Eyes of Fire (17 page)

Handsome guys, she thought. Both so tall, well-built, immaculately dressed, Jem ebony dark, Adam so bronze, with his clear gray eyes. Flanked to protect her.

She was lucky.

Jem would stay. Her friend for a lifetime.

While Adam…

He would always be a main force in her heart and mind, whether he stayed or sailed away tomorrow. She couldn't change him, but one way or another, he would be with her for a lifetime. She felt a tightness beginning to burn within her chest.

Stay, Adam. This time, stay.

She had to remember,
she had sent him away herself.

Adam cleared his throat, suddenly stopping, pulling back on her arm so that she stopped in front of him. Jem stood silently, waiting for him to speak. “I told Jem that Yancy thought someone had been in the house. He's going to take the room next to hers until…”

“Until?” Sam stared at him.

Adam shrugged. “Until we know who was in the house with her.”

“Then I'll be alone?” she queried, knowing his answer.

“No.”

“Because you're going to stay in my cottage?” Sam asked.

“Yes.”

“But you haven't stayed there before?” she asked. “Jem hasn't just been letting you in? Or did you arrive early this morning so you could come sit by my bedside? Is that it?”

Jem choked.

Adam didn't reply, just stared at her evenly. “Do you have an objection to my being there this evening?”

“Would it matter if I did?”

He looked at her, smiling slightly. “In a way.”

“Yes?”

“It would affect where I actually slept,” he said, his voice low.

No secrets here. Jem was too close. Jem knew. Jem
had
known.

Jem had probably been expecting this ever since Adam O'Connor had set foot on the island.

The hell with them both.

She managed to meet Adam's eyes for several seconds, staring hard. But then her eyes dropped. She looked ahead and kept walking. “I don't have an objection to you staying so that Jem can keep guard on Yancy.”

Jem made a choking sound.

Or outright laughed.

Sam wasn't at all sure which.

Adam stepped closer to her. “Would you have an objection if Jem wasn't going to guard Yancy?” he asked politely.

“Only regarding where you sleep,” she replied sweetly, and hurried by him, anxious to reach the main house.

Or to have the last word—at least this once.

D
inner seemed so normal.

By the time they reached the main house, Yancy was lighting the flame under one of the buffet dishes. “Fiesta night,” she said, making no note of the fact that they had arrived so late. “Fajitas, burritos, quesadillas. Just a touch of Cajun to the salsa. It's all absolutely delicious. Dig in.”

“Looks wonderful,” Sam commented. Adam and Jem were already making up plates of food. When she finished with her own, she discovered that the seat next to Jim Santino was open. He smiled when she joined him, tossing his hair back.

She smiled in return. Once upon a time, Jim had seemed cute. Sweet. Now she felt her skin crawling—just a little bit. Did she believe that the sins of the fathers were visited upon the sons? No.

But then again, she didn't completely trust him anymore, either.

“You look lovely, Sam,” he said.

“Thanks.”

“Different, somehow.”

“Oh?”

“Flushed, vibrant,” Jim said.

“Well-served,” Sukee drawled from across the table.

Sam's eyes flew to the other woman, who smiled with all the cunning grace of a feline. Sam willed herself not to flush. Sukee had just been waiting for her to give herself away.

And now, everyone was staring at Sukee—and at her.

Jerry North stared at Sam with thoughtful, light blue eyes. She lowered them when Sam glanced her way.

It might have gone on forever, but Sam found herself with reason to be grateful to Jim Santino. He stood up, excusing himself. “You're a lucky man, Mr. O'Connor. Very lucky. Sam, the food is delicious tonight. Everything on this island just gets better and better. Can I bring anyone anything?”

“Why is Mr. O'Connor a lucky man, Mom?” Brad asked Judy Walker.

“Lucky to be here,” Adam said matter-of-factly. “Is that a water pitcher? Could someone pass it to me, please?”

Jim delivered the water pitcher as he started to the buffet table. “Amazing, though,” Jim said, smiling as he filled his plate from the buffet. He started to the table. “I think you've both been holding out on us. Tell me, O'Connor. You already knew Miss Carlyle when you got here, didn't you? From some kind of previous life?”

Adam set down his water.

“I can answer that,” Avery Smith said quietly. “Yes, Mr. Santino. They'd met before. Mr. O'Connor used to be a policeman. He was here undercover. I imagine that's why neither one of them acknowledged the previous relationship. Miss Carlyle is the most discreet hostess. She'd keep her guests' secrets right to her dying day, if necessary. Right, Miss Carlyle?”

Sam stared at Avery Smith, alias James Jay Astin. Was he threatening her? Warning her to keep quiet about his identity?

“I've always imagined that if people want others to know something about them, they'll share it themselves in their own good time,” she said pleasantly.

Smith smiled. At one time he must have been a very handsome man. He still had quite a look about him. Completely distinguished. Confident.

Evil?

“You know what?” Brad said, ignoring the grown-ups and addressing Sam. “I started reading about sharks today. Sam, they can be bad, really bad.”

Sam frowned, hesitating. “Brad, I never said that sharks never harmed people. What I said was that they hardly ever harm divers. And I don't think they're evil—they're just eternally hungry, and sometimes they bite the wrong food.”

“There was this really awful thing that happened during World War Two,” Brad said. “A ship sank—”

“The
Indianapolis,
” Adam volunteered.

“You know the story!” Brad said, pleased.

“The ship had delivered one of the components of the atom bomb to Tianian Island, in the Marianas, when it was spotted by a Japanese submarine. The
Indianapolis
was torpedoed right after midnight, and it sank within twelve minutes. I'm not sure how many men had originally been on board—”

“One thousand one hundred and ninety-nine,” Smith supplied. “Eight hundred and fifty escaped into the sea—the others were killed in the explosions or trapped inside the ship as it sank.”

“What happened to the men in the water?” Sukee asked.

Adam shrugged, his eyes meeting Sam's. “During the first night, perhaps another hundred men drowned or perished from their injuries. The next morning they began to worry about sharks. They saw a little four-footer who had adopted them, or so it seemed. The men were mostly wearing life jackets and clinging to what they call floater nets. They knew they'd be best off to stay in large groups, so they did. They came up with a nickname for the shark that kept hovering around them. They called him Whitey. But Whitey was just a hint of the trouble to come. The men were in the water for four days and five nights, praying for rescue. Then the sharks really began to come. They picked off the men who had strayed from their groups. They went for the sick and the injured. There were all different kinds. Makos, whites, tigers—all attacking from below. When they were finally rescued, there were only three hundred and sixteen men remaining alive.”

“Oh, man, you've got to read about it!” Brad said. “One guy thought his friend was sleeping and went to wake him up, only to find that the whole bottom half of the guy's body was gone. And they said that the more blood that was in the water, the more sharks that came—”

He was interrupted as Jerry North suddenly knocked over a dish of salsa.

The red sauce spread quickly across the table.

“Really, Brad, you're a great storyteller,” Jerry murmured, “but perhaps this isn't the best time.”

“Brad!” his father said.

“Brad, enough, we're at dinner,” his mother began.

“Ooh,” Darlene said, staring at the red salsa that had stained the table. “Ooh,” she said again.

And promptly threw up.

 

The Walkers couldn't apologize enough.

The Emersons couldn't leave quickly enough.

The entire concept of dessert was lost. Only Jacques, bemoaning the fate of his exceptional flan, was desolate at the sad demise of the evening meal.

The dining room was cleaned up. Sam, Jem, Adam, Yancy, Jim, Sukee, Liam and Jerry had coffee together, but conversation lagged. Sukee seemed eager to disappear. Jim naturally offered to walk her to her cottage. Jerry looked exhausted. Exceptionally tired, Sam thought.

“I guess we'll head back, too,” Liam said. “Jerry's definitely diving tomorrow. Right, sweetheart?”

Jerry looked at Sam. “I—”

“Right, sweetheart?”

“Yeah.”

“No one can make you dive, Jerry,” Sam began.

“She's just a little uneasy,” Liam said smoothly.

“We'll all watch out for you,” Sam promised.

Liam set an arm around Jerry. “She'll have me for a buddy. Just like a Siamese twin.”

“Well, if you need help, that's what I'm here for,” Sam insisted.

“Thanks, sweetie. You're a doll.” Impulsively, Jerry kissed her cheek. Then she seemed embarrassed. “Good night,” she said, hurrying on to the porch. Liam shrugged, then followed her.

Sam noted that Adam watched Jerry go with a very peculiar expression on his face. He caught her staring at him and shrugged. “I hope she'll be okay.”

Sam shrugged, as well. “I guess we'll get going,” she said.

“Good night,” Yancy told them.

Sam started out. Adam followed and set a hand on her shoulder. She didn't protest; she didn't touch him in return. She walked with him to the cottage, slipping her key into the lock. He followed her into the shadowy living room.

“Where did you want to sleep?” she asked him awkwardly. She didn't know quite what the afternoon had meant to him.

Or to herself.

He didn't reply. He left her standing there as he searched the cottage. He came back to where she stood, waiting in the filter of moonlight.

“Lock the door,” he told her.

She did so.

He walked up to her then. She looked at him in the shadows.

He should speak.

She should speak.

He spun her around and unzipped her dress. The silky fabric floated down the length of her body.

And then his hands were on her naked flesh.

And she knew exactly where he was going to sleep.

 

This time Yancy woke up entirely on her own. The baby hadn't cried; and at first she wasn't aware of any reason she should have awakened.

Then she listened.

And she heard it.

Movement down below.

Coming from Justin Carlyle's office. Someone going through the papers, going through the books? Was that it? Was someone convinced that there was something to be found in those papers, something that had eluded those who had searched already?

Someone who came by night, determined not to be seen.

Someone who came furtively.

Someone dangerous. Who had killed already? Who would kill again?

Yancy crawled out of bed. The breeze was balmy and warm, lifting the soft cotton of her sheer gown around her. She wondered if she appeared like some demented creature of the night, a slim honey-colored waif, floating through the night in fear.

Alone.

Not alone.

Jem was near tonight.

And the baby…

The baby.

She checked on Brian. He slept like an angel, his breathing perfectly even, his little rump sticking up in the air. Nervously, she hugged her arms around her shoulders and walked to her door. It was locked; there was a chair in front of it. And Jem was sleeping in the room right beside hers.

Didn't Jem hear what was going on in the office?

Maybe not, because Yancy couldn't hear movement any longer. She stood next to the door, her ear against it, listening.

Nothing.

Something.

Yes, she heard something, but it didn't seem to be coming from downstairs.

She swung around. The night breeze rustled, causing the drapes to float inward. The window. The damned window. There was no porch beyond it, but there were a number of trellises around the house, along with drain pipes.

The breeze, nothing more. The breeze rustling. There was no one out there. She could see no one in the moonlight.

She turned.

She could see…

A shadow.

A silhouette in the moonlight.

So close that she could feel the heat….

She inhaled to scream, so terrified that she choked and gasped. Jem was close, next door to her.

Too late. The shadow moved like mercury. She was dragged close, into the heat. A hand clamped over her mouth. Words were whispered.

“Hush. Hush! Don't scream. Don't say a word. Not one word. You don't know what you're risking.”

 

Waking beside Adam was a nice way to come back to the world of light, Sam decided.

Very nice.

Where she usually had the shrill sound of an alarm ringing in her ears, this morning she had the exquisite feel of something wet, light, very hot, tantalizing her nape.

The touch of his lips.

Very gentle. So gentle they aroused before they awoke.

Then there was that slow stroking down the length of her back, brushing her spine. Down, down…up again. So evocative.

Once again, gentle. Arousing before awakening.

Then the feel of his body, hard against hers. Those lips again. Whispering hot eroticisms against her earlobe, telling her each little thing he was going to do before he did it.

His lips against her spine.

His hands caressing her buttocks, locking onto her hips.

Again the fullness of him, flush against her.

Within her.

And then she was completely awake.

Completely aroused.

The alarm went off. Amazingly, the sound seemed to take its cue from the very moment in which everything inside her seemed to explode. For the space of several seconds, it might have been part of the raw, violent pleasure seizing her, shaking her, searing her.

Then, of course, she knew it was the alarm.

It was good sex, near perfect—not, however, miraculous. Yet even as she realized what the sound was, Sam lay back, her body slick and glistening, cooling, eyes half closed, her lips curled into a half smile, as well. It was Adam who reached over her, swearing, found the clock and nearly broke it before hitting the right button to turn off the alarm.

“Do you ever take a break?” he muttered. “Sleep late?”