by Amy Summers
“Didn’t you want to go?” Carla pointed out, completely bewildered by Trish’s actions.
“Go?” she muttered blankly. “Go where?”
It took another ten minutes for her to calm down and begin hearing things again, and even longer to banish Chris from her mind.
Over the next few weeks she caught glimpses of him here and there, once from her mother's apartment when he was sunning himself in the courtyard below, and another time she saw him walking along Balboa Boulevard with Howie, of all people, as she was driving by in her car. They both waved. She waved back. And she rode on, mulling over the possibilities of that relationship.
It wasn't until sometime later, at a Chamber of Commerce mixer, that she actually spoke to him again.
She arrived late, in the middle of the speaker's presentation. Already self-conscious about her tardiness, she had to pass back and forth between tables looking for a seat, and when she finally found a vacancy, she sat down and realized with a start that the speaker was Chris. The discovery came as such a shock, she never did find out what his topic was.
She could hardly reconcile this man with the barefooted beachboy she'd first met in her mother's apartment. That Chris had been sexy but seemingly insubstantial. This Chris had lost none of his sensual luster, but had added a sense of dignity and command that she would hardly have thought possible. He looked like a captain of industry rather than a ski bum. How had he done that?
His presentation was over. People were applauding and many were rising to surround him and ask questions as he tried to leave the podium. Trish sat very still, watching, wondering, and then a voice muttered very near her right ear.
"I want that man."
Trish turned, startled, and found she had chosen a seat next to Brigitte Holloway, socialite and owner of Brigitte's Travel World, and a stunning example of the human species in her own right.
Brigitte's long, elegant hand with its persimmon-colored nails and blinding array of diamonds reached out and circled Trish's wrist, demanding attention. Her gaze was fixed on Chris.
"I want that man," she said even more firmly. Brigitte had a reputation for getting what she wanted.
Trish looked at Chris, then back at the woman next to her. She and Brigitte had known one another forever but had never been particularly friendly. Trish was sure this was no personal confession meant just for her. Brigitte was merely stating a goal. Any audience would have done.
She looked at Chris again and shuddered slightly. "I….I don't think he's your type." Why had she said that? He was exactly Brigitte's type. But her statement had the effect of turning Brigitte's brilliant violet gaze on her.
"You know him?" she demanded.
"I... well, I've met him."
The fingers tightened on her wrist. "Take me to him. Introduce me."
The next thing Trish knew, she was in line to speak to Chris with Brigitte hanging on her arm and her conscience in outraged turmoil. She didn't want to talk to Chris. She certainly didn't want to put Brigitte in his lap. What was she doing here? She looked around longingly at the exit, but Brigitte's fingers were as unyielding as a vise.
"Hello, Trish."
They had made it to the head of the line. In fact, they were all that was left of the line. She hesitated, afraid to speak. What if her voice wavered? What if he could see how shaky he made her?
His dark eyes were unreadable but she had the distinct impression he was glad to see her. And suddenly that made it easier.
"Hello, Chris. How have you been?"
"Fine. Thriving, in fact."
He looked as though he were waiting to see if she would smile at that reference to their conversation that day at the cove, but it took her just a beat too long to realize what he was referring to, and when she did, the moment had passed.
"I guess the business is doing quite well then," she said quickly instead.
He nodded. "You should come by and see what we're doing. Your mother would like that."
Of course. What was wrong with her? Why hadn't she done so before this? Because she thought the business, whatever exactly it was, was merely a stopgap, a hobby, something to keep her mother occupied until she went back to be a full-time wife to her father again. But it had been so long now. She really should go by and see what was up. She opened her mouth, ready to make a date to do just that when she received a sharp, jabbing elbow in the side, reminding her of what she'd come for.
"Oh. Uh...Chris, I'd like you to meet Brigitte Holloway of Brigitte's Travel World."
"Chris Dawson, I'm so pleased to meet you." Brigitte took his hand and looked as though she would probably never let go of it again. She was a beautiful woman and her smile would have dazzled sterner stuff than Chris. But studying his reaction, Trish wasn't sure just what he thought.
"Cancel your current travel agent. I'm prepared to make you an offer you can't refuse."
Chris looked bemused. "We don't have a travel agent yet. We don't do a lot of traveling, and I don't foresee..."
"No one ever does, believe me. But I can read the signs. I know a winner when I see one. You will grow, you will prosper, and before you know it, you'll need to visit suppliers, canvas clients, attend conventions. You'll need me, darling, and that is what I live for, to be needed by my own special, special customers."
Chris was beginning to glow under the warmth of her flattery. What man, Trish fumed to herself, wouldn't?
Brigitte gazed soulfully into his dark eyes and declared, "When you think of luxury, when you think of being pampered until you can't stand it any longer, I want you to think of me. I want to take care of you. I want to make sure you sleep on satin sheets. I want only tower suites for you, with croissants on a tray in the morning and a spa at your disposal. I want every detail of every moment of every trip to be memorable.'' She pulled his hand over her heart. "When can we get together for lunch to discuss the arrangements?"
Chris glanced at Trish's hostile gaze and grinned. "How about today? I'm free."
Brigitte seemed to be transported with ecstasy. "Wonderful! Oh, I can hardly wait. I'll pick you up at your office at..." She snapped out her wrist to give a sharp look at her watch. "Shall we say, twelvish?" ,
"Twelvish it is." He turned back to Trish and grinned again. "Don't you want to shower me with offers, too?" he asked hopefully.
She glared right back. "I'd rather shower you with something cold and wet," she muttered. "I think you're going to need it."
He laughed softly, nodded to Brigitte, and excused himself.
"Thanks," Brigitte told her frankly. "I owe you one." She sighed. "I'm going to go home and get ready for lunch. I want to look my very best for this one."
The thought of this woman in Chris's arms sent a knife through Trish's heart. She could hardly stand it. Did she have any right to complain? Of course not, none at all. But she still hated the idea and suddenly a thought occurred to her.
"You know, Brigitte," she said to the woman. "I should give you a little advice about Chris. I know something about his likes and dislikes—and there is one thing that really turns him on in a woman."
Brigitte was all ears. "Well, give! What is it?"
Trish took a deep breath, feeling like a heel, but determined. "Humming," she said firmly. "He can't resist a woman who hums along to music." It was a long shot. After all he'd used the humming thing as a joke, really. But one never knew...
Brigitte looked thoughtful. "Humming, huh? I'll practice up on that, too." She waved merrily at Trish. "Toodle-oo. Wish me luck." And then she was gone.
Trish watched her go with chagrin, wishing she'd sat somewhere else in the restaurant, wishing she'd never laid eyes on Brigitte and her travel folders. Turning she found herself face-to-face with Chris, who either hadn't walked away after all or had come back. The look on his face told her he'd heard every word, and her cheeks turned bright red in the time it took to realize that fact. His eyes were laughing, but he didn't say a word, and she left as fast as she could, cu
rsing herself for every misstep of the morning.
She mulled things over for a few days and then called Suzi. She knew her sister was keeping closer tabs on their mother lately and she wanted an update before she ventured out.
"This new business Mom has started? What is it exactly?"
There was a pause on the other end of the line. "You haven't been by to see it yet?"
"No. Just what is it that they are making? I was under the impression that it still had something to do with surfing. What is it, shorts and tops? Mom's been talking about starting a clothing line for years."
Another pause and then Suzi's tentative voice. "I think you should come by and see for yourself. It's really an exciting project. I've been doing some part-time work for Mom and Bert, some bookkeeping. Mom and Bert have leased that building over on the corner of Seascape and Balboa. They're there all the time. Drop by some afternoon."
Mom and Bert, Mom and Bert. Something in the sound of that pairing was beginning to rub her the wrong way.
"Great. I'll do that," she said to Suzi. But inside something was rebelling, something was resisting like a petulant child resisted bedtime. It was the same little something that made her change the subject every time her mother tried to talk about the new business. The same little something that made her mind switch off when the topic was raised by anyone else. She didn't want there to be a real, growing and prospering business that didn't include her father. Instinctively she knew that the more successful the business was, the more it pulled her mother away from the marriage and out into the wide open world.
Her father seemed happy enough, but she knew that was all surface. He refused to talk about her mother at all. But there was not much new in that. All he had ever wanted to talk about was business. No change there.
She knew she would have to go over and see this new venture but she put it off. It nagged at her like an upcoming dental appointment, something she dreaded in a dull, unthinking way. Any day now she would take care of that little detail in her life.
Any day now.
Chapter 10
It was only a week later that her mother called to invite her out to lunch. Trish had high hopes that Laura was going to give her good news, but it turned out to be anything but.
"I've filed for divorce, Trish," her mother told her gently. "I know this is going to upset you. But it was something I had to do. I hope you'll understand."
Trish most emphatically did not understand, but she was beginning to learn to keep her emotions more hidden from the others.
"Does Daddy know?"
"Yes. He and I have talked the whole thing out."
Trish cringed inside, but she hid it. "All I ask is that you think everything through, Mom," she said calmly. "Don't do anything hastily. Don't act in anger."
Her mother's look was troubled. "Trish..." She'd been about to tell her something, but she quickly changed her mind, shaking her head and laughing softly. "Oh, Trish, you're such a little bulldog. You can't let go of anything, can you?"
Trish didn't know what she meant and she was rather hurt by that characterization. But she knew there wasn't much she could do to stop her mother from filing for divorce. All she could do was pray something would happen to wake the two of them up before it became final.
The next time she saw Chris he was riding high, but not in the business sense. Trish was out for her usual early morning jog, and this time she'd chosen a run along a beach that was open to surfers from dawn until eight o'clock. She rarely paid much attention to surfers. They were usually too far out in the waves to see clearly. But for some reason she noticed a pair of familiar-looking bodies separate themselves from the neoprene-clad crowd and try for a singularly spectacular swell that quickly turned into a monster wave.
Trish paused in horrified fascination as she watched one of the boards catapult toward the sun while the surfer's body flew in the opposite direction. Something about the way the body twisted before it plunged into the swirling waters looked recognizable.
"Chris?" she said aloud, incredulous.
She waited, breath held, for him to surface again, hardly noticing that his partner had caught the wave beautifully and was cruising toward her now, still hanging ten.
"Hey!" It was Howie. She blinked twice, just in case, but it definitely was Howie. "Hi!" He jumped off the board, flipping it up at the same time so that it landed handily in his reach. Very smooth, very professional. Howie was a born surfer. "What are you doing here?"
Considering her jogging shorts and running shoes, it shouldn't have been too difficult for him to draw his own conclusions, but Trish ignored that and turned her attention back to the waves.
"Is that Chris Dawson out there?"
"Yup." Howie turned back toward the ocean, shading his eyes with one hand. "Where'd he go?"
"I don't know. I saw him wipe out and then he disappeared." Her anxiety was beginning to strain her voice. "You've got to go back out there and find him!"
"Here's his board." Howie sloshed back into the water to pull the neon-yellow-and-pink creation up onto the sand, turning it carefully for a full examination. "It looks okay."
"Who cares about the board!" Trish was beginning to think about kicking off her shoes and jumping into the brine herself. "Chris might be drowning out there. Will you go back out and—"
Howie grinned at her. "Aw, that's cute. You're really worried, aren't you? Hey, he's not a professional, but he's no gremmie, either."
First she would strangle Howie, then she would swim quickly out to the wave line and begin to dive for Chris's body. That was the plan formulating in her mind when a dark head bobbing a hundred yards offshore caught her eye.
"There he is." Relief flooded her so strongly her eyes began to sting. "He's all right!" Quickly she turned her face away so that Howie wouldn't see the moisture in her eyes. What an idiot. She had no idea why she was reacting so strongly.
"Of course he's all right." Howie grinned, oblivious. "Hey, Trish. Listen, I just want to say that I think it is really, really noble of you, this thing you're doing for Chris."
A shiver of wary alarm spread through her and she turned back to stare at him. "What, exactly, is it that I'm doing for him, Howie?"
"Why, the way you're staying away from him for six months, even though the two of you are engaged. Not many fiancées would be so understanding."
She blinked. Had Chris really continued her cover-up so handily? "Did he... did he tell you why he needed me to stay away from him?"
"Sure. He needs that slack to get a foothold in the new business. I know all about it."
Chris never stopped surprising her. She watched him limp in toward shore and felt a warmth in her chest.
He looked at her from under eyelashes studded with diamonds of water. Then he sighed and came to a staggering halt before her. "This stuff is hard work. I'm dead."
He looked awfully good for a dead man, his hair black and matted against his head, his shoulders wide in the black neoprene wet suit cut off above the elbows and knees.
"What exactly are the two of you trying to prove?" she asked in her best schoolmarm tone.
Howie unzipped his wet suit and emerged, kicking it aside into the sand. "I'm teaching Chris how to surf," he said sunnily. "We're getting to be really good buddies."
Chris's head came up and he glared at his so-called friend. "I know how to surf," he growled malevolently. "I just had an unlucky spill out there."
Trish couldn't hide her smile. "From what I saw, you really could use some of Howie's expertise," she advised. "Howie is one of the very best."
Howie agreed with that, nodding happily. "He thinks, just because he's practically a champion skiier or something he should be able to surf just as good right from the get-go."
Chris swayed in the breeze but held his ground. "I surfed when I was a kid in Hawaii," he insisted, then added rather plaintively, "I don't remember it taking this much out of me in those days."
Howie made a face, then tried
to make Chris feel better. "They say you never forget how to ride a bicycle, but maybe it's different with a surfboard," he placated.
Chris's eyes blazed and his teeth clenched. If he'd only had the strength, Trish could see he would have gone for Howie's throat. Hiding her laughter she got between them, just in case.
"Here, let me help you with that wet suit," she offered before she thought. It wasn't until she was reaching for the tab on the big zipper that ran from his neckline to the crotch of the suit that she realized what she was letting herself in for. She'd done it a thousand times for other surfers straggling in exhausted from the sea. She'd done it all her life. But something told her this would be different. She hesitated and found him watching her.
"Thanks," he said softly. "That would be nice."
There was no way to get out of it now. Gritting her teeth, she took hold of the tab and began to yank it down. It didn't come easily. And with each yank another bit of his gorgeous body was exposed as the two sides of the suit folded open, revealing his bare chest.
Drops of water fell from his hair and sparkled on his warm brown shoulders. Her fingers were shaking, but she had to tug so hard on the zipper, maybe he didn't notice. Removing a body from a wet suit was a lot like freeing someone from a coating of crazy glue. This body, though, was worth the effort.
In the midst of the project Howie called over, "Hey you guys, I'm going on up to the van. See you later." And he began to trek off through the sand.
Trish didn't look up from her task. Chris merely grunted. In moments the two of them were alone on the deserted stretch of beach, except for the surfers out on the waves.
She pulled back once the opening had uncovered his navel. "You can do the rest," she said nervously, then met his gaze and found his dark eyes were laughing at her.
"What's the matter, Trish? Are you scared of me?" he asked, his voice soft but mocking.
"Of course not," she returned.
"Then why can't you finish what you started?"
He was manipulating her and she knew it. It worked. Challenged, she reached out and took hold of the tab again, giving a vicious yank that pulled it all the way down between his legs and let the suit fall all the way open. Jerking back her hand as though she'd scalded it, she looked up and found herself laughing right along with Chris, and then, found herself in his arms.
