Windward Whisperings (8 page)

“You do look pleased with yourself. Let’s get dressed and go for a walk. I want to show you my
favorite view of the beach.”

She was holding his hand as they walked along. The temperature of the night air was around
sixty-five. Over jeans, she wore a worn U.S.C. sweatshirt, which hung below her neat little butt. “I
want to show you the prettiest view of Landings Beach.”

They walked up another hill. “Is this far enough?”
“Over here.” She led him to the edge of the bluff. “Look down.”
He pulled her close. “It’s beautiful.” The houses and the balconies. The church steeple. The hills.

The harbor. From where they stood, he could see waves boil up at the bottom of the cliff. This,
Garrett thought, was why he’d fallen in love with her in the first place. Without warning, it was
happening again.

“Pretty nice, huh. Well, that’s all you get to see because I’m starting to want you again.”
“Fine, but first promise me something.”
“Hey, life doesn’t come with guarantees.” She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him

He drew back just far enough to see her face. Feeling his arousal thicken against her pelvis, he
said, “It feels good to hold you.”
“I’m yours for six months.”
He kissed her with as much toe-curling passion as he could. He’d brand her with memories.
“Come on.” She flashed a grin. Together they raced back to the house. Back inside, she kissed
his hand and took it in hers. She led him toward the narrow stairway, and then playfully pushed him
ahead. It knocked him off balance.
His reflexes told him to grab the nearest thing. His left hand went for a brass sconce but his
right hand grabbed the maple rail. “I almost pulled off your fixture.”
She laughed. “I’d be thrilled if you’d taken down that ugly sconce. Every time I go up these
stairs, I want to rip it down with a crowbar.”
“It does light the way.” He turned. “Is that your bedroom straight ahead?” The other room
looked like an office.
“Yes.” Behind him, her hands felt nice at his waist.
“It’s feminine, like you.” He felt a breeze from an open dormer window. Lace curtains billowed
over a built-in bench. In front of it, a pitcher of pink roses set on a round table covered in yellow
gingham. A garden hat graced a deep-cushioned chaise covered in a yellow and pink floral print,
which matched the bedspread on a queen-size bed. The headboard was stylish Raffia, woven with a
mottled color that blended with maple. He expected to see family photos. There wasn’t even one.
Kitzie had had a trophy room in the mansion with the silver goblets. They were probably in her
office.
“It’s gotten cold tonight.” At the window, she pushed away lace and picked up a small hammer
from the floor. She tapped the sills to close windows.
He sat on the bed, slipped off one shoe and then the other. He sat with his forearms on his
knees, fingers loosely knit.
She grabbed hold of his shoulders, pushed him down on the bed, and got him into a headlock.
He laughed. “You’ve got me. Make me yours again.”
She moved on top of him and gazed into his eyes. “I need to say this. As long as there isn’t
office brouhaha about us, I’ll be happy. You’re here today and will be gone tomorrow.” She
unbuttoned his shirt.
“Six months.” His gaze locked with hers. “I need to sit up. Makes it easier to disrobe.” He
struggled into a sitting position, but she shoved him back.
She teasingly put her forehead against his. “Another thing, you’re the first man in a year to see
me naked and vice versa. I’m sex starved. I can’t deny it.”
When he stood, she looked at his rising penis.
She pulled her dress up, crotch high. Wisps of black hair peeked below the hem of her dress.
Her legs were long, brown, and toned.
His chest rose and fell with rapid breathing. He unzipped his fly and dispensed with his khaki
slacks. Sex starved was fine with him. Her breasts were full and beautiful, and she didn’t wear
panties. His throat moved in a slow swallow.
“Your penis is the part of your anatomy that interests me the most right now.” She unlaced her
sandals. On her way to her closet, she pulled off her outfit and hung it up. Her buttocks were firm,
legs endless. Strutting across the room in a garter belt, hose, and sandals, she gathered his clothing
from the floor. She sat on the lounge chair and draped his clothing over the back. “This should
prevent wrinkles.”
“You’re something to behold. Your body’s flawless. No wonder you don’t think twice about
walking around wearing nearly nothing. Get back here.”
Sitting backward to him on the bed, she lay back and slowly removed what little she wore. She
threw the garters and hose in a laundry basket and pushed her shoes under the bed. She looked at
him upside down. “Here I am.”
“Indeed.” He reached for both her hands and pulled her across the bed.
She turned and then placed a hand on his shaft, kissing it here and there. She lifted his balls and
gently sucked each one. Her fingers wrapped around his thick penis. “You’re ready.”
“You’ve got that right.” He’d been hovering on the edge of readiness during their short little
walk and started thinking with his testicles. Intimacy was a slippery slope that led to no promises.
He managed to get both hands busy, getting her ready. Gently, he touched her clitoris, which
quickly became rigid. His other hand was occupied with a nipple, and he’d be happy to do that for a
long time.
The way she lathed his penis circulated his blood in waves of lust. Could a penis become
seasick? He knew it could get a headache
.
She rolled a condom onto him and then glided his shaft between her soft, warm folds. She
moved on him.
“Kitzie, do you know what’s going to happen if you keep that up?”
“Of course, I know.” Her heart-shaped face bent close for a kiss.
“I’m going to come too fast for the third time.” A decade of craving her had built up.
“I love the feel of you, Garrett.”
When she rubbed her thumb along the underside of his shaft, he couldn’t contain himself. It was
over. “Why am I so stupid-fast? Sorry.”
She slid off the condom and dropped it with its salty essence into a wastebasket. “Don’t be
sorry. I like you this way. It reminds me of our times in the cockpit.”
“I was bumbling. You liked me like that?”
“I like seeing your cute side. Let’s take a bath.”
He dove for the bathroom and filled the tub.

A faint whisper of waves came through the bay window. She’d left windows open, and curtains
belled inward, gauzy white lace. Salt-laden air drifted into her bedroom, carrying the smell of the
ocean. The room was cold. She wore a Trojans T-shirt and panties. He was in his boxers.

Sated, she felt sad at the same time and was unable to sleep. She’d watched the daylight fade and
the stars appear, barely visible in the wash of the moon’s bright light. When he looked at her,
touched her, she had no strength. None. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He filled her completely.

Her table, his clothing on the chaise, and armoire had become shadows.
I’m floating on the tide of a
full moon. Soon to be pulled under and swept away. I’m crazy for you. Crazy.
His hair looked black on the pillow. One arm was below her breasts, and the other hung off the
side of the bed. Collapsed face down, he lay as if he’d run for miles. She heard him breathe, slow
and deep.
Their bodies touched at chest, hips, and thighs. There was just enough light to see the long curve
of his back. The sheet was down there somewhere, but she couldn’t bear to move. She wound a
strand of his hair around her finger. It was still damp, smelling of herbal shampoo from his shaving
kit. Two terry towels lay in a heap on the floor.
How cool she’d wanted to be. Where was her balance, her cautious pretenses and manners that
protected her? When had she been such a greedy slut? Her hands and mouth were all over him. In
bed, their bodies had been slick with bath oil, and she crawled on top of him. Garrett had groaned
with pleasure when she’d straddled him, bearing down so hard she felt him, larger than any man
she’d encountered, probing the mouth of her womb. Her body had flamed, hardly polite and
bloodless.
Once, when he’d held her face gently, she’d started to cry. That kindled another fire between
them, but they didn’t admit to missing each other. Yet, neither was content just to snuggle. They
both wanted more, but he’d given into sleep.
In the space of a few hours, her world had shuddered to a stop, had creaked on its axis, and
slowly had revolved the other way, back to him. Her attraction to Garrett Mackenzie was intense. It
almost covered up how they’d changed. They were different people now.
Her mattress was soft and deep; the pillows felt like clouds. For now, she had Garrett at her side.
In the space of a few breaths, she drifted off.

The sun was up, but she felt a bit dark inside when she lifted the quilt and saw bite marks on his
shoulder. Gathering towels from the floor, she headed for the bathroom. Their bathtub escapade
had left water sloshed over the tile floor. She sopped it with the towels and dropped them into the
hamper before using the facilities. She took a shower, as quickly as possible with the weak water
pressure.

Back beside him in bed, she stroked her fingers on his temple. His cell phone rang with a
vibrating buzz on the nightstand. He stirred, took a breath, and made a deep sound in his throat.
One eye, she could see, opened halfway. Then he dragged himself up and looked at her clock.
“Nine-fifteen? You shouldn’t have let me sleep so long.” The buzz stopped.

With a soft chuckle, he kissed the corner of her mouth. He moved down to kiss each nipple,
biting softy.
“You’ve learned to do wonderful things with your lips and tongue.” She hated feeling jealousy
over his prowess.
“I hope so.” He cupped her breasts as if he was weighing each one. His shoulders were
smoothly muscled.
She loved looking at him, the way his muscle joined tendons, the fit of his skin. She hated that
he was so damn attractive. Maybe if he’d come back dumpy, she’d have gotten her old confidence
back. He used to worship her.
He slid his hand across her belly. Under her panties, he caressed her between her legs.
“Ow. I’m sore.”
He kissed her in the same spot. “Is this better?”
“Yes. Perfect.” She lay there a moment, and then burst with a giggle. “I was kidding. I’m fine.”
His cell phone buzzed again. He rolled over and reached for it, squinting to see the illuminated
panel.
“Who is it? If it’s a woman, I don’t want to know.”
I need to buck up, face the fact that Landings is not
his home.
“You have no competition today.” His smile, as sharp as a blade, made him look like player
material.
She knew she wasn’t as sure of herself as she used to be. “Come on, who is it?”
“Leviticus Blake.” Winking at her, Garrett clicked a button to take the call. He held his phone so
that she could hear. “Good morning.”
“Morning, Garrett. Grayson Biltmore and I chatted after you stopped by. He’s given me over to
you. Together, we’ll see if we can find a rodent. We’ll keep Biltmore informed.” The PI spoke in a
melodic baritone.
“I know he’s set up wireless on his ketch, but I understand transponders are scanty in the
Caribbean.”
Leviticus chuckled. “Biltmore put into Port Caracas in Venezuela. He’ll be accessible for another
week. His wife is shopping for hardwood carvings and wool tapestries. She gets caught up in the
local delights and doesn’t want to be rushed.”
Garrett wound up his conversation and then turned toward Kitzie. “That bit about the shopping
reminded me of your mother. She was famous for dragging your dad up and down Rodeo Drive.
Are they still around?”
“No, they’re not.” Under the covers, she clasped her fingers tight. “It’s too late to tell them how
much they’re missed.” Even with windows open, the subject had a way of stifling her. She crawled
from bed, flicked on the ceiling fan, and stared at the wall. The fan mimicked wind, but nothing
could blow away grief and anger.
“What happened to your parents, Kitzie?” He’d come up behind her. He rested his head on
hers, and his arms encircled her waist.
“They ran their sailboat in front of the barge.”
“Those barges in the harbor, they’re three stories high and made of iron. Visibility is poor, and
they carry momentum. I’m so sorry. My parents died when a truck plowed into them.” His voice
was almost a whisper.
She needed to sit down. The nearest thing was her chaise chair, and she flopped onto it and
curled toward the window. “They were on a port tack, headed right for it.”
“My God, Kitzie.” He sat beside her and put an arm around her.
She studied the sky. It was a hazy kind of blue. She wished it would rain instead. A downpour
would clear the air, make the foliage grow green. She felt like crying but held back. “Most people
assume it was an accident. Woody agrees with me. It was a suicide. I think suicide is a chicken’s way
out.” There, she’d said it and purged a part of her soul by telling him but felt no relief.
“Depression is complicated.” He let out a sigh. His gaze dropped to hers, brows in a horizontal
line.
“Gar, I remember my last conversation with them. We were at Duke’s, actually. They’d been
looking at property in Phoenix. Strange, how I like to imagine them there, in a condo looking over a
golf course.”
Silence stretched.
“On their last sail, I was talking on the phone and didn’t even say goodbye. People say the
depressed send out bells or whistles. Maybe I was too selfish to see a warning.”
It was obvious he didn’t know what to say. He put an arm around her but didn’t pull her tight.
He rubbed the back of her neck with a thumb.
Her tears were coming, and she needed to change the subject. “I heard your grandparents
moved east to be near you. Where are they now?” Her words came out in bubbles and blips.
“Well, they’re not in Phoenix, yet.”
She let out a laugh while a tear rolled.
He pulled her head to his shoulder and dried her wet face with his hand. “They refer to the place
they live as an old-age home.” His voice was deep and soothing, letting her know it was okay to cry.
She sniffed. “Where?”
“It’s in Manhattan, close to my loft. It carries the title of assisted living. Nana’s turned her walker
into a fashion accessory.”
“She’s always been into decorating.”
“And redecorating. This thing has gadgets, a red snap-on purse, and she tapes artificial flowers
on it. Poppy had a stroke a few years back. He wheels around in an automated, padded wheelchair.”
“Bet the cost of assisted living would choke an anaconda.” She felt better, bringing the focus to
his mother’s parents, the Llewellyns, rather than hers.
“I pitch in, but Poppy had the foresight to take out a long-term disability package years ago.
Homeownership for them had burdens. I hired out the mowing, leaf raking, and shoveling of snow.
Water intrusion was the last straw.”
“That’s a nice euphemism for plumbing problems.” She could relate with her cottage’s small
pipes.
“Yup.” He laughed. “I used every connection I had to get them into this extra-care facility. After
Poppy’s stroke, Nana couldn’t take care of him by herself. He has brain damage. At times, he’s
childlike. He goes in and out.”
“Your grandmother is sociable, needs people to talk with.”
“She does. For both of them, the place has its virtues. Some of the employees are teenagers
working part-time. They’re servers in the dining room, and they’re great.”
“Teens laugh and smile.” She liked that about Coral.
“For the most part, other residents are a lively bunch. Of course, sometimes Nana and Poppy
feel incarcerated.”
“That’s probably because cats aren’t allowed.” She pictured a long-haired white cat on Mr.
Llewellyn’s lap. “Wasn’t their white cat deaf?”
“The ‘Here, Kitty-kitty’ call never worked for Snowball.” He smiled.
“I’ll bet they miss having a cat. Sorry to say, they could probably care less about the skilled
nursing care. Well, it’s none of my business.”
“That’s right. You’ll have to take some punishment.” He wrestled her into bed.
He was nibbling his way up her bare legs, starting with her toes. She wasn’t ordinarily ticklish,
but the rasp of his day-old beard gave her the giggles.
He’d held her fast, making her squirm. He’d moved to her ankles, then her calves. Now he was
licking the undersides of her knees. At first it made her laugh, but laughter subsided into panting. He
devoured her just like she wanted him to.
“I haven’t laughed like this in a long time, Gar. I’m grateful.”
“Yeah? How about giving me some gratitude for my improved dexterity?” He headed for the
bathroom, picking up clothing from the chaise on the way.
She pulled on silk boxers and a camisole before they both headed downstairs.
She said, “Thor must have let himself out the doggy door to the front porch. Yesterday I
prepared a sausage-egg casserole. I’ll pop it into the oven.”
“You’re quite the planner. Coffee smells good.”
“It’s on a timer.” She poured two mugs. “I like mine black. If you still like milk, it’s in the fridge.
Sugar’s right here.”
He gave her a kiss. “You’re so damn sweet, I don’t need sugar.” He found the milk and poured
in a dollop.
She grinned. “Where do you live, in New York?”
“Tribeca. It’s an abbreviation for Triangle-Below-Canal.” He sipped his coffee.
She recalled her parents’ friends who lived there. “That neighborhood fetches uptown prices for
rustic loft apartments. But it goes with your newly realized sophistication.”
Playfully, he slammed his mug on the counter. “Now you’re really going to get it.” He rushed
toward her and pinned one of her arms behind her back.
“You’ve brought quite a backlog of memories with you tonight.” With her free hand, she lightly
stroked down his back.
When you leave for Tribeca, I’ll just have to survive it.
She’d stood it before. She
refused to admit how much she missed him, but dreams told a different story.
They’d been together a week. Already he was the balm that cured the ache in her soul.
“Let’s make love one more time, Kitzie?” He threaded his fingers through hers.
“If you want to, it’s fine with me.” She wanted to sound casual, but her bodily response was a
different story. The artery in her neck pulsed so violently, she knew Garrett must feel it. With a
ferocity born more of fear than desire, she buried her face in his neck.
Swiftly she calculated the time she had left with him. In five months and three weeks, she’d be
looking for the other half of her heart.
He played with a lock of her hair and searched her face. He fitted his mouth to hers. It was a
simple kiss but felt more complicated than the others.
She wondered if he’d miss her, too. His breath was as uneven as hers. He had her against the
wall with a pressing thigh. His tongue tasted hers. He unzipped his pants. “This isn’t going to work.
I’m too tall.”
They lost no fury when she dragged him to the living room couch. Lying there, intertwined, she
saw Thor poke his head through his doggy door and then disappear again.
“I want you to teach me to sail again.” His voice had a certain formality to it.
“Fine. Join my class of teenage skippers.”
He did. The teens were intermediates. She purposely ignored his mention of the Avalon-40. It
didn’t stop her from picturing him on the boat, embraced in plumes of spray.
He begged to take her out to lunch, but she insisted on making it. They dined on the front
porch. More sailing lessons filled their afternoon. This time, skippers were eight-year-olds.
The tiny training boats, called Sabots, were designed for the younger set. She held in laughter,
watching him squeeze into the cockpit. After the class, Garrett and the little skippers pulled the
Sabots to shore.
To entertain them, she pointed out periwinkle snails in the tide pool. He was amused by the
barnacles, so fully packed that they formed a pavement of shells on the surface of rocks.
Garrett asked her to dinner.
“Don’t spoil me. You’ll turn me into a brat again.”
“You’re a brat for not going.”
At her home, she grilled chicken on her George Foreman. She served it with a fruit salad
sprinkled with pomegranate seeds that sparkled like rubies. After their candlelight dinner, they
moved to the living room for champagne and chocolates in front of the crackling fireplace.
“Are you going to finish that glass of champagne?”
She forced herself to take a sip. After another and another, she felt a pleasant buzz. “It’s giving
me an appetite for you.” She felt lightheaded. “How about another go at each other on the front
porch?”
“You’ve had too much bubbly.” He was hesitating.
“Let’s give ourselves a toast.”
“Way to go us.” He lifted his glass and entwined his arm with hers as they glided through the
door.
She switched off the porch light and pulled the cushion off the loveseat. “How’s this?”
He held her hand to keep her from teetering, and she slipped onto it. He lay on the porch planks
beside her.
“You’re not even touching me, and I’m aroused.” He was here now, and she would live in the
moment with him. Party hearty, she told herself.
Stars winked from under the trellis. Thor hunted something across the yard.
Cupping her face between his palms, he stroked her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. His
mouth brushed hers once, twice, a gentle teasing, tasting.
“Garrett Mackenzie, if you don’t kiss me in the next ten seconds, things will get ugly.”
“Can’t have that.” He was slow and gentle, but tension thickened between them. She felt it, and
it flared her desire when he reached for her wrists. Bracketing them both in one strong hand, he held
them tight over her head. “Once I tied you up with licorice strings.” He laughed and used his free
hand to strip off her clothes.
“No fair,” she murmured. She twisted, turned into him. She wanted to pull her hands free and
touch him.
He dropped a kiss on her mouth. His right hand undressed her. “Hope you’re comfortable.
You’ll be here awhile.” His palm slid down the length of her body, followed her curves, skimmed
across her abdomen, and closed in on her core.
She went still in his arms, her gaze locked with his as he found her clitoris. His fingers teased
and tantalized before his lips came down on her. His smoldering kisses set her soul on fire. The tip
of his tongue trailed and brushed within her.
He said, “I’m closing in on the finale.”
“The finale, right.” She ran her foot along the edge of his calf, took his hard penis in her hands.
She wanted to take him in her mouth, but he wouldn’t allow it.
He laid her on the rattan sofa and opened her thighs. His penis probed her entrance. Inch by
inch, slowly, his hardness penetrated her depths in a delicious rhythm. They were in tune all the way
to ecstasy.
Afterward, he asked, “What are we going to do with ourselves?”
“I don’t know. Let’s see how it goes.” In truth, she didn’t know what to think.
She heard the hum of traffic and looked to the circular drive across the street, choked with cars.
She recognized one of them, Millie Pugh’s black Mercedes. She saw the Cahill couple, friends of her
parents, and hoped they didn’t see her. “Everyone in town has turned out for a party at the
Talbots.” She reached for her clothes and put them on.
Music spilled through the open door.
Garrett pulled her onto the rattan sofa. “This is nice, live music.”
Women wore gowns, and the men, tuxedos. They greeted each other with air kisses. Men
gathered in knots to talk about whatever interested them. Would it be, the stock exchange? Women
wore enough jewelry to give Leviticus Blake’s security company a coronary.
She didn’t have to worry about that anymore. All that glittered in her jewelry box had been
hocked to pay bills. “Let’s head in.”