Pearls of the Past Page 17

  For a moment he didn’t answer, then his words came slow and soft as he repeated hers, “Lock the door, Britt. You did say that?”

  “I love you,” was her answer, and he was off the bed and turning the key within seconds. And just as quickly Corrie sat up and was pulling her striped t-shirt from her shorts.

  “No.”

  The word was a tender command, making her hands still as confusion filled her mind while disappointment washed over her. Had he changed his mind?

  Then he was beside her and her doubts were there no longer as his voice, rough with longing, said, “Let me.”

  With infinite care he undressed her until she lay completely naked. What shocked Corrie most of all was the fact that she wasn’t the least bit embarrassed although it was the first time a man had ever seen her like this. A deep, tortured, appreciative groan left Britt’s chest. Blazing passion seared her body, making her stretch languidly as her body preened for him.

  A soft laugh caressed her face as he said, “You are a temptress.”

  He claimed her mouth, slowly filling hers with a seeking tongue, which danced the erotic dance of possession, thrusting and withdrawing. Frustration began building in Corrie, and she arched her body against his denied heated flesh.

  Her fingers left his head to pull at his shirt, and without leaving her lips he helped her in her struggle, finally wrenching his mouth from hers. His shirt was flung aside and he kicked his sandals off. Corrie lifted herself to watch, not wanting to miss one second of this first time experience, which was even more special because it was the man she loved. He peeled his shorts off, trampling them underfoot in his impatience, then lifted his eyes to find her gaze devouring him.

  He stilled, the black briefs clinging and stretching, defining his throbbing need. And although she had seen him wearing almost as little when they swam earlier today, this was entirely different.

  “You’re embarrassing me, sweetheart,” he whispered.

  In an instant Corrie was across the bed, kneeling before him. “Let me,” she murmured as her hands found the narrow waistband and she began rolling his hips free of the soft material.

  Her face buried in the ridged muscles of his stomach, and Britt drew in a sharp, harsh breath, and groaned, “I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

  With a swift kick of his legs the job Corrie had started was finished. His heated body covered hers, cradled her where she had held him earlier, in welcoming hips. This time his throbbing need was unhindered and already pulsing against her aching willingness. Her body writhe slowly under him, and she opened herself wider, thrusting her breasts hard against his chest.

  “My God, Corrie, I’m halfway to exploding and I haven’t even begun to adore you.” He eased himself away slightly and his head dipped as again she thrust upward.

  There was no tentative nurturing; Britt’s mouth opened wide, and filling it with the tender flesh of her breast, he began suckling strongly.

  A piercing sob burst from Corrie as pleasurable pain lanced from her ravaged breast to where a deep, rhythmic throb made her frantically claw at the hard mound of his buttocks.

  “Wait,” he muttered as he threw himself from her on to his back, his arm coming to cover his eyes as his chest heaved. “I must use something.”

  “I’ve never been with anyone,” she said, a cry of anguish.

  “I wasn’t thinking of that.” He was leaning over her again. “I don’t want to make you pregnant.”

  “I want just you,” she sobbed. Then her overwrought voice demanded, “Don’t you want to marry me?”

  “Corrie! But darling...”

  “I don’t know how to act. I’ve cheapened myself, haven’t I? I feel as though I’ve gone mad, but I can’t help it. I love you.” With this final declaration she rolled away from him, her arms wrapping around her nakedness. His arms reached for her, and she flinched away with a sob. “I disgust you, don’t I?” Her words were a muffled plea.

  “Nothing is further from the truth.”

  At his words, somewhat embarrassed, she slowly lifted her head. “I’m sorry. I’m behaving like a silly schoolgirl, aren’t I?” She let her arms unfurl, trying to cover her ridiculous nonsense with sought-for bravado.

  “You surprised me, sweetheart. In the nicest way.”

  “I surprised myself.” She looked at him through her lashes and gave a tentative smile.

  He reached for her. “Come here so I can hold you.” He snuggled her to him. “I never expected such gratifying fire from my ethereal darling. Don’t ever be any different, always be like this. It’s every man’s dream to be met halfway, to share equally the joy making love can bring. You are my dream, Corrie.”

  His mouth claimed hers, each joining in tasting deeply amid moans of pleasure. His lips slid downward, leaving a trail of burning moisture, to find and hold a throbbing nipple with his lips, gently at first, until passion took hold. Britt was back where he had been before, and Corrie was with him all the way.

  Her hips started to thrust against his swollen need, and spreading her thighs wide, Corrie arched her back to let him find her heated dampness.

  “This once, there will be nothing between us.” His voice was ragged, as was his breathing. Taking his weight on his elbows, he probed slightly then withdrew. “This should be gentle, but...” He gave a groan and let his throbbing need touch her again. “But I don’t think I can hang on. You’re driving me wild, over the edge. I’m afraid I may hurt you, I’m more than...”

  “I noticed,” she gasped. A slow grin of response to her words tugged at his mouth, and Corrie lifted a finger to pull at his bottom lip. “Are you bragging, Mr. Hendricks?”

  “Let’s find out, shall we?” His mouth clamped over hers, and Corrie’s legs did the most natural thing in the world—they wrapped themselves around his poised hips to hold him captive as he complied with the message her willing body sent.

  There was no sense of invasion, only a sense of giving all she could. Taking, taking and holding, and expanding to accept his love he was offering. A deep loving that as their bodies cleaved to each other became a slow, rhythmic thrusting that quickly began to heighten. Her hands clinging to the straining muscles of his powerful body, she rejoiced in the proof of his need for her.

  When his hand slipped under her, bringing her up to him, Corrie suddenly found herself light-headed. Her breathing became sharp, and a frightening tension began spiraling through her whole body, making it stiffen as spasm after spasm of pure ecstasy rocketed her into a place of swirling lights she’d never seen before.

  Only halfway down from the dizzying heights she could hear Britt’s voice call to her, “Come with me. Yes, yes!”

  And as she responded, a rumbling roar of release built in the chest above her then burst forth. She was climbing again, higher than before, then falling, falling, boneless, into Britt’s arms as, taking her with him, he rolled on to his side.

  Their breath mingled as he gently touched her lips with his, and with a deep sigh, she drifted into the sublime world of well-being where all that mattered was being love by the man she loved.

  When she woke he was sitting in the deep cane chair watching her. His chin was resting on his linked hands, elbows on his knees, his bare torso gleaming under the glow cast by an oriental shaded lamp.

  For long moments she viewed him through secretive lashes. Why was he looking at her like that? Was he wishing he hadn’t made love to her, a silly, hysterical woman? Yes, she was now truly a woman who had felt a man’s passion and reveled in it.

  “Aren’t you going to talk to me?” His voice was low and with such strength it could not be denied.

  She sat up and reached out her hand. Slowly, Britt unfurled himself to come to her, bare feet, shorts carelessly pulled on, her beautiful Nordic god.

  “I wonder if you may have regrets,” he said.

  “Have you?” she asked softly, almost holding her breath.

  He took both her hands and brought them to his mouth in hom
age. “One. That we’re not already married, that I can’t have you within arm’s reach day and night, that you’re going to leave within a matter of days, that I will be unbearable to live with, that I won’t be with you when the test proves you are pregnant—”

  “One regret? That’s five I’ve counted, and am I pregnant?” Corrie lowered her head slightly.

  “It was a risk we took at your insistence, Corrie.” His voice had become defensive.

  “I know and I must be, for I feel different.”

  “How could you not? I tell you, my sweet, that was one helluva initiation both for you and for me.” He gathered her close. “And were it not for the fact that Matt has knocked on our door twice—” The our opened her heart more to this man. “—and is likely to knock again, I would have your delicious body under me. I’m crazy about you, Corrie.”

  “And I you.”

  An exultant laugh left Britt and he lifted her high against him, and with the wiles of Eve, she lifted one breast to his mouth, which he took, hungrily.

  Pulling him down with her, she said, “Matt can knock again and again and again. We won’t hear him.”

  She was beyond embarrassment. Beyond shame.

  Chapter 13

  Again Britt was sitting in the cane chair under the same light. This time completely dressed in a different change of clothes, thoroughly engrossed in one of the larger diaries.

  Throwing the sheet back that covered her, Corrie pulled on his abandoned green shirt, knowing it would be more than ample covering, and walked to the open louvre verandah doors. “Hello.”

  He reluctantly lowered the blue-covered diary then looked up. “Get dressed, Corrie.”

  Immediately, she felt herself on the point of pouting. Good God, only Rusie pouted. How she had changed within a few hours.

  “Into your own clothes.” He was rebuking her.

  Her face flamed with embarrassment. She turned away. “I’ll shower if you don’t mind. In my room,” she said, her words terse. She scooped up her clothes.

  “Don’t take too long. There’s something we need to discuss.”

  She closed his door on his words, and with hurried steps walked to her room. Entering, she leaned back against the closed door, her clothes clutched to her chest, she found she was trembling. Her teeth bit into her bottom lip. With a few words and his tone of voice, he had made her feel cheap. She threw her clothes on the bed she had occupied the last few nights. He owned everything! Even this bed, and he obviously thought he owned her, the way he had spoken. She had been so stupidly rash.

  Her first affair! And with a predator, like Britt Hendricks? She must be mad, completely insane!

  Well, she wouldn’t give him the privilege of telling her she had taken too long! She flung his green shirt from her with distaste.

  Fifteen minutes later, dressed in her pink, liberty print ankle-length dress, white sandals, and her hair confined to her customary French chignon, she knocked at his door then entered.

  He had left the chair and was standing by the rail that overlooked the harbor with its lights reflecting on black, turbulent water. A fact that could be likened to her insides; churning with apprehension.

  A drink in his hand, his pale gray slacks molded his firm backside with his navy silk shirt flattened to his torso by the sea breeze. His stance was intimidating. But he wasn’t going to succeed in intimidating her! Corrie straightened her shoulders with resolve.

  He turned slowly. There was no sweeping of his eyes over her body, a body he had adored and plundered only a short time ago. How could he stand there so indifferent to what had taken place between them?

  Years of practice probably! Was this how he treated all his women afterward?

  “There’s fruit juice if you would like a drink, or white wine.” He indicated the tray on the coffee table.

  “No, thank you.” She leaned over the rail to look down at Wing Lee’s immaculate veggie garden visible in the lights from the kitchen. “I missed the sunset. Was it spectacular?”

  “I didn’t notice.”

  Of course you didn’t, you were too busy satisfying yourself at my expense, she wanted to accuse.

  “The salvaged two halves of the crystal oyster are on the table, but the pearl is missing,” he said.

  “It rolled under your chest of drawers. I’ll get it for you.”

  “Don’t bother. It wasn’t top quality. I can replace it with one of our more expensive pearls.”

  “I insist. I much prefer the cheap original.” She really hated him. Not top quality, and apparently neither was she.

  She walked to the chest of drawers and got down on her hands and knees. If she looked inelegant, scrabbling around on all fours, did that matter? She was down at the level he had placed her, only slightly higher than the gutter. Melodramatic, but that’s how she felt.

  Her hand closed over the errant small pearl, and standing, she came face-to-face with a delicate wood carving of a pearling lugger. For a moment she needed to reassure herself her mind wasn’t playing tricks. Why hadn’t she noticed this before?

  She swung around. “Where did you get that carving? Who gave it to you?”

  She turned back to look at the delicate handiwork then noticed a piece of scrimshaw, a large oyster shell carved with the same pearling lugger. She must have been blind not to have seen these before. Yes, she had been blind, dazzled by him and his sea-green eyes.

  “And this, how did you get this scrimshaw?” She strode to stand in front of him. “Please answer me? Who gave you those carvings?” She gestured toward the objects that had set her heart pounding with recognition.

  “Sit down. I need to talk to you, and they are part of what I need to tell you.”

  Suddenly, that finger of apprehension that previously feathered, now definitely clawed its way up her spine, and she shivered.

  “Corrie, please?”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t call me Miss Nelson. Why are you treating me like this? How could you when we, when we...” She bit her lip. Damn, she wasn’t going to be juvenile about what happened between them. She had intended to be so poised, so sophisticated!

  One golden hand raking back through his cropped waves, he asked, completely ignoring her emotional outburst, “Where have you seen those carvings before?”

  “On my Da’s writing desk!” She wanted to say satisfied?, but she knew she was expected to continue. “He told me his father gave them to him. He was a gold miner, and Da said they were responsible for him leaving the goldfields in Kalgoorlie to go to sea after his father died. I also know the name of Da’s carved lugger. It’s Lady Jade. Do those carved boats have a name?”

  Britt cleared his throat before he answered, “Lady Jade. So it would appear your Da has spoken of his past. What’s his full name, and what does he do for a living?”

  “Lady Jade? But how?” She knew he was waiting for the answers to his other questions he’d fired at her. “And yes, we often talk, only a little of his past, mostly of this beautiful island. That’s why I came here. But you already know this. What’s going on, Britt?”

  His unwavering gaze held hers, wanting her to answer him.

  “All right. But why did you asked my Da’s full name? If you really need to know, it’s Thomas Henry Nelson, he owns Austral Wholesalers. And you haven’t answered why you asked me this? What does it have to do with our previous conversation about Lady Jade?”

  “The island co-op has dealings with Austral.”

  “I don’t like the tone of your voice! Are you inferring there is something wrong with our company’s business association with the co-op? Oh, I see! Of course, you are a director. Well, that shouldn’t be a surprise. You own everything else.”

  “The only association I have with the co-op is that we transport all their goods from Brisbane.”

  “Our headquarters are in Sydney.”

  “You would have a depot or agent in Brisbane.” His words curt, he raked his hand through his hair again. “We seemed to
have been side-tracked.”

  Corrie lowered her gaze, knowing she hadn’t been all that polite, but she was hurting at his withdrawal from her. “I’ve been told Da wanted to keep that small contact with Endeavour Island. My father Andrew is the head accountant for our company and also a shareholder. As is Uncle Russell, his half-brother, Russella’s father, who is a doctor. Da also has a sister, four years younger than he, who is a nun in Perth.” Looking directly into his sea-green eyes, she asked, “Should I go on?”

  “It may be helpful in understanding what we need to talk about.”

  “I have nothing to hide. Neither does my family. But you seem set on digging up our past—to what end, I have no idea. So I’ll ask again, what’s going on? And with an explanation, please.”

  “I’m not finding this easy, Corrie. I’m also aware it isn’t easy for you either, with the little I’ve said. So why don’t you continue with your Da’s story? Then all might become clearer. For both of us.”

  “I’m beginning to think Lady Jade is the reason for all these questions. So all right. I remember you saying you looked on your grandfather’s stories as rather vague adventure stories. Perhaps my childhood memories could be the same, and I’ve probably got half of it wrong. Anyway, Da’s father, Henry Andre Nelson, was a gold miner, like his father who died in a mine accident. Henry sold the mines and went to sea, buying a pearling lugger in Broome where he dived for pearls. Unmarried, he had a son, Thomas Henry, who is my Da, and he also had a daughter. Their mother left them, why I don’t know. Henry died from the bends when Da was sixteen so he sold the lugger and took his sister to Perth to a convent and went to sea. Based on what he has said, he made his way north to work here at Endeavour Island, where my father was born. Look! I’ve already told you, when we all had dinner together, what happened when his wife was drowned. And if you insist on me divulging more of my Da’s life, I need to sit down.”