Protector, Lover...Husband?: In the Dark / Sure Bet / Deadly Exposure. Heather Graham
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knew his arousal. Knew it, sensed it, touched it. Her fingers slid erotically down the wet length of his chest and curled around his sex. She ran her fingers up and down the length of him, creating an abundance of slick, sensual suds. Spasms of arousal shuddered through him, and he lowered his lips to her shoulder, her throat, then caught her mouth with his own, tongue delving with sheer erotic intent. He ran his hands down her back, massaged his fingers over the base of her spine, cupped them around her buttocks and drew her hard against him. He was only vaguely aware of the pounding of the water. He was keenly cognizant of the feel of her flesh against his, and the heat rising between them. Catching her around the midriff, he lifted her, met her eyes and slowly brought her down, sheathing himself inside her, and finally, when her limbs were wrapped around him and they were completely locked together, he pressed her back against the tile and began to move. She buried her head against his neck, rocking, riding, moving with his every thrust, her teeth grazing his shoulders, the water careening over them both. It wasn’t enough.
Without letting her go, he used one hand to reach for the door. Opening it, he exited the slick shower with her still enfolding him and staggered to the bedroom, then fell down on the bed with her, drenching the neat spread and not caring in the least. They rocked together in a desperate rhythm that seemed to be echoed by the rise of the wind and spatter of the rain beyond the confines of the cottage. He moved, and his lips found her throat, her breasts, her mouth, once again. He brought them both to a near frenzy, withdrew, and then, despite her fingers in his hair and her urgency to bring him back, he kissed the length of her soap-slicked body, burying himself between her thighs, relishing her words of both ecstasy and urgency, at last rejoining her once again, his force rising with his shuddering thrust, until they climaxed in a sweet and shattering explosion.
They lay together afterward, damp and panting. His arm remained around her, but strangely, she suddenly seemed detached. So passionate, so incredible…
And then…
“It’s getting late. I’ve got to get dressed. Grab a few things…did you want to go to your cottage? You could do that while I pack a few things.”
He stared down at her, definitely taken aback. “Wham, bang, thank you, sir?” he inquired politely.
She flushed. “There’s a storm on the way.”
“Of course, excuse me, let me just get out of the way.”
He rose, baffled, heading for his clothes. Then he stopped, turning back to her. “Alex, there’s always a storm on the way.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You—there’s always something. You won’t talk.”
“There is a storm out there!” she exclaimed.
“If you’d ever called me, ever talked about the thoughts going through your mind—”
“I called you a number of times, David. There was always someone there to say that you’d get back to me, you were in the water, you were working with a submersible…you were…well, God knows what you were doing,” she told him.
He started to walk back toward her. Strangely, she backed away from him.
“David, there is a storm out there. And worse,” she added softly.
“We both should have gotten off the island,” he said angrily, and started to leave again. Then he spun back on her, letting her edge away from him until she came flat against the bedroom wall. Then he pinned her there.
“Get this straight. Whatever you’re feeling, whatever I did, whatever you think I did, I would defend you with my last breath, I would die to keep you safe, and I will love you the rest of my life. Turn your back on me and never see me again when this is over, hell, don’t even send a Christmas card, but for the love of God, trust me now!”
He didn’t wait for a reply. She had been too passionate, then too stubborn and distant, for him to expect a response that made sense. It was as if she had suddenly decided that she didn’t trust him.
He was dressed before she was, wearing the swim trunks and T-shirt he’d had on all day. In a few minutes she was dressed as well, a small duffel bag thrown over her shoulder. “I thought you were getting your things?” she said.
“I’m not leaving you,” he told her. “Come on; we’ve got to stop by my place.”
The wind had really picked up, and rain was pelting down. Alex started out, then stepped back, telling him she had macs in the cabinet. They were bright yellow. They certainly wouldn’t be hiding in those, David thought grimly.
When he opened the door again, the wind nearly ripped it from its hinges. “Let’s go!” he shouted. “This thing is coming in really fast.”
They ran along the path. Thankfully, David’s cottage was close. Inside, he didn’t bother dressing, just grabbed fresh clothing and toiletries, then joined Alex again in minutes. They started along the trail toward the lodge. Just as they neared the Tiki Hut and the lagoons, a flash of lightning tore across the sky, almost directly in front of them.
They heard a thunderous boom. Sparks seemed to explode in the sky.
The island went dark, except for the generator-run lights from the lodge.
In the dark, David took her arm. Together, they began to hurry carefully across the lawn to the main lobby, where Jay was waiting for them impatiently.
He led the way through the reception area, the back office and through a door that led down several steps. It wasn’t a storm cellar, since it would be impossible to dig on an island that had been enhanced by man to begin with. Rather, the ground had been built up, so they were actually on a man-made hill.
The storm room was just that—one big room. There were ten cots set up in it, others folded and lined up against a wall, and doors that were labeled “Men” and “Women.” There was a large dining table, surrounded by a number of upholstered chairs, and a counter that separated a kitchen area from the rest of the room. A battery-operated radio sat on the counter.
“Nice,” David commented.
“Very nice,” Hank Adamson said, rising from where he’d been sitting at the foot of one of the cots. “It’s great, actually.”
“If you like being closed in,” Len said, shrugging. It was clear that he had remained only out of deference to Jay. But he offered a weak grin.
“The kitchen is stocked, we’ve got plenty of water, and as you can see, the generator has already kicked in,” Jay said. “The brunt of the storm is due at about 4 or 5 a.m. She’s still moving quickly, which is good. And her winds are at a shade less than a hundred miles an hour, so she’s not a category four or five.”
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