Night Magic Part 20

"I haven't had a real bath in weeks."

His hands were on the snap fastening of his pajama pants. Clara began to get an inkling of his meaning. Her puritan soul was horrified.

"Jack, don't you dare! You can't get in here! What about your bandage?" The last was an almost wailed last ditch effort to stop him. But he paid no attention, stepping out of the pajama pants and into the tub with her. Clara squeaked, drawing up her legs as he sat down.

"Quit splashing. You'll get my bandage wet. Clara, baby, what is that mess on your face?"

Clara had been so preoccupied with the ramifications of his presence in the bathroom while she was taking a bath that she had completely forgotten the white cream on her face. Mortified, she scooped up water in her hands and splashed it off. When she had finished, blinking her eyes against the stinging combination of perfumed water and face cream, he thoughtfully pa.s.sed her the small towel that had been sitting on the tiled floor beside the tub for just such a purpose. She dried her face with it, then eyed him over the top of it. The ends of the towel trailed down into the water, effectively shielding her body.

"You're not shy, are you?" he asked in a teasing tone, tugging on the edge of the towel. Clara clutched it tighter.

"Certainly not!"

He grinned. And tugged on the towel again.

"I bet this is the first time you've ever had a man in the bathtub with you."

Clara glared at him. "If it were, I certainly wouldn't tell you!"

Jack gave a jerk and the towel flew from Clara's hands to land in a sodden heap on the floor.

"Oh!" Her eyes were wide as they met his. She stood up abruptly. Water streamed down her body as she stepped from the tub, reaching for the towel. Jack had an excellent view of full white b.r.e.a.s.t.s crested with velvety pink nipples, a narrow waist, curvaceous hips and a flat belly with an adorable round navel just above a triangular nest of ash brown hair. Her legs were long and lovely and well-shaped too. And when she turned her back on him, her round little a.s.s nearly gave him palpitations.

"Baby, you turn me on," he said, meaning it. She had wrapped a towel around herself by that time and turned back to frown at him severely.

"You should be in bed."

He manuevered himself so that he was sitting back against the tapless end of the tub. Resting both arms along the side, he smiled at her. The charm of that lopsided smile took her breath.

"I told you. I got lonely. Besides, I need a bath."

"So take one." She turned and started to gather up her nightclothes prior to leaving the room. He watched her, his eyes gleaming over the long bare expanse of her legs.

"I could use some help," he said plaintively. "After all, I don't want to get my bandage wet. Think of the complications that could lead to. I could die."

She turned to look at him.

"You are so full of buffalo chips, McClain, that I'm surprised you haven't experienced spontaneous combustion by now."

That surprised a laugh out of him. She eyed him with disfavor, then turned on her heel and marched out of the bathroom, towel still wrapped around her body and nightclothes in hand.

"Clara, wait!"

There was a tremendous splashing as he clambered out of the tub. Then Clara was horrified to hear a yell, an enormous thud- and silence.

"Jack!" She rushed back into the bathroom to find him sprawled flat on his back on the floor. His eyes were closed, his head resting near the toilet. Had he hit his head as he fell?

"Jack!" She dropped to her knees beside him, touching his shoulder, his face, her fingers slipping gently through the hair on the top and back of his head as she sought for visible signs of an injury. "Jack, say something!"

"Something," he said, his eyes popping open even as his hands closed over her arms.

"You cheater!" Those green eyes were sparkling with laughter. "You no-good, dirty polecat! You-"

"Keep talking, sweet thing," he murmured, still grinning as he pulled her closer. "Your words are music to my ears."

"Filthy pig!" Clara wailed, even as he tugged her close enough so that he could catch her lips with his. He had to lift his head from the floor to do it; his fingers were tight around her upper arms. She knew she could pull away; a sideways turn of her head would at least free her lips of his mouth. But his warm, soft lips on hers were so tantalizing, gently seductive, promising better things to come. Clara felt her eyes closing and didn't even fight it. She could imagine nothing she wanted more than to have him kiss her.

"You smell nice," he whispered as his mouth left hers to trail a string of fiery kisses along her neck. Clara pressed her lips to his shoulder and had to repress a giggle.

"So do you," she said unsteadily. The scent of lilac was intoxicating mixed with his musky aroma.

"Mmm, I could eat you up." His mouth was trailing along her collarbone, moving lower. His hands released her arms at last to slide around her back. With a quick tug the towel parted in front, baring her b.r.e.a.s.t.s to him.

Clara looked down at herself, saw the soft white globes with their strawberry nipples suspended over his face, saw too the darkening of his eyes to emerald as he took in her bounty.

"G.o.d, you're beautiful." His voice was a husky growl. Clara felt the force of it like a tremor along her spine. Then his lips were trailing along the upper slopes of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, his bristly chin moving back and forth over the swelling softness until she was gasping, on fire for him to take her nipples in his mouth. At last he did. He licked and bit and suckled her like a babe, while Clara watched him through a smoky daze. He was so dark and she so fair...

She was kneeling beside his p.r.o.ne body, leaning over him. His hands slid down to knead her bottom. His hands were so large and warm and strong against her silky curves; his mouth was hot and wet and powerful on her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. A clamoring started deep in the pit of her belly, a quickening that grew and grew and demanded more.

Her hands were on his chest, careful not to go near the bandage as they tested his muscles, ran over each hard sinew, tugged on the forest of curly dark hair. His chest was so wide; his belly with its arrow of black hair was so hard and flat. She loved his belly, she thought, stroking it while his hands explored her bottom and his mouth caressed her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

Then his hand slid lower, slipping between her thighs from the rear, creeping and stroking along the hot womanly flesh of her until they found the opening and his fingers slid inside.

"Oh, Jack!"She was leaning over him, completely open to his mouth and his touch, her eyes closed as her body caught fire for him. Trembling, she lay against his chest, not even thinking about his wound now, or hurting him or anything else except the marvelous way he was making her feel. His fingers moved inside her. She made a little mewling sound and sank her teeth in his shoulder. Blindly her fingers reached for the swollen proof of his desire.

"Hold it!"

Clara blinked as Jack sat up, bringing her up with him.

"Jack!" Her hands clung to him; her body craved him. He couldn't stop now!

"I'll be d.a.m.ned if I'm going to make love to you on a hard bathroom floor when there's a perfectly good bed in the next room," he gritted, standing up. Clara knelt naked at his feet, looking up at him with dazed eyes. She wanted him... Naked, towering over her, he was beautiful, all bronzed skin and muscles and black curling hair. Her eyes riveted on the part of him that stood out from the rest of his body. It was huge and hot looking and pulsing for her.

"Come on." He reached down, pulling her to her feet, then slid his arms around her and lifted her against his chest. Clara came out of the daze she was lost in as he started to stride from the bathroom.

"Jack, put me down! Jack, your wound!"

"To h.e.l.l with the d.a.m.n thing," he muttered. Then it was too late to argue because he had reached the bed and was tumbling her down on it. She landed against cool sheets, lying sideways, legs dangling over the side of the bed. He came down on top of her, hard and fast, and she spread her thighs to accommodate him. Then he was inside her, plunging deep, surprising sharp cries of ecstasy from her as he took her with furious need. Her arms were around his neck and her legs were around his waist and she was trembling, shaking, dying with the bliss of what he was doing to her.

His mouth found her nipples, pulling one into his mouth and closing his teeth around it, suckling and biting until she thought she would go crazy, and all the while he was slamming into her like a jackhammer gone wild.

"Clara! My G.o.d, Clara!" He called her name as he drove into her one final time, shuddering. The force of his climax drove her over the edge, and she cried out too, holding him tight as she was whirled away.

XXVIII.

By the time morning rolled around Clara was so exhausted that all she wanted to do was lie in bed with her head under the pillow and sleep the day away. She had lost count of the number of times she and Jack had made love during the night. He'd been tireless, and despite her occasional feeble remonstrations about his wound she'd been more than willing. They hadn't closed their eyes until dawn was sneaking bright pink fingers across the sky.

Beside her, Jack was snoring. She listened groggily to the sound, wondering if that was what had awakened her. Then she heard it again: the imperious pounding on the villa's door.

"Oh, no!" she groaned. She buried her head beneath the pillow again, attempting to ignore General Ramsey's morning summons in hopes that he would go away. But the pounding sounded again, forceful enough to shake the walls of the villa, accompanied by the general's ba.s.s voice calling, "Miss Winston, is everything all right?"

Clara sat up in bed, giving Jack a baleful glare. He was still blissfully asleep. Clara didn't see how any normal human being could sleep through the racket the general was making, but Jack was doing a good job of it. She shook his shoulder. He didn't move, so she shook it again, harder.

The snoring stopped. One green eye peered out from under his arm to blink at her.

"Baby, you're the s.e.xiest thing on two legs, but I'm going to have to take a raincheck for now. I'm dead beat," he muttered. Then his eye closed again. Clara stared down at him, amused in spite of herself.

"You are a conceited soul, Jack McClain," she told the back of his black head. Getting out of bed, she pulled on her robe and went downstairs to let General Ramsey in before he had one of his grunts break down the door.

After she let the irate general in, she went into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee as he stomped up the stairs. If Jack felt as wiped out as she did, he would need the caffeine jolt to make sense of a word General Ramsey said. When the coffee was ready, she put the pot, sugar, cream, cups and saucers on a tray and carried it up the stairs. Jack was just dragging himself to a sitting position while General Ramsey glared at him.

"None of the codes have been used," she heard the general say as she entered with the coffee. Jack, bleary-eyed, grinned at her as she set the tray down on the bedside table. Clara gave him a narrow look. Raincheck, indeed!

"Coffee, General?" she asked civilly as she pa.s.sed Jack a cup. Jack took his black with one spoonful of sugar, she already knew.

"Thank you. Just a little cream." Clara poured the coffee and pa.s.sed it to him, then poured herself a cup. She would take it into the bathroom with her as she dressed.

"We'll have to-" the general began, only to break off abruptly and sniff the air. Clara, already heading toward the door, saw his eyes widen as they focused on Jack.

"That's the d.a.m.ned wimpiest smelling aftershave I've ever come across in my life, boy," General Ramsey said, glaring at Jack. "It smells like flowers!"

Jack, in the act of swallowing some coffee, choked. Clara grinned when she saw the tip of his ears go red as his horrified gaze met the general's. She was still grinning as she left the room. After that, Jack would think twice before climbing into a scented bathtub!

By the time night fell Clara was dead on her feet. Jack had gone next door to the villa General Ramsey shared with Captain Spencer to work with some of the sophisticated computer equipment the general had had brought to the island. She made herself a light supper, thinking that she would wait up for him. But by the time he came in, she was fast asleep on the couch.

"Wake up, sleepyhead," she heard him say. Groggily, she tried a smile. But her eyes would not open. She was so tired she couldn't swim through the dense layers of sleep. She felt his arms go around her, and then he was picking her up and carrying her up the stairs. Clara roused herself enough to slide her arms around his neck and rest her head against his shoulder. He dropped a quick kiss on her lips as he laid her on the bed.

"I'm beat, too. Go on back to sleep, baby," he murmured. Clara tried another smile at him, felt him ease her out of her robe, vaguely heard him shed his clothes and felt the solid warmth of his body as he climbed in beside her. Snuggling close to him, she gave herself up to sleep.

XXIX.

"Clara!"

"Hmmm?"

"Clara!"

She felt the nuzzle of a mouth against her neck and instinctively stretched her chin out of the way. The mouth dropped lower, traveling over the smooth upper slope of her right breast before coming to rest on the nipple. The hot moistness of that mouth burned through to her skin. Clara opened her eyes.

Jack lifted his mouth from her breast to grin at her.

"Let's go swimming."

"What?" The suggestion so surprised Clara that at first she wasn't sure she heard it correctly. Jack obligingly repeated himself.

"In the middle of the night?"

"Haven't you ever fantasized about swimming in the ocean by moonlight?"

"No."

He laughed. "Think of it as another experience for your books."

Clara groaned, but when Jack got out of bed she watched him with sleepy eyes. He was not kidding, she saw to her surprise as he shucked off his pajama pants and stepped into a pair of bermudas and a white sweatshirt that had been charged for him at the girl shop.

"You can't go swimming with a hole in your chest."

"Captain Kryzanski says I'm ninety percent recovered. Not even lilac scented bathwater will hurt me."

"When did he say that?"

"After he noticed my peculiar smell today."

Clara smiled into her pillow. Jack saw it and pulled her up into a sitting position on the side of the bed.

"I don't have anything to wear. I didn't buy a swimsuit."

Jack sighed. "Why is it women think they must be perfectly dressed for every single thing they do? Baby, n.o.body cares if you don't have a swimsuit. It's dark outside. That thing you have on will be perfect. It even looks like a swimsuit. A s.e.xy one."

That thing was the new teddy, which she had put on to wait for Jack in before she had fallen asleep on the couch. Clara looked down at it. So Jack thought it was s.e.xy, did he? It faithfully revealed every curve and hollow of her body. Her nipples pressed against the shimmery silk and frothy lace spilled out of the high cut sides that made her legs look impossibly long and slender. She felt s.e.xy in it.

"Come on. It's almost dawn. I want to watch the sun come up from the beach. The sun rising over the ocean is one of the most beautiful sights in the world."

Clara groaned. But she got out of bed, pulled on her robe, and allowed Jack to pull her down the stairs.

The beach at night was a beautiful, mysterious place. The moon rode low on the horizon, a hazy white sphere; stars were sprinkled thickly over the midnight blue velvet sky, lighting their way. The white beach stretched before them like a ghostly ribbon, while the white-capped waves rolled in toward sh.o.r.e, one after the other, with a rhythmic roar that was hypnotic. The smell of the sea was everywhere; a briny smell that made Clara think of oysters.

There was a brisk wind blowing. Clara wrapped her arms around herself, glad she had worn the long quilted robe. Looking over at Jack in his bermuda shorts and sweatshirt, she wondered if he was cold. But he didn't seem to be, strolling along beside her with his eyes on the ocean and his hand gripping hers. A young man in the uniform of a motel employee materialized behind them as they pa.s.sed the end of the line of villas. Jack motioned him back with a curt wave of the hand.

"Who's that?"

"One of Wild Bill's baby green marines. I don't think we need him, do you?"

Clara shook her head. Leaning against Jack's side, her hand entwined in his, she didn't need anyone else in the world. This was another of those times that was just for the moment, she thought. Danger and treachery and death were pushed out of her mind; she would enjoy the night.

The sand was cool and gritty beneath her feet. They were walking close to the ocean's edge, just beyond the place where the tide ebbed and flowed. The sand was wet with spray. Looking behind them, Clara saw the set of twin footprints that marked their path: Two sets of long, narrow feet walking close together and in harmony down the long stretch of moonlit sand. That line of footprints blazed itself into her memory. She knew that she would remember how it looked when she was old.

They walked until the villas were distant gray castles on the horizon, until the beach curved outward along a gra.s.sy promontory, forming a small, sheltered cove. Jack stopped, peeling the sweatshirt over his head.

"You're not really going to swim, are you? The water must be freezing!"

"Don't be a p.u.s.s.y," Jack said chidingly, and tugged at her robe. "Come on!"

"Uh-uh," Clara shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest. "You can lead a woman to water, but you can't make her swim. You go ahead. I'll wait right here."

"p.u.s.s.y." He grinned at her, then ran down to the ocean's edge and waded out. He looked magnificent against the breaking waves. Clara felt a heartstopping frisson of pride that this was her man. Then he was swimming, his strokes strong and vigorous. Clara watched him for a while, worried that he might get beyond his depth, but he stayed parallel with the beach and eventually headed back. When he waded out of the shallows, water streaming from his body, black hair as sleek and shiny as a seal's, he was grinning and shaking the water from his body like a dog. He had lost his bandage during his swim, Clara saw as she hurried down to the water's edge with his sweatshirt. His wound was a puckered black circle surrounded by a yellow and gray bruise.

"It's not cold once you get in, Clara. Come on." He wiped his face on his sweatshirt as he spoke. Clara looked at him suspiciously.