Chapter 6
“YES, OF COURSE, IT was great to see you, too,” Deacon said, shaking another hand, anxious to disengage from the never-ending conference wrap-up dinner. There’d been one more round of closing comments and thanking the staff of the resort, then one more and one more. And he needed to find Clare. He couldn’t imagine never seeing her again.
He liked her more than any woman he’d met in…ever. Part of him hated to even think that. He was leaving tomorrow.
He said what he hoped was his last good-bye and headed to the main lobby. His cell rang in his pocket, and he took it out as he walked. “Hey, Jax.”
“Hey, man. What’s up? All tan and relaxed?”
“Ha. I’ve been working.”
“I know. That was a joke. You forget, I’ve known you since college.
“How’s everything there?”
“Good. But…the Lab took a turn for the worse yesterday. We had to euthanize.”
Deacon’s steps slowed. He’d been determined to repair the young Lab’s broken back against all odds.
“I’m sorry,” Jax said.
“Yeah. Me, too.”
“The chances were slim to none. We knew that going in.”
Yeah, he’d known, but he’d still had hope. He always had hope that he could fix things. Every now and then, he was reminded that he couldn’t.
“Sorry. I knew you’d want to know.”
“I did. How’s everything else?”
“Fine. You still determined to come back tomorrow?”
“The conference will be over.”
“Well, maybe if you tried hard enough, you could find a reason to stay. Go out, have some fun, for God’s sake. I’m starting to worry about you.”
“Thank you. I appreciate our concern.”
“You know, I think Stella gets more action than you do, and she’s sixty.”
Deacon laughed, picturing their office receptionist. “I won’t ask you how you know that.”
“People confide in me. It’s a gift.”
They went over a few more patients, then he hung up and continued toward the open entertainment area off to the left of the lobby. The wicker furniture that was arranged in small groupings during the day had all been angled to face the stage.
Even in the large, dimly lit room, he saw Clare immediately. She sat in a chair on the end with another scooted close and a small table in front just big enough for drinks.
As he drew closer, Clare looked up as if she’d been searching for him. Their eyes met, and she smiled, familiar, friendly, and just for him. Deacon swallowed hard. She took his breath away.
Maybe I could stay the full week. It’d just be two extra days. The girls were fine with his mom. When was the last time he’d thrown out every should and just done something for himself?
The music beat in the background, and red and blue lights glowed on the stage, signaling a show was imminent. In the time it took him to cross the lobby, no fewer than three men paused beside her. Each time, she smiled and shook her head when they gestured to the empty seat next to hers.
“Hey,” he said, reaching her.
“Hi. How was your dinner?”
“Good. Boring. I’m glad I found you,” he said.
“Me too.”
Clare crossed one leg over the other, and the hem of her dress skated a little higher up on her thigh. A group of men taking their seats nearby stole glances. He leaned in a fraction closer. “I still have that other thing to get to, but I have some time. Want to walk?”
“Okay.”
She stood with him, her hand slipping into his naturally as they walked to the beach. Clare stopped and bent to take off her heels. As if they’d done it a thousand times, he offered his arm for her to hold on to.
“Was Michael resurrected?”
“He was.” She unbuckled both and carried them on her finger. “It was actually pretty good.”
“Who doesn’t love ‘Thriller’?”
“Exactly.”
Deacon did the same with his sandals. When she straightened, she was four inches shorter, the top of her head barely reaching his shoulder. He took her hand again.
“Oh, and I saw Leslie. Or she saw me and stopped to chat.”
“Shit.” Leslie loved drama, or she had years ago. Loved to put people on the spot. “Would it help to say I’m sorry?”
“You don’t have to be sorry. She thought we might trade secrets about you.” Clare grinned.
He groaned and she squeezed his hand.
“It was fine. I didn’t have any secrets to trade anyway.”
He imagined changing that. He’d thought about it quite a bit during the day.
“Not that I would. She just assumed we were in a relationship or…” Clare smiled shyly and shrugged. “Maybe having an affair. I don’t know.”
And were they having an affair? Was that where they were headed? Was that even what he wanted? A meaningless two-day affair? Clare didn’t seem like the vacation hook-up type.
“I didn’t really get a chance to tell her otherwise. She seemed happy to do all the talking. I just listened.”
“That’s Leslie. Where did you eat tonight?” he asked as they walked.
“The tapas place.”
“Good?”
“Delicious, but I love food like that. Meats and cheese and olives. And the bread.” She moaned at the memory, and he felt it in his gut even if it was for the bread. “There was bruschetta and another olive spread. It was amazing.”
“Sounds amazing.”
“Then I went by the concierge to double-check the snorkel thing and the meeting place. I mean it said beach towel hut, but I didn’t know if there was only one or what.”
She chatted on, telling him about her day as they walked hand in hand, and he listened, enjoying the sound of her voice. The low beat of drums started up, followed by war cries. Light flashed, and men in native dress slashed fire sticks through the dark night, sending the scent of burning oil and tiki torches into the air.
The music changed, and the crowd joined in. One woman in particular was quite enthusiastic. A few years past middle-aged, in a floral dress that reached her ankles, she played her own invisible drum. Another woman joined her. Then a man.
Deacon winced as the man stepped front and center. “Not the air guitar.”
“Yep. He’s bringing out his air guitar. They are seriously going to regret that tomorrow.”
“Maybe sooner.
In silent agreement, they walked on until the sound of the ocean reclaimed the night.
“Windy,” she said, looking overhead. The palm fronds waved and rustled almost violently even though the night was clear enough and the moon was bright enough to light their way.
A fine mist blew off the water, and Clare shivered.
“Cold?” He rubbed his hands up and down her arms.
“A little.”
He pulled her back against him and wrapped her up, giving her his warmth. For a moment they just stood, bathed in the silver light of the moon spreading across the ocean.
“Speaking of regrets,” he said, turning her to face him. It was unlike him to act spontaneously or to make plans before he’d worked through every scenario and sorted out all the arrangements. But Clare made it hard to think. “I was thinking of staying until Friday. Unless you’d rather spend the rest of your lady-moon alone.”
Her lips curved up in a slow smile. “No.” Her voice was soft and breathless. Her big dark eyes stared up at him.
“No what? Me staying or you spending the rest of your week alone? And I don’t want to sway you, but… I might need a little more time to redeem all of mankind. I wouldn’t want you going home until your mind is at ease on that.”
“Ah. That’s nice of you.”
“I thought so.”
“Well…” She drew out the word, maybe taking a moment to think about it. “I’d say…that’s a really good idea. Are you saying it?”
“Yes.” Even if the edge of guilt did burn for not returning home when he’d planned. But he hadn’t planned on this—on Clare. Sure as hell hadn’t been looking for it. He’d have to call home, make sure it would work, iron out the details. “I’ll still have my own room. The conference blocked them out for the entire week.”
“Wow. You’ve really thought this through.”
“I told you,” he said, sliding his arms around her waist. “Dinner was boring.”
Her sexy mouth was already tempting, then she licked her lips and rolled them together. Damn. Just the thought of taking that mouth had his heart thundering and his body hot. It’d been so long he’d almost decided those days were over. He’d been wrong. “I’m having a really hard time not kissing you right now.”
“You are?”
“Mmm.” The questions buzzing in his head were nearly deafening. Was she soft all over? Did she like to be loved hard and fast or soft and slow? He could imagine doing both.
“But you said—”
“I know. And you also said.”
“I know,” she whispered.
But still, he pulled her closer, their combined breaths mixing with the wind. Then his lips were on hers. He kissed her like he’d been dying to, tried for slow and gentle, but it wasn’t easy. Not when her taste shot through him and her scent tossed around him like the silky strands of her hair.
His tongue brushed against hers in a sensual dance of thrust and retreat. He speared the fingers of one hand through her hair, while the other stroked down her back, lower and lower still. The little sounds she made vibrated through him, driving him crazy, and his fingers tightened in her hair.
He lifted his head, thinking a smart man knew when to step back, but with one look into her upturned face, he knew he wasn’t that smart. He kissed a path across her jaw and down her throat, forgetting everything but Clare. There was nothing but the sweet taste of her skin, her body pressed against his, and the sound of the ocean pounding beside them.
His hunger for her staggered him, and he had to draw back before he laid her down and took her right here in the sand. But that wasn’t what she needed or what he wanted. One quick flash of heat in the sand with Clare wouldn’t be nearly enough.
Breathing hard, he rested his forehead against hers and took a minute. He swiped his thumb over her cheek then ran both hands down her arms until their fingers were linked. He held them there at her sides, mostly to keep himself from putting his own anywhere, and everywhere, else. “I think I should walk you back to your room.”
“Okay,” she said, her own voice soft and more than a little breathless.
He lifted his head, and the smile she gave him hit him square in the chest. It filled him up and knocked him flat at the same time.
He’d make the calls, make the plans to stay. But he was already afraid even that wasn’t going to be nearly enough.
* * *
CLARE STOOD IN THE prearranged meeting spot for her snorkel excursion at exactly one o’clock the next day. Three couples stood with her in the semicircle. Young newlyweds—they’d announced that fact to the group upon arrival—playfully dabbed sunscreen on each other’s noses and cheeks. Clare imagined they’d done the same with their wedding cake icing.
An elderly couple held hands, talking softly to each other. A tall, serious-faced man and woman stood at attention, waiting for instructions.
Clare shifted under the harsh sun beating down on her head and shoulders. She thought longingly of her spot in the shade. The excursion was already paid for, though, and she didn’t want to waste it. Besides, it would do her good to get out and talk to someone other than Deacon.
And after the kiss last night, she hadn’t thought of much else.
A shortish man with bulging upper arms and ebony skin smiled in the center of the group. “Hello, hello. I am Isaac, your handsome guide on the beautiful waters today. And this is Manuel, your not-so-handsome boat driver. But don’t worry, I will be there to make sure we go smooth sailing.” He scanned the semicircle, mentally counting people and checking his clipboard. He stopped at Clare. “You are one?”
She felt the eyes of the group watching her. “Yes. One.”
“Two,” a deep voice said. “We’re two.”
Clare swung around and lost her breath at the sight of Deacon strolling up behind her. He wore navy swim trunks, a gray T-shirt that fit across his chest in just the perfect way, and dark sunglasses. Her stomach took a happy dive, and a huge smile spread across her face.
He handed a piece of paper to Isaac then came to stand beside her. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“No. I don’t mind.” Deacon Montgomery: savior of animals, fearful of public speaking, and skilled dancer. And she felt herself getting lost.
“Okay,” Isaac said, turning. “We have our number six. Everyone has signed the waiver, and no one gets seasick, yes?”
The young couple laughed, and the man hugged her close. “We’re not sure.”
“We will find out soon. And if you get sick, we have a rope to pull you back to shore.”
The group laughed as Isaac continued with his good-natured jokes and led them down the beach, where their boat waited.
“So you’re staying?” Clare asked Deacon.
“I am.” His tone when he said it and the way he took her hand made her heart stumble.
The mostly white, mid-sized boat idled in the shallow surf. Another man she assumed was Manuel stood at the helm. Isaac gave the group instructions on how to wait for the wave to recede then quickly climb the ladder before the next rush of water pushed them against the boat.
When their turn came, Deacon ushered her in front of him. She felt his hands on her waist and his body at her back, making sure she boarded without incident.
Once on board, they took seats on a bench in the back near the elderly couple and the newlyweds. The young couple were locked in a stare of love and devotion, and she imagined their biggest disagreement to be who loved who more. But they were cute.
“Sorry.” The young girl dodged her groom’s kiss. “We just got married.”
“You go right ahead and kiss him, honey,” the older woman said.
The girl turned her smile back to her groom, happiness oozing from every pore. She went on to tell them all how she and her new husband had been college sweethearts. “Our parents thought we should wait, but life is short, right? Why wait? How long have you two been married?” the young bride asked the elderly woman.
“Fifty-four beautiful years.” She squeezed her husband’s arm.
“Any secrets?” the young man asked.
“Keep kissing,” the older man said then laughed. “And learn the phrase ‘whatever you say, dear.’ That’s the secret to a happy marriage.”
They all smiled, and Clare wanted to ask them how to know when love was real. She’d liked Adam, had loved the idea of being married to him. Of having children and spending her days at the park with a toddler on her hip and a baby in a stroller. She’d decorate a house and plant a garden, try new recipes for Adam to rate when he came home from work. She’d make a home and together they’d raise children and get a dog and go on vacations and—
And it was all lovely. But it wasn’t love.
“And what about you two?” the older woman asked her. “Are you on your honeymoon?”
“Umm…no.” She groaned inwardly, tempted to sneak a glance at Deacon.
Thankfully, the motor started up, loud enough to drown out all conversation. The boat bounded up and over the waves rolling toward shore, tossing Clare’s stomach along with each dip and rise. At the first jerk, Deacon slipped his arm around her, his hand cupping her bare shoulder. His thigh, pressed to hers, was thick and muscled and warm.
As the waves leveled out, they picked up speed, and Clare turned her face into the wind. They passed empty virgin beaches backed by rain forest, where misty gray clouds hung over the mountains. The hull of the boat slammed over the water, and Isaac whooped with laughter. An unexpected shock of ocean spray had her curling into Deacon’s side. He wrapped his other arm around her, pulling her so tight that she felt the rumble of his laughter, and she laughed too.
They continued on until the boat slowed, and Isaac stood and pointed off to the right. “Sea turtles! This is not our stop, but we can say hello to my friends.”
The boat bobbed and rocked as Isaac passed out some kind of pellet-like food, and they all strained to get a look.
Clare stood and leaned over the side. Deacon came to stand behind her, his hands braced against the boat, his muscled arms caging her in. If she even breathed, his chest would touch her back. She wanted to take the deepest breath.
“Here.” He reached one hand around in front of her and held out the food Isaac had distributed.
The boat was too high for her to reach the water, so she dropped it the twelve inches or so off the tips of her fingers. The group watched with bated breath as the turtles came closer. Their flippers fanned back and forth in the water, their heads just breaking the surface.
A mouth opened slowly, taking the food Clare had dropped.
“Aww. He’s beautiful. I’ve never seen a sea turtle. Have you?”
“No.” He held his hand over the side to drop more food. “Pretty cool.” His deep voice was right at her ear, making her shiver in the heat.
They watched in silent awe. Beams of sunlight pierced the clear-blue water, giving their shelled bodies an ethereal shimmer. “I wish I had a camera.”
“Here. Turn around.” Deacon pulled his cell from his pocket. “I can’t get the turtles, but I can get you and the water.”
She threw her arms out to the beauty and smiled for the picture.
“Nice. Give me your number later, and I’ll send it to you.”
“Thanks.”
“Time to say goodbye,” Isaac called. “We have more to see.”
They took their seats, and the boat sped up again. Deacon sat close, his arm along the rail behind her. The wind tossed his brown hair back from his forehead and plastered his cotton T-shirt against his sculpted chest. It was intimate and very couple-ish, and she felt an odd flip in her belly that she’d never gotten sitting close to Adam.
“Okay, now,” Isaac said when the boat came to a stop again. “It’s time to let it all hang out! Let’s see those bikinis!” He pulled off his shirt and swung it over his head like a lasso. Or a stripper. His partner laughed and shook his head as both guides went to the back of the boat and began dragging equipment out.
Clare had already pulled off her cover-up. Without the wind, her skin went from warm to hot in seconds, reminding her she didn’t want to burn. “I’m going to need more sunscreen.” She went for her bag and looked up just in time to see Deacon get rid of his T-shirt and Holy Mother. She’d had a good idea of what he might look like after dancing with him, but her ideas hit far below the actual mark. Golden-brown skin covered lean, sculpted muscle from his shoulders to his abs. The man had a body that belonged on magazine covers. Billboards.
Deacon held out his hand, and enthralled as she was, she mutely placed her palm in his.
“I meant the sunscreen,” Deacon said, his voice low and amused.
“Oh. Right.” She slapped the bottle into his hand and spun around.
She barely held in her sigh at the first touch of Deacon’s hands. Gentle and efficient, his palms glided over her shoulders, down her sides, then back up. He covered every exposed inch, even running a finger along the edge of her bikini bottoms. Despite the glaring sun, chills broke out on her arms.
“What about your legs?” he asked, that deep voice right at her ear.
“I—” She cleared her throat. “I can do those. Let me do your back,” she said, turning. “And don’t say you never burn. That may be true, but that’s not the only reason to wear sunscreen.” And I want to touch you.
“I wouldn’t say no.”
“If you did,” the older man said as his wife covered his face in white zinc, “I’d say you were a lot dumber than you look. A beautiful woman wants to rub lotion on your back, you let her.”
A moment of silence, please, Clare thought as she ran her hands over Deacon’s back. Smooth skin, lean muscle. She covered every inch, twice.
They took their equipment and followed Isaac’s instructions. Clare let out a squeak when she hit the water. Isaac had called it refreshing. She called it freezing. But Deacon was waiting, so she reached forward and fanned her flippers to reach him.
“You good?”
“Yeah.” Except her teeth were chattering.
Deacon’s arm came around her. Oh…that’s much better. The water was cold, but Deacon was…hot. She held onto his shoulders above the water. Warm and wet and—
“Swim!” Isaac yelled, pointing to the outcropping of rocks away from the boat.
Right. Swim. Snorkel. See fish.
“Let’s go.” Deacon put in his mouthpiece then took her hand.
Together, they swam, faces down, scanning the world below. The sun shot rays of wavering light straight through the crystal water to the sandy bottom. Her breathing sounded like a wind tunnel.
A bright-blue fish darted under her. A million colors surrounded her. Deacon pointed to a sea anemone, and with their hands linked, they watched it wave softly in the shallow water. Floating on top of the water, her loud breathing rhythmic, she got lost in a world where there was only her and Deacon.