Kathleen sat under the thatch-roofed table in a relaxed position and wished she felt as calm on the inside as she looked on the outside. They were taking a break. Everyone in the crew was lounging around the patio at Harry’s Bar, which overlooked the Atlantic. Kathleen was covertly watching Erik and Tamara, who had separated themselves from the others and walked down to the rocky beach alone.
Harry’s wasn’t quite as famous as the Harry’s Bar in Venice, but to tourists from the United States it was well known on Grand Bahama Island as a place to buy an American hamburger. Located midway between West End and Freeport, it was a good stopover for a cool tropical drink, beer, or a full lunch or dinner.
One of the lighting crew brought Kathleen a paper cup of goombay punch. She sipped it tentatively. It was fruity and cool, but she knew too many glasses could hit one like a sledge hammer. It was the most dangerous of alcoholic drinks, for there was no alcohol taste.
The drink didn’t extinguish the fire that had been smoldering and simmering inside Kathleen for the past few days. Every time she saw Erik and Tamara together, she boiled with jealous anger. The blonde couldn’t keep her hands off him. When he was giving directions to her or any of the other models, she chose to drape herself over him like a vine rather than standing straight and listening as he talked to them in a brisk, professional tone.
He wasn’t immune to her attention, though. He was flirtatious with all the models, getting them to do exactly as he asked. Erik’s patience with them knew no bounds. But his flirting with Tamara had taken on the attitude of blatant invitation. Each look, each touch that passed between the two of them was rife with innuendo. They are probably sleeping together already, Kathleen thought bitterly as she heard Tamara’s pealing laughter coming from the direction of the beach. When she couldn’t resist looking toward them, she saw the model perched on a high rock. Erik’s strong, lean arms were reaching up to lift her down.
Kathleen turned her head away to hide the tears that flooded her eyes. She must get over this. She had no justification for being jealous. She was married and Erik had made it eminently clear how he felt about her. There was no future for them and never had been. He didn’t love her.
But she loved him. That was why she was jealous. She couldn’t stand to see anyone else touching the body she felt belonged to her. She wanted no one else to know the caress of his eyes or the persuasion of his mouth.
Erik and Tamara were climbing the steps up to the patio now, and he was calling everyone back to work. Harry’s had been selected as a taping sight for its stunning view of the surf, its thatched-roofed tables and its convenient location.
Now the serene patio was crawling with active people. The lights, mounted on their stands, had been switched off to cool. Seeming miles of cable ribboned the patio, connecting cameras to recorders and lights to electrical outlets. Heavy metal boxes in which the equipment was hauled from one location to another were positioned in such a way to threaten life or limb should anyone trip over them. It was controlled chaos.
The lighting team was turning on the huge lights again. Erik was adjusting his camera’s tripod, spreading his legs wide to reduce his height so he could be eye level with the viewfinder. The stylist was bustling around the models, adjusting a strap here, smoothing a lapel there. Today the girls were arrayed in safari-look clothes in shades of green, khaki and beige. Kathleen had selected accent colors of bright red, yellow and white. The makeup artist, who looked more like a housemother in a sorority, weaved her way among the models, checking for imperfections and imagining them if they weren’t there. The hair stylist, whose only masculine attribute was a thin, pointed beard, flitted through the crowd wielding his hairbrushes with the flourish of a matador finessing his cape.
Erik had brought four production assistants with him. Two of them took care of the lighting. The other two did everything. They seemed to anticipate Erik’s every need, handing him filters, fetching him extension cords, replacing boxes of tape when one was filled. Kathleen liked them all, and they all seemed to worship Erik. She watched one now as he shimmied up a tree to pluck off a broad leaf that was casting a shadow on one model’s face.
“Tamara, this isn’t a stag film,” Erik was saying.
Tamara was perched on the wall surrounding the patio. She was wearing a pair of army-green shorts and a white blazer. Beneath the blazer, she had on a red halter top. The ocean breeze was catching the light fabric of the top until her left breast was completely exposed. There were good-natured wolf calls from the crew, and the other models guffawed. Tamara was brazenly unaffected.
Kathleen had been appalled by the girl’s immodesty. Just the day before, they had all driven to the casino in Freeport, where Erik wanted to feature the formal wear. Unlike its American counterparts in Las Vegas, the croupiers and dealers wore tuxedos and the atmosphere was austere and very British.
Tamara had stormed out of the makeshift dressing room wearing only a pair of bikini panties and carrying the black satin gown she was to model.
“What in the hell is wrong with this?” she had demanded of a stunned Kathleen. Every eye in the room turned to the two of them.
Kathleen was too astounded at the girl’s nakedness to answer at first. “What’s wrong with what?” she stammered.
“This goddam dress. It’s supposed to fit, but it’s too tight in the ass. Who the hell is responsible for that mistake, Mrs. Kirchoff?” She said the name with a slur, and Kathleen had a hard time keeping her hand from connecting with Tamara’s carefully made-up cheek.
“Didn’t you try the dress on last night as you were supposed to?” Kathleen asked icily. “If there were any alterations to be made, that’s when they were to have been done. I didn’t bring along a sewing machine just to look at.”
“I was busy last night,” Tamara had drawled, and winked slyly over Kathleen’s shoulder. Kathleen turned around and saw Erik leaning against a crap table, his arms folded, his brows raised in interest at the scene being played out before him. Or was his interest on Tamara’s bare breasts, which hung free and in sight of everyone, including the shocked staff of the casino, who were held spellbound and incapable of objecting to the dazzling display?
“What do you suggest I do with it?” Tamara demanded.
Kathleen had an excellent suggestion, but she refrained from saying it. “I suggest,” she said calmly, “that you either not be in this commercial, or that you wear the dress, but keep your… back… from the camera, or that you swap dresses with one of the other girls. A larger dress,” Kathleen added cattily.
Tamara’s amber eyes narrowed on Kathleen. “It’s a faulty garment. I’m a perfect eight.”
“More like an imperfect ten,” Kathleen shot back.
“You—”
“Ladies,” Erik said from behind them, “I suggest that we go on with our work. We’ve got to be out of here by four o’clock. Tamara, go put something on. As lovely as you are, my dear, this is neither the time nor the place to flaunt that exquisite body. If you can wear the dress at all, put it on. We’ll shoot so your derriere doesn’t show.”
Tamara had flounced off, her breasts and hair bouncing in synchronization. The commercial had been completed, but Tamara was an object of derision for the rest of the day. As one of the crew teased her, “Tamara, you’ll be the butt of all the jokes today. No pun intended, of course.” Tamara glared at him in a frightening way.
Now, she was again causing a sensation, standing on the wall of the patio, the wind whipping the garment away from her body in a way much more suggestive than her total nudity the day before.
Erik, having been ignored as yet, instructed her patiently, “Do something with the damn blouse.” Kathleen heard just the slightest edge of asperity in his voice.
“Well, I don’t know what to do with it,” Tamara pouted. Erik turned on his heels and scanned the crowd before his eyes lighted on Kathleen. “Kathleen, would you please…”
He let his voice trail off, but the implicit request was clear. She was tempted to tell him to do it himself or go to hell, but she didn’t. She crossed the patio to the wall. She planted her hands on her hips as she stared up at the model. “Well, I’m not coming up there,” she told Tamara, who remained where she was.
Sulkily, Tamara climbed down and presented her chest to Kathleen, who recognized the problem immediately and knew that the whole delay could have been avoided. “You haven’t tied the straps tight enough.” She walked around Tamara and stood up on tiptoe to reach beneath the blazer to the neck straps of the halter. She loosened the ineffectual knot that Tamara had tied, then made another, pulling the cloth tighter over the model’s breasts.
“That’s too tight,” Tamara objected.
“I agree,” Kathleen said. “You’re too big to wear a halter, but no one will be able to tell that in the commercial.”
“I’ve about had it with you,” Tamara cried, whirling around and bearing down on Kathleen. “No one can be too big! You’d do well with a little more yourself. I—”
“Tamara!” Erik’s imperative voice sliced through the air. “Haven’t you held us up long enough? Get back up on that damn wall and flash me a smile. Thank God you can’t smile and talk at the same time.”
There was a twitter of laughter from everyone else as the model resumed her position. “Thank you,” Erik said to Kathleen as she passed him.
“You’re welcome,” was her cool reply.
It had been that way since they left San Francisco. For the week in Ocho Rios, Jamaica, and now on Grand Bahama Island, he had been polite, considerate and detached. They treated each other like strangers who had been brought together to do a professional job, except perhaps with more restraint. Each night, he came to her suite of rooms and went over what he called his shot list for the next day. She checked it against her list of clothes and accessories for each model, making sure that they coincided with what he needed. When they were finished, he would thank her, wish her a goodnight and then leave her alone. They didn’t share meals, coffee breaks or unnecessary conversation.
The vacancy in her heart grew until she feared that soon she would be completely empty. The more constrained the relationship became, the more she knew that she loved him. Had she ever doubted it before, it was an undeniable fact now. What she felt for Erik wasn’t only a longing for sexual fulfillment. She loved the man.
Yet her love for Erik didn’t diminish her love for Seth. What she felt for Seth was real and pure and strong. She loved Seth like a dear brother. He was precious to her; she treasured the love she knew he had for her and Theron.
But she loved Erik more. If Seth had her heart, Erik had her soul. He wasn’t aware of it, though.
Each day, he seemed to move further away from her, yet conversely, her love grew. She loved watching him work. He was competent, demanding as much from his subordinates as he gave himself. He worked endlessly, redoing scenes until he was satisfied that the result was the best that could be done. He had an artist’s drive for perfection.
His body had been burned to a rich copper by the tropical sun in just the few days he had been exposed to it. As his skin tanned darker, his hair bleached lighter. He rarely wore more than a ragged pair of shorts and a T-shirt that had been cut off to cover only his shoulders and the top part of his chest. By midmorning, it had usually been taken off. It was only at dinner that Kathleen saw him dressed in slacks and a sport shirt.
West End Resort on Grand Bahama Island had been chosen for its complete facilities and its fabulous swimming pool. In the evenings, the crew would congregate around the pool to swim, play cards, converse and drink. It was a congenial group. What few men there were had taken full advantage of the most cooperative of the models and had switched bed partners several times. Kathleen thought she knew who Erik’s partner was.
There were no more interruptions that day, and they finished the taping at Harry’s Bar just as storm clouds appeared on the western horizon. It had briefly showered on them nearly each afternoon, but these clouds seemed more ominous. Erik hustled to gather his precious equipment, barely breathing until he had safely packed everything.
The caravan was just pulling into the parking lot of the resort when the storm broke. Everyone grabbed what they could out of the cars and dashed for their rooms. Since Kathleen needed space to work and store the clothing, Erik had arranged for her to have a suite of rooms in a group of single-story buildings away from the main hotel. Luckily, she was able to pull the rented station wagon under a covering over the sidewalk. She unloaded the back of it, only getting the clothes slightly damp from the torrential rains before she was inside. Somehow, though, she managed to get soaked.
Gladly, she made a final last trip to the car and carried the last bundle inside. She’d move the illegally parked car later. She shut the room door, but almost immediately there was a knock on it. Her heart somersaulted when she pulled it open and saw Erik standing on the threshold with dripping clothes and wet, clinging hair.
“Hi,” he said. “Did you get in okay?”
“Yes,” she replied as she moved aside. “Come in.”
He squished his way into her room and she shut the door. “Let me turn the air conditioning off, or you’re going to freeze.” She reached behind him to the wall thermostat.
He felt the brush of her arm against his back. He flinched in reaction. God! When was he going to get over wanting her? Hadn’t this purgatory lasted long enough? Or would it go on for eternity? He watched her as she walked to the table and switched on the lamp to relieve the gloom brought on by the rainfall.
When she faced him again, the sheer sight of her was like an assault. She was wearing a pair of green shorts and a green and white striped T-shirt, sleeveless and V-necked. Didn’t she know that the shirt was damp from the rain and was conforming to her figure like a second skin? Why in the hell had she chosen today to go without a bra? Did she know her legs were better than any of the models’? Her skin was satin and tanned to the color of ripe apricots. She had kicked off her sandals and stood barefoot. Her toenails were painted a delicate coral.
His eyes came back to her face, studiously avoiding her pouting breasts. Her eyelashes must have been rained on, for they were wet and spikey, and outlined the green luminescence of her eyes. Her lips were partially open, and he thought he could hear small, rapid breaths passing in and out of them. It was the most kissable mouth he had ever encountered, and he almost ached with the desire to close the distance between them and weld his starved lips to it.
Why her? Why, out of all the women he had had in his life, was it she who wouldn’t leave his mind? After all that had happened between them, why couldn’t he hate her? She had carried his child and bore him in secret. It was only by a quirk of fate that he’d learned of his son’s existence.
Erik had been deliberately vicious in his verbal attack on her that evening in his house. He had wanted her to suffer, too. His words had intentionally insulted her, her womanhood. She had dealt him a low blow with her lashing comeback. Painful as the truth was to face, Kathleen had been right. It was wrong for them to betray Seth. It was wrong for them to betray Seth. It was wrong, and yet… Could either of them help the attraction that pulled them together like a magnet?
She had been created to love physically, hard and often. What must her life be like with Seth, whom Erik knew she adored? Was that why her eyes were often sad? He knew her natural disposition was to laugh, to tease. Yet she wasn’t the same happy young woman he had met in Arkansas. She was mature, resigned. Had motherhood done that to her? Or was she harboring deep regrets?
However they had each changed, one thing had not. He still wanted her as much as he ever had. His longing for her had changed, though. And that new dimension to it alarmed him. His want had become need. Her approval of him had become tantamount to his peace of mind. Her compliments for his work were far more valuable than the money paid for it. He desired her body, but he wanted her caring, too. Sometimes—often—he longed for the touch of her gentling, comforting hands that soothed Theron. Erik refused to believe he would never know that touch.
She was his. The thought of another man having her enraged him. She was his and so was his son. No one—
“Erik?” she asked tentatively.
He realized then that his face must have shown some of what he was feeling, but he quickly masked it. He wasn’t ever going to show her again how much he cared. He had been made a fool of too many times.
“I came to tell you that I’ve checked with the weather bureau and it looks like we’re in for at least twenty-four hours of this typhoon. I’ve given everyone the day off tomorrow. I was told by a few what they thought of having a rainy day off, but…” he shrugged eloquently and grinned, “I’m the boss.”
“Are things going well? Do you like what you’ve done?”
His eyes sparkled with excitement as they always did when he talked about his work. “Yeah. I started to—” He broke off suddenly. He was about to tell her that he had wanted to call her to his room to watch the tapes he had shot. At the last minute, he had resisted the temptation. He didn’t want to be in the same room with her in the dark and not be able to claim her as his, which brought another question to his mind.
“Have you called home?”
“I called the night before last and everything was fine. I’m going to call again tonight. Theron—” She stopped suddenly.
“Yes? What?”
“He has a new tooth,” she told him. “Right here.” She pointed to her own teeth.
“No kidding!” Erik laughed. “That boy’ll be eating steak before long.”
Kathleen laughed, too. “He already does.”
“Yeah?”
“Ground steak, of course.”
“Oh, of course.” Erik chuckled. “I guess I don’t know too much about babies.” The words had been said lightly, but they hung between them.
Kathleen looked away from him as she mumbled, “No, I guess not.”
Only the sound of the rain alleviated the silence until Erik said, “I’ll park your car if you’ll give me the key.”
“Thank you.” Kathleen dropped her keys into his outstretched hand without touching him.
“Stay close by, with this weather the way it is.”
“I will.”
He nodded and then turned, opened the door and dashed out into the rain.
* * *
Kathleen finally got all the clothes and accessories back into their proper boxes just before it was time to go to the dining room for the evening buffet. She thought about having a tray brought to her, but decided that would call more attention to her than if she went to dinner and tried to cover her despondent mood. She didn’t think she could stand too many private moments with Erik the way they had been this afternoon. For him to be so close to her physically, but so far away in every other way, was a torture she didn’t want to bring on herself if she could help it.
She dressed, went to the dining room and joined a trio of the models at their table. When she was finished eating, Kathleen excused herself and returned to her room, trying to become engrossed in a made-for-television movie being broadcast from a Miami station.
Convincing herself that her despondency was the result of fatigue, she went to bed early, but tossed restlessly for a while before she decided to take a stroll out onto the fishing pier. Maybe that would tire her enough mentally to put her to sleep.
She stepped into a short terry-cloth jump suit and, walking barefoot, skirted the pool area and made her way along the shadowed walkways toward the pier that extended out over the crystal-clear water. The rain had stopped momentarily, but heavy, rolling clouds still scuttled overhead, only letting the moon shine intermittently.
It was during one such moonlit moment, just as she was turning around to go back to her room, that she saw Erik. He was lying on a blanket, very near where the water was lapping the beach with a lacy foam.
There was no mistaking his form. She would have known it on the darkest night. He was wearing only the briefest of bathing trunks and, supporting himself on his elbows, was staring out over the water. A deep chuckle rumbled out of his chest. Kathleen glanced at the sea, searching for something that he could have found so amusing when he was all alone.
But he wasn’t. Tamara was rising out of the water, naked and shimmering in the moonlight. Her hair looked like a silver stole thrown over her shoulders and back.
“Aren’t you afraid you might step on a sea urchin out there in the dark?” Erik called to her.
“If I do, you’ll come save me.” Their voices carried across the water and it was apparent they didn’t know they had an audience.
“Like hell I will,” Erik said. “I’m too relaxed and lazy.”
Tamara’s tinkling laugh reached Kathleen’s ears like the sound of splintering glass. “I know how to get you unrelaxed.”
“You can try,” Erik challenged. By this time, Tamara was standing over him, dripping water on his torso.
“That’s the most fun part,” she said.
Kathleen couldn’t bear to watch any more after Tamara collapsed onto the blanket beside him. She ran with stumbling footsteps to her suite.
“I ought to fire that bitch!” she screamed to the walls. “After all, I am Mrs. Kirchoff. I’m in charge, aren’t I? Don’t I represent Seth? And Seth hired Erik. I’ll go out there right now and fire her.” But even as she turned and put her hand on the doorknob, her resolve evaporated. She wasn’t about to return to the beach, knowing what she’d find there. And she wouldn’t fire Tamara either. She wouldn’t give Erik the satisfaction of knowing she was jealous.
Without thinking of the consequences, she went into the bedroom and pulled one of her suitcases from the rack in the closet and began throwing things into it. When she had taken only what she needed, she left her room and made her way to the resort’s lobby. It had started raining hard again.
“I need to leave here tonight. What flights do you have coming into your airport?”
The sleepy night clerk scratched his head. “I don’t know, let’s see. The weather and all…” He trailed off meaningfully. “In the morning, you can get on the plane to San Juan. It leaves at seven. But with the weather—”
“Can someone take me to the airport tonight? I’ll wait there.”
“I guess he can, but, madam, why don’t you—”
“Where is the limousine driver?” she asked imperiously.
“He was in the bar the last time—”
“Thank you. I’m with Mr. Gudjonsen’s party. If he needs to get into my room before I return, you may give him a key.”
She found the reluctant driver, though he grumbled about having to leave his drink and drive someone to the airstrip when there wasn’t even a plane there.
She sat in the deserted building all night. In the morning, she waited patiently for the scheduled flight and was thankful when it was only forty-five minutes late. The rain was still torrential.
The flight to San Juan was extremely uncomfortable, and Kathleen feared that at any moment the aircraft would be plunged into the ocean. Puerto Rico wasn’t her final destination, however, for it was too commercial. She wanted seclusion. She asked for information at a booth in the airport.
“You may want to consider Chub Cay. It’s a privately owned island,” the lady behind the counter informed her. “The resort area is comparatively small. The island is still being developed, but it is lovely and secluded, as you expressed a wish for.”
“Yes,” said Kathleen. “How do I get there?”
“They’re only flying one plane today and it leaves in…” she checked a schedule, “twenty minutes.”
Kathleen raced to the ticket counter of the island-hopping airline and purchased a ticket. Her heart sank when she saw the airplane. It was about half the size of the one she had just deboarded. Every time she saw a plane now, she remembered watching Erik’s jet taxiing down the runway at Fort Smith and the disastrous crash. She had never been comfortable about flying since. Especially in the rain.
What would have happened had that airplane not been involved in an accident? Would Erik have come back that evening? Perhaps over dinner they would have talked about his brother and Sally.
Remorse lay heavy on her heart as she boarded the aircraft. Blessedly, the flight was brief and she was soon checked into the island resort. For absolute privacy, she had chosen to stay in a cabin away from the main lodge.
Kathleen was driven by a bellman in a golf cart to her door and helped inside the cozy room that overlooked the ocean, then she collapsed onto the bed in exhaustion. The sleep that she had denied herself the night before finally made its claim.
Cacophonous thunder awakened her in the early evening. She walked to the window and pulled the drapes open. The rain was a heavy curtain through which she could barely see. Feeling rested and safe, she went into the tiny bathroom and took a reviving shower. As she brushed through her hair, she thought about calling home, but decided against it. She would call in the morning. Tonight she wanted to be by herself.
She pulled on the terry-cloth jump suit again. The downy yellow color complemented her renewed tan. She curled into the bed and situated the pillow behind her, picking up a paperback book she had quickly purchased at a newsstand in the airport in San Juan.
The storm intensified. The thunder was closer and the crackling of lightning popped in an alarming fashion. She went to the window and reached to pull the draw cord of the drape. Her hand froze as she saw someone running pell-mell through the drenching rain. He staggered against the force of the wind, but still he barreled on.
Her heart lurched to her throat when she realized that the apparition was coming straight for her door. Kathleen barely had time to whirl around in terror before her door crashed open and Erik burst through it.
His jeans and shirt were sodden, and his hair was plastered to his head. He gasped in great, heaving breaths, making his chest rise and fall like a bellows. Raindrops dripped from his earlobes and nose and eyebrows. His hands were balled into fists at his thighs. He glared at Kathleen, who cowered against the windowsill, less afraid of the elements now than of him.
He was a true son of Thor, spawned from the god of thunder during a storm. His eyes were as cold as any North wind. His face was terrible. It was the dark face of vengeance, intent on having revenge on some poor misguided soul who had had the audacity to offend the gods.
“I ought to beat the hell out of you,” he growled.
As an ominous refrain, the door slammed behind him.