Heart of the Hunter (15 page)

Then he didn't think at all.

The cabana was only a shanty with four corner posts and a thatched roof over beach sand. A crude and tiny square of shade and cool, but enough. One kick sent a bench tumbling from his way. Setting her on her feet, he kissed her again, and her mouth was enough to drive him mad, if he weren't already there.

His shirt drifted to the sand, and he lost his breath as her palm stroked over his chest. His fingers were clumsy with the knot at her breasts. The twisted knot gave an inch, then uncoiled. His rasping curse turned to a prayer as the shirt floated to join his, and her breasts were free for him to caress and to kiss.

“Nicole,” he whispered as he bent to take a taut nipple in his mouth.

Dazed with wonder, she gave herself to pleasure she'd never known. But soon, as her hands moved over his bare back, as his tongue curled and tugged at her breasts, it wasn't enough. She wanted more. She needed more.

“Jeb.”

Only his name.

Lifting his mouth from her breast, he looked deeply into her eyes. Desire mirrored desire. She ached for him, for all of him, as much as he ached for her.

“It isn't enough,” he whispered cryptically. “But with you, will it ever be?”

There was no time to ponder what he meant, no time to care, as he drew her down to a careless bed made of discarded clothing. Grasping her wrists, pinning them to the ground at each side of her head, he rose over her. For a long, slow moment he looked again into her eyes. There was fire in them, emerald fire, as his mouth moved over her face and breasts, but he wanted a conflagration. He wanted the untamed passion, he wanted the madness, the need, the hurt, the sweet pain. He wanted her to writhe with it, and cry out. He wanted her to tremble with wanting, as he trembled.

And even then, it wouldn't be enough.

“Jeb.” She strained to his kiss, never sure if it would fall on her breasts, an aching nipple, or the hollow of her navel. Never really sure that she would survive the next onslaught, but certain she would die without it.

Her head thrashed to and fro. She fought against his pinioning hold. She wanted to touch him, caress him, drive him to the brink. She wanted more. She wanted everything.

“Jeb!”

“Yes.” He moved over her, his lips brushing hers in a long languid kiss, as his body joined gently with hers. Then gentleness was beyond him.

Every tortuous pleasure he wanted for her she gave to him. Their bodies merged, then merged again, and again, and again. Hotter, wilder, demanding and giving. Spiraling down and down into the pulsing darkness of release.

“Nicky! My sweet Nicky,” he cried on a shuddering breath.

Her own cries answered.

Then the world was still.

* * *

Jeb braced an arm on a corner post of the cabana as a minuscule patch of white drifting in the ocean became a sail. The
Gambler
would be docking in less than an hour.

He hadn't bothered to dress. It was a little late for modesty, and common sense and honesty. It was late for everything. But he could explain. “You asked about Brett.”

Nicole paused in the act of looping the rope at her waist. She looked at his straight, unyielding back, at the bracelet. “It doesn't matter. It's none of my business.”

“She's a friend, a good friend,” he continued as if she hadn't spoken. “The bracelet is a token of thanks. If you read the entire inscription, you'd see.”

“Fine.” She bent to gather her shirt from the sand.

“Matthew and Mitch have one exactly like it.” So did Simon, but it wasn't necessary to bring someone she didn't know into this.

“Why?”

“The way she figures it, the man she loves, her husband now, is alive because of us.”

“Is it true?”

“Maybe.” He shrugged. “There was trouble here, they hid on the bluff, then put out to sea. They'd been drifting for a day when we found them. Jamie had a shattered hand and was delirious. They might have survived long enough to make it to shore.”

“But they might not have.”

He shrugged again. “Who knows.”

They were only the sparsest facts of a much larger story, but intuition told her she wouldn't hear any more. Shouldn't. “Then I'm glad you could help.”

“Yeah.” He turned then. Magnificently male, and heartbreakingly sad. “The sloop will be docking within the hour. We need to get away before darkfall. If you'd like to take a shower, wash away the sand, there are six bathrooms in the house.” Collecting his rumpled clothes, he didn't look at her. “Use any one you like.”

“All right,” she said, but he was striding away, and still without a backward look.

* * *

Nicole sat in gathering shadows; hands folded to still their restlessness, she looked up at the portrait of Jordana. A special woman, a special place.

“Thank you for sharing your Eden,” she whispered. “I'll never forget.”

Rising, she went to the door. The scent of flowers drifted to her. With a steady hand she reached out to pluck a wild rose from a vase. A memento.

Just like that, it was done. As she stepped through the door, closing it behind her, her day on Eden was ended. She had run an emotional gamut here—from elation to despair—as passion was spent and madness returned to reason, with not one tender word.

The moon was rising, the waiting sloop gleamed in its early light. As she took one last look about her, there were no regrets for the bargain she'd made with herself.

As long as she lived, she would never regret loving Jeb.

“A
nnabelle!” Nicole stopped abruptly as the bell over the gallery door jangled her nerves. If she were as tall as Jeb, she could stop the chiming on one note. But she wasn't as tall as Jeb, and she didn't intend to spend the day mooning about him.

“Good morning.” A dark look flashed at her. “Although, for the life of me, I can't find anything good about it.”

“You're early.” Nicole went to her desk, depositing an arm load of mail she'd picked up from the post office. Annabelle was almost never temperamental, but when she was, it was best to leave her alone to work through her mood.

“Ahh, an intelligent perception from an intelligent woman.”

Nicole looked up from the stack of letters she was sorting, astonished at the bitter sarcasm. “Annabelle, are you upset with me?”

“Of course I'm not upset with you. Why should I be?”

“I did leave you in charge here while I went out to play, when I shouldn't have.”

“And why shouldn't you? What's wrong with the idea that you should grab a little happiness and excitement, if you wish? Goodness knows, you've worked hard enough and long enough without it. Anyone would think you were supposed to be a monk, or something.”

“Nun,” Nicole corrected automatically.

“All right, nun.”

Dropping the letters, Nicole laid her hands, palms down, on the desk. “I think you'd better tell me why you're so angry.”

Annabelle sighed and slumped down into the chair at her own station. “I'm not upset with you, Nicole. But I am angry, in fact, I'm more than angry. I'm mad as hell with Mrs. Atherton, and Ashley and, most of all, myself.”

Nicole leaned back and closed her eyes. “Let me guess. Mrs. Atherton has been gossiping.” Hardly a guess, she should have known it was coming.

“Second to harassing us for ridiculous prices, isn't it what she does best?”

“What is it this time? Jeb?”

“Bingo! She saw you leave the marina with him. Fueled by what she witnessed the day he arrived in Charleston, it was enough cloth to make a whole garment of speculations. Stated loud and long, of course. And you
don't
want to hear what they are.”

“I can imagine, that's more than enough,” Nicole muttered. A twinge of pain settled in her temple. She brushed at it with an impatient hand, as if she would brush it away. But it wouldn't go away. None of it would. “So, Mrs. Atherton has sharpened her spiteful tongue. That isn't new. But why Ashley? Why are you angry with him? And yourself?”

“He was here when the old biddy did some reconnaissance. A fact-finding raid, actually, to add to her tale. Once she embroidered on them, of course.”

“Why was Ashley here?”

“He had a new watercolor. A drawing of Folly's ruin at sunrise.” Annabelle tilted her head like a curious bird. “With all of Charleston to choose from, why would he draw the ruin?”

“He heard what Mrs. Atherton had to say?” Nicole was more concerned with Ashley's state of mind than his drawing.

“Every lurid speculation, until I invited her to leave.”

“Good.”

“What came next was not so good. Ashley had a tantrum, and being the smart woman I am, I scolded him, and lectured him about life, and that you needed to have one of your own. And that Mrs. Atherton had no right to judge. The poor man probably understood only every third word, but some of my message got across. He kept thumping his chest and saying, ‘me, me, me.' Then there was something about kisses and best.”

“How did you calm him down?”

“I didn't. He tore up the drawing of the ruin, then he smashed the paintings he did at the zoo, and ran away. I could swear he was crying.” Annabelle's face was haggard, her eyes shone with stifled tears. “Have you ever kicked a puppy?”

“No.” Nicole looked to the exhibit wall. Order had been restored, but the paintings that hung over Hunter Slade's small sculptures were not Ashley's. She buried her face in her hands. The twinge was an avalanche. “No.” She sighed sadly and looked at Annabelle. “But I know exactly how you feel.”

“How could you?”

“Because this is all my fault.” Ashley had drawn the ruin because it was a rare, unthreatening place for him.

Annabelle snorted indelicately. “How could anything be your fault when you were off sailing on the mighty ocean blue?”

“It's my fault because there's more to the incident in the park than you know.” Once she'd begun, the rest of the story spilled out. She left nothing out, spared herself nothing as she described Jeb kissing her, she kissing him back. Ashley afraid and crying for her. Then, finally, the morning at the ruin, Ashley's anger and rivalry with Jeb. “I tried to assure him. To be honest, I can't remember now exactly what I said. I don't know if I put the idea I liked him best in his head, or if Jeb did. Maybe Ashley settled on the idea himself. I just don't remember.

“But who or how isn't important, anymore. The damage was done the minute I stepped on the
Gambler.
Ashley painted the ruin because he was happy there. I doubt he ever will be again. He has no idea what the word betray means, but, thanks to me, he knows how it feels.”

“You didn't do this.” Annabelle's eyes were hard. “The old biddy did.” An angry gesture indicated strongly that if the old biddy were here now, she should stand in fear of being throttled.

“Perhaps she was the messenger, but I was the catalyst.” Nicole's gaze moved over newly hung paintings. They were excellent, but not as compelling as what Ashley had done. “Where is he now?”

Annabelle was silent for so long, Nicole turned to her. “Annabelle?”

“That's the worst of it. Nobody knows where he is. I looked for hours. Harry looked for hours.” Her shoulders moved in an expression beyond defeat. “Nothing. Not a trace. I even considered calling in the city police, but that would only make matters worse. Ashley is petrified of uniforms.”

He had been since his childhood, when uniformed officials had taken him from his beloved streets and locked him in a cage. Nicole knew because, in his few and halting words, Ashley had told her. Only a few words were needed to express his fear, and the hurt, that the people he had trusted had betrayed him. Now she'd added herself to that long, terrible list.

“I know him better than anyone. Maybe I can find him.”

“Don't be ridiculous, Nicole. If Harry Devereaux couldn't find him...Nicole! Nicole!”

The bell chimed, the door closed, and Annabelle had the gallery all to herself.

* * *

There were customers when Nicole returned. Lunch-break browsers, who looked but seldom bought. Out of principle, and because she would have it no other way, they were given full attention.

Annabelle was at her desk, dealing with three people simultaneously. One was actually buying, one needed directions, one simply wanted attention. Slanting her an apologetic look, Nicole hurried to the lounge, she was in no condition to deal with customers. Her blouse was soiled, the hem of her skirt had ripped loose. A long angry scratch scored her cheek from the bridge of her nose to her ear. Her frame of mind was worse.

For once, Annabelle tapped on the door first, and then barged in. “Good Lord! You look awful.”

“Thanks a bunch.”

“You didn't find him.”

“I went everywhere. Every one of his favorite places. I saw signs that he'd been there, but who knows when? His regular customers say he hasn't been at the hotel lobby to shine their shoes in days.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I wish I knew what to do. You saw him, Annabelle, do you think there will be trouble?”

“Only as much trouble as a pouting three-year-old can cause.”

“A big three-year-old.”

“Yes, well, there is that.” Annabelle came to sit beside her, taking away the damp cloth she held to her cheek. “Oh, wow! Maybe you'd better get this treated.”

“It's just a scratch.”

“Then you're really okay?”

“I'm fine, Annabelle.” She took back the cloth and pressed it to her cheek. Out of sight was not quite out of mind, she could see it in her friend's face. Gently she assured her, “It's nothing, really.”

“It's a lot more than that and you know it, but I won't nag. Instead, I'd better get back to the gallery. I herded the gawkers out, and put a sign on the door saying I'd be back in fifteen minutes. All we need now is for Mrs. Atherton to see it.”

“More gossip.”

“Without question. But, tell me, what does it matter now?”

“It doesn't to me, I just hope that Jeb won't...” She snapped her fingers. The bleak look eased from her features. “That's it.”

“That's what?” Annabelle demanded. “You aren't making sense.”

“Yes I am, for the first time today. Jeb, Annabelle.”

“What about him?”

“He can find Ashley. Or, if he can't, his crew can.”

“The men out of
GQ?
”

“Precisely.” Nicole opened a drawer; taking out a soft bound book, she turned through it searching for the number she needed.

“They're sailors, remember. Not Indian scouts.”

“That's where you're wrong. Matthew Sky may not be a scout, but he's part Indian. Part, only by blood. His heart is pure Apache.”

There were no numbers listed for Jeb Tanner. Information proved to be a recording, informing Nicole in a tinny voice the number was unlisted and unpublished and not available. Dropping the receiver in its cradle, she gathered up her purse. “Close up for the day, Annabelle. It will be simpler than answering a lot of questions.”

“Wait. Where are you going this time?”

“I'm going to Kiawah.” Nicole paused in the open doorway. “To find Jeb.”

* * *

“What the devil?” Jeb stood on his deck, glaring at her. The glass he held nearly slid from his fingers.

“I need to talk to you.” Ignoring his shock, Nicole dodged past him, going into the great room without an invitation.

“You're mighty right you do.” Jeb followed, set the glass aside and took her face in his hands. “Good God! What happened?”

She tried to turn away, he wouldn't let her. “It's nothing.”

“Nothing, hell.” He tilted her cheek to the light and grimaced. “What son of a bitch did this to you? Tell me.”

“Nobody did it, Jeb.” She laid her hands on his chest, a placating motion. “I did it myself on a shrub.”

“How?” he snarled. “Why?”

“I was looking for Ashley.”

“Why?” Anger seethed in him, a muscle rippled in his jaw as his teeth clenched on the question.

“Jeb, Ashley is—”

“Forget it. I don't want to hear it. Not yet.”

“But—”

“First things first.” His hands were heavy on her shoulders as he propelled her down a hall to his bedroom. When surprise registered on her face as he pushed her down on the bed, he snapped, “Just sit there and don't worry, sweetheart. I brought you here to do something about your face, not make love to you. Though, God help me, I've thought of it often enough since Saturday.”

By the time her world righted itself again, he was rummaging through a medicine cabinet. Listening to a steady stream of snarled curses, some she'd never heard before, she folded her hands primly in her lap and wondered what to expect next from this mercurial man who seemed to be two men in one.

One made love to her, fiercely. With a touch and a kiss, he suspended time and tide. He was her world, and, for that little while on Eden, she'd thought she was his. The words he'd whispered were tender, intimate, so sweet she'd wanted him again and again.

Anything so right had to be shared. He had to feel as she did. She was sure of it, until he'd walked away without a backward look.

The trip back from Eden had been strained. Jeb had kept his distance, as if he were angry with her. Mitch had tried to fill the empty silences with his teasing at first. Then even he'd given up. Matthew had spoken only once, touching her shoulder, smiling a bittersweet smile as if he knew what she felt, murmuring a single word—”Patience.”

What should patience have to do with loving?

She didn't understand then, she didn't understand now. Especially after encountering this other Jeb. The one who, after nearly two days of ignoring her, was fussing over a dirty blouse and torn skirt as if it were a calamity. From his alarm one would think the mark on her face was a matter of life or death. That was a new one, a life-threatening scratch.

“When the hell did you do this?” He was standing over her, furious and fierce, enunciating each word as if he were having trouble with his voice. Then he knelt at her feet, a pan filled with a disinfectant solution at his knee, and sundry salves and bandages in a box. “What fool let you go wandering around in scrub and whatever?”

“Ouch!” She shied away from the sudden, odorous sting of Betadine.

“Be still.”

“I will not be still.” Grasping his wrist, she took his hand from her face. “To back up and answer your question about this—this mortal wound, I just did it not more than an hour ago. And as to the fool who let me wander around in the ‘scrub or whatever,' as you call it, the answer is nobody
lets
me do anything.
I
did this to myself, and I'll survive without anyone fussing over me like a mother hen.”

“I'll fuss when I damn well please, and however I please.”

“Jeb, stop. Please!” She looked into his heated stare. “What are we doing? I came to ask for help finding Ashley, not to fight with you.”

“Find Ashley? Is that how you got this? Running all over looking for some idiot—” When he realized what he'd said, he drew a deep breath and closed his eyes as he sank back on his heels. “Ahh, no.” His sigh was long, and heavy with regret. “Obviously if there's an idiot here, his name is Jeb Tanner, not Ashley.”