Their room was much larger than Isla expected, yet with its sea and sand colour scheme, it was still cozy. Marlowe set their bags inside the door and flopped onto the bed. The simple metal headboard banged against the wall and the springs squeaked in protest.
"How much do you want to bet there's a honeymoon suite in this house," he said. "A room with flowers, champagne and a quiet bed."
Isla lay next to him and the bed groaned beneath her. "I wonder what Eve will do when she finds out." She grinned as she put her head on his shoulder. "Maybe she'll give us a do-over."
"I like the sound of that." If being cornered about his name had rattled him, he certainly wasn't showing it.
"Maybe she'll even let us choose."
"Seems only fair." He kissed her forehead. "What would you ask for?"
She undid the top few buttons of his shirt while she thought. "Paris," she said.
Marlowe chuckled. "Yeah, I could do Paris." He was quiet for a moment, enjoying the feel of her fingers on his chest. "I was thinking maybe a hiking trip."
"Hiking?" It was a fun activity, but not something she would have associated with a romantic getaway.
"In the Scottish Highlands." He hugged her closer. "We could make love in the heather by day, and under the stars by night."
Isla reached up and kissed him lightly. "You make a convincing argument, Mr. Marlowe."
"Why thank you, Mrs. Marlowe." He winked at her and she blushed. "If we ask nicely, maybe Eve will let us do both."
Rain beat against the windows and in the distance, thunder gently rumbled. They lay together silently, Isla listening to the sound of his heart beating, and Marlowe twisting a lock of her hair around his fingers.
"I kind of enjoyed the little get-together downstairs," she said.
"You did?"
She nodded. "I liked being seen with you."
"Flatterer."
"I'm serious. I was proud to be with you. You're a wonderful man, Marlowe."
He rolled onto his side and looked down at her with an intensity she hadn't expected. It was a look that was difficult to read. He leaned close and paused, his breath warm against her lips. The kiss, when it finally came, was soft and hot — a tender thank you that words could not have expressed.
"So serious," she said, hoping to lighten the mood. But it wasn't until he slid on top of her and the bed began to squeak, that he smiled.
"This is going to be interesting."
"Be very, very quiet," said Isla in her best Elmer Fudd impression.
"We could use the floor," he suggested.
"Oh, I don't know . . ." She reached her hands up over her head and grabbed the metal bars of the headboard. "I think this bed has certain advantages."
He raised an eyebrow in surprise. "If only I'd brought a tie."
Isla stuck out her bottom lip in a playful pout.
"I'll pack one for Paris."
"Pack a couple."
"As you wish," he said and held her wrists to the headboard. She could easily free herself. One word or gesture and Marlowe would release her. But for now, she liked being beneath him, hidden from the chaos. Doing battle with the world exhausted her soul and these secret meetings had become her refuge.
They moved slowly, teasing one another in delicate and silent ways — trailing his fingers down her side, wrapping her legs around his, gently pressing their hips together. When at last he released her, Isla continued to unbutton his shirt, but she didn't want it off quite yet. Instead, she traced the shape of his arm and shoulder muscles. The anticipation of finally having his skin on hers made the act of undressing more erotic than she ever knew it could be, and she'd decided to savour it.
Outside, the thunder continued to rumble and lightning began to flicker, but inside their room, not even the bed made a noise.
When he rubbed his thigh between her legs, she sighed and reached for his belt. It was time. Marlowe helped her from the bed and without breaking eye contact, they undressed for one another. There was nothing overt about it. No music or striptease. Those things were unnecessary. She knew his body as he knew hers, and in this simple act they were offering themselves to one another — allowing their souls to also be laid bare. At the height of the storm and in the flicker of lightning, they surrendered to a new level of intimacy.
They stood before one another, exposed and unmoving. This beautiful man who was hers completely, and yet not hers at all.
Marlowe guided her back to the bed. He was warm and comforting, and as they made love, he filled her soul with hope that the turmoil in her life would some day subside. In his arms, her strength returned.
The storm had blown over and the sky was clear and star-filled. Moonlight flooded the room. It kissed the curve of Grace's shoulder and made her eyes sparkle. Lying on her side with the bed sheet draped lightly over her hip, she was heavenly. Colin wished they could stay this way until the end of time.
"I have something to tell you," she whispered.
He waited in silence for her to say more.
"I know who you are." With that admission, she seemed to shrink from him just a little. "Your signature was on the papers in the car."
"I shouldn't have left them," he replied, his voice equally soft in the night. "It's my fault —" Grace put a finger to his lip.
"I've known since the chalet . . . I saw the name tag on your suitcase." Her eyes glistened and he wasn't sure whether she'd shed a tear. The fear she'd had at their last meeting was now even more understandable. "We've broken two of the rules."
"Grace, my love," he said. "I think we've broken all three."
Her brow furrowed and then relaxed. "Yes," she agreed. "We've broken all three."
(Turn the page for Part 8)
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