Chapter Five
CHAPTER FIVE
C ARTER STEPPED INTO a speedboat and then offered her his hand.
Grace took it gladly.
She knew there was no future, no romance. Just this night...
And she knew she might never again get the chance to be wild and free and with someone so beautiful.
After six missing years Carter made her brave enough to discover this side of herself.
His speedboat was beautiful, with a small cabin and plush, comfortable seats, and instead of releasing her after she’d boarded he pulled her in and kissed her again. A soft, slow kiss that told her this was all okay.
‘It’s an hour or so, with a stop on the way—and, yes,’ he said, as he started the engine. ‘I’ll get you back for your dawn—’
‘Actually,’ Grace cut in, ‘there’s no dawn tour. Tomorrow it’s a jungle walk...’
Carter felt his chin rise, his shoulders and neck tightening—though it was not echoes of the past that had tension ripping through him, but thoughts of her in the jungle tomorrow.
‘Who’s...?’ Even his vocal cords had tightened, and he cleared his throat as the boat moved off. ‘Is Arif taking the group out?’
‘No, I think it’s Felicity.’
He said nothing, his eyes fixed ahead. He’d barely heard of Felicity, let alone seen her, but knew she wasn’t a local and was here doing research. He reminded himself that Arif wouldn’t let her take a group out if she wasn’t skilled, but hadn’t Felicity been here mere months?
It was dark, with no glint of moon, and even the stars were hidden behind low black clouds as they put-putted past the longhouses. But when they turned off the main river...when the last of the light was gone...he heard her deep intake of breath...
‘You’re fine,’ he said, drawing her close so she stood by him.
‘Will we see other boats?’
‘Most can’t get down here,’ Carter said, and steered them into a small tributary, then another, where the branches were hanging low, the banks closer, forming a natural tunnel. He guided them down, then they came to some mangroves and he turned the engine off.
‘What are you doing?’ she whispered as he turned the lights off and they were plunged into darkness.
He turned her around and wrapped his arms over her shoulders. ‘Look,’ he told her.
‘I can’t see anyth—’
For a second she thought she had something in her eye. Little lights were darting across her vision. But then she gasped as she saw the river trees as if draped in fairy lights, flickering on and off, dots of yellow and cool icy green.
‘Fireflies,’ she gasped.
‘And a new moon,’ he said. ‘Which makes them especially bright. Now do you get why the group went out later tonight?’
Grace started to laugh—a giddy laugh, a carefree laugh—and she spun around, stunned by the tiny lights, the sheer volume of them.
‘It looks as if they’ve been strung on the branches...as if...’ She had never seen anything so beautiful, so pretty, so wondrous. Some of the lights darted, and some of them seemed to flash in unison, as if synchronised. ‘This is so precious!’
‘Yes.’ He turned her to face him. ‘And so are you,’ he stated, for he needed her so badly tonight.
Beyond the display in the lush trees where the fireflies gathered were the bare, silvery mangroves where his family had been lost. Where not only his heart had been carved out but his spirt, too, leaving him a stranger to those who had once known him.
‘Take another look,’ he said. ‘They disappear once the lights come on.’
For Grace, they would never disappear.
Even before they’d made love the night was perfect. As if Carter himself had been standing on ladders and arranging the lights just to give her this sight.
‘Thank you,’ she said as he started up the boat. The light show was over but her heart was soaring even as they were plunged back into the night. Bolder now, she moved behind him as he took the wheel. Wrapping her arms around his waist she leant her head on his strong back and gazed out to the darkness. ‘For bringing me here.’
Carter loathed the rare times he was here. It was like sailing through hell. But tonight he felt the low grip of her arms around his waist as he stared ahead. Feeling her warmth, he carefully guided the boat through the winding, narrow stretch. The dense vegetation was gone; the river here was lined on either side with bare silvery mangroves.
Grace’s touch, the heat from her body and the promise of bed was everything he needed to get through this stretch of river he particularly loathed.
‘Was it here?’ she asked, and he assumed she must have felt the tension zip through his shoulders.
Usually he’d ignore such a question, but then, there was nothing usual about this situation. He’d avoided being here, and certainly had never brought a woman. There was no demand for him to answer...just a calm, patient presence...and they were, after all, just together for one night.
‘Just there,’ he finally answered, pointing to the exact spot. ‘That was where my father tied the boat off. A local fisherman saw it empty.’
He turned the boat’s flashlight on and aimed it towards the riverbank, but there were no predatory glinting eyes, just the pale mangroves and the still, dark water. He thought of his mother, impatient when they couldn’t get the small boat close enough...
‘Sophie!’
He could almost hear his father warning her...see Hugo smiling over her shoulder, looking at him.
Moving the flashlight, he shone it into the mangroves, almost expecting to see Hugo’s innocent smile.
That damn teething ring.
Arif should have left it there, undisturbed.
Carter turned off the flashlight, and Grace knew he was shutting down any further discussion about it. She didn’t blame him.
It was eerie to be on the river now, a relief to leave that stretch behind.
More so for Carter.
‘Not long,’ he said, as they turned down another waterway and finally she glimpsed lights.
‘Are there people at home?’ she asked as he tied the boat.
‘There are some residences and offices, but their jetty is further along.’ She saw him look at her taut features. ‘Don’t worry, Felicity won’t see us. The banyan tree is a great divider.’
She laughed. ‘Why am I so scared of her?’
‘I don’t know.’ He pointed to his laptop and she passed it out to him. ‘That too,’ he said, and she handed him the leather cylinder he’d been carrying at the airport.
‘So much for spontaneous,’ she quipped.
‘When it rains in Borneo...’ he said, offering his hand and pulling her out. ‘I am not risking them.’
The lawn was so unlike the jungle, trimmed and cold beneath her feet, and then they came to a stone path and walked up some steps.
‘Wait here...’ he told her, and she watched as he opened up some French doors.
She gasped as he turned on lights. ‘A ballroom?’
‘It was,’ he said. ‘Now it’s a conference room, but there used to be parties held here. Arif and I would watch.’
He didn’t elaborate, just deposited his luggage by the doors and then his attention was fully upon her.
She felt shy, and just a touch awkward—possibly because of her inexperience, or just because she was here, in this stunning, opulent home, where apparently you entered via a ballroom.
But then she met his eyes and any gathering doubts flew away. For there was nothing in her head other than his male beauty. Not a thought save for one—that it had to be him. This night could only happen with him. On this hot, sultry island, all her secrets would be held in the jungle...a place she was never going to return.
‘Can we dance?’ she asked.
‘I don’t dance.’
‘One dance,’ she said, and draped her arms around his neck.
They swayed to no music and she inhaled the scent of his chest and then kissed his salty skin. Breathing him, licking him, tasting him... And not caring, barely noticing, when he unknotted her sarong and it fell to the polished wooden floor.
Oh, the feel of her breasts against his chest, his hands easing her knickers past her thighs. She pushed them down and stepped out of them.
‘One more dance,’ said the man who never danced as he discarded his clothing.
And she thought there might just be music, because they moved slowly as if to a rhythm.
His breathing was ragged in her ear, and then he took her hand and slipped it between them, and she held him, stroked him. Then they separated and he toyed with her breasts, lowering his head and tasting them one by one.
‘Please...’ she said when he stopped his attention there.
But he desisted, and neither did he pull her back into his embrace. The sight of the silver he’d left on her stomach was the most erotic thing she’d ever seen. His erection was alive between them, as if searching for where Grace ached the most.
‘Take me to bed,’ she pleaded, and he did.
But first—hopelessly unromantic—he took condoms from his luggage.
‘I don’t bring anyone here,’ he told her.
She liked that. Knew this was a rarity for them both.
As he picked her up she coiled her legs around his waist. He took the long, winding grand stairs and kissed her at the top, then carried her down a corridor, then another...
She clung on to his neck, kissing his face, his mouth, his neck, feeling the passion she hadn’t known she was capable of, or had simply not allowed to emerge.
Carter loathed coming here.
Past the photos...up the stairs.
The bombardment of memories felt too much at times, but tonight all he had to deal with was her body, coiled around him, and the kisses she rained on his face. Transported by desire, he opened the door to his wing and kissed her hard against the wall. His hand reached down. He was desperate to have her...the bedroom was by far too far away...
‘Bed,’ she insisted.
He kissed her all the way there then dropped her onto the bed, put the condoms aside, wanting first to taste her, and for her to put her mouth on him. He looked at her glittering eyes, her pale body, and then to her lips, wet from his kisses. He slid a hand between her thighs and felt her, warm and slick. He touched her tender spot and watched her bite her lip. He stroked her with light beats of pressure, watching her twitch, her knees lifting and her hand coming over his.
‘Oh, God...’ she gasped, and he forgot about mouths...forgot everything... For even though he wanted so badly to watch her come, he needed her more.
His kiss was fierce and consuming as he settled his thighs between her own, and he lifted and held himself, guided himself to her entrance.
He could feel her, slick and warm, and he heard her soft moans. She was so oiled he was tempted to simply slip in, to lose himself, but he hauled himself back from the edge and reached to the bedside.
Grace breathed in relief. The slight nudge of him had hurt and she wanted to regroup, to tell herself that it was done, he’d broken her, and he never had to know.
Her hand slid from his shoulder as he moved to get protection, and then she felt the waxy skin, the pitted cool flesh, and the thought of her own imminent pain receded.
She felt him still...felt as if she was touching something forbidden—as if beneath her fingers was a secret. She felt a crevice, felt the thick scar tissue beneath. She almost expected him to object by moving away, but he was still. She would never know him after this night, and she wanted to know what she could. So she continued to touch him, to feel the cool, tough flesh and the dints. She knew from his breathing that he was more than aware of her perusal, more intimate than her touch in the ballroom.
He was so aware. He felt her exploration. The skin on his back was usually dull to sensation, but always he was aware of a lover’s recoil—as if they could not stand the imperfection, the truth that their polished lover was flawed.
Yet Grace’s fingers felt like a gentle enquiry, and he closed his eyes at the tenderness of her touch, grateful for her lack of questions, her quiet acceptance.
Protection forgotten, he moved to enter her.
His kiss was deep and wet—a hungry kiss, a devouring kiss. His hand was on her cheek and there was an unvoiced concurrence as still she explored his naked back, moving down past his shoulders, low on his ribcage.
This was no accidental graze of her fingers. They stroked the damaged flesh and he did not know why he allowed it—just knew that here, in this hellhole he’d returned to, it helped.
He guided himself to ease inside her, and there was that resistance again—not her...he could feel her wanting and her softly parted thighs, the ache of desire cording them.
Then he met her eyes, like that very first time, and they were as clear and as perfect as they’d been when they’d first looked into his.
She confirmed what he’d just found out.
‘I’ve never made love...’
‘I don’t do love,’ he responded.
‘I’ve never had sex.’
He stared down at her, wondering why a beautiful twenty-five-year-old might avoid such a vital pleasure?
They both had scars, Carter realised, and neither of them was denying them tonight.
‘Do you want...?’
His voice was a low burr. He was trying to get his head around what he was being told, trying to claw for his usual logic, but she was almost sobbing, pleading...
‘You know that I do.’
He had never made love to a virgin. There was no place in his bed for tender hearts. And yet those rules seemed to have vanished, and raw desire, older than the land that surrounded them, was calling. More than that, he wanted her untutored, untouched body, and as she closed her eyes he held his unsheathed, thick length and watched the grit of her teeth as he nudged in. He heard her moan and watched a tear squeeze from her closed eyes, and then he felt the tightness, and had to stop himself from sinking too fast into her exquisite pleasure.
‘Look at me...’ he told her.
She didn’t know how to. But the searing agony was fading, and it was the most deeply intimate moment of her life—not just in the physical sense. His warm breath and his mouth were still above her, and his precision hadn’t wavered when she’d revealed her truth.
So she looked at him, and for a moment there wasn’t a single lie, nothing between them—just this night.
Then he closed his eyes and drove deeply in.
It hurt, but he pushed fully in, and although it hurt some more there was a giddy rush, a sense of liberty, a pure and intense pleasure, and she opened her eyes and stared back at him. She felt as if something had just been put right...as if this very moment was the reason she was here.
‘No one ever has to know,’ she whispered, liking the secret between them that here, for tonight, she could find herself.
She shuddered with pain and pleasure as he moved. The rawness and the sensations were too much, while conversely not enough, and when he drove in again she moaned, not wholly in pleasure.
He pushed her damp hair from her face and the slightly sick feeling receded. She had nothing with which to compare—just this deep sense that it could only ever have been him, because her body was coming alive, thrumming beneath him.
She had never locked eyes so intensely with another.
‘Move with me,’ he encouraged her, putting a hand on her bottom and lifting her as he drove more deeply in, then moving it to the small of her back as she moved of her own will to meet him.
‘I’m going to come...’
‘No,’ he told her, because she wasn’t lost yet.
He was deep in her tight space, so close to coming himself, and yet prolonging the intense pleasure by moving slower than his urgent desire.
He felt her holding on, hot and crying, watched her biting her lip. And he adored her internal fight, and the little pulses when she gave in. How she closed her eyes as she gripped him intimately.
He moved up onto his forearms and he took her, each thrust a little closer to the tempo he wanted to be met. He watched her eyes widen, felt her calves wrap around him, and there was something a little selfish about the way he took her, and something a little greedy about how she begged him.
Grace was sobbing and moaning in pleasure, her fingers digging into his taut buttocks, jolting with the raw power of him. She’d thought tonight she’d know pleasure—she’d never thought it would be so raw and pure.
Then he stilled and she felt a final swell. His shout was silent, and she felt as if her heart had been rapidly drained...as if every drop of life force had flooded her sex. And, no, she wasn’t a noisy lover. She was almost as silent as him as the world went black and he spilled inside her. She felt tender, raw and exquisite with the depth of her orgasm and the intensity of his.
She knew she was crying...knew he was watching her fall apart beneath him, witnessing her unravel as she had never felt able to before.
She wanted to roll over, to curl up and hold her aching self, will herself back to calm. But she was on her elbows, watching his taut, flat stomach as he slowly slid out. And it was his hand that calmed her, grounded her as she tried to catch her breath.
When she rolled over it was not to turn away, but to turn in to him, her leg over his, his hand on her hip, her face, now burning from exertion and crying tears on his chest.
Then she watched a little fascinated as he positioned himself so that what had been hard inside her now lay long on his thigh. She could hear the hammer of his heart slowing, and guessed there were questions ahead, but then he kissed the top of her head, as if in a little sign of no regret.
And, for now, tomorrow just didn’t matter.