“But she started it, didn’t she?” That was the part that captured Annabelle. She’d always been a sitting duck, waiting for a smooth-talking man to come along. Maybe if she’d done the choosing her life would have turned out different. Not that she regretted having Genevieve or Lincoln. Never that. But it would have been nice not to have to work so danged hard all the time.
“Yes, she started it,” Matt said. “I tried to talk her out of the idea, but I didn’t work very hard at it. Theresa had demolished my ego, and having this sweet young thing hot for my body was more than I could resist.”
“Matt, I can’t imagine any red-blooded man who wasn’t getting any being able to resist a prospect like that. Unless he was one of those holy men you read about. I guess they could resist Dolly Parton dancing buck-naked with a rose in her teeth.”
Matt laughed, the sound rolling up from his chest in a satisfying wave. “Now, there’s a picture. Well, I’m no holy man, Annabelle. Not by a long shot.”
“I don’t know any holy men myself.” She’d made him laugh, and that pleased her no end. A good sense of humor got to her every time, but she hadn’t had much call to check out Matt’s. They’d been involved in too much anxiety to have cause to laugh together. “But you still didn’t tell me how you met this Celeste person.”
“While I was up to no good, as usual.” Matt’s smile lingered. He was obviously having a better time now that they were joking around a little. “She’s a cocktail waitress, and she’d watched me coming in every night to drown my sorrows.”
“So you knew each other, then.” Annabelle didn’t drink hard liquor and watched out for those who made it a habit. Growing up around moonshine had made her careful. But she had to believe Matt wasn’t a natural-born drinker, or he would have brought some on this trip, crisis or no crisis. People sometimes tried to cure unhappiness with a bottle, and she wasn’t one to judge.
“I was a customer of hers, and that was about it. I’m not sure exactly what caused her to decide to change the relationship.”
Annabelle had no trouble picturing what caused that. If she’d watched a man like Matt night after night, seeing how lonely he looked, she would have thought of the same exact idea. That was another good reason to work in a beauty parlor instead of a bar.
“Maybe I was an interesting challenge for her,” he said. “Maybe she wanted to see if she could take a stodgy older guy who’d had nothing but married sex for twenty years and teach him a few new tricks.”
One fact stood out in that statement of his. “You were faithful to your wife all that time?”
He looked puzzled. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
She thought of all the tales she’d heard over the manicure table and began to understand what a rare duck Matt Murphy was. Rare and wonderful. “From what you’ve said, your wife wasn’t very nice to you.”
He didn’t deny it. “That’s no excuse for cheating. I probably should have asked for a divorce years ago, because you’re right, she wasn’t nice to me. But she had me convinced it was my fault because I spent too much time at the office.”
“Did you?”
He rubbed the back of his neck and stared into the darkness. “Yep. I could say it was in order to afford all the material pleasures she wanted, but that wouldn’t be fair. I didn’t know her well enough to marry her, and when I got to know her better, I didn’t much care for her.”
“So you hid out in your office.”
He nodded. “I had a ball building that business, and I tried to bribe Theresa into being happy by giving her stuff instead of my time.” He blew out a breath and glanced at Annabelle. “I’ve never admitted that to myself, let alone someone else. I’ve been playing the victim, pretending Theresa didn’t love me enough, when the fact is, I didn’t love her enough.”
“Now, don’t go putting all the blame on yourself.” She shouldn’t take sides when she didn’t know his ex-wife at all, but the woman had to have a head full of straw. Any fool could see Matt was the kind of man who didn’t come along every day, a man worth hanging on to. Annabelle would have met him at the front door wearing nothing but an apron if that would have made his home life more interesting. Surely he hadn’t been all that hard to please.
“Not all the blame, but my share. People get in ruts and they can’t get out. She didn’t want kids and I went along with that. I shouldn’t have, but she brought up all the disadvantages—the late-night feedings, the teething stage, the terrible twos, finding decent baby-sitters, teenage rebellion, paying for college.”
“All those things are real enough,” Annabelle said. “I couldn’t pay for college for Genevieve, and I don’t think I’ll be able to pay for Lincoln, either. I regret that.”
“But you have these two great kids, and you’ve been able to watch them grow up. Wasn’t that an amazing thing to do?”
Annabelle smiled. “Yes. Yes, it surely was. I’ve had my share of worry, but it’s been worth every minute.” She paused, thinking about the past few hours of misery. “Even counting today.”
“We’ll find her,” Matt said. “And she’ll be fine.”
“I know.” Annabelle looked at him and knew what she wanted right now. It wasn’t much to ask. After all, young women of twenty-three were bold enough to ask for a lot more. “I don’t mean to start any trouble, Matt, but I was wondering if you could see your way clear…” She hesitated, drained of courage.
“What is it?”
“I sure could use…a man’s arms around me, just for a little bit. Because I know we’re going to find my Genevieve, but that doesn’t mean I’m not powerful scared.”
Without a word, Matt opened his arms, and Annabelle stepped inside. As his arms closed around her, she sucked up all that male strength, all that warmth and comfort. She didn’t pretend there was nothing sexual about it, because there was a lot sexual about it, and that was comforting, too. She closed her eyes and sighed. Surely this wasn’t a terrible thing to do, just to hold each other like this.
“Mom!” The dock shook as Lincoln came running toward them. “Stop hugging and come inside! They’re talking about Gen on TV!”
Annabelle ran down the dock, nearly slipping on the wet surface. Somebody had found Genevieve. Leaping to the deck of the boat, she nearly fell, but when Matt tried to help her, she shook him off. All she cared about was getting down into the cabin to see what was on that TV.
Gasping for breath, she grabbed the edge of the table and stared at the screen. There was a picture of Genevieve, the high school graduation picture Annabelle had given the authorities before heading out to this boat to meet Matt. And there was a picture of Nick, and the computer guy, Jackson Farley.
The blood rushed in her ears so fast she had trouble hearing, but at last she made out the female announcer’s words.
“…still missing. The private plane disappeared on its way from Honolulu to Maui. Search efforts will resume at dawn, according to a spokesperson for the Coast Guard.”
The three pictures were taken off the screen and replaced by the anchor desk and the red-haired woman Annabelle recognized as a regular on the news show, although she hardly ever watched it. “In other news,” the reporter said, “gas prices continue to rise and more people in Honolulu are taking to bicycles. We’ll have more on that when we return.”
Annabelle gripped the table and stared at a commercial for some drug that was supposed to cure anxiety. She could never understand that. If you had anxiety, then something must be wrong, and you didn’t want to take a drug that made it so you didn’t care about whatever was wrong.
Matt had asked her if she wanted to see a doctor about taking some tranquilizers before they left. She’d said no. She hardly ever went to doctors and surely wouldn’t go to one now, when she needed all the anxiety she could get to keep her sharp. But as the news report echoed in her ears, she wished, for the first time ever, that she drank hard liquor. From listening to Uncle Rufus, she’d learned that a quick snort could dull pain. Not much, but enoug
h so that a body could stand it.
Jack awoke to pale light filtering into the hideaway. His stomach growled like a disk drive gone bad. He and Gen were down to one energy bar, plus the guavas, and he had to admit the thought of guavas sounded better this morning than it had yesterday. All the sex probably had made him hungrier than he would have been without it. But he didn’t care. He’d gotten it up four times during the night. No, five, counting the blow job.
Gently untangling himself from Gen, who was still zonked out on the beach towel, he crawled out of the hideaway wearing nothing but his glasses. During the energy bar break halfway through the night, he and Gen had sampled some of the rainwater they’d caught in their various shell containers. On his hands and knees in the doorway of the hideaway this morning, he surveyed what was left and knew it wasn’t enough to last the day, so he told himself he wasn’t all that thirsty and ignored the water.
Instead he’d toddle down to the surf and heed nature’s call. But when he tried to stand up, he let out a yelp of pain and promptly sat down, not caring if he got sand in his privates. The soles of his feet hurt like hell. Examining them one at a time, he discovered that he had several blisters the size of quarters on both feet, compliments of keeping them so close to the fire while he carried on with Gen. Well, he had no regrets about the blisters, either, but he really had to pee, and going in the water was the gentlemanly thing to do.
So he’d crawl down to the waterline. Why not? Gen was asleep and the island was, well, deserted, which was why they were in this fix in the first place. The crawling took a while, but eventually he reached wet sand. Deciding that might not feel so bad on his blisters, he eased himself to his feet.
Sure enough, the cool sand felt kind of good. Not wonderful, but better.
Inching down closer to the incoming waves, he stood with the water caressing his toes and aimed his stream out over the waves. Actually this was kind of fun, being nature boy and peeing into the ocean. Except for the bottoms of his feet, he felt like a million bucks. Oh, he had a few stiff muscles here and there, but he wasn’t going to complain about the workout. He’d forgotten how great sex could be. No, that wasn’t accurate. He hadn’t forgotten, because sex had never been this great, which was why he hadn’t made it a priority in his life.
If he had Gen to have sex with, it would become a top priority. He might have serious trouble meeting his deadlines at work. He’d have to make sure he worked when she worked, because whenever she was free, he’d want to be in bed with her. Of course, she might not feel the same way. Well, she probably didn’t feel the same way. She’d probably had sex with him all night because there was no TV and the sleeping arrangements weren’t exactly top drawer.
Thinking about how Gen viewed all this put a damper on his good mood, so he decided not to think about it. The sky had taken on a deeper shade of what he had to assume was blue, and as he watched, the first rays of sunlight flickered on the water. The air smelled salty and fresh, and his blood sang happy songs this morning as it rushed to all parts of his body, proud to be pumping through such a studly specimen as he was.
So this was what dawn was like. He wasn’t all that familiar with sunrise, or sunset, either. In order to hit it right you either had to be lucky or have some sense of time. When he was deep into writing code, he lost that. He’d probably also discounted the importance because he was color blind, so sunrise and sunset weren’t such a big deal to him.
But as he noticed how the water sparkled with the rising sun, he wondered if maybe it should be a bigger deal. He lived in Hawaii, for crying out loud, but he might as well be living in Cell Block 46 for all the benefit he’d derived from his location. Maybe he couldn’t see the tropical colors, which was ironic considering that Hawaii was all about color, but he could watch the shifting light and breathe in the aroma of paradise. He could feel the warmth of the sun on his shoulders and the tickle of surf dredging the sand out from under his feet.
He could, but he hadn’t bothered. Now it was the only game in town, so maybe once he set himself in front of his monitor again he’d lose this newfound urge to experience his natural surroundings. Once he didn’t have dynamite sex with Gen to wake up all his nerve endings, he might go back to living in his head. But this morning, as he stood naked by the ocean, he didn’t want to let that happen.
The air reverberated with the high-altitude drone of a jet, and he glanced up to watch it draw a white line across the sky. He had the silly thought of jumping and waving his arms, although he knew the jet was too high and commercial airline pilots wouldn’t be on the lookout for anyone in the first place. The fact that he was naked didn’t dawn on him until later. He probably should crawl back up to the hideaway, put on some pants, and start thinking of the best way to attract the attention of rescuers.
He should, but he hesitated. Standing here bare-assed in the surf made him feel connected to all that had happened last night. Putting on his pants might be a kind of signal that their Fantasy Island interlude was over.
Continuing to have sex with Gen or trying to get rescued. It was a tough choice. True, the condoms would run out eventually, but they hadn’t run out yet. Still, now that they’d gone all this time without any sign of Brogan or his pickup boat, they could reasonably expect he’d left the area, so they were free to attract major attention. Working on that program was the sane thing to do.
With a sigh of resignation, he turned around and saw Gen coming toward him, the beach towel wrapped around her like a sarong. He didn’t have much practice at the morning-after routine, so he wasn’t exactly Mr. Smooth when it came to this particular social skill. Usually the sight of a woman he’d been to bed with the night before tended to inflate his penis. Because of the incredible sex he’d had with Gen, the flag went up even faster.
Being naked with her in the dim hideaway was one thing, but facing her in the bright sunlight wearing only his morning wood took more guts than he had. He backed quickly into the surf, lost his footing and plunged into the water, landing on his butt in the shifting sand as an incoming wave crashed over him. Instinct made him grab his glasses.
Coughing and sputtering, one hand holding his glasses against his face, he scrambled to his knees. Come to think of it, she didn’t have the glasses, so she might not have seen his erection. As he was contemplating his overreaction, a second wave caught him from the back and knocked him down again. Not quite the manly image he was trying to project, but at least the erection problem had been solved. Nothing like complete humiliation to douse the flames of passion.
While trying to right himself a second time, he felt something grab him by his right elbow. Expecting his arm to be severed by the chomp of razor-sharp teeth, he nearly fainted. Then he pulled, and his arm came free, or he hoped it had as he scrambled out of the water, still clutching his glasses in his left hand. Maybe endorphins had kicked in, making him oblivious to the fact that his arm had been severed at the elbow and he was going to hemorrhage all over the lovely white sand.
At last he was out of reach of the waves. With a sense of dread, he sat up and looked at his right arm. All there. Then he looked around for Gen. Not there. The shark!
“Gen!” he bellowed, tossing the glasses aside as he staggered to his feet, prepared to go back into that water and pull her from the jaws of death or die in the attempt.
“Right here!” Her head bobbed where she was treading water several feet beyond the surf line.
“Gen, get out of there!” He dashed into the waves. “Something’s in the water! It grabbed me!”
“That was me! I was trying to help you, but you wouldn’t let me.”
His forward momentum had carried him right up next to her by the time her explanation penetrated his panic. What was deep water for her was only chest deep for him “That was you?”
“Yeah.” Her hair was all slicked back from her face, and although she was a little blurry, she looked wonderful. Kissable. “Sorry if I scared you, Jack, but you looked like you were havin
g problems, and I knew you didn’t want to break your glasses, so I thought maybe I could help. Then I decided I was more hindrance than help, so I left you there and came on out into the water.”
“Why?”
“I…um…because.”
Then it occurred to him that she’d have the same needs he had the first thing in the morning, and as a woman, she couldn’t exactly stand on shore and aim out into the water. “Oh.” His cheeks grew warm. “Right.”
She edged a little closer to him and lifted her face. “I was flattered that you were so glad to see me this morning.”
His blush got worse. She’d noticed his morning wood.
“Don’t be embarrassed, Jack.” She grabbed hold of his arm and pulled herself in close, close enough that he could feel her breasts bobbing against his diaphragm, which was
chugging in and out like a fireplace bellows. “It’s a compliment to get that reaction first thing in the morning, knowing I must look like a bag lady after all we’ve been through.”
His tongue felt thick, and so did the recently deflated penis. “You look beautiful.”
“So do you.” She wound both arms around his neck. “Lift me up, Jack. I want to kiss you.”
He wrapped his arms around her and she wrapped her legs around him. A little wiggling on either of their parts and he’d be positioned to connect up all the relevant parts. “Gen, maybe you’d better not—”
“Oh, we’re not actually going to do it.” She lifted herself up and over his now totally rigid penis. “But there’s nothing wrong with a few water aerobics, is there?”
He groaned as she settled her delicious behind right on top of him. He fit perfectly in that little groove.
“Good morning, Jack,” she whispered, pulling his head down for a kiss.
Of course he had to kiss her. With her mouth hovering so close, kissing her was a given. Then using tongues seemed the next logical step. Soon all sense of his surroundings faded, dissolved by the heat of her mouth and the suggestive motions of her tongue.
Nerd in Shining Armor (The Nerd Series Book 1) Page 18
