Worlds Apart

‘Probably not,’ Caryn murmured, steeling herself against the intruding memories. ‘I think I’ll have an early night and catch up on some reading. Mom said she’ll be through in a minute.’

Redecorated by herself only a few weeks ago in green and white with touches of pink in the curtains and covers, her bedroom somehow no longer pleased her as much. Lying on her back on the bed, gazing at the ceiling, she felt confined and restless. There had to be more to life than this day-to-day existence. Perhaps it was time, after all, that she thought about moving away from Barston. Not just to Norwich either, but further afield. There was a whole world out there waiting to be explored.

It was seeing Logan again that had brought this on, she knew. Closing her eyes, she could visualise him in detail. Remembering was painful, but she couldn’t stop herself from doing it…

‘And this is Michael’s little friend, Caryn,’ declared Margot Sinclair on an indulgent note.

Logan Bannister’s smile was slow, eyes riveting as he extended a hand. ‘Hello, Caryn.’

‘Hello.’ Her voice sounded odd, Caryn thought, hoping the warmth she could feel under her skin didn’t show in her face. She wasn’t normally prone to blushing, but then neither was she normally prone to falling in love at a moment’s notice. Logan was devastating; there was no other word for it! Not handsome in the way of her favourite film star, perhaps, yet somehow infinitely more exciting.

The fingers which had closed about hers were long and tensile, his grasp hinting of a latent strength. Without looking directly, she was aware of the crisp whiteness of his shirt cuff against tanned skin, of the glint of gold from the watch encircling one lean wrist. Having contact removed was sheer deprivation.

‘Are you in university too?’ he asked.

Margot laughed. ‘Hardly, darling! Caryn’s still in school. About to sit your GCSEs, I believe?’ she added.

‘Next month,’ Caryn confirmed with reluctance; she would have been more than ready to accept a couple of years’ promotion in this man’s eyes.

‘With straight A passes in all subjects,’ said Michael Sinclair lightly, slinging a casual arm about her shoulders. ‘Isn’t that right, angel?’

‘Hopefully,’ she murmured.

‘Good luck,’ proffered Logan, and she felt the impact of his smile once more.

‘Are he and your sister engaged or anything?’ she asked Michael on what she hoped was a casual note as the older couple moved on.

‘Not as yet,’ came the answer. ‘Although I’m pretty sure Margot has it in mind. And what she wants she usually gets.’

Caryn didn’t doubt it. A sizzlingly beautiful brunette, Margot Sinclair could probably have any man she chose. Logan must be around thirty himself, and eminently eligible. The Bannisters had a stud farm a few miles along the coast, and were said to be extremely wealthy. Logan certainly looked the part. The pale grey suit he was wearing had a cut and fit unmistakable even to her relatively untutored eyes.

She had seen him before, of course, but only at a distance when riding his horse along the beach, which he seemed to do most evenings. Having met him now, there was no reason why she shouldn’t wave a greeting in future, she thought. He might even stop to talk, although about what she had no idea. It didn’t really matter providing she got to be near him again.

Up until now, Michael had seemed so mature and sophisticated at nineteen and in his first year at university. She had been flattered by his attention at the spring dance last month, and hadn’t been reluctant to see him each weekend since, but there had never been any real romantic interest on her side. His kisses were no more than pleasant, while she imagined Logan Bannister’s to be out of this world! He was a man, not a boy. A real man!

She made sure to be on the beach the following evening around six-thirty, heart leaping when she saw him coming. He reined in at once when he spotted her, smiling down at her with every indication of pleasure.

‘I’ve seen you down here most evenings,’ he said, ‘but I didn’t know you were Michael’s girlfriend.’

‘I’m not,’ Caryn denied, and saw his brows lift. ‘I mean we’re just friends,’ she amended.

‘What else, at your age?’ Logan asked lightly. He touched his heels to the stallion’s sides, lifting a hand in farewell. ‘Bye for now.’

That was the beginning. Before too long he was not only stopping to talk to her, but getting down from his horse to walk with her while they talked about everything under the sun. Caryn lived for those moments. Unlike her parents, Logan treated her as an adult. With him she felt like an adult—a grown woman. Certainly the emotions he aroused in her went far beyond a girlish crush.

The suspicion that he might return her feelings came to her gradually, sparked by a certain look in his eyes, a certain note in his voice. Margot Sinclair might have it in sheer looks, but could she hold his interest in quite the same way with her views on current affairs, on literature and art? Could she make him laugh with her comments the way little Caryn Gregory did?

Because of Logan, she found herself reading Romeo and Juliet, which she was studying for GCSE, with new insight, identifying with the lovelorn teenager in a way she had never done before. But it was in Antony and Cleopatra that she found the real stimulation of her awakening senses. Here was a woman whose love for a man knew no bounds—a woman who saw no shame in declaring that love both in words and in action—a woman for whom there could never be any other man but Antony.

For Caryn there could never be any other man but Logan. She already knew that for a fact.

With her mind constantly in the clouds, her GCSEs were a disaster. Apart from English Literature, she doubted if she would finish up with more than Cs or even Ds for the rest. But it was a long time before the results would be through, and at present she had far more pressing concerns. Before anything, she had to know how Logan really felt about her.

Normally she would walk to meet him along the beach. This particular evening she sat and waited for him to come to her, heart thudding against her ribcage in the knowledge of what she was about to say to him. Like Antony, he would sweep her into his arms, press kisses on her lips, her eyes—everywhere and anywhere he cared to press them!

Then he was there, reining in to sit looking down at her with an expression in his eyes that told her she wasn’t mistaken.

‘Take me for a ride,’ she said, and he laughed, swinging her up in front of him, his breath warm on her neck, his body so hard and muscular at her back.

She had never ridden on a horse in her life before, but it felt so good to be up there above the sands, secure in Logan’s embrace, oblivious of the way her short summer skirt rode up her thighs. He kept the animal to a steady walk, one hand on the rein, the other about her waist. She could feel the pressure of his thighs against the back of hers, stirring her senses to a point where she scarcely knew what she was doing any more, and cared even less.

Blood singing in her ears, she took hold of his hand and moved it upwards to the region of her left breast, hearing his sudden sharp intake of breath as his fingers came into contact with the firm young curve.

‘For God’s sake, Caryn!’ he said gruffly against her hair. ‘You don’t know what you’re doing!’

‘Yes, I do,’ she whispered. ‘Don’t you like touching me this way?’

‘Like it?’ The words came out on a groan. ‘Of course I like it! I…’ He broke off abruptly, moving the hand sharply away. ‘I think I’d better put you down.’

He brought the horse to a halt and dismounted, reaching up to seize her about the waist, face grimly set. ‘Come on.’

Caryn allowed herself to slide down into his arms, putting her own about his neck and burying her face in his shirt-front as she found her feet. ‘Don’t leave me,’ she begged. ‘I love you, Logan!’

His whole body was rigid. ‘You don’t know what you’re saying,’ he reiterated. ‘You don’t even know what love is.’

‘Yes, I do. It’s the way you make me feel.’ She was desperate to convince him. She lifted her face to his, searching the grey eyes and seeing the look she had seen before slowly ousting the grimness. Instinctively she pressed herself closer to him, feeling the hardness of his chest against her breasts, the tingling in her nipples. Her lips were slightly parted, youthfully full and moist, trembling a little in their eagerness for his touch.

He kissed her roughly, as if in a deliberated attempt to frighten her off, but she refused to be intimidated by it, kissing him back with a fervency that took him by surprise and elicited an involuntary response. It was so different from Michael’s kisses, stirring emotions only vaguely sensed up to now, turning her limbs to jelly and starting a burning heat in her lower body.

A low groan broke from Logan’s lips as she moved instinctively against him, and he tried to put her from him. But she wouldn’t be put, clinging to him with all her strength, wanting this to continue. For a brief moment he resisted, then he groaned again and went on kissing her, pressuring her lips apart and sending quivers of excitement racing through her. He was Antony, she was Cleopatra, and they were in love. Wonderfully, intoxicatingly in love!

When he lifted her in his arms and carried her into the sand dunes it was all part of that same scenario. When he laid her on the sand and lowered himself to her she knew nothing but delight in his masculine assertion.

Her blouse was a flimsy, sleeveless affair buttoned down the front, her brassiere a wisp of lace that gave easily to the seeking hand. The touch of his fingers on her bare skin made her shiver. Such a delicate touch, tracing a spiral about her breast until it finally reached her aching nipple.

Caryn stifled a cry as he lowered his head to take the proud little nub of flesh between his lips, unable to bear the exquisite sensation yet desperate for it to continue. Her hands slid of their own accord into the crisp, clean thickness of his hair, fingers digging into his scalp, her body arched towards the marauding mouth. She had read so many literary—and not so literary—descriptions of lovemaking, but never in her wildest dreams had she imagined it to be as wonderful as this! She was on fire all the way through.

Elasticated at the waist, her skirt slid easily down over her hips. Logan followed its passage with his lips, fluttering the skin of her abdomen and causing her thigh muscles to go into sudden spasm. She caught at him frantically as he brushed the lacy edging of her briefs, hardly knowing what she wanted at that moment. He didn’t resist, but lifted his head first to find her breast and then her lips again kissing her back into a state where she cared about nothing else but having this go on.

He removed her remaining undergarment with dexterity, sliding his hand back along the length of her leg to seek her innermost secrets. Eyes closed, she was lost in a world of pure sensation, pliant to his every demand. There was a brief moment when she thought he was leaving her, but then he came right over her and there was a wholly new sensation, a burgeoning pressure that parted her thighs and brought a bubbling cry to her lips.

Her eyes flew open in surprise as the pressure increased, her muscles tensing involuntarily against the intrusion. It was so much more than she had anticipated— if she had thought this far at all—stretching her, filling her, forging a passage to the very centre of her being.

The pressure became suddenly unbearable, flaring into sharp pain that was gone as quickly as it came, to be replaced by a wonderful glowing warmth. The movement came to her easily, instinctively, lifting her hips in a rhythm as old as time. She heard the rasp of Logan’s breath in her ears but was unaware that the moaning sound accompanying was coming from her own lips. There was a moment of pure ecstasy when she thought she must have died and gone straight to heaven, then everything dissolved into nothingness.

How long the two of them lay, Caryn had no clear idea. She came back to earth to find herself gazing into an evening-misted sky, aware of the weight and warmth holding her down, and of her spreadeagled lower limbs.

They were still joined as one, she realised, although the pressure had decreased to a point where the unity was more sensed than actually felt. She had done that to him, she thought exultantly. Like Cleopatra, she had given her man the ultimate pleasure of climactic fulfilment. She felt neither shame nor regret. At least not then. The wonder of it was all too devastatingly new for any opposing emotion to find purchase.