Stranger on the Shore (17 page)

Sarah took a deep breath, wondering if she dared. Would she be able to endure it when she saw that look in his eyes? She closed her eyes, determined that no matter what happened she would not see it this time. She'd know anyway, but she didn't have to see. She trembled. Then, resolute, she steadied her voice. "I'll give you an example," she said. "Right before I left St. Louis a little boy was kidnapped."

Jordan drew a quick breath, afraid to speak.
Damn it.
He should never have started this. He'd been almost ready to convince himself that he had no story, no concrete facts, just hearsay and possible coincidence. He had an excuse not to write the story. Now she was about to lay the story in his lap—an incident he was already familiar with, a case where facts could be verified. His arms tightened around her. She didn't seem to notice.

"The little boy was hurt, and alone and so afraid. For some reason, I read him. For a moment or so, I was him. I was as afraid as he was. I didn't know where he was. I knew only what he knew. Then I knew one more thing. I knew what was going to happen to him if he didn't get help very quickly."

She turned in his arms, her body stiff. "Can you understand how I felt, Jordan? Do you know how afraid I was? Not just his fear. That was bad enough. But knowing what was going to happen to him if I wasn't able to get him help? If I hadn't seen enough to locate him in time?"

Jordan pulled her closer. She was reliving the experience. He could see it in her eyes. Before he could say anything, she sagged in his arms.

"It turned out all right. I called someone. They were able to find him in time. But those feelings, that's what no one understands. That's what I can't share. And it's even worse when things don't turn out okay. The guilt haunts me. I feel helpless. Why should I have to feel things I can't do anything about? I don't want it. And there's nothing I can do about it."

For a moment Jordan couldn't speak. Then, slowly, he searched for words.

"You're wrong, you know. At least partly wrong," he said finally. "It's true, I don't know what the boy was feeling. And I don't know what was going to happen to him. But I can feel the horror of it. That much I can share."

His hands moved up her back to her shoulders as he stepped far enough away to look down into her face. "People who know each other, who care about each other, share those kinds of feelings all the time. You're sometimes forced to share that kind of experience with strangers—with people you don't know. But even then, it's not all that different. Not really."

Sarah's expression told him she didn't believe him, didn't understand what he was trying to say. He saw her start to protest and pulled her close again, muffling her words against his chest. He made another attempt to explain.

"I feel sorrow when sad things happen to people I don't know. I believe most people do. I don't believe any normal person can see or read about or hear about a tragic event and not feel something. When you feel those things, there is a chance, at least sometimes, that you can help. It isn't your fault when you can't. At least you try. And that's more than the rest of us 'normal' people can do.

"I know the sorrow I feel when sad things happen isn't exactly the same thing as what you feel. But it's close. I think the difference is that you feel more intensely. But those feelings, like grief, can be lightened by sharing."

He rushed on, not wanting to give her an opportunity to protest. "When something happens to someone I know, someone I care about, the sharing is more acute. If Jimmy Joe fell and broke his arm, my arm wouldn't ache in the same way he was aching, but I'd hurt for him anyway. When you were telling me about the last time you saw your parents, I ached for you, Sarah. There was a dull pain deep inside. That kind of pain can be shared, and the sharing can make it easier to bear."

Jordan's voice died away. He stood waiting. He wondered if he'd managed to express what he was feeling, wondered if she understood what he was trying to say. Could she recognize the real meaning behind his words—a meaning so alien to his own self-image that he was barely able to recognize it himself?

Jordan caught his breath when he saw that her cheeks were wet with tears. Then he looked into her eyes. It was as if he could read her mind. Or perhaps she'd read his. He tried to move away. He was already too involved. He couldn't take anything else from her, not until she knew the truth. But he wasn't strong enough. He wanted her too much. His guilt quivered, faded, then disappeared, replaced by a desire too powerful to be ignored or controlled.

Sarah wanted to believe him, wanted to believe that the sharing he spoke of was more than words. She trembled as the echo of caring she'd heard in his voice washed over her. Unbidden came the memory of the last time he'd held her in his arms. She remembered the sense of oneness, even with the shadow of her secret between them. Never had she been so touched by the sensation of completeness. She wanted it again.

Sarah gave a soft sigh of contentment as he caught a tear with the tip of his finger. She felt the butterfly touch against her cheek and surrendered to temptation. Her hand moved upward to trace the outline of his mouth.

Jordan caught one of her wandering fingers with his lips, nibbled gently along its length, then captured her hand with his and pressed a kiss into her palm. The movement of his lips against her hand sent familiar warmth rippling through her body.

She snuggled into him with neither thought nor reservation, giving herself to the heady feelings of longing and expectation she'd repressed for a lifetime. Her hands went again to his face, then slid around his neck. She pulled his head down, raised herself up on tiptoe and caressed his mouth with a feather-light touch of her lips.

Jordan quivered under her touch, his body matching the trembling of her limbs. He braced himself, feet apart, holding her in the cradle of his body. As he felt the touch of her lips, he managed to resist for one second more.

"Sarah?" His voice was both protest and plea. "Do you know what you're doing to me?"

"I know," she whispered, stretching upward to reach his face once again. She planted a little kiss in the center of his chin, then once again returned to his mouth, her lips parting. He met her gentle explorations, opening his mouth to her.

Her hands slid from the back of his neck, caressing his shoulders, as she lowered her body to its natural five-foot height. Jordan bent with her, his mouth clinging to the sweetness of hers.

He made a sound in the back of his throat and shifted his hold as he lifted her against him, fitting his mouth over hers again.

Sarah recognized the change in the texture of his kiss as it moved from exploration to passion. She wondered at the continued gentleness of his hands and felt the hunger tighten his body. She answered with a quiver of pleasure and the unconscious melting of her own body.

The cushions that usually padded the wooden seats of the gazebo appeared magically beneath them. Sarah didn't know if Jordan had lowered her to the floor or if she had pulled him down to join her. Her only reality was the feel of his hands around her waist, the heat of his body warming that cold, desolate spot she'd carried within her for so many years.

She heard her name whispered against her cheek as his hands lovingly stroked her hair away from her forehead. He whispered her name again as she parted her lips for him, delighting in the slow movements of his tongue.

"Love me," Jordan," she murmured, knowing she was asking for more than relief from the need he had created in her, refusing to acknowledge that it might not be the same for him.

He answered by kissing her even more deeply, his body taut with passion and restraint, his hands gentle as they moved like a whispered promise over her body. She melted at his touch, her body responding to his need.

Enveloped by the sweet, wild fragrance of the honeysuckle growing around the gazebo, Jordan was lost in a world of sensation—a world make real by Sarah. She called to him with her gentle hand, with the music of her voice, with the magic of her eyes.

With shaking hands, she unfastened the buttons of his shirt, allowing herself quick, light touches of her fingers against his skin. Jordan's hand closed over hers. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, as if willing a return to reason. She sensed his reservations and made a small sound of protest as she moved her hands over his shoulders.

Her need to be held, to be loved, his need to be the one holding her, loving her, conquered the last of his caution. "Ah, Sarah," he whispered raggedly as he released her hand and unfastened the remaining shirt buttons. "Touch me again."

Sarah's fingertips traced the swells and ridges of muscle across his tanned chest. As her nails lightly raked over his nipples, she felt desire ripple through him. She echoed the same desire as his hands removed her clothing and his eyes moved over the feminine curves and silky firmness of her body.

For a long moment, he touched her only with his eyes, fighting the raw need raging in his blood.

"Jordan?" she whispered, not sure what she was asking, but knowing only he could answer.

"It's all right, Sarah," he said, his voice husky and strained. "I won't hurt you."

He extracted a foil packet from his wallet, opened it and rolled the condom into place. Finally, he touched her, with a feather-light caress that moved from her moist lips to the soles of her slender feet.

Sarah's body arced beneath his touch, silently asking for more. His hand moved to her breast, caressing, teasing, until the sensation produced by his touch was indistinguishable from the desire curling in her veins. His lips touched her other breast, his tongue moving over the soft, firm flesh as she moved restlessly beneath him. She moaned as the intimate touch of his mouth unfurled ribbons of passion deep within her.

His hand moved from her breast, lightly stroking downward to her soft secret warmth. He touched her slowly, exploring her intimate secrets, learning the mysteries of her passion and savoring her response to his touch. As he lifted his head, he saw the look of awed wonder in her eyes and froze, tension coiling in his body as he tried to interpret the meaning of her astonishment.

"Sarah? Haven't you—" His voice faltered as he recognized the flicker of uncertainty deep in the blue-green mists of her eyes. He drew a deep shuddering breath into his lungs.

"I'm sorry, Jordan." Her voice was a reedy whisper of pain. "Tell me what I did wrong."

"You did nothing wrong." His lips brushed a quick butterfly kiss against her brow.

"Then what happened? Why did you stop?"

The innocence of her question was almost his undoing. He pulled her into his arms, burying her head against his shoulder in an effort to hide the strain he knew apparent on his face. His mind searched for the right words for the question he needed to ask. "Have you— Have you made love with anyone before?"

"It wasn't like this. I didn't know—didn't feel—" Her voice faltered. "I'm sorry, Jordan."

With that he gathered her even closer, the strain of the last few moments, his own tumultuous hunger, evident in every taut line of is body. To realize that he had produced that look of awe and wonder in her eyes was a precious gift. "No, no, sweetheart. There's nothing to be sorry for. I needed to know. I didn't want to hurt you through ignorance."

He laid her back against the cushions, his own body following her down, stretching full length alongside of her. His lips teased the corner of her mouth, the freckles on the bridge of her nose, then swooped to capture her softly trembling mouth. Teeth and tongue moved lightly, probing the moist, secret recesses of her mouth. His hands stroked her small, perfectly formed body, delighting in the tactile sensations of her satin-soft skin, now gently heated with inner warmth that had nothing to do with the hot air of the July afternoon.

He raised his head, golden lights dancing in his eyes, his breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. "I knew it would be this way with us. From the beginning, I knew. More than shared attraction, physical pleasure. Much, much more...." His voice trailed into silence as once again he obeyed the call of the soft voice muttering low, musical sounds in the back of her throat.

Confident now in her ability to pleasure him as he pleasured her, Sarah let her hands, her lips, roam freely. She explored the different textures of his body, the smooth, heat-flushed skin, the wiry roughness of his cheek and chin, the soft sprinkling of hair running from his chest down the length of his torso.

As he raised himself above her, she welcomed him into the inner core of heat and need as she had already welcomed him into her heart.

He rested quietly for a moment, savoring the delicate sheathing that both satisfied and tantalized. He waited as she adjusted to him, then began to move slowly.

Sarah's cry of wonder was swallowed in the heat of Jordan's mouth as together they reached the pinnacle. Slowly the seething passion subsided, allowing softer currents to wash away the turbulence they'd created, then shared.

Jordan rolled his weight to one side, carefully maintaining physical contact, a tangible assurance that the last few minutes had been more than a fantasy. He realized that until now he'd been incomplete. He read the same secret in the sparkling depths of Sarah's eyes.

Sarah looked into his face and smiled. It was a fey, secret smile of satisfaction and contentment. She wasn't sure what tomorrow would bring, only that it would come, as it always did. But at least she would always have today to remember.