Storm the Author's Cut (9 page)

If she lived, she would have to try to make up to her parents for the loss of Shane. No more daredevil stunts. It was time she grew up, time she started thinking about someone besides herself.

Two days later a search plane spotted the wreckage. Laurie was the only survivor.

Chapter 6

Earlier, when Luke walked across the wooden floor to put wood on the coals, Laurie had been asleep, her eyes closed, black lashes against her cheeks, and her dark curls tousled. She had rolled over as he watched, cradling her head on one arm, drawing her legs up as if for warmth. The blanket he had given her earlier was folded over the back of the sofa.

His eyes had traced the route along her bare arm to her shoulder. The covering over the rest of her body did nothing to inhibit his imagination, especially when she turned restlessly, the curve of her hip thrusting out. Her breathing did not have the slow, even rhythm of deep sleep, but the quick shallow breaths of uncomfortable dreams. As he watched, she rocked her head slowly in protest, a whisper of a moan escaping her lips.

When her breathing slowed, he had returned to his bed, listening to the wind and watching the pattern of the flickering firelight on the walls, telling himself he was a fool. Finally, he slept again.

He woke to soft sounds and a glimpse of Laurie as she moved about the room. He lay motionless as she tended the fire, her bare feet silent and purposeful on the wooden floor. Listening, he wanted badly to cross the room to her. He knew that she had been dreaming, and he had a strong conviction that she needed comfort. He felt certain of her need, yet he lay silent as if he were asleep.

Laurie represented danger to him. Her voice on his radio was one thing; but down here she was too close and too real.

When he heard her open the door, then slip outside, he was finally able to relax. He breathed slowly in the dark, deeply, willing sleep to return.

A solitary gust of wind shook the cabin, and then subsided. Luke drifted into a waking dream, reliving agonizing battles between his mother and father all those years ago. Memories better left buried.

If Laurie had gone to the small outhouse down the path, she would be back by now. There were no dangers on the island, no wild animals—only the birds. She was somewhere outside, walking the island paths, or soaking in the hot mineral waters of the pool. If she were tense and wakeful, a long soak in the hot springs would be incomparable therapy. He had a vision of her, half sitting, half floating in the pool at the top of the hill.

When he got up, he realized that he had intended to follow her from the beginning. He put on his mostly-dry jeans, leaving his feet and his chest bare.

He walked softly on the path outside. He was a fit man, but when he climbed the path his breath came short, especially as he passed the shelter with its two steaming tubs. She wasn't there. He walked silently up the path to the pool above, forcing his breathing silent. The pool was empty.

He walked on, following the path to the top of the hill.

She stood at the edge of the cliff, looking out over the world below. A gentle breeze molded the blanket to her. He was seduced by the darkness, by the image of her standing at the edge of the cliff. He hardly knew where he was or what he said; but when he touched her he felt the coolness of her skin through his whole body.

She turned to face him. The mountains and the sea watched as he touched her face. His hand came away wet with her tears.

"Earlier... you were asleep with sadness in your face."

She shook her head slowly and he held her arms with his hands, needing the ivory smooth feel of her.

"Not dreaming," she said in a low voice. Her words were obscure and almost meaningless, but he knew about waking nightmares. The wind was warm, but she trembled. He drew her into his arms.

"Tell me." His voice was the voice of the darkness.

He felt her silent tears on his chest and rocked her gently against him. The roughness of the blanket she wore scratched his chest.

"My brother was the pilot."

"You were in the plane with him?"

She shuddered in his arms. She had flown all day with him, had searched intently, hardly noticing the roughness of their ride. Or had she noticed?

"You're not frightened of flying now?"

The wind came over the cliff in a slow acceleration until the blanket whipped around him and her hair blew in intimate patterns on his chest.

She shivered against him although inside she'd warmed the instant he touched her. "It took a long time before I could fly again." The psychologist every Wednesday for six months while she was at college.

"Come away from the wind."

"I'm not cold."

Her hollow voice frightened him and he got her moving down the path, though she hardly seemed to know or care where she was.

"Tell me," he urged her, needing to know.

She pulled against his arms, turning back to look.

"There was a tree like that," she whispered. "It was half through the windshield and tangled with the plane."

He was silent, drawing her closer so that her cold body began to warm from his warmth.

"Cheryl cried all night. I couldn't even turn to see her. She never answered me when I called. Shane—Shane—He..." She shuddered violently, pulling away from his arms, shivering in the warm night air.

"They all died... Shane and Bob and Cheryl. It should have been me! I brought it on them.

She heard his voice calling her back. In the midst of the wreckage, alone with her dead in the wild storm, no one had called to her. But now, Luke's voice urged her, "Come here. Come to me. You're cold."

He drew her away from the cliff, away from the tree that was so like the tree outside the broken seaplane she remembered. He led her down the path towards the pool where the steam rose in lazy warmth. She trembled from the cold of her memories, but he held her in his arms until her shaking stopped. He had found a curved seat and he drew her down with him. When her trembling stopped, she drifted, almost asleep, secure against him.

The wind was returning. The clouds had masked the moon. Around them the trees rustled, whispering in the darkness. They lay quiet, protected from the wind by the hillside behind them.

"Better?" he asked softly.

"Yes." She didn't want to move. His hand was on her arm, on her bare shoulder. She felt his warmth against the coldness of her memories and she curled against him, burrowing closer. The force of her own emotions frightened her and it seemed only his closeness could keep her sane. At the same time she felt self-conscious about the tears she had shed on him. "I'm sorry."

He moved his hand along her arm, caressing her gently. "We all have our dark nights. Tomorrow the sun will shine. The past will be where it belongs."

She watched the dark movement of a tree against the sky and tried to think of tomorrow. Somewhere, a part of her knew that reality was tomorrow and Queen Charlotte City and Ken... not Luke Lucas on a stormy, deserted North Pacific island. But the weatherman had issued a storm warning, and he had been right. The storm was everywhere—outside her and within her. Tonight there was only one reality.

"I cannot imagine tomorrow," she whispered.

The wind whipped over the cliff, winding down the hillside and over their entwined bodies.

"Do you want to go back to the cabin?"

Back to the lonely night and her memories. She felt his hands move on her back, comforting her. His fingers moved over the straps of her bra, tracing soothing fire along her skin.

"No," she whispered against his neck. "I want to stay out here." She feared the spell would shatter if they moved.

She looked up at him. The moon was gone, but the clouds were lighter than the black of the stormy trees. She could see the silhouette of his head. He looked down at her and she felt the heat in his eyes. Ken, she thought, almost desperately, but she couldn't get the image fixed in her mind. She reached her hand up to touch Luke's hair. The rough curls moved between her fingers, tickling against her palm. She didn't know if she pulled his head down, or if he bent to touch her lips with his own. He kissed her so gently that her mouth trembled beneath his. When he drew away, she could not move. Then his fingertips traced across her back, down her arms and he pulled gently on her blanket.

"Go into the water," he urged her. "You'll be cold here." He moved his hand to the belt around her waist. She covered his hands with her own, her heart pounding.

"It's dark," he said gently. "I can't see you."

He'd come to her in the dark, leading her away from the cliff, saving her from her own painful memories, from the terror and the guilt. With the storm starting to rise again around them, she knew that only he could keep her safe from the memories.

She stood, moving away from him, slowly unfastening the belt herself. She could see him only as a black outline when he stood, but she felt his gaze through the dark as she let the blanket slip to the ground.

"Can you see me?"

"No, but I have a very vivid imagination!" There was laughter in his voice, and desire.

What did he imagine? She unfastened the front of her bra. The storm raging in her made her wild and wanton. She tossed the flimsy undergarment to him, knowing how it would inflame his imagination. When she slipped her panties off and moved to the water, she knew that he would follow. She knew, too, that she needed him to follow her—needed him to shield her from the darkness and the storm.

She felt her way to the edge of the pool, curling her toes in the fine sand. It was hot, almost as hot as the blood that throbbed in her veins. She worked her way into the deeper water. She sank down, leaning against the bank, letting the warmth seep into her.

"It's lovely. Warm." The wind blew down, rippling the surface. The warm waves lapped on the surface of her breasts like the caress of a man. That other lonely island where Shane had died faded from her mind.

Luke's shadow was long against the sky as he discarded his jeans and moved towards her. Her body burned, as if he touched her.

She should be thinking of Ken, but she could not believe in tomorrow—or Ken—or anything but the dark form that stood outlined against the sky.

"Come in and find out how good your imagination is."

The night was black and he was only a silhouette, but she knew every movement. She knew when his foot touched the water and she knew he was moving towards her. When he came near her, she could see only the outline of his head against the sky. When his lingers brushed her arm, she trembled violently.

His fingers stayed, grasped her arm. "You're not still cold?" The wind drove the warm waves against their bodies.

"It's you. You make me tremble."

"Do you know what you do to me?" He touched her face reverently and she knew exactly what she did to him.

When she felt the warm pressure of his mouth, she opened her lips to him. His lips moved on hers, teasing against her, nipping her tongue gently when she moved it against him. His fingers kneaded her shoulders gently.

She ached to touch him. She moved her hands in the dark, finding his chest. She ran her fingers over his smooth muscles, sensing the damp hairs with her palms. With her hands, she explored the ridges and curves of his torso, palms tingling with the feel of his skin.

"Can I do that, too?"

He was going to touch her breasts.

"Yes," she whispered.

He must know how she ached, but he taunted her gently, lovingly, moving his hands down her arms, gently across her midriff. She trembled, gripping his shoulders with her hands. His hands moved under her breasts, gently grazing. Her breasts floated in the water and he moved his fingers along their undersides, stroking... stroking. Her nipples hardened as he moved against her. When he bent down to gently touch one erect nipple, she shuddered in his arms, groaning, drawing his head down.

Fire burned in the water, and passion. Luke caressed her body, drawing it against his, driving her to wilder needs. He sent her restless in his arms, then quiet. When she moved her hands on him, enjoying his smooth male hardness, he groaned his pleasure aloud and she learned the joys of pleasing him.

The storm raged within them and around them. When the wind howled surrender in the trees, Laurie opened herself to Luke and became one with him.

Later, the wind gentled, sensing their mood. Luke lifted Laurie from the water and carried her along the path to the cabin. He lowered her wet body to the cot he had slept on earlier. She reached up and touched his shoulders, running her hands gently down his torso.

"Watch it," he growled in the darkness. "You could wake the beast again."

"I like the beast," she whispered.

"Wait," he insisted. He moved away from her, building up the fire in the fireplace. When the flames danced in the stone fireplace, he spread out a sleeping bag on the floor near the blaze.

When he came back, he reached down to lift her and she laughed, loving the feel of his arms on her.

"I can walk."

"I like to carry you."