Her Forbidden Love (Indigo Island Book 2) (12 page)

“Sure, and Jack, thanks for listening. Nobody here knows the story. Everyone back home thinks they do.”

“I’m honored,” Jack said, pulling Dorsey up to standing as he wrapped his arms around her.

“We’ll see,” Dorsey said, tears springing to her eyes. “After this afternoon, I’m beginning to think death likes finding me.”

“Nonsense, Dorsey. Come on,” Jack said, quickly cleaning up the picnic, blowing out the candle and folding the red blanket. He looked around, making sure they weren’t forgetting anything. He thought he saw a figure off in the woods, a man, but no, nothing was out there, he told himself, and hurried Dorsey to the golf cart.

Back inside his cottage, Jack’s heart stopped racing. He wondered why he was suddenly so on edge, here, on this island he wanted to call home. It wasn’t Dorsey who was making him feel this way. It was Steve, his lurking, his implied threats. His lying, and not following through with his promises. Just one of those characteristics would be enough for Jack to think he was a squirrely guy – all of them together, well...

“Hey, Jack, could you come in, and help me?” Dorsey called from the bedroom, his bedroom.

Jack steeled himself. He knew it would be a favor, like unhooking her necklace or adjusting the thermostat.

Chapter 13

Dorsey

S
he’d made a decision, something she hoped she wouldn’t regret. It happened during their picnic together. Jack had listened, really listened to her story and hadn’t judged. He hadn’t been repelled by her past, not like Chad had been. In fact, he’d held her tighter as she told him the story. He’d been there with her on the beach when the poor woman had washed up, and he’d taken care of her when she’d fallen apart and fainted.

Jack had been everything she could imagine in a partner and even though her heart was beating, and her eyes were swollen from all the crying, and even though she could be wrong and he could be everything terrible that Rebecca said he was, she wanted to be with him.

Dorsey pulled open the top drawer of his dresser and found a white muscle shirt. She smiled even as her hands shook. Could she really do this? Be this assertive? She pulled off her sundress and bra and pulled Jack’s shirt over her head. The fabric was thin and cool, her nipples responded as if Jack’s hands were already on her body and she felt her face flush. Before she lost her nerve she pulled off her underwear, shook the braid out of her hair, checked her reflection in the mirror and called to Jack to come into the bedroom.

Dorsey smiled at Jack’s startled reaction. His full lips, his strong jaw and sparkling eyes focusing on her, all of her. She stared at him in response, his handsome face, his caring eyes. She wanted to feel his strong body on top of her, there was no longer any way to stop this. Their attraction was potent, pulsing through the air between them.

“Jack, I’m ready,” she said, as he crossed the room, picked her up in his strong arms and carried her to his bed. Dorsey held on tight, running her fingers through his thick hair, breathing in the masculine scent of him, dizzy with his smell and her desire.

He dropped Dorsey on the bed and fell on top of her, his erection pressing against her through his jeans. He grabbed both of her wrists, holding them over her head as he pressed his mouth over Dorsey’s, a kiss full of want and need that matched her own. The kiss was hungry, frantic, his tongue thrusting inside her mouth.

Dorsey pulled her arms free and reached for his shirt, pulling on it, wanting to feel his bare skin against her own. Needing to feel it. She heard Jack moan as he realized she wore nothing under his t-shirt as he quickly slipped it over her head. He cupped her breasts, sucking each of her erect nipples. Dorsey moaned, her pelvis pushing against him, her arms reaching to unbutton his jeans. She nuzzled into his neck, breathing him in, dizzy with desire.

“Please, I need to feel you inside me,” she said into his ear, her need so powerful, so overwhelming, her heart felt like it would escape her chest. Her fears about getting too close to him raced through her mind even as she told herself to be in the moment, to trust him, even as her body arched with desire. He was what she’d always waited for, who she thought she’d never find. Her eyes opened, to plead with him, just as his gaze locked on hers, his eyes dark and glistening.

“Slow down, we’re going to make this count,” he said in a deep strong voice as his mouth moved to her sex, his warm tongue sliding deep inside her, as stars swirled through her head and her hips arched into him until she finally let go, exploding, shuddering. Before she could catch her breath or stop the swirls shooting through her brain, his fingers slid into the spot where his tongue had just been. She was on the brink again.

“Oh, Jack, please.”

Finally, he stood and undressed. He kept his eyes locked on Dorsey’s as he removed his shirt revealing his tanned six-pack that was the talk of the pool. He undid his jeans, slipping them off with his underwear and stood naked, and completely erect. Dorsey realized he was trusting her, too, revealing himself, all of himself to her.

“I hope you know how much you mean to me,” he said as he climbed back on the bed, lying beside her, his erection pressing into her side.

She swallowed, wanting to believe him, staring into his gorgeous eyes, seeing the desire and the care there, too. She shuddered as his warm lips sealed over hers and his hand slid across her stomach and down to her sex, a light touch that caused Dorsey to moan and arch. Jack broke the kiss, sliding his lips to her neck. “You smell so good,” he whispered. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Jack, please,” Dorsey moaned as her need mounted and he slid two fingers inside her, feeling her wetness, finding the spot. She was more than ready, again, she didn’t know if she could wait any longer as she pushed against his hand, needing all of him inside her. He left her writhing on the bed and, she heard him unwrapping a condom.

“Ready, baby,” he said as he straddled her. His eyes were dark and focused on her. Slowly he began thrusting, entering her gently, a little at a time and then pushing further inside as Dorsey moaned, wrapping her legs around his perfect torso, her hands grasping his muscled shoulders, pulling him deeper, their eyes still locked on each other.

“You feel so good, just keep coming,” Jack said, as he started to drive deeper inside her. Dorsey’s head spun as she began to climax again, and she dug her fingernails into his back as he ground into her with a final thrust and they came together.

Afterward, lying naked in Jack’s arms while he slept, Dorsey knew she’d never felt this safe, this loved. She hoped this could last, that she meant as much to Jack as he did to her. She’d heard stories of his past summer conquests, of course, as everyone – Steve, Sabrina, Rebecca – had all made it their mission to share those with her. And Dorsey saw how all the other female staffers flirted with him during meetings, how the pool staff swarmed around his lifeguard chair. Even the tourists tried to catch his eye.

But Dorsey had decided to trust him, believe in what he said. For now, that had to be enough. She had to admit if great sex meant they had a deep emotional connection, well, she was certain they’d connected deeply. Her stomach clenched at the thought and she snuggled closer to Jack. And finally, she closed her eyes and instead of death and bodies, she allowed herself to dream of Jack.

The next morning, Dorsey woke up early, rolling out of Jack’s arms to hurry back to her own cottage. It was hard to leave him, his arm flung out to his side, his powerful body so peaceful in sleep. His face was so handsome in sleep, worry-free, relaxed. But, for both of them she knew she had to hide their relationship, so she had to get back to her own cottage before Steve found out they’d spent the night together, really spent the night together. It was, Dorsey realized, the most wonderful night of her life. She’d never felt so alive, so loved, so consumed by someone.

She took her time walking back to her cottage, wearing the white sundress and a huge grin. As she walked in the door, the telephone rang. It was Steve’s assistant, summoning her to his office to meet with the sheriff. She hopped in the shower, pulled on her uniform and didn’t bother trying to dry her hair, making it to Steve’s office a half an hour later.

After asking some standard questions, the sheriff asked, “Would you like to add anything else?” He was suntanned a dark brown, and his eyes were kind, with at least twenty different wrinkles fanning out from the edges of each, like a child’s drawing of sunbeams. He was peaceful, and as he leaned back in his chair, the fingers of each hand had pointed together, unconsciously mimicking the “Here’s the church, here’s the steeple” nursery rhyme.

Dorsey watched him, thinking his weathered skin would feel thick to touch.

“We are checking all angles but believe she may be a domestic violence victim from Hilton Head,” he said.

“How sad,” Steve said, before Dorsey could speak. “That’s all you have for her, right? She’s got work to do.”

That unsatisfying meeting had happened several hours earlier, and Dorsey still felt uneasy. Now, she sat in the sun on the seawall, forcing herself back to the ocean, back to where they found the dead body the day before. It was another beautiful day on Indigo Island, except for the swarm of investigators walking every bit of the beach, combing it for evidence. She had checked in at the Kids Club every few minutes since the scheduled opening time, but she doubted many parents would be apart from their kids today. A chill ran down her spine as she looked at the spot where the body had been.

She was getting sunburned. She pushed on her thigh with her thumb and a white circle appeared. The Calibogue Sound sparkled in the morning sunshine, and the humidity was down. Flowers bloomed everywhere on the well-groomed grounds of the plantation – bright bursts of pink, and orange and yellow, and butterflies swarmed the gazebo, guzzling the pollen from the clusters of flowers decorating its side.

She wondered again how something so horrible could happen in such a beautiful place. Much like her father’s murder—murdered in his own garden next to his child—there was no reason for it. But hopefully, unlike his unsolved case, they could find the person responsible for killing the poor woman on the beach.

After checking in with the Kids Club again, and finding nobody there, as expected, Dorsey made her way back to the beach, nodding and smiling to investigators along the way. With the air cooler than it had been for weeks, the walk along the edge of the sound actually was pleasant. A mild breeze blew across the water from Hilton Head, carrying the jarring sound of the Jet Skis circling the waters of that beach, piercing the quiet peace of her walk. She wondered if Indigo Island would ever suffer the fate of Jet Skis and what they represented—too much construction, too many people. She realized that she now preferred it here in this remote and dangerous place. Hilton Head seemed too crowded, too busy, too chaotic. Indigo Island seemed suddenly just right. She smiled at her own realization and knew she also owed a lot of her happiness here to Jack.

Just thinking about him made her heart beat faster and her stomach flip. Their night together was everything she had ever dreamed of. Making love with Jack was not like anything she’d ever experienced and she hoped she’d experience it again, soon. She scanned the pool area, but didn’t see him. She knew the pool staff had a meeting every morning. She’d catch up with him on her way back. She was on a mission.

Just past the plantation’s boundaries, she turned northeast to follow the creek inland to the other side of the island. She imagined looking for Tade, remembering how long she had wandered this creek bed before he appeared on the shore above her. Dorsey rubbed the oogle for luck and kept walking, sensing that somehow she’d arrive at the right place.

She smelled something wonderful cooking—cornbread or biscuits maybe? Looking in the direction of the tempting aroma, she spotted Barbara’s tin-roofed shack. At least she hoped she was in the right place.

Dorsey climbed out of the creek bed, up the small slope to her front yard, and up the three steps to her porch. Her hand shook as she reached out and knocked on the light blue door. “Hello? Miss Barbara? It’s Dorsey, Tade’s friend. May I come in?” Dorsey said loudly enough that she scared a cardinal, who flew away in blood-red terror.

The door slowly opened and Barbara appeared. “My long pot drew you here?” Barbara asked, inviting Dorsey to follow her into her home with a nod of her head.

“Sorry?” Dorsey said, not understanding.

“The good ol’ ’romas. Ya nevah know who gonna drop by,” Barbara said.

“Yes! I smelled your cooking!” she exclaimed, finally picking up on the words she was saying. She was speaking English, but the words came together so differently, Dorsey had trouble following. She was, Dorsey realized, speaking the same language as Jim, the bus driver. It was Gullah. Dorsey had given a little talk about it as part of her history walk for vacationers and their kids. It was a mix of African and English the slaves who suffered on this island had created so they could communicate without the masters understanding. A language of survival.