Burning Embers Read online

  Rafe reached for a bottle and two glasses from a cabinet. “A small cognac? Or maybe you would prefer some coffee; either will warm you up.” Once again he surprised her with his attentiveness; he had noticed that she was trembling. The shivers could not have resulted from the beautiful, balmy night, and she wondered if that had also crossed his mind.

  Coral decided to be sensible for a change. “I’ll have some coffee, please.”

  He gave that devastating smile that made her melt inside. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be back in a flash.”

  She stepped out onto the terrace. It faced south, giving it full sun all day. The fragrance of the plants and creepers here was bewitching, making her head feel lighter. The voices of the countless insects seemed to make the air vibrate with a continuous faint pulse. For a second, she had a disconcerting feeling that her mere presence here was an intrusion, that she was treading the edges of another human being’s private moonlit universe: Rafe’s world. She momentarily found herself wishing to be part of that dream forever.

  Coral sensed his presence behind her and turned. Rafe was standing very still, just looking at her. His dinner jacket had been removed, his bow tie hanging loosely around his unbuttoned shirt collar, and his rolled-up sleeves revealed strong, tanned forearms. Approaching a tall raffia basket that served as a table, he set down a cup of steaming coffee, a glass, and a bottle of cognac, then took a blanket from over his arm and wrapped it around Coral’s shoulders, letting his palms linger a little over them as he had done on the boat not so long ago. Her heart turned right over in her breast, and perhaps she started a bit, as he drew away from her instantly. Her shivering only seemed to increase.

  “That should keep you warm,” Rafe whispered as he handed her the cup of coffee. “Sip it slowly.” His voice was caressing and silky. “These coffee beans come from the plantation of friends of mine that live in the plains of Southern Kenya along the border with Tanganyika. The aroma is stronger than the brands you find on the market.”

  The hot brew warmed her up: it was soothing and comforting. Rafe took a pace or two away from her and savored his cognac with the air of a connoisseur. He leaned on the bannister of the terrace and gazed out over his domain to the sea in the distance. A light breeze flicked at his dark hair, and he pushed it away from his eyes.

  “A shooting star, Rafe. Make a wish,” Coral exclaimed, trying to draw him back to reality. He stared fixedly at her, perhaps wondering what her wish had been, then gave her one of his enigmatic smiles. His hand slid along the top of the balustrade and touched her elbow. It was a momentary contact, but he drew away quickly as if suddenly afraid of touching her. Coral could see him staring at her lips, and her breathing quickened. He met her eyes, and still he did not move, his steady gaze delving into her soul, as if searching intensely for something in Coral.

  And then all at once, she was melting in his arms, trembling against his powerful body as his mouth moved tenderly over her eyes, her cheeks, her neck, whispering his desire and his need softly in her ear. This must be what paradise is like, Coral thought crazily as she strained toward him.

  When he finally kissed her lips, his mouth was sensual, persuasive. The kiss went on and on, slowly, deeply, as his hands slid gently down her back and pulled her harder against him so that she gasped slightly. She felt the magnetic power pulsate between them so strongly she was unable to stop her body from responding to his. Her breathing quickened; her ears were buzzing, warmth was flooding every part of her body, and she could already feel the wave building, threatening to engulf her.

  Abruptly, he drew away from her. “No. No, this is not right. I’m sorry…” He bent his head and ran a hand through his hair again. “You mustn’t fall in love with me, Coral.” He looked up at her and scanned her face with an aching intensity, but then his eyes clouded over. “It’s just a physical attraction that draws you toward me. Don’t fool yourself. You know nothing of me, and what you already know can only push you away from my life.” Rafe’s voice was flat as he spoke. He gulped down the liquid left in his discarded glass and poured himself another drink. His lids flickered as he breathed raggedly.

  “That’s not so. I feel good when I’m with you. I don’t know what it is about you…your voice, your eyes…It’s as though I’ve always missed them,” Coral whispered. She could feel his desire for her wrestling with something else. What was it that tormented him so much?

  Rafe drew her toward him in a protective surge, and she rested her cheek on his chest. “Yes, I know,” he said, so softly she could barely hear his caressing words. “I’ve known from the first moment that we were attracted to each other in a wondrous, frightening way, isn’t that so? It’s as though we have been created with the same piece of clay, come out of one mold. I know that — I felt it as soon as you looked at me. It was like we were alone in the world, you and me. I sensed it before I even met you, when I looked into your photographs, and you became real to me. But then I hadn’t yet acknowledged the extent of the miracle…”

  “Don’t stop talking. I love your voice. I love what you say to me. Don’t stop talking, please.” Coral hugged him and felt him take a deep breath.

  “Coral, my love, you are too pure, too innocent, too alive for me,” he said slowly, almost carefully. “My world is like a drawing in black and white on a gray canvas, without a single note of color to bring it to life. And now, on this pale and melancholic picture, a red flower has fallen, a warm and scented flower.” He sighed. “It’s a wonderful contrast, but too vivid…”

  Coral shut her eyes, lulled by the sound of his voice, refusing to accept such a sad and desolate image. “If that’s true, what is this strange and wonderful feeling filling my heart?” she murmured.

  He did not answer, but closed his arms around her, holding her tightly against him. There was nothing erotic in his embrace now, only tenderness.

  “Rafe,” she breathed.

  “Shush, my love, my sweet, my innocent love. Let’s stay like this a while, just silently savoring this fleeting moment borrowed from time, from life…so foreign to each other and yet so close, as if we had always belonged together.”

  They remained thus, clasped in each other’s arms, under stars twinkling like golden pinpricks in the floor of heaven, listening to their hearts throbbing in unison in the deep silence of night.

  * * *

  Rafe stood alone on the terrace, watching Coral’s car speed off into the night. He turned away, slumped down into a chair, and lit a cigarette. What on earth had possessed him to ask Coral up to the house? He had no right to look at her, want her, touch her the way he had all evening. He was fully aware of the effect he had on her; far from feeling smug, he was ashamed. His chin took a determined slant. Why should he be ashamed? Morgana’s words hit him like a slap in the face: “She’s just a girl.” Was Coral too young? Even when they stood apart from each other, her feelings reached him, touched him, and excited him. She was not a girl. She was a ravishing, warm-hearted woman.

  The memory of the way she had felt in his hands that day on the rocks, her lips so tantalizingly close, made him dizzy. Since then, he had not been able to drive her from his mind. And he had to admit, even though he had known countless women, none of them, as far as he could remember, had affected him like this; the power she had over him was frightening. He gave a self-derisory inward laugh. Who had seduced whom?

  How eagerly she had looked at him tonight, right here where he was sitting now. He had managed to draw away at first, afraid to give way to his weakness. Then he met her eyes, seemingly bluer from the questions they held. Her beauty was so intoxicating that it made him ache. He had never dreamed such a creature existed. He was spellbound. He had glimpsed the swollen curve of her breasts as they rose and fell a little faster than normal, her soft lips slightly parted, making him want to blend his exhausted breath with the sweetness and the freshness of hers. He had looked into those eyes, searching for an answer, a sign…And then it had happened…he remembered
her trembling against his body as he found himself kissing her face and the delicate vein pulsating in the middle of her throat, his fingers tracing with deliberation her arching back and yearning to explore further those lush curves that trembled under his touch. He could not believe how wonderful she had been as she instinctively moved to mold herself to his body. She was soft and yielding against him — a dream from which he never wanted to wake. The urge to take her there and then had been overwhelming. The memory made his senses start to ache with arousal once more.

  Again, he shook himself back to reality. What was he doing? Even fantasizing about Coral was not right. He had desperately fought against the power of his passion and succeeded in pushing her away. But now the desire that burned his body was sidetracked and channeled toward a feeling just as powerful: guilt. If only she knew the darkness that enveloped his past, she would not want him anymore. Besides, what she felt for him was schoolgirl infatuation.

  “That’s not so…your voice, your eyes…It’s as though I’ve always missed them.” Her words came back to him, so beautiful they warmed his lonely heart, awakening all sorts of feelings that had lain dormant for a long time in a tiny corner of his mind. Rafe could feel himself softening, yielding, and losing the battle. A great sadness flooded him. He remembered the scent of her hair and the feel of its silkiness brushing against his neck. At that moment, Rafe knew that he wanted Coral more than he had ever wanted anything in his life. She was everything he had ever dreamed of, everything he had always wished for.

  Rafe was experienced enough to realize that Coral wanted him too; despite her attempts to fight this growing attraction, everything in her body language told him so. He could see that whenever they were close the chemistry between them flared up. In those blinded moments, his mind clouded, his resolve not to touch her evaporated, and his desire for her was almost overwhelming. At twenty-five, Coral had a unique innocence that combined with a generous and passionate spirit, and Rafe knew that he was awakening the dormant sensuous woman in her. Soon her body would make its claims on her, and they would both be lost to their desire. No, he was not the one to initiate this.

  Dear God, what was happening to him? Why was he giving in to his feelings, indulging in sentimentality? And why on earth had he bared his soul to her, divulging things he had difficulty admitting even to himself? He could not remember when he had last been so soft, so weak, in front of anything or anyone, least of all a woman. It must be his French blood taking over — another new experience. A freezing wave of fear gripped his heart. He would never forgive himself if harm came to her, especially at his own hand. The only way to protect her from him was to run.

  * * *

  Coral awoke the next day with the immediate realization that there was something different in her life — something new and overwhelming. As the golden light of early afternoon filtered through the shutters, she lay between the silky sheets, her mind and body still numb with sleep, remembering, basking in the sweetness of her freshly found love. “Rafe,” she whispered softly into her pillow as she recalled the proud, lean profile of the artist. Her heart filled with tenderness, and her body flooded with yearning for him.

  Coral threw back the covers and leapt out of bed. The clock showed it was almost two in the afternoon. She had slept for ten uninterrupted hours. After running herself a bath, she slid her flimsy nightdress off and stood naked in front of the full-sized mirror, regarding herself critically, as though it were his eyes moving over her nudity. It had never occurred to her before, but she was proud of her body — young and slim, with curves in all the right places. She was proud of her virginity too. Suddenly it ceased to be a harassing obstacle and became a wonderful gift. Her nakedness had never been exposed to a man’s eyes. No one had explored the mysteries of her body, and when the time came, she wanted to finally become a woman at Rafe’s hands.

  Coral washed and dressed hurriedly, impatient to see him, talk to him, and touch him. As she was preparing to leave the room, Aluna walked in bearing a tray of fruit.

  “Good afternoon, young lady,” she said, laying the tray on the table. “You were late at the ball last night.” She gave Coral a slanting look. “I see you’re off again today.”

  “Oh yes, yes, Aluna, dear, darling Aluna.” The young woman’s face radiated with uncontained happiness as she planted a resounding kiss on the yaha’s cheek.

  “I hope you’re not up to any mischief. You look a little flushed.” The old servant’s tone was laced with suspicion.

  Coral was not listening, still basking in yesterday’s euphoria. “I’ve climbed to the top of the highest mountain, and life up there is wonderful.”

  “Uhahhh,” the older woman grunted. “Hasty climbers have sudden falls.”

  Coral ignored the glum response as she flew out of the room, down the staircase, and into her car, impatient to get to Whispering Palms again.

  She parked her car in the shade of the courtyard and started on her way up to the house.

  “Looking for someone?” demanded a woman’s voice behind her.

  Turning around, she found Morgana, swinging in a hammock strung between two coconut trees. “If it is Rafe you’ve come to see,” she continued, sliding off the hammock and onto the grass with the languid grace of a panther, “you’re out of luck — he’s already gone.”

  “Then I’ll come back some other time,” Coral answered pertly and turned back to the car.

  “I’d save myself the trouble if I were you.”

  “But you’re not me,” retorted the young woman.

  “I don’t think I’d like to be you at the moment.” The dancer ambled toward her rival.

  Now that they were both standing next to the car, Coral fiddling unsteadily with the lock, while Morgana, her bearing proud, viewed the younger woman through lavish eyelashes.

  “And why is that?” asked Coral without glancing up.

  “I don’t think you’d like what I have to say.”

  “Try me,” Coral retorted, tossing her head up to meet the kohldarkened eyes that regarded her with a steady expression.

  “Come then — let’s sit inside. It’s cooler, and we’ll be more comfortable.”

  “I’m fine here.”

  “Suit yourself.” The dancer shrugged. “If you don’t mind, I’ll sit down.” Morgana lowered herself to the ground and leaned her back against the trunk of a palm tree. Even in repose, her body was the personification of grace. The tight black kanga dress she wore accentuated her beautiful curves, and Coral felt a nasty pang pierce her heart as visions of Rafe making love to the dusky, oriental goddess flashed painfully through her mind.

  “Why are you here, my friend?” asked Morgana.

  “That’s none of your business, and you’re not my friend,” snapped Coral. Her head was swirling furiously now with memories from the night before. This woman was his mistress.

  “He’s left Mombasa. He’s running away from you.”

  Coral turned away, preparing to leave.

  “Let him alone. He can never be yours.”

  “I think I’ve heard enough,” Coral said as she opened the car door.

  “Wait,” Morgana cried out as she leapt up and caught Coral’s arm. “Don’t go. Hear me out and then decide.” There was something compelling in the urgency of the dancer’s voice, or was it the hypnotic gaze of those dark eyes that stared at her now with such insistence?

  Coral leaned against the car and folded her arms. “All right,” she conceded with a sigh, “I’ll listen to what you have to say, but make it quick.”

  “You may think that what I will tell you is prompted by jealousy. It isn’t.”

  Sure, thought Coral, and I’m the Queen of England. “I’ll be the judge of that. Go on, I’m listening.”

  “Certainly I love Rafe. For him I would do almost anything without ever asking for something in return, and he knows it. He’s my man, my master; I am the bint el lail, the devoted mistress who fills his nights, who soothes and caresses until
nightmares have vanished, who replaces pain with rapture.”

  “I haven’t come here to hear about the games that you and Rafe get up to in the bedroom,” Coral cut in.

  “Perhaps, but you will still listen, because you are proud, intelligent, and sensitive.”

  Flattery will get you nowhere, thought Coral. “Well, then, since I’m all that, why should Rafe run away from me?”

  “Because to him you represent a dream — the illusion of what his life could have been if he had made different choices and if fate had not already interfered so cruelly in his world. It is too late for people like him, like me…”

  “Don’t you think it’s rather presumptuous of you to compare yourself to Rafe?” Coral interrupted.

  Morgana lifted a peremptory hand. “Please,” she said, her eyes grave, “let me finish.”

  Coral sighed. “Fine, get on with it then.”

  “I compare myself to Rafe because in many ways we are similar. There are certain events one never forgets, wounds that never heal or, if they do, the scar remains as a vivid reminder. Life has made nomads of us, and our only hope is to keep on the run. He will spend his life looking for something to keep him in one place, yet he will never find it. Do you know why?”

  Coral was losing patience. “No, but I’m sure you’re burning to tell me.”

  “Yes, I will tell you why he will never stop searching for happiness, yet why he will never seize it. That is because, though he will always hope to find it, the effort to hold the dream would be too great, too overwhelming. It would exhaust him.”

  “If what you’re saying were true, three quarters of the world would be roaming aimless on this earth.”