by Terry Spear
Here, she felt safe while staying at her hotel, no strange happenings in her room, everything was nice and normal and vacation-like, except her girlfriend wasn’t here to spend the time with her.
Apart from the higher than normal waves, the massive mounds of kelp littering the gray Galveston Island beaches, and the absence of beachgoers, the day appeared like any other lazy Texas summer afternoon. A light breeze stirred, the clouds broke up the sun, and the air remained hot and humid.
She considered the graffiti-covered stone seawall built along the highway, seventeen feet high, isolating her from a quick escape. A twinge of unwarranted claustrophobia settled into her bones. What if somebody unsavory approached her while she swam alone in the surf? Concrete steps several thousands of yards away provided the only means of flight from the beach. And they seemed much too far away.
Taking a deep breath of the fishy smelling air, she tried to silence the panic rising—of being cut off from the rest of the nearly nonexistent public. High above, seagulls screeched, while gray clouds began to block out most of the sun. The waves crashed with a thunderous roar around her. The tide caught her attention as it swept her toward one of the jetties.
Her arms wearied as she swam back to the midway point between the two massive rock piers, though she loved the exercise and the challenge, and she wasn’t giving it up. Serving as her beacon, her rainbow-colored beach towel and white cover-up rested on the shore. She paddled against the current, attempting to stay lined up with the towel to avoid drifting too close to the jetty again. Swimming was the best form of exercise.
Another wave crashed over her head, dunking her in the stirred-up surf. Determined to relax, she stroked through the water until she made it beyond the breakers deeper into the Gulf, where the swells gentled into rolling hills and valleys.
Then something bumped into her leg in the dark waters. She let out a muffled cry, then stared in the direction of the Gulf at the murkiness where whatever lurked in its depths had run into her. She saw nothing. Used to swimming in the dark Atlantic Ocean in similarly colored water when she was a girl, she wasn’t afraid, much. But something was swimming in the water with her now. Her vivid imagination latched onto news reports of recent shark attacks in Florida and New Jersey. And Boris’s cryptic warning.
Yet she loved swimming in the water—the memories of her youth drifting back to her of a time when she and her girlfriends played on rafts in the rough ocean surf. The times she played in the dark lakes where snapping turtles fed on water plants and swimmers’ toes, the brackish Banana River too, until jellyfish stung her father.
Before she could give it much more thought, the sun glinted off metal in the direction of the Gulf. Her mind riveted to a new supposed threat.
A speedboat driving lickety-split headed straight for her. Someone out fishing or just…boating? Couldn’t they see her bobbing around in the murky water?
She raised her arm. Coated in brown silt, stirred up by the storm, she realized her blond hair was probably the same color and she was impossible to see. But they wouldn’t come close to the breakers, would they? Wouldn’t their boat be damaged with the pounding breakwater?
The boat still held its course straight for her. She stared at it disbelieving. Then finally freeing herself from her trance, she turned and swam for the breakers. Too far out, she’d never make it in time. Still, there was no way she wanted to dive under the water into that shadowy stuff and join whatever had bumped into her earlier. Looking back, she saw the boat nearly upon her. Without a choice and out of time, she dove. Swimming under the turbulent water, she hoped she headed in the direction of the beach.
Tumbling underneath the churning waves, she realized she’d made it to the breakers. Only she couldn’t get to her feet. Her lungs craved air.
Her feet finally touched the sandy bottom. Thrusting upwards, her head pierced the water’s surface. She gasped for air before a wave crashed into her. Again, the foaming surf buried her in a briny blanket. Fumbling for her footing, she finally managed to resurface.
Coughing, she spit out some of the salty seawater she’d swallowed. The tide had dragged her dangerously close to the rocky jetty.
Another wave slammed into her. She went under. Again, she attempted to regain her footing. This time she made it closer to shore before another wave knocked her down.
Trying to reach the surface and take a breath of fresh air, she gagged on a mouthful of gritty brackish water. With hands clawing at the seaweed and churned up sand, she managed to resurface. Now waist deep, she struggled to keep her footing on the shifting sands as she headed into shore.
Only a foot away from the stone pier, she finally trudged through the water as she tried to get farther away from it. By the time the water was ankle deep, she turned back to look out to the Gulf.
To her surprise, the boat idled beyond the breakers. One of the occupants raised an object high in the air. As the sun glinted off something metallic, her heart practically stopped. Was it a rifle?
Not waiting to find out, she ran up the wet beach.
Still watching them, she hoped she’d be out of range if they attempted to fire a weapon at her. She had to be crazy to even think that. Maybe it was a telescope. Why would anyone want her dead?
She had no military secrets or anything. Not as an officer working for the general’s staff at Fort Hood, Texas.
Maybe they’d worried she’d been a swimmer in distress and had come to rescue her. And now they were using a telescope to see that she was truly all right.
She ran up the sandy beach, hot and mounded in tiny hills along her path, her eyes still riveted to the boat. And then she tripped, not over her own two feet, but somebody else’s. Big too.
She tried to stop herself from falling on the man lying on his back on a beach towel. Her heart pounded wildly. What a body. Despite her predicament…she noticed.
He grabbed her arms, trying to catch her in her fall.
Nicole planted her knees on either side of his legs, but before she could stop herself, her abdomen slammed into his. He groaned. Oh. My. God. He was not only a hot, half-naked hunk, but a cougar like her.
“I…I’m sorry,” she gasped, partly out of breath from the tumble in the Gulf and partly from sheer embarrassment.
She turned to see what the men in the boat were doing. They watched her for a moment, then to her guarded relief, gunned the engine and headed deeper into the Gulf.
When she turned her attention back to the man she straddled, her whole body heated as a smile stretched across his face. His body drenched in aromatically scented coconut butter oil made her slide over him provocatively when she tried to get off him. The golden tanned male hunk moaned again as she slid across an obvious bulge in his blue board shorts, featuring a shark. Beware the shark, she briefly thought.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice deep and concerned, and husky and—turned on.
“I…I’m so sorry.” Her hands slipped from his and ended up on his chest, warmed by the sun and glistening from the oil. Perfectly golden-brown skin with moistened dark brown hair. He had one of the most entrancing chests she’d ever seen close up. And she was much too close. The guy must have thought she was a lunatic or—egad—trying to pick him up in a bold way.
Again, she squirmed, trying to unseat herself, rubbing his hardened crotch with her pelvis as her hands slid on his chest. His hands grasped her wrists as he let out a deep-throated groan, but he didn’t seem intent in helping her off his slick body.
She looked up at his face. His dark brown eyes and lips smiled back at her with definite intrigue. His hair was the same earthy color, military cut.
Then for the first time, she noticed her brown arms. And not from tanning either. Coated in a muddy wash from the Gulf, she must have looked a sight. Worse, her dirt mixed with his oil, painting him with streaks of brown.
“Here, let me help you up,” he finally started to say.
She slid off him in a slippery roll and landed
on her back in the sand. Tarred and feathered, only coated in mud and sand was more like it. He reached over to pull a long strand of brown kelp from her hair. That did it.
She jumped up. “I’m so sorry.” And she tore off.
Before Scott could say a word to the intriguing cougar, the she-cat dashed down the beach. She bent over briefly to grab her towel, flip flops, and a white coverup. Long muddy brown legs and a great pair of buns. She was the best thing he’d had his hands on in a good long while. Wrestling with her a while longer definitely appealed. He couldn’t believe he’d fallen asleep and missed her arrival. And what really intrigued him was that she was a cougar like him.
Her cheeks under the coat of brown dirt had turned positively rosy. Cleaned up, he bet she was an amazing looking woman.
The thought of her breasts sliding around his chest stirred up images of her without the swimsuit. Truly awesome.
He jumped to his feet and grabbed his towel and T-shirt. Seeing what she looked like sans a coat of mud was his next goal, being the goal-oriented kind of guy he was. The guys at work had kidded him about vacationing alone this time after his girl was reassigned and called it quits with him. Well, he wasn’t going to be alone, not if he could help it. He was hoping she was on her own like he was. And he was wondering if they might have an opportunity to shift and run together somewhere while they were at Galveston.
Then he frowned and glanced back at the Gulf where he saw a boat tearing off, two men in it. Was she the mermaid in the surf and that was the boat from his vision?
Yanking his navy T-shirt over his head, he ran across the kelp-covered sand toward the concrete steps leading to the sidewalk. When he reached the top of the steps, he looked left, no sign of her. Looking right, he smiled to see her waiting for the traffic to pass. She’d pulled the long shirt over her wet one-piece, and clutched it closed. Before he reached her, she darted across the suddenly busy street.
He shook his head. No way was he going to get hit dashing across the street like she’d nearly done. Had she seen him approach? He guessed she was still embarrassed by their sand dance. Still, he wasn’t losing sight of her.
When she headed around the backside of his hotel, he knew he was going to lose her. He darted across the road, nearly getting struck too. The driver of a pickup slammed on his brakes, screeching with the effort, and honked his horn in annoyance.
Scott waved at him, then sprinted toward the back of the hotel. He saw her enter through the backdoor and he couldn’t believe his luck since he was staying at the same hotel.
He fumbled for his hotel key as he reached the door. As soon as he had his key out, he poked it into the slot, pulled the door open, then ran into the hotel. Her bright towel flipped behind her as she headed down the hall. He hurried after her. Slightly ahead of him, she yanked open the door to the fire stairwell.
He waited for her to make some progress up the stairs, then pulled the door open and listened. Her flip-flops slapped the concrete as she ran up the stairs. When she made it to the second level, he kept his distance, his sandals not making a sound as he followed her up.
Her footsteps continued at a rushed pace as she hurried to the next level of stairs. When she reached the third level fire door, he heard it open, then close. She was even staying in a room on his floor. How could he get so lucky? Unless she was staying with someone who hadn’t gone with her to the beach. In all the time he’d been at Fort Hood, not once had he met up with a female cougar, other than the one he’d called it quits with. What were the odds that he’d meet one where he was vacationing?
He pulled the fire door open and peeked out. Nearly dropping his towel, he spied her at the first door pushing her key into the slot. When she walked into her room, he walked back into the stairwell to avoid being seen. His heartbeat thundered.
If his friends saw him, they’d laugh their heads off.
Already, he was claiming her for his own, the cougars that they both were. Well, at least for the time he had at Galveston. He hoped she wasn’t leaving sooner than he was. Of course, that was all contingent on whether she was staying with someone.
Rubbing his oily cheek, he still stared at her door. It was nearly lunchtime. Somehow, he had to convince her to go to lunch with him.
Then to his horror, she opened the door to her room, holding an ice bucket.
Her face and hands were sunshiny clean. A wash of brown mud still covered her arms and neck as if a painter had brushed brown watercolor all over her skin.
Momentarily distracted, she searched through her bathing suit cover-up pockets. Then pulling the card key out, she closed her door. She turned and headed for the ice machine down the hall.
He pulled the fire door closed before she caught sight of him. Man, if she saw him standing there drooling, it would be all over. Then he considered the ice machine; that was it. He had to get some ice too.
He dashed into the hall in time to see her disappear around the bend at the end of the hallway. After running to his room four doors down and across from hers, he hurried to open his door. As soon as he entered his room, he dropped his beach towel on the floor. Sprinting to the desk, he grabbed his ice bucket.
Like an Olympian, he ran out of the room and slammed the door shut. Dashing down the hallway, he hoped his speedy, heavy footfall wouldn’t frighten her off if she heard him coming. The icemaker groaned and grunted as it spit out a small amount of ice, undoubtedly masking his step.
Slowing his pace, he walked around the bend and took a deep breath. A piece of kelp still stuck to her shoulder length blond hair in the back and he wanted to close the gap and pull it off. But now he was afraid to. It was one thing for her to tackle him on the sand, but he couldn’t…
She turned. Her blue eyes widened in disbelief. Her full pink lips dropped open slightly.
He stared back. She was beautiful. And he was dumbstruck.
She motioned to the ice machine. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I kind of used the last of it up.”
“Oh, well…uh, that’s all right. I’ll get a cold soda from the machine. Would you like one too?”
She shook her ice bucket at him slightly. “Are you sure? I can give you half my ice.”
He hesitated. What would give him a better standing with her? Say yes or no? “A little bit would be nice.”
She shook some of her ice cubes into his container.
He smiled. “Thanks. About the soda…”
“Sure, that’d be nice.”
Reaching into his pocket, he realized at once he hadn’t brought his money with him. Not while wearing his board shorts. His face warmed in embarrassment.
“That’s okay.”
“No, sorry, I left my money in my room.”
“Really, I’ll just drink some water.”
“The water tastes really bad here. Believe me. If you’d like, I could bring the soda to your room.”
“No, really, that’s all right.”
“Wait here. I’ll be right back.” He handed her his ice bucket, knowing she wouldn’t run away if she had something of his. At least he’d hoped she wouldn’t.
He stalked back down the hall.
Still, she showed reluctance to let him know where her room was. Getting to know her better wasn’t going to be easy. He didn’t blame her though. Someone who looked as good as she did, probably had to fight the guys off.
He hurried into his room and grabbed his trousers. He grabbed a handful of change when his cell phone began to ring. Cell phone in hand, he darted back into the hall and slammed his door. Glancing down at the phone, he took a deep breath. His mother. He poked the button. The line was dead. They must have been cut off.
With an expedient stride, he arrived back at the ice machine.
The woman of his dreams had vanished. She’d taken his ice bucket and run back to her room. His heart sank. He pushed some coins into the soda machine, hoping she’d return before he went back to his room. When his soda rolled out with a thump, she walked back into the hal
l.
His spirits instantly lifted. He suspected then she’d been looking at the view of the Gulf around the bend in the wall while she waited for him.
She motioned to the soda machine. “I’ll have an iced tea.”
“Scott Weekum.” He exchanged the can of tea for his ice bucket.
“Thanks, Scott. I’m Nicole Welsh.”
He smiled. “Another W. Always at the back of the class. What about you?”
She smiled back. “Same with me.”
She had beautiful teeth. Perfectly straight and perfectly white.
“You’re not a model, are you?”
Her chin tilted down a bit and her eyes narrowed. Damn, she probably thought he was giving her a line, when he was as sincere as he could be.
Then to his utter annoyance, his phone jingled in his hand. He glanced down at the caller ID. His mother again. He smiled at Nicole.
Her mouth curved up. “Are you going to answer it?”
With chagrin, he poked the button. “Hello, Mom. I’m kinda busy now. Can I call you back in a bit?”
“Did you meet someone? That was fast. Didn’t you just arrive in Galveston?”
“Uhm, I’ll call back in a little while, Mom. Love ya. Bye.”
Chuckling, Nicole shook her head. “I’ve got to get cleaned up.”
“I’m vacationing here alone and if you’re not with anyone either, why don’t we grab a bite to eat? I mean, I was thinking like at Lawrence’s Steakhouse?”
She hesitated.
“It’s just two buildings down. I can drive, or we can walk over there.”
“I’d like that. And walking is fine.”
“Okay, what time and where do I pick you up?”
“In half an hour at the lobby.”
She wasn’t letting him get anywhere near her room.
“Super, see you then.” He hurried down the hall without a backwards glance. He’d show her he was one of the good guys.
Listening carefully as he unlocked his door, he didn’t hear her footsteps padding along the hall to her room and he knew she waited for him to disappear.
