interlude

by Anne McAllister

  He shrugged equably. 'Go ahead. It's what we came for. We'll wait.' And before she could even introduce him, he herded the kids outside again.

  'He's understanding, your man. Makes allowances. Only way to be,' Gibb said. He gave Libby a wink. 'You got a good 'un there.'

  'He's not—'

  'Make a good pair, the two of you,' Gibb went on over her protest. 'You fair, him dark. The boy like him, the girl like you. Yes, sir, a right good pair. Now, where was I?'

  Libby stammered for a moment, stunned at his con­clusion, about to correct him, then figuring it wasn't worth it. She said simply, 'The night the roof blew off the market.'

  'Ah, right, I remember.' And, settling back against his wheelchair, Gibb finished the tale.

  Libby arranged to come back and see him the fol­lowing Monday. Then she thanked Mag for the tea and left. Alec and the children were waiting across the road watching a pair of goat kids frolic in a yard.

  'Ready now?'

  Libby nodded. 'I'm sorry I ran late.'

  'We had a good time. We watched them weigh the catch and asked about the scuba facilities. Then we looked through the market and bought some biscuits. And when you still didn't show, we watched a bunch of ladies quilt.'

  'You saw everything, in other words,' Libby said with a half-smile.

  Alec grinned. 'Just about.'

  'We bought groceries, too,' Sam told her, hopping from one foot to the other. "Cause Juliet and me wanted a picnic'

  'I didn't see any place I was dying to eat lunch in,' Alec apologised. 'So when they begged…' He shrugged.

  They were so eager, so enthusiastic. And a picnic did sound good. The day wasn't as hot as many had been. The breeze off the ocean kept things reasonable, and the humidity was relatively low. Besides, this Alec was easier on the nerves than the one who needled her constantly. This one was perhaps more insidious, but certainly much more comfortable to be around.

  'Sounds great,' Libby said. 'Where?'

  'The Swiss Family Robinson place,' Sam said at once.

  'Yeah! Please?' That was Juliet.

  Libby looked daggers at Alec.

  He shrugged equably, his smile mocking her. 'What do you say?'

  She wanted to say no. She wanted to say never. I can't go back. Not there. I can't—won't—let myself remember.

  'C'mon, Mom, please?' Sam pleaded.

  'It's so-o-o-o beautiful,' Juliet said. 'I'll remember it forever.'

  Yes, Libby thought. She would, too.

  She met Alec's gaze, shaking her head slowly, help­lessly, unable to answer. 'I want to go someplace else.'

  But in the end, of course, there was no place else. Only there.

  She had been eighteen and in love with the most won­derful man in the world.

  What's more, he'd loved her.

  So when Alec had asked Mrs Braden if that Wednesday, on Libby's day off, she could have the evening off as well, Libby felt as if she'd gone to heaven.

  Mrs Braden wasn't sure. 'You don't want to make too much of this…business with Alec,' she cautioned Libby when they were alone. 'He's much older than you. As well as very—shall we say—experienced.'

  'I know.' But in her head Libby thought, he's only eight years older than I am. And if his more extensive experience doesn't matter to him, it certainly doesn't matter to me.

  'You'll be careful?' Mrs Braden asked, concern evident on her motherly face.

  Libby smiled confidently. 'Of course.'

  Mrs Braden reached out and brushed a lock of Libby's hair away from her cheek. 'I don't want him to hurt you, dear.'

  'He won't,' Libby said with complete assurance. 'I like Alec. We're friends.'

  Mrs Braden smiled ruefully. 'All right, then,' she agreed.

  'I trust you to behave,' she said to Alec when he came to pick Libby up. Her eyes spoke volumes about responsibility and good sense as she saw the two of them to the door.

  Alec grinned at her. 'You should,' he said. 'Trust me, I mean.'

  'Should I?' Libby asked him as he led her down the path through the woods towards the road.

  He turned her in his arms and kissed her hard. 'What do you think?'

  Libby thought Alec Blanchard was the epitome of manhood, the hero of all her dreams, the man she would follow to the ends of the earth. She would have trusted him with her life.

  He had, over the few weeks she had known him, become her best friend in all the world. After the night of their first meeting he had come seeking her out. He'd appeared on the beach again when she was there with Tony and Alicia. He'd swum with them, built sand-castles with them, added bits to the flotsam and jetsam sculpture on the beach with them.

  And when Tony and Alicia were in bed and Mr and Mrs Braden were having drinks, playing bridge and talking with holiday-makers, Alec came to talk to her.

  Together they walked on the beach or sat on the deck and he talked to her about his goals, his hopes, his dreams. Then he listened when she talked about hers.

  Libby had never known a man so interested in her before. And she'd never met a man who so willingly trusted her with his deepest thoughts and emotions.

  She was, she realised quite soon, the only one he ever talked to about Clive Gilbert. Clive's death had shaken him far more than he ever told anyone else. Only she had seen his face stark with pain, his eyes full of unshed tears.

  'It's my fault. It should have been me,' he'd told Libby achingly one evening when they'd sat on the Bradens' deck in the darkness.

  And Libby, putting her arms around him and holding him close, had thanked heaven that it hadn't been, even though she understood the guilt and anguish Alec felt.

  'I owe him one and I can never repay him,' Alec went on, shaking his head. 'Never.'

  Libby kissed him gently. 'Some day,' she'd said softly, her hands kneading his back, her lips caressing his cheek. 'Maybe some day you'll find a way.'

  Besides sharing his feelings of guilt with her, he told her more. In fact, in the three weeks she had known him, she had learned more about him than she knew about the boys she'd grown up with, Danny whom she'd gone steady with, Cliff whom just two months ago she'd thought she wanted to marry.

  But now she knew there was only one man in the world she wanted to marry—Alec.

  She hoped—she dreamed—that he wanted to marry her.

  They'd never had a real date, never been alone together for more than a couple of hours at a time. Until today.

  'I borrowed Lyman's boat,' Alec told her as they walked out to the fishermen's dock. 'I want to take you somewhere special.'

  'Where?'

  He smiled and helped her into the boat. 'You'll see.'

  Alec steered them across the reefs towards the north shore of Eleuthera, past Mar Island and around the tip of Current Point, staying close to the shore. Then they headed south again as they came around Bridge Point and Libby caught her first glimpse of the most beautiful little deserted bay she'd ever seen.

  It was sheltered on three sides by a grove of palms, its broad beach a sandy pink and white powder, its waters a clear and warm mix of turquoise and azure blue.

  She simply stared, a smile lighting her face.

  'I thought you'd like it,' Alec said softly as the boat slipped into the bay and he cut back the engine.

  'It's a Garden of Eden,' Libby whispered. 'I didn't think such places really existed.'

  But that day proved they did.

  Alec had brought a picnic lunch—lobster salad, hard rolls, fresh pineapple, a bottle of wine. And they had shared it, sitting beneath the palms, looking at the sky and the sand and the sea and, mostly, into each other's eyes.

  They swam, frolicking in the water with the abandon of a couple of children. Libby, normally constrained by her nanny role, rediscovered the unfettered joys of play for the first time that summer.

  Grinning mischievously, Alec splashed her, and she ran after him, shrieking and laughing, tackling him when the waist-high water slowed him down. But the feel of his ha
rd sleek body beneath her hands drove all thoughts of horseplay from Libby's mind.

  Alec turned in her arms, staggering to his feet, his own arms around her, his mouth hungry on hers, seeking and finding. Libby clung to him, desperate with longing, wanting him, needing him, unable to say a word.

  Then he swung her up into his arms and carried her through the water and across the sand to where the blanket lay.

  He put her down gently and knelt over her, his head shielding her eyes from the sun. His gaze was intent, his face taut with desire as his hands stroked first her hair and then her shoulders. Libby felt a tremor in them, felt one in herself wherever they touched.

  'I'm supposed to behave,' Alec said thickly, his hands still moving, caressing, stroking. He was touching her arms now, her ribcage, the concave curve of her belly.

  'Aren't you? Behaving, I mean.' Libby's voice was so tremulous she scarcely recognised it.

  He gave a shaky laugh. 'I guess it depends on your definition.'

  She smiled and reached up, letting her fingers trail down his hair-roughened chest. 'In my dictionary you're behaving beautifully.'

  'Oh, Lib.' His voice was strangled, and then he bent to capture her lips again. 'Oh lord, I need you.'

  And Libby needed him. She needed him more than she'd ever needed anyone or anything on earth. He made her alive, he made her complete; he was the other half of her soul.

  Alec's hands slid the straps of her thin cotton top off her shoulders. His thumbs teased the line of her col­larbone, then moved lower as his fingers eased the wet fabric away from her breasts.

  Libby lay absolutely still, her eyes never leaving him, watching the expressions as they flickered across his face. She saw need, she saw hunger, she saw vulnerability. This last was never so clear as when he lifted his gaze to meet hers.

  His eyes asked, they beseeched; they didn't demand.

  And Libby lifted her torso away from the blanket, reached back and unhooked the clasp and let her top fall away.

  Alec sucked in his breath. 'Beautiful. So beautiful.'

  Libby smiled. 'You're beautiful, too,' she whispered.

  A corner of his mouth lifted. 'Yeah, right.'

  'You are,' she insisted. 'The most beautiful man I've ever seen.'

  'You've seen lots, have you?' Alec's voice had a ragged edge to it.

  Libby flushed. 'Not… everything,' she admitted.

  One brow lifted. 'No?'

  She shook her head, not meeting his eyes.

  His hand came out to lift her chin. He was smiling. 'Good.'

  'I want to,' she said fiercely and touched him again. Her hands ran down possessively over his chest and curled, her fingers sliding inside the waistband of his swimming-trunks.

  It was bold, far bolder than she'd ever been—could ever have imagined herself being. But Alec brought out a side of her she'd never experienced before. He made her feel like a woman. She wanted to know him in his fullness as a man.

  'Lib?' The one syllable echoed hoarsely.

  Libby nodded and came to her knees so that her breasts brushed against his chest. She swallowed hard and so did he.

  His forehead came down to rest against hers. Above the sound of the slap of waves against the shore she could almost hear the thunder of his heart in his chest.

  He touched his lips to hers, and when they opened to the pressure of his mouth, he was lost.

  'I want you, Libby,' he muttered.

  And then his hands skimmed the bottom of her bathing-suit down her legs, and his own suit swiftly followed.

  She wanted to see, but only felt. She wanted to touch and was touched instead. Alec's hands roamed over her body, teased her and tempted her, made her writhe with longing for him. And when at last she could take no more and reached for him, he covered her.

  'It'll hurt, Lib,' he whispered.

  She shook her head. 'No.'

  And it didn't. Not then. Then she thought only of Alec, of loving him, of showing him that love.

  She welcomed him fiercely, glorying in the strength of his thrusts within her, meeting him with a furious hunger of her own. She'd never felt like this before, had never experienced such need, such desire.

  It built like waves build, surging, growing, lifting. And just when she thought there could be no more, an awareness burst within her, a shuddering climax enveloped her, and with Alec shuddering on top of her, the feeling broke as a wave breaks on the shore.

  The feeling ebbed that way too. Slowly, like the tide, with soft swirls of longing, gentle lapping, tender touches. And Libby sighed, sated, pleased, justified.

  She touched Alec's cheek. He lifted his head away from her shoulder and looked deeply into her eyes. He touched his lips to the palm of her hand.

  'Are you all right?' he asked her.

  'I am wonderful,' Libby told him. 'And so are you.'

  He smiled, his features almost boyish. 'Because you make me that way.'

  'I think,' Libby told him, 'it's mutual.'

  They loved again in the waning afternoon sun. They swam lazily. They hugged. They kissed. And only when the sun began to set in the west did Alec load the boat and boost Libby in.

  'It's our place,' Libby said. 'Our idyll.'

  'Our Eden,' Alec agreed with her, starting the motor.

  'Will we come back?' Libby asked as she watched the bay recede, the palm trees silhouetted against the orange and purple sky.

  'You'd better believe it.'

  And Libby, with Alec's arm around her to ward off the cool evening breeze, with Alec's love to warm her on the homeward trek, believed they would.

  They never had.

  CHAPTER SIX

  UNTIL now.

  In eight years nothing had changed; and everything had. It was the same beach, the same sand, the same water, the same sun. The same man. It was a different world.

  It was no longer Eden, no matter what Juliet said. But you couldn't have told either child that.

  'It's like a fairy-tale place,' Juliet announced when Alec cut the motor and dropped the anchor over the side.

  'Swiss Family Robinson could have lived here,' Sam said.

  Libby expected Alec to agree, but when she looked at him he was concentrating on securing the anchor. Libby busied herself with the grocery bag, with the blanket, with making sure she had plenty of sunscreen to put on the children and a visor for herself.

  'Last one on shore's a rotten egg,' Sam yelled and dived over the side.

  Juliet, shrieking, followed him.

  Libby started after her, but Alec reached for the grocery bag. 'Let me help you.'

  Libby resisted, clinging to it. 'I don't want your help. I can manage.' She set the bag down, preparing to get it again when she'd got in the water.

  'Suit yourself,' Alec said easily.

  'Thank you,' Libby said stiffly in reply. She slipped over the side into the water and found it deeper than she'd thought. It lapped her breasts, and when she turned to get the sack out of the boat, it was out of reach. She looked helplessly at Alec. There was a moment's silence while their eyes met, hers apprehensive, his mocking. Then at last he handed it to her.

  'Thank you.'

  'My pleasure.' He followed, bringing the blanket, carrying it down the beach and spreading it out on the sand.

  Libby carried over the groceries, set them down and proceeded to lay things out carefully and deliberately.

  She was continually aware of his eyes watching every move she made. Finally, when all conceivable avenues of distraction had been explored, when all means of ignoring him had been exhausted, she turned her back, staring out at the water, concentrating on Juliet and Sam.

  They were dashing in and out of the water, laughing, hollering, Sam with his usual boisterousness, Juliet with more animation than Libby had ever seen in her.

  She recalled Gibb Sawyer's words. She saw the children as he had seen them—a boy for Alec, a girl for her—and felt a shaft of pain so strong it almost knocked her off her feet.

&n
bsp; She would have loved to have had a daughter like Juliet. For eight years she had resisted all knowledge of this child of Alec's and Margo's, had hated her the way she'd hated Juliet's father. She'd never imagined feeling this way about a child of their love. But now she couldn't imagine a world without Juliet in it.

  She dared a peek at Alec out of the corner of her eye. Surely, even wanting Sam the way he did, he couldn't regret his marriage to Margo and the daughter who'd been born of it. She wondered what he was thinking.

  'I wonder what Sam would say if he knew he was con­ceived under that tree over there,' he said.

  Libby choked, then stared.

  Alec met her gaze defiantly. 'He was.'

  'I know that. But I don't intend to announce it. And you'd better not either.'

  'I think I've already gleaned your feelings about that. Wrong-headed as they may be.'

  They're not! They—'

  They perpetuate a lie.'

  They make life liveable,' Libby argued.

  'Matter of opinion. I wonder, Lib, do you lie to yourself as well?'

  She glared at him. 'What's that supposed to mean?'

  'Just what I said. Are you going to try to pretend you've never been here before? Going to try to forget the way it was?' The look he gave her probed her soul. 'You can't forget,' Alec said. 'Can you?'

  She shrugged, determinedly indifferent.

  'Can you?' he persisted.

  'I don't want to remember,' she said harshly.

  'Don't you?' The quality of his voice changed. There was still mockery in it, to be sure. But there was more. There was a sort of ache now, as if her reluctance hurt him.

  'Did you?' Libby countered.

  'For years I came back in my mind almost daily.'

  Libby blinked, then opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She simply stared at him. Did he mean what she thought he meant?

  A corner of his mouth lifted. 'I don't suppose you believe that,' he said heavily. 'But it's true.'

  She wouldn't let herself believe it. She couldn't let herself believe it. To do so would be to undermine the very soul of her resistance to him.

  He turned and let his gaze rest on Sam and Juliet. 'It isn't the way I'd ever dreamed of it, that's for sure— you and me here with a couple of rug rats.' His smile changed from rueful to almost happy. 'But I like it. It feels right.'