Chapter Six
Micah guided his favorite Triton boat across the calm waters of Lake Joseph toward his sanctuary. His foster family had spent a lot of time not far from here, so he knew the lake well. It hadn’t occurred to him to buy his own property on Lake Joe until after Colombia, despite the family fortune he’d squandered.
Many insights about his life and shortcomings had occurred to him during those three weeks of captivity, opening his eyes as Darcy had suggested. His self-loathing grew once he’d had a good look at himself, and he finally understood why none of those he thought were friends lifted a finger to help when he’d gone missing, aside from Manny and Cynthia.
Normally, this journey relaxed him, but the farther he took Darcy from the dock and the real world, the more realization set in about the potential hell he’d created for himself.
She’d ask him questions he’d sworn never to answer. Even if he said nothing, memories would still haunt him. Despite having a year to build up defenses against them, they often consumed him, sometimes without warning. Letting a reporter see it happen was unthinkable.
Thankfully, the ship’s wheel was on the left side as it often was on racing models, because the wind took his hair back, exposing his damage to the open water instead of her. Every time Darcy stared out the right side of the boat, he watched her. She hadn’t said a word since they’d set off ten minutes ago, but bit by bit, her fidgeting had lessened, and the nervousness singing through her had faded visibly. The breeze played havoc with her short hair, but she didn’t seem to care.
“Most women would be frantic about being so windblown,” he said to break the silence, “especially in front of a new man she’s about to spend the week vacationing with.”
Her lashes lifted slightly, and one of her brows arched. “My hair has a mind of its own. If it’s standing on end when we get there, so be it.” She shot him a disinterested look, and he abruptly turned his head forward again. “And this isn’t a vacation, at least not for me.”
“It’s refreshing, and you look fantastic.” His laugh sounded nervous to his own ears. What was his problem? This was strictly a way to ensure the future of the foundation and a means to scratch an itch, not a romantic getaway. He hadn’t dated anyone since Colombia, and even before, he didn’t feel flutters in his stomach over a woman. Even if he wanted a relationship, he was too much of a mess to burden anyone with.
Perhaps it wasn’t Darcy at all that had him out of sorts, but his secrets she hoped to spill. He’d have to be careful, control his emotions, and control every situation that involved her over the next week. She’d get nothing he didn’t consciously decide to give.
Knowing this was business didn’t mean he wouldn’t have a bit of fun at the same time. Playing a high-stakes game of truth or dare, especially with someone as energetic and desperate to succeed as she seemed to be, would be the most excitement he’d have all year. After that, he’d forget about her and get back to work. It was all he had left. All he could afford to want.
A long, delicious sigh leaked out of her, even that sound holding the husky, sultry tone that hit him like bass music, right in the bones. “I’ve forgotten how beautiful it is up here. With all of the rock and the spindly arms of the windswept pines and air that hits my lungs like a drug. It really is therapeutic. I bet the sunset tonight will be spectacular.”
More and more fascinating. “You’ve forgotten, so you’ve lived up here before?” Had they crossed paths as teenagers? No, even as a child she would have left an impression. She had an edge of sarcasm and a shred of hardness to her now, but he surmised it was only a shield to hide the soft woman underneath.
“No, I used to spend my summers up here, but I haven’t…” Her brow furrowed, and she waggled her finger at him. “Nice try. Since it seems you’re blackmailing me so I can write a story about your foundation, if you really want to know, then you can add that tidbit to your precious price list.”
The surface swelled behind a large wakeboarding boat, tossing them around as he mulled her over. Her early writings favored bygone eras and old-fashioned customs, like courting and forever-after marriages. “Was it your grandparents who lived up here? I’m betting you spent a lot of time with them.”
“Tell me why you don’t consider yourself a hero, and I’ll consider answering you.” Pulling her sandal-clad feet up onto her seat, she hugged her knees, revealing volumes about herself. She’d loved and lost her grandparents, and she couldn’t lie worth a damn. Unless, of course, it was part of her master plan to wear him down. If that was true, she’d be in for a rough ride.
“Your knees won’t protect you from me,” he said dryly, sick of hearing the word “hero.”
“What? I’m not…” Her feet shot back to the floor, and she crossed and uncrossed her arms. “In that case, you should know your hair won’t protect you from me, either.” Offering a screw-you smile, she propped her feet on the dash.
What? He started to tell her she was crazy, but the logical side of him knew she was right. Even now, he positioned himself to show only his undamaged side. Damn.
Her position took her cut-off cotton shorts dangerously high on her toned thighs. The muscles flexing on her calves gave them an amazing shape, and he wanted to kiss his way up them while she squirmed. Being with her would be playful and passionate, knocking over lamps and such. He could picture it clearly.
A small, covert adjustment of his shorts made more room for the bulk growing there. That hadn’t been a problem in some time, and he’d almost forgotten the ache of desire. “You’re the most frustrating person I know, and I’ve known plenty.”
She gave a quiet, scoffing laugh. “Yeah, I’ll just bet you’ve known plenty, most of them in the biblical sense. And have you taken a wee look in the mirror lately? You can be pot. I’ll be kettle—it’s cuter.”
Laughter crashed up his throat straight from his belly. It was a sensation all but lost to him lately, and this woman brought it on with ease. Although her lips pressed together at first, eventually she joined him. Deep and throaty, the sound filled his ears, chasing his dread into the background.
“You have an infectious laugh,” he said. “If I could bottle it up and sell it, the foundation would have all the money it needs for eternity.”
She spun in her seat to face him so fast he lurched sideways in surprise, ramming his hip into the side of the boat with bruising force. “So it’s true,” she said, pointing a finger in his direction. “You aren’t the same person who was mostly responsible for our huge unemployment numbers two years ago. That guy would have dreamed of what he could do with that money for himself, but you immediately put the foundation first. I think I’m going to like you after all.” Her smile fell, and she cleared her throat. “You know, as a decent person and a good citizen and all that. As a friend.”
He ignored her wrong assumptions and concentrated on the last of what she’d said. “Is that what we’re going to be? Friends?” With benefits, if he could schmooze her out of those shorts with his rusty seduction skills. Scratch the itch, get the freedom she’d promised him, send her on her way. Nice and uncomplicated, just how he liked it.
“Don’t pretend you want anything more from me than your freedom. I’m not a tall, leggy blonde model or a politician’s daughter with a fat trust fund in my pocket; I’m just simple old me. Besides, casual sex is meaningless, and I’m not interested.”
Micah’s interest piqued again. He was more certain than ever someone had broken her heart in the past, and he suffered a sharp stab of guilt. “Who hurt you?”
“Are we almost there?” She launched out of her seat and went to the bow of the boat, staring over the water with her arms crossed. Her posture had stiffened again, shutting him out.
“Because I’m seriously hungry,” she continued, “and it looks like there’s a dark cloud coming in over there, despite what Manny and the weatherman promised. Being in a boat during a storm is not my idea of a good time.” A violent shiver traveled through her as she stared at the billowing white peaks that rose above a dark slate base. The one eye he could see from her half-turned angle showed too much white for casual concern.
It was a trigger for her. He recognized the signs all too well. Why would weather set someone off so suddenly? Perhaps it wasn’t a man who’d broken her, but a violent run-in with Mother Nature.
“That storm’s far away,” he said, more intrigued by the minute. “I’ll have you to the island long before it gets here. My place is right around that next point over there, in the middle of Falcon Bay.”
A dismissive grunt made it over the rush of water splitting under the bow, and for the last leg of the journey, her gaze never left that cloud and whatever memory it conjured for her. Did it have something to do with her grandmother? He hoped it was a scenario that didn’t include cruelty. Nobody deserved to suffer, especially not like that.
“You make a fantastic piece of art for the bow,” he said, wincing at his lame attempt at a compliment. “Like the one on the Titanic.”
When she glared at him over her shoulder, he tipped his head forward, feigning interest in the throttle. Dammit, he was doing it again.
“Here’s hoping this tub fares better than that one. Stop staring at my ass and drive.” Some of the flint had gone out of her tone at least, and he had a feeling she was smiling out at the water, secretly liking that he was staring at her ass.
How long had it been since she’d flirted this way? Likely too long. For him, too. She’d been right about the type of woman he’d been attracted to before, but like everything else in his life since Colombia, his desires seemed to have changed. Maybe they both needed a week-long holiday from reality. Now he just had to convince her to stop being so damn serious and enjoy their mutual attraction.
Finally, after rounding the point, his island came into view. The Canadian flag flapped happily in the wind at the base of the dock. Manny, one of the few friends who had followed him from his old life to his new one, had helped him install it last year.
There really was no place like home, and he’d been almost everywhere in the world. Pride in his country hadn’t been something he actively felt until he’d almost died in a humid, stinking jungle full of bugs the size of his shoe.
“What are you thinking so hard about?” Darcy asked. “If that’s your place, you’re about to blow right by it.”
“Shit.” He threw the throttle into neutral, but their forward momentum carried the boat long past the wooden decking, so he slowly circled around and guided them alongside it. When they finally stopped, he jumped out and tied one of the lines to the dock. “I was thinking about the desserts I’m planning to make this week,” he said. “Strawberry cheesecake and chocolate mousse. And for breakfast, I have everything you could possibly want.”
She sounded nervous when she said, “Wow, this place is really secluded. All I see are small islands, and none of them appear to have life on them.”
“That’s what I love about it.” Sweeping a hand toward the stone path that led to his cottage, he said, “Welcome to my sanctuary. It’ll be my pleasure to have you here.” And he would have her. Perhaps even tonight.
The longer he could keep her distracted from the real reason she’d come, the longer he’d have to decide just what he’d tell her. If anything.