Moonlight Dancer (22 page)

Myrna narrowed her eyes.

She probably thinks I’m a spoiled bitch. Maybe she’s right.
She smiled in an attempt to let the other woman know she meant well.

“Your father sent along a suitcase for you. You won’t need a huge wardrobe at Water’s Edge, but he and his new lady friend picked out some nice things for you.”

“You saw what they bought?”

The other woman nodded. “Yes, it’s part of my job. You’ll be checked again when you arrive just to make sure. As for the money, your father and your grandmother have paid for that as well.”

“I can afford to pay for it.” Laura didn’t know why she’d said that. Maybe she just needed to assert herself. Everything else seemed to have been decided for her.

“Good. But that’s between you and your father now.”

They fell silent after that. Laura scarcely noticed the sparkling blue of the Pacific as they neared the ferry terminal. She was startled when Myrna spoke as they waited in line to board the ferry.

“I’ve made this trip many times.” She glanced across at Laura. “It never fails to inspire me, knowing that people like you have the strength to turn their lives around.”

Traffic started to move. Ferry staff motioned them forward impatiently and Myrna guided the SUV up the ramp and into the gaping mouth of the ferry.

Laura felt as though she were being swallowed whole. She fought the panic that threatened to engulf her as they drove into the gloom of the parking level. Until now, she hadn’t given serious thought to what lay in store for her. She took several deep, calming breaths. Whatever was coming, it couldn’t be worse than what she’d already been through...could it?

Bradley Jamieson watched the shaft of sunlight move slowly across the bed. He willed it to stop, but it moved inexorably toward him. Soon it would be in his eyes, he’d be forced to move, and the woman in bed beside him would know he was awake.

She was lovely, no doubt about that. They’d been introduced a couple of weeks ago and he’d been attracted to her, but had been hesitant to ask her out on a date. Finally he’d texted her, and she’d replied almost immediately. Last night had been wonderful; an intimate dinner sitting side by side in a booth at his favourite restaurant, followed by a leisurely walk along the waterfront. He couldn’t recall who had initiated the first kiss, but it had been long and hot; there was no doubt that they both wanted more.

The sex had been fantastic...for both of them. A small smile tilted the corner of his mouth as he recalled the number of times she’d told him what a wonderful lover he was.

She stirred in bed just as the sun hit him in the face. It was pointless to pretend any longer.

“Oh, you’re awake” she said, propping her head on a hand and looking down at him with a smile. “Did you sleep well?”

He nodded. He’d had a rare night free of nightmares. That in itself was worth celebrating. He swung his feet over the side of the bed and rubbed at the stubble on his cheeks. The woman...what was her name? Ah yes, Alexa...scooted across the bed and was snuggling up behind him, pressing her breasts into his back.

“What are you going to do today?” She asked, fingers tiptoeing across his abdomen and heading south.

He grabbed her hand to halt its progress and brought it to his lips. He must be mad not to want more sex, but the price was too high. He knew what would happen afterward; she’d want to get to know him better. It was only natural he supposed, but it was more than he could take. He’d dated a few women since coming home and they all wanted to pry into his private life, to find out why he couldn’t talk, and each one in her own unique way wanted to “fix” him.

He kissed her hand again and tenderly touched her cheek, trying to soften the refusal. He liked her, he really did. She was gorgeous to look at, and intelligent, but he didn’t want to get personal and she did. In that respect, she was no different from the others.

He grabbed his BlackBerry.
Leaving town today
, he typed and showed it to her.
Sorry
he added,
Had great time last night
. He didn’t have to tell her that he’d only just decided to take his friend up on his offer of a bed for the summer–in exchange for working in the vineyards.

She gave him a sad smile. “You’re not going to call me again, are you?” It was more of a statement than a question.

He smiled back, and shook his head. It was one thing he’d learned a long time ago; don’t complicate your life with lies.

“I thought not.” She kissed him lightly on the lips. “You’re a nice guy, Bradley Jamieson. If you come back to town and change your mind, I’d love to hear from you.”

And with that, she slipped into her clothes and was gone. Bradley stared at the closed door for several long minutes after she’d left and wondered if his life would ever get back to normal.

* * *

It didn’t take long for Bradley to get organized and on the road. He’d texted Matt at the winery and been assured that he was still welcome. He’d laughed at the next line: ‘Will that old beast make the trip?’

The Norton was Bradley’s favourite means of transportation. There was something freeing about being on the bike and it had been thoroughly serviced over several weeks the previous month; Bradley trusted it to make the trip.

It was noon by the time he left Comox. He planned to cross the ferry at Nanaimo and drive into the Fraser Valley tonight. Motels were plentiful in the area; hopefully he’d have a good sleep and make it to the Okanagan around noon the next day.

As he crossed the bridge from the Comox side of town to Courtenay, the Snowbirds, Canada’s aerobatic team, streaked across the sky, practicing one of their manoeuvres. The Tutors were small compared to the F-18s that Bradley had flown in Afghanistan, but he still stopped to look every time he heard a jet engine. He paused by the side of the road to watch them, marvelling at the precision flying. The aircraft dispersed and he gunned the motor, sliding smoothly into traffic. It was times like this that he felt guilty. Trained at great expense to be a fighter pilot, he was useless now. Okay, so he wasn’t to blame, but that knowledge didn’t help in the dark of the night, when he woke up to the horror of his memories, knowing that in his dream he’d been trying to scream, but unable to make a sound.

He rolled onto the five o’clock ferry with the other bikers, sent to their usual spot at the front. ‘First on, first off’ was their mantra. It was all part of the freedom of traveling by bike. He made his way to the upper deck, claiming a spot on one of the lifejacket storage containers. Here, with his back resting against the hull of the ship, he could watch not only the departure, but the eclectic mix of tourists that flocked to Vancouver Island every year. Virtually every European language was represented today, along with the ever-present, much-travelled Aussies and Asians. He sat back and closed his eyes, soaking up the sun. He hadn’t bothered to shave before leaving home, and he counted on his appearance to fend off anyone who would otherwise want to talk.

“Excuse me, is this seat taken?” He couldn’t quite place the accent. He opened one eye and shook his head. Her shoes identified her as European. There was something about their footwear that gave them away every time. That and the accent, of course. If he had to guess, he’d say she was Dutch. He made a broad gesture, indicating that she should make herself comfortable, and closed his eyes again. She pushed her backpack against the bulkhead, then sat back, resting against it. Her scent invaded his nostrils; it was something fresh, light and decidedly feminine.

Don’t even think about it
, he told himself.

She raised a hand in greeting and a young man came and sat beside her. Bradley smiled to himself; he didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved.

* * *

Bradley Jamieson was one of those rare men who really loved women. At least the ones he’d been involved with told him he was a rarity, and judging by comments from the men he’d served with, they were right. The couple beside him were chattering away in a language he didn’t recognize, and he relaxed, thinking back to his younger days.

He’d grown up in Comox, home to Canadian Forces Base Comox. It was inevitable, he supposed, his desire to become a pilot. He knew every aircraft type that flew in and out of CFB Comox–American as well as Canadian. But even back then, he’d known that you just didn’t walk through the gates and sign up. As a matter of fact, you were lucky if they even considered you, and a degree or two always helped.

And so in the summer holidays, while his friends went fishing or chased girls, he worked at every job he could find, saving money for his education. The grocery store paid the best; he made himself available for work any time they called, but it wasn’t enough. In between, he mowed lawns and did yard clean-up.

It was a hot summer day when he first noticed her...really noticed her.

“Bradley” she called from behind the screen door. “Could you help me with something?”

He looked up, trying to recall her name. Oh yes, it was Mrs. Fraser. Her husband worked at the base, and according to her, had little time to spare for yard work. He’d noticed her several times that day; she seemed to be watching him through the kitchen window. He hoped she was happy with his work.

He wiped the sweat from his brow as he walked up the back steps. She opened the screen door and stood there, almost as if she were posing. She had on some sort of a top that tied under her breasts, leaving her midriff bare, and incredibly short shorts for an older woman. At least she seemed older to him. He tried not to look at her, but she had an amazing body and she wasn’t shy about showing it.

“What is it?” he said, looking around.

She walked across the kitchen and he noticed that she was wearing what the school girls called ‘wedgies’ on her feet. They made her legs go on forever. He swallowed painfully.

She bent over as if to lift a cardboard box from the floor. “This box is too heavy.” He could see the crease of skin where her legs joined her buttocks and got an instant erection.

She straightened up and turned back to him. “I was hoping to move this out to the storage shed, but it’s just too heavy.” Her gaze dropped to the level of his crotch and her lips parted. “Would you do it for me?”

“Sure.” He didn’t know how he got the word out; his tongue felt thick and clumsy in his throat. She stood back a bit and he picked up the box. “The storage shed,” he said, trying not to look at her cleavage.

“Yes, and then come back in. I’ve made some lemonade.”

He practically ran to the shed and shoved the box into the first spot he could find. It was all he could do not to race up the steps when he got back to the house.

“So,” she said, handing him a glass of lemonade. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

He swallowed half the glass in one gulp. He wasn’t quite sure where this conversation was going. “Sort of,” he said, wondering if she could tell he was stretching the truth.

“Aha.” She took a small sip from her glass, eyeing him over the rim. “And what do you do for fun?”

“I, ah, well, we...” How could he explain the fumbling and groping in the back seat of his friend’s car?

“Do you have sex?” She came closer. There was a musky smell about her. It was unfamiliar but oddly arousing. “I mean, I hear about young people these days and it all sounds so different from when I was your age.” She placed her glass on the counter then took his glass out of his hand and placed it beside hers. She was so close to him now that her breasts were almost brushing against his chest. At least when she was this close she couldn’t see that he was hard again.

Or maybe she could. She ran a finger over his lips and his mouth dropped open. She slid the finger inside his mouth and then withdrew it, putting it in her own mouth. He was afraid that he was going to come right there, in her kitchen. That would be mortifying and he closed his eyes, trying to regain control.

She touched his face again with her fingertips, tracing the line of his jaw, then down his neck, resting her hand against his chest. Her fingers tweaked his nipple, and he groaned aloud.