I’m powerless in his grip. He withdraws slowly, his eyes searching my face, watching every trace of my reaction. His next plunge ebbs away just as slowly and sets our rhythm. Soon we’re fusing together, my hips arching to meet him, matching my own pleasure to every touch of his pounding loins.
His flood of energy takes me over and I’m afloat on his tide. Each powerful thrust fills me up, each slow, lingering withdrawal draws me to him. The heat in his gaze as he finally brings me to fruition stirs my heart.
He touches his lips to mine, murmurs soft things into my ear, scolds me for not paying attention when my looming orgasm starts to transport me, and finally leans down close, threading his fingers into my wet hair as he shudders to his own completion.
It tells me that however grim his thoughts were on the way home, and however much I still resent that scary, alpha-male demo thing in my boat, he still loves me and needs me.
And I love him too.
* * *
‘The attacks mostly take place just north of San Francisco. Nobody has so far been hurt or directly molested but state police warn some bizarre aspects of the attacks suggest the attacker may need help. Today’s weather? Mild and sunny inland but if you’re on the beaches take care in those foggy stretches. And now for news closer to home …’
I switch off the radio and pour myself another cup of coffee. No Darnley this morning. He’s vanished into the fog, along with the glorious views of the bay from his windows, and the warm Californian sun.
He’s gone over to the complex on business, the convertible is in for repair and a respray and I’ve got a date with my boat.
They’re right about the fog. As I make my way down to the beach thick mist settles over me in a damp, white blanket. It mats my hair, chills my skin and muffles my footsteps as I crunch my way down the shingle.
No chance of skinny-dipping in this – even without Darnley on hand to demand a forfeit. Without its fabled sunshine the air out here is dank enough for New England, the quiet splash of the waves hidden by the mist as eerie as the white winter silence of the Maine woods. I shiver and pull my goose-down jacket tighter.
As I reach my boat I stop short.
It’s decorated with seaweed.
It’s beached well above the water line and beyond the reach of the waves so it’s not decorated by chance. There’s been no storm.
Someone has looped festoons of it along the sides. All at once I hear a low, roaring boom.
Fear prickles along my back. I stand very still and peer into the mist. Now I sense sounds, little shuffles in the grasses along the path, small rustles from further away. A clank, like someone’s moving something heavy, made of metal.
‘Hello?’ My voice falls short in the stifling fog. It seems to reach no further than I can see. ‘Anybody there?’
The boom comes again, a terrifying, hollow sound, like an echo but louder. All at once there’s a flurry of movement and a crash as somebody lands on the shingle behind me.
I spin round to see a leather-clad figure in goggles peering at me out of the mist.
If I had any voice I’d scream. As it is I’m paralysed for a whole two seconds, unable to speak, squeak or even run as the figure before me slowly removes its goggles. ‘Ms Dean? I came to warn ya.’
It’s Chet Newson, his eyes wide and scared.
He’s not nearly as scared as me. Shakily I gasp air.
‘Kin you hear it?’ He’s leaning towards me, his face contorted. ‘That’s him. That’s the cave troll. He’s here. You don’ wanna mess with them things, miss. They’s real dangerous.’
The boom comes yet again, louder than ever now. He shrinks back and starts to jabber.
Now I’m scared too, but I’m also puzzled. I don’t believe in ghosts – even though, right this minute, some part of me wants to jabber too.
‘Calm down, Chet,’ I snap. ‘It’s probably nothing of the sort. Anyway, what are you doing here? You came all the way out here just to tell me that?’
It occurs to me that I’m alone here and he may mean well but he may have – urges. I swallow.
Suddenly he slips his hand into his jacket and I take a nervous step back.
‘They say you’s a poet, Miss. I writ you a poem. Here.’
He stuffs a card in my hand. I stare at it for a moment. It’s a Wolfe Security business card, like the one Darnley left me once, a long time ago. As I turn it over I see something scrawled on the back.
‘Wel cum home fokes!’
It’s the same message we found splashed on the wall in crimson paint.
And the same spelling.
As I look up the boom comes again. This time Chet shrieks and scrambles back up the shallow sloping cliff, sending rocks and loose stones pattering down as he scrabbles for a foothold.
‘Wait,’ I shout. ‘Chet? Come back here. Did you write this?’
He’s already halfway up, clawing at tufts of sea grass and dipping ledges where seabirds have worn holes. He looks down, his face contorted, as he shouts down. ‘Who, me? No’m, I cain’t write. It wus him. He did it. The cave troll.’
The mist is lifting now. As he reaches the top, scrambling the last few feet in his panic to get away, I see the fuzzy silhouette of a motorcycle emerge from the mist. It’s parked on the top of the headland.
He springs onto the seat, kicks the motor and with a roar the powerful machine curves away in the direction of the highway and disappears into the mist.
I’m still staring at the card when I hear a shout from the house. Darnley’s back. My heart leaps as he strides down the path to greet me. I race into his arms and fling mine round his neck. ‘How’s the car?’
‘Back tomorrow. Miss me?’ He breathes in my ear before finding my mouth. When he does, we kiss for so long I almost forget my stunning news. As he pulls away a little I beam up at him and his eyes glow.
He pulls me closer. ‘Needs a new door and a respray. When I found you gone I wondered where you were.’
‘You could have let Bullen take it.’ I give him a play-frown, but his smile fades.
‘I had business to see to.’
In San Francisco? His tone is calm but I sense trouble.
I decide not to pry. Instead I tell him my exciting news. ‘I think I’ve found your culprit. Chet Newson? He was here just now. He came here on a motorcycle. And he gave me this.’
Darnley
