Life, Love and the Pursuit of Happiness

by Sandra Hill

  “Yes, Merrill, I’ll include lemon,” she said with exaggerated patience as if he were a small child.

  He was feeling nothing like a child as he gazed at her in the sundress she’d been wearing all day, the sundress that had ignited lots of ideas in his overactive brain. Oh, there was no halter knot at the back of her neck, but those thin spaghetti straps could probably be lowered by a motivated man’s teeth.

  “Are you ready to take off tomorrow?” he asked. Something’s ready to take off from my end.

  Rude, crude, for sure. My mind is really in the gutter tonight.

  “Everything on my list is done,” she said.

  “Mine, too. All my phone calls made. Harry’s been brought up to date and is well able to handle my business from this end.”

  “Should be an interesting week, with Bonita’s news.”

  “Yep. I did some research earlier, and the Falcon would be a great discovery.”

  “Does that mean you’d give up on the Three Saints?”

  “Not at all. We have the site until next year. Just a change of direction, for the moment.”

  She looked a little bit sad as she stared off toward the bay. There was a ripple of thunder in the distance, presaging a storm to come. The breeze was a welcome relief to the day’s heat.

  “I’m worried about you going out tomorrow,” he said suddenly, into the silence. “You know, leaving your daughter behind, practically on her arrival.”

  “She’ll be fine. I’ve given Gram a list of things to do with Maggie around town and here at the motel. Plus, my grandmother has ideas for how to clean some of my diner equipment, with Avon products.” She gave him a rueful shrug, as if apologizing for her grandmother’s quirkiness.

  “You do know she sold me and K-4 men’s colognes already?”

  She rolled her eyes. “That’s my grandmother, but don’t feel obligated to buy stuff from her. She’ll con you if she can.”

  “She asked K-4 today if he’d like to play a round of poker. He got leery when she pulled out a case with her own chips and everything.”

  “She has a little issue with gambling. Living in Atlantic City with the casinos in walking distance is a great temptation. For her anyhow.”

  Ah, so that’s where the money went. “You said that Maggie will be fine when you’re gone. But will you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s obvious how much you love your little girl and how much you’ve missed her, already. It’s too soon to be separated again. As I’ve already suggested—”

  She put up a halting hand. “No! I honor my obligations. Trust is important to me. I need you to trust that when I say I’ll do something, I will.”

  “Okay, okay. I didn’t mean to offend.” He stood and told her, “Wait here. I have an idea.”

  She rolled her eyes, again.

  He chucked her under the chin in passing. “Not that idea,” he said, “although I’m more than willing.”

  He went to his truck and picked up a package from the backseat. When he got back, he handed her the bag, which had an imprint of The Cove. Suspiciously, she opened the bag and pulled out a child-size life vest.

  He hadn’t sat back down, but instead stood watching her reaction.

  “What is this for?”

  “If you won’t stay here with your daughter, then bring her with you.”

  “What? I can’t bring a five-year-old on a salvaging ship.”

  “Why not?”

  “It would be unprofessional of me.”

  “Says who? Take your kid to work day, or days. Nothing new in that.”

  “Your operation is a business. A child has no place in a business.”

  “I’m the boss. My boat, my rules.”

  “It would be unsafe for a child out on the ocean.”

  “Delilah, I doubt whether Maggie would ever be more than five feet away from you, and she’d wear the life vest 24–7. With seven adult lifeguards in close proximity, the imp would be as safe as on land.”

  “Thank you, Merrill, but no thank you.”

  “Are you crying?”

  “No, I am not crying. I never cry. Why would I cry?” On those words, she stood and said, “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  And she went back inside, closing the door firmly behind her.

  Stunned, Merrill just stood there for a moment.

  What just happened?

  Am I in trouble for trying to do a good deed?

  Sure seems like it.

  And I didn’t even say that crude crap out loud.

  Man, sometimes a guy just can’t win for losing.

  An hour later, he was in his motel bed, propped against two pillows, his laptop resting against his raised knees. He’d already answered the dozen or so text and email messages he’d gotten from former teammates, his current team members on Sweet Bells, and others, like Laura Atler from The Bell, looking for news to fill a space in her weekly tabloid. There was also a surprising text message from his father:

  <<
  Dr. Martin Good, College of Molecular Biology, Princeton University>>>

  Merrill had to smile at his father’s sig line. Not “Father” or “Dad” or, God forbid, “Love, Dad.” As for “the family,” wasn’t he part of that family? And the reference to the Beach Manse, the name of the place where they were staying—just a bit of the usual snobbery, as in this imagined scenario:

  “Where are you staying, Mr. Good?”

  “At the Beach Manse with my daughter-in-law’s father, James Dellasario. You know Jim from Johnson & Johnson, on the Princeton Board of Trustees.”

  “And you, Merrill, where are you staying?”

  “Heartbreak Motel.”

  Enough said!

  His message back was short and sweet:

  <<
  Love, Merrill>>>

  He’d deliberately used the term “Dad” just to annoy the old man. And, yeah, he’d mentioned shipwreck salvaging as a continuing middle finger of rebellion. Being a Navy SEAL was bad enough, in his family’s opinion. Being a treasure hunter had to be another notch down the prestige pole. As a final “insult,” he’d signed off with “Love” at the end because, dammit, despite everything, he still loved his father.

  There was a slight scratching on the door. Probably K-4 returning from his night on the town. Even though he tried hard to get on with his life, K-4 still mourned the wife he’d lost to cancer some years back. Before he had a chance to call out something like, “No hot belles in Bell Cove tonight?” the door opened. But it wasn’t K-4.

  Delilah stood in the open doorway, wearing a thigh-length sleep shirt with a Beach Bunny logo featuring a sexy, bikini-clad rabbit, and flip-flops, both of which she’d probably purchased at some thrift shop, as per her usual habit. Not that she didn’t look as hot and attractive in her relatively demure outfit as any Victoria’s Secret model, if they even had models with curves these days. Her hair was wet from a recent shower and pulled off her face into a neat braid. Her face had been scrubbed clean. As innocent in appearance as a teenager—a teenager with an adult woman’s body.

  “Can I come in?” she asked.

  “Are you kidding?” he replied, closing his laptop and tucking it under the bed. Folding his hands behind his nape, he stretched his legs out. He wore only boxer briefs. He’d turned the AC off and opened the sliding doors out to the patio. Thunder and lightning promised a storm yet to come. It was still hot, but there was a pleasant breeze off the sound.

  Delilah closed the door behind her and shifted from foot to foot, as if unsure of herself.

  “I’m sorry I ran off like that before,” she said.

  “I’m sorry I made you cry.”

  “I do not cry.”

  “I forgot. Sorry I made you not cry then
.”

  “Fool!” she muttered. “Listen, I owe you an explanation.”

  “No, Delilah, you don’t owe me anything, and if you mention that fucking money, I’m gonna spank your sweet ass.”

  Her eyes went wide.

  “Oops. I didn’t really mean that the way it sounded.”

  She arched her brows at him, in a way that was teasing, rather than offended. Note to self: A spank or two might be added to my repertoire.

  Leaning back against the closed door, which caused her breasts to be outlined by the tautened shirt—and, yes, I am noticing nipples, so shoot me—she said, “No one has ever been so nice to me before, and that’s why I overreacted.”

  “Oh, crap! You’re not going to start the ‘nice’ business, are you? If there’s anything a man hates, it’s to be called nice by a woman he wants in his bed. It’s the kiss of death for the prospect of sex.”

  “Really? And what half-assed, clueless man sex manual did you learn that from?”

  Bad language from Delilah and the mention of sex without blushing . . . man, I am on a roll! Or maybe not. Maybe this is just the preamble to the big kiss-off!

  “You’ve already gone overboard in helping me with the salary advance, and, yes, I know you don’t want to hear about that now. But that was just the beginning. You’ve treated me with respect and been patient with me on the boat. I was already attracted to you before, I admit that, even before we went out to dinner, but the way in which you behaved with Maggie . . . well, it touched me deeply.”

  “Even when she called me a poopyhead?”

  “Even then. Believe me, I had a talk with the little imp about that kind of language,” she said. “But, Merrill, for you to have offered to bring her on the salvage boat, that went above and beyond. You didn’t care about the inconvenience, or what other people might think. You have a good heart. And I was touched.”

  He knew what Delilah was saying, even if she didn’t say the words, or even recognize what was happening. Delilah was falling in love with him, just like he was falling in love with her.

  He motioned her toward him with a forefinger.

  She just blinked at him. Stubborn to the last, even when she was the one who’d come to him.

  “Delilah, honey,” he said huskily, then cleared his throat, “lock the door and come here. I’m not nearly done . . . ‘touching’ you.”

  Sometimes love is a tsunami, sometimes it is a gentle wave . . .

  And, oh, she needed touching!

  Merrill stood and opened his arms to her, and she stepped forward into his embrace, gladly. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she laid her head against his chest. Even the feel of his heart beating against her ear was a touching of sorts. Everything about him was love.

  And that’s just what scared her so much—what had caused her to break out in sobs and run away like a silly teenager earlier this evening. His kindness—his loving—was a tender force that broke down all her barriers. No jackhammer chiseling away. More like a persistent drip, drip, drip. She couldn’t resist him. She just couldn’t.

  She raised her head and looked up at him. “Love me,” she urged.

  “I already do,” he replied, and lifted her into his arms and onto the bed.

  Short work was made of removing her nightshirt and his briefs. Lying on her back, she reached for him, but he took her hands instead and arranged them above her head on the pillow. “Let me just look at you first.”

  Which he did.

  For a long time.

  “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?”

  “Too curvy.”

  “I love your curves. All the soft squishy places.”

  “Squishy!” She swatted at him playfully. “Well, you’re beautiful, too.”

  “Yeah?” he said, laughter in his eyes and voice. “What part of me is the most beautiful?”

  “Your heart.”

  “Oh, crap! The nice guy line again.”

  “You’re beautiful on the outside, too,” she conceded with a smile.

  “But I don’t have any squishiness.”

  “Hardness has its attraction, sometimes.”

  “Now you’re talking, sweetheart.” He took her hand and put it on his hardness, just so she’d know what he meant.

  As if it wasn’t obvious!

  “I want to love you all over,” he said then.

  “Now you’re talking, sweetheart,” she repeated back at him.

  Which caused him to smile, recognizing that it was unusual for her to banter so.

  He kissed her then, endlessly. And not just her lips. He devoted equal attention to her jaw and eyelids and neck and the erotic whorls of her ears. Her breasts. Even her underarms and the inside of her elbows. Her belly. Skipping over her private parts. The inside of her thighs and knees. The arches of her feet and her toes.

  Then back up again.

  And they weren’t silent kisses, either. Each stop along his journey was accompanied by softly whispered, often wicked compliments or observations.

  When he licked and blew into her ears, he chuckled at her squirming body and said, “Like that, do you, De-li-lah? How about this?” He dipped the tip of his wet tongue into her ear, repeatedly, until she arched her body and begged him to stop. Or had she begged him to not stop? She wasn’t sure.

  He was fascinated with her breasts, and his kisses there were both praising and teasing. Who knew there were so many ways to use the lips and teeth and tongue as erotic torture devices?

  “I’ll pay you back for this,” she warned when he’d done something particularly torturous, bordering on perverted.

  “I can’t wait,” he said, and moved on to other places he had not yet kissed.

  Several times she tried to stop him with her hands, or pull him into an embrace, but he continually raised her arms back up, above her head. “Let me,” he would say each time.

  And she did.

  The worst part, or the best part, was when he prepared to enter her. Looking down, he said, “I love you, Delilah Jones.”

  She wanted to repeat the words back at him, but they stuck in her throat. Years of distrust had built up scar tissue that blocked her emotions. But she showed him.

  With her hands now free, she held his precious face as he thrust slowly in, and out, of her body. With her knees bent and cradling him, she showed that he was welcome. With her hips meeting his every stroke, she followed his lead and then set a counterpoint of rhythm.

  Her gaze locked on his beautiful whiskey-brown eyes, and hoped he saw there what she was unable to express in words.

  But then, the lovemaking that had started out slowly and gently turned turbulent. His strokes became shorter and harder, hitting her clitoris with a rhythm that was both torture and pleasure. Her orgasm came hard and suddenly, rushing out in waves of spasms that had her stiffening her legs and raising her butt against the onslaught.

  He gasped and arched his head back, the veins in his neck sticking out as he tried to hold back his own climax. But she was having none of that. She reached between her legs to the place where they were joined and squeezed him.

  With a roar, he withdrew and slammed into her one last time.

  And she came again.

  Afterward, as she lay cuddled in his arms, the storm finally hit with pelting rain. It gave the motel room a feeling of being in a cave. Comforting. Safe.

  “We’re good together,” he remarked idly.

  “Are we?” she asked. “I mean, it was good for me, but I don’t have much experience for comparison.”

  “I do, and, believe me, we are a good match . . . in bed.”

  His trailing words implied, other than bed, too.

  “I just wish . . .”

  “What?”

  “That you trusted me.”

  “I trust you.”

  “Not entirely.”

  He was right, and that was a concern. That he could sense that she had secrets she wouldn’t or couldn’t share with him.

  Tim
e for a change of subject. “You know what I wish? I wish I had some bubble bath. With that little shower in my apartment, I’ve been dying for a tub to just soak up to my neck in warm bubbles.”

  He grinned and jumped off the bed. “Your wish is my command.”

  “What?”

  He set his cell phone on flashlight mode and had the door unlocked before she could grasp that he intended to go outside. In the pounding rain. Bare naked.

  Good Lord! She got up, wrapped a sheet around herself, and walked over to the open doorway. She saw the flashlight over by the shed, and she began to understand what he was up to. The fool!

  Even more foolish, she watched as K-4 pulled in from his late-night trip to one of the local bars. When he got out of his SUV, he stood talking to Merrill for a minute. There was laughter on both sides and a remark from K-4 over his shoulders as he ran toward his motel unit. Something about “monkey ass crazy horndogs.”

  She had towels ready for Merrill when he came back a short time later, soaking wet. Before he towel dried, he handed her two bottles, Avon Cherry Blossom and Vanilla Cream Bubble Delight. “Delightful as these sound, I couldn’t find any lemon ones, darn it! On the other hand, I’m not sure I could handle you tasting like lemons. I would probably overdose.”

  He winked at her.

  And he was so adorable, she almost said those three magic words. Almost. Instead, she said, “You’re probably too manly for a bubble bath.”

  “Wanna bet?” Just before they, both of them, entered the tub, which was overflowing with bubbles, Merrill said, “You should be forewarned. Navy SEALs, whether active or retired, do their best work in the water. They don’t call us frogmen for nothing.”

  “Ribbit, ribbit,” she replied.

  Which Merrill took for a challenge.

  He won, hands down (literally) under water, that was.

  Chapter 14

  Treasure found in the ocean: Is it Pay Dirt or Pay Water? . . .

  “He’s a poopyhead.”

  Are you talking about me, kid? Merrill paused at the bottom of the boat steps, listening to Delilah’s daughter talking on the speaker of the satellite phone he’d set up for her on the galley counter. Delilah was kneading dough with both hands in a huge bowl while she carried on a conversation. A born multitasker, like himself, he noted, always looking for commonalities because he’d noticed that the stubborn woman thought their differing backgrounds were a roadblock to any kind of serious relationship. Hah! To him, growing up in academic bigotry was no big asset.