Cassolette Page 2

  "Come on," she whispered to Chris, leading him away from the water's edge and across the pebbly beach to the hovering darkness beyond.

  But the excitement that had been building all day was now too urgent to wait for the sanctuary of the cave.

  "Oh god, I'm so hot," she murmured. Standing on tiptoes to reach him, she wound her arms around his neck, kissing him hungrily on the mouth and pressing her trembling body hard against his.

  "I…I haven't had many girlfriends…" Chris stammered. And this admission, which she already suspected, inflamed her even further.

  "It'll be alright," she assured him, silencing his misgivings with a finger to his lips.

  Then she guided him down on the sand, beneath a jagged outcropping of rocks and quickly unzipped his fly. She moaned in appreciation when she saw how hard and big he was.

  "You're beautiful," she murmured. Tasting him briefly with her lips, she ran her fingertips up the insides of his thighs and over his balls. Then she wasted no time in pulling him down on top of her, and fitting her ravenous pussy around his marvelous cock.

  She was vaguely aware of a ship's horn bleating in the distance, and the gentle swish of the waves against the shore. But the immediate harshness of their breathing and the squelching slapping sound of flesh inside of flesh eclipsed these background noises.

  Jaye's hips gyrated furiously, her vaginal muscles clamped hard around their prize as this erotic coupling on a beach at midnight continued.

  "Please don't stop…don't stop…" she moaned, although he showed no signs of doing so. He had, in fact, increased the tempo of the fucking while matching it with the exploration of her mouth with his tongue. He was freed from the bonds of shyness, by the sheer force of his need.

  Jaye could feel the orgasm, which had been clamoring for release all day, tense every muscle in her body and grip them like clamps.

  "Oh yes…yes…" she gasped, digging her toes into the sand, tossing her head from side to side. And when the pinnacle was finally reached, she cried out in ecstasy before collapsing like a marionette released from its strings.

  But why did she keep thinking of Guy, she wondered, and right at the supreme moment too? Heavens, it had only been a casual one night stand. She would likely never see him again. * * * The north end of Bell Island, farthest away from the mainland, was the scene of the two hundred-year-old treasure hunt. Bereft of vegetation and pockmarked with the evidence of extensive digging, it bore silent witness to the amount of time, energy, and money that had been spent there. Squandered, some would say, for despite all this considerable industry, the stubborn ground had refused to give up even a sou of its alleged bounty.

  Jaye raked through her great aunt's papers, amazed at the amount of correspondence she had received from all over the globe. The island clearly had a large following of dedicated treasure buffs. Of course, she supposed this degree of interest was not altogether surprising, considering the many books written about it over the years.

  But what had started it all, she wondered? Why was it supposed that there was a treasure buried there in the first place?

  "You amaze me," Chris exclaimed, only half in jest. "How could a grandniece of Adelaide Dawes not know everything there is to know about Bell Island? Especially the history of its treasure hunt?"

  "Aunt Addy was a strange old bird," Jaye replied. "She never associated with any of us. In fact, the only way we found out that she was even involved with Bell Island, was through a newspaper article a few years ago." "I gathered that she was something of a recluse," Chris said thoughtfully.

  "But I had no idea that her unsociability stretched that far." They were having lunch on the terrace of the Blue Riband Coffee Shop which sat catty-corner to the Museum where Chris worked. "I can fill you in on the basics. But for a more detailed account, you might want to read The Bell Island Mystery, by S.W. Packard."

  Jaye stirred her coffee and watched a butterfly flutter around a trellis of alba roses. It was another sweltering day, with a sky almost harsh in its blueness. "Thanks, I'll do that," she said, very aware of his closeness across the small wicker table. The imprint of his cock still burned inside her pussy from the night before.

  He had blushed when he first saw her that day. Hot memories of their torrid encounter blazed, no doubt, through his brain. It had made him look younger than his years, vulnerable and quite engagingly attractive.

  Jaye knew that he hadn't lied about his limited sexual history, shyness probably kept him celibate most of the time. But what he lacked in experience, he more than compensated for in enthusiasm and a desire to please.

  If I don't stop thinking about getting dicked on the beach, I'll be accosting him in broad daylight in a crowded restaurant, she thought to herself ruefully. Squeezing her thighs together tightly, she rocked herself discreetly to a miniorgasm which hopefully would suffice, to keep her mind on less carnal matters. At least for a while.

  Chris remained unaware of his lunch companion's erotic activity. He appeared too engrossed in the history of Bell Island to notice.

  "It all began in 1795," he said, taking a forkful of macaroni salad, followed by a measured sip of tomato juice, "when a teenage boy found a deep impression in the ground beneath a large tree with a sawed off limb. Some accounts claim a ship's tackle hung from that limb, others don't."

  "And which one do you believe?" Jaye asked. The sounds of a busy coffee shop at noon gradually receded as she found herself drawn into the strange tale.

  "I think it unlikely that someone would go to the trouble of burying a treasure on a remote island in the midst of what was still largely wilderness, and then leave a calling card like that hanging above the location."

  Bell Island had been uninhabited at that time, as had much of the surrounding mainland. Pendle Harbor was not incorporated as a town until almost fifty years later.

  The boy's name was Nathaniel York, Chris told her, and he lived on a small farm close to where the Smugglers' Inn now stood. He had been seventeen and restless on that muggy day in late July, and had rowed out to the island to explore.

  He had made the trip before, but had never ventured as far as the north end. Mainly because the island was so heavy with vegetation at that time, it made exploration difficult.

  But this time the natural curiosity of youth had spurred him on. As he ploughed his way through a forest of spruce and oak, he had come upon the strange clearing with its scattering of tree stumps and disturbed soil. Someone had clearly been digging there. But why? As Nathaniel poked around at the crater-like indentation in the ground, he came to the only logical conclusion that he could think of. Someone must have buried a treasure here. And, it had to be of great value for them to go to such trouble to protect it.

  Quite beside himself with excitement, visions of stout chests brimming with gold no doubt racing through his head, he returned the following day with two friends well equipped with shovels and pickaxes.

  The dig went well. The soil moved easily. Soon the boys found themselves in a circular shaft of rough clay.

  Day after day, they returned to the pit in the ground, excavating it to a depth of more than thirty feet before finally acknowledging that this project was far more difficult and complex than they had first thought. Despite all their considerable efforts, whatever lay buried there was still maddeningly out of reach.

  They needed help. Whatever was buried there must be much deeper than they had originally thought. So, they enlisted the aid of their neighbors and returned to the diggings the following year. During this time, Nathaniel had talked his father into purchasing three lots on the north end of the island, which encompassed the treasure pit.

  But, although the reinforcements quarried the pit to almost ninety feet, they were unsuccessful in finding anything buried there. Except, that is, for a strange stone. Eventually they had to abandon the search in order to attend to their farms and livelihoods.

  "What kind of a stone?" Jaye asked, her eyes riveted on Chris' face as he spoke. The c
afé emptied around them as the lunch time rush ended. "It was large and flat," he explained, demonstrating the dimensions with his hands. "About three feet in length by fifteen inches wide. With a thickness of around ten inches and weighing one hundred and seventy-five pounds." "And," Jaye urged, "what was so special about it?" "It had a weird inscription. By all accounts, two rows of odd-looking

  hieroglyphs." "And where is it now?" "Gone, I'm afraid. It disappeared around fifty years later. Prior to that it had

  been in the possession of Nathaniel York." "That's too bad. I have a feeling that if it had been deciphered, it would have

  held the key to finding the treasure." "So did everyone else at the time. But, unfortunately, even the brightest

  scholars were unable to crack the code." "Do you think it was stolen?" "It might have been. Or, realizing its potential value, York himself may have

  hidden it somewhere." "Look, this is really fascinating stuff," Jaye said, dabbing at a puddle of spilt coffee with a paper napkin, "but I know you have to get back to work. So let's continue with it later."

  "Anytime, my pleasure." It was only then that he stammered slightly on the last word. Something that she noticed he hadn't done throughout the lengthy narrative just ended.

  "It's a nervous thing," he explained, as if reading her mind. "But it's a lot less noticeable than it used to be."

  "How about coming over for dinner tonight?" Jaye suggested. "I'm not the world's greatest cook, but I'll do my best." What she didn't admit to, was being one of the laziest also. She would most likely starve if it weren't for frozen food and tins. * * * The austerity of Adelaide's dining room was softened by the glow of candles

  and a brightly colored tablecloth that Jaye had found in a craft store. "Let's have a little more wine," she said to Chris, as they finished their

  chicken pot pie. She replenished their glasses before producing the dessert. "Don't tell me you baked this yourself?" he said, indicating the thick slice of

  chocolate cake topped with a cherry. "I could, but I'd be lying," she quipped back. "Thank heavens for the freezer

  section and Sara Lee." "Who?" Chris asked with a puzzled expression. "It's a line of frozen cakes. Available in most supermarkets." "Really? I must look for them the next time I shop, it's delicious." A pensive hush had fallen over the island, as if it was holding its breath in

  anticipation of the approaching thunderstorm. "It kind of spooked me out, when I found out that the island is rumored to be haunted," Jaye said, as the oppressive atmosphere socked in around her. "I stopped by the library this afternoon and borrowed a copy of that book you recommended."

  "Oh, I wouldn't let that worry you," he assured her. "It's just as much gossip and hearsay."

  He helped her clear the table before stepping outside for a breath of air. "It certainly is close," he remarked, the blackness of the night opaque all around them.

  As a sheet of lightning flickered like a heavenly projector in the starless sky, Jaye started and grasped her throat in alarm. "What's wrong?" Chris asked. "Are you afraid of electrical storms?" "No," she shook her head, after the moment had passed, and they were once again pitched into darkness. "It's just that I could have sworn I saw a figure standing by the gate."

  "Oh, you probably just imagined it. It's all this talk about ghosts, combined with too much wine." "But it seemed so real. And I'm really not that impressionable, or tipsy." "Well then, it must have been old Angus, on his nightly prowl," Chris

  suggested. "You know, the old recluse who lives on the other side of the island?" "Yes, I suppose so," Jaye agreed, and she shivered visibly despite the heat of the night. She knew the figure she had seen was not Angus. He was, in fact, much taller. But the really spooky part was that he was wearing a tricorn hat and cloak, clothes that hadn't been in fashion for nigh on two hundred years.

  Two

  "Does anyone ever come to the island despite this?" Jaye asked, indicating the Private Property, No Trespassing sign at the beginning of the causeway. She had met Angus Burns and his sheepdog Ben, while returning from a trip to town. He seemed predisposed to chat for a change.

  "Of course they do," he replied without hesitation, a pronounced Scottish burr very much in evidence. "I've had my work cut out chasing the buggers away, too."

  He was a short tubby man, this recluse of Bell island, with a ruddy complexion and aggressive manner. So the strange figure she had seen the night before could have quite easily been one of the trespassers, of which there seemed to be no shortage. But why the odd clothes?

  "I thought I saw someone late last night," she said cautiously. "A tall man standing by the gatepost."

  "Well if it happens again just give me a buzz and I'll be over in a jiffy. That's what I'm here for."

  She was just about to mention the strange clothes the man was wearing when he caught her off guard by demanding,"How long before I get my walking papers?"

  Jaye knew that Adelaide had allowed him to live on the island rent free in exchange for caretaking duties. She assured him that he could stay on for as long as he wanted. "Or at least until I get a buyer for the island." "Any takers so far?" "Well, actually, I haven't even listed it yet." "It's a prime piece of property, lassie. And there are those who have been

  fairly itching to get their hands on it for years." On seeing her blank expression, he added, "The treasure, m'dear. They want

  to dig for the treasure." "Do you think there really is a treasure, Angus?" she asked on impulse. She

  bent down to pat Ben, who nuzzled at her hand. "Oh aye, there's a treasure right enough. And your aunt and I were very close to finding it." * * * "You can't believe everything Angus says," Chris advised, a slight note of

  impatience in his tone. "He's a notorious old blowhard." "But why shouldn't it be true?" Jaye persisted. The telephone receiver balanced on her shoulder while she filed her fingernails. From where she sat in the sparsely furnished living room, she could see the sparkling waters of Pendle Bay and the old lighthouse at Renfrew Point.

  "Look, every treasure hunter who ever dug on the island has said the same thing. It just goes with the territory."

  "Okay, I can understand that. Keeping up the morale, wishful thinking and so forth, yet still…"

  "Talking of wishful thinking, I would settle for a computer that works right now, never mind a treasure," Chris lamented. "The damn thing's been down all day. And the repair tech probably won't get out here until morning."

  "Then why didn't you call me?" Jaye asked. "I told you I'm a technician, and web page designer."

  "Well, I was just about to," he admitted somewhat sheepishly. "But then you beat me to the punch."

  The Pendle Harbor Municipal Museum was housed in a nineteenth century mansion with curlicues, turrets, and a dozen chimneys. Chris' office was on the second floor wedged in between a Victorian boudoir and a nursery.

  "The microprocessor has overheated," Jaye explained after only a cursory examination of the computer. "And a very dirty CPU fan is the culprit."

  The excited clamor of children's voices passed by in the hallway. They had spotted the rocking horse and other toys displayed in the nursery.

  "I really appreciate this," Chris said, watching as Jaye cleaned the fan with a can of compressed air. "I owe you a dinner. How about tonight?" * * * The Smugglers' Inn was deserted. It was midweek, and apart from a couple of Japanese tourists who were taking photographs in the far corner, Chris and Jaye had it to themselves. They had been discussing computers during the salad and entrée phase of the meal, while sipping on an excellent Chardonnay.

  "The beauty of doing web page design," Jaye said, forking an anchovy, "is that you can carry on working no matter where you are. That's exactly what I've been doing since my arrival on Bell Island, in between sorting through Adelaide's seemingly endless correspondence."

  "My partner, Joanna Thornby, is holding the fort while I'm gone," she explained. "We started the business a couple of years ago, and it's doing really well.
"

  Chris thought how radiant she looked in the soft glow of candlelight. Her heart-shaped face, topped by the cropped blonde hair, made her look more like a seductive pixie. For seductive she certainly was in a short red dress that boldly exposed her cleavage and left her legs bare to mid-thigh.

  He could feel the passion rise high in his crotch as the burning memories of their encounter on the beach seared through his mind like a branding iron. He wanted to fuck her again quite desperately. The desire had started to mount while she was in his office that afternoon. Her closeness and clean natural scent ignited his senses to fever pitch. How he had longed to hike up her skirt right there and then, within earshot of Museum patrons, tug down her panties, and take her on his desk. But first he had wanted to baptize every part of her with his tongue.

  "A penny for them," Jaye coaxed, apparently sensing his deep reverie. She nudged him underneath the table with her foot.

  "They're worth much more than that," he laughed guiltily, "and if you behave yourself, I'll tell you about them later tonight." "Shall we visit the beach again?" she asked suggestively. They finally left the restaurant, allowing the weary waiter to clean up and go home. It was a warm night, with Venus standing out in stark relief against a cloud-free sky. She banged her hip against him invitingly. "We could do a spot of spelunking this time."

  "That's right, we never quite made it to the caves, did we?" Chris replied, caressing the nape of her neck and shoulders. "But I have a better idea. I want you in a bed this time, and I know just the place."

  The Museum sat hushed and deserted, with the uneasy atmosphere of a building that is usually filled with people. "I feel like a guilty intruder," confessed Jaye. "I want to speak in whispers and walk on tiptoes."

  Chris followed her up the massive oak staircase, his eyes riveted to the slight pucker of the red dress in the crack of her ass. He was going to fuck her good, he promised himself hotly. His swollen cock pulsed at the horny intention.