Read What the Waves Bring Online
Authors: Barbara Delinsky
What the Waves Bring (12 page)
But it was April who responded, feeling suddenly nauseated. “To the contrary,” she argued knowingly. “You can't just take a man who remembers nothing and throw him into the middle of things. That could cause tremendous stress.”
“Ah, the counsellor speaking.” Jane taunted her from a point of false security at Heath's elbow. “Well, this is the fiancee speakingâ”
“No!” In the maelstrom of emotion, April knew only that she wouldn't let Heath leave with this woman. “You may have been engaged to Evan but ⦠Heath and I have ⦠our own plans.” Without quite saying it, the implication of a corresponding involvement was there. Now April wondered how Heath would react and she turned her gaze more hesitantly toward him.
He was one man standing tall, lean, and self-composed with his hair blown across his forehead and his eyes glued to the floor, yet he totally dominated the scene in the small living room. In that instant April knew the facts Jane had offered regarding his background and profession to be true. He had the makings of a diplomat, quiet and stately, and he now showed his political skill to perfection.
“I believe, ladies, that we all need time to think. Jane”âhe looked evenly at herâ“perhaps you can find a place to sleep in town. April is not equipped for guestsâ” “You're here,” Jane sulked unbecomingly, then shook her head with disdain. “Honestly, Evan, this is ridicuâ”
“Whatever it may be,” he said summarily, “
it is my problem.
Now”âhe paused to take a deep breathâ“you can either go back into town ⦠or return to Washington. I need time. You can tell whomever may have worried that I am alive and well. Beyond that, I make no promises.”
“Whatever it may be,” he said summarily, “
it is my problem.
Now”âhe paused to take a deep breathâ“you can either go back into town ⦠or return to Washington. I need time. You can tell whomever may have worried that I am alive and well. Beyond that, I make no promises.”
In April's eye was the image of the man who had fought his way through the tempest and survived. Even from a position of disadvantage, still unsure of his future, he possessed more strength than many another man. Admiration for him surging, she moved unobtrusively back as Heath firmly guided Jane to the door, then turned her attention completely away as he showed his colleague out.
Deep in the hearth lay the ashes of the fire, warming so sweetly once, now dead and cold. Trepidation added to the chill that seized her; approaching footsteps sharpened her senses. It was the moment of truth. Back to the room, face to the cold hearth, she waited for him to speak. His presence was a vibrant fact, close behind her now, his aura of command unimpeachable. For agonizing moments the silence held. Finally, with quiet announcement, he spoke.
“That was quite a show.” The hands she ached to feel warm on her shoulders stayed entrenched in his pockets. “Why did you say what you did?” There were no “darlin's,” no “sweet Aprils,” simply a question, voiced evenly, nearly void of emotion.
“I don't know,” she whispered softly.
“You're not a woman
not to know.
” His chiding hit its mark, pricking her conscience.
not to know.
” His chiding hit its mark, pricking her conscience.
Lowering her head, she shrugged. “I had to.”
“Why?” When no answer was forthcoming, he turned her to face him. His fingers held the tension she felt throughout her body. “Why, April?” A strong thumb lifted her chin.
The old, dark mystery lurked in his gaze, demanding her response as she reluctantly met it. In an instant, shame
washed over her. “I guess ⦠I ⦠just can't ⦠believe her ⦔
washed over her. “I guess ⦠I ⦠just can't ⦠believe her ⦔
“That makes no sense! Do you think she made the whole thing up?”
She winced at his sudden impatience. “No! No, I'm sure you are Harley Evan Addison ⦠and that you work with her where she said. She wouldn't be here if she didn't know to look for you. Paul hasn't even called back yet.”
“Then what don't you believe?” he prodded more firmly, his eyes scrutinizing her intently. She wished she could run but his hands held her securely, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her shoulders.
Defensively, her gaze dropped, clinging to the point where his shirt opened to reveal the fine tufts of hair on his chest. Memories of last night's passion made her tremble, yet gave her an unexpected source of strength. Tilting her chin in defiance, she burst out vehemently, “I can't believe that you are
engaged
to her. Not to
that
woman!”
engaged
to her. Not to
that
woman!”
“Didn't like her, huh?” This time, she saw his amusement and loudly countered it.
“No, I didn't! Not from the minute I opened that door and saw her standing there so arrogantly. She may be bright and beautiful, but there's something devious about her. She seemed hard and insensitive. She's not right for you!”
“And you are?” All humor vanished, taking with it his softness. In its place was an unfathomable intensity, from which April turned quickly, putting a buffer of distance between them.
She spoke with soft regret. “I didn't say that.”
“But did you intend it?”
Unwilling to answer him directly, she waffled. “I only meant what I told you. You and Jane seem totally unsuited for one another.”
“Is that a professional analysis or ⦠a personal one?”
“Both,” she murmured truthfully, gazing out at the
fog-shrouded moors. There was a mystery out there, too. How strange, she mused, to find this puzzling mist after the storm. Surely, now that she knew herself cleared of adultery, there should be peace, happiness. But despite the fact that she was here, alone once more with Heath, there was Jane. If he and Jane had really been in love back in Washington, she was wrong to stand between them now. For this reason alone, her own words of love must go unspoken.
fog-shrouded moors. There was a mystery out there, too. How strange, she mused, to find this puzzling mist after the storm. Surely, now that she knew herself cleared of adultery, there should be peace, happiness. But despite the fact that she was here, alone once more with Heath, there was Jane. If he and Jane had really been in love back in Washington, she was wrong to stand between them now. For this reason alone, her own words of love must go unspoken.
Memories of the hurt she had suffered at Shane Michaels's infidelity struck her anew. No wonder this woman had resented her presence; was April not the “other woman”? But had it merely been resentment? Her innermost instinct told her differently. There was something else, though she couldn't put her finger on it.
Heath's deliberate calm rescued her from her quandary, only to submerge her more deeply in another. “You spoke of ⦠plans. Our plans. What had you in mind?”
With her back still to him, her face would not betray her. Willing purpose to her voice, she rationalized her claim. “I only said that to put her at a distance. She wanted you out now. I ⦠I thought I was acting in your best interest.”
“I'm a big boy. I think I can handle my affairs.”
“I know that! That's not what I meant ⦔
“The martyr, eh?” His tone chilled her.
“Not exactly. There's no sacrifice on my part ⦔ No sacrifice at all to have him with her just a little while longer â¦
Lacking the courage to face him, she withdrew into herself. From within her cowering cocoon, she was unaware of his approach until his voice, suddenly softer, that of the man she loved, drew her out.
“Your qualifications hold their own, do they?” He brought her words back to haunt her with gentle teasing. There was no doubt as to which qualifications he referred.
His arms slid around her waist, and she hadn't the strength, much less the desire, to resist. He had taken command and there was sweet satisfaction in yielding to him. Heath was indeed a man of stature. She would have him no other way.
“It was nice ⦠last night, wasn't it?” he crooned, fitting the lean lines of his body to her back, her bottom, her thighs.
“It was,” she whispered soulfully, suddenly desperate to be held, not for passion's sake but for comfort from her fears. Twirling with a force she hadn't known she possessed, she buried her face against his shirt, her arms seeking the solidness of his back. He was something to cling to, the eye of her storm. In her heart, April knew it would always be that way.
Words were unwelcome in the communion of the moment. There were no caresses, no gestures. If Heath shared her need for the brief respite from the world and its mysteries, she had no way of knowing, save from the strength of the arms that held her to him.
Then slowly their pressure eased and he set her back. The mask of darkness had fallen over his features, rendering them more harsh and brooding. “I'm going out to the beach,” he said quietly, an invitation to join him noticeably absent. “I do need time to think.”
April watched his tall form disappear with cold fear in her heart. If only she knew what he
was
thinking. If only she knew what he felt for her. Was the attraction purely physical on his part? Could he ever love her as she loved him? Or would the pastâa past he could not begin to rememberâalways haunt them?
was
thinking. If only she knew what he felt for her. Was the attraction purely physical on his part? Could he ever love her as she loved him? Or would the pastâa past he could not begin to rememberâalways haunt them?
Helplessness marred her sights as she showered and dressed, gradually calming herself to a point of reason. Whereas in the past an outfit of jeans and a shirt or sweater had been sufficient in this most remote of homes, now she carefully chose a pair of cranberry wool slacks and a
creamy cowl-neck sweater, shunning sneakers in favor of midheeled loafers. Brushing her hair to a fresh-washed sheen, she lightly blushed her cheeks and put a faint coat of pink gloss on her lips. She knew exactly what she was doing and why, though the justification for it continued to elude her.
creamy cowl-neck sweater, shunning sneakers in favor of midheeled loafers. Brushing her hair to a fresh-washed sheen, she lightly blushed her cheeks and put a faint coat of pink gloss on her lips. She knew exactly what she was doing and why, though the justification for it continued to elude her.
Helping herself to the coffee Heath must have brewed earlier, she managed to down a slice of toast, then returned to the bedroom to make the bed, and finally settled down in the living room. The first order of business was to call Paul Watson and she hurried to do so before changing her mind. Dutifully, she passed on what she had learned that morning, swearing her old friend to secrecy as she bade him research both Harley Evan Addison and Jane Miller.
That done, she squared her shoulders and phoned her mother with grand assurances that sheâand her houseâhad survived the storm intact. There was no mention of the emotional storm that had hit simultaneously, an emotional storm that still swirled, unabated, about her. Guilt at the omission came only after the phone connection had been severed, and then it was mercifully too late. As she had done for most of her adult life, she would weather this storm alone.
Lofty intent found her seated, moments later, before her Apple, transmitting several days' worth of her column to the receiver in New York. Taking advantage of her industrious mood, she leafed through the letters that had come the day before, diligently reading those she had missed at first run-through. There was a letter from a man suffering through sudden retirement, a note from a woman whose understanding of her teen-aged daughter had reached an all-time low, and a word about job discrimination from an ambitious woman lawyer. Finally, there was a wife's poignant plea.
“Dear Dr. Wilde. I am all for women's liberation, but
not when the liberated woman is my husband's young secretary and the object of her liberation is my husband. Some women speak of sexual harassment on the job. What of the reverse, when a woman takes the opportunity of a man's daily presence to beat down his resistance to her eager charms? Where is the justice in that?” It was signed, “Remember-Me.”
not when the liberated woman is my husband's young secretary and the object of her liberation is my husband. Some women speak of sexual harassment on the job. What of the reverse, when a woman takes the opportunity of a man's daily presence to beat down his resistance to her eager charms? Where is the justice in that?” It was signed, “Remember-Me.”
Taking pencil in hand, April roughed out her response. “Dear âRemember-Me.' Your point is well taken. But what you face has little to do with women's liberation, a very noble ideal, and everything to do with an age-old dilemma. Perhaps you should look closely at your marriage. Is it strong? Has it kept pace with you and your husband as you've grown? Most importantly, are there open avenues of communication between your husband and yourself? If you can answer safely in the affirmative, you have no cause to worry. Discuss the matter with your husband. Your fears may be totally unfounded. Be patient and understanding. Perhaps your husband is going through a crisis of his own, one in which your closeness and support can even further cement your relationship. While that young secretary's behavior is abhorrent, your best line of attack is to withdraw her power from beneath her pretty high-heeled feet. If your husband is unreceptive to her, she will be liberated to seek greener pastures. There is strength in us all. You and yours may find that to pool your resources is the greatest strength of all.”
How simple it sounded when advised to others. How straightforward and clear. Yet when April tried to analyze her own situation with as much directness, she was stymied. Brooding, she mentally sketched out the letter.
“Dear Dr. Wilde,” she began, “I'm totally confused. I have this man living in my house and I can't figure out who he is. Is he Evan? Is he Heath? Or someone else entirely? And then there's Janeâbeautiful blond-haired Jane. Is she the rightful companion? Am I? Or is there
somewhere in the world a whole other familial body to which this marvelous man belongs? Where is the eye of the storm now? I can't see
anything
clearly!”
somewhere in the world a whole other familial body to which this marvelous man belongs? Where is the eye of the storm now? I can't see
anything
clearly!”
It was some time before she realized that her eyes were filled with tears. The letters beneath her hand blurred, then the sofa, the rug, the room. But the tall form, striding purposefully to stand its lean and muscled height before her, was no illusion. Fear shook her at the emotion she couldn't hide. Heart on her sleeve, she blotted the moisture from the tips of her long brown lashes and steeled herself against the storm.
Her lapse could not be hidden from Heath's dark and penetrating gaze. By all accounts, he seemed angry. With one large hand splayed across a narrow denim-clad hip, he glowered at her, then raised his eyes to the ceiling in exasperation, shifting them in turn to the side wall, the floor, and finally back to pierce her once more.
“Don't do that!” he growled, his tone held in a tight control reinforced by the sharp angularity of his jaw.
April forced her gaze to clear. “I-I'm fine. We all have our weak moments, I guess. But I'm all right now.”
“Weak momentsâyou?” Where his words might easily have carried sarcasm, there was none. Nor, with his anger having spent itself on his sole outburst, was there hint of another of the varied emotions that may have lurked within his towering frame.
“Yes, Heath, even me.” She laughed sadly as she lowered her eyes. “I can't think of you as anyone but âHeath.' I'm sorry. The name âEvan' feels foreign.” When her soft, brown-eyed gaze sought his for reassurance, he smiled politely.
“Heath is fine. As a matter of fact, I have trouble thinking of myself any other way, too. It'll take time, I guess.”
“You still remember nothing? Often the memory returns in vague clumps. Does anything of what Jane mentioned sound familiar?”
“No.” Anger surged anew, directed at himself or at
some other force, but, mercifully, not at her. “It's all meaningless. I pull a total blank.” Turning, he stalked to the window, where he stood, head down, back straight, feet planted firmly apart.
some other force, but, mercifully, not at her. “It's all meaningless. I pull a total blank.” Turning, he stalked to the window, where he stood, head down, back straight, feet planted firmly apart.
An old, familiar tugging, from somewhere deep within her, drew April toward him. Her hand on his shoulder was a heartfelt offer of solace. “It'll come back. At some point, it's got to. There are doctors ⦠new techniques and treatments ⦠and time.”
“Time! That would solve everything! But I don't have time!” he seethed. “If I do have those responsibilities at the university, I can't very well hide away here indefinitely. Then there is this familyâfather, sister, brother. Who knows what responsibilities I have toward them! And there's Jane ⦠and you ⦔
As his voice died away, it softened, along with the expression he showered on April as he turned to face her. “It's not fair to you, April.” He didn't touch her; her own hand had fallen away as he turned. She felt the barrier between them, one that was invisible but very, very tangible, and its presence punished her. “Jane was right; I can't continue to disrupt your life this way.”
“You're notâ”
“You can't really believe that, can you, April? You're a thinking and feeling woman. My presence
has
to affect you.” He was looking into her, searching for something. April couldn't hold out much longer.
has
to affect you.” He was looking into her, searching for something. April couldn't hold out much longer.
“Oh, Heath,” she whispered helplessly, “of course it has affected me. I wouldn't be honest if I denied that. But there has been nothing negative about it.”
He laughed skeptically. “I thought you came out here to get away from everything.”
“I didâ”
“Well, now you've gotten yourself right back into the middle of a mess.” His dark gaze held her in rigid suspense.
“You were hurt by Michaels, back in New York; now you're apt to be hurt as badly by me.”
“You were hurt by Michaels, back in New York; now you're apt to be hurt as badly by me.”
“No!” Her eyes flashed determination. “No. I know you, Heath. You wouldn't hurt me.”
“Not knowingly, April. Certainly not willingly. But what if things ⦠change ⦠when my memory does return. Or, even without that, what if I find that my life in Washington is incompatible with this one? What then? If I turned and walked out of this house now, right now, can you say that you would not be hurt?”
She couldn't answer. Her tongue simply would not function, dry and thick as it felt in her mouth. The thought of never seeing Heath again was agonizing. Closing her eyes against the possibility, she turned and tried to flee, only to be caught by the arm and whirled about.
“Damn it, April.” He hauled her against his chest and held her firmly. “I shouldn't have let this happen. It was wrong of me to have encouraged you from the start. You're a very special person, one who doesn't deserve this.”
Whether it was the nearness of him, or his calling her a “very special person” that snapped her control and resolve, she would never know. But when she wedged a small space between them to allow her view of his face her eyes were moist again.
“Don't take all the credit, Heath,” she cried, her body trembling. “As I recall, you were dead to the world when I first brought you here. And I'm far from being helpless
or
a child. I've had my eyes open through all of this. I don't need your pity or your sympathy. If you want to leave”âshe pulled herself totally free of his armsâ“you can go right ahead and leave.” Her finger shook as it pointed to the door. “I
won't
have you staying here for my sake alone!”
or
a child. I've had my eyes open through all of this. I don't need your pity or your sympathy. If you want to leave”âshe pulled herself totally free of his armsâ“you can go right ahead and leave.” Her finger shook as it pointed to the door. “I
won't
have you staying here for my sake alone!”
His deep voice flowed through her every nerve end as his eyes caressed her features. The barrier seemed to be
crumbling between them but April was too shaken to notice. “What about for
my
sake, April? What if I told you that I feel good here, safe, sane? What if I said that I never wanted to leave? What if ⦠what if ⦔ He struggled with the words, strangely at a loss. April's senses were frozen in anticipation. “What if I told you that I wanted
you,
more than anything else?”
crumbling between them but April was too shaken to notice. “What about for
my
sake, April? What if I told you that I feel good here, safe, sane? What if I said that I never wanted to leave? What if ⦠what if ⦔ He struggled with the words, strangely at a loss. April's senses were frozen in anticipation. “What if I told you that I wanted
you,
more than anything else?”
With his face mere inches now from hers, April felt herself drawn into his being. He had this power over her, a power she couldn't fight. Yet some remnant of reason forced her to speak. “If it's physical need, there is always Jane. She's very beautiful and obviously willingâ”
“I don't want Jane!” he boomed, seizing her by both arms and nearly lifting her off her feet. “It's you I want, damn it!
You!
”
You!
”
Short of a declaration of love, April knew that Heath had come as far as he could in expressing his feelings. He held her before him, suspended in time, demanding somethingâa word, a smile, a commitmentâshe didn't know. There was something holding back the words that bubbled from her heart; the time was still not right. The feeling was there, however, surging through her, sending directional signals to her limbs as she let her body relax slowly against his. Her arms crept to his shoulders and around his neck, drawing her mouth close to his. It was against his lips that her breath came in a sweet-whispered plea.
“Love me, Heath. Please ⦠now!” Her kiss was an offering of the love unspoken, the love that sent her to him in entirety. There would be neither protest nor guilt but, rather, joy at his possession and ecstasy at the joy with which his body would caress her.
His lips were still at first, unresponsive, unsure. April's love was boundless though, her persistence gentle. For there was pleasure even in kissing him without that response she would, in time, crave. There was nothing she would not, at that moment, do for him, with neither hope
nor promise of anything in return. If that was the meaning of true love, April knew she had found it. Never had she delighted so in the giving of her body; never had she done it so aggressively. Yet, this was her only means of expressing her deeper emotion; perhaps time might solve that problem, too.
nor promise of anything in return. If that was the meaning of true love, April knew she had found it. Never had she delighted so in the giving of her body; never had she done it so aggressively. Yet, this was her only means of expressing her deeper emotion; perhaps time might solve that problem, too.
The tremor that passed through Heath's long limbs as his arms wound around her and his back bowed to curve his firm lines to hers, was evidence of his arousal. “Oh, darlin',” he drawled in a low murmur, “are you sure this time? You don't have toâ”
But she did. There was no other way, as yet, for her to express her love. Her lips silenced his words with their warmth, moving with growing hunger over his until he could no more remain still than he could deny his need. Even as his hands roamed the slimness of her back, he let her take the lead, sensing her determination and reveling in its very strength.
It was April whose patience waned first; her frenzied fingers that fumbled with the buttons of his shirt; her itching palms that slid over the rock-hard warmth of his skin, savoring the muscled terrain of his chest, his arms, his shoulders, as the shirt fell to the floor. They were her lips that explored every inch of his bared torso, drawing groans of torment from his throat.
“My God, April! Hurry! You're driving me wild!” he rasped, tugging impatiently at her sweater, greedily attacking the zipper of her slacks, as her hands worked at his belt and his jeans.
April had no time to marvel at the beauty of this untethered passion, so heated had the moment grown. What had started as love-sparked seduction on her part had miraculously spawned a two-sided hunger that screamed for satisfaction, in voices both male and female.
Clothing strewn to either side, they collapsed onto the soft rug before the fireplace. It seemed a duel as to whose
need was the greatest, whose lips could demand more, whose hands could range farther and deeper. April thrilled to every inch of his masculinity even as she opened herself to him. Side by side, they strained against each other until, finally, the strength of his arms pulled her over to straddle his lean hips.
need was the greatest, whose lips could demand more, whose hands could range farther and deeper. April thrilled to every inch of his masculinity even as she opened herself to him. Side by side, they strained against each other until, finally, the strength of his arms pulled her over to straddle his lean hips.
“Love me, Heath,” she repeated against his lips, then into his mouth as he devoured her. “Love me ⦔
High on a passion she had never dreamed possible, April quivered as her breasts skimmed his chest. His hands caressed her hips in firm command, then lifted them in silent urging. She took him in with the warmth and joy that tremored through her, crying out again and again at his fullness, now her fullness. It was a whirl of pure frenzy lifting them, together, higher, higher, to a summit of explosive satisfaction and, at last, to a pulsingly rapturous descent.
April's sweat-dotted body collapsed against him, holding him as long as possible before sliding to his side. His breath came in harsh pants, cooling her forehead, blowing at moist strands of her chestnut hair.
“It keeps getting better,” she whispered, when finally her heartbeat slowed enough to permit speech. The rise and fall of his chest by her ear spoke of his own slow calming.
“Ummm. You're quite something, you know that?”
“Haven't ever been attacked like that before?” Her smile tickled his skin, causing him to shift and settle her more comfortably against him.
“No, ma'am.”
“Now how would you ever remember
that?
”
that?
”
His own smug grin sounded in his voice. “
That
I'm sure I'd remember,” he said. “
This,
I'll always remember.” He kissed her gently now, and April felt she had never been as happy.
That
I'm sure I'd remember,” he said. “
This,
I'll always remember.” He kissed her gently now, and April felt she had never been as happy.
“You know what I'd like to do?” She propped her chin pertly on his chest.
“Uh-oh, my greedy sex goddess, not quite yet ⦔
“No, Heath. That's not what I had in mind ⦠yet,” she teased back. Then she grew quieter. “I'd like to preserve this moment, this very moment, to relive it again and again, to have it with me always.”
“We can't make time stand still, April,” he chided quietly.
“I know. But I can still wish it.”
He eyed her dubiously. “And, suppose, just for the sake of argument, you could bottle the moment. What would you do with it?”
She grinned in delight at the thought, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as she contemplated it. “I would carry it with me wherever I went,” she burst out. “It would be my amulet, my peace, the eye of my storm.”
“Hmmm, sounds familiar.”
“Doesn't it!”
“Would it give you the courage to return to New York?”
She smiled still, filled with confidence. “With it, I could go anywhere. New York, Washington, Siberia, Antarcticaâ”
“Antarctica?”
“Well, no. Strike that!”
“Why?”
“Too cold. We'd never be able to take our clothes off ⦠.”
Her hand took its freedom to slide over his flesh, reacquainting itself with the span of his lightly furred chest and the plane of his flat stomach.
“And just what do you think you're doing?” He sucked his breath in sharply.
“Exploring. Not quite to Antarctica ⦔
April was hopelessly addicted to the trail. Her fingers
sampled the textures of his hips and thighs, then closed around him. His heat was just reward for her liberty.
sampled the textures of his hips and thighs, then closed around him. His heat was just reward for her liberty.
“My God!” he growled softly. “I've found myself an insatiable one.”
His words struck a moment's pensive chord. “I've never felt this way before.” She frowned, puzzled, then understanding the urging of her heart. “I think I'd rather,” she said brightly, as her whole body tingled with pleasure, “be in the tropics, where we would
never
have to wear clothes.”
never
have to wear clothes.”
As she moved against him with abandon, Heath turned quickly and pinned her to the rug, blanketing her body with his, a knee thrust intimately between her legs, holding her hips momentarily still.
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