Upon a Mystic Tide (36 page)

He entered her in a fluid stroke with a guttural groan that sent shivers of sheer pleasure rippling through her body. She cupped his buttocks, delighting in the swell and hollow of them with his thrusts. Thought ceased. Feeling reigned. And the pleasures of the flesh seeped deeper, rousing the soul, fitting the two as seamlessly together with the heart as their bodies perfectly joined.

The pressure built, coiled tighter and tighter, and then shattered. Bess reveled in the aftershocks, and opened her eyes, breathless and eager to see John’s expression. Head lolled back, eyes closed, muscles straining, he climaxed, his expression all she had hoped for, and more: enraptured.

If never before, if never again, tonight, Bess had touched the man beneath the flesh.

He collapsed against her chest, his skin moist, his breathing rough and ragged, and kissed her between tremors and shudders. She squeezed him tight, not wanting this closeness, this communion, to end.

Long minutes later, when his breathing returned to normal, he tugged at the covers and jerked them back, sending papers flying. Holding her to him, he rolled onto the sheets, then jerked the bed clear of debris and covered them. Bess smiled against his hair-roughened chest. Even physically satisfied, he didn’t want to let her go.

For seven days.

A tear sprang to her eye, then trickled down her cheek. Seven days.

On his back, he sandwiched her legs between his thighs. “Bess?” he whispered against her forehead.

“Hmmm?” A second tear followed the first.

“For the record, we didn’t just have sex. At least, I didn’t.”

He’d given and wanted reassurance. The tears in her throat melted. “Me, either.” She tilted her face up to his and looked into his eyes. “We made love, Jonathan.”

His eyes went solemn and he lifted a finger to her face, touched it to the skin just under her eye. “Is that why you’re crying? Because you regret it?”

Her chin quivered. “No.” She wanted to say more, but couldn’t. Too many emotions churned close to the surface.

“I need to know why, Doc.”

Need
Not
want,
but
need. We all need to be needed.
She swallowed hard. “Because it was so beautiful. You touched my heart.”

His eyes went soft and his lip curled into a wondrous smile. “You touched my heart, too.”

Another tear slipped to her cheek and she smiled back. “I’ll be awake for hours.”

He stretched over to turn off the lamp. “You’ll be asleep in under a minute. You always said making love revved you up, but—” John looked down at the angel cradled to his side. Her lashes lay golden against her cheeks. She was asleep.

A poignant tear stealing from his eye, he clicked off the lamp, then settled in, his wife in his arms. A contentment he’d never before known blanketed him. Tomorrow those shadows would be gone from her eyes. Tonight, together, they’d rest.

He burrowed his nose against her neck and inhaled her sweet
Ritz.
Life just didn’t get any better than this. Bess in his arms, the scents of their loving filling him
 . . .
He’d touched her heart. John smiled. No, life didn’t get any better than this.

And Tony’s message to Bess again came to John’s mind.
Leap upon a mystic tide and have faith the sand will shift and an island will appear.

John snapped open his eyes and stared at the high, sloped ceiling awash in midnight shadows.
Shifting sand.
His relationship with Bess was shifting. John’s mind slipped into overdrive—and the truth pumped through his veins.

Tony’s message wasn’t merely a message.

It was a map!

John intended to kiss Bess awake. And he would do it—just as soon as he got his fill of looking at her. In unguarded sleep, she looked angelic. Feeling tender, he fought the urge to touch her face. Last night, she’d loved him. She’d not held back physically, but she hadn’t totally let herself go emotionally. That
was
asking for the impossible. They only had seven days and, for complete inhibition, a woman like Bess needed a lifetime assured of a man’s love.

He’d give it to her. God, but he’d love to give it to her
 . . .
if only he had the right.

Because he didn’t, he stared at her. At the smooth, clean line of her jaw, the gentle curve at the cove of her neck, the sweep of her lashes resting softly against her cheek. Her lips were parted, and between them he glimpsed her teeth, the tip of her tongue. On her side, she had her knees curled to her chest, one hand slung over her head, the other tucked under her pillow, and her hair was a wreck. The tender hitch in his chest tugged tighter, and he smiled. The woman was beautiful to him in every way.

He probably was as crazy as Selena accused him of being. Pretending for seven days that the divorce didn’t exist. Pretending he and Bess were happily married. Pretending she loved him now as she’d said she’d loved him then. The back of his nose stung and his eyes burned. It might be crazy, but it was also the only way he stood a chance of making it through the rest of his life without her.

As if feeling his gaze, her lashes fluttered. Before she could open her eyes and maybe refuse him, he dipped his chin and kissed her. He tasted her surprise, then her recognition of him and, when she purred and lazily curled her arms around his neck, a warm ray of joy as pure and as good as sunshine spread through his heart. Cherishing it, cherishing her and this moment, he lingered, kissing her lips until she stretched awake and opened her eyes.

“Good morning.”

“Hmmm, it’s looking promising.” She arched a brow and her eyes sparkled through the haze of sleep.

He pecked a kiss to her forehead, then rubbed it with his chin. “I called Bill Butler at Fisherman’s Co-op. In an hour, his son Aaron will meet us down at the dock with a bushel of clams and a burlap bag full of seaweed.”

“What for?” She grunted, shaking off the last of the netherworld fog of sleep.

“I promised my wife we’d bake clams, and Bill says Little Island is the place to do it.” Picturesque. Private. And no Beaulah Favish with her binoculars, spying on them.

“But, Jonathan,” Bess pressed a hand to his thigh, “only villagers can go to Little Island. Miss Millie donated it to the villagers because the coast was getting too
touristical
and—”

“Touristical?”

“Too many tourists,” Bess explained. “Anyway, only the villagers can go there. We’re from away. We won’t be welcome there.”

“We are. Bill invited us.” John forked his fingers through her hair, pushing it away from her face. “And if you’re interested, we also can get a complete tour of the lighthouse—if we can bribe Miss Hattie into baking Hatch some blueberry muffins. Hatch offered the tour, even though he’s
summercating.”

“Summercating?” Bess wrinkled her nose.

“I’m not sure—these Mainers have a language all their own—but I think it’s when you spend an afternoon under a shade tree with a good book, or on the porch swing watching the grass grow.”

“Summercating. I like it.” She smiled. “So we’re going to spend some of our seven days summercating, then.”

“I thought we would—if the idea appeals to you.” He’d go anywhere to be with her, even Death Valley, his least favorite spot on earth.

Bess smiled. “It appeals.”

John let his hand slide along her curves. She appealed. Enormously. “Good.”

She stretched into his stroke, and her voice went needy-soft. “Jonathan, how much time do we have?”

“Why?”

She dropped her gaze to his chest. “When a husband gives his wife a gift, she should show her immediate appreciation. Don’t you agree?”

“A gift?” What gift had he given her? Another of her subtle messages? Maybe. And the same words he’d given her. He’d tease her a little. That’s something they’d done far too little before. Bess wasn’t the only one who didn’t want to repeat past mistakes. “But I haven’t—”

Staring at him, Bess interrupted. “Keeping a promise is the right thing to do, but it’s also a gift, Jonathan. Now ditch the clothes and come here so I can show you how grateful I—hmmm, wait. I’m feeling pretty grateful. How much time do we have before meeting Aaron?”

She wanted him. John’s heart skipped a rugged beat. Not once in all their time together had Bess ever been the aggressor in their lovemaking. Not once. That she was now, that she was openly telling him she wanted to make love with him, inflamed him. Eager to give her what she wanted, all thumbs at her hunger and the emotions in him it stirred, he yanked at the buttons of his shirt. “Enough.”

John glanced down at his watch
. Bess would be ready to leave for Little Island in fifteen minutes. They’d be a good forty-five minutes late, but it’d been worth it. An aggressive Bess was worth anything. Everything. He’d called to warn Bill Butler, and he’d tip Aaron extra for the time. Hell, for another hour like the last, John would buy Aaron a new boat. Grinning at the little terracotta boxes, side by side atop the chest, John again felt that tender hitch in his chest. She’d chosen it. And she’d chosen him. Riled, Bess was magnificent. But open and loving, she went beyond magnificent. And she’d taken him with her—straight to heaven.

Six more days. Even if they held only half the promise of this one, they’d be enough. He could handle living with only the memories. He’d miss her. He’d never stop missing her, but he could do it. He could survive.

Sitting at the desk, he tapped the end of his pen to the file open before him. He’d rather have her. To do that, he had to solve the case. And Tony’s mystic tide message. That message was a map; John was convinced of it. But to what? To where? For what? And for whom?

The phone rang.

Still deep in thought, John answered it. “Mystic.”

“John, it’s me—Bryce.”

“Hey, buddy.” John leaned back and put his thoughts on hold.

“How are things coming on the divorce settlement with Bess? You two reach a compromise?”

Oh, boy. “Several, but not yet on the money.”

“Progress is progress. Dare I ask on what?”

“Not just yet.” John looked down to the mop curled into a ball, resting her head on the toe of his shoe. “For now, let’s leave it at there probably won’t be a custody suit on Silk.”

“Wonderful.” Bryce let out a sigh, obviously relieved. “Hang tight on the money end. Millicent Fairgate has been spewing insults all over town about Bess’s keeping the divorce under wraps and making the station look bad. She’s furious.”

“Expected she would be.” John grimaced and folded an arm over his chest. “Any of these insults slanderous or libelous?”

“Just short of it.”

“Watch her. If she steps over the line, sue her. Bess has enough to contend with without that vulture circling her.”

“Will do, but I think the problem of Millicent Fairgate is about to dissipate.” Bryce paused and static filled the phone wires. “I would’ve waited until you got back to New Orleans to go over this, but considering the circumstances, I figured I’d best call.”

“Okay.”

“I just got today’s mail, John. There’s something in it from Elise. It was addressed to me, so I opened it.”

John swallowed hard. “And?”

“It’s a codicil to her will, duly executed and notarized—by Judge Branson, no less.”

Judge Branson? Now why would Elise have him notarize a codicil rather than her attorney? John frowned. Sooner or later Bryce would get around to explaining.

“She’s directed her executor—you—to buy WLUV 107.3 from Millicent Fairgate for fair market value.”

“What for?” Odd twist, and totally unexpected.

“She doesn’t say. Only instructs you to buy it.”

John dragged a hand through his hair. “Hell, Bryce. How am I supposed to do that? Millicent isn’t going to sell the station. It’s her legacy.”

“She won’t have any choice,” Bryce said, deadpan serious. “In fact, the only way she can save face is to pretend to sell it.”

Pretend
to sell it? “What the hell are you talking about?”

“There are documents along with the codicil, John. Elise already owns the station. She bought it from Millicent’s husband—right after Bess filed for the legal separation.”

“Now why would Elise do that?” And why would Millicent pretend she still owned it? She
was
still running the station. This didn’t make a lick of sense.

“I don’t know. But in the letter, Elise says to publicly buy the station from Millicent. To disclose the fact Elise already owns it only if Millicent won’t play ball.”

Odd. No, weird. John cocked his head. Another puzzle he couldn’t figure out. “Well, I guess you’d best buy it then. Offer her fair market value today.”

“If you insist.” Bryce huffed his displeasure. “John, you knew Elise better than anyone else alive. Why would she go through the motions of buying a station she already owns? She’s even stipulated which account the money is to be drawn from to pay Millicent.”

Turning in his chair, John stared out the window, down over the copse of trees to the sleepy Sea Haven Village. Fog rolled in off the ocean and only hints of the rooftops were visible. It wouldn’t ruin their outing to Little Island. In five minutes, the sun would be shining again. Maine weather was nothing if not changeable. “I don’t know why she would, but I suspect she’s giving someone—possibly Millicent’s husband—a day of grace.”

“A chance to save face, you mean.”

John shrugged. “Same thing, isn’t it?”

“I guess so. But don’t you want to find out before we proceed? This isn’t small change we’re talking about.”

“No, I don’t. If Elise wanted to disclose her reasons, she’d have done so. Since she didn’t give them, she didn’t want us to know them. We have to respect that.”

“But Elise could get burned. Well, her estate could. You know what I mean.”

“She was a smart woman with a good heart. She’s not doing anything she didn’t want done. Don’t dig, Bryce, just get the ball rolling and close the deal.”

“Will do, buddy. But it strikes me odd and I’m really curious.”

“Forget it, okay?” A light tap sounded at his door. “Got to go. Bess and I are going to bake some clams.”

“Bake clams? John, this isn’t a vacation with your loving wife. You’re supposed to be working on a property settlement for your divorce. Judge Branson—”

“Can get his own damn clams, and his own woman.”

“I’ll pass that tidbit along when he tosses both you and Bess into the slammer.”

“Get us one cell, mmm?”

“Do I smell a reconciliation in the air here?”

John’s heart wrenched. “Only for six more days.”

“What?”

“Never mind. Is Suzie sleeping better?”

“Not really. But we’re working on it. Her therapist says it just takes time.”

“Give her a hug from me.”

“I’ll do that. She’ll be all right—the doctor assures me of that. Getting used to the idea of losing her mother really has body-slammed her. I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was worried, John. It’s going on too long.”

“Time’s a funny thing, you know? For her, it’s going a lot slower without a mother there to soften the day-to-day blows. Give her some time, like the doc says, and let her know how much you love her. Lots of hugs.” Hugs John hadn’t gotten, and had needed so desperately. “And let her know how much you need her, and how special she is to you.” Elise had given him that. She’d called him
dear heart.
Suzie needed to know she was dear to someone. Desperately needed to know she mattered. “And get her a mother,” John added before thinking better of it.

“Yeah, I’ll just phone Macy’s and order a mom.” Bryce sucked in a breath. “In the meantime, you forget baking clams and get that property settlement resolved.”

“Working on it.” John hung up the phone then opened the door, eager to see Bess. The woman didn’t know it, but if Elise owned the station, then Bess’s job was no longer in jeopardy. But he thought he’d wait a while to tell her. Bringing up their lives away from Seascape might bring reality crashing down around their ears and, right now, he was happy for the first time in six years. He didn’t want reality. He wanted his wife. And, at Seascape, he had her.

For six more days.

Little Island was one
of the most gorgeous places on earth. No electricity. No phones. No bridges. The only way to it was by boat and, once there, the lush foliage and graceful trees wove a magical spell around those fortunate enough to visit it.

Aaron dropped Bess and John off at the end of a rickety wooden pier near a little sign that read:
Leave only footprints. Take only photographs.
And nearer to the rocky shore, nailed to the pier’s last post, was another sign. It was older, faded, and the sun glared brightly on it. Bess couldn’t make out the words.

They walked on and, under the shade of a craggy old oak, she and John spread out a patchwork quilt. The day had started out cool but had warmed to a very pleasant upper seventy degrees—a welcome respite from the sweltering nineties pegging the mercury at home. And now sitting knee to knee with John, Bess inhaled the fresh, salt-tinged air deeply and gazed out beyond the orange tiger lilies some thoughtful soul had planted, onto the ocean. “I’ll bet this place is breathtaking at sunset.”