“Where should we begin?” Hawk asked, lifting his mouth just enough to let Angel answer.
“In the center,” she murmured, rubbing her lips against his. “I know a path through the center of the brambles. That’s where the sweetest berries are. Surrounded by thorns.”
“And mosquitoes?”
“A few,” Angel admitted. “No such thing as a free lunch, remember?”
Hawk smiled. “I remember. That’s why I brought insect repellent. I didn’t want anything but me biting your smooth skin.”
Angel felt a frisson of desire race through her. The more Hawk touched her, the more she wanted to be touched by him. She never tired of his lovemaking, of having him become a part of her.
“It’s in my pocket,” Hawk said. “Would you get it?”
He held out his hands to her, showing that they were fully occupied with buckets and picnic basket and couldn’t be expected to pull a bottle of insect repellent from a tight pocket.
First, Angel tried the back pockets of Hawk’s jeans, which was where she carried repellent when she thought to bring it. Hawk’s back pockets were empty. She tried his front pockets, wiggling her hands into the worn, confining cloth.
“Nothing,” Angel said.
“Keep searching,” Hawk said, the corners of his mouth curling in a secret smile beneath his mustache. “You’ll find it.”
For a few seconds Angel took Hawk at his word and wriggled her fingers around in his pockets. Then she felt the heat and hardness of him swelling beneath his jeans.
“You’re teasing me,” she said, trying to look angry and failing utterly.
“I would have sworn I was the one being teased,” Hawk said, his voice deep and rich with hidden laughter. Then Angel’s hand moved inside his pocket and his breath caught.
“My
She smiled with an innocence that was belied by the dancing light of her eyes. Slowly, very slowly, she removed her hands from Hawk’s pockets.
The insect repellent was indeed in the breast pocket of Hawk’s cotton flannel shirt. She applied the pungent lotion to his exposed skin and to her own. Then she put the small squeeze bottle back – in his front jeans pocket.
“The repellent only works against insects,” Hawk pointed out.
“That’s a relief,” Angel said, smiling with an invitation that made his eyes gleam.
Then Angel turned and ran toward the raspberry brambles, making the silver bells at her ankle and wrist shiver with music.
For a moment Hawk stood and watched her graceful flight, aching with a hunger that went much deeper than the temporary urgency of desire. Then he began to run, moving lightly despite his burden.
Angel was soon lost to sight in the twists and turns of the bramble patch, but the sweet silver cries of the bells called to Hawk, telling him that she was close.
He caught up to Angel in a clearing where the raspberries had not yet grown. The air was thick with the delicate perfume of ripening fruit. Leaves shimmered and stirred lazily beneath a caressing wind. Canes laden with fruit arched richly against the cobalt sky, and the serrated green foliage quivered with golden sunlight.
“Derry was right,” Hawk said, turning to Angel. “You know every beautiful place on the island. Or maybe it’s simply that you bring beauty to every place you are.”
“It must be you,” Angel said, her voice husky. “I don’t remember the homestead being like this before.”
She took the buckets from his hand and waited while he spread the quilt and put the picnic basket in the shade. When he came back to her, she silently held out a bucket to him. Then she laced her fingers through Hawk’s as she led him toward the bushes heavy with fruit.
“Berrying is a cross between clamming and crabbing,” Angel said. “Like crabs, raspberry bushes will get you if you’re careless.”
“No free lunch?” suggested Hawk dryly.
“No free lunch,” Angel agreed. “The first rule of berrying is that if the fruit were easy to pick, something would have picked it already.”
Hawk smiled slightly. “Any other rules?”
“Don’t eat more than one berry for every one you put in the bucket. Otherwise you’ll get sick.”
“Learned that the hard way, didn’t you?” Hawk guessed.
“Is there any other way to learn?”
Angel showed Hawk how to choose the best fruit, ripe without being mushy, tart without being green. They picked side by side, sharing a companionable silence.
“Is this one ripe?” Hawk asked finally, holding out a berry to Angel.
“Only one way to be sure.”
Angel opened her mouth expectantly. Smiling, Hawk fed her the berry. She made a clicking sound with her tongue.
“A bit tart,” she said.
Angel looked at a cluster of raspberries hanging from a nearby cane. Picking the most perfect berry, she turned back to Hawk.
“Try this one,” she offered.
Hawk sucked the raspberry from Angel’s fingertips, licking her skin as he did. He closed his eyes and made a sound of pleasure.
“It tastes like you,” he murmured. “Incredible.”
Hawk opened his mouth again in silent request. Angel popped in another berry. He opened his mouth again, and then again, until she laughed and stood on tiptoe, kissing him.
The taste of Hawk and raspberries swept over Angel’s senses. Suddenly she clung to him, kissing him as wildly as he had kissed her on Eagle Head. When the embrace finally ended, they both were breathing raggedly.
“How many more berries does Mrs. Carey need?” asked Hawk, his eyes a clear brown fire.
“Buckets and buckets.”
Hawk swore softly.
“Then we’d better get to it,” he said, reluctantly stepping back from Angel.
They returned to picking, working quickly, watching each other with secret, sidelong glances. They filled their buckets, emptied them into a larger container, and returned to picking.
“You’re eating more than you’re putting in the bucket,” Angel said after a time.
Hawk turned toward her. His mouth was stained with the rich juice of the fruit he had been sneaking like a child.
“But if I get sick,” he said, “I’ll have something better than a hot water bottle to curl up with.”
Smiling, Hawk and Angel both returned to picking. Then Angel found an extraordinary raspberry. Full, richly colored, all but bursting with sweetness, the berry glowed like a jewel in her palm. She set down her bucket and ran to Hawk.
“This is the most perfect raspberry I’ve ever seen,” Angel said, holding it between her thumb and forefinger. “Open up.”
Hawk looked at the transparent red juice staining Angel’s lips rather than at the berry.
“You found it,” he said. “It should be for you.”
“It’s got your name on it.”
The corners of Hawk’s mouth curled up gently. He looked at the bright, unblemished berry.
“I don’t see my name,” he said.
“The light must be wrong for you,” Angel said, letting the raspberry roll down and nestle in her palm. “See? Right there. Your name.”
Hawk looked, but he saw only the love implicit in Angel’s gift. Slowly he bent his head. He licked the berry from her palm, then kissed the spot where the fruit had rested.
The ache Hawk felt slicing through him had nothing to do with desire, and everything to do with the angel who watched him with love in her eyes.
Hawk wanted to ask where Angel’s softness and strength had come from, to delicately touch every secret of
