She'd never forget this man as long as she lived.
Alec lay trembling on top of her, his back slick with sweat beneath the soothing stroke of her hands.
She shut her eyes then, revelling in the solid weight of his body covering hers, breathing in deeply the tang of salt air, sweat and love, knowing for the first time in eight years a sense of peace. This was what she wanted, what she needed—this hunger, this possession, this man.
She knew that in the morning, whatever else she felt, she would not feel as if she'd got over him.
He slept once briefly, then awoke to love her again. And again. And even when he wasn't making love, he was touching her, as if he couldn't get enough, as if, were he to move so much as an inch away, she might disappear. Did he really care? she wondered. Was there really more to his desire for her than simply sharing sex with her and gaining access to Sam? It seemed like it.
But she was no longer a starry-eyed adolescent. In the clear light of day she knew she was the grown-up she'd hoped—and feared—she would be.
The love was there—probably always would be; she had to admit that now. But her feet were on the ground. If she had no illusions about forgetting Alec, neither did she have illusions about living happily ever after.
He had broken her heart once by leaving her for another woman. Even if she let him into her life, she didn't know when she would ever grow to trust him.
She slept, albeit fitfully, and the moment that she awoke to the sensation of Alec's arm holding her close, his breath tickling her ear, all her worries came back.
'Even better than I remembered,' Alec said, his voice slightly hoarse, but supremely satisfied.
Was it just the sex he wanted, then? Libby turned, meeting his gaze hesitantly.
At her wariness his smile disappeared, his jaw tightened. 'Not for you, huh?'
Libby shook her head, confused.
His mouth twisted with bitterness. 'He's that good, is he, your Michael? Miss him that much?'
Suddenly she knew exactly what he meant and the knowledge made her stiffen. Was that what he thought of her? That she'd spent the last few nights in Michael's arms and, now that he was no longer available, had made a bee-line for Alec?
Abruptly she pulled away and sat up, swinging her feet off the bed.
Alec reached Out and grabbed her, pulling her back. 'Oh, no, you don't.'
She struggled. 'Let me go, Alec!'
But he held her fast. 'Not on your life. I can make it good for you, Libby. I know I can.'
She tried to pull away again. 'It's not a contest, damn you!'
'You think I can't measure up? Because I can. I will.'
Libby knew she should fight him. It was sheer folly to give in to his touch. But she was so confused, so lost. Just hours ago she had, for long moments, recaptured the love and the joy of her innocence. She had shared again the purity of that love with Alec. And he had misunderstood.
Now she didn't know what to do, what to think.
But Alec didn't give her a chance to do or think at all. He set about loving her again with an intensity that shattered her. And after a moment's internal struggle, she gave in to it, savouring the sensations that grew inside her as once more she and Alec became one.
Afterwards, spent, Alec lifted his head away from her breasts and looked down at her, his eyes dark and unblinking. And Libby, still trying to gather her soul together from the far corners of the universe, stared back at him.
Neither of them spoke. Then Alec raised himself on his arms and eased away from her, though his eyes did not leave her for a second. He swallowed, then pressed his lips together in a thin line. He didn't say a word.
Libby needed a word—or preferably three. She needed a sign that what they'd shared was really love on both their parts, not love on hers and satisfied lust on his. She tried to read it in his expression, but failed. Silently she begged him for the words to make it all right. But Alec moved off the bed now, silent and unsmiling. He reached for his shorts. Only when he had put them on and was buttoning up his shirt did he finally speak.
'I won't rush you,' he said, his voice even. 'But I will have you.'
And, leaving an open-mouthed Libby behind, he walked out of the room.
So where exactly did they stand? Libby wished she knew.
Admitting that she loved Alec didn't make things any easier. She was more in the dark than ever about the way he felt about her. The 'wanting' of course didn't change. But his behaviour did.
'What's he doing?' she asked Maddy finally after several days had passed. For, though Alec was around every bit as much as he had been when Michael was there—more, probably—he was different.
The aggressive, assertive Alec, who had needled and harassed her since he'd come back into her life, seemed oddly subdued. True, he was with her almost every waking moment, yet he treated her carefully, almost distantly, as if she were a piece of fine china and he was afraid to touch.
Sometimes he ventured close when they were walking. Sometimes he held her hand. And while it was proprietorial, it was still aloof, somewhat hesitant.
It unnerved her. Alec Blanchard was never hesitant. Never unsure. She must be misinterpreting.
But if the Alec of the past few weeks had come into her life like a wrecking bull, determined to destroy her, this Alec was not.
What was going on?
'You don' know, girl? Why he's come a-courtin'!' Maddy laughed.
And, indeed, odd as it seemed at times, Libby could almost believe it was true.
But who was he trying to convince? Libby or himself?
She thought it more likely to be the latter.
He still loved his dead wife. But, because of Sam, he was determined to marry Libby. It wasn't the best foundation for a lifetime's commitment. Yet, wary and hurt though she was, Libby wasn't proof against this new Alec.
She found herself looking forward to the days when he accompanied her on interviews. He usually sat back, listening respectfully, occasionally asking a perceptive question that gave Libby better material than she might have got on her own. Then afterwards he discussed it with her, cracking open the person's story, as it were, making her aware of the nuances and possibilities as she never was on her own.
In the evenings they were usually together, too. He still asked her and Sam to come up to the house for dinner now and then, and as time went on she found herself occasionally inviting him and Juliet to her place as well.
Then he was more the Alec she remembered of eight years ago. But, though he smiled, laughed, and held her hand, there was a distance between them, and he was careful not to so much as kiss her again.
Libby, though she told herself it was just as well, felt perversely bereft.
Don't expect anything, she told herself. He might have asked you to marry him, but it was Margo that he married the first time, Margo whom he loved. Still the courtship—or whatever it was—went on.
One night he got Lois to babysit Juliet and Maddy to take Sam to her house so that they could go to dinner at one of the local restaurants.
There they sat at tables on the lawn, eating spicy conch chowder and the best lobster Libby had ever tasted, while they overlooked the horse cropping the grass at the cricket grounds and listened as, down the hill, the town generator whirred on noisily and just beyond the chain-link fence several motley chickens pecked away.
It wasn't in the least romantic. But tonight Alec was smiling at her as he'd used to, tonight he was holding her hand in his, stroking it gently. And—Libby couldn't help it—it felt romantic to her.
After they'd finished pieces of delicious coconut cake and chatted with Lyman's brother Isaac and his wife, Alec walked her home and there, at last, he kissed her.
It was a gentle kiss. A promise? Libby wondered, and found herself hoping against hope.
'Do you want to come in for a cup of coffee?' she asked hesitantly.
'If I came in it wouldn't be for the coffee,' he said. And, with another
quick peck on her lips, he walked away.
Libby stood staring after him, dazed.
The next day he and Juliet accompanied her on an interview, and afterwards, the three of them picked up Sam from school and went for a picnic near the old cannons; and, though their hands brushed and once in passing he nibbled her ear, nothing else occurred.
After they had eaten, Alec flew a kite with Sam. Juliet wanted to help, but the wind off the ocean across the headland blew her long hair into her face, obscuring her vision, making her furious.
'I hate it,' Juliet said irritably, raking her fingers through it. 'Hate it!'
'Get it cut,' Libby suggested, remembering the way it had curtailed her activities at Ben Bay as well.
Juliet looked surprised. 'Cut it?'
'Why not?'
For a moment the little girl looked indecisive. Then she considered Libby's easier to manage shoulder-length hair and the short dark hair of her father and Sam. 'It would be easier, wouldn't it?' she said almost wistfully.
'I think so.'
'Who'd cut it?' Juliet asked.
'I could,' Libby offered before she could stop herself.
'Would you?' The little girl looked at her, eagerness and apprehension on her face.
The apprehension worried Libby. She wondered if she was treading on thin ice. Perhaps Alec preferred Juliet's hair the way it was. The way things were between them, she wasn't sure that she wanted to risk a confrontation. But Juliet's hopefulness prompted her to say finally, 'If your father agrees.'
'Daddy!' Juliet got up and ran to him. 'Daddy! Libby says she'll cut my hair!'
Alec stopped dead. His eyes widened momentarily. He seemed almost shocked at Juliet's words, and Libby felt another stab of worry. His eyes flickered momentarily to meet with hers, his expression unreadable. He seemed about to say something.
Then he smiled at his daughter and reached out to touch her long silky locks. 'Good enough,' Libby heard him say.
Juliet came bouncing back. 'Will you? Will you do it now?'
'I don't have any scissors now,' Libby said. She felt oddly reluctant.
'We can go up to the house.' Juliet tugged at her hand. 'Please.'
Libby glanced at Alec. He didn't look disapproving now, simply curious. Slowly she got to her feet. 'Would you mind?' she asked.
He shook his head. 'Not a bit. Go on.'
The house was quiet, Lois having already done for the day. She'd left a stew simmering on the back of the stove and a note about when Alec should put rolls in the oven. The house seemed lonely and far too large for just the two of them. It made Libby ache to take it over and make it a home.
For the first time she faced the idea squarely and found that it didn't terrify her. In fact she found it oddly tempting. She closed her eyes and imagined what it would be like to cook here, to serve meals to Alec, Sam and Juliet, to sit by the fire in the native stone fireplace on stormy evenings, to climb the narrow spiral staircase and join Alec for a night of love in his bed.
She had never seen his bed, had never been in his bedroom. She shot a fleeting, hungry glimpse towards the stairs now, then dragged her gaze away and made herself focus on the moment at hand.
'Where are the scissors?' she asked Juliet.
'Prob'ly upstairs.'
Libby felt a surge of guilt at the way her unspoken prayer had so neatly been answered. She knew her face was burning. Clearing her throat she said, 'I'll… look.'
She mounted the stairs quickly, heading straight for the bathroom cabinet, not letting herself look right or left. She opened the drawers one by one, finding the scissors fairly quickly, then turning to go back down.
The bedroom doors stood open. The one closest to the bathroom was obviously Juliet's. Children's toys were visible on the linoleum. The door opposite led into the curtain-darkened master bedroom, a scrupulously neat room with a wide bed.
Unable to help herself, Libby ventured in. Nothing was dusty, but there was an unused feel to the room. There were island-inspired paintings on the walls, bright splashes of colour in an otherwise lifeless room. There were also photographs on the dressing-table. But not recent photographs. She saw Alec's parents on what must have been their wedding anniversary, Alec himself as a little boy with a tooth missing, looking astonishingly like Sam, Alec once more in the cap and gown of high-school graduation.
Libby realised that she had walked into Alec's parents' room, not his. A room which, despite his now being master of the house, he obviously hadn't chosen to move into.
On the far side of the room there was a chest with another photo upon it. Drawn to it, Libby crossed the room and stared at it. It was a wedding photo of Alec and Margo, neither of them looking as radiant as by rights they should have. Alec looked serious, as if the weight of his marital responsibilities was already weighing on him. And Margo—Margo looked scared.
Funny, Libby thought. She wouldn't have guessed.
She picked up the picture and looked at it more closely, remembering the way she'd felt that day, feeling the pain come again almost as strongly as it had hit her then…
She had gone out with him the night after they'd come back from Ben Bay, her hopes high, her expression expectant.
Alec had been remote, his face strained. She had smiled to herself, confident that he was simply working up the courage to tell her he loved her, to ask her to marry him.
They were walking along the beach when he stopped and turned to face her. His jaw was set, hard and tight, and in the moonlight she could see the pulse ticking rapidly at the base of his throat.
He looked down at her, his expression anxious, worried. And Libby looked back at him with the serene confidence of the woman who loved him and knew she could soothe the desperation and worries away.
'I have something to tell you,' he said.
Libby smiled at him. 'Yes?'
'I'm… getting married.'
For a split second she thought he'd meant 'we', thought he'd simply suffered a slip of the tongue. And then, looking at him, she knew he hadn't, knew he'd said exactly what she'd least expected him to say.
She felt as if the words had turned her to stone. She couldn't speak, couldn't even utter a sound.
'Married? To…who?' she managed at last.
He gave an impatient shake of his head. 'To Margo, who else?' His voice was firm, cold.
Margo? Margo Hesse! The name made her blood curdle. It, more than anything, pointed out to her what a fool she'd been.
Margo had been Alec's woman long before Libby had come on to the scene. Libby had thought he was through with her. Obviously she'd been wrong.
She'd been back barely twenty-four hours and he'd asked her to marry him.
The idyll that they had spent together just the day before had meant nothing to him. Margo had his allegiance, his love. He'd been using Libby, that was all. A sop to his loneliness. Lord, what a fool she'd been!
He cleared his throat. 'Better for you, anyway,' he said indifferently. 'You're a kid, Lib. You're going to college, going to meet a lot of new people…'
Libby shook her head slowly, disbelievingly, yet knowing, in spite of her disbelief, that it was true.
You're a kid, Lib. She was also an idiot. A naive little girl. She wrapped her arms across her breasts, hugging herself as if she was in pain.
In fact the pain was all too real.
'Come on, Lib.' He held out a hand to her. 'I'll walk you back.'
She shook her head fiercely. 'No!'
He made an impatient sound in his throat. 'You can't stay here.'
'What do you care what I do?' She turned away and began walking rapidly down the beach.
Alec came after her, trying to catch her hand. 'Libby! For crying out loud!'
She shook him off. 'Don't touch me! Go away!'
'And leave you here? Not on your life.'
'Why not?
'Because Braden would have my head, damn it.'
She spun and glared at him. 'And that's why? Because
you're afraid of Mr Braden?'
'I'm not afraid of Dave Braden. I'm afraid you'll do something stupid.'
'I've already done the stupidest thing I can imagine,' she said bitterly, the tears starting now.
'Libby!'
'Go away!' And she turned and ran from him.
She only saw Alec once more after that, on the day of the reception—the reception she'd deliberately avoided just so such a meeting wouldn't happen.
The Bradens left at the appointed time, taking Tony and Alicia with them, their eyes soft with concern, their minds full of unspoken advice.
'You're sure you'll be all right?' Evelyn Braden asked once more on the way out of the door.
And Libby said again that she would be. 'I'll take it easy,' she promised. 'I'll even nap.'
And she tried. But inactivity got to her after a while. She tossed and turned on the bed, not tired in the least. She couldn't concentrate on the book she tried to read. She was bored by the radio. And while she might have whipped up a batch of cookies at home in Iowa, Maddy didn't like her mucking about in the kitchen here.
At last she sat on the deck twiddling her thumbs, trying to think herself into another world. But over the sound of the waves she could hear a band striking up tune after tune. And now and then laughter and loud voices drifted her way from the reception site at the hotel grounds that sprawled just beyond the trees.
It was going to be the celebration of the century, according to David Braden. 'Surprised he wanted to get married here,' Libby had heard him comment just the day before.
'I think that's what Margo wanted,' his wife had said.
And apparently, Libby thought, whatever Margo wanted, Margo got.
It was increasingly clear to Libby why Alec had dumped her. There was no comparison between Margo and herself. It wasn't only that he'd known Margo longer. Margo was a beautiful talented actress. A striking blonde close to Alec's age. She was sophisticated, worldly, and her father, producer Leopold Hesse, let it be known that he was thrilled with the match.
Libby was young, average-looking, inexperienced. She had neither career nor beauty nor sophistication to recommend her. And Libby's own father, Sam Portman, small-town hardware store owner, wouldn't have cared less.
Island Interlude Page 12
