by Sandy Steen
Talk about understatements. “Complicated” didn’t even begin to cover it. How could this have happened, she asked herself? How could she have allowed her feelings for Houston to influence her job? After all the promises she had made to herself.
Ask a stupid question, Abby thought. It happened because she couldn’t maintain a decent defense against all that charm. It happened because she got suckered in, just like she had with Riley.
No. No, that wasn’t completely true. Houston wasn’t Riley. He wasn’t anything like Riley.
Abby sighed. If there was any comfort to be had, it was in the fact that at least her feelings were out in the open. Here she was, facing the one thing she had dreaded from the very beginning, the one thing she had worked so hard to prevent happening, and she was still standing. Evidently, she hadn’t learned her lesson. The question now was, what did she do about it?
“Nothing,” she insisted. The stars didn’t argue.
There was nothing she could do. Not without jeopardizing the case. And she couldn’t do that. She couldn’t turn her back on the trust Brax had placed in her. But neither could she turn her back on Houston. For the present, the only hope she had was not to act on her feelings for him. She had to keep a clear head, and keep her distance.
But how did she accomplish that feat when she wanted to be with him? Wanted him to touch her, hold her.
The phone rang, and she hurried to answer it. “Hello.”
“I didn’t wake you, did I?” Houston asked.
“No.” Great. All she had to do was hear his voice, and her heart started to beat faster.
“I was afraid you might have gone to bed early or something.”
“No, I, uh… I was trying to finish a novel I brought with me.” Weak, Abby thought, but better than telling him she had just been hanging around, thinking of him.
“Good one?”
“I suppose,” she said, racking her brain for what she could remember of the plot. “One of those, uh, stories where the heroine saw a murder, and now she’s in danger, and the hero sort of gets trapped into saving her.”
“They don’t like each other very much, but they can’t keep their hands off each other. One of those?”
“Yeah.” Was it her imagination, or had his voice dropped, softened?
“Sexy, huh?”
“Depends on your definition of ‘sexy,’ I suppose.”
“Remind me to give you my definition sometime. Soon.”
“Did, uh… Was there some reason you called, other than checking out my reading material?”
“Breakfast. What time shall I pick you up?”
Here was her opportunity to put some distance between them. All she had to do was turn him down. Politely but firmly. “I, uh, I’ve been thinking. You know, maybe I’m taking up too much of your time. You’ve got a business to run, and—”
“Abby.”
“I just don’t want to monopolize all of your time—”
“Abby?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to have breakfast with me?”
There was a long pause until she finally admitted, “Yes.” Some opportunist she was. One direct question, and she folded like a cheap card table.
“Then, what time?”
“Oh. Well, whatever time is convenient for you. I mean, I don’t know your schedule, so—”
“I’m an early riser.”
“Me, too.”
“I like to hit the shower by seven, and get on with the day.”
“Seven,” she murmured, visualizing water streaming down his naked body, slick and warm. Over those wonderfully broad shoulders, down over his tight, shapely butt.
“How about eight? That okay with you?”
“S-sure. Fine. Eight is fine.”
“And maybe we can take in Whaler’s Village afterward.”
“Sounds good.”
“Well…guess I’d better let you get back to your book.”
“Thanks. S-see you in the morning.”
“Sweet dreams, Miss Abigail.”
Abby stared at the phone for moments after he hung up.
“Coward,” she said, finally. “You had your opportunity, and you blew it.”
Tomorrow she would have to make a concerted effort to keep things cool between them. She could do it. All she had to do was remember what was at stake, here. What she stood to lose if they got… involved.
Define “involved,” she thought. As in enjoying his kisses? As in thinking about him constantly? As in wondering what kind of lover he would be? That kind of “involved"?
If she was honest with herself, Abby had to admit that she was well past the involvement stage. The best she could hope for was containment of the situation. She just needed to remember that tomorrow, when Houston was being his usual charming self.
She walked over to the table she had been using as a desk. The file lay open, with her handwritten notes and show-and-tell list beside it. One thing that couldn’t wait until tomorrow was sending a fax regarding Leland. Brax was probably going to think she had lost her mind, but she knew he would do his best to get the data she needed as quickly as possible.
And she needed to know if Gil Leland had any outstanding gambling debts anywhere.
Abby was up long before seven, dressed and waiting. Nervously waiting. This is insane, she told herself, but that didn’t prevent her from checking her makeup at least three times, and fussing with her hair unnecessarily. It didn’t prevent her from agonizing over what to wear, finally settling on a soft cotton sundress with thin straps that crossed at the back—after changing no less than twice. By the time Houston knocked on the door, her stomach was tied in knots. She was not the cool, collected person she had planned to be.
“You look great,” he said when she opened the door.
She wanted to tell him the same thing, but just said, “Thanks.”
Actually, he looked better than great dressed in khaki walking shorts, a white safari shirt and sandals. Actually, he was so handsome, she felt a little weak in the knees just looking at him.
“Ready?” He held out his hand and she took it.
“As I’ll ever be.”
They ate breakfast at a small restaurant not far from the condo, then headed for Whaler’s Village.
“Since the real deal is not an option,” Houston said as they went inside the museum, “I thought you might enjoy seeing the same kind of stuff the tourists see on a whale watch. They’ve got a great video in here about the humpbacks, including their songs.”
“Do they really sing?”
“Like a bird.” She cut him a disbelieving glance. “Well, maybe like a bird with a very deep voice.”
“Cute.”
“Early sailors used to hear it through the hulls of their boats. Lone Star uses hydrophones on all our cruises so the tourists can hear it for themselves. And we run slide presentations in the evenings at several of the resorts.” He pointed her toward a small viewing theater. “Did you know only the male sings?”
“Oh, boy, the macho thing really runs the gamut, doesn’t it.”
“Give me a break. He sings when he’s courting his lady whale.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously,” he insisted.
She wasn’t certain, but a few seconds later she could have sworn she heard him half whispering, half singing the first few bars of “Some Enchanted Evening.”
They easily found good seats in the sparsely-filled theater.
“Did you bring the popcorn?” he asked, as soon as they settled in their seats.
“No. And be quiet.” Lights dimmed, and the music came up. “The film is about to start.”
“How can you expect me to watch a flick without popcorn? Isn’t there some kind of law about that?”
Abby put her finger to her lips. “Shh.” “Do that again.”
“What?”
“That shushing thing.”
Before she thought, Abby pursed her lips and raised her index fi
nger.
But Houston interceded. And what a way to intercede. He captured her finger and kissed her. There, in front of at least a dozen museum visitors, he just kissed her.
“I’ve been wanting to do that ever since I picked you up.”
“And you needed an excuse?”
He grinned. “No, an opportunity. That restaurant was way too public to suit me.”
“Oh, and this is what you call ‘private’?”
“No,” he said, his voice husky. “I just couldn’t wait any longer.”
As a narrator began to tell the viewers about the beauty and grace of humpback whales, Abby scarcely heard over the drumming of her wildly beating heart.
The man was point-blank honest, and dangerously charming. And she was in big trouble.
She tried to focus on the narration, but just about the time she thought she had it under control, Houston put his arm around her shoulder. Her breath hitched, and she swallowed hard. That was when she realized he wasn’t watching the screen, he was watching her.
“You’re not paying attention,” she whispered.
“I know this stuff by heart.”
Of course, he knew the information by heart. It was his job to know. “We don’t have to stay.”
“That’s okay.” His hand moved to caress the back of her neck. “I’m enjoying myself.”
“Y-you’re sure?”
He leaned close and whispered in her ear, “Positive.”
Abby was positively a nervous wreck by the time the film was over, and she couldn’t have recapped anything the narrator said, if her life depended on it. The only thing she knew for. sure was that Houston had touched, stroked and caressed her neck and shoulders thoughout the entire film.
And she had loved every heart-pounding, nerve-racking, delicious second.
“I wish you could see one of these things in the water,” Houston said as they stood gazing at a bronze replica of a mother humpback and her calf located in another wing of the museum.
“Maybe I will. Someday.”
“For the last two hundred years they’ve been coming to the warm waters of Hawaii to breed, and give birth. They’re magnificent in the open sea.”
“Have you ever swum with whales?”
“Once. And I can tell you it was as much a spiritual experience as it was physical. Like nothing I’ve experienced before or since. But I didn’t do it here. You can’t. In 1988 they passed a series of laws that restrict any activity near the whales.”
“But that’s good.”
“Yeah. The North Pacific herd of humpbacks has dwindled from fifteen thousand to about two thousand. Fortunately, conservation is popular at the moment, and the situation is looking better.”
It was obvious to her that his interest and concern went deeper than simply how it affected his business. He had a genuine appreciation for the ocean and its creatures, all its mystery and splendor.
They moved on to see the nineteenth-century scrimshaw exhibit, and whaling artifacts offered on the third level of the museum. Also, miniature replicas of whaling vessels. Abby stopped briefly in one of the many shops in the village to buy some postcards and a small gift for her mom. Houston left her to her browsing and was gone for about fifteen minutes before returning. Other than that brief time, he never left her side. And through it all, he either held her hand or kept his arm around her shoulder. Once, he even brought her hand to his lips and kissed it.
She wasn’t accustomed to such intimacy, but it was comforting in a way she couldn’t explain. It shouldn’t be, she warned herself. Where was her backbone? Where was all the containment she was supposed to be maintaining? All she knew for certain was that by the time they finished with Whaler’s Village, she was returning his little touches with her own. And it felt good, so good.
“I’m starved,” he announced. “How does pizza grab you?”
“With or without anchovies?”
He wrinkled his nose. “Without.”
“It definitely grabs me.”
“Great. Let’s get take-out, and go back to your condo.”
The request was so unexpected, Abby almost balked. Quickly, she took mental inventory of her living room. No notes scattered about. No files on the table. The only question mark in her mind was how was she going to be able to turn off her fax machine without Houston knowing. “Sounds terrific,” she said at last, knowing there was no graceful way to refuse.
They ordered, and picked up a giant pizza, discovering he liked green olives, and she liked black. They both nixed the onions.
When they stepped inside her condo, the first thing they noticed was the strains of lovely Hawaiian music coming from somewhere outside her lanai.
“Uh, why don’t you get us a couple of soft drinks from the refrigerator, and I’ll clear off the table,” she said.
While he headed to the kitchen, she set the box of pizza on the table, then picked up the arrangement of fresh flowers sitting in the center and moved it to the combination credenza and entertainment center on the wall across from the sofa. Quickly, she yanked open the door of the credenza’s left-hand cabinet and flipped the Off switch on the fax machine, which she’d stored there with her paperwork, out of sight.
Then she walked to the sliding-glass door, opened it, and stepped outside. “Oh, look. They’re giving hula lessons in the courtyard.”
Houston set the two soft drinks on the table beside the box of pizza, and came to stand behind her. “Hmm.” He slipped his arms around her, leaned in close, and kissed her temple. “You smell like sunshine and sea air.”
“She’s incredibly beautiful,” Abby said of the teacher.
“Hmm. I don’t recognize her, but she’s good. Excellent, in fact.”
Abby looked at the beautiful Polynesian instructress, her supple body moving gracefully to the music, her fluid hand motions telling a story. The woman was exotic, alluring. The kind of woman Houston, or any man for that matter, would undoubtedly find attractive. She wondered how many women he had known, loved.
“Do you know a lot of the native…teachers?”
His chin almost resting on the top of her head, Houston smiled. “Jealous?”
“Of course not. I—”
“Yeah, I know a few hula teachers, a couple of singers, some flight attendants, a secretary or two.”
“Are you acquainted with every beautiful woman on this island?”
“However many I know, or have known, the number increased by one a few days ago. A very special one,” he said, a second before his lips claimed hers.
She turned completely in his arms, wanting his kiss, needing it. In fact, she realized she had been wanting exactly this very thing all morning.
She shouldn’t be wanting it, enjoying it. Wanting more. Oh, but she did.
“Come inside,” he whispered against her mouth, and she followed him without protest.
The instant the door closed behind them, he curled his fingers into her hair to drag her mouth back to his.
“The pizza will get cold,” she said between kisses.
“Let it.”
He made a sound deep in his throat as he used his lips to rub hers apart. His tongue went searching inside her mouth, marauding. Abby moaned, pressing herself to him, glorying in the kiss.
Houston’s arms slid around her waist, pulling her even tighter against him, conforming her body to his. One hand slipped down to cup her fanny.
Somewhere in the still-rational recesses of her mind Abby knew she was supposed to be keeping her cool, her distance. She was supposed to be remembering that involvement with a suspect brought disastrous results. But at the moment, she couldn’t think of anything more disastrous than not having his kiss, not having his arms around her. Not having him.
“Abby, Abby.” He tore his mouth from hers, pressing it against her neck. With both hands in her hair, he pulled her head back, and stared into her face. “You’re driving me crazy, you know that?”
“I think I do.” Only because he was
doing the same to her. Only because if this was insanity, they could lock her up and throw away the key.
“You’re always in my thoughts. My dreams.”
“Am I?”
“Yeah. I woke last night in a cold sweat from wanting you.”
He kissed her again, thoroughly, taking what he wanted and giving more than she ever expected. His tongue stroked her mouth in a purely sexual rhythm. And when his mouth did leave hers, it was to plant tiny kisses on her neck and shoulders, dislodging one of the straps holding up the bodice of the sundress.
“Your skin is incredible. So soft.”
Abby sighed, tunneling a hand through his hair when he kissed the swell of her breasts. She didn’t think anything could feel as good as his lips on her skin. She didn’t want it to stop, didn’t want—
The ringing of the phone shattered the quiet intimacy. Reluctantly, they broke apart.
“Sure you want to answer that?” He nibbled at the tender spot behind her ear.
“It could be important.”
“So is this.”
There were only two people who knew she was here. Brax and her mother. “It could be my mom,” Abby said, still breathless. There was a possibility her mother would be on the other end of the line, but in the back of her mind, she doubted it.
“Then I guess you’d better take it.”
“Guess so.” She slipped out of his embrace.
“Hello,” she said a second later.
“Well, finally,” Brax said. “I’ve been trying to reach you for the last half hour—”
“Hi, Mom. Sorry, I missed your call. I’ve been out all morning.”
“You’re not alone.”
“Right, uh-huh.” She smiled at Houston, hating the fact that she had to play out this charade. “I wouldn’t want to miss a thing. Yes. It’s everything you ever read about and more.”
“One of the charm boys?” Brax surmised.
“Absolutely.”
“Call me back when he leaves.”
“Sure, Mom. I’ll give you a call with the flight number. Love you, too. Bye.” She looked at Houston apologetically and shrugged. “Just checking up on her baby girl.”
Houston came over to her, took her hand and lifted it to his lips for a tender kiss. “Her baby girl is in good hands.”
