Ann Bruce | Homecoming, Part 2

Homecoming, Part 2

Amanda didn't notice the salty breeze blowing coldly off the sea whipping errant strands of hair about her face. She sat on the rocky beach with her knees drawn up to her chest. For a moment, the tears that burned her throat threatened to fall. Amanda quickly buried her face in the space between her knees and her chest, her forehead resting on her kneecaps.

Her life was in shambles. In the time since she had left the island permanently eleven years ago, she had gone through a disastrous marriage, a divorce, a failed career, and the death of her unborn child. It was the last that finally broke her. She returned to the island, her haven, her shelter in the storm. She came back, wanting Theo and his words of wisdom or just simply his soothing presence. Instead, she came back to see her grandfather imprisoned in a wooden box on garish display in the tiny church. And once again, she was alone.

They had said that they had tried to reach her but she was too elusive. Nevertheless, she was back. Theo had left her the house and the restaurant. She could sell if she wished and move back to the city, where she had been living for the past eleven years. Or she could simply rent them out. They understood that the shock was great so, therefore, they were not expecting an immediate answer. She should take some time to think things over and not make any hasty decisions, they had advised.

Amanda wanted to throw her head back and laugh. As if any decision she made really mattered any more. She consciously, forcibly quelled the urge. She was not completely crazy. Not yet, anyway.

Amanda gazed distractedly at the angry scene before her. The gray of the sky blended with the gray of the water. The salty air was on her tongue and the crashing waves resonated in her head.

Amanda lifted her head and flung it back. She could see the gulls circling above her, pale white against the somber clouds. For the longest time, she watched them soar high above her, dipping and feinting in the air, moving freely, as if without a care in the world. Amanda wrapped her arms protectively around her knees, wishing that she herself could join the birds.

Amanda heard steady footfalls behind her but she did not turn around. They faltered for a moment then continued on until Amanda could see the jeans-clad legs in the corner of her eye. Her visitor propped himself down beside her.

"Amanda."

"Michael."

"I heard you were back."

"By now, I think everyone has," she said wryly. "It's a small town."

"Are you back for good?" he asked a little too casually.

"I don't know." She shrugged. "At first, I thought I would be. But now...Theo's..."

He nodded understandingly. "I see."

They both fell silent. Finally, Amanda turned to look at him and asked, "Did you ever finish that guide book?"

He looked back at her and grinned. "Yeah. Eventually."

Amanda rested her cheek on her knee. "I thought that by now you'd be gone."

"I couldn't leave until I tied up all my loose ends," he replied cryptically.

Amanda looked sharply at him, her gaze questioning. And then she saw him. There was a warm glint in his eyes and a soft smile on his mouth. Perhaps...

"And what were the loose ends?"

Quietly, simply, he took the plunge and said, "You."

Then slowly, ever-so-slowly, an answering smile curved Amanda's lips. She reached out and clasped his left hand. Michael threaded his warm fingers through hers.

She wasn't alone.

Michael gently squeezed the hand in his, wanting to warm the cool flesh, wanting to infuse it with his body heat. And he had more than enough for the both of them. Seeing her again brought all the memories rushing to the fore. Memories of a gangly teenager always hurrying as if she was ten minutes late for a five minute meeting. Memories of lazy afternoons, childish antics, and bright laughter. Memories of a particular afternoon spent exploring, teaching, discovering, learning. Who taught who, he could not exactly recall. He was supposed to have been the experienced one, but her curious lips and hands had taught him about longings and feelings that had somehow remained with him all these years.

Looking at her now, it was at first hard to reconcile that shy, gawky girl with the sad, introspective woman next to him. But the eyes were the same. Call it stupid, call it cliché, but he really did believe that the eyes were the windows to the soul. And Amanda's soul was the same. Perhaps a bit more bruised and a tad more cynical. But that was a sign of maturity and life, was it not? And from what he knew, life had not been particularly mindful of what it doled out to her.

It took Michael a moment to realize that the wet droplets was coming from the sky and not from the sea. The rain began as a drizzle for a few seconds before the skies really opened up and let it pour. Beside him, Amanda gasped in shock.

Michael jumped up. "Let's get out of here," he proposed, offering her his hand, palm facing up.

Without looking up, Amanda took his hand and allowed him to pull her up. They carefully hurried up the beach and to where he had parked his battered, black Range Rover. He unlocked the passenger side door and closed it after Amanda jumped in. Michael hurried around the front of his car and got behind the wheel. He inserted his key and turned on the ignition.

"Cold?" he asked even as he turned on the heater. He glanced over at his passenger. Amanda wasn't shivering, but she was holding herself too stiffly and her arms were wrapped about her waist. Even though they had only been in the rain for no more than a minute, her dark curls were plastered to her face and skull.

"Not really," she lied.

Michael restrained himself from rolling his eyes. "Take off your sweater, Amanda." She arched a questioning brow at him but complied, pulling the drenched wool sweater over her head. Michael took it and threw it in the back, at the same time grabbing his comfortably worn leather jacket. He offered it to her. "Put this on."

"What about you?" she asked, eyeing his waterlogged form.

"I'll be okay in a few seconds." Michael draped an arm over his steering wheel and faced her. She looked completely overwhelmed in his much larger jacket. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "Do you want me to take you home?"

Amanda shook her head. "Not yet. I'd go crazy thinking of Theo."

He nodded understandingly. "All right." Michael threw the Range Rover in reverse and pulled out of the lot.

They both knew where he was going to take them and accepted it.

"You bought the McKenzies' place?" she queried as the house came into view. The house was situated half-way up a heavily forested mountain with a cleared path for a rather wide dirt road. It was a dark, wooden structure that had always reminded Amanda of a hunting lodge. A big wooden porch with a large porch swing invited them to sit and enjoy the rain.

"Yeah. Tyler moved to the city and opened up a law firm, and his parents decided that they wanted to do the Florida retirement thing. I got tired of renting out Miss Patsy's basement, so I bought the place. But I do miss Miss Patsy's peach cobbler." He grinned, adding a charmingly boyish quality to his rough-cut features. "Every once in a while, though, I drop by her house and sweet-talk her into making me cobbler."

Amanda chuckled, picturing anyone trying to sweet-talk the crotchety woman who had been old since the day she had been born. "Miss Patsy must be one hundred years old by now."

"She's only seventy-eight, Amanda," Michael corrected, parking the vehicle to the side of the house. "Come on, I'll give you a tour of the inside."

Amanda suddenly felt something heavy settle on her chest. It was a belated warning. Flashes of her ex-husband made her mouth go dry. "I've already seen it years ago, Michael."

"I've made a few changes since then. Come on," he repeated insistently, his voice gentle. He had correctly read the play of emotions over his face. "Or I can still take you home, Amanda."

Amanda inwardly battled with herself for long seconds before finally nodding. "Let's go see your renovations."

They both emerged from the Range Rover and made a dash for the door. Michael pushed the door open and ushered her inside. Amanda breathed a soft exclamation of awe. Michael hadn't been kidding when he said he had made renovations. When she had been to the McKenzies' place years ago, it had been a dark, gloomy house with room after room sectioned off. Now, had the sun been shining, Amanda knew the entire interior would be lit like a candle. The numerous rooms were gone. The walls had been torn down and in their place was a rustic, spacious living area with a small, oak breakfast bar separating the thoroughly modern kitchen from the rest of the house. The stuccoed ceiling had been removed to reveal the reinforced wooden beams beneath a glass dome. There was a circular, wood-burning fireplace in the centre of the sunken living room. Amanda assumed the two doors at the side of the room led to Michael's bedroom and the bathroom.

She was in love. The place was magnificent. Rustic, only modern when necessary, open and roomy, yet cozy. She could almost see herself ensconced on the overstuffed sofa in a big wool sweater and nursing a cup of cocoa while the world outside was covered in a quieting blanket of snow.

"You like?"

"I love. It's absolutely wonderful. This must've cost you a fortune to have it all done."

He shrugged. "I figured it was worth it since I didn't want to live anywhere else," he said, slipping his leather jacket from her shoulders. She didn't even notice, she was so caught up in his home. He hung the jacket in the closet. "Take your shoes off, Amanda, and I'll get you a pair of socks."

That was the first indication Amanda had that her feet were suffering from the same condition as her matted hair. "Christ, I didn't even know I was this wet." She lifted her hands to her head and slicked her hair back.

"Do you want to take a shower?" he suggested, toeing off his shoes. "It'll help warm you and make you feel better."

She turned around and smiled sheepishly at him. "You don't mind?"

"I'd mind even more if you caught pneumonia or something, Amanda."

"All right."

Amanda was about to make her way to the bathroom, but stopped and unconsciously held her breath when Michael began to pull his fisherman-knit sweater over his head. The T-shirt underneath was stretched taut over wide shoulders. She had thought that he was lean and lanky, but he had the muscle tone to go with that six-foot-two frame that made her mouth desert dry. She didn't think she could encircle his biceps with both her hands. Amanda swallowed, trying to moisten her mouth.

He freed his head from the sodden mass of gray wool. "Amanda?"

"Hmm?" She looked up and did something she hadn't done in years, something a thirty-two-year-old divorcée shouldn't be able to do. She blushed. The amused glint in his laughing eyes told her knew he exactly what she was thinking.

"The bathroom's the far door."

"Right. 'Kay." But she didn't move until he gently turned her in the right direction and shoved her off lightly.

The rich chuckle that followed her only intensified the red that stained her cheeks, but it also warmed her insides like a steaming cup of Earl Grey.

Amanda stepped into the bathroom and saw more of Michael's renovations. Dramatic navy and white tiles set the decor for the room. Amanda's eyes were drawn to the large, sunken jacuzzi in the middle was navy blue.

Michael was right. Hot water pelting over her body, massaging her tense shoulder muscles, seeping warmth into her flesh and bones, making her feel a helluva lot better. Amanda sighed, closed her eyes, and tilted her head back, allowing the heavy stream of water to pound soothingly on her neck. Oh, my.

A low moan slipped past her lips when large, callused hands covered her breasts and smeared soap, which the water quickly rinsed away, over the suddenly aching mounds. Michael. He met with no resistance when his hands forged a slick path down her narrow ribcage to meet across her flat tummy. Instead, Amanda sort of slid back against his front. A languid shiver raced down her spine at the feel of his hair-matted front against her smooth back. His rampant desire pressed into the small of her back, seeming to sear her skin.

Amanda skimmed her fingers down his forearm until she covered his hand with hers, keeping them against telling, silently telling him not to let go or stop. His hands, rinsed clean of the fragrant soap now, traveled lower. Amanda sighed in heavy anticipation, and the sigh turned into a sound of bewildered frustration when he maneuvered his hands to cover hers, keeping them imprisoned against her slender thighs. A rough sound of masculine amusement filled her ears.

"Michael," she pleaded, her laboured breath matching his. "Don't...tease me."

He dragged his lips down the left side of her throat before moving back up to capture her sensitive earlobe between his teeth. He tugged gently. Amanda groaned. She wanted to touch him, to run her hands over him, to feel him, to know him as she had never known anyone before. But Michael kept her effectively immobilized against him.

"Michael." Her sigh was an entreaty. "Please...don't."

"All right," he agreed much too readily. "I won't; you will."

Amanda's question was answered before she could even penetrate the fog to ask. Michael directed her hands down to her throbbing sex. He guided her fingers past the fleshy lips until she met with hot, slick skin. A soft, breathy sound escaped her.

"Mi-"

"Shh. Don't say anything. Don't think," he instructed softly into her ear. "Just feel yourself." He pushed her thumb over her erect clitoris and Amanda's knees nearly buckled. "For me. Do it for me."

Christ, she was wet. Incredibly wet and incredibly heated. She was so aroused, Amanda didn't think she could take much more before she tumbled over the edge. And Michael was very intent upon that happening.

He circled her highly charged nubbin of flesh with her own finger, teasing her, making her cry out brokenly. Michael led her other hand up to her chest, making her rub and caress and mould her soft breasts. He whisked her palm over budded nipples and lightening seemed to course through her veins, aiming for the apex of her legs where he had two of her fingers pushed up inside her, expertly thrusting them in and out in a rhythm that had her dropping all of her weight back on him.

Amanda could feel the tiny contractions begin, the muscles clasping strongly around her fingers. Michael saw her strained expression and managed roughly, "Not yet, Amanda. Not yet."

Amanda bit her bottom lip and nodded, not really understanding for she was beyond comprehension now, but afraid he would leave her at this moment if she didn't agree with whatever it was he wanted.

Michael inserted one knee between her thighs, positioning her legs wide apart. Amanda made a protesting sound when he lifted her hands away from her body, but she didn't resist. He moved both of her hands to flatten against the wet tiles, making her brace herself against them. His rough hands coasted down her sides until he bracketed her soft swell of hips. He held her steady, torturing her a bit with the feel of his erection rubbing against her taut buttocks. Tears were streaming down Amanda's cheeks and mingling with the shower water by the time he slid into her from behind, sheathing himself tightly inside her hot, moist cavern. He pulled back a little and pushed into her again, this time to the hilt.

Fullness. That wicked sensation had her gasping for air. Amanda tried to move, but his grip was too strong. Her need built in time with her frustration. She struggled futilely for that elusive object just out of her reach, just a bit beyond her fingertips. Michael threw her headlong into it when he suddenly pulled out and slammed back into her, making her cry out sharply as lightening burst beneath her eyelids.

Michael, achingly, painfully aware of her vaginal contractions urging him on, threw his head back and hammered into her again and again and again until his shout of triumphant release was muffled against the crook of her neck.