Island of the Heart (19 page)

lips and tongue. She clung to his shoulders, feeling almost faint with

pleasure, wondering' dazedly what more there would be, and how

she could stand it.

He kissed her mouth again, long and lingeringly, with warm, sensual

emphasis, and sharp need pierced her deep in her body. A small,

startled moan rose in her throat. Flynn smiled into her wide violet

eyes, then lifted and put her down so that she was lying full- length

on the rug, every inch of her exposed and vulnerable to the warm

torment of his hands.

Using his fingertips, he began to stroke her, to mould, to outline and

explore each curve, each plane, each soft, hidden valley, and all the

time he watched her; watched her eyes for every fleeting

manifestation of pleasure or apprehension; watched the soft rose

colour of arousal blooming in her face, the moist fullness of her

parted lips and the excited tumescence of her breasts.

Sandie was aware of nothing but this web of sensuous enchantment

he was weaving round her. She had stopped thinking. Each

sensation that assailed her was more agonising, more delicious than

the last. He was touching her—kissing her everywhere except-

there, in her most secret place, and he was doing it deliberately, she

thought feverishly as her body writhed in mute pleading under his

diabolically expert hands. He knew—how could he not know?—

how she yearned for—that.

She couldn't believe her own wantonness—her own violent hunger.

She was astonished at the painful joy that transfixed her as his hands

and mouth teased, tantalised, brought her to the edge of some

undreamed-of oblivion, then sent her back unsatisfied. She felt his

fingers trace the length of her spine, drawn nerve-wrenching spirals

on her buttocks, then slide round to her smoothly pliant thighs.

Her whole body tensed in need and anticipation. A voice she barely

recognised as hers pleaded hoarsely, 'Oh, yes—please, yes!'

And then, at long last, his fingers feathered delicately against her,

caressing her moist warmth, seeking out the little peak of sensitivity

and strumming it softly. Reason, reality slid away. She was nothing

but sensation, building exquisitely to some unimagined height, then

pulsating into a thousand—a million small ecstatic agonies. Sandie

cried out, her head thrashing wildly from side to side, until finally

her body shuddered into peace.

For a while Flynn cradled her, his arms tender, his voice breathing

endearments, telling her that she was wonderful, calling her his

sweet, passionate angel. When he moved away from her, she

murmured a little languid protest.

'Wait,' he said. 'That was only the beginning.'

She recognised movement, heard the rustle of his clothing, and

opened dazed eyes, saw that he was stripping. When he came back

to her, he wrapped his arms round her and held her closely, breast to

breast, thigh to thigh, letting her experience this new pleasure of his

bare skin against hers, kissing her mouth and her eyes, and the soft

vulnerable places of her throat.

She was aware of the strength of him, the hardness pressing against

her, and for the first time she was uncertain, afraid that she would

fail him, that the ultimate joining of their bodies was beyond her

capability. Then, as he kissed her and his hands began to coax her

once more along the same sensuous, feverish path, she forgot to be

frightened, even when his body covered hers, and she knew the

moment had come.

He entered her slowly, and with the utmost gentleness, and her body

welcomed him, opening like a flower to the sun. For a while he held

her to him, rocking her softly, then the rhythm of his movements

changed, and intensified, carrying her inexorably with them, urging

her to mirror the deep, driving thrusts of his body into hers, seeking

once again that dark implosion of delight.

Flynn's body tensed, then shuddered wildly against hers, as a harsh

cry was torn put of him, and at that moment, Sandie felt her own

inner being convulse into spasm after spasm of pleasure.

Bodies slick with sweat, they slumped together, breathing raggedly,

and lay like that for a long time.

Sandie had never felt so utterly, gloriously weary. She buried her

face in his shoulder, her eyes closing helplessly.

'Ah, no, sweetheart.' There was tender amusement in his voice as his

lips brushed her hair. 'Why sleep on the floor, when we have a bed?'

And lifting her, he carried her into the waiting shadows of the inner

room.

SANDIE cupped some lather in her hand, blew on it gently, and sent a

large bubble wavering and wobbling towards the ceiling.

I know just how it feels, she thought, smiling as she leaned back

languidly in the scented water, splashing it gently on to her breasts.

She doubted whether anyone in the history of the world had ever

had such a blissful initiation into the pleasures of lovemaking. She'd

slept in Flynn's/arms, and woken some time before dawn to kisses,

and the delight of his seeking hands. If she'd thought she had

satiated from the earlier experience, her eager body soon taught her

differently. Passion, tenderness and laughter had been exquisitely

commingled into one tumultuous, unforgettable whole.

She had changed utterly, she realised. And not just through the

physical transition from girlhood to womanhood. It was deeper,

more fundamental and far-reaching than that. She was no longer just

Sandie Beaumont—someone's daughter, someone's secretary,

someone's pupil. She had felt the pulse which controlled the

universe. She'd been absorbed into some timeless, spaceless ecstasy.

And she belonged to Flynn now, with a completeness beyond her

wildest dreams.

She'd left him sleeping, and crept away to the little bathroom to be

alone for a while, to treasure privately all the wonders which had

happened to her— which he had brought her.

I never knew I could be so happy, she marvelled, smiling at the

sunlight which filled the room. This was the tomorrow she'd

dreaded, but now she was filled with new hope. After the magic, the

beauty Flynn had shared with her, there was no way they could be

parted, she assured herself. They would stay forever, together, here

on this Island of the Heart.

'I've made you some tea.' Flynn's laconic voice from the doorway

broke across her happy reverie. She smiled at him rather shyly, but

invitingly at the same time, hoping with suddenly pounding heart,

that he'd come to her, scoop her up, wet and soapy though she was,

and carry her back into the bedroom.

At the same time, she was aware that he'd pulled on a robe, and that

he was only carrying one beaker, which hardly suggested

togetherness.

'Don't be so greedy, she adjured herself silently.

'When you've drunk it, maybe you'd get dressed,' he went on. 'The

boat's down at the jetty, and I told O'Flaherty we'd be ready to leave

in an hour.'

Sandie's head lifted, and she stared at him, her attention totally

arrested.

'Graunuaille'
s here—so soon?'

Ttold you the real world wasn't far away,' he said with faint

impatience. 'And we have to go back to it.'

'Yes, but...' Sandie swallowed, 'I thought—last night.

Flynn's face tautened. 'Last night was a mistake,' he said harshly,

after a pause. 'I don't expect you to understand, Alexandra. I just

hope you don't hate me too much.'

Hate? she thought incredulously. Hate? Didn't he know—couldn't he

guess how she really felt?

'But I want to understand.' She held out a pleading hand. 'Talk to

me, Flynn, please. Tell me what's wrong. Last night was so

wonderful...'

'And it's over.' The finality in his voice chilled her. 'It should never

have begun,' he added quietly.

'Did I do something wrong?' She knew she should despise herself

for asking, but the words came tumbling out before she could

prevent them. 'Did—did I disappoint you?'

'On the contrary,' he said politely, 'you were all any man could

wish.'

I don't care about 'any man'! she wanted to scream at him. I only

want to know what you thought—how you felt—and why you're

talking like this—frightening me like this?

She tried to smile. 'You make it sound as if it was— just one of

those things.'

Flynn shrugged. 'Well, wasn't it?' he asked expressionlessly, then

put the tea down on the windowsill and walked out of the room.

Sandie sat very still, staring in front of her. Oh, God, she thought.

Oh, God, please don't let this be happening to me. Let it be a bad

dream.

She touched the rim of the bath experimentally, willing it to dissolve

and disappear, but it was all too real. Shivering, she hauled herself

out of the pooling water, and grabbed at a towel.

She had heard of 'the cold light of day', but this was like the onset of

a new Ice Age. Her golden joyous hopes were fragmenting around

her. Other words, other phrases were beginning to beat in her brain

too- like 'one-night stand'.

She wrapped herself in the towel, sarong-style, and went to find her

clothes. Flynn's robe was flung across the bed, and the cottage was

deserted. After last night's intimacy, his absence seemed to

underline her sense of rejection, of isolation, and the pain of it was

like an open wound in her soul.

How could he Change so completely—and so quickly—from the

warm, passionate man who'd taught her in the space of a few short

hours that Paradise could be hers? she asked herself in appalled

bewilderment.

Suddenly all the old-fashioned and despised warnings about 'giving

in too easily' and 'men losing respect for you' seemed to have a ring

of horrid truth about them. Last night might have been a wonder to

her—a revelation—but to Flynn she was just another girl—an easy

conquest among many.

She swallowed painfully. I can't believe it, she thought. I don't want

to believe it.

And that, of course, was the trouble. She'd been fooled by Crispin.

But she'd been even more gullible over Flynn. She'd known his

reputation, and yet She'd still fallen into his arms. And now that he'd

had her, he didn't want her any more, and she would never heal from

the hurt of it.

But what else did you expect? Sandie lashed herself mentally. You

can't say you weren't warned. After all, she thought broodingly,

Flynn had revealed himself as a predator from the start. The feeling

of closeness between them that he'd engendered since they'd been on

the island, the kindness, and the laughter were all part of his stock in

trade. He'd made her trust him, knowing cynically that he would

reap the benefit.

But it was more than that, Sandie thought, as new pain constricted

her throat muscles and brought tears stinging at her eyelids. He'd

also made her love him.

When she was dressed, she went and sat at the living-room table.

Her tea was cold, and she threw it away and made fresh, forcing

herself to sip the hot, reviving brew while she considered what to

do. She couldn't plead. She had to salvage what remnants of pride

she had left. But she deserved a fuller explanation than Flynn's bald

statement that it was all over.

She heard the sound of approaching footsteps and braced herself

mentally. But when Flynn entered, O'Flaherty was with him, and all

hopes of a private conversation were thwarted.

O'Flaherty nodded to her. 'Himself tells me you've had one of them

virus things,' he said, giving her one of his narrow, critical looks.

'You look pale as milk, right enough.'

It was the nearest to a kind remark that he'd ever made to her. No

doubt he guessed what had happened on
Oilean an chroi
and felt

sorry for her. Sandie lifted her chin. 'I feel perfectly fine, thank you,'

she said crisply. 'I'd just like to get back to Killane as soon as

possible.'

'Killane, is it?' O'Flaherty muttered derisively. 'No one but a lunatic

would choose to go there, the place in uproar as it is.' He gave Flynn

a severe look. 'Well for you, Killane, if you sold the entire house

from under them, lock, stock and barrel.'

Flynn gave a tight smile, and began to collect the belongings

together. He and O'Flaherty worked fast, shutting down the

generator, closing up the cottage and transporting the remaining