The Stud (20 page)

She looked back at the water. Spencer was swimming parallel to the shore now, doing a strong breast stroke. As she watched, he turned onto his back. One muscled arm followed the other in confident overarm rhythm. He was clearly relaxed and enjoying himself. She wanted to be relaxed, too. She wanted to enjoy herself. If the most she could have was memories, damn it, she wanted them.

Pushing herself to her feet, she began to undress. She put her clothes in a neat pile, thinking about habits that were hard to break, like neatness and modesty. Spencer was doing the front crawl again, so he couldn't see her, still the touch of the breeze on her bare skin made her acutely aware of her nakedness, as did the kiss of the sun on virgin curves as she set out for the water. She went faster than Spencer had, seeking the shelter of the waves. The water was bathtub warm. She dove under and came up with her head back. Her hair streamed away from her forehead and down her shoulders, those few pins that had remained in it lost to the surf. She stroked away from shore, then treaded water until she caught sight of Spencer. He was swimming toward her, his head above water, his arms beneath. The surf helped him along. He kept his eyes on her.

She continued to tread water. When he was an arm's length away, he let his feet sink until he, too, was upright in the water. As they bobbed gently before each other, his eyes asked a silent question, then lowered to the water's surface in search of the answer. Jenna had only to look through the waves herself at the hair clearly visible midway down his chest to know what he was seeing.

Guiding himself with purposeful scissor kicks, he came closer and ran his hands from her shoulders, down her back and over her buttocks. With the revelation that she wasn't wearing even bikini bottoms, his blue eyes seemed to take on the life of the sea. She kept hers fastened to them, taking encouragement as it was needed.

"Hold on to my shoulders, " he urged. At the same time, he gave her hips a gentle push toward the surface. When she was prone, he began a breast stroke that propelled her backward. Not once did his eyes leave hers.

She knew the instant he was able to stand. He touched a foot to the ocean floor, then kicked off again and swam on a little longer so that when he stood this time, the water came to midchest. Just as her own legs started to sink, he brought her against him.

She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck and closed her eyes. This was what she wanted—the closeness, the feel of his body against her, the strength of his arms around her. She felt secure and savored. She felt wanted for who she was as she had come to him, totally unadorned.

He continued to walk until the water lapped at his waist. Reaching back, he took her arms from around his neck and eased her down to her feet. His gaze fell to her breasts, which floated just above the waterline. His face darkened with desire.

He didn't say a word. He didn't have to. His eyes touched her with a reverence that gave her the courage to let him look his fill, and where courage left off, pleasure picked up. That surprised her. She hadn't anticipated feeling pleasure when he looked at her. She hadn't expected to feel proud or aroused, yet she felt both.

Drawing his hands from the water, he touched her breasts with his fingertips. He traced her roundness, then cupped her fullness with his palm and gave his thumbs free rein. They slid over her wet flesh first on the outer swell of her, then progressively inward until, just when Jenna was about to go wild with frustration, they covered her nipples.

She didn't even try to contain the sound of aching pleasure that came from her throat. Spencer looked at her as though she was a woman. He touched her as though she was a woman. The fact that she cried out like one was normal and acceptable, even desirable, if the expression of satisfaction on his face meant anything. Moving his hands to her hips, he walked her backward until the water fell away from first her ribs, then her waist, then her navel. He paused to watch the sea skim her. He spread his fingers, moved his palms. He walked her backward another few steps until her thighs emerged, and stood for the longest time with his gaze locked on the dark triangle at their apex. Then, taking a slow route that caressed her at each stop, his eyes rose to hers.

"Don't ever hide from me again, Jenna, " he murmured. "You're too beautiful to play that game. "

She couldn't speak, couldn't take her eyes from his face. The look there was everything she could have ever wanted, and though she didn't fool herself into thinking that it would last longer than their stay on the island, she basked in it now. It gave her the confidence to rise on her toes and initiate the kind of long, soul kiss that she hadn't liked from other men, much less been able to give.

He rewarded her by sinking to his knees in the surf and bringing her down over his lap. She felt him rise inside her to fill the aching void that had been, and there, with the ocean playing gently around their legs, he loved her as she had never dreamed to be loved. She touched him and offered herself to be touched. She opened her mouth wide to his, opened her body wide to his. She couldn't seem to get or give enough, and when they both climaxed, when their sharp gasps had mellowed into softer pants of satisfaction, she knew that she'd made the right decision.

For as long as they were on the island, she was Spencer's. He was the fantasy she had never dared entertain, and even if there would be pain at the end, she was going for the pleasure now. She owed it to Spencer as a thank-you for giving her a child. She owed it to the child as a source of memories of its father to warm long winter nights. Mostly, though, she owed it to herself. She was a woman. Mothering a child would be one source of fulfillment Being with Spencer was another.

Chapter 11

Paradise was an uninhabited island, after all, Jenna decided several nights later as she lay in Spencer's arms. He had made a bed by scattering fern fronds on the sand, covering them with towels and rolling blankets into pillows. He had even stretched a tarp from the body of the plane to its wing to provide shelter should it rain during the night.

It had rained that afternoon, a quick island rain that came for an hour and left when the dark cloud passed by. Rather than taking shelter, they had walked the beach. When their clothes had been drenched, they'd taken them off and continued on naked. Jenna had never done anything like that before and was still stunned by the sense of ultimate freedom in it She doubted she'd forget that, or the caress of the rain on her bare skin, for as long as she lived.

At the moment though, rain seemed unlikely. A half-moon was shimmering over the water, silvering the linings of the occasional clouds that passed by. The sea lapped the shore with fair-weather ease. It was a calm, quiet night.

They had cooked dinner—steak from the cooler and potatoes—over a fire made with Jenna's wood. The flame had long since died, leaving an orange glow on the sand not far from where they lay. She was on her side against him, with her cheek on his chest and a leg between his, while he held her close with a single firm arm. Though she wore one of his shirts and he wore shorts, the memory of flesh against flesh, as it had been so often in the three days since they'd landed on the beach, kept them warm.

It occurred to Jenna that she had never felt so peaceful or content in her life, which was particularly remarkable since there had been no sign of a cruise ship, a sailboat or a rescue plane. She should have been worried. But she wasn't. It was too early to worry. She was having too fine a time with Spencer.

"What are you thinking?" he asked against her hair.

"How far away Rhode Island feels. Not just physically. Emotionally. Like it's another world. Like I've been through a time warp. "

"That was the trauma of the landing. "

"The landing wasn't so bad, " she said because he sounded disturbed. Yes, she'd been upset. In hindsight, though, there hadn't been a point when she had truly believed they would crash. Spencer had been in control of the plane the entire time. "I think it's more the difference between here and there. Here, there's no sense of time. Life is slow and leisurely. We do what we want, when we want. There, life goes according to schedule. "

"Tell me more about that life, Jenna. About what a day is like. "

She moved her cheek against his chest, loving the feel of the hair there, loving the firmness of his flesh, loving the way he asked questions. As an adventurer, he was naturally curious, but she'd never thought his curiosity would extend to the details of her life. Yet this wasn't the first time he'd asked.

"My day is very organized, " she began. "My secretary types up a schedule before she leaves the office each day, so that when I arrive the next morning, I know just what to do. Sometimes I have reports to read. Mostly I'm busy with meetings and phone calls. "

"Where are the meetings?"

"Sometimes in my office. Sometimes in our conference room. Sometimes in restaurants.
Often
in restaurants, " she amended dryly. "Businessmen love an excuse to eat in style and deduct the meal. "

"Businessmen. What about businesswomen?"

"Not us. We're always on diets. We'd be just as happy to meet in our offices. That's the safest place. "

"Because of the food?"

"Because of the men. In an office, clear lines are drawn. I sit at my desk—whoever I'm meeting sits on the other side. In a restaurant, those lines become blurred. I feel more threatened with men in restaurants. "

"That's because you're single. "

"I assume. "

"Which still amazes me. I can't believe some terrific guy hasn't come along and swept you off your feet. "

She sputtered out a soft laugh. "The terrific guys aren't sitting around the city wangling meals on expense accounts. They're in the Himalayas looking for Noah's ark, or retracing Peary's expedition over the Pole, or exploring the Amazon. " She gave him a teasing pinch.

He didn't laugh. Soberly he asked, "What makes those guys terrific?"

"They're activists. They're nonconformists. They're interesting. " She sighed, knowing what she had to say next. "And they're off-limits, which makes them all the more attractive. But going after them is like trying to catch the wind. Stopping them would be like caging a wild bird. " Which was just how she felt. She was head over heels in love with Spencer, but she would never ground him, much less try. She knew how he resented his parents. She refused to make the mistakes they'd made. Spencer's adventures were too important to him to even
hint
that he give them up.

Besides, just because she was madly in love with him, that didn't mean he felt anything beyond attraction and affection for her.

She forced out a sigh. "Anyway, I told you at the start that I wasn't looking for a husband. I don't need one. I have my life under control. "

He was quiet for a minute. "I wonder how we're doing with the baby stuff. We've thrown your rules out the window. "

"I know. " They had been making love whenever and in whatever position they wanted, with no thought at all to what was best for conception. But, then, Jenna knew it didn't matter. Likewise, she hadn't brought her thermometer along. When Spencer had asked her about it, she had said—sheepishly— that she'd known they would be making love often during their time together, so knowing the exact day she was ovulating didn't matter. In truth, she hadn't wanted Spencer to see that her temperature hadn't dipped at all that month. As close as she could guess, she was four weeks pregnant.

"You're not worried it won't happen, are you?" he asked.

"It'll happen. "

He was quiet again for a time before asking, with a kind of reluctant curiosity, "Do you think about the baby much? I mean, not about getting pregnant, but about the baby itself?"

She was surprised and pleased that he'd asked. "I think about it a lot. "

"Do you want a boy or a girl?"

She tipped her head back to meet his eyes. "I'm supposed to say that it doesn't matter as long as the baby is healthy, and the largest part of me truly feels that way. "

"The other part?"

"Wants a girl. "

"Why?"

She returned her cheek to his chest. Lightly, so that he wouldn't think she was complaining, criticizing or, worse, making a subtle suggestion, she said, "For one tiling, I imagine it would be harder raising a boy without a father figure around. Not impossible. Just harder. For another, there's the issue of companionship. There's mutual identity with a child of the same sex. "

"There's also competition. Caroline and my mother used to go at it for hours. Didn't you and your mother argue?"

"Sometimes. It wasn't so bad. I guess because I was an only child, she indulged me. And because they were gone a lot. "

"Where did they go?"

"Here and there. They traveled for the business, and whenever they could they tacked on a few extra days. Second honeymoons, they called them. " She smiled. "I think they must have had a hundred second honeymoons over the years. They were very much in love. They were each other's best friends. " Her smile faded into pensiveness. "I suppose if they had to die early, they were better off dying together. If one had been left without the other, the pain would have been unbearable. "

"It's rare to find two people who love like that"

"Mmm. "

"Did you ever wish for something similar?"

"All I want is a baby. "

"Right now. But other times. Have you ever dreamed of finding that kind of love?"

His natural curiosity notwithstanding, Jenna was still surprised to find Spencer talking about love. Most men didn't. Most men were uncomfortable discussing it. They used the term, usually in bed before or after sex, but when a woman asked what they meant, they closed up like clams. Spencer, on the other hand, was pursuing the discussion. She felt she owed him an honest answer.

"I've dreamed of finding love, " she said quietly. "I used to dream of it all the time. Then it didn't come, so I told myself I could do without. "

"Can you?"

"I'll have to, won't I?" she said with a laugh that was supposed to be nonchalant but fell short.