What the Waves Bring by Barbara Delinsky Page A

of his hands on her, his palm cupping the fullness of her breast, his fingers unerringly finding the budding dome. “Heath!” she whispered in desperation and exhiliration, a plea and a warning in one, breathy word.
    As he kissed her again, she was only marginally aware of his arms shifting around her, of his lifting her and carrying her to the sofa. It was when he put her down and she knew his intent that she began to struggle. But his solid length was fast upon her, dooming her resistance. “No, Heath! Please,” she cried. “I can’t. We can’t.”
    â€œI want you, April. Again. Still. Say whatever you will. Kiss me … then tell me that you don’t want me as well.” His husky voice was cut abruptly off as he lowered his lips once more, taking hers with the gift of persuasion that seemed all his.
    â€œI do want you,” she gasped in the aftermath of his masterful demonstration. “If I had no scruples, I would lie with you all day. Yes, dammit, I want you. Oh, Heath.”
She lifted her hands to frame his dark face, her fingertips reveling in their contact with his thick, rich hair. “Please don’t force me to make the choice. I don’t know if I can! I’m bound to hate myself either way! Don’t you see?” His body covering hers gently now, Heath raised his head higher to study the intensity of her soft brown eyes. “Take me if you will and I doubt I would fight you. But,” she said, stiffening as the truth of her words hit home, “know that it would only cause greater pain afterward!”
    When his fingers lightly traced the curve of her chin, she didn’t pull away. “Is that the way it has to be?” he whispered hoarsely.
    â€œFor now …” She nodded, fighting her clamoring body at every step.
    For an instant, the issue was in the air—like a basketball, thrown up in a jump shot by a player. Only this was no game; and the opponents were lodged within her very own body. To add to her torment was the knowledge that she had put the burden of the judgment onto Heath.
    She held her breath as he grimaced. “So be it!” he growled stoically, as he removed his weight from her and stood, for an instant, beside the sofa. Then, as though rethinking his decision, he bent over once more to place a tender kiss on her lips. His face was very, very close. “I would never do anything to hurt you, April. Please believe me.” Before she could respond, he was gone, headed at a trot toward the front door.
    â€œWhere are you going?” she cried out in alarm, bolting upright.
    â€œThe car. I’m going to see if I can get it out of the muck,” he called, reaching into his pocket. “I’ve already got the keys. Be right back.” The door slammed behind him. April could not help but imagine the source of his own nervous energy. He was remarkable—remarkable in more ways than one!
    Settling back into the sofa, she pondered this magnificent
stranger who had so dramatically tumbled into her life, shaking it to its core. Why was it that the sight of him set her knees to knocking, her senses to flaming? Why did she find him so totally appealing—dressed, undressed, clad only in a towel and shaving cream, or in the soft white linen of her bedsheet? What was the nature of the power that this nameless, placeless man held over her? Was it a purely physical reaction to his overwhelming maleness? But she had known other men; none had affected her with half the force of Heath.
    As her eye absently circled the room, it fell on the cool receiver of the telephone. Had the lines been repaired? She should check. However, the determination of the thought did not spread to her legs. For endless moments, she studied the phone, willing herself toward it, yet sitting staunchly on the sofa. Finally, in a wave of self-reproach, reason took the upper hand. Moving quickly lest she change her mind, she picked up the