I padded back to the railing at the edge of the deck and dropped wearily onto my rear on the tile. I would get my Canon out tomorrow. It needed time to acclimate to the temperature and humidity so the lens wouldn’t fog up.
I tucked my legs beneath me. I didn’t care that I was probably getting red tile stains all over the expensive ivory linen of my dress. I just wanted…needed to decompress.
Hugging my bag to my chest, I stared out at the rolling waves and laid my forehead against one of the iron rails. It felt cool against my skin. As my thoughts drifted off on a lonely tide, I offered a prayer that while I was here I could find both the answers and the solace I sought. The sky turned light pink and then black before the rhythmic crash and gurgle of the surf eventually soothed the raging maelstrom within my heart.
I WOKE UP with my head resting not on the railing as expected but on a cushiony pillow. Confused, I sat up and gaped at the sheet that covered me. I didn’t remember getting it or the pillow. Tossing the sheet aside, I lifted my arms and stretched them up to the pale pink sky, taking a breath of fresh ocean air.
The sea was much calmer this morning, mirroring my thoughts. The last thing I remembered before falling asleep was talking to my boys and hearing about their day. Connecting with them somehow calmed me.
My older son, Trent, had been more talkative as usual. He was excited about his physics class and about pursuing his passion next year at college. His grades were good enough that he might even gain admission to SMU. His younger brother Charles Junior, CJ, was a dreamer, more prone to be fanciful-minded like me. Well, more like how I had been before my disappointing marriage. CJ wrote stories and hoped to be a film director one day. He had answered the questions I had posed but hadn’t stayed on the phone very long, just long enough to tell me how much he already missed me and to ask when I was coming back home.
“Soon,” I had told him after admitting how much I already missed him, too.
I got up, feeling stiff and a bit silly about sleeping under the stars now in the bright light of the new day. I folded the sheet, picked up my shoes and bag, and padded into the one-room villa. No wall separated it from the deck, though there were floor tracks and a sliding louvered door that went over them in case of inclement weather.
Inside, there was a large, mahogany, canopied bed with mosquito netting and a galley kitchen with modern stainless steel appliances and an island bar with two barstools. Turning and looking back the way I had come, I noted the large umbrella out on the deck along with a circular cushioned lounger big enough for two with pillows. I wished I had taken advantage of that setup last night, but it had seemed too far away from the ocean at the time.
I opened a couple of teak cabinets and got some coffee brewing. My gaze drifted to the bed. It was strange that I didn’t remember pulling the sheet and pillow from it. I must have been more tired than I had realized.
In the small but functional bathroom with teak cabinetry that matched the kitchen, I washed off last night’s makeup. My complexion sans raccoon eyes was an improvement, but I made a face at my reflection in the shell-framed mirror. Why bother reapplying my makeup? Who was here to notice? Back home in Dallas I wouldn’t have gone out to get the newspaper from the driveway without being fully dressed, including makeup, and my hair styled. But this was the islands. I wasn’t here to make a fashion statement. I was here to get my life together. To find myself again. To find a better me for my family and for myself.
I ran a brush through the nighttime snarls and piled my reddish brown curls back up on top of my head using a decorative elastic band I always carried around in my purse for emergencies. I filled an earthen-ware mug with coffee and went back to the rail with my camera. I wanted to snap a few shots of the sailboat that had just appeared at the mouth of the crescent-shaped bay.
Watching the boat through my viewfinder, rapidly clicking shot after shot, I tuned into the surf and the chirping of the birds, quickly losing track of time. The heat of the sun on my skin warned me that I needed to apply sunscreen. But then I realized something else. The boat I had been taking pictures of wasn’t turning back out to sea. It was headed straight for the small dock directly in front of me. Feeling embarrassed with the pilot of the boat close enough now that he could probably distinguish the color of my eyes, I put the lens cap back on the camera and let it dangle from the strap around my neck. I leaned down and snagged my forgotten mug of coffee grabbing it by the handle, taking a sip and grimacing when the cooled beverage hit my tongue.
I hated cold coffee.
When I straightened and peered back at the boat, the sailor leaned into view, tossing a thick rope to the dock as he expertly aligned the hull of the boat alongside it. My eyes widened. My morning diversion was none other than Mr. Irritable himself. Only he didn’t look irritated this morning. He looked relaxed and cover-of-Men’s-Fitness-scrumptious. Impressive chest, traceable abs, and athletic legs that looked like they had been carved out of stone, but were more likely the result of hours upon hours of wrestling with the wind and the waves on his boat. His thick black hair was wet and slicked back from his heavily-bearded face. Unlike the day before when his wide shoulders and lean torso had been mostly concealed by a faded, v-neck cotton t-shirt, this morning there was nothing to cling to or cover any of it, just acres of smooth sun-kissed skin above a pair of low slung swim trunks.
I started to duck out of sight hoping he hadn’t caught me staring…again…but he had. He snagged me like a fish on a hook with his aviator-shaded eyes. He returned my perusal, his gaze slowly scanning my rumpled, slept-in clothes from last night. I felt as naked as if he had undressed me. I didn’t move. I couldn’t move. I felt like I was in a daydream. Awareness of myself as a woman and him as a man crashed over me like a warm wave. I surrendered to the sensation, letting myself be swept away by the intoxicating current.
After his behavior toward me, I was surprised when his lips lifted into a roguish grin as if he could guess the direction of my forbidden thoughts. Or maybe, if I was totally giving into the dream scenario slash fantasy, he was having some of those same kinds of thoughts himself…about me.
Heat flooded my cheeks that suddenly transformed into the unwelcome burn of embarrassment, when I glanced down at myself and realized why he had been staring. Not because of some sweet blissful musings. Not because I was some beautiful siren summoning his inner Ulysses, but because the position of the sun made my gauzy linen dress completely transparent.
I spun around and scurried into the house like a crab to its hole in the sand, and my mortification kept me there for the better part of the day. Suffering in silence in the sweltering heat, I didn’t even risk a trip down to the ocean to cool off.
By sunset, I was mostly over it. My stomach grumbling helped me make the choice to move on. I needed some supplies. I couldn’t survive on just coffee, sugar and cream. Scooping the car keys off the kitchen counter, I locked up the villa and marched determinedly to the jeep.
Once behind the wheel, I frowned. Morning Sailor slash Mr. Irritable was wrong about me being dependent on a chauffeur. I drove myself around except for that one time when I had accompanied Charles to the Grammys, but it had been a long time since I had driven a vehicle with a stick shift. Not only that, I had to remember to drive on the left side of the road as the local laws required. I stalled the engine at the first stop sign. After a couple of attempts, I started it up again, and once I got it into second gear with some momentum down the hill, I was golden.
An hour later, having been distracted by the interesting selection of tropical produce, I had a basket filled to the brim with stuff to make salads and sandwiches, nothing too fancy or hard to prepare.
After loading up the jeep, I returned the way I had come. Only this time, I stalled out going up a hill instead of down, and I had a terrifying moment of panic as the jeep rolled backward before I eventually got it going in the right direction again. I prayed the clutch would hold out for an entire week.
By the ti
me I emptied the trunk and put the groceries away in the kitchen, my Alexander McQueen paneled dress was stuck to my skin, and my Prada sport sandals that were supposed to be comfortable were killing me. I kicked them to the side vowing that I was going to town for a pair of flip-flops at the first opportunity.
I took a cold shower and slid on a fresh pair of Chantelle panties but abandoned the matching bra on the bed after wrapping one of the sarongs around my breasts. I felt a lot better and cooler after the shower, but I was almost too tired to fix anything. I was standing in the kitchen staring at the fridge trying to summon the energy to make a turkey sandwich when I heard his deep voice.
“Yo, fancy face. You alive up there?”
I went to the railing and peered over to find Mr. Irritable Sailor on the sand beside a portable grill holding a spatula. His shaded gaze lifted. My cheeks flushed with warmth. I made a quick, investigative glance to make certain nothing was amiss with the olive sarong that matched my eyes. I exhaled my relief noticing as I returned my gaze to him that he still wore the same swim trunks from earlier, but his muscular torso filled out a Skinny Legs Bar & Grill t-shirt now.
Dressed up for the evening.
Island style.
Thank goodness.
“I didn’t hear any movement upstairs. I was afraid you might have expired from the heat. Too many people come down here to the tropics and try to do too much their first day. Heard you take the jeep out.” He grinned, a flash of white teeth within the dark frame of his beard. “Glad you made it back. You know there is actually a gear between first and third.”
“Yeah, I found it.” Eventually. “Thanks for the concern.” I was proud of the sarcasm I managed considering how badly I was reeling from the realization that his apartment was just below my own. From the front of the house, the second unit beneath mine hadn’t been visible.
“I caught some snapper this morning. I’m almost done grilling it. Would you care to join me?”
My jaw dropped. Was this the same guy who had been so judgmental and annoying the day before?
“I’m sorry I was so irritable with you yesterday.” And could he read my mind? I certainly hoped not. He would know how pathetically fixated I was on him…a sexy and way too young for me guy, even if I wasn’t married. “Let me feed you,” he added when I didn’t reply. Oh gosh, the inappropriate images those words engendered showed just how quickly my fascination had grown out of control. I covered my heated cheeks with my hands before my blush could give me away. “I need to make it up to you, or Claire will never forgive me.”
“No. I’m not hungry. The heat has taken away my appetite.” The heat I was having a problem with had everything to do with him and nothing to do with the ambient temperature. “Wait a second.” My sexy sailor haze cleared. Why would Claire care if the guy managing her brother’s villa was rude to me? “What did you say your name was?”
“I didn’t.” This time he was the one who looked embarrassed. “Come down and I’ll introduce myself. You need to eat. My sister mentioned that you’ve been skipping too many meals lately.”
Sister? So he wasn’t the caretaker. He was Claire’s brother! He must have decided to move back into the villa. I wondered when and why. And if Claire had known he had returned why hadn’t she warned me?
Questions flitted through my mind as I found and took the path down to the bottom apartment. It wasn’t hard to reach. A couple of stepping stones along the side of the house and I was there. Claire’s brother was placing perfectly grilled filets onto a platter. He looked up at me, and his engaging grin made my stomach flutter.
I stumbled on the sand.
“Let’s eat inside.” His gaze swept over me. I tried not to fidget, though I knew I had to look horrible. My hair was extra curly from the humidity, and the sarong and my bare feet were a far cry from sophisticated, but it didn’t really matter. He wasn’t interested in me that way and wouldn’t be even if I had been decked out in the sexy silk Gucci gown that hung in my closet back home.
“Sure. That sounds great.” I tried not to stare overly long at him though the porch lights revealed that he was holding up much better in the heat and humidity than I was. I guessed if I stayed a while I would get acclimated to the tropics and wouldn’t pour buckets of perspiration every time I moved.
“Mosquitos are a problem at dusk,” he explained. “I’m surprised you didn’t get eaten alive sleeping out on the deck last night.”
I tripped on the step up into the lower apartment but righted myself quickly enough to remember to close the door after I entered. One seamless wall of glass faced the ocean and the interior was completely climate controlled. The cooler inside air was invigorating. “Did you cover me with the sheet?”
“Yeah.” He stroked a hand over his beard and avoided my gaze while setting the platter of fish on the round glass top table that was already set for two, a sprig of pink Bougainvillea in the center for decoration.
“Thank you,” I said softly. “That was very thoughtful.”
He shrugged as if it hadn’t been a big deal. “Would you like a Carib?”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“A local beer.”
“As long as it’s not a dark beer.” I made a face. It had been my favorite style until I had contracted a stomach flu right after drinking it the last time.
“No. It isn’t.”
“Okay, but let me get it. After all, you did all the cooking. Is it in the fridge?”
He nodded and I went straight to the kitchen. His apartment had the same layout as above, so it wasn’t hard to figure out. The floors were cool marble instead of red Saltillo, and his bed looked like it had actually been slept in. The neutral toned sheets and botanical comforter were rumpled as if he had tossed and turned. A lot. There was also a shiny, black baby grand piano. I tried not to gawk though it was as impossible to ignore as the tangled sheets, given the direction of my thoughts.
I grabbed two brews by the neck and the bottle opener lying out on the speckled granite counter. “Do you play the piano?”
“You could say that.” He gave me a long and searching look almost as if he expected me to know the answer before he had provided it. “I took extensive lessons as a kid and used to play it all the time, but I don’t much. Not anymore. Not for the last couple of years anyway.”
“Why not?” I blurted before realizing the question might be too intrusive. I couldn’t begin to imagine the expense and hassle of getting something that big and fragile down to an island that had no direct flights or large cargo ship deliveries. It must have been a logistical nightmare. Why bother if he wasn’t going to play it?
“I guess I just don’t enjoy it as much anymore,” he stated enigmatically, taking off his sunglasses and laying them on the glass top table. I almost tripped on my own feet without the sand or a step up as an excuse. His eyes were striking, a storm grey fringed with thick black lashes.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said quietly, something in his gaze cautioning me not to press him further. This wasn’t an insignificant matter to him. “It’s a beautiful instrument.”
He nodded once and reached for the beers, opening one and passing it to me before he popped the top off the other. I took a sip of mine enjoying the cold crisp flavor. He drained his nearly dry in that same amount of time. He held out a seat for me then sat on the other, setting his bottle down and leaning forward. “So what do you think of the island so far?”
I laughed. “I haven’t seen anything but the inside of Starfish Market and the view off my balcony, but so far it’s more beautiful than any place I have ever been.”
He smiled slowly. “Well as beautiful as that view is, there’s a lot more to see.” He speared a large filet for me and took another one for himself, shoving a huge bite in his mouth before asking, “You seem to be settling into island life rather quickly. I like your new dress.”
“It’s just something I picked up at the market.” I glanced down at myself and then back at h
im. “It’s more practical than the things I packed.”
“Nothing practical about the way you look in it. I thought it was only the designer clothes, but now I can see that you make everything you wear look fancy.” He leaned back in his chair so he could slide his gaze slowly over me. “Although I will admit I liked the one you had on this morning a little better,” his tone lowered, “only because of the way it let the sun shine through it.”
Compliments. Provocative ones. I was unaccustomed to them. I shifted in my seat feeling those same seductive tingles of awareness I had felt earlier. Only they were stronger now with him so close.
“What are your plans while you’re here?” His sudden question was accompanied by another lingering appraising look. “Do you enjoy hiking or snorkeling?”
“I do.” I smiled, relieved to be on a neutral subject and more familiar ground than how he thought I looked. “I’ve discovered that I like nearly every new kind of outdoor activity I’ve tried since I met your sister. Just not mountain biking.” I took a smaller bite of my fish than he did. It was flaky and moist. I closed my eyes. “Mmm. This is delicious. What did you do to it?”
“Just shook on some St. John’s seasoning.” He took the last swig of his beer, went to the kitchen and snagged another bottle. He seemed awfully thirsty. Did his mouth get as dry around me as mine did around him? Or had I embarrassed him with my appreciative moan about the fish? “Are you ready for a fresh beer?” he asked.
“No, I’m good.” I took another bite and chewed while trying not to stare at him, a temptation for me apparently. He had a rolling swagger that testified to the fact that he spent a great deal of time on the ocean. He was nearly a foot taller than me and his legs were long and covered in fine hair as dark as the long strands on his head. He had kicked off his flip-flops when we had come in, and his feet were as tan as the rest of him, golden brown against the sleek ivory tiles. But he seemed a lot older without the sunglasses. His eyes seemed to hold depths of knowledge that I knew came only with experience, and those years of wear and tear did not show on his body. I tried to recall, but I couldn’t remember Claire ever saying how old her brother was. I did know that when he was of age he had adopted her to get her out of the foster care system after their parents had died in the private plane their father had been piloting. They had both hated the foster system.
Find Me--Part One Page 2
