Island Hearts (Jenny's Turn and Stray Lady) (19 page)

“There’s a dead fish in the fridge,” she told Jake, giggling slightly.

“That must have been Norman.” Jake leaned over her shoulder to see. “He was trying to give me a salmon when I was talking to him on the wharf, but I told him I had nowhere to put it.”

Jenny cut up carrots, potatoes and onions, then added butter, salt and pepper and wrapped the vegetables in tin foil bundles to put in the fire they would light on shore. Jake prepared the salmon for baking and wrapped it in foil, then rummaged in George’s stores and found a bottle of wine and some plastic glasses.

“We don’t need plates,” he told her. “Just forks – these plastic ones I found will do – and we can eat right out of the packages. Then we can burn the plastic and come back without any dishes to do.”

“Jake, you’re lazy!” she accused him, laughing. “Afraid to do a few dishes!”

He grinned and retorted, “You’ve become so assertive these days, I’d probably be the one washing the dishes. And I really do hate doing dishes. I think we should—” He stopped abruptly and she could have sworn he flushed under his tan before he said weakly, “Let’s go ashore. We’ve got everything we need.”

On shore, he built a fire from driftwood they collected, then they placed the packets of food carefully where they would get heat, but not enough to burn. They sat on rocks near the fire, quietly, comfortably, watching the flames and sipping on their cups of wine. Watching Jake, Jenny wondered at the deep lines of his face, his pallor that showed her he was short of sleep.

When the food was done, they ate from the foil packets, licking their fingers clean afterward because they had forgotten to bring napkins ashore.

“Come for a walk,” he urged as they watched the last of their dishes turning to coals in the fire.

“A slow walk – I’m stuffed. That salmon was so good! George and I must try to catch some salmon. Just imagine! Reeling in a salmon, then cleaning it and popping it straight into the oven for dinner!”

“Jenn— Jenny, watch where you’re walking! The ground there isn’t very stable. Something’s been tunneling here.”

She stepped back, lurching a little as the ground under her feet moved. Not surprising, she thought with a wry smile. Around Jake, even the earth moves. His hand fastened on her arm and pulled her against him.

“Ouch! You’re hurting my arm, Jake!”

“Sorry.” But he didn’t let go. His arm slipped around her shoulders as he looked down into her eyes. “It’s not the first time I’ve done that, grabbing too hard.”

“You’re rough,” she agreed, but his hand smoothing her hair was very soft and gentle.

“Jenny,” his voice was low and gruff on the salt air, “I keep looking at you, expecting to see Jenny with the long, brown hair – like the song – I dream of Jenny.”

“The girl in the song had light brown hair.” Her voice was husky. She tried to make it firm and casual as she added, “My hair isn’t light. And she was Jeannie, not Jenny. And you don’t dream of me.”

“So I rewrote the song,” He should have been smiling, but he wasn’t. His hand was still lingering over her hair, his fingers caressing down, along the side of her neck.

Staring at him, her lips parted and her breath became ragged. If he would smile, she would know it was a joke. But he didn’t. She managed an unconvincing laugh as she said shakily, “That’s Jake. If you don’t like it, change it.”

He smiled then and her breath came back as he complained, “You’ve gotten so damned argumentative. You were never so blunt before.”

“I know – I’m surprising myself,” she admitted slowly. “I guess I’ve run out of yeses.”

His hand stroked back up, his fingers combing through her short hair. His face was very close to hers. Any minute he would kiss her. She could feel his intent and knew she should move away. He said softly, “I like it. I enjoy a good argument.”

“Not as much as you like winning,” she shot back at him.

“I don’t—” He broke off, laughing ruefully. His hand dropped from her hair and she did move away, resisting the need to stay close. “I suppose that’s true enough, but— damn it, Jenny, what the hell are you doing! I’m chasing all over the damned countryside, Alaska, the Queen Charlottes – next it’ll be Baja, Mexico. When are you going to come back?”

Her face froze and she said flatly, “I’m not coming back, Jake. Not ever.”

She saw the lines around his mouth deepen as he said harshly, “You’ve got to, Jenny. I need you.”

He needed her in his library, his studio. Not in his personal life. If it weren’t for Monica, they might have an affair now that she had realized how badly she wanted him. If she went back, though, it could only be a disaster. He might marry Monica – or if he didn’t, then eventually he would become Jenny’s lover – because he wanted her, and one day she would be weak enough to open her arms to him.

She squeezed her eyes tightly closed, forcing herself to remember the lonely days after Lance.

She whispered, “I don’t belong to you, Jake.”

“Jennifer…”

She stopped walking, turned to look at him. She managed to make her face to a rigid mask that hid how badly she wanted him to move to her, touch her again.

He stared at her across the few feet that separated them. The sounds of the surf came distantly from the other side of the headland that formed the bay. Overhead, a bald eagle swooped in a slow circle, searching for prey.

Jake shoved his hands into his pockets, swinging away from her to pace restlessly along the sand, then prowl back. He stopped only inches away from her, hands still deep in his pockets, staring at her with dark, disturbed eyes.

She begged, “Don’t look at me like that, Jake!“

But he only stared more fiercely, his mouth turned down as he said, “Jenny, come back. I want you to start directing. You’re good at it – I’ll do the photography and the artwork. You’ll—”

“No, Jake!”

His eyes seemed to turn cold, with anger or some other emotion. His voice was as hard as the granite rocks. “I can’t just let you walk away!”

She forced her words out. “You’ve no choice, Jake. I can’t stay.”

“Why not? It’s— since you left, I— it’s not the same anymore. It— I guess it’s just not fun anymore. The whole thing, the films, the projects – it’s all lost its appeal.“

His hand slipped out of his pocket, grasped her arm and drew her closer to him, until she was only a hair’s breadth away.

“Come back, Jenny,” he pleaded softly, “please…”

A breeze rippled along the water, sneaking up and around them, making Jenny shiver. Jake reached down to her shoulders, pulled her jacket closed and slowly fastened the top button. His hands lingered around her shoulders as he stared down into her eyes for an endless moment.

“Jake…” He was going to kiss her. The intent was in his eyes. Jenny knew she should stop him.

Her lips parted slightly, her tongue slipped out to wet the sudden dryness. Jake watched the motion, mesmerized, his own lips moving slowly closer.

She trembled, waiting for his touch.

His lips brushed against her mouth. She shuddered, the light touch sending weakness through her whole body. She couldn’t pull her eyes away from the deep molten darkness of his gaze. It seemed to pull her closer, until she was pressed against the breadth of his chest, her breasts crushed against his hardness.

The weakness overtook her as his arms tightened, drawing her into his kiss. Her eyes closed. His lips moved against hers, his tongue touching, exploring.

Her arms slid up around his neck, fingers spreading through the crisp black waves. At her back, his hands slid under her jacket, under the fabric of her blouse, exploring the smoothness of her skin.

As his hands slid around to caress her midriff, she felt a wave of heat spreading through her center, a roaring in her ears.

Jake. Hands gentle, yet hot on her body. Lips drawing a trail of desire from the corner of her mouth, along her jaw line to her ear where he murmured her name.

Her hands slid down, tracing the shape of his neck, the contours of his chest. The murmur in her ear became a groan, responding to her touch.

“Jenny,” he groaned, his hands unfastening the jacket, finding their way through the barrier of her blouse and moving heatedly over the pale skin of her shoulders, the swelling of her breasts.

Her head tipped back, almost as if her neck had no strength. His eyes were molten, burning into hers as he groaned, “God! Jenny, I’ve needed you for so long!”

His hands caressed the firm breasts as they swelled in response to him. She groaned his name as his thumbs rubbed over her erect nipples. She was clinging to him, her knees weak, her hands restless against the fabric of his shirt.

Her lips sought the area under his chin, her tongue reaching out to touch the soft, vulnerable skin of his throat. Then her hands fumbled their way through the buttons of his shirt, found the dark hairs on his chest and twisted their way through, drawing a groan from deep in his throat.

His arms surrounded her, lowering her onto the sand. Relieved of the need to support herself, her legs stopped trembling. Her heart stopped. Everything stopped as he pushed her blouse back and stared down at her with eyes that had turned black with his passion.

She licked her lips, staring up at him. His own lips parted in response, then he bent down, his mouth covering hers, his tongue thrusting, demanding a response, then suddenly, abruptly withdrawing.

Bewildered at his sudden withdrawal, she stared up at him to find a dark uncertainty in his eyes.

“Jennifer?” he whispered a question. His eyes closed briefly, opened again and caressed the exposed mounds of her breasts.

Then his lips moved over the sensitive peak of her breast, touching, kissing, drawing her nipple deep inside his mouth with a gentle passion that had her shuddering, groaning his name, clutching at his shoulders.

His hand was moving over her hip, stroking, as his mouth drove her wild. He pulled her close and she could feel his hard need, her own body trembling, then tensing in response.

Then his hand was moving, loosening the waistband of her jeans, caressing the soft, vulnerable skin of her abdomen. Her hands clenched in the crisp black hair on his head, needing his lips on hers, drowning in the hard thrust of his tongue, answering his passion with her own, spinning away on a tide of need and sensuality as his restless hands found every sensitive part of her aching female body. His lips left hers again and heated her body with passion until she was a mass of desire, groaning beneath his touch, twisting against him, caressing him with her own heated hands.

“Jenny?” He whispered her name as his hand caressed the center of her womanhood. She shook her head, not wanting to talk, only wanting his touch on her, her body against his.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his lips on hers with a softness that made her eyes open again.

Sure. Was she sure? She stared at him, seeing in his eyes the awareness of her own need of him. She was lying in his arms, half-naked, needing him as she’d never needed any man. Certainly Lance had never driven her to this state of desperation.

She closed her eyes, feeling her own need for him like a pain.

“No.” It was only a whisper, but his hands fell away and she was alone and shivering, sitting up and trying to fasten her clothes with trembling fingers.

“Jennifer—”

“No! Don’t say anything. Please, don’t say anything. Can we just pretend it didn’t happen?” She stood up, managed to meet his eyes.

“You’ve got to be joking,” he said, his own eyes still dark with desire as they met hers, pleading yet defiant.

Chapter 9

Jake forced himself to step back in the soft sand.

“Jenny?” he said, his voice husky. “Why did you leave me?”

Her eyes were startled, suddenly frightened as they met his. He asked carefully, softly, “Did it have anything to do with Monica? I said I was going to marry her and—”

“No!” She shook her head violently, jerking away from him and moving swiftly along the beach towards the dinghy. He kept pace, his heart pounding with this new discovery. He’d seen the truth in her eyes in the moment before she’d turned away.

“Jennifer— Jenny, I’m not going to marry Monica. I never really intended to. I just—”

She swung back to face him, her eyes suddenly angry. “Monica thinks you are,” she accused him swiftly, silencing him. She glared at him for a long second, then started launching the dinghy.

He closed his eyes briefly, painfully. A moment ago Jenny had been in his arms, his for the taking if he’d kept his mouth shut. But he wanted more than a brief possession of her body, and she was nowhere near ready for more.

Love! He could remember smiling a little wryly at the sweeping, all-encompassing passion of the novels.

He’d felt like that about his work at times, when the passion took hold and nothing mattered but the perfect shot, the struggle to draw the perfect line to complete a design. Jenny had been part of that, but somehow he’d never seen it clearly, never seen her clearly.

He helped her launch the dinghy, found himself having to hold back little impulses to touch, brush her hand or her hair with his hands.

“There’s a boat coming in,” he said hoarsely as he held the dinghy steady for her to board.