Reigning in her frustration, she said cheekily, “Now you’ll have to wait.”
Nathan was well aware of that. “I know,” he said huskily, thinking of the swelling in his trousers. “Lord, how I know.”
Chapter 8
Samoans called thempapalagi.Sky-burster. The first clipper ship, with its sails spread wide, swelled by the tropical winds, must have looked very much like an albatross or some other enormous white bird as it pierced the horizon where heaven and ocean met. Many ships had come since that time, bringing strange customs and influences to the islands that made up Samoa: Tutuila, Upolu, and Savai’i. Nowpapalagihad come to describe the white man and took on all shades of meaning when contrasted withfa’a Samoa—the Samoan way.
Forty years ago Reverend John Williams of the London Missionary Society had traveled half the world to bring Christianity to the Samoans. His memory was still regarded with great respect and the message that he brought had long since been incorporated intofa’a Samoa.
Merrily Wilson hardly possessed the hatched-faced features that Nathan purported her to have, but neither was she aptly named. Her disposition was best described as solemn and serious, though words like puritanical, dour, and grave also came easily to mind. She was almost four inches taller than her husband, large-boned and angular. Lydia spent a fair amount of time with her on deck each day, taking part in the constitutional ritual, or in her cabin, embroidering the linens that Nathan had given her while Merrily read from the Bible or told her stories about the Samoa Islands. Lydia managed not to disgrace herself by falling asleep when Merrily read in her somber monotone, but she had come to enjoy listening to the missionary talk about the Samoans themselves. It was clear to Lydia that while Merrily did not always understand the people she ministered to, she clearly loved them.
Hugh Wilson was opposite his wife in appearance, but not in affect. Balding, bespectacled, and bandy-legged, Hugh was round where Merrily was sharp. Though his features lent him a certain joviality on first acquaintance, it soon faded as one came to know him. Lydia had as little to do with him as was politely possible, and strove not to be too critical of Hugh. He, like his wife, would never be anything butpapalagi,but he loved his calling.
TheAvonleihad followed the northeast trade winds since leaving San Francisco. Equipped with an auxiliary steam engine, the clipper ship easily passed through the breezeless doldrums when her sails failed her. The captain of theAvonleiplanned a two-day stop in Apia harbour on the island of Upolu. The delayed departure was first and foremost an opportunity for trade; theAvonleitook on bananas, copra, green coconuts for non-intoxicating refreshment, and cacao. An alternate reason for the delay, one that was only whispered about among the crew because of the presence of Mr. and Mrs. Wilson, was the island women. Zealously guarded by their men, shy and retiring, each sailor hoped he might be the lucky fellow who could entice one girl from heraiga—her extended family group, upon whom she depended for protection. Nathan paid little attention to the stories. He suspected the women on Upolu had long since learned to be wary of thepapalagiwho traveled on the wings of the great white birds.
Rushing water was a steady, somehow soothing, roar in his ears. Nathan barely noticed it, his attention fully caught by Lydia’s play in the blue crystalline pool below him. She ducked beneath the water and came up with her dark hair sleekly pulled back over the crown of her head. Turning her head sharply from side to side, her hair whipped back and forth, showering the pool with beads of water as clear and brilliant as diamonds. For a brief moment, each bead that caught in a ray of sunlight scattered a rainbow of color that delighted Lydia and took Nathan’s breath away.
She closed her eyes, head tilted to one side, and combed her hair with her fingers. The ends of it floated on the surface of the pool. She hummed softly to herself.
Her expression was serene and sensual, and Nathan kept watching her, drawn by her pleasure, fascinated by her calm. Water glistened on her face and shoulders and the exposed cord of her neck. Dark, spiky lashes fringed her eyelids and a pale rose wash of color heightened the arc of her cheeks. Without warning, she raised her slender arms above her, stretched, and dove backward. Nathan had a glimpse of her breasts, her hips, before she disappeared under the water. She stayed under for a long time, gliding to deeper parts of the pool so that Nathan all but lost sight of her, then she shot up suddenly, spraying water in all directions and smiling and laughing happily with the sheer force of her abandon.
The pool was a sanctuary of sorts, circled by a lush growth of ferns. Except for the outcropping of lava rock where Nathan sat and the waterfall that fed the pool, the greenery was unbroken in any place. The dense rain forest had grown right to the water’s edge, powerful and oppressive, then yielded to the placid pool.
The single most beautiful thing in nature’s setting of emerald ferns, diamond and crystal water, ruby petals, and amethyst blossoms, the jewel that caused the others to sparkle less brightly, was Lydia. Even when she moved out of the sunlight into the cool shadows of a canopy of ferns, Lydia was radiant. Her wet hair was like polished ebony, her skin as smooth and warm as ivory. And yet it was more than the cobalt blue eyes that were centered on him now, or the soft smile that invited him to join her. In the passage of time since leaving San Francisco, Lydia’s spirit had been set free. It touched him now, enfolded him, and drew Nathan to her as surely as if she had taken him by the hand.
He stood and tugged at the brightly coloredlava-lavathat was hitched at his waist. The wraparound skirt fell on the rock beside the one Lydia had taken off earlier. Naked, he waded into the pool. The water lapped at his waist almost immediately. It was cool against his heated skin. He dove under and came up in front of Lydia, his flesh sliding smoothly and wetly against hers. He felt all of her, knew the contours of her body as she was pressed to him: the lush curves of her breasts, the taut plane of her belly, the inviting line of her thighs as they cradled him.
Her arms circled his neck and she raised her face, eyes wide, guileless, and open in the expression of her need, her desire. Her mouth was damp, parted. Her breath was sweet. Nathan lowered his head as his hands rested lightly on her waist and his mouth touched hers lightly, briefly, in a tantalizing promise of passion. It was Lydia who pressed for more and Nathan who slipped away, ducking below the water and out of her reach.
She was a much better swimmer than he. Lydia caught him easily, grabbing him by the ankle and pulling him back. He came to the surface sputtering and Lydia landed him a hard kiss on his mouth that stole the last of the breath from his lungs. They gulped air simultaneously, and when he dipped below the water this time it was by mutual agreement. Lydia held on, her tongue spearing his mouth, greedy for the rough pleasure of his kiss. They surfaced closer to the falls, where the water churned and frothed with more force, bubbling up around them and rising in a mist above their heads. Standing in the middle of it, it was as if they had created the steamy turbulence. Seeing Lydia’s sultry smile, feeling the heat of her body, Nathan found it easier to believe in her life force than the rushing cascade of water at his back.
“Liddy.” He said her name softly, as if tasting the preciousness of it on his tongue. “Come with me.”
She thought he was going to lead her to the densely carpeted forest floor and make love to her on a blanket of fallen ferns. Instead, he took her to where the water was calmer and a few inches less deep. He kissed her then, his mouth sliding over her cheeks, her forehead, and her temples. His fingers threaded in her hair and held her still while his lips slipped damply along her jaw and down her throat. At the curve of her neck and shoulder he paused, sipping lightly on her skin, tasting her, and raising a whimper born of wanting from Lydia.
He thwarted her efforts to return his kisses until desire had welled so forcefully inside her it could not be held back. She tore away from his hands and stopped offering her neck for his pleasure. She became the aggressor, wrapping her arms about Nathan’s shoulders. Buoyed by the water, Lydia lifted herself easily to his height, met the impassioned look in his darkening gray eyes, and kissed him full on the mouth. Her lips touched his dimples, or rather, touched his skin where she sometimes saw them emerge. The tip of her tongue traced his upper lip, then the lower one, and pressed inward to the slightly uneven ridge of his teeth. He frustrated her entry, and Lydia smiled because she knew what he wanted. Retreating, her mouth caressed his face: the bridge of his nose, his cheeks, the underside of his jaw. Her tongue teased the edge of his earlobe, flicking, and her teeth nipped him gently.
His mouth opened to call her a name. Siren, perhaps. Or beautiful temptress. It remained unspoken, a thought unshared, as Lydia’s mouth covered his and gained the sweet entry she had sought earlier. Her hands tightened on his shoulders, each caress harder and more deliberate than the last. Their mouths held tight, tongues engaged in delicious conflict. Water lapped at their skin, supported and caressed them.
Nathan’s hands slid along her rib cage and cupped her breasts. The shell-pink tips were hard, her breasts slightly swollen. His thumbs brushed her tender, sensitive nipples once. Twice. Then he stopped and waited, anticipating the moment when she would move sinuously against him, rubbing, desiring the pleasure of his flesh against hers. Her hands dropped to cover his, then she moved his hands slowly against her breasts in the motion she wanted him to imitate, and she watched him all the while with eyes that were darkening to obsidian.
He surprised her, lifting her easily, raising her breasts to the hot suck of his mouth. She gasped as he took one nipple, laved it with his tongue, and worried it gently with his lips and teeth. His face was pressed briefly in the valley of her damp flesh as he moved to the other breast. He kissed the spot where her heartbeat fluttered against his mouth then he suckled her breast, drawing on Lydia’s responsive flesh until she cried out.
Lowering her, Nathan’s eyes darted over her face, his features tense with concern, not passion. “Did I hurt you?”
His question caught her off guard. Didn’t he know? In the weeks they had been together, shared the same bed on theAvonlei,shared every carnal intimacy, Lydia thought he had come to know her body, her every response, better than she. Hurt her? He couldn’t have been farther from the mark. “God, no,” Lydia said softly. “No, you didn’t hurt me. I love what you do to me, everything you do. When you touch me...”
His brows lifted, waiting. There was the brightness of unshed tears in her eyes and against his will he was moved by it.
“When you touch me,” she began again, “I feel you tug on something inside me, something powerful and primitive, and it tingles and pulls at me and makes me want you all the more. It only hurts when you don’t.”
“Don’t?”
“When you don’t touch me,” she said. There was something else that hurt, but not physically, not the way he meant, and she kept it to herself as she had from the first moment she realized her husband had never once said he loved her. “Only when you don’t touch me.”
Nathan felt Lydia’s legs wrap around him as she lifted herself. Her hand slid between them as he cupped her buttocks and she held his hard arousal, poised above it, making him wait this time, making him anticipate the pleasure of being inside her, surrounded by her. Her face flushed and her eyes closed as she lowered herself onto him, and this time it was Nathan who sucked in his breath at the sheer pleasure of the sensations.
She moved slowly, savoring the control, enjoying a heady sense of power in making love to Nathan in just this manner. Her mouth touched his shoulder, kissing him in a dozen different places, her lips as light as a whisper across his flesh. Her hands caressed his back and he didn’t stop her, even when her fingers ran swiftly across the thin, ridged scars that laddered his skin. He was smooth and warm, tautly muscled where tension rippled through his shoulder blades and down his arms. Her breasts slid slickly against his chest and she felt the arousal of his nipples. Smiling, Lydia buried her face against the curve of his neck and shoulder and bit him very, very gently.
