“There,” he said, and she felt his breath on her newly bare neck. He rubbed at the goosebumps on her shoulders, and she gritted her teeth against the sensations dancing through her. “Are you cold?”
She was so overheated she ought to jump into the Atlantic to cool off. She affected one of the airy head tosses she’d practiced in front of the mirror. Say something sophisticated, she told herself.
“Did you know that the Star of Africa is the largest cut diamond in existence?” she asked.
“Huh?”
“Could you imagine trying to wear something like that on your finger?” She should shut up but couldn’t stop talking. “I suppose that’s why it’s set in the British royal scepter instead of any of the Queen’s rings.”
His hands still rested on her shoulder. He turned her so she had to face him. She bravely met his amused eyes and silently cursed herself. As a research librarian, her mind was full of stray facts. She didn’t need to spew them like a geyser gone amok. He must think her a total fool.
“You’re a gem, Leeza Drinkmiller.” He leaned forward slightly and kissed her lightly on the mouth. The sensation was so vivid she could feel the imprint of his lips even after he removed them.
She gathered her poise and managed a cool smile although she was nearly giddy with relief. “I try to be on the cutting edge.”
His hands dropped from her shoulder. Without him touching her, she could think more clearly. She patted the back of her head. “What did you use to tie my hair?”
He held up the tail of his frayed shirt.
“You ripped your shirt? But it looks brand new!”
“It was worth it to get that hair out of your beautiful face.” The shirt did seem new, but it was Mitch’s style, not his. His brother would probably choose to be buried in a muted plaid suit. “I’d give you the shirt off my back if you asked.”
A soft, shy light appeared in her eyes that was gone too soon. She tossed her head and trilled her laugh. Her lips curved upward. “Remind me to ask you later.”
It was a siren’s line that filled him with a vague, inexplicable disappointment. He liked it better when she nervously spouted stray facts about industrial-sized diamonds.
“You can bet I will.” He stared directly into her eyes until she looked away. Again, he thought he detected a hint of shyness. But maybe she was disappointed he’d used so obvious a line. The Boy Scout wouldn’t say something like that.
Cary leaned back against the leather bench seat that lined the front of the boat, the wind whipping through his hair. If he wanted to keep Leeza’s interest, he’d have to act more like Mitch.
But why was a woman like Leeza interested in his brother anyway? With her flamboyant wardrobe and worldly air, she was more his type than his twin’s. Aside from the anomaly back in Charleston that was Peyton, Cary stuck to women more keen on style than substance.
In her red bikini and sarong with her toenails painted a matching color, Leeza was nothing if not stylish.
“Your reef’s over there,” their charter boat captain yelled from the marine head. He pointed to a spot in the distance where a pair of boats bobbed on the sea.
Other outfits had fancier boats and better prices. Cary chose the U.S.S. Surprise when he found out the charter captain’s name was Turk. He was a tiny bit freaked when he discovered Captain Turk had a dog named Questie and the floor-to-ceiling poster of Sprock in his cabin was a little spooky, but, hey, it was working out.
The good captain wasn’t charging them for the trip. In exchange for the charter and a couple hundred bucks, Cary had agreed to transport crates of goods for him from Key West to Miami. The caveat was that he not ask what the crates contained. He didn’t want to know, anyway.
“Don’t ya think it would be neat if I could beam you over there?” Captain Turk called.
Leeza put on a pair of trendy sunglasses that had points vaguely reminiscent of Sprock’s ears. “What does he mean? Beam us there?”
“He’s one of those Star Quest fanatics,” Cary said in a low voice.
“Don’t you mean Star Trek?”
“Nah. Turk’s not too fond of Star Trek but he’s nuts about Star Quest, which was one of those rip-off series that only lasted one season. His real name’s not even Turk. Under interrogation, he confessed it was Irving.”
“How fascinating.” Leeza crossed one long leg over the other. If Cary hadn’t been so focused on her shapely calf, he might have thought to get out of the way. The toe of her high-heeled sandal collided with his shin.
“Ow,” he said.
Her hands flew to her cheeks. “I’m so sorry. I am such a klutz.”
Her mouth formed a perfect, distressed O. He was about to reassure her that he liked her just the way she was, klutzy or not.
“I didn’t mean that,” she interjected. “I’m not usually clumsy at all. I’m actually quite. . . poised.”
The smile pulling at his lips faded. He’d kind of liked the thought of her with a flaw, because, as far as he could see, she didn’t have one. But then, he knew next to nothing about her. Usually, that didn’t matter. With Leeza, it did.
“Don’t tell me you’re a dancer on a chorus line.”
“A dancer?” Lizabeth wet her lips. A sign of nerves or a come on? “Why would you think that?”
He rubbed his shin again. “You kick like a pro.”
She laughed. “I’m not a dancer.”
“What do you do for a living?”
“I’m a—” Lizabeth stopped short of revealing the mind-numbing truth. She couldn’t tell him she spent her life in front of a computer, searching for information.
“Doctor?” he guessed.
She shook her head, content to have him supply her with a profession. He was sure to come up with something better than she could.
“Lawyer?”
Another shake of the head.
“Indian chief?”
She dissolved into laughter. “Be serious.”
“Okay.” He considered her carefully. “It has to be something that takes style, panache, brains.” He snapped his fingers. “I know. A buyer for a department store. You’re constantly traveling to New York for private fashion shows.”
Lizabeth nearly let out a big, fat chortle. She started to shake her head, then stopped. Nobody had ever looked at her the way Grant was looking at her. As though he found her exciting and interesting.
“You’re amazing,” she said. “That’s exactly right.”
His eyes widened. “Man, I’m good.”
The motor on the Surprise slowed, then sputtered to a stop, leaving the boat bobbing on its own wake. Captain Turk hopped down from the bridge, picked up an anchor and hoisted it overboard. Now that the boat wasn’t generating a breeze, the sun felt hot on her skin.
“This is it.” Captain Turk smoothed back immovable hair arranged in a familiar style. Lizabeth also recognized the too-tight shirt he wore with unfashionable black pants. She’d never watched Star Quest, but aside from the chartreuse shade of his shirt he was dressed like Captain Kirk on Star Trek.
“I bring most people out here to dive,” Captain Turk said, “but the reef’s close enough to the surface in places that it works for snorkeling.”
Grant rose and held out a hand, making her feel like Cinderella to his Prince Charming. Only Grant was holding out a black flipper instead of a glass slipper. “Let me help you put this on.”
It wasn’t difficult to smile considering he was looking at her with that charming half-grin. But no way was Lizabeth taking off her sarong and jumping into the water, no matter how blue and inviting it looked.
“The sun feels so heavenly I’d like to sit here and bask in it for a while,” she said. “You go ahead.”
His smile faded. “You sure?”
Sure? She could barely swim. Besides, she’d seen Jaws. Of course she was sure. “Positively certain.”
“Okay, but it would be more fun if you were with me,” Grant said. He stripped the shirt off h
is well-shaped shoulders. Golden hair lightly dusted a muscular chest that rippled at the stomach. Lizabeth’s breath snagged. Glory halleluia. The man was magnificent.
Well before she got in her fair share of ogling, he positioned himself on the edge of the boat and plunged into the water. The sleek muscles in his back moved as he paddled over to the coral reef.
“You know what I always wonder?”
Lizabeth was so focused on the rippling glory of Grant’s back that Captain Turk’s voice came as a surprise. She was vaguely aware of him sitting beside her and putting up his feet.
“Hmmm?” she asked, her attention riveted on Grant. He’d gotten the Most Likely to Succeed award in high school. Personally she would have come up with a new accolade just for him: Most Watchable.
“Why didn’t the captain and his crew encounter marine life in outer space?” Captain Turk asked. “I mean, they met just about every other life form. Why not fish people?”
Lizabeth pulled her eyes from Grant and focused on the strange, little man. “Pardon me?”
“Okay, maybe fish people is too far out there. I mean, how could they walk? But why not a race of lobster men? They could get around on pincers.”
He seemed to be settling in for a long chat. Lizabeth reached for a pair of flippers. She kicked off her high-heeled sandals and tugged them on.
“Their eyes could be on the ends of stalks shooting out of their foreheads,” Captain Turk said, “and if you got on their bad side. . . Pow! They’d clamp down on you with those sharp pincers.”
Lizabeth pulled on the mask next. As soon as it was snugly in place, she grabbed for a snorkel and scurried over to the side of the boat.
“They could call the episode Long Live the Lobster Men,” he said.
Lizabeth swung her legs over the side of the boat, took a deep breath and plunged. The water closed over her, a cool bath after the heat. She came up for air, shivering and sputtering. Within seconds, however, her body was acclimatized to the water temperature.
“Hey!” Captain Turk called. “You didn’t tell me what you thought of the lobster men.”
She stroked away from the boat. She hadn’t been in the water for years, not since the YMCA classes she took as a child. Even then, she hadn’t been much good at keeping herself afloat.
She was surprisingly adequate at it now. Her arms cut through the water, propelling her forward toward the coral reef. She was actually swimming.
Except she couldn’t swim.
She flailed her arms and her legs went dead. Her head dipped once under the clear blue sea. She surfaced, sputtering.
“Help! Help!” she cried.
She went under the water a second time. Strong hands grasped her under the arms and pulled her up. She coughed, tasting the salt of the water she’d swallowed. She gulped in fresh, sweet air and looked into the handsome face of her savior. My hero, she thought.
“You saved my life,” she breathed.
A few days ago, Cary wouldn’t have thought twice about taking credit where none was due. He’d had no reason to act the way he thought Mitch would in the same situation until he meet Leeza.
“No, I didn’t,” he said, and the words hurt, like physical blows. “The water’s shallow enough to stand.”
“It is?” Surprise lit her dark eyes. She struggled to right her body and planted her flipper-clad feet on the bottom of the sea. “You’re right. It is!”
He spotted the instant embarrassment washed over her skin. With the big black mask pulled tight over her features, she should have looked silly rather than charmingly contrite. She wasn’t quite as comfortable in the water as she’d claimed, but how could he hold pretense against her?
“I don’t know what came over me. It must’ve been that hot sun.” She placed the back of her hand on her forehead. “Did you know the sun is more than 330,000 times larger than the earth?”
“Can’t say that I did.” Cary took her hand firmly in his. Just holding it made him feel good, like a man who’d finally made the connection that would help the rest of his life snap in place. Where have you been all my life, Leeza Drinkmiller?, he thought. “You better stick by me. That way, I can show you the wonders of the sea.”
For the next few hours, that’s exactly what he did. They floated together, the water sleek and silky against their flesh, their eyes feasted on the reef’s dazzling display. Coral in rich jewel tones provided a stunning backdrop for tropical fish so beautiful they seemed unreal, like paintings from a master artist’s vivid imagination.
Cary lived in the moment for the most part, but a fleeting thought of his brother got in the way of his enjoyment of a sea anemone. He was taking this masquerade too seriously if he was worried about what Mitch would think of his agreement to transport those crates for Captain Turk.
With the measly thousand dwindling fast, how else was he supposed to romance a woman like Leeza? He could have made some quick cash by placing a couple of bets, but the Boy Scout had made him promise not to.
He squeezed Leeza’s hand and stubbornly refused to give another thought to anything except the radiant coral, the shimmering sea and the stunning woman at his side.
He certainly wouldn’t speculate about what might be inside those crates. He didn’t know they contained illegal goods.
Suspecting it didn’t count.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Peyton stalked toward the baseball field early on Monday evening, imagining that dating Cary Mitchell must be analogous to performing high-wire acrobatics.
The exhilaration of twisting, turning and leaping into the air couldn’t be any more thrilling than the way her heart had raced the last few times she’d been with Mitch.
Unfortunately, Peyton could also relate to crashing to earth. Unlike most high-wire artists, she hadn’t set up a safety net.
How could Mitch have left the preservation league’s ball Saturday night before she’d gotten her Volunteer of the Year award? She’d stepped up to the podium, eagerly searched the crowd for his face and came up empty.
She’d struggled through her acceptance speech as the knowledge that he’d fooled her again penetrated her thick skull. She couldn’t count on him. Not even a little bit. No matter what he claimed.
The anger had come swiftly, as it always did. But this time something that felt far too much like pain had accompanied it. Somehow, in the last few days, Mitch had pierced her heart and crept inside. For her self-preservation, she needed to extricate him.
“Hey, sweetheart. Where you headed in such a hurry?” One of a group of men kicking around a soccer ball yelled as she passed.
Peyton ignored him, keeping her eyes straight ahead, like a pointer directed at its prey.
It was Mitch’s fault she’d resorted to confronting him at work. She’d intended to wait until he contacted her, but more than a day had passed with no word and then he hadn’t answered his cell phone or doorbell.
She spotted him in the distance surrounded by a virtual army of teenage boys dressed in baseball uniforms of various colors. Mitch stood out despite the generic T-shirt and gym shorts all the parks and rec employees wore. The sun was low in the sky, adding a burnished quality to his skin. His dark hair gleamed, like sun-washed coal.
Peyton steeled herself against his good looks. She was breaking up with him. Right here. Right now. He wouldn’t talk her out of it this time.
With her long strides eating up the ground and closing the distance between them, she got ready to blast him. Somebody else beat her to it.
“The schedule says the Red Eyes are playing the Blue Moons on Field One,” shouted a burly boy in a red uniform.
“But Mitch said we’re playing the White Heads on Field One,” a boy in blue piped up.
“That’s right. The White Heads are on Field One,” one of the white-shirted team members interjected. “But we’re playing the Black Death.”
“Death to Mitch, I say,” announced a boy in a black shirt. “He’s the one who screwed up.”
&
nbsp; “Killing me won’t help.” Mitch backed up a step as the group advanced. “Let’s look on the bright side. We have a field, right? You guys can combine teams.” He snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it. Black and Blue versus Heads and Eyes.”
The team members’ voices erupted into angry chaos. If they’d been aboard a ship, Mitch would have a full-fledged mutiny on his hands. He pinched the bridge of his nose, looking beleaguered and out of his element.
Peyton’s heart sank.
The boy in black yelled something resembling a battle cry. That did it.
“Quiet!” Peyton yelled.
Nobody shut up. If anything, the volume rose. Peyton stepped into the fray, clearing a path through the noisy boys to Mitch. His head jerked up and his eyebrows rose in a silent question. She positioned herself in front of him, wasting no time with explanations.
“I said shut up!” she shouted.
As if by magic, the voices quieted. She looked out over the sea of young faces and shook her index finger.
“Shame on you, behaving like this,” she said. “Haven’t you ever heard of compromise?”
“Compromise?” One angry voice rose out of the silence. “We paid our league fee. We shouldn’t have to compromise.”
“This never happened before.” The speaker was a White Head, whose acne was so bad he could have been his team’s poster boy. “There have always been plenty of fields.”
“You mean there are more than one?” Peyton asked.
A member of the Red Eyes gestured to the green expanse surrounding them. “There are lots of fields.”
“Then go see if any of them are free,” Peyton ordered.
“Hey, good idea,” one of the Blue Moons cried. He raced off between a Head and an Eye.
Peyton moved away from Mitch, careful not to look at him.
“Haven’t seen you around before.” The boy in black sidled up to her. He was tall and reed thin, with eye black under his eyes and black polish on his fingernails. “Call me Poe, like the poet.”
“Your mom named you after Edgar Allan Poe?” Peyton asked.
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