Conquer the Memories

Chapter 12

Craig woke to find himself alone in the bed, his arms curled around a pillow. He groped for his watch on the bedside table. It was barely six. Not a likely hour for Sonia to be up and around-barring World War III or Christmas.

Unless she was making a distinct effort to be out of touching range whenever he was around.

Again.

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he broodingly tossed the pillow aside and dragged a hand through his hair. Somewhere in the distance he could hear the faint scream of gulls fishing for their breakfast. A brilliant sun was trying to peek through the opaque curtains of their cabin, and beneath his feet the boat undulated in peaceful sway.

None of that peace touched the almost violent determination inside his head. He’d gone to bed with the mood, he’d slept with it, and again awoke to the same powerful, indefinable feelings gnawing at him. He felt driven to the wall. But hadn’t he driven himself there?

Impatiently, he stood up and reached for his jeans. Very few minutes later, after splashing his face with cold water and raking a brush through his hair, he stalked barefoot over the thick carpet toward the salon.

He stopped abruptly when he saw Sonia with her head buried in the refrigerator, her back to him. Silently plunging his hands into his back pockets, for a while he just studied her. During the night, he’d come to several conclusions about what she was up to, which now appeared rather useless. In a single glance, he could see very quickly that her game plan had changed. For one thing, she was wearing a bra, and she certainly hadn’t done that in the past thirty-six hours.

And she’d pulled on an oversized T-shirt that denied any claim to sexiness; it was blue and wrinkled and voluminous. Beneath it, he could just see the bottoms of her white shorts when she bent over. Her hair was pulled back with a terry-cloth band, and she wasn’t wearing even a touch of makeup; her skin was clear and soft and golden, her lips their natural color.

She hadn’t spotted him yet. She was too busy noisily stirring orange juice in a pitcher with a big wooden spoon. When that was done she yawned, a huge, lazy yawn.

For the first time in days, Craig felt a natural smile form on his own lips.

A very complicated set of devils had been chasing him for weeks. For an instant, they receded, and it was as if a spring had uncoiled, a key unlocked some door. Love, at times, could be foolishly simple. And as powerful as the pulse suddenly erratically beating in his throat. Sonia was that power, and her feminine games had been driving him nuts. Tease and withdraw, tease and withdraw-they’d never played those kind of games with each other. Sonia was very subtle and had never played such immature tricks as trying to make him jealous of her former beaux. Exhibitionism. Chase. Tease.

If she thought she was actually getting away with something, she was terribly…right. Every male nerve ending would have been delighted to explode very early last night. All night long, he’d felt on the fragile edge of violence.

And this morning, if her choices of bulky T-shirt and sweatband were supposed to calm anyone-in-particular’s raging libido, they had certainly failed. Her breasts were well buried and her fanny hidden…and neither had anything to do with the essential desirability of Sonia. She was terribly mistaken if she thought they did.

“Craig? You’re up. I thought you’d sleep in this morning.” Sonia felt her heart skip a beat at the look of her husband bearing down on her like a great sleepy brown bear. Well. Not sleepy. She smiled a little uncertainly at the oddly intense expression radiating from his eyes, and then turned away. “Just sit down, you. I have a terrific breakfast planned. Melon, then ham and eggs…Won’t take more than a minute-it’s almost ready. Coffee and juice first…”

She whipped a steaming mug on the counter in front of him, then a small glass of orange juice.

“You’re up early,” he commented, as he slid onto the cushioned stool.

“The salt air,” she said breezily.

“And then, you went to sleep early last night, didn’t you?”

Such an innocuous question. Amazing that she felt instantly uneasy. “Um. Yes.” She turned quickly. The eggs were all whisked in a bowl, but she had yet to add pepper and cheese.

“You were extremely tired.”

“I certainly was,” she agreed, and whisked harder.

“Yet you seemed so wide awake. After our swim.”

The air in the cabin was stifling, surprising when the windows were all open and the morning was still cool. Craig’s voice was mild. Teasing, really. There was no reason to get nervous, she told herself. She’d woken up nervous enough. One could play with fire only so long…and then it had miraculously occurred to her that she could get burned as well. She had in mind starting out the day low-key, easy and…safe. Safe meaning attire that couldn’t possibly be a turn-on.

“Sleepiness just seemed to creep up on me all at once,” she said hurriedly, and bounced a fork and knife on the counter, tossing Craig a quick glance before pivoting back to the stove. That man had gorgeous shoulders. The hair on his chest curled every which way; it always had. And his eyes were very blue-too blue, too damned blue-for this early in the morning. She grabbed the spatula. “We’ve got a thousand things to do today.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Fishing, for one. We’ve got all the gear. And Mr. Bartholomew went on and on about the fish in these waters. Marlin and sailfish and snapper, even barracuda once we move out a little deeper. You know, though…” She slid his eggs on a plate and set it in front of him. “I wouldn’t mind a nice red snapper for dinner. Sailfish are another thing. I don’t want to risk catching one-every single time I see one mounted I get sick. They’re so beautiful…”

“Sit down, honey. If you don’t want breakfast yourself, at least have a cup of coffee.”

“I forgot your melon.”

“Sit.”

She perched obediently on the cushioned stool next to him, hugged her coffee mug in her hands and smiled brightly. Her husband was sending out calming, soothing vibrations. Which was very strange, because she felt increasingly unnerved. “If you don’t want to go fishing, we can explore the shore of the cove. We could take the dinghy. I’ll row in, you can row back,” she remarked magnanimously.

“You’ll row with the surf, and I fight the battle against the tide on the way back?”

“And if you’re really good, I’ll even let you make the picnic lunch.”

“One of us,” Craig mentioned, “is in an awfully lazy mood this morning.”

“Exactly,” Sonia agreed impishly. “We can gather shells and swim and lie around in the sand. There are palm trees out there just waiting to provide a little shade. Now, it may be the coast of Texas, but who’s carrying an atlas? It looks like the shoreline of a nice little deserted Pacific island.”

Craig chuckled, pushing back his plate. He turned and swung his leg around, hooking his bare foot on the rung of her stool. He watched as Sonia ever so unobtrusively tried to shift away from any physical contact, but between his leg and the teak bar she had nowhere to go.

That very small effort at withdrawal from her aroused a very pure, very basic, very male instinctive response in him. The same instinct that had nearly driven him over the edge the night before. His jeaned calf rubbed against Sonia’s bare one, and his wife’s chatter accelerated just slightly, like the increased rev of a motor.

“If you don’t want to do any of that, we could snorkel. There’s equipment in that locker on deck.”

“Yes,” he agreed.

“You’re supposed to be able to see all kinds of fish and things in the shallow waters.”

“Yes.”

Sonia could feel his eyes on her lips and throat and felt another dozen of her nerve endings zoom to life. He shouldn’t be looking at her like that now, for heaven’s sake. Couldn’t he see she was dressed like a derelict? And she was not going to succumb to those damn eyes. Not if he had in mind more one-sided loving. She had several days of specific activities planned to ensure that his libido was hot-wired solely on his own behalf.

Furthermore, she had the sneaky feeling he was deliberately trying to make conversation difficult. With utmost grace, she stood up, only to find that his other foot had captured the rung on the opposite side of her. She was pinned in. “I’ll do the dishes now,” she said cheerfully.

“In a minute. Finish your coffee.”

Her bottom despondently plopped back down on the stool. Nothing was going well. “Which would you like to do?” she asked brightly.

“The choices are fishing and snorkeling and picnicking on the beach in the cove?”

She picked up her mug, nodding. “Actually, we could probably do them all. We’re up early.”

“Very early,” he agreed.

His tone was still mild. One would think he was trying to soothe a fractious kitten. Sonia was not soothed. She took another hurried sip of coffee. “And if you don’t want to do any of those things-”

“I think you’re in the mood for a very busy day.”

She nodded, much more happily. It was the first sign that he was going to prove…tractable. “We take vacations so rarely. We may as well take advantage of every minute.”

“I agree.” Craig set down his mug. “We should take advantage of every minute. And I think we should do everything on your list. Tomorrow. Today we’re already busy.”

Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. “We’re already-?”

“We’re going to spend this day in bed, Sonia.”

A few drops of her coffee decided to leap right out of her cup. Craig took a napkin to mop it up.

“Finish your coffee, honey,” he said gently. He made every effort to keep his voice calm and soothing. It didn’t seem to be working. Sonia was both nervous and clearly…not in the mood. Huge green-blue eyes peered at him over her coffee cup.

His ethical system flew out the window. His unbudgeable, rocklike, irrefutable ethical system. No one and nothing had ever made Craig do anything he believed wasn’t right. And as much as he adored his Sonia, she was going to have to get in the mood. Two months of abstinence had just, very simply, combusted inside him with all the docility of nuclear fission.

Did he mean what she hoped he meant? Was he thinking of his pleasure for a welcome change?

Sonia licked dry lips. “Listen…”

“Finish your coffee. I want to go to bed.”

Rapidly, she raised the cup to her lips again. A disgraceful feeling of utter elation was trying to swamp her.

“The first time, unfortunately, it’s going to go fast,” he said gently. “Not the second time. The second time, we’ll take it nice and slow. Then we’ll have lunch. After lunch you can nap. And after you nap, we’ll be tired of mattresses, Sonia, and we can go for a swim. We’re going to do a complex study of friction in salt water. Body friction-it’s going to be an in-depth study…You’re not drinking your coffee,” he chided gently.

Hurriedly, she took another sip. Actually, she downed the cup.

His legs hooked around the rungs of her stool; he leaned closer with his palms spread on her thighs. “When you bought that red bikini you wore yesterday, you must have been in an inciting-violence kind of mood. I hate to say this, honey, but it’s your own damn fault the first time is going to go too fast.”

She nodded. Everything was her fault. She would gladly have taken responsibility for the earth caving in. Who cared? She hadn’t heard that sound in his voice in weeks. That unmistakable I’m-going-to-take-you tone.

“You want me to tell you how much I want you?” His voice was gravelly, almost pained, trying to be light, trying to be humorous.

She set down her cup. She wasn’t smiling. “Want me, then,” she whispered vibrantly.

“How on earth could you doubt it?”

In a twinkling, he gathered her up. The stools teetered behind them. His mouth pressed on hers as if he were totally unaware her neck could snap from that kind of pressure; his length to her length seared into one. Air was forgotten. Breathing was forgotten. His hands were running up and down her spine, his fingers finally closing around her hips, crushing her to him.

His lips lifted from hers long enough to trail more heated kisses on her cheeks, down to her throat. “But what has been wrong, then?” Sonia whispered achingly. “Craig…”

The T-shirt muffled her words. Her T-shirt. In a moment, it went soaring over her head; his palms skimmed down her white shorts, and he lifted her to get her out of them. She didn’t argue. His lips crushed down on hers again with a bruising pressure, a bruising sweet, sweet pleasure. So rough…Craig had never been rough. And the drowning hunger of his lips ignited a sweet, fierce hunger in her as well.

He carried her up a step and then another. She felt like laughing for the first time in weeks. The bed couldn’t have been thirty feet away, that gorgeous stateroom set up with satin sheets and opaque curtains and soft pillows. But he placed her on the carpet, and through the slits in the curtains the morning sun was blinding…at least for that instant before Craig’s head dipped down to hers again.

She tried to draw back for a brief gulp of air. He wouldn’t let her. His tongue slid inside her parted lips, a busy, busy tongue informing her without words that she didn’t need to breathe.

He was absolutely right. She needed that arrogant tongue. She needed the feel of his chest and his heartbeat crushing her breasts; she savored his impatience as he finally pulled away to peel off his jeans.

His flesh was so warm, all taut and strained, yet giving beneath her stroking palms. Such a rage of love she felt for him. His limbs were tangled with hers, oddly awkward when they’d played the game so many times. It didn’t matter. His need, his desire, communicated itself to her, and she accepted his love as if it were riches. Her unselfish lover radiated desire; she invited his selfishness. Her fingers curled around him, and she rejoiced at the sound of his gasp of pleasure.

“Don’t,” he hissed softly. “Sonia, if you touch me-”

He would explode. The warning was implicit, but she touched him anyway. One finger lightly traced the shape of him, and then her palm curled around his pulsing warmth.

He brushed her hand away, but she felt the tremor that shook his body. His head bent, and she saw the faint sheen of moisture on his temples, that coat of sensuous moisture like silk on his shoulders. His lips traced the line from her throat to her breasts. Her nipples were already taut for the wash of his tongue, yet a helpless shiver vibrated through her when his teeth gently grazed the sensitive flesh.

She felt a rush of sheer sexual pleasure, but that wasn’t the main cause of the trembling inside her. Mr. Hamilton was out of control. It was about time. Only, darn it, so was she.

Her fingertips danced over heated skin, down the muscled curve of his shoulders to his spine to his taut buttocks, finally resting on his thighs. He twisted. Such an impatient body, such exploding need. Plush carpet pressed into her spine, abrasive, ungiving. Sun poured on her eyes, and she lowered her lids. The flesh of his neck was so vulnerable; her lips whispered over it, so very gently; her teeth nuzzled, so very gently…

“Sonia, if you don’t stop…”

She had no intention of stopping. The damn boat was welcome to sink. Her lover was back. For some crazy reason, his lips were sinking from breasts to ribs to navel. The silly man was obviously still concerned with her pleasure.

“Come to me,” she whispered throatily. “Craig, I want my legs around you-I want to feel you inside me. Don’t wait. Don’t wait…”

For an instant, the searing images exploded in his head again. The man with light eyes, the darkness, that instant when Sonia’s eyes sought him out, desperately wanting and needing and expecting him to save her, that instant when he’d never felt more impotent, more helpless, his failure…The images were real; they had been real for weeks, as real as if it had all just happened.

“No,” Sonia whispered fiercely. “You’re not doing that to me again, dammit. Or to yourself. Look at me, Craig.”

Her palms framed the sides of his face. She wanted to kiss away that terrible look in his eyes. Frustration and desire and all the fierce feelings of love she had for him glowed in her eyes.

There was one moment…but then a smile formed on his lips. That smile hovered and came closer, until with exquisite tenderness his mouth molded itself to hers. Even as her arms tightened around him, he was shifting his body over hers; in a surging thrust they were one again.

So long…too long. Her legs locked around him, terrified he would leave her.

There was nothing to be afraid of. A low groan escaped her lips as Craig urged them both to a fierce, pulsing rhythm. She could feel the hunger in him as if it were a live thing. His skin was damp with it; his eyes burned with it; his body shuddered with it.

“I love you,” he whispered. “So much, so much, so much…”

At her sudden fevered cry, he felt the agony of his own release explode inside of her. Like a prisoner set free, he saw the brightness of sun behind his eyes, a world renewed in loving, all guilt banished to another time.

“One can carry laziness just a little too far, you know,” Craig teased.

“It’s your fault I have all the energy of a marshmallow.” She parted her lips again.

Craig forked in another tidbit of steak. “Would you like me to chew it for you?” he asked gravely.

“Would you?”

“Doubtful.”

“I’ll settle for being fed, then.” She settled back with her head back against a bunched-up blanket, surveying her husband with limpid eyes.

Two hours before, it had taken more work to unhook the dinghy from the cruiser than it had to row in to shore. By then a velvet night had fallen, so black and soft that it looked almost as crushable as fabric. They had rowed across the cove to a deserted sandy beach; undoubtedly there was civilization somewhere close by, but there were no signs of it. Palms and tropical brush guarded their privacy, and the crackling driftwood fire Craig had built on the sand tossed up delightfully colorful sparks to the sky. That steady splish-splash of surf only added to her already somnolent state.

“Open,” Craig instructed.

She opened. Somewhere in the mound of sour cream on the fork was a tiny morsel of baked potato. Her wry smile made her husband chuckle, totally unrepentant at stuffing her unmercifully with the delectable goodies. “No more,” she pleaded when she had swallowed the bite of potato and sour cream.

“Nonsense.”

“The dinghy will sink.”

“I keep hearing all these dire predictions about your getting fat. I have yet to see one spare ounce of flesh develop.”

“I’m hardly going to wait until I’m waddling and you’re driven into the arms of some skinny yacht owner.”

Craig set aside the paper plate and sank down next to her. “I thought we’d established that she was pockmarked and wore braces.”

“We haven’t established anything.” She rearranged the blanket so there was pillow potential for both heads. Two pairs of cut-off-denim-clad legs stretched out, all four sets of toes digging in the sand. “The only thing the prosecution is really aware of,” Sonia said sleepily, “is that the man knows too much about boats. The rest has been simply brilliant deduction on my part. How long did you date her, anyway?”

Craig lifted his foot and sprinkled her ankle with a layer of sand. “How long have you had this violently jealous streak?” he remarked conversationally.

“Ages.”

“You’ve kept it very well hidden.”

“Thank you.”

“I like it. That you’re jealous.”

“I’m glad that you’re glad that I’m jealous,” Sonia said patiently. “How long did you date her?”

He chuckled, rolling over on his stomach. His rear end, Sonia noted with amusement, was covered with sand. So was she, almost everywhere. The blanket made, at best, a crumpled pillow, and the grainy sand had crept inside her cutoffs…and she was amazingly, thoroughly comfortable.

But then, her husband was relaxed, as he hadn’t been in weeks. His hair was disheveled, and his eyes were full of humor, and every limb and muscle reflected lazy, sated easiness. She reached over to push back a shock of hair from his forehead. “Answer me,” she demanded, but her tone was loving.

“About what?”

She sighed. It was useless to pursue. “You’re very good at keeping secrets, you know,” she scolded.

“Only at keeping secrets you really don’t want to know.”

“True.” Sonia added softly, “Sometimes, Craig. Not always.” She stroked back that shock of hair again. This time, her fingertips lingered on his temples. “I don’t need to know about your past love affairs,” she said softly. “That’s not part of our lives.”

His lips pressed a kiss into the center of her palm. She closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the tender gesture, reminded of the loving they had shared all day. When her lashes fluttered open again, Craig was shifting to lean closer to her. Her palm stroked the wall of his chest.

“Craig?”

His eyes lifted to hers.

“Certain secrets you don’t have the right to keep,” she said gently. “And I think it’s way past time you told me what’s been bothering you.”