Pictures of Emily (15 page)

Her back was pressed to the feather mattress. Then Sonny was stretching out his lean length beside her, drawing her close to his heart.

“First, I’ll touch you with my hands.”

He ran nimble fingers across her lips, her brow, her hair, her throat. Then slowly, ever so slowly, he undid the buttons on her nightgown, easing it open so he could touch her even more.

“You’re getting warmer,” he whispered.

“Yes.”

“Beautiful. You’re so beautiful,” he said huskily, his deep voice reverberating against her. He started to lower his head to kiss her, but she put a trembling hand to his chest.

There was so much at stake. She was suddenly afraid of disappointing him. She thought about all the pictures she’d seen of him with half-dressed, sultry women hanging on him, their expressions and posture suggesting they’d just engaged in total intimacy.

He was waiting for her to say something. She was so afraid this wouldn’t last, so afraid Sonny wouldn’t let it. And she was afraid of saying or doing something that would ruin everything.

“Hi,” she said.

He smiled, then laughed. “Hi.”

His mouth was red from their shared kisses, his hair wet from the rain, and sexy as only Sonny’s could be.

His eyes were dark with desire. “Now what were you really going to say?” he asked.

She was surprised that he’d read her so easily.

“Nothing.”

“Emily—”

He bent his head and pressed his mouth to hers. She sensed reassurance in that kiss. He drew away enough to look into her eyes. “Second thoughts?” he asked, his hand across her ribcage, searing an outline on her flesh through the cotton of her gown.

“No. It’s just that—” Heat rose in her cheeks. “It’s just that I’ve never done this before,” she confessed.

He smiled, and she thought there was something different about his smile. Then she realized the bitterness was gone. And there was such an unexpected tenderness in his expression that it made her throat hurt.

Then he said, “You know, sea treasure, I have the strangest feeling this will all be new to me, too.”

Bless him.

He started to lower his head, then paused. Another smile. A teasing smile that completely beguiled her.

“Is the flame still burning?” he asked.

“Yes,” she whispered. “It’s still burning.”

He was gentle with her. So gentle that Emily ended up pulling him closer, saying, “I want all of you—”

And then he touched her soul.

Sonny had never been concerned with the hours lost to sleep. He usually welcomed them. But sleeping had suddenly become a waste of precious time. So he spent the hours until dawn awake, with a slumbering Emily in his arms.

Sometimes he would fall into a strange, half-awake state, but he never lost track of where he was. He was always aware of Emily, sweet and warm next to him. He could smell the scent of the ocean in her mermaid hair, hear her gentle dream sighs.

He was awake when the rain ceased its soft patter against the windows, awake when the night birds began singing, awake when the false light of early dawn began to creep into the room.

Emily was lying facing him, her hair draped over her shoulder like golden seaweed dried in the sun. Her coloring—it was as delicate as a seashell’s—all soft pinks and pale yellows. Her curling eyelashes were golden and lying against smooth cheeks.

Holding her in his arms, he felt as beguiled and mystified by her as he had that first day when he’d pulled her from the ocean. He’d stared into her unearthly eyes and felt the same fascinating fear: a fear that she might simply vanish.

She shifted in his arms. She would be waking soon. How would she react now that the night was over? Knowing Emily, he expected she would be shy. Maybe embarrassed.

He knew he should have spared her the awkwardness and left before now, but he hadn’t been able to make himself. He wanted to leave her in sunshine, not darkness.

Another sigh escaped her parted lips. Then her eyes, with their golden-tipped lashes, fluttered open. He found himself staring into deep pools of blue. Sleep- confused pools of blue.

Don’t let her be sorry, he prayed. Please, don’t let her be sorry.

“Hi,” he said.

The worry lines between her eyebrows gentled. Her mouth curved into a soft smile. “Hi.”

The lightness in his heart was almost unbearable in its intensity. He saw a pink blush darken her cheeks, and knew she was being brave, knew she was trying to overcome any self-consciousness she might be feeling.

Without tightening his hold, he kissed her. Carefully. Softly. Let it be all right, he prayed.

She placed a hand against the side of his face and looked at him, her magic eyes full of sincerity. “Sonny—it’s okay.”

“Are you sure, mermaid?”

“Yes.”

“And what about you? Are you okay?”

“I’m—” She smiled, most likely at the total inadequacy of the word. “I’m okay. Better than okay.”

“That’s good.” The relief—and some other emotion he wasn’t ready to face yet—overwhelmed him.

Looking at her golden beauty, feeling her legs intertwined with his, the soft swell of her breasts against his chest, he wanted to make love to her again, in the pure morning light. But that would be going too fast. He didn’t want to scare her. For Emily, he must take this slow. And because he knew her well enough to know she would still feel shy about getting dressed in front of him, he kissed her, then said, “I’m going to go put out the lighthouse lamps.”

She blinked and nodded.

It took more willpower than he knew he possessed to draw away from her, to leave her lying there tousled and warm. But he did it. For Emily, he did it.

* * *

Emily lay in bed, watching Sonny slip into his clothes. Sunlight poured across him, turning his skin golden, outlining taut muscles. Memories of the night washed over her. He’d touched her with such tenderness. She wanted him to lie back down beside her, hold her again, touch her again.

But this was new to her, and to ask him to stay would seem so bold. Too bold.

When he was dressed, he pressed a quick kiss on her mouth, but didn’t touch her with his hands, didn’t pull her close as she wished he would.

After he’d gone, she lay in bed, unwilling to let go of the night. Only yesterday she’d thought he was leaving St. Genevieve, leaving her. And now…

She tamped down her joy, tempered it with caution. Now, for all she knew, he could still be leaving.

Emotionally, she wanted to accept what had happened as a sign that Sonny was hers, and she was his. Later, when she knew things were really okay, she would shout. For now, her smiles would have to be quiet smiles.

She got up and took a shower. As she slipped into a gray skirt and a mauve sweater, she could hear the sound of banging pans and the smell of food coming from the kitchen.

That’s where she found Sonny, in front of the stove, turning pancakes.

He was dressed in a clean pair of jeans and a black sweater. He looked up at her and smiled, and she felt her breath catch. It was his new smile. The one without the bitterness, without the self-mockery. This smile was as pure and innocent as the morning. This smile was for her.

She smiled back, feeling shaken and a little frightened by the intensity of her love for him.

And then he did something she would never have expected from Sonny. He put down the spatula and crossed to her in three long strides. Without hesitating, almost seeming as if he couldn’t stop himself, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, rocking her against his chest, murmuring her name in her hair.

Last night he’d been so wonderfully tender, wooing her with sweet words, gentle hands. Now her blood went warm and she realized she would like him to weave his magic again. Soon. Now.

But he pressed a kiss to her forehead, then let her go—almost reluctantly? She hoped it was reluctantly—then went back to his cooking.

“We don’t have any syrup,” he said. “How about jelly?”

“I’ll make some syrup.”

“You can make syrup?”

He seemed so amazed that somebody could make syrup that she laughed. “Yes. It’s easy. I’ll show you.”

Side by side, they finished cooking breakfast, with Emily showing him how to make syrup from brown sugar.

They ate breakfast with the sunshine pouring in the lattice windows, making cheerful squares on the pinewood floor.

Normally Emily would have been anxious to get to her kite shop, but this morning she wanted to stay home, she wanted to stay with Sonny. What they had shared last night was too new. She was afraid it might not withstand the test of a single day of separation.

But the day followed the pattern they had unconsciously set from the beginning. As on all the other mornings, Sonny walked with her to the village. But this time, instead of walking her to the kite shop, he stopped when they came to the place where the cobblestone roads intersected.

“I’m going to use the drugstore phone to call the coast guard,” he explained.

“Yes.”

She needed to know if he planned to stay with her. If he planned to be her husband, her friend. “Are you going to work on the lighthouse today?” she asked instead.

“Yes, but I’ll see you at noon,” he promised. “Then I’ll help you with the struts on the dragon kite. I’ve thought of a way to make them strong and flexible at the same time.”

She smiled in relief. He wasn’t leaving. Not today, anyway. Not tomorrow, she hoped, or the next day.

He was watching her. There was an expression in his eyes she’d seen many times, but hadn’t recognized until now. He wanted to touch her. She glanced up and down the street. Too many people. She smiled, and he smiled. And she knew that he knew what she was thinking.

“Bye,” he said.

“Bye.”

He turned and headed down the cobblestone lane, toward the St. Genevieve drugstore.

She watched as he walked away, his hands in his pockets, sunlight glinting off the streaks in his hair. Her husband. Her love.

* * *

Sonny strolled along the wooden walkway. The sunshine was warm on his face, the breeze coming in off the ocean, crisp, refreshing.

Even though he’d been awake all night, he wasn’t tired. Instead for the first time in years he felt alive.

As he made his way to the hub of the village, people passed, smiling and nodding. He would smile and nod in return, feeling as if they’d accepted him, that he was almost a part of their island. A part of Emily’s island.

The good feeling ended as soon as he stepped inside the drugstore.

Something was wrong. He could feel it.

From behind the counter, Clayton said hello, but he acted funny. A little guilty. Sonny explained that he needed to make a call, and Clayton slid the old-fashioned black phone across the counter.

Sonny made the call, then pushed the phone back. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” But Clayton wouldn’t look at him.

Something was wrong. Sonny hadn’t imagined it.

Then, so quickly he almost didn’t see it, Clayton’s gaze flashed past Sonny, then away.

Sonny turned. Behind him was the magazine rack. Sonny’s own face looked back at him from a cover. Celebrity World. The same magazine that had caused trouble before.

Above his face, in two inch letters was the headline: Sonny Maxwell Sold by Mother for Booze.

Sonny felt as if someone had kicked him in the stomach. It was hard for him to breathe.

He wasn’t aware of reaching for the magazine, but suddenly there it was, in his hands. He was gripping it so tightly his knuckles were white.

He recognized the byline. Charlie Painter—the guy who’d lied about Emily.

Sonny didn’t read the article word for word. He didn’t need to. It was all there. His ugly past. Somehow the reporter had found Evie, the woman who used to run the home. Just reading her name made him feel queasy, the way he used to feel whenever Evie yelled at him. Not that she’d ever hit him. She hadn’t. But not a day had gone by that she didn’t let him know just how worthless he was.

Up until now, Sonny had thought that nobody could get to him anymore. He thought he was immune to pain-laden words. But that had been before Emily had come into his life and made him feel again.

He hadn’t wanted her to know about his mother, or about Evie. And now it was all here. In black-and-white.

Emily.

Now she would know just how unworthy he was. Now she would know the real Sonny Maxwell. He hated himself for dragging her down with him. Her life had been so pure, so clean before she met him. And then he’d come and touched her with his ugliness.

“You okay, Sonny?” came Clayton’s voice, penetrating his bleak thoughts.

No. I’ll never be okay.

Sonny grabbed the rest of the magazines from the rack, tossed a ten-dollar bill on the counter—enough to cover the magazines and the phone call—and left.

He walked blindly. Hours may have passed, but he was unaware of time. Finally, he found himself on a street that led north, to the lighthouse, or south…

He looked down at the magazines he was still clutching in his hand. He didn’t know why he’d bought them, didn’t know why he’d ever thought he could keep something like that from Emily.

He thought about the way she’d looked at him this morning. It had filled his heart with joy, pure and sweet and aching.

She would never look at him that way again.

He couldn’t go back. He couldn’t face her.

He tossed the papers in a cast-iron trash container, then looked south, down the narrow lane. It led to the pier, to the harbor, to the boats that could carry him away.

Emily’s kite was already up. The purple unicorn again. It seemed to be one of her favorites. She was rather like a unicorn herself. Gentle. Noble. Innocent. Easily hurt.

He’d been the selfish human who’d captured her in order to steal her magic. He started walking toward the harbor, toward the boats that would carry him away.

* * *

Emily sat in the kite shop, staring blankly at the silent sewing machine. She’d given up all pretense of work. It was impossible to concentrate.

Where was Sonny?

He said he’d be there at noon, and it was one-thirty. Maybe the coastguard had come and he’d been detained, she reasoned. Yes. That must be what had happened. He would come later.