by Sue Seabury
Hugo came quickly. He squatted down and gently picked up her leg. “Hmm. You don’t do things halfway, do you? Let me rinse it.” He ran down to the dock and returned with two water bottles. Liam followed behind, carrying two more. Hugo poured.
“That stings a little.” Tears formed in the corners of her eyes.
“I’m using sea water. It has good cleansing properties.”
Hugo took the bottles from Liam and emptied those onto her foot as well while she chewed her lips to keep from whimpering.
“Still bleeding.” Hugo picked up a towel and wrapped it around her foot. “Where’s Ramsey? Tell me didn’t leave you like this.”
“No, he’s showing those women the path to the turtle beach.“ Kat rested her palm on Hugo’s arm as a calming gesture, but her hand felt hot and gritty, so she pulled it away. “I figured I’d help out with the towels. So much for that.”
Hugo took a deep breath. “I’ll carry you back up.”
“If you just give me your arm, that should be enough.” Being carried seemed a little over the top.
“You don’t want to get sand in it. I will carry you.” Without further ado, he scooped her up. “See? Lighter than a sack of oranges.”
Confident arms held her tight against his rock-solid body.
Kat’s face was on fire. “Should I, would it help—” She reached to put an arm around his neck and managed to catch him on the chin with her knuckles. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“It’s all right.” His suede-soft eyes with the mile-long lashes were mere inches from hers. “It didn’t hurt. You can hold on or not. However you are most comfortable.”
What would make her comfortable would be if her canary of a heart would calm the heck down. Hugo’s wild curls tickling her bare shoulder weren’t helping matters.
Fortunately, her bungalow wasn’t far.
“I can stand while you open the door,” she said.
“Got it.” He fumbled with the key, but eventually unlocked the door.
He carried her through and set her down gently on the bed, then bunched up the coverlet to elevate her foot.
“Oh, no. I don’t want to get blood on this beautiful bedspread.”
“You aren’t. Let me get another towel though.” He headed for the bathroom.
Kat hoped she hadn’t left any unmentionables lying about. “A lot of towels are biting the dust today,” she said in hopes of distracting him. “My foot, Queenie’s leg . . .”
“Yes, Miss Queen gave me a very animated account,” he called from the bathroom.
“She’s okay, isn’t she? I mean, Pete mentioned some pretty dire stuff, but it wasn’t too bad, right?”
Hugo returned, carefully folding another towel into a perfect square. “She’s fine. Just a surface scratch. And with the size of the pirate’s punch she demanded, I’m sure she’s feeling no pain. Now, let’s have a look.”
He unwrapped her foot and examined it gently. Kat was starting to feel something like love for his hands.
“Still bleeding,” he said. “Must’ve gone pretty deep. Let’s see what I have in my pack here.”
He slid a red nylon backpack from his arms. She hadn’t even noticed he was wearing one.
She restrained herself from commenting that he didn’t have to use theentire roll of gauze on her foot. By the time he was done, it looked like she’d undergone major surgery rather than suffered a minor cut. She kept that remark to herself too. Instead, she said with a laugh, “I’ll definitely get preferred seating with this on my foot. Although it’ll interfere with my getting an even tan.”
“I don’t want it to get infected.” Hugo sat on the bed near her knees and turned to face her. “Here, how about another pillow for your back?” He reached for the second one and put it behind her. She leaned forward to allow him.
Was it possible for lips to collide by accident? If it were, they wouldn’t stay attached, but theirs did.
His were soft, yet firm underneath. His breath was soft too, but also minty, energizing. The kiss seemed to simultaneously dissolve and electrify her entire body.
Hugo suddenly pulled away, his eyes wide, as if he saw a ghost. His hand raked over those divine lips. “I am so sorry.” He stood and backed away.
“Hugo, wait—”
He shook his head. “So unprofessional. I apologize. Please forgive me.”
“It’s okay.” She reached out.
“I have things to attend to,” he stammered and backed away. “The storm.”
“I understand. I’m fine. How’s it looking? Going the right way?”
“I must go.”
It was like he couldn’t even hear her. The door shut silently behind him.
Her hand dropped to the bed. She got it that it wasn’t super-duper professional to kiss your guests, but she’d kissed him back. He didn’t have to flip out about it.
The pain in her foot kept her from following him. She’d let him calm down and talk to him later.
Tracing the outline of her lips, she shut her eyes and relived the unexpected kiss. Her mouth felt tingly, and little showers of sparks floated down through the rest of her body. She lay back on the pillows and enjoyed the sensation until fatigue crept in like a kidnapper and threw a cloak of sleep over her head.
*
Kat awoke disoriented and thirsty. Her head felt hot. Had she dreamed the whole thing? No, her foot was wrapped like a mummy, and if that weren’t enough proof, Hugo had forgotten his bag. Her lips still felt sensitive, electrified, but that was probably her imagination.
She needed a shower. Hugo’s careful wrap job had to go. Her foot had stopped bleeding anyway.
As invigorating as the pulsing shower was, her head was still pounding. She checked her toiletry bag, but her travel aspirin tube was missing. She went back out and flopped on the bed. How could she be so careless? Or was her mind going?
Hugo’s bag caught her eye. It wasn’t snooping; she needed something.
Nothing interesting in there anyway; only first aid supplies, but that was good enough. She found ibuprofen and a normal-size bandage. The cut didn’t hurt much at all. The salt water must have been magic.
After lying with her eyes shut for a few minutes, her head felt better. She groped her phone out of her handbag and dialed Josie.
It went to voicemail. “Just calling to see how you’re doing. Love ya.” Kat hung up and rested her eyes a few minutes longer.
A knock woke her. She went from dazed to alert in one second flat.
The knock came again. Hugo? She flew across the room, ignored the pain in her foot, and whipped the door open.
Queenie barged in, carrying a largish piece of luggage.
“Why’d you bother knocking?” Kat said.
“What kind of person do you think I am?” Queenie flung the bag down on the bed and started throwing clothes all over the place. She paused for a moment to shrug. “It was locked.”
Kat couldn’t stay mad. She plumped down on the bed. “What’s up?”
“Need your help to figure out what to wear tonight.” Queenie had a lot of choices, each one skimpier than the next. She held up a leopard print number and a shiny neon green thing that looked like it was made out of rubber. Neither would cover more than an inch or two of her long thighs.
“Maybe something a little less obvious?” Kat said.
Queenie scoffed. “You haven’t seen the Prisses. Passed ’em on my way here. Ass hanging out. Not that any of ’em has a nice one like mine.” She patted her ample rear. “But still.”
Kat stood and surveyed the choices. “Any of them wearing animal prints?”
“Nah, boring shit, like white linen.”
Kat glanced at the white linen shift hanging in her closet.
“But up their ass and practically see-through!” Queenie sucked her teeth as if she found it shocking another woman would flaunt her assets.
“Then go with that one.” Kat picked up the leopard print. “The other one’s t
oo much like a traffic light.”
“Thanks. What do you think about my hair? Too wild? ’Cuz I can wrap it. Hugo said it’s kinda windy up on the cliff.”
“We’re having cocktails on the cliff?”
“Yeah, he promised.”
Kat’s breath caught. “What about the weather report?”
Queenie snorted. “That storm is, like, a thousand miles away. I don’t know why anyone ever mentioned it.”
She seemed to have forgotten it was Kat who had done the mentioning.
“So, waddaya think about the hair?” Queenie scrunched it up and blew herself some kisses in the mirror.
Kat’s thoughts were still on Hugo. He said they had drinks out on the cliff sometimes. Silly to think he was doing it in her honor. She shook her head.
“No go?” Queenie asked.
That hair looked like a rat’s nest in a hurricane on a good day. “I say scarf. You don’t want hair in your drink.”
“You’re right. And the best.” Queenie planted a loud, wet kiss on Kat’s cheek. “Hey, where do you live? Maybe we could hang out some time back in the States.”
“Jersey. Princeton.”
“Damn. I live in L.A. Ever make it out there?”
“Not yet, but it’s only a plane-ride away.”
“You got that right. I’m from New York originally. Sometimes I go back for a visit. We could meet up in the city one day. Go shopping.”
Nothing would ever come of the invite. Then again, that’s how she got herself into the surf lesson, and it had worked out. A New York City shopping spree with Queenie might be fun. “Sure.”
Queenie pulled her shorts and tee shirt off without ceremony and shimmied into the dress. Her underwear covered more than her bikini, but the action still seemed overly-familiar. Kat averted her eyes while Queenie grunted, then risked a look. An inch, that was all the spare fabric that covered the necessary. At least there was elastic at the hem to hold it in place.
Queenie rooted through her bag and pulled out a matching scarf. While she tied her hair up, she looked at Kat in the mirror. “So now, you. You wearing that?” Her carefully tweezed eyebrow went from sarcastic to thoughtful. “Itwould be attention-getting.”
Kat looked down at the towel wrapped around herself. “Oh, you.” She swatted the air near Queenie’s arm.
Queenie cackled. She finished with her hair, then rooted through Kat’s closet. “This.” She held up Josie’s racy hot pink choice. “No bathing suit under it this time either.”
Kat didn’t want to come across as vampy. Her fingers dug into the thick cotton of her towel. “I don’t know.”
“C’mon. Shy guys need encouragement.“
Kat’s heart skipped a beat. Had Queenie seen Hugo coming out of her room?
“I swear, the bigger they are, the more help they need.” Queenie rolled her eyes.
Kat’s heart stopped completely. Queenie held Kat’s dress up against herself, as if she were considering wearing it.
“As confident as he is in business, he’s hopeless around women. I mean, he’s not the handsomest.” Queenie swished the skirt like Marilyn Monroe. “But you’d think as rich — and as old — as he is, he’d have learned a thing or two.” She looked for confirmation.
The slight to Hugo gave Kat enough breath to say, “He’s not that old.”
“Meh. I’d say late fifties at least.”
“Late—” Kat sank onto the lounger. Queenie was talking about Stan. “Oh. I was thinking mid-fifties.”
“Maybe. Whities don’t age well, that’s for sure.” Queenie tugged at the décolleté of Kat’s dress.
“Stop. You’re going to stretch it,” Kat said. Queenie obeyed. Surprising. Kat continued, “I thought the game plan was to ignore him.”
Queenie tossed the dress onto the dresser and planted her hands on her hips. “Yeah, yeah. Still, we gotta stay in the game. We’re not leaving the field wide open for the PTAs, right?”
“Right.” The thought of one of those manicured flirts getting her hooks into Hugo made Kat’s chest tight.
She stood and studied herself in the mirror. If the other women’s dresses were as racy as Queenie’s, her own would seem modest by comparison. She would show Hugo through her manner that she wasn’t on the hunt for him, but a little reminder of what he could have more of wouldn’t hurt.
Queenie was rooting through her bag. “Dang it, forgot my eyeliner. Come back to my room. We can finish getting ready there.”
“I’m not even dressed.”
“Well, shake a leg.”
Speaking of, Queenie’s leg barely showed any signs of injury. Either rum punch was a magic healer, or it was truly just the lightest of scratches. Probably the latter.
Queenie tossed the dress at her.
Kat dropped it on the lounger. “I’ll meet you up on the cliff in ten minutes. Fifteen, tops.”
Queenie pouted. “I wanted to walk up together.”
Kat didn’t want to be stuck alone with the PTAs either. “Okay. Meet you at your room in ten.”
“Room thirty-two. Just like my age.” Queenie winked.
“What a coincidence. I’m thirty-eight just like mine.”
Queenie laid a patronizing hand on her wrist. “No, you’re not.”
Kat almost said,If you’re thirty-two, then I’m twenty-two, but Queenie spoke first.
“But you look better than that.” She squinted and patted Kat’s chin. “I put you at . . . thirty-five, early thirties with the right lighting.”
One thing about Queenie’s brashness: it made Kat believe her when she complimented.
“What’s your regimen?” Queenie squinted at her.
“Oh, um, clean living I suppose.”
“Huh.” Queenie looked her up and down. “To each her own, I guess. You say potato, I say vodka, ya know?”
Kat laughed. “Don’t you want to live a long, healthy life?”
“Not if I can’t have fun.”
“Good point.”
Queenie’s fingernail hovered dangerously close to Kat’s eye. Kat recoiled just as Queenie pinched her cheek.
“Damn. And I thought it was just black that don’t crack.” Queenie clucked. “Some o’ you whities look good too.” Kat got an approving frown. Queenie continued, “But nothing beats a mutt. Yep, black, German, Bolivian, I can do sixteen different accents, including Mandarinand Gan Chinese. Wanna hear?”
Kat recalled Queenie’s ghastly French pronunciation ofChristian Dior. “Later. Now we should be getting ready.”
Queenie snapped her fingers. “You’re a mom, aren’cha? I can tell. Always remember to stay on task. Just like my BFF. She has two kids. You?”
“One.” Kat gathered up Queenie’s things and walked to the door. “See you in ten.”
When the door shut, Kat leaned on it. That woman was like a hurricane. She could probably single-handedly deflect a real one.
She picked up her dress and shook it out. It could use a pressing. She wasn’t in the mood to iron. A few wrinkles would show Hugo she wasn’t after him. She threw it on and pulled her damp hair into a simple bun to cement her Not Trying Too Hard look. A little lipstick, a touch of mascara but no blush now that she had a tan. Carver’s locket around her neck and she was ready.
Crossing the room to collect Hugo’s backpack, she caught sight of herself full length. The hem was shorter than she remembered, the neck deeper. Was it really a good idea to wear it? She was too easily swayed by what other people thought.
She needed to think for a minute. Sitting on the arm of the lounger, her hand went automatically to her cell and dialed Josie. Voicemail again.
She hung up and pressed the phone to her forehead. So much for thinking for herself.
She stood and envisioned Queenie in her Cindy Brady short dress and the keyhole cutout in the front showing extensive boobage.
“Mine is not that risqué,” she said aloud, and headed out the door.
19
No surprise that
Queenie wasn’t ready, but her stories about the wild acting life out in L.A. kept Kat entertained.
“So, I’m lookin’ all hot, and he’s diggin’ my moves, so I figure I’d jazz things up a little with a Flashdance-kinda kick. The guy was standing closer than I thought — I swear he moved when I wasn’t looking. Anyway, broke his nose. The place looked like someone got murdered.”
“Oh, my gosh! I guess you didn’t get the part.”
“Yeah, no. He claimed he was looking for someone ‘more petite.’ Pshaw.” Queenie thrust her mascara wand vigorously in the tube. “Dang it. Empty. You got some I can borrow?”
“I didn’t bring any with me.” Kat held out empty hands.
“Looks like you didn’t use any to begin with,” said the woman with the tarantula-thick lashes. She pointed at Hugo’s backpack. “What’s in there?”
“Just first aid stuff. It’s Hugo’s. You look great, Queenie. Let’s go.” Kat was feeling antsy. She wanted to get the first post-kiss look of Hugo over with.
“You remind me so much of my BFF. It’s crazy. Did I ever tell you about her?”
“Yes. You can tell me more on our way up to the cliff.”
“Let me just reline my lips.” Queenie dug through her carry-on-luggage-size purse.
Kat sat on the bed. Queenie’s lips were so thick with lipstick, the stuff was almost dripping off. That’s when it hit her: Queenie was stalling. Why, though?
She was nervous. She was pretending not to care about Stan, but she actually cared a lot. Still, why?
Maybe a case of desperation. Kat was so lucky not to feel that way about Hugo. The only reason she wanted to see him was to make sure he wasn’t still upset. For herself, the thought of a little fling was nice, but not necessary.
Her heart was beating fast for some reason. She lay back on the bed and took a slow breath. Whenever she saw Hugo would be soon enough. Even though she did want to have the experience of cocktails on the cliff at sunset, they’d probably do it again before her time was up. Plus, she was back to being unsure about having Hugo’s first view of her be in this come-hither dress.
Her chest was still pounding. There was something odd about Queenie’s bed. The mattress must be sagging, making it harder to breathe.
