by Susan Napier
Ryan watched her action with eyes that were bleak with pain. Deliberately, he fished out the photo she had just discarded and fingered it as he asked, ‘Any questions?’
Nina’s heart jerked with dread, and she reshuffled the photos until the top one displayed the picture of the Mediterranean house. ‘I get a strong sense of deja vu about the places and those pictures of you and I—I remember doing some of those things with you—’
‘But you don’t remember any of the other people?’
He was still fingering the photograph, so Nina didn’t look at him. She didn’t want to start talking about the people and certainly wasn’t interested in other people’s babies….
She shook her head. ‘Most of them are just faces, except for Katy. I suppose she’s studying in America now.’
For a brief instant, his face lit up with pride. ‘She’s getting top marks and has already had several good job offers in the States.’
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ryan slip the picture he was holding into the breast pocket of his white shirt. Through the thin linen she could see only the vague, shadowy outline of an image.
She relaxed and smiled at him, but he didn’t smile back. She put the photos back in their folder and began to slide them across to him.
‘Keep them. You never know. Each time you look at them you might be able to build on that feeling of familiarity.’ He got up, running his fingers through his hair in a weary gesture that exposed the edge of the healing red wound on his upper temple.
‘You really should see about getting someone to take out those stitches,’ she said. ‘Dave said they shouldn’t need to stay in for more than a week.’
‘Has it been only a week?’ Ryan murmured. ‘Somehow it seems a lot longer than that.’
Nina agreed. It felt like a lifetime!
He gave himself a mental shake and looked down at her, his mouth curving humourlessly. ‘Actually, I am seeing someone right now. I’ll get the hot water and towel while you sterilise the scissors.’
‘You don’t expect me to take them out!’
‘Why not? Dave said it was so straightforward I could almost do it myself. Just snip and pull.’
Nina shuddered, but her protests were ruthlessly overridden and she soon found herself bending over him, the hot scissors betraying a fine tremble in her hand as they approached his forehead.
She hesitated, half straightening. ‘I don’t want to hurt you….’ she worried.
‘On that spectacular piece of irony, you can proceed,’ he told her harshly. ‘I doubt that you could hurt me more than you already have!’
She gasped. ‘That’s not fair—’
‘Life isn’t fair, darling. Haven’t you figured that out yet? Now stop torturing me, dammit, and just get it over with.’
She did, with the utmost delicacy—and wincing all the way.
‘There, you see?’ He took the scissors from her nerveless hand when she had finished and dabbed a piece of clean gauze against the scar. ‘You did fine. It just goes to prove that sometimes the anticipation of pain is worse than the actual pain itself…even when we’re inflicting it on someone else from the best possible motives,’ he added huskily.
On that cryptic note he departed to see if Ray’s new balcony rail had arrived, and Nina didn’t see him for the rest of the afternoon.
And, wretchedly, she missed him. Too restless to settle down to her study of the final set of specimen plants that George had brought with him and determined not to traipse next door to gawp at him fixing Ray’s rail like a lovesick schoolgirl, Nina was reduced to doing housework and subsequently was in a bad mood when Ryan came back with the news that the five Peterson children were building a huge pyre of driftwood on the beach, and they were invited to take a blanket along and watch the bonfire when the pyre was ceremoniously torched after dark.
‘Look at those clouds coming in. And the wind is getting up, too. I bet it’s going to rain,’ Nina said dampeningly, but Ryan was as eager as a boy, confiding that he hadn’t been to a beach bonfire since he was a child, and gradually she found herself infected with his enthusiasm to the extent of fossicking out miniatures of liqueur—given to her by one of her boarders as a farewell gift—to toast the blaze.
Later, bundled up in layers of clothing and huddled against Ryan’s side under the mohair blanket, his heavy arm cuddled around her shoulders, Nina conceded to the Peterson children in a voice hoarse from a raucous sing-along that, yes, it could well qualify as the best bonfire ever, any time in history, anywhere on the planet.
Ryan rewarded her for her graciousness with a nip of the peach schnapps, which was Ray’s contribution to the adult entertainment, and pounded her laughingly on the back when the fiery spirit seared her throat and brought tears to her eyes.
As the interlaced cone of wood collapsed inwards on itself in a shower of sparks that whirled up into the night sky, the youngest Peterson, a plump toddler, made a sudden dash past Nina towards the fascinating embers.
Ryan lunged forward and scooped the errant child back to the safety of the blanket, balancing him on his outstretched legs and warning him in a deep, gentle voice that that wasn’t a wise thing to do. Nina stiffened and shrank away as Rosalie Peterson rushed over to pick up her son. ‘Oh, dear, I’m sorry,’ she said with a rueful smile at Nina. ‘I know you don’t like being bothered by the little ones, but you know how toddlers are!’
‘No, actually, I don’t,’ Nina said stiltedly, turning her face back to the fire, aware of the sudden tension in the body next to her. Suddenly, the euphoria of the evening drained abruptly away and she was anxious to leave. ‘It’s getting late. I’m tired…I think I’ll go back to the house,’ she muttered, scrambling to her feet and blocking out the chorus of voices as she offered a falsely casual goodnight and hurried away.
The farther Nina got from the glow of the bonfire the colder she felt and she wrapped her arms around herself to conserve her body heat as her sneakers swished through the frigid sand. Suddenly, a blanket dropped over her shoulders and Ryan was there, striding silently alongside her with Zorro a panting shadow at his heels.
‘You didn’t have to leave, as well,’ she ventured guiltily. Kicking out the embers and burying them in sand was part of the fun of having a bonfire.
‘I did if I wanted to be with you,’ he said. ‘Although it’s a shame to miss the—’
There was a booming detonation behind them and Nina whirled around with a small scream.
‘—fireworks,’ Ryan finished as an incandescent white light shot into the sky, followed by successive balls of exploding white sparks emitting high-pitched screams. Zorro, far from being upset by the cacophony, immediately dashed back to the excitement. ‘Chas said they were left over from last year’s Guy Fawkes—’
He suddenly noticed Nina crouched on the sand, shaking, her face buried against her knees, her hands pressed over her ears.
‘Nina—what’s wrong?’
He had to kneel down beside her to hear her reedy reply.
‘I don’t—I hate fireworks. I’m sorry, I know it’s silly, but I just can’t bear them.’
‘It’s all right, we’re well away from them. They can’t hurt you—’
‘I know that, I know that. I just…the noise, the smoke of them, it makes me feel sick. I don’t know why—’ She cringed as there was another bang.
‘Don’t you?’ His arm came around her, pulling her into his side so that she could bury her tear-stained face in his chest, crushing her shuddering body to his as if he could absorb her paralysing fear. ‘Don’t you, Nina?’ he asked with fierce urgency that reached to the core of her being.
‘I…no…yes…yes…my mother,’ she gasped against his pounding heart. ‘Since she died in that explosion…I’ve hated Guy Fawkes…hated seeing all those flashes, like the one that killed Mummy and Laurie.’
‘Your mother?’ She felt his heart slow for a fraction of a second, then accelerate even faster. ‘But you didn’t see the fla
sh, Nina,’ he reminded her. ‘You said you were playing next door at the neighbours’.’
‘But…no…’ She lifted her face, a ghostly glimmer in the darkness, illuminated by pulsating flashes of colour from the far end of the beach. ‘No…’ Her stunned wet eyes sought his, her hands curling into his black sweater. ‘No, no—I wasn’t. Isn’t that odd? I—I didn’t remember it until now, but I wasn’t next door. I was only supposed to be. It was my sixth birthday and Mummy was going to ice the cake she’d made me. She told me to go outside and play on the seesaw, but I didn’t think it was fair that Laurie was allowed to see and not me, so I crept back. I was peeping in the crack of the kitchen door when, when—oh, God, I saw it happen…I saw it happen!’ She shuddered, welcoming his suffocating grip.
‘There was a big flash—I was knocked over. The door, I think it came off…and there was smoke in there and sparks from the ceiling and everything was broken and Mummy and Laurie weren’t there any more, so I ran next door to get on the seesaw so Mummy wouldn’t know I’d been bad…because maybe it happened because I was bad!
‘I just rocked and rocked on that seesaw until Mrs Petley saw me and took me inside, and the fire engines came and then Gran and Gramps, and nobody ever asked what I’d seen because they all just assumed I’d been in the Petleys’ garden. It was even in the papers—and it was always what Gran told people. I grew up thinking it was true. But it wasn’t. And all this time I repressed it. God.’ The childish agony was in her voice. ‘I remember being so scared everyone would think it was my fault….’
He cupped his hand on the back of her head. ‘It wasn’t your fault, Nina.’
‘But she was making my cake—’
‘It wasn’t your fault. A heater was faulty. That wasn’t your fault.’ There was heartfelt despair in his voice as he tried to persuade her. ‘You can’t always control what happens to other people or protect them from unseen danger. Accidents happen, and there’s nothing you can do about it. You just have to accept it.’
‘At least now I know why I react so badly to fireworks and sudden loud noises.’ She risked a look back along the beach to where the moving figures were silhouetted by a brilliant emerald green glow in the sand. ‘I wonder why I suddenly remembered this time?’
‘Perhaps because that particular memory isn’t the preeminent threat it used to be. Perhaps because tonight when it happened, you were with someone you—you instinctively trusted to understand.’
‘I’m c-cold!’ Nina was racked with violent shivers as she knelt in the sand, her cramped limbs feeling numb under her clothing. ‘Oh, God, why am I so cold…?’
‘Because it’s freezing out here and you’ve given yourself a shock.’ Ryan wrapped her tightly in the blanket and stood up, holding her swaddled body high against his chest as he carried her over the sand and up the bank to the house.
Once inside, he set her down by the fire and rubbed at her arms and back through the fabric, but she still couldn’t stop her shivering. She fought her arms free of the mohair folds and wrapped them around him, going on tiptoe so that she could press her face into the curve of his neck, into his warm male flesh.
‘Ryan…oh, Ryan.’ She felt grief, the old remembered pain mixing with a new and confusing swirl of emotion. This man was someone that she feared, that she knew in her heart had the power to hurt her, and yet she wanted him, needed him, needed the strength and support he represented and, yes, the joy, too. ‘Hold me,’ she whispered frantically to him, as he had once begged her. Her mouth opened against his throat, her tongue stroking, tasting him, savouring the remembered ecstasy.
‘Nina—you’re still freezing. You should take a hot shower…’ he began hoarsely.
‘No…I want you to warm me up!’ She let her head tip back, her arms sliding over his shoulders, her hands linking at the nape of his neck, her spiky-damp lashes framing green eyes that glowed with turbulent passion.
He groaned, the blanket falling in hushed folds to the floor as his hands lifted from her back, hovering away from her sides as if he dared not touch her. ‘How do you expect me to do that?’
She licked her parted lips, glossing them with inviting moisture. ‘You know how….’ she said huskily. She half lowered her pale eyelids, giving her upturned face a look of slumberous sensuality even as her body vibrated with tension.
His hands settled convulsively at her waist, his thumbs pushing up against her lower ribs. ‘You don’t know what you want from me,’ he said in a strained voice.
‘Yes, I do,’ she countered, arching her spine so that her breasts moved against his chest. ‘I’m asking you to make love to me.’ Her hands trailed down over his chest and up under his sweater to find the nipples that she knew were sensitive, pressing against his shirt. ‘I thought that was what you wanted, too,’ she murmured, scratching at them with her fingernails.
With a rough curse, he caught at her hands, pulling them roughly out from under the fine wool and manacling them together. Nina retaliating by lifting one knee, sliding it up the inner seam of his trousers until her thigh pressed into the notch between his legs, rubbing against an exciting hardness.
‘Come on, Ryan, there’s no reason to hold back any more,’ she urged throatily, the hot and cold shivers thrilling her body intensifying the urgency of her desire. ‘Remind me what a fantastic lover you are.’
He bent his head and crushed the provocative words back into her mouth in a long, mind-bending, soul-savaging kiss. Then, with shocking suddenness, he broke it off, resting his hard forehead against hers as they both struggled for breath, and he fought for control.
‘Go and have your shower, Nina,’ he ordered thickly. ‘For both our sakes. You need to warm up, take the edge off a shattering experience so you can really think about what you’re doing.’
She let him push her away, but she felt his shuddering reluctance and knew that she hadn’t lost the battle.
‘I’m not shattered,’ she said softly. ‘Maybe I should be, but I’m not. I feel lighter, freer. If anything, I’m thinking more clearly about myself than I have for a long time.’ She crossed her arms, gripping the bottom of her fleece jumper and pulled it swiftly over her head, taking with it her woollen skivvy and nylon camisole, leaving her upper body bare but for a lacy emerald bra, a shade darker than her sultry eyes.
She shook her clinging clothes down off her arms, aware of her breasts shimmering enticingly against the low-cut scalloping of lace. The hot caress of his gaze and the quickened tenor of his ragged breathing increased the tempo of her own pulse. She touched the tiny, pearl-centred bow between the wired cups, drawing his attention to the insecurity of the catch, then toyed with one strap, running her finger back and forth underneath it before teasing it slowly off her shoulder.
‘I’ll go and have a shower because it seems you need time to decide what you really want,’ she said throatily, doing the same slow tease with the other strap and bringing her arms forward to wrap across her soft abdomen, deepening the shadowy crevice between her creamy breasts, her fingers splaying over her silky-bare sides. ‘But I’ll be thinking of you while I’m in there, thinking and wanting, and waiting….’
Nina tilted her face in voluptuous appreciation as the hot water poured down over the top of her head, streaming over her eyes and ears and mouth, rendering her blind, deaf and dumb to the rest of the world. She didn’t know how long she’d been in there and she no longer cared, her mind floating blissfully free, her steaming body massaged by the tingling needles of spray.
The only warning she had was a faint fan of cool air across her back, and then a big body crowded into the stall behind her, joining her under the wide stream of water, a thick arm snaking around her waist and pulling her back against a nude, hairy male body, already powerfully aroused. Sharp teeth sank into her wet shoulder and a strong hand came around to knead her breasts as his thick shaft settled along the cleft in her bottom. She wriggled her hips and the hand on her breast contracted.
‘I knew you’d co
me,’ she whispered.
‘We’re both going to come, babe.’ The furry growl in her ear made her insides turn to warm honey. ‘Hand me the soap.’
‘I’ve already—’
‘Shut up and hand me the soap.’ His order carried a sexual aggressiveness that she found intensely exciting. She had driven him to this and now she was more than willing to accept that she was no longer in control.
She had already soaped herself, but not like this…never like this…not with such intimate attention to detail, not as if each individual pore and singing nerve ending deserved special cleansing. He sucked the water off the lobes of her ears and the sides of her neck in between his soft nips across her shoulders, his soapy fingers slipping and sliding around her aching breasts, returning again and again to her nipples, tugging and massaging until she was panting and squirming in her efforts to turn around and touch him with the same intimacy.
He wouldn’t let her, and deliciously frustrated by her enforced helplessness, she reached back to grip his hairy flanks, her fingers stroking the long, flexing muscles as he worked his body against hers, undulating his hips so that she was in no doubt of his sexual intent. Her head fell back against his shoulder and he roughly nudged her chin around so that he could capture her mouth, his tongue darting between her teeth in the same rhythm that drove the rotating thrust of his hips.
‘Open your legs,’ he whispered roughly into her mouth, his hands circling around her soapy navel, massaging ever lower, pressing down over the inside of her thighs until they parted for him, allowing his soap-slick fingers to crowd into the steamy space and play over the secret folds in her skin, exploring her readiness and finding the sweet kernel of budded desire.
