by Amy Summers
"Let's get out of here," Chris murmured, still holding her. "Come on."
Lacing his fingers through hers, he began to lead her down the parking strip toward the sea cliffs where the cypress grew flat and wild against the rocks. She followed, numb, not even looking back toward the captain's walk. The plan was out the window. Trish was going to have to play the rest of this scene as best she could without it.
The marina was deserted. Everyone was up the hill at the clubhouse. Water lapped against the gently bobbing yachts and sea gulls screamed overhead. Trish leaned against the gate at the bottom of the ramp and wondered why she'd come.
The kiss.
She shivered inside but hid it. The kiss had been what had done it—what had sent them on this wild chase down to the marina, away from the crowd. But the cool sea air had slapped some sense into her. And now she wished she were anywhere but here.
She glanced back at Chris. He was standing with his legs wide apart, his arms folded across his chest, his face in a reserved frown and his gaze on the horizon. She shivered again but not from exquisite memory this time.
She needed to get out of here. This had been a big mistake. Maybe she could plead temporary insanity and make good her escape.
She turned to face him, her back pressed to the mesh gate that led to the landing.
"Well, this is the marina," she said brightly. "Lovely, isn't it? I especially like the blue canvas against the white boats. It's so cheery." She made herself smile. "Now I suppose we ought to be getting back to the others, don't you think?"
Before she had a chance to take the first step, he moved forward and effectively blocked her. "Hold on, Trish," he said quietly. "Not so fast."
Her eyes were huge as she gazed up at him. The breeze was ruffling her copper hair and tossing the folds of her skirt around her knees. He hesitated, wondering why he always seemed to make the wrong moves when he was with her. Maybe that was because he wasn't sure what he wanted from her—what she wanted from him.
His jaw tightened. What was he doing out here anyway? This wasn't what he'd come to this party for. He had a job to do. He was starting a new life—and the first thing he did was go off like a flake with a pretty girl. Not the best way to make a first impression on the man he expected to work for.
But that kiss...
Inadvertently his gaze dropped to her lips and he felt a quick, urgent impulse to taste them again. Annoying, this temptation she represented. He thought he'd developed skills in being able to resist this sort of youthful adventure, but those skills seemed to desert him around Trish. If he weren't careful, he would end up doing something he would regret.
His gaze strayed back to her shining green eyes and he sighed, shaking his head ever so slightly. She was damn near irresistible--fresh and honest and full of life. She made him want to smile every time he looked at her.
He wasn't quite ready to head back to the party. There was no denying he enjoyed looking at Trish, enjoyed being with her. Maybe that was a part of his nature he would never be able to change. But the kissing had to go.
"You've got some explaining to do before we go back," he reminded her. "Usually when I've been involved in an engagement, I've known about it ahead of time. This one's come as a bit of a shock."
"Oh." She couldn't tell if he were laughing or annoyed. It could make all the difference in how she approached this explanation. But whatever she said, it was bound to be embarrassing. Might as well stick with the truth.
"Well, you see, Howie…..he took something I said the wrong way and assumed I was engaged, and since I was trying to get him to give up on thinking he and I could ever have any sort of relationship..."
"You opted for a quickie engagement as a convenient way out."
She nodded. "That's about it," she admitted. "I... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get you involved—"
He waved it away. "No apology necessary. I've been engaged before. I can handle it."
She looked into his eyes but she still couldn't tell what he was thinking. Turning, she slipped past him, going back up the ramp. He followed, not protesting, as she turned away from the clubhouse, out along the boardwalk that skirted the edge of the water. They walked slowly side by side, with Trish letting her fingers trail lightly along the top of the restraining rail.
"Just how many engagements have you been in?" she asked, unable to hold back her curiosity.
"You mean before this one?" His tone was still ambiguous. "Let's just say I've toyed with the idea of marriage a few times."
"But you never went through with it?" She turned to look at him, brushing the hair back out of her eyes.
"That's right."
Swinging to a stop she leaned out over the railing and looked into the slightly oily water again. He stopped beside her, leaning close by, his shoulders almost touching hers. She bit her lip, feeling his presence in a way that made her heart beat just a little faster.
She liked him. Heaven help her—she liked the man. And he was without a doubt the most exciting male she'd ever been this close to. Deliciously dangerous, that was what this was. Well, she was supposed to keep him occupied for a while. At least she was doing her job.
She looked at him and he gazed back. It was all right. His face was open right now. He was teasable. Maybe they could be friends. Maybe they could put that super sexy kiss behind them and go on to a light, friendly relationship that would put this all into proper perspective for them.
Taking the bit and running with it, she turned and threw him an impish grin. "Lots of engagements, but no marriages, huh? Why not? Are you allergic to orange blossoms? Or just too scared of commitment?"
Humor lines crinkled around his eyes. He was taking her nudges in the manner they were meant to be received. "I don't think 'scared' is the word to use, exactly."
"Too set in your stodgy old bachelor ways, perhaps? Too anxious to keep hold of that charming playboy freedom you thrive on?"
His eyebrows rose. "I'm thriving, am I? That's nice to know."
She nodded solemnly, looking him over. "Without a doubt." Her eyes narrowed. "Tell me about them."
"About who? What?"
"Those women you almost married."
He grinned, his shoulders relaxing, his entire body returning to the lazy, fluid way he carried it so well. They were definitely comfortable with one another now. The tension was gone. "You don't want to know about them."
"Ah, that is where you're wrong. I want to know all about them." She bumped him with her shoulder, like a friend, a buddy. "And most of all, I want to know what they each did that finally sent you running in the opposite direction."
He gazed at her levelly, his eyes sparkling in the sun. "What do you want to know that for?"
She gave an elaborate shrug and curled her lip. "Research. Pure research."
"Uh-huh."
He laughed softly, obviously enjoying her. For all her second thoughts, she couldn’t help but revel in his appreciation.
"Well, I'll tell you if you promise not to let it out,” he said, teasing her the way she’d been teasing him. “You see, each one of those poor, unfortunate ladies had the same secret vice. It's something generally not mentioned in polite society, so I'd appreciate it if you could keep it under wraps."
Her eyes widened. "You can count on me," she assured him, then leaned closer, ready to get the inside scoop. "What was it?"
He looked around as though to make sure no one could overhear them, then moved even closer, his shoulder rubbing against hers, and looked deeply into her eyes saying in a conspiratorial whisper, "Humming."
She blinked, not sure she'd heard correctly. "What?"
"Humming. They were all secret hummers, every one of them. I can't stand that." He shook his head in mock sorrow. "Picture this. We’re riding along the coast, top down, the wind in our hair, we’re enjoying music on the radio. I’ve got it turned to my favorite Oldies Station. They’re playing my favorite song. Doo wop, naturally. And the lady by my side begins to hum along.”
&nb
sp; Trish made a face. “Oh. Is that bad?”
“Bad! It’s horrible. Like chalk on a blackboard. If you want to sing along, fine. But humming..." He shuddered eloquently. "No, once I realized they were hummers, I had to terminate the relationships."
Trish forced back the grin that was threatening to take over her mouth. "I see," she said wisely. “Death to hummers, huh?”
He grimaced. “Well, maybe not death. Just a quick exit and goodbye. You know what I mean?”
She pretended to consider that. “You didn’t shove any of them over a cliff did you? I mean, that would be….”
“What do you think I am? Of course not.” His face scrunched a bit. “Maybe into a gully now and then. You know, a quick reach across to the passenger’s door, a twist, a gentle push, and it’s over. But no cliffs.”
She shrugged. “Of course. I understand. You’re a gentleman, after all.”
“Sure.” He stared at her, his gaze intent. "You don't... hum... do you?"
Raising her hand like a Girl Scout taking the oath, she shook her head. "Never. I wouldn't think of it."
His smile was sunny. "Great. Then we should have no problem at all."
Her eyes laughed back at him. "Perfect."
"Which brings us back to the matter at hand. Just what do we do now that we are engaged, anyway? What are our plans for the future?"
She lifted her chin, her eyes glittering challengingly. "Trying to beg off now, are you?"
His grin was slow but sure. He'd turned toward her in his lazy, sleepy way that seemed to act as a drug on her senses, and his dark-eyed gaze took her in and held her as surely as if he'd wrapped her in his strong arms.
"Not on your life," he drawled, reaching out to touch her cheek lightly with three fingers. "In fact, this time, I just might let the thing run its course and find out what happens next."
This was ample evidence of why he was considered a ladies' man. His charm was all part of his standard act, and she knew it. And yet she couldn't treat it with the contempt it deserved. In fact, she had to admit, she was enjoying it.
"Hah," she said faintly but with spirit. "That'll be the day."
"What makes you say that?"
"You'll never get married."
"How can you be so sure?"
"You have too much fun twisting every available female around your little finger, that's how."
She tossed her head and started walking again. It was true, what she'd said, and the thought was freeing somehow. She could be herself with this man. She didn't have to worry about what he thought, because he lived life on surfaces. Funny. His lack of depth could let her open up to him. It didn't make sense, but it was true.
He quickly fell in beside her. "And what about you, Trish?" he asked, glancing at her sideways. "What keeps you from getting married?"
The question startled her. No teasing answer came readily to mind, so she found herself answering as honestly as she could. "Marriage is so important. I mean, the health and future of an entire family is built on the marriage. It's vital to make sure that foundation is firm. I guess I haven't gotten married because I still haven't found a man who would fit with me and be right to help form that foundation."
When he answered Chris's voice was surprisingly harsh with a thread of sarcasm barely discernible. "I see. The perfect man. Just plain old love isn't enough. Is that it?"
They'd come to the end of the boardwalk. She turned and looked at him.
"Is it enough for you?" she asked simply.
She had him there. How was he to know? He'd never been in love. Not really. The engagements had been experiments that hadn't panned out. Every time he'd fallen crazy in "love," it had only taken a few days to reverse the emotion completely and show him just how little he could stand the thought of sharing his life with just one woman.
"You take marriage too seriously," he said instead of answering. "After all, what is it? Just two people giving a relationship a try. If it works out, great. If not, they each have the right to move on to something else. It's as simple as that."
She flushed quickly. The urge to argue rose in her throat, but she forced it back. She knew he was referring back to her parents' marriage again. She didn't want to talk about that.
She glanced back at the marina, then spun and put a hand up to shade her eyes, looking out over the bay, then to the promontory just off to the right. Childhood memories stirred, sunny days and laughter and picnics on the beach. A sudden impulse poured into her heart and lit a spark inside. It was a day for throwing caution to the winds. Look at that kiss they’d shared! Was that normal? Heck no! It was a day to act like a kid again. Looking out at the hills and cliffs, she recalled her childhood play area. Her secret spaces. Remembered joy flowed through her and she smiled, turning back to Chris.
"Would you like to visit a magic place?" she asked him, her eyes alight with anticipation.
His slow smile was reluctant. "What are you talking about?" he asked skeptically.
She grabbed his hand and tugged. "Come on! I haven't gone in years, but we used to play there when we were kids. Come on." She turned toward the bluff half a football field length away across the beach.
Chapter 8
His fingers slipped around her wrist and pulled back, resisting. "Wait a minute," he said, amusement in his voice. "You can't wear those fragile high heels out in the sand."
She looked down at her feet in frustration. "You're right." Not hesitating a moment, she kicked them off and tossed them up under the boardwalk.
His eyebrows arched in amazement. "What are you doing?"
She grinned up at him. "Reverting to childhood," she said happily. "Come on. Take off your shoes and socks, put them with mine and come with me."
"Back into childhood?" he asked wryly. But he sank down to sit on the edge of the boardwalk and began to do as she'd urged.
Sighing with exasperation, she knelt before him and began folding up the cuffs of his wool trousers. “We’ll be trudging through some boggy places. You’d better be prepared,” she said, chattering as she worked.
"You'll love this place. It's an estuary—like finding a tropical island. No one ever goes there, you can't get to it from the road. You have to go through the secret passageway." She grinned up at him again. "My friends and I used to put traps around the entrance so that no one would ever dare go in there but us."
Chris didn't think he'd had a woman rolling up his pant legs since he was a little boy and his sister Michelle had adjusted hand-me-down pants to fit him. He watched Trish, bemused, wondering how she could go from the sort of anger and hurt he'd witnessed in her to this utter lack of self-consciousness she was displaying now.
"We're not going to have to crawl through mud and spiders, are we?" he asked.
She laughed. "Chicken!" She bounced to her feet and began to dance across the sand. "Come on! It's a wonderful place. There are frogs and egrets and blue herons and spotted turtles and wild blackberries growing along the banks. Oh, I hope they're ripe! It'll be worth it, believe me."
He followed her, feeling strangely more adult as she became more childlike. She was surprising him. He'd known she was special from the very first, but this capacity for happiness was unexpected. Unexpected, and very attractive. It made a man want to figure out how to make her happy more often.
"Once, Suzi and I found a blue heron's nest," she remembered as he came beside her. "We hid in the cattails and watched while the mother tried to feed the baby birds. Their feet were so big, they kept getting them tangled and falling on their beaks. We got stomachaches trying so hard not to laugh and scare them."
He could picture the two of them crouched in the marshes and suddenly knew it was a time she looked back on as golden, when her mother and father seemed happy and life seemed secure. Was that why she was so full of anticipation? Did she think she could recapture that feeling in her hidden, enchanted place?
"It's in around here," she said as they approached the bluff and she began to push back brush
in order to find the obscure entrance. "At least I thought it was. They couldn't have filled it in, could they?"
Chris pushed back a branch and found a gap between two large rocks. "Is this it?"
She whirled and cried, "Yes!" and they started through, stretching themselves taller and thinner to squeeze between the boulders and pass into the cave. It was dark for only a moment, but Trish took Chris's hand as though to guide him, making him smile. The sand in the cave was cold on their bare feet. And then they had broken through to the other side and had to clamber over breakdown to get into the canyon that held Trish's enchanted estuary.
She climbed down backward and looked up to see Chris paused above her. The look on his face told her something was wrong. She landed on her feet and spun around, and for just a moment, she thought they'd come to the wrong place.
There were no cattails, no meandering rivulets of water, no frogs, no blue herons. Instead there was the shell of a large building, with tinted windows already fixed in place and electrical wiring hanging loose. Stark, newly-laid concrete driveways and empty parking lots filled the space where back bay life had once thrived. A road cut had been blasted through the far cliff, and a paved road led back to the coast highway. Condos. They were building condominiums where her enchanted estuary used to be.
For a moment she stood very still, stunned. Then slowly, jerkily, she moved forward, as though she had to touch the building to make sure it was real. She still couldn't believe it. How could this have happened? Why hadn't she known? Why hadn't she paid more attention to the newspapers? Why hadn't she done something to stop it?
Chris watched her go, watched her touch the wooden framing, the glass window. She walked around the building and looked on the other side, to see, he was sure, if any of her marshes were left at all. He could tell by the way she turned back, her shoulders sagging, that everything was gone.
He waited while she walked back to stand beside him. Her misery was palpable. Tears glistened in her eyes, though she seemed to be doing her best to hold them back. He didn't know what he could do to comfort her, and the helpless feeling built into frustration. For a moment, he was angry—angry at himself for not being more help, angry at her for being so damn vulnerable, for not facing reality, for letting things hurt her so badly.
