“You’re right,” she barely managed, “a woman doesn’t know who might come along and bother her.”
She felt regret at her retort but Clay’s smile broadened in response. As his eyes traveled slowly, expertly over her body, she was certain that she sensed more of his weight being shifted to the knee that was touching her leg. His flesh burning against her, the pleasure of the sensation confused her. If she moved from his touch what would it signal to him? Would he think himself powerful and her an overwhelmed schoolgirl? Would he mistake the action as a sign of anger instead of fear? If she didn’t move away from his touch would it seem invitational? She felt riveted and foolish in the dilemma.
He spoke again and his words eased the tension that was mounting within her. “What are you doing here all alone Christina?” His gaze now captured her face and she was relieved as his appraisal of her body moments before had made her feel naked and vulnerable.
Her hand involuntarily reached to the smoothness of her throat, her fingers spreading clumsily to cover the upper part of her breasts. Trying to seem in control while softening the impression of her earlier reply she looked away toward the water and smiled.
“I have a rather tough diving instructor who told me he has a hard day planned for me tomorrow so…,” she inhaled with apparent effort,”…I thought that today I’d better rest and relax after last night’s party.” She ventured a glance into his eyes. He continued to hold her face captive.
She continued, “Several people mentioned missing your presence last night, Clay” The pressure of his hardened muscle against her knee seemed to lessen as if her mention of the party broke the sense of intimacy that had taken residence between them. She felt instant regret mixed with relief.
With a cool, indifferent edge to his words Clay replied, “I don’t like parties very much, not at all actually.”
“That’s not what one of your fans told me,” Christina chided playfully.
Sitting fully upright, Christina clasped her knees and rested her chin on her forearms. Smiling expectantly she began to study his now self-conscious expression. Christina felt a sudden sense of amusement over this man who was now sitting beside her like a young boy, scowling and thoughtlessly running sand through his fingers. He was going to ignore her comment even though she sensed that he was struck with curiosity.
She baited further in affected tones, “Emily Sinclair said….”
“Emily Sinclair,” he interrupted “suffers from terminal jet lag and I suspect, like most of the young women who sail in and out of here every winter that her nights are restless and lonely. It results in their talking too much and exaggerating descriptions of their exploits. They babble on in order to fill conversational gaps at cocktail parties.”
She had touched a nerve in Clay’s sense of privacy and with it she felt a perverse curiosity. “Emily Sinclair,” she continued with a smile, “said…,” she paused purposefully, “…that she didn’t think you would come to the party.” She completed the announcement triumphantly.
Clay flushed with the realization of his own quick defensiveness and then shot a wide embarrassed smile into her waiting expression. His hand fingered a pistol in her direction and closing one eye over its sight he aimed at her heart. The gesture made them both laugh and Christina felt the sea air raising a curtain magically around them as she began to relax in Clay’s strong physical presence. Releasing custody of her knees Christina stretched out once more, this time onto her side, her long legs relaxing and extending against the warmth of the sand.
“I saw your book Clay. It’s wonderful. It really is. I had no idea you had such exquisite photographic skills.”
He responded with deprecating humility, “It seemed like something that had to be done.” He paused and stood up brushing the sand from the surface of his bronzed shins. “There is a great deal of poverty here that is overlooked.” His voice was suddenly serious. He turned towards the water and the sun created a golden aureole around him. It illuminated the hair on his muscular legs and forearms. Christina felt her physical attraction to Clay was a primitive part of her nature that she didn’t comprehend and its presence made her highly uncomfortable. Unlike her friends throughout school she had never allowed herself to consider a man’s body, in and of itself, particularly fascinating much less sexually stimulating, but with Clay she felt her control over her determination overpowered. She took interest in each movement and aspect of his body.
“While I was looking at the book, I was thinking that I keep learning unexpected things about you Clay,” she paused and then added, “ …and myself…” Her voice trailed off in self-restraint at the disclosure.
Clay turned back toward Christina and without warning his large body lowered and came to rest on the sand beside her, his head held up on his hand. She felt dwarfed by the powerful physical outline of the man suddenly lying beside her. She became acutely aware of his breathing and his body was generating a heat that she could feel even though he was not touching her. If he touched her now she felt she might not be able to breathe herself but she suddenly wanted him to touch her, to hold her, to tell her answers to a thousand questions she had about his feelings. She wanted him to get up and leave. She wanted him to stay. She wanted to run. She wanted to be captured.
…
“So…,” he reached across the space between them unexpectedly and with his forefinger, brushed sand from her cheek. The touch gave form to her fear but to her surprise her breath continued. “…what have you learned about us Christina?”
His inclusion of the word “us” struck Christina with insight into what the meaning of her confused longing had been this past week. She wanted Clay. She wanted his caring and his protection. She wanted a union of their spirits and their bodies. She wanted their separateness to become “us.” The feelings were unlike anything in her experience and she could have easily cried from the power of the emotion and the recognition of her long-denied needs. Could he be feeling the same longing as she, asking the same questions, fearing her, fearing himself, hoping the same hopes, wanting the same union of their souls?
Clay interrupted her racing mind, “On second thought, skip any of the parts about me; tell me what you’ve learned about yourself.” .
Christina felt a surge of confusion. Had he meant to ask about them or was her understanding of “us“ borne of her own foolish neediness?
Waiting patiently for an answer, Clay rolled onto his broad back, crossed one ankle over the other and with a quick adjustment of the bill of his cap fully forward his eyes became masked. Shielded from her gaze Christina’s eyes initiated a slow, sensuous study of the body that was lying dangerously close beside her. He was breathing slowly, deeply, his sculpted abdomen rising in advance of the expansion of the wide plane of his chest, his nipples flat and moving outward with each intake of air like large copper coins, dusty and threatening to slide from his body and onto the sand. His abdominal muscles seemed sculpted of stone, individual islands of power that paralleled the narrow line of golden hair that separated their positions. This path downward emerged from the broader haze that existed across Clay’s chest and it plunged softly towards an eventual dive under the loose band of his shorts.
As Christina’s hungry eyes devoured the visual feast of Clay’s body she fought to recover herself from the potential revelation of her feeling about them to a less vulnerable disclosure about herself. She rolled onto her stomach, reached for her hat and gathered her hair into the cool sanctuary of its crown. Deciding to deal cautiously with the man beside her she replied, “For one thing, I am a lot more capable of being independent than I ever thought I could be.” Reaching for sunscreen she rubbed some tropical scented lotion across the rim of her nose.
“I’ve never really been on my own before and yet I’m seeing here that I’ve always been responsible for myself if that makes sense.”
She cast a glance out of the corner of her eye to evaluate Clay’s interest. He had turned onto his side and was now leaning
on his formidable arm the fingers of his left hand were tracing a circle in the last outpost of sand that now lay between them. She ventured a glance at the sand drawing he was making with his calloused yet gentle looking fingers. He was drawing and redrawing the image of a ring.
“My father,” she decided to continue, “really hasn’t been your usual parent, I mean he loves me and we’ve always been together and yet, away from him, I feel like a parent who’s left her child. That probably sounds silly,” she said in embarrassed amusement.
“It doesn’t sound to me as if your father got over your mother’s death very well.” Clay adjusted his position on the sand and lifting his hip a little removed a small shell that had apparently taken a strong hold on the skin of his thigh.
Darting a look over her shoulder Christina watched as Clay eased his lean hip back into the sand and into a position that narrowed the space between them.
“It must have been hard to lose your mother and have to abandon your childhood to take care of your father.”
Clay’s perception was chillingly accurate and she found herself swallowing deeply. She turned on her side to face him and with apologetic concern wrinkling her brow said, “Oh, Clay, I didn’t mean to imply that Arthur…,” she caught herself, “I mean my father couldn’t take care of my needs. He was very busy with his work.”
“It’s okay Christina, I’m sure that your father is a fine man, but it’s good to hear you say that you recognize your own abilities.” His eyes embraced her. “I’ve never had a student, male or female, show as much confidence in themselves as you have this week. You’ve been great, I mean that.” The sun struck through his wide, sincere smile and their eyes locked in silent exploration.
Christina whispered softly across the silence, “I think it has more to do with you being a very good teacher, but thank you. I’m glad you’re pleased with me.” Clay’s left hand moved from the circle it had been repeatedly tracing in the sand to the forearm he was leaning upon. His fingers began to brush sand from the long vein that that traversed from the muscles of his bicep to the girth of his powerful fist. Christina felt her body begin to melt into the invisible space that lay between them.
“Clay…”
“What?” Their eyes remained riveted.
“I’m afraid of you.” She heard the words of her impulsive admission come out of her lips as if she were listening to another person.
Clay continued to watch her silently, his expression betraying nothing of his feelings. Reaching across the space his fingertips touched her cheek and the sensation of the contact caught her breath within her. She had to stop this. She frantically searched for words to protect her from her impulses.
Trying to rescue some sense of control she looked away from him and said, “Would you like to hear what I’ve learned about you Mr. Corbett?” Once more she inwardly decried her inability to stop what she now knew she was physically feeling.
Watching from the corner of her eye she could see Clay’s gaze had now left her face and was appreciatively traveling the length of her body. Her face turned to follow the touch of this visual examination. The thick pectoral muscles of his chest stretched tightly against what she could observe was the increased pressure of his breathing.
“And I’m certain that you are going to share it with me aren’t you “Dr.” Weldon, ready or not, right?” Because it will only be for my own good.” His eyes danced with amusement as they lifted their heavy lids to meet with hers once again. He adjusted his position on the sand ever so slightly more in her direction.
His humor, for the briefest of moments, once more broke the tension within her body and provided her with an opportunity of escape. Jumping to her feet Christina playfully announced, “You are obviously not interested in what just might have been the most astute feedback on your personality that you would have ever received…from anyone…anywhere…ever…really.”
She was laughing and found herself turning and running towards the water. Her head turning flirtatiously back in his direction she announced, “But I’ll never tell you now. Never. No matter what you do to me.”
Baiting him further, her young torso bent forwards as if to contain her laughter Christina turned again and chided, “I will tell you one thing, however, Mr. Corbett, you don’t know everything. You don’t know what Emily Sinclair really told me about you.”
Completing a gesture that involved taunting him further by putting her hands on her hips and swaying her upper body while laughing with her tongue extended to the edge of her lips Christina suddenly turned and ran again toward the water, “She told me that…” She let her words trail off inaudibly and then glanced back over her shoulder as she mouthed words with no sound, letting the roar of surf fill in his assumptions.
In seconds Clay was on his feet and running aggressively toward her, his laughter joining hers and the sound of the waves crashing against the shore line.
As he was nearing her she turned once more and was laughing the words “I’ll never tell you what she said about how you…” She purposefully ended the sentence and bent to catch the surf in her hands in order that she might splash it against the threat of his approaching form. As Christina’s sea-filled hands launched their salted molecules in his direction an unnoticed wave attacked her from behind and its force pushed her clumsily in Clay’s direction. She was laughing wildly now attempting to catch her breath as he closed the distance between them. To ward off his approach she began flinging her hands through the water and towards his body. Shedding the onslaught of the spray by tossing his head from side to side Clay purposely slowed his advance.
Christina, her eyes trying to blink away the curtain of water that she herself was creating continued her taunt. “How tough are you Mr. Corbett, huh, real tough or just kind of tough?”
The water dripped and glistened down his body. He advanced, however unshaken by the assault as if determined that he would show her no physical vulnerability. “How tough do you want me to be Christina?” His smile was animated as he alternately closed one eye and then the other, turning his head just slightly against the barrage of water that she was controlling. His advance had now left just a few yards between them.
Christina began to realize that she could not retreat much further and she warned, “You better stay away from me,” looking over her shoulder to protect herself from another wave.
“I mean it.” She splashed more water and then screamed with self- imposed surprise as she tripped backwards and into the water, its forceful, sand-filled warmth surrounding her, enveloping her hat, freeing her hair. She flailed her arms out and struggled to orient her feet in the surge of the undercurrent of the wave. Suddenly she felt herself being lifted against Clay’s hard body, its texture and strength a sharp contrast to the softness and fluidity of the water. Her face broke the surface near his ribs and he was lifting her easily, her face moving up and over the defined contours of his chest. The water had now advanced around them and she was laughing against the corded muscles of his shoulder while she was also trying to catch her breath at the same time.
“How tough do you want me to be?” he repeated, speaking directly down into the nape of her neck.
She felt her breasts brush against the velvet roughness of the man. Her laughter stopped and she was now aware that she was entirely encased within the steel strength of his arms, their bodies touching intimately, knowingly, the force of his hips pressing the mass that was restrained behind the thin fabric of his shorts solidly against her abdomen. The very size and power of Clay’s body had become an altar on which she was being held, his muscular legs parting as he held her up, steadfast against the force of the ocean and his own growing desire.
“How tough…” he asked again softly and thickly arching his back forward and moved his face towards hers. “…would you like me to be?”
Her eyes capturing his, she felt her own hands moving from his sides slowly up and across the wide, inner structure of his back and onto the hard girth of his sh
oulders. She could feel the strength of his muscles moving beneath her fingers.
He was kissing her, the touch of his lips cautious and he was turning the union of their bodies into a single force against another wave as it struck them, its foam traveling up and over their skin, splashing onto their face. The sea water joined in this union as Clay’s hard mouth began to urgently explore the texture and contours of her hungry lips. Salt and coconut from her lotion blended in a harmony of taste as their mouths sought each other and breaths of air and words that did not come.
Clay’s hands moved from their protective, vise-like hold on Christina’s sides to the firmness of her back and then down and across her hips. He pressed her firmly, yet ever more tightly to the sheer maleness that was swelling like the waves against her. The weight of her body was now resting on his arched form. The hard virility of his desire had now moved fully erect and was burnishing against her, fanning embers of need held too long from flame. Christina was being born…, she was dying…, she was home…, she was lost…
“ Clay, Clay,” she worshipped as his fingertips traced a trail of hunger across her skin.
“I want you Christina.”
Her lips parting, Christina longingly accepted the slow exploration of Clay’s penetrating kiss. For the first time in her life she did not know if she was losing control of her body or whether she was gaining control over it. She could not think beyond her need to feel this man against her, within her, feelings that she had never experienced before, feelings that both excited her and terrified her at the same time.
Her hand moved down to her side and formed a union with his fingers that were moving and holding her against his lower body. She wanted to feel the power of his forearms, his wrists, his hands, that pulsing vein she had watched moments before that traversed the muscles beneath his skin. Having reached his hand her fingertips suddenly broke free and sought out the metal clasp attached to the zippered entrance to source behind the urgent pulsing that was pressing against her. Waves of water alternating with bursts of sun assaulted her senses as they moved rhythmically against and with the power of the ocean.
Courier of Love Page 10
