Suddenly he wraps his arms around me. Dang it, even in the cool water he’s worked himself up. Before I know it, we’re kissing. My head isn’t spinning. My heart isn’t racing. All I can think about is how odd this feels. How wrong it feels. I pull away from him and backstroke toward the shore.
We’re at least a quarter mile out when the current turns on us. My arms are heavy, and the muscles in my legs cramp. I’m definitely pushing it. The easiest way to do this is to flip over and free-style it to the sand.
Suddenly I feel myself being pulled under. I know I’ve been caught by a riptide. Usually I can swim my way out of one, but I’m confused and exhausted, unable to figure out which way is up and which way is down. I can no longer hold my breath and I choke. It doesn’t take long to lose full control of my body and black out.
The next thing I know, I’m coughing and gagging water out of my throat. I’m on solid ground and freezing.
“Are you okay?” Pete asks, kneeling next to me. He sounds terrified.
“Yeah,” I wheeze. “Now I am.” Coughing and spitting up saltwater is not a pretty sight or a comfortable feeling. My throat burns and my head feels as though a vise is squeezing it.
“Better?” he asks as I quiet down.
“Better,” I gasp and cough once.
Pete strokes my face like a good caretaker while staring into my eyes. “I have something to admit.”
I frown curiously. I’m too weak to respond.
“I might have copped a feel and tongued you a little.”
I laugh as much as I can, and my head turns dizzy.
“I think we should get you to the hospital,” he says.
“No,” I insist as I touch his shoulder.
“You really should get checked out just in case something’s going on inside of you. I don’t want you to fall asleep and choke on more saltwater,” he says as he helps me to my feet.
Heck, that does sound scary. “Since you put it like that...”
***
Belmont Lord
“Pete!” Belmont shouted into the tiny device he crushed in his grip. The last thing Pete said was that he was going swimming with the houseguest. What the hell is happening? It’s as if as soon as he takes one step forward, he stumbles ten steps backward.
Belmont was prepared to wait until tonight to see Daisy but he had changed his mind. He was in Boston picking up a special present for her. As soon as he landed on the Vineyard, he planned to drive straight to Thelma’s and collect his woman. But at the moment he was stuck in traffic. In normal traffic, he would be at Boston Logan in fifteen minutes, but the mid-morning traffic was sure to delay him nearly thirty minutes. It would take another thirty-five minutes to land in Vineyard Haven. Pete had almost an hour to attempt to seduce Daisy.
The one thing Belmont loved about her most was what he feared. She’s affable and always willing to go for the ride without knowing where she’ll end up. Look how far Pete had gotten. Hearing her laughing that morning during breakfast was maddening. What in the hell did she find so goddamn funny? Did she miss him? It sure as hell didn’t sound like it.
Belmont blasted the horn of the Porsche as if that would help. The car in front of him returned the gesture. When he finally made it to the airport garage where he paid to keep his car parked, he felt as if a thousand bricks had been lifted off his back. He grabbed his travel bag and hiked to the private terminal. He rushed through security screening and ran all the way to the jet. That drive actually took twenty minutes, and then they had to wait another twenty minutes to be cleared for takeoff.
The flight took another thirty minutes. As he sat, he wondered how he would find Daisy and Pete on the beach. Would they be lying beside each other sharing personal stories? Would she tell him all about her brother? Would she let him kiss her, touch her, and make love to her? Visualizing the progression made him crazy.
The small plane finally landed. Belmont grabbed his bag and disembarked in five minutes or less. He ran to his car, hopped into the Beamer, and raced to Thelma’s place in North Tisbury. He parked in her driveway and ran to the back of the house to search out below the cliff. He looked across the sand and out in the water. Daisy was nowhere to be found.
“That was a short swim,” he mumbled and then remembered why their swim was cut short. He did not want to discover Pete and Daisy together, but he would rather know sooner than later. What would he do if he discovered them having sex? He didn’t know. He would probably beg her for answers. Why didn’t she trust him enough to come to him about what she saw? Why would she think he would ever choose Mandy Hill over her?
Other than being a very fine actress, Mandy was a cokehead, which was why his tongue had turned numb when she kissed him. Of course he thought she was attractive in the manufactured, Hollywood way. Mandy reminded him of a real-life mannequin—too skinny and made of plastic. He’d known her for fifteen years, and since the first time they met, she’d made every major move on him in the book. He wished Mandy would teach Daisy a thing or two about being the aggressor. He’d always resisted Mandy because she tried too hard. There was also the cocaine, the partying—and he really didn’t have any desire to smash skin and bones. He wouldn’t even do her when she tried to pay for it.
He’d rather make love to Daisy’s curvaceous and fit body. Making love to her made him feel like a fat kid in Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory. Just thinking about it made his pants tight, and just picturing Pete drinking from his fountain infuriated him.
Belmont ran to the front door of the guesthouse. The sprint winded him, and he bent over to catch his breath as he knocked. After a number of seconds, he knocked harder. After that, he banged. “Daisy! Are you in there?”
No answer.
Belmont sighed, exasperated. He turned the doorknob. The door was unlocked, so he took the easy opportunity to look inside. The house smelled like her, and the scent ignited his taste buds. Shit, he had it bad. Self-preservation urged him to get out of there, but relief made him glad he entered and inspected the place. At least they weren’t having sex there. Next Belmont rang Thelma’s doorbell, but there was no answer.
“Damn, it’s Thursday,” he muttered. She was meeting with the quilt club at the Edgartown Library on the opposite side of the island. He checked his watch. Getting to the library would take fifteen minutes. Belmont sped all the way there. It took him only ten minutes.
The ladies were still inside when he arrived. As soon as he walked past the circulation desk and onto the main floor, they stopped sewing and chatting to focus on him.
“Thelma?” he said desperately.
“Jack?” Thelma definitely looked concerned about him.
Belmont thought to put on a smile. “How are you, Rosalie, Ana, Mable, Wendy?” He tried to remember his manners.
“Fine,” each of the ladies replied. They also looked worried about him.
“Thelma, could we talk?”
“Why sure,” she said. “Let’s go to the reference room.” He was all wound up as he followed her past the stacks and into a smaller space filled with larger, older books. She sat down in a blue, cushiony chair. “How can I help you, handsome?”
“It’s Daisy,” he replied as he sat beside her.
“Who’s Daisy?” she asks, pretending to be ignorant.
“She’s staying in your guesthouse. I love her.” He figured he should come out and just say it.
Thelma sighed and dropped her poker face. “So you’re the one she’s hiding from?”
“She’s hiding from me?” Being reminded that she was choosing to keep her distance kind of hurt.
“What did you do to her?”
“We had a misunderstanding.”
“What kind of misunderstanding?”
“She saw me kiss someone else. Actually, she kissed me; I didn’t kiss her.”
Thelma shook her head. “You young people.” After a moment of studying Belmont’s lost expression, she patted his knee. “You want to come to dinner, don’t you?”
“Yes. Exactly.”
She sighed. “You know I’ll always make a place for you. And Senator Howell will be there.”
Belmont fought the urge to frown at the last part of what she said. He didn’t know whether or not he was up to extreme networking. He had one goal in mind and meant to keep to it. “Thank you.”
“You know Pete, my nephew? He’s taken an interest in her,” she said in a warning tone. “But she’s too hung up on, I guess, you to take him seriously. I knew he didn’t have a chance in hell.” Thelma’s smile turned smug. “That’s why I didn’t stop him. It’s good for a man in his predicament to learn greener pastures aren’t always his to graze on.”
“Thank you,” he said again as he rose to his feet.
“You’re smiling, Jack,” Thelma commented. “I guess the next wedding that pretty girl is going to be attending will be her own.” She lifted her eyebrows, waiting for confirmation.
Instead, Belmont thanked her for the third time and strolled back to the car. Four more hours until dinnertime–that would be the longest wait of his life.
Chapter 15
Say Good-bye
“Do you smell that?” I ask Pete as we walk into the guesthouse.
“Smell what?” he asks.
I take in another whiff. “Forget it. I think it’s the water in my head.”
“The doctor said you were lucky that I saved you.” He shows me that cunning grin again.
The doctor at the hospital checked my breathing, put me on oxygen for an hour, ran blood tests, and took a CT scan. He was quite thorough, to say the least. I’m sure I’ll get the bill from my insurance company in the mail. I pay an arm and a leg each month, so it shouldn’t be much.
“And I didn’t know you could give mouth-to-mouth resuscitation while underwater. I was really impressed when I heard you did that.”
“Again, my pleasure.” We snicker. My head is a little too achy to laugh any harder. “I used to be a lifeguard while I was in college.”
“Really?” I ask.
“Yeah, here on the Vineyard, during the summers.”
We smile at each other.
“Well,” I say, signaling that our time together has come to an end, “I need to get some rest if I’m going to make it to dinner tonight.”
“Not before I make sure you’re okay,” he says and zips past me to the kitchen. “How about I make you a cup of tea and pour myself a drink?” He bangs around in there.
I sigh, deciding not to put up a fight. Heck, I don’t want to be alone at the moment anyway–not yet. What happened to me is still a little frightening. I’m still trying to work up the courage to close my eyes and give in to sleep.
“I’m going to change into something more comfortable,” I announce from the living room and walk upstairs to the bedroom.
I strip out of the T-shirt, jeans, and bathing suit, put on fresh underwear, and slide into a red lounge dress. I would rather go commando, but I don’t want to send the wrong message to my company.
Pete is already relaxing on the sofa when I walk back downstairs. He whistles admiringly as soon as he sees me.
“Thanks,” I mutter and sit in the chair across from him.
“So far away?” He’s grinning salaciously.
I shake my head. “You never stop, do you?”
“Not until I get what I want.”
“You already got it,” I say as I lift the warm cup of tea off the coffee table. It’s mint, one of my favorite flavors. “You tongued me twice, once while I was conscious even.”
“I stole the kiss,” he admits. “It was a good kiss. And”—he drops his face shamefully—“I did more than cop a feel. I had my hand on your tit the whole time. I didn’t take it off until you came to.” He shakes his head. “I’m terrible. Come on”—he waves his fingers toward his face—“hit me. I deserve it.”
“How about we call it even,” I say, keeping in line with our snazzy comebacks.
He chuckles a little. “Daisy, why are you single? You’re perfect.”
I sniff at the question I’ve been able to avoid for the last ten years. “I just got out of a long relationship, so I’m newly single. He left me for my best friend, so I’m not all that perfect.”
“Oh.” He flinches, taken aback. “Bummer.”
“You’re telling me.” I take a sip of tea. I feel like I should say more since Adrian wasn’t my be all, end all. “And then I met another guy, but he moved on rather quickly. He went from not being able to keep his hands off me to crickets. I saw him with another woman…” I pause. “Men suck.” I relax against the cushion.
“You’re right. We do. We really suck.” He grins suggestively.
I snicker. “What about you? What’s your story? You’re a good-looking guy, and funny too I might add.”
“Divorced, newly–sort of.”
“Umm,” I hum. I think I know this story well. “My parents are divorced too. Any children?”
“A daughter.”
“Eek,” I say like hearing that hurt. “That’s tough.”
“You’re telling me. She’s not taking it well.”
“How old is she?”
“Eight.”
I nod. “That’s not a bad age for divorce. She probably won’t remember how much it hurts ten years from now.”
“From your kissable lips to God’s ears.”
I tsk lazily. My response is so weak that Pete decides to leave without being asked and allow me to rest. I ask him not to tell Thelma what happened today. I don’t want her to worry. She might insist that I stay in bed, and I’m too curious about the big table dinner to miss it. He promises to comply but only for a kiss.
Since I’ve already done it once today, I do it again. Of course he embraces me and gives it to me good. Unlike Belmont, he doesn’t have octopus hands. I want to put a million kisses between me and Belmont. Maybe I’ll kiss some more boys while in Peru and then take a trip to London to finally give Javar that kiss he’s so diligently pursued.
“Deal sealed,” I whisper as I pull away.
Like Belmont, Pete’s “Peter” has sprung to life. Lust is ablaze in his eyes. “You sure you don’t want company?”
“I’m sure,” I say as nicely as possible.
He swallows and then thumbs over his shoulder. “I’ll be over there in case you change your mind.”
I lock the door behind him, drag myself back upstairs, crawl under the blankets, and fall right to sleep. When my eyes open to a dark room, I’m aware that it’s past seven p.m., and I’m late.
“Shoot,” I curse under my breath and throw the covers off me. I rush into the shower and wet my hair just a little to seal in the waves. Tonight, I’ll wear makeup and a little glossy-pink lipstick to match my soft pink, cashmere sweater dress. My shoes are black patent leather, high-heeled sandals with a shiny black patent leather daisy flower over the toes. Cute.
The night is chilly, but the door to the main house is only a hop, skip and jump away. Once inside, chatter touches my ears. One man is speaking louder than the rest. My heart pounds as I walk down a long hallway and then a short set of steps. I’m nervous and eager.
“May I help you, ma’am?” someone asks behind me. I turn and see a man in a formal white shirt and black pants.
“I’m here for dinner,” I say.
“What’s your name?”
“Daisy.”
“And your last name?”
“Blanchard.”
He smiles. “This way, Miss Blanchard.” He leads me down a shorter hallway until we make a sharp turn into a sunroom facing the beach.
“Daisy Blanchard,” the man announces.
All the conversation comes to an abrupt stop. I gasp in disbelief. Belmont Lord rises to his feet. Our eyes connect. Suddenly I feel like we’re the only ones in the room. Then I see the girl he kissed at the wedding sitting beside him.
My eyes narrow without my prompting.
What a jackass.
He slowly t
akes his seat.
“Daisy, you made it!” The host sings jubilantly. Thelma’s wearing a white, blousy, drawstring dress with tiny red flowers embroidered around the neckline. Her shoulder-length auburn hair is full of curls. She looks ten to fifteen years younger. “Daisy is a writer who doesn’t vote,” she announces to the group, beaming the entire time.
There’s a collective, exaggerated gasp.
“There’s one for you, Senator,” a man—who has the timeless good looks of a retired tennis player—says.
Thelma curls an arm around my waist and leads me to the empty seat beside Pete. I avoid eye contact with Belmont, who’s sitting directly across from me. I’m still shocked.
“And you’re the travel writer?” the man on the other side of me asks.
“Um, yes,” I say, blinking hard. I attempt to bring myself fully into the moment. Is this real? Am I having a nightmare?
“William Struggs,” the middle-aged man who sort of looks like a modern-day Abraham Lincoln says. I shake his hand. “I read your work. We should talk more.”
“Talk more about what?” I reply inelegantly.
“Publishing your articles.”
“But I’m already in talks.” My skin has run hot, and I can hardly concentrate. I can feel Belmont’s eyes burning into my face.
“I’ll give you another offer to entertain. It’s best to have more than one suitor.”
“Oh, yes,” I say, distracted, as I finally allow my eyes to meet Belmont’s. “Since you put it that way.”
The table at large is still discussing the voting habits of people “my” age.
“What about you, Mandy? You’re a young, beautiful movie star,” says a man who’s a cross between Colonel Sanders and the guy from those beer commercials featuring the most interesting man in the world.
All the eyes around the table dance to the woman, the actress, who kissed Belmont–all eyes except his.
“I don’t give a fuck,” she says with a dismissive flick of the wrist.
An elegant woman who reminds me of Morticia from The Addams Family says, “And this is why the country’s gone to shit. Apathy.” She flips her long black hair and shakes her head.
Find Her, Keep Her (A Martha's Vineyard Love Story) (Love in the USA) Page 17
