The Island Page 17

  What was his real objective?

  Tonight, she decided, it was her.

  Tonight there was nothing rushed about him. He studied her eyes again for a long time, as if waiting for a protest, knowing there would be none, but still giving her a chance to turn away.

  She had no intention of doing any such thing.

  At last his lips touched hers, and every remaining bit of resolve she might have felt fled. Her arms moved around him, fingers threading into his hair, and she tasted the kiss, explored the texture of his lips, felt the exhilarating sweep of his tongue.

  His hands worked magic, cradling her nape, pulling her closer. The length of his body was a fire, rock-hard strength, something she wanted, needed. And where before it had been anticipation of all that was new, now it was memory of what was real, electric and compelling.

  There had been a strange honesty in getting to know him…at least in this. She pulled away and said softly, “I do have a bedroom.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. And I’d love to see it.”

  She hesitated. He was giving her another out.

  “Are you staying?”

  “All night. I have to leave early. If that’s all right.”

  “It wasn’t a demand.”

  He lifted her chin again. “I think I would stay forever if I could.”

  Strange words. A line? At a different time, that possibility might have bothered her. But not tonight.

  She turned, her hand in his, and started up the stairs. He followed close behind. She didn’t put on the bedroom light; with him beside her, she liked the shadows, a realm where her own uncertainties could be hidden. With him in her house, she wasn’t afraid of whatever lay beyond the door. The darkness offered no threat.

  If he wanted light, he said nothing. She stripped the comforter from the bed and watched as he undressed, while she did the same. It seemed so bizarre. She had never had an affair like this before. She wondered vaguely if being together twice constituted an actual affair.

  Then she didn’t wonder about anything. He came to her in the shadows, touched her, and his naked flesh against her own seemed to be the most erotic splendor she had ever known. She allowed her fingers to play down his chest, feel the beating of his heart, knead the length of his back. The shadows gave her confidence, and from his back she slid the feathery brush of her fingertips lower, teased his buttocks, then stroked the rise of his erection. And then…

  She found herself lifted, lying on the cool sheets, startled by the extreme difference between the crisp coolness of the bed and the heat of his body.

  The pressure of his body aroused her. Their lips fused, hands stroked wildly. They broke apart, panting in the darkness, came together again. Her fingers moved through his hair. His lips moved to her throat, to her collarbone, below.

  The touch of his fingers, the simmering, liquid heat of his lips and tongue, slowly trailed down her body. She writhed as if she longed to become part of him. She was in thrall to a brush, a stroke, a feathered sensation that left her yearning for more, a deeper, firmer exploration of fingers and tongue…acts of sheer intimacy that amazed her, exalted her, ever so slightly frightened her. She was barely aware of her own sinuous movements, flesh erotically sliding against flesh, the twist and curve of her body as she accommodated his, the sleek motion in which scent and movement, heat and pressure, combined, and it seemed that the world revolved upon the rise of her need and the climax he promised.

  She let out a soft cry as the first little ripple of pure pleasure seared through her, a shot that catapulted, and continued, a slow tease that radiated. He rose above her, and in a corner of her mind she was ever so slightly afraid. Afraid because she had found the perfect fit, a man who thrilled and excited her, who captured her soul with the sound of his voice, his merest touch, the way he moved, in bed and out. A fear that he wasn’t real, that this total consumption of body and soul would never come again.

  Then he was in her and around her. She was striving, twisting, turning, hungry to become a part of his very being. Each thrust took her higher on a wave of eroticism, and the feel of his flesh, burning and powerful, beneath her hands, was almost more than she could bear.

  Then there was the moment of ultimate climax, darkness shattered, a brilliant burst of light that shot violently into her mind, a feeling of sheer ecstasy so high and complete, that it shattered into a million pieces of crystal. There was one last powerful surge of his body, and then the collapse against her that signaled the volatility of his own climax, followed by the feel of his arms around her, the return of the shadows, the slowing thunder of her heart and a feeling of incredible completion.

  His fingers, moving through her hair…

  His arms, wrapped around her…

  His words, soft and teasing. “Where have you been all my life?”

  She moved against him. “Here. Right here.” She tried to tell herself that no matter what had transpired between them, she barely knew him. Her feelings were insane. She didn’t just want him, she was fascinated by him. Sex was incredible, but sex was not enough. She wanted to get beneath his skin, into his soul, know what made him tick, see his smile, feel wrapped in his laughter….

  She’d never been this foolish in her life, falling in love so quickly, so completely, forgetting all too easily that she needed to be wary….

  But wariness eluded her. Only one question formed in her mind but went unspoken.

  Where will you be the rest of my life?

  11

  BETH WOKE WITH A START. Alone. She ran a hand over the side of the bed where he had been, feeling a sense of loss. He had said he couldn’t stay late.

  And yet…

  Alone, with the morning light flooding in and washing away the shadows, she wondered why.

  A meeting with the guys?

  After a while, she rose, remembering that she needed to run by the club to pick up her design for the flyer so she could drop it off at the print shop to be made into a poster, then head down to Nick’s to meet Ashley.

  The thought of meeting Ashley jolted her into faster action. Now, more than ever, she was burning to know why Brad and Sandy were wanted for questioning.

  If Brad and Sandy had stolen the Retired!, and if she had really seen a skull on the island, it seemed likely that the pair must have murdered the Monocos. The thought was chilling.

  And had they also been the ones who attacked the couple in Virginia?

  When she had showered and dressed, she hurried downstairs.

  He had left coffee brewing for her.

  Interesting. He was a man who took off at the first light of day, but he left brewed coffee.

  She drank a cup, still reflecting on his arrival and Ashley’s phone call, then hurried out.

  It took only a few minutes to drive to the club. She waved to the guard, parked, then ran up to her office and printed off the design she wanted.

  She started down the stairs, ready to head out, when she paused, catching a glimpse of someone she shouldn’t have.

  Or, at least, someone she wouldn’t have expected to see.

  Not where he was. And with whom.

  She didn’t go into the dining room. She didn’t need to. She could see just fine from where she was.

  It was set for breakfast. In the morning, the restaurant manager used the colors of the flag—red, white and blue—and napkin holders in the shape of a captain’s hat. Seated at the table nearest one of the paned doors—open that morning, in honor of the beautiful weather—was Amanda Mason. She wasn’t there with her father, or either of her cousins.

  Breakfast that morning was a buffet.

  So was Amanda.

  Keith Henson had apparently come for the buffet, too, though which buffet, Beth couldn’t be quite certain. To his credit, he had food in front of him.

  He just didn’t seem to be eating it. Amanda was talking animatedly. Keith was listening. He was smiling; she was laughing.

  There was a dress code in the dining roo
m: shoes and shirts, cover-ups for all bathing attire.

  Amanda had followed the code, but just barely.

  She seemed to be spilling from the bathing top she wore. Literally. True, she had on a cover-up, but it was sheer gauze.

  Belinda, one of the breakfast servers, paused next to Beth.

  “You should see the bottom.”

  “What?”

  “Amanda Mason. Her bathing suit. You should see the bottom. Or lack thereof.”

  “A string?” Beth inquired, surprised. They frowned on such things at the club. This was a family place.

  “A two-string. A one-inch square piece of fabric in front and another in back. The strings are on each side. Want coffee? Are you having breakfast?”

  “Thanks, but I’m out of here,” she said, flashing Belinda a forced smile. “I have plans.”

  “That’s right, it’s Saturday. You’re off. I guess we’re all used to you working so much overtime.”

  Beth shrugged. “It’s not always work. When Ben and Amber are here, I’m just hanging with the family.”

  Suddenly, she realized that Keith had turned, that he’d seen her. Was watching her.

  But he remained with Amanda.

  “Well, have a good day off,” Belinda said.

  “What?”

  “Have a good day off.”

  “Oh, yes. Thanks.”

  She hurried back out to her car, her head reeling. Once she was behind the wheel, she couldn’t quite put the car in to Drive. She just stared out through her windshield.

  What the hell was he doing? He hadn’t just run into Amanda. He had said last night that he had plans in the morning. Amanda had been his plan? Then why come to her house?

  She gritted her teeth. Maybe she was just mistaken about chemistry and some ridiculous inner sense of honor and decency. She didn’t really know him. It wasn’t as if he’d gone out of his way to seduce her. She couldn’t actually blame him for anything. She had wanted him.

  Angry with herself, she started to drive.

  Her radio was tuned in to one of the local stations. The hosts were doing a segment called “Dial a Date.” One DJ was telling callers to check out the “hotness” of their female guest on the Internet. Then one of the men dialing in asked her about her sexual experience. The guest purred that she knew what she was doing, and yes, if the guy was right—and the dinner good—she definitely slept with a man on the first date.

  Beth was pretty sure the phone lines at the radio station were about to start ringing off the hook. She began to wonder if the entire world had come to think of sex as casually as they did breathing. Was that Amanda’s take on it?

  Was it Keith’s?

  Worst of all, was the whole thing about something unique, special and honorable—and sheer chemistry—all in her own mind?

  MATT WOKE WITH A START. Alone.

  He sat up, and his head started spinning. He felt ill.

  “Amanda?”

  There was no response. He leaped up, then staggered, holding his head between his hands. Sweet Jesus. Had he really had that much to drink? They’d hit the Jack Daniel’s on arriving…and she’d been with him every second. Aggressive, exciting, quite possibly the most purely carnal experience he’d ever had. Pushing him down, crawling on top of him…

  “Amanda?”

  He made his way out to the galley. She’d left coffee on, but no note. Matt reached into a cabinet for something to kill the pain. He swallowed six caplets, drank a glass of water. His head was still spinning. He leaned against the counter, fighting the sensation. He needed coffee, a bagel, something.

  He didn’t bother to toast the bagel but ate it almost savagely. After a few minutes, his brain began to kick in.

  He swore and went topside, where his voice rose as he cursed to the morning sun and the sea.

  She’d taken the tender in.

  He hurried back down to the cabin and searched it arduously. Nothing seemed disturbed. Nothing at all.

  Still swearing, he judged the distance to the mainland, dressed in swim trunks and a tank, then went topside, furious with both the woman, and with himself.

  He’d been had. Big-time.

  He hit the water, glad the sea was smooth that day. As he swam, the salt, sun and sea began to clear his head.

  But dull torture remained.

  Did he tell the others?

  “I’M SO GLAD THAT YOU ALL have decided to visit civilization for a while. Although…” Amanda smiled knowingly. “I can’t say I’m all that surprised.”

  “You expected us?” Keith asked, smiling back. He didn’t need to lean in close. Amanda had taken care of that all by herself. She was at a table but somehow nearly on top of him. There was no way out of the fact there was something naked and almost primeval about her raw sex appeal. She practically reeked of female hormones. She’d had money and position all her life, plenty of time and opportunity to hone the “bad girl who could do whatever she wanted” image.

  So different from Beth. Everything about her was just as sensual, as gut level, as sexually, sensually appealing. But there was a touch of class inherent in her allure. She moved with supple grace, as sleekly as a feline. Her voice roused the libido. Her eyes seduced with cool intelligence and an underlying honesty that compelled and…

  He locked his jaw. This wasn’t the time to wax poetic—or simply sexual—about Beth. Or think of the way she had looked at him during their night together.

  “What were three handsome, heterosexual men going to do out there forever?” Amanda asked huskily.

  Her fingers—nails perfectly manicured—made a fluttering motion down his arm.

  “I mean,” she continued, “how long can you just dive and fish without some kind of a…break, shall we say?”

  He shrugged and eased back slightly. “We were intrigued. So many of you had mentioned this place while we were on the island.” He offered her a broad grin, moving in closer again. “So…this is it. And are you here all the time?”

  “A lot of the time,” Amanda said. “I love boats. The way they rock. Even when they’re just tied up at the dock.”

  The older Cuban man he had met the other night was taking a seat at one of the tables, Keith noticed. Amanda cast him a brief glance, then paid him no mind.

  Manny, Keith remembered. He was the friend who had reported the Monocos missing. He knew now that the Monocos were definitely missing and he was pretty sure he knew how and why. But a piece was still missing. He had a feeling Ted Monoco had known something about his own work out by the island. That nothing was as simple as it looked.

  He looked back at Amanda, who was almost on top of him, despite this being a public place.

  “You haven’t been on board Hank’s boat. She’s almost as nice as your friend Lee’s.”

  “Where is Hank?” he asked. “And the rest of your family?”

  “Oh, he and my dad have some business today. And Gerald doesn’t come around as much as the rest of us. None of them will be around for quite a while.”

  It was as open an invitation as a man was ever going to get.

  “You can tell me all about fishing…that rush you get when you land the big one.”

  She wasn’t referring only to fish, he knew.

  “And diving. Floating in a different world. A magical world. Making fantastic new discoveries.”

  Again her words were sexual, but he sensed something more. She wanted to talk. She wanted him to talk.

  He glanced at his watch, forcing an expression of real regret to his face. “I can’t see her right now. I have an appointment with a man about a boat.”

  Amanda pouted. She touched him again, delicately on the arm. “And you can’t postpone it?”

  “I wish I could. I’ll be back, though.”

  He rose, made his goodbye.

  She waved; he started out.

  At the entry, he turned back.

  Manny had risen. As Keith watched, he joined her at the table, and the two of them began to
talk, heads close, voices apparently low.

  He turned to leave again, then noted the dancer, Maria Lopez, at a corner table.

  She was watching Manny and Amanda, as well.

  BETH PARKED AND WALKED around the back, to the waterside. Ashley was seated at one of the tables there. She had her sketchbook out.

  Though it was a public marina and boats came in and out constantly, it seemed to be quiet at Nick’s that morning. A few people were down at the docks, working on boats. Friends chatted. Down one of the long piers, a fisherman was already in with his catch, cleaning it.

  It was Saturday morning, a lazy time, except for those eager few who were anxious to get out on the water. The real early birds had already gone out and some had already come back in.

  She noticed an old sailor, one of Nick’s regulars, at one of the tables, smoking his pipe, sipping his coffee, reading his newspaper. Farther down, a mother fed a pair of toddlers, who seemed convinced all their food really needed to be given to the gulls by the water. Signs begged customers not to feed the birds at the tables—such generosity could lead to a scene straight out of Hitchcock. Once started, the birds did not give up.

  There was a couple at another table, wearing sunglasses and looking as if they’d partied a little too hearty the night before. Probably why they looked vaguely familiar, she thought, then headed toward Ashley’s table that was in the sun, but protected by an overhead umbrella.

  “Hiya,” Ashley said, seeing her arrive.

  Beth slid into the chair opposite her.

  “What’s the matter? You look glum,” Ashley said.

  “I’m fine,” Beth said.

  “No you’re not, but you can tell me the truth whenever you’re ready.”

  “So what’s up? Tell me what’s going on. Why do they think Sandy and Brad went after the Monocos?”

  Ashley thrust her sketchbook toward Beth. Beth studied the picture on top. It was of a couple, faces only, side by side.

  “Recognize them?” Ashley asked.

  “Are you kidding?” Beth asked.

  “Look at the eyes.”