Page 77 of Always to Remember
Clay squeezed his eyes shut. Who was going to give him a reason to anticipate the dawn?
The world encompassed her, quiet, warm, and silky. The sensual sensations gave Meg a freedom she hadn’t experienced in almost five years, but the freedom was fleeting, lost the moment she broke through the moon-glistened surface of the water.
Shortly after they were married. Kirk brought her here. It was their special, private place. The pool was a circle of deep water with large boulders running along a portion of it, and land and trees gracing the remaining edges.
She had no idea where the water came from. She supposed it somehow seeped through the earth and passed through crevices in the rocks. She really didn’t care. She only cared that the pool had been waiting for her tonight when she needed it.
She had come here hoping to bring back the feel of Kirk’s lips upon hers, but the attempt was proving futile. She could only feel Clay’s lips upon hers, a light tentative brushing of his mouth over hers, and yet, warmth had shot through her. She’d felt the desire to lean into him, to press herself against his body, to twine her arms around his neck, to return the kiss with a fervor that far exceeded his.
She sank into the depths of the pool. She had loosened her hair because she enjoyed the way the water seemed to turn the strands into wisps of clouds floating freely through a black sky. But even here, where the water cut off the night sounds, it couldn’t cut off her memories of Clay. He haunted her thoughts, and she feared that if she slept, he’d haunt her dreams.
When her lungs felt near to bursting, she rose to the surface of the pool. The night sounds had changed. The insects had taken refuge, their silence palpable in the night. It seemed that even the water had ceased its lapping against the shore.
The mournful strains of a song whispered from a harmonica filled the night. She eased away from the center of the pool to an area where tree branches shielded her from moonbeams. She glanced toward the boulder. A lone figure sat upon the rock, his shoulders hunched, his hands near his face. Moon shadows hid the harmonica that she was certain he held, and they concealed the expression on his face. Yet the sound he created told all that needed to be known about his feelings and thoughts.
A lonesome wail, a soul crying in the night.
She wanted to yell that he wasn’t alone, but the ground she walked upon was shaky. She had already offered him far more friendship than she’d intended.
The music stopped, and she watched in amazement as he stripped out of his clothes. He stood, a myriad of shadows and moonlight dancing over his body. She only had time to notice how tall and lean he appeared before he leapt from the boulder.
She screamed.
Clay heard a woman’s shrill cry rend the stillness of the night just before he plunged below the surface of the water. If it hadn’t been for that, he might have thought his foot had struck an unusually long and silky fish. As it was, he had a feeling his sole had run the length of a woman’s leg.
He shot straight up to the surface, his breathing labored as he flung his hair out of his eyes. “Christ! What are you doing here?”
Even as Meg struggled to stay afloat in the water, she tilted up her chin. “Me? What are you doing here? This was our private sanctuary.”
“Our? Did Kirk tell you about this place?”
“What if he did?”
“Damn his worthless hide. We all swore an oath we’d keep this place a secret.”
“Who’s we?”
“Kirk, Stick, your brothers. Hell, everyone that was around our age.”
“I don’t know why you’re so angry.”
Clay didn’t know either. Her warm, bare foot touched his, and he glided away from her. She was no doubt wearing as much as he was … which was nothing. He thought the water around him might boil if he thought about that too long. “I’m getting out.”
He swam to the bank where the shadows lay thick upon the water. “Can you see me?”
“No!”
“Good.” He scrambled up the bank and headed to the boulder.
“I’m getting out as well!”
He stopped walking and wondered where she’d left her clothes. For the sake of the statue he should look over his shoulder and see if her curves were all he thought they were. He balled his hands into fists and stormed to the boulder. Seeing those curves in his dreams was bad enough. He didn’t need to see them in the flesh.
He snatched up his clothes. Damn Kirk! The man was turning out to be more of an enemy than a friend.
Clay yanked his trousers up his legs and shoved his arms into his shirt. She couldn’t have gotten a good look at his body, not in the darkness.
A button on his shirt went sailing through the night. He cursed and took more care with the other buttons. He didn’t need a gaping hole exposing his chest. He pulled on his socks and jerked on his boots.
