Emma Harte - Hold The Dream Part 40

"Agreed. And please don't say anything to Shane . . . about what I a.s.sumed. He'll think I'm a real busybody."

"Of course I won't say anything," Paula rea.s.sured her. She rose. "Let's go and sit by the fire."

As the two of them walked across the floor, Paula slipped her arm through Elaine's companionably, said in a low voice, "Try not to look so upset, so worried. Shane'll spot that straightaway. He's very intuitive. It's the Celt in him, I suppose. When I was little I actually believed he could read my mind ... he was always second-guessing me in the most maddening way."

Elaine merely smiled at this remark as she lowered herself into a chair. Although she had recovered some of her composure, she was cursing herself under her breath. How stupid she had been to presume they were having an affair. But who wouldn't think that. . . there was an intimacy between them, a kind of bonding, and Shane devoured Paula with his eyes, hung on to her every word. It was transparent that he was in love with her, no matter what Paula believed. And who's she kidding? Only herself. Well, self-delusion is a very human trait, Elaine thought, and stole a look at Paula, who sat in the chair opposite. Whether she knows it or not, she adores him. And not just as an old friend would . . . it's much more than that, more complex, and it runs deeper. Still, perhaps she hasn't realized the extent of her feelings for him. And I ought not to have said anything. Elaine chastised herself again.

But a few seconds later, when Shane brought the tray of coffee to the fireplace, Elaine saw Paula's eyes instantly fly to his face, detected curiosity and a new and avid interest glittering in them. Elaine thought: Who knows, maybe I wasn't so foolish-maybe I've done them both a big favor by speaking out of turn.

Shane served the coffee. Sonny poured cognac, and ten minutes later he fetched his guitar and began to play. He was a cla.s.sical guitarist and immensely talented, and the others sat back, captivated by his playing and his music, entranced by the magic he created for them.

Paula was only half-listening. She was thankful not to have to make conversation. Her mind was in a turmoil. Elaine had stunned her, and much more than she had permitted the other woman to see. But the shock was receding and she tried to sort out her troubled thoughts.

She was positive that Elaine had simply misunderstood Shane's att.i.tude, his behavior toward her. On the other hand, what if Elaine was correct? Elaine had a.s.serted that her .marriage explained everything-meaning, of course, that it explained Shane's unhappiness, which they had apparently detected. Paula suddenly remembered the incomplete thought she had had that afternoon when she had been dozing on the sofa. She had been dwelling on the past few days, thinking that Shane was his old self, the way he was before her marriage. Something had clicked in her head, but then she had fallen asleep. Now that thought became whole, fully formed. Shane had changed, had dropped her, the moment her engagement to Jim had been announced. Why? Because he was jealous. That was the obvious explanation. How stupid she had been not to recognize this before tonight. But why hadn't Shane made it clear to her that he cared for her, when she was still free? Perhaps he had not understood that, until it was too late. It all made sense suddenly.

Paula leaned back in the chair, shattered by her conclusions. She closed her eyes, letting the music lap over her. She thought of Shane. He sat only a few feet away from her. What were his thoughts and emotions at this moment? Was he really in love with her? Crazy about her, so Elaine had said. Paula's heart clenched. And what about me? How do I feel about Shane? Am I unconsciously responding to vibrations emanating from him? Or am I in love with him? . . . Have I always been in love with him without knowing it? She tried to examine her innermost emotions, take stock of her feelings. She floundered.

They left at eleven forty-five.

Shane saw them out.

She knew what she was going to do.

Rising, she walked over to the chest, retrieved the bottle of cognac, carried it back to the fireside. She refilled their brandy balloons, placed the bottle in the center of the coffee table, threw a couple of logs onto the fire.

Then she sat down on the sofa to wait for him.

A few minutes later she heard his step, glanced around as he came in. She smiled across the room at him.

Shane faltered, surprised to see her sitting there, holding another drink. He frowned. "Are you planning to stay up all night? I would've thought you'd be half dead by now. It's been a long day, you worked so hard in the kitchen, shouldn't we go-"

"I just got a second wind!" she cried, cutting him off before he suggested they go to sleep. "I'm having a nightcap. I've poured one for you. Aren't you going to join me?" When he did not reply, she laughed gaily. "Oh, don't be such an old spoilsport, Shane."

He hesitated fractionally. He was afraid of being alone with her. He had been much too aware of her this evening. His desire for her had flared time and time again. His emotions were near the surface. He had sunk a lot of booze. He suddenly wasn't sure whether he could trust himself with her. This thought instantly annoyed him. He wasn't a callow youth, out on his first date, itching to make a conquest. He was a grown man. And he was with the girl he had known all his life. Yes, he loved her. But she trusted him. He was a gentleman. And he could handle himself. Still, I ought to put an end to the evening now, he thought. He said, "Well, just one for the road. I'd planned for us to go riding tomorrow morning-bright and early."

He strolled over to the fireplace, striving to appear offhand. He reached for the drink she had poured, stepped away from the coffee table, planning to sit in the chair next to the hearth.

Paula patted the sofa. "No, sit here, Shane, next to me. I want to talk to you."

He tensed, looked at her alertly, searching her face. Her expression was neutral, placid even. It baffled him. She was usually much more animated. "Okay." He sat as far away from her as -possible, squashed himself into the opposite corner of the sofa. , "Cheers," Paula said, leaning closer, knocking her gla.s.s against his.

"Cheers." Their hands accidentally touched as they lifted their gla.s.ses. He felt a spark of electricity shoot up his arm. He pushed himself even farther into the corner, crossed his legs. "What do you want to talk to me about?"

"I'd like to ask you a question."

"Go on, then ..."

"Will you tell me the truth?"

He eyed her, suddenly wary. "It depends on the question. If I don't like it, I might be evasive in my answer."

She gave him an odd look. "You and I always told each other the truth when we were children. We never dealt in lies then ... I'd like it to be like that between us again."

"But it is!"

"Not really, Shane." She saw the surprise registering in his eyes. "Oh yes," she said, "it's been like old times this week, I admit, but there has been an estrangement between us for almost two years. Please don't even try to deny that." There, it was out at last. "In fact," she went on quickly, "you've been cold and distant with me for the longest time. When I asked you about your remoteness, your absence from my life, oh, ages ago now, you brushed me off with silly excuses. Pressure of work, travel, you said." Paula placed her drink on the coffee table and stared hard at him. "I never really believed you in my heart of hearts. And that brings me to my question"-she paused, her eyes stayed on his face-and it's this: What awful thing did I do to you, to drive you out of my life? You-my oldest and dearest friend."

He stared back at her, unable to make any kind of response. If he told her the truth he would reveal himself, his real feelings. If he lied, he would hate himself for doing so. Anyway, she was clever. She would spot the lie immediately. He swallowed, put his drink down, looked ahead at the fire, his face reflective. Better to be silent.

Neither of them spoke for a while.

Paula, her eyes fixed on him, knew suddenly what his terrible dilemma was. Oh my darling, she thought, open your heart to me, tell me everything. Her love for Shane flowed through her, sweeping all else aside. She caught her breath in astonishment as she finally acknowledged her feelings. She longed to put her arms around him, to expunge the sadness on his face with her kisses.

The silence lengthened.

Paula said softly, "I realize how difficult it is for you to answer my question." There was only the merest hesitation before she finished, "And so I will do it for you. You dropped me because I became engaged to Jim and then married him shortly afterward."

Still he did not dare open his mouth, afraid of giving himself away. So she had guessed. But exactly how much had she guessed. He blinked, continuing to focus on the dancing flames. He knew he could not let her see his face until he had wiped it clean of all emotion.

Eventually he half-turned to her, said slowly, in ,a voice that was strangely hoa.r.s.e, "Yes, that's the reason I put distance between us, Paula. Perhaps I was wrong to do that. But . . . you see ... I thought. . . that Jim wuld resent me, yes, and that you would too. After all, why would either of you want an old chum like me loitering on your doorstep . . ." He left the sentence unfinished.

"Shane . . . you're not telling me the truth . . . you know you're not, and so do I."

It was the inflection of her voice that caught his attention, prompted him to swing his head. In the bright glow of the firelight the pallor of her face had acquired a curious luminosity, a pearly sheen. The violet eyes had darkened, burned with an unfamiliar look he could not fathom. He noticed a vein pulsing rapidly in her neck. She parted her lips as if to say something, but remained silent. That expression in her eyes. Again it struck him with unusual force. His desire for her raged through him. His heart thudded, an internal shaking gripped him. It took all of his self-control to remain seated, to stay away from her. Then he knew what he must do-he must get up, walk out, leave her. But he found he could not move.

They gazed at each other.

Paula saw his love, no longer concealed, leaping out from his brilliantly black eyes. Instantaneously Shane saw her love fully revealed, saw the yearning on her face, the longing and desire that hitherto had been only his to disguise, to withhold.

The shock of recognition transfixed him.

And then with sureness, absolute certainty, they moved at precisely the same moment.

They were in each other's arms. Their mouths met. Her lips were warm and soft and they parted slightly, welcomed him. Their tongues grazed, caressed, lay still. He pushed her down onto the mound of pillows, his left hand holding the nape of her neck, his right smoothing her hair away from her face, stroking her cheek, her long neck. Her hands pressed into his shoulder blades, then moved up into his hair, strong and firm on his scalp. He began to kiss her as he had wanted to kiss her for so long, with pa.s.sion and force, his mouth hard and demanding on hers, his tongue thrusting, their breath, their saliva, mingling. But unexpectedly his kisses became gentle, tender, as he moved his hand onto her breast. He held it firmly, then slowly stroked it until the nipple sprang up hard under his fingers. His heart was slamming against hers.

They pulled apart at last, their breathing labored. He looked down into her face. His eyes impaled hers. She reached up, touched his face, traced one finger across the line of his long upper lip under the mustache.

Shane stood up, undressed rapidly, flung his clothes onto the chair. Paula did the same, and they came together on the sofa with extreme urgency, their hands clutching at each other. He took her in his arms and held her tightly against his chest, kissing her face, her hair, her shoulders. Then he pushed himself up on one elbow, bent over her. How well he knew this body. He had watched it grow from infant to child to young woman. But he had never seen it like this-entirely naked, every inch of it exposed to him, waiting for him. He let his hand slide down over her high, firm b.r.e.a.s.t.s, onto her flat stomach, along the edge of her outer thigh, then her inner thigh, smoothing, caressing, touching every part of her until they came to rest on that soft black vee of hair that concealed the core of her womanhood. He covered it with his entire hand, moved his body so that he could rest his face against her thigh. His fingers seemed to move of their own accord, gently seeking, probing, learning her. And finally he brought his mouth down to join with his fingers in their tender exploration.

Shane felt her immediately stiffen. He stopped, lifted his head, stared up along the slender stretch of her body, met her widening eyes. She was watching him intently, her expression baffled, alarmed. He smiled.

So much for her marriage. His way of loving her, giving her pleasure, was seemingly new, and most transparently so. This sudden insight, the thought of her inexperience, delighted and thrilled him. At least no other man had touched her thus.

Her tenseness increased. She tried to raise herself on her elbows, opened her mouth to speak.

He murmured, "Be still, let me love you."

"But you, what about you?" she whispered.

"What's a few more minutes after all the years I've waited for you."

Paula fell back against the cushions, sighing lightly. She closed her eyes, let her body go limp, allowed him to do as he wished with her. Her senses were beginning to reel, not only from the suddenness with which they had come together, but from his pa.s.sion and sensuality. The way Shane was kissing and touching every part of her was unfamiliar, erotic. With his knowledge, expertise, and sensitivity he knew exactly how to arouse her fully. He excited her as she had never been excited before, and she opened up to him uninhibit-edly. Quiver upon quiver ran through her as his mouth and fingers loved her with delicacy, then fervency, and always with consummate skill. They seemed to transmit a scorching heat, struck the core of her being with an exquisite sensation that she had never known had existed until this moment. The heat was spreading, searing her body. "Oh, Shane, Shane, please don't stop," she gasped, unaware that she had spoken.

He could not answer unless he stopped, and he could not stop now. He was being carried along by her mounting excitement.

It matched his own. He was aroused as he had never been before, and her desire for him was thrilling, a powerful aphrodisiac. He intensified his concentration on er, savoring the warmth of her, bringing her to the pinnacle of ecstasy. He knew that any moment she would spasm. She did, and he lifted himself on top of her, joined himself to her with a power and force that made them both cry out. She clung to him, screamed his name. He brought his mouth down hard on hers. She cleaved to him, her body arching.

They began to move in unison, their mutual pa.s.sion rising.

Shane opened his eyes. The room was brilliant with light. And he who had so recently craved darkness now wanted that, light . . . blinding, glittering light. He wanted to see her face, catch every flicker of emotion that crossed it, needed to know that it truly was she whom he was loving. He pushed himself up, his hands braced on each side of her, and she lifted her lids, staring into his face. He stared back. He began to move again and with rapidity and she followed his lead and not once did his searching eyes leave hers. Suddenly he slowed the rhythm, wanting to prolong their joining.

He suddenly understood that this went far, far beyond mere s.e.xual possession. He was possessing her soul, her heart, her mind, as she was possessing his. She was his dreamlike child of his childhood dreams ... in his arms at last . . . truly his at last. She belonged to him now. He held the world in his arms. The pain he had lived with ceased abruptly. His old life fell away . . . down . . . down . . . into a dark void ...

A new life was beginning ... he was someone entirely new. He was a complete man . . . made whole as he came up ... up into the blinding, blinding light where she waited in the center of the radiance.

They were mesmerized by each other. Their eyes locked, became wider as their scrutiny intensified. They looked deeper, deeper still, endeavoring to convey the extent and strength of their emotions, and they saw into infinity, saw their own souls and each other's. And everything was made clear.

She is my life, he thought. And oh the blessed peace of it.

She thought: There is only Shane. There only ever has been Shane.

He started to move against her, slowly at first and then more urgently and without restraint. She matched him, was as unrestrained as he. Their bodies entwined. Their mouths joined. They became one.

As he felt his life's essence flowing through him into her, he cried out, "I love you, I have always loved you, I will love you until the day I die."

Shane's bedroom was much larger and more s.p.a.cious than the one he had given her, but it was warm because the entire barn was centrally heated.

As in her room, a huge bra.s.s bed dominated the s.p.a.ce. Paula now lay propped up against the mound of snowy pillows, a down comforter tucked around her chest, only her bare shoulders revealed. She sighed, filled with contentment and an extraordinary feeling of inner peace, and of completeness. The physical release she had experienced with Shane was wholly new to her. She had never achieved satisfaction before, and she marveled at him, at herself, and at their lovemaking. How unselfish and tender he was, and oh how she had responded to his emotion, to his yearning desire for her. And because of his genuine understanding of her, his caring, their loving had been natural, uninhibited, full of exultation and joyousness, a true bonding in every way.

When they finally doused the lights in the main room and crept upstairs carrying their clothes, she had believed their mutual pa.s.sion was entirely spent. Exhausted, they had lain here in this great bed, their bodies touching, holding hands under the sheet, and they had not stopped talking. And then quite suddenly their desire for each other had flared unexpectedly, and they had made love for the second time with the same urgent need and breathlessness.

Shane had turned on the lamp, thrown back the bedclothes, telling her he must look at her, know that it was really she, must witness the emotions he was evoking in her. The kissing, the touching had been unhurried and voluptuous, and again he had brought her to that blissful state of fulfillment before taking her to him, and had led her into new regions, murmuring what he wanted, showing her how to further excite him, love him as he had loved her. And she had done so willingly, lovingly, taking pleasure from his pleasure. But he had stopped her when he was on the brink, had pulled her on top of him, his body thrusting upward to join with hers. And together they had reached greater heights of rapture than the first time.

Shane had finally switched off the lamp and, wrapped in each other's arms, they had tried to sleep, but it had eluded them. They were too keyed up and conscious of each other, needed to prolong their newfound intimacy. And so they had begun to talk in the dark, and then a few minutes ago Shane had gone downstairs to make tea for them.

Paula leaned forward and glanced at the clock on the small campaign chest at his side of the bed. It was nearly four. We made love endlessly, she thought, but not mindlessly. Oh no, not mindlessly at all. She had not realized until tonight how beautiful the s.e.xual union between a man and a woman could be. In fact, she had always thought that s.e.x was not what it was cracked up to be. How wrong she had been. But it has to be the right man with the right woman, she said under her breath. She sank into the pillows, another sigh escaping as she waited for Shane to come back.

He did so a moment or two later, carrying a laden tray and singing at the top of his voice.

"Who do you think you are? A pop star?" she cried, sitting up in bed, grinning at him.

His answer was to gyrate his body at her several times and leer in an exaggerated fashion.

He brought her the mug of tea and the plate of ginger biscuits she had requested, put his own tea and chocolate biscuits on his bedside chest. Continuing to hum the melody, he slipped off his robe, threw it across a nearby chair.

She looked at his broad back, ma.s.sive shoulders, and strong arms, and admiringly so. He was a big, well-built man, and she had seen him in swimming trunks for years. So why did his powerful physique seem so startling to her tonight? Because now she really knew him? Because she had learned about his body as he had hers, and in the most intimate way?

As he swung around he noticed that she was staring at him.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing. I was just thinking I've never seen you so brown." She giggled. "But you've got a white bottom."

"And you too, madame, will have a brown back and a white bottom by this time next week." He strode over to the bed, unself-conscious in his nakedness, and got in next to her, kissed her cheek. "If I've got anything to do with it, that is."

"Oh," was all she said, gazing at him.

"Yes. I have to go to Barbados on Tuesday. Come with me, Paula." His eyes appealed.

"Oh, Shane, what a lovely idea. Of course, I'll come with you." Her face instantly dropped. "But I couldn't get away until Wednesday."

"That's all right." He turned to get his mug of tea, took a sip. "It'll give me a chance to do some of my work. Actually, I will have to spend some time every morning in the administrative offices. But we'll have the afternoons. . . and all those beautiful nights." His smile was suggestive, his dancing black eyes wickedly teasing.

She said, with a small smile, "I've been dying to go to Barbados-to see the Harte boutique."

'He lifted his brows. "Aha, so that's why you agreed, and so readily. And I thought you were after my body again."

Paula gave him a light, playful punch on his arm. "Oh, you!" She drank her tea. It tasted good, hot and refreshing. And she felt good. No, wonderful. And filled with wonderment. She reached out, took a chocolate biscuit from the plate on his lap, munched it, then took another.

"I wonder what a psychiatrist would make of that?" Shane said.

"Make of what?"

"This constant desire of yours to eat off my plate. You've been doing it all of your life, and perhaps it has

some hidden s.e.xual meaning. Do you think it's a form of oral gratification, linked in some way to me and