“You did good.”
With great effort Briana rose. Dusting the caked-up sand off her knees, she untied Nick’s shirt from around her arm. The gash was an afterthought now. Executing a slow pivot she scanned the luminous ocean.
Black.
She was mildly surprised to see exactly how far they had swam. For the life of her, she barely recalled a second of it. Instead, she remembered an overwhelming determination to make progress...to reach her objective...the shore. This focus did not allow for the determined claws of water to hold her back. It did not allow the wicked whisper of the surf to summon her to its depths.
The iridescent lights of the Merryweather bobbed in the distance, but she pivoted away from them and saw King Kam highway only a short climb away. It hugged the coast for a good span of the island and it was a welcome sight right now. Without deliberation, she marched up the embankment of sand and grass, determined to get away.
***
For a moment Nick chose not to follow. For a moment he felt saddened that Briana did not allow him into her bleak realm—but this was a pointless emotion. She hardly knew him, and from what little he had shared with her, she had no reason to rely on him for support.
Glancing down at the bloodied shirt Briana had silently relinquished, he slung it over his shoulder and started up after her.
In a miraculous bout of fate, the last Circle Island bus was running late and came to a stop before them as they sat side-by-side, on a bus stop bench. Nick ignored the driver’s scornful look as he extended four sodden bills, and stepped aside to allow Briana access to one of many empty seats. With a tug, the vehicle shuddered into motion.
Sliding into a seat beside her, he stretched his legs beneath the bench in front of them. Next to him, Briana remained unresponsive. He wanted to touch her, but she was so stiff he was afraid the contact might make her shatter. Without her being aware, he studied her tense profile.
Damp hair clung to high cheekbones, the healthy glow of sun an afterthought on her pallid face. She sat straight, her hands clutched together on her lap, her gaze fixed on the window. With the lights on inside he could see her reflection. Feeling helpless, Nick tipped his head back against the vinyl seat and stared at the advertisements lined up beneath the ceiling.
It was the trembling that roused him. The faint quivers against his arm that brought him alert. It had to be near midnight, but the air conditioning was at full blast, and even he felt cold. Briana’s chills seemed more deeply embedded, however. He reached an arm around her shoulder and drew her towards him, and though she remained rigid, she didn’t resist his embrace.
“Two more stops and then we’ll have to walk a bit,” he whispered against her hair. “Can you make it?”
“Of course I can.” Her indignant response startled him. “I’m not as fragile as you’d like to make me out to be.”
Nick smiled, but he knew she did not see. Her head was tucked beneath his chin. “Fragile is not the word to describe you,” he murmured.
The crown of damp hair rose and he was looking into glittery blue eyes. At length, the tension around those eyes relaxed and she managed a soft smile. “What, then?”
“Intriguing. Exasperating. Endearing—”
“Contradicting?”
“Mmmm, in so many ways.”
Nick yanked on the cord, prompting the STOP REQUESTED sign that flashed a dull red glow.
The scent of exhaust filled the air as the bus wrenched to a halt and Briana stiffly climbed down the steps. They paused at the side of the road watching the red taillights disappear around the bend.
“My driveway is only a quarter mile down the road.” Nick was going to reach for her hand, but she tucked it against her waist, wrapping her arms about her.
Tripped up by that isolated gesture, he nodded and occupied himself by acting out the ritualistic torch-lighting ceremony, and jogging up the lanai steps to draw open the French door.
***
Briana lingered outside beneath the tiki torches. Clawing the damp hair away from her eyes, her lower lip began to quiver. She bit down to capture it.
“Come inside,” he ordered.
Too weary to argue, she recognized that it was not physical fatigue. It was born from a battered and drained psyche. She relied on the rail for support, each step seeming to exhaust her more than the last.
What is this? This is not me.
She felt beaten and she hated it. To her vast relief, when her eyes met those of the man standing two steps above, she saw no pity, but rather a tacit understanding.
Nick.
Until this point she had tried not to think about him. When she did, the waves were far more tumultuous than any hurricane could produce. The ripple of desire and fear were such a constant that her only defense was to ignore him.
But there he stood in the shadows, a brooding man with the foresight to let her battle her ghosts alone.
Gratitude kept her from protesting when he angled her towards his bedroom. With a nod, he encouraged her to undress and offered discretion by stooping into the dresser to yank out a dry shirt for her to wear.
With the University of Hawaii t-shirt dangling behind him, Nick managed throatily, “Before you put this on will you let me look at that cut?”
In a voice that was equally hoarse, she replied, “The ocean took care of it. My father always said, saltwater is the best cure for a wound.”
Briana glanced down at the two-inch long abrasion and felt it might leave a scar, but it would not bleed again. She reached for the t-shirt and hoisted it over her head.
Although he had turned away, she realized that there was one fleeting second when his eyes lingered and caressed her flesh. It caused a flutter in her stomach. She yanked the shirt down where it clung to her thighs and then cleared her throat so that he could pivot back.
“Nick, what are we going to do? We have to call the police.”
“Tomorrow.” His voice was hoarse. “Tomorrow is only a few hours away. In the morning, I will call the police and I will go out there with Keo. For tonight, just try to sleep this off.”
“Don’t go back out there.” Panic inched into her throat.
“Bree, they are probably long gone. They were on the move when we jumped ship. It’s all going to get reported, but I bet they have already left state waters.”
“I hope so.”
“Look, the shower’s through there,” he nodded, “It’ll make you feel better, and we can talk about the rest of this in the morning.”
The notion of a shower sounded so wonderful, she nearly swooned.
She wanted a shower.
She wanted to sleep.
She wanted to forget.
But the sight of Nick ate at something raw in her chest. She felt so vulnerable before him, and at the same time, safer than she had ever been in her life.
“You need one,” she ordered softly.
In the air-conditioned bus, Nick had restored his bloodied shirt, although now it was unbuttoned, giving her a glimpse of the rugged band of muscles that built a ladder up his stomach. His jeans were saturated, but he looked totally at ease standing there wet before her.
At ease. And so damn sexy.
She wanted more than a shower, sleep, and ignorance. She wanted him.
“There’s a shower outside, I’ll use that. Go ahead.” He angled his head towards the bathroom door. “And when you’re through, climb under those covers. You need rest, Briana.”
“But—”
With a wry slant on his lips, he took a step, and reached out to cup her face, the tender stroke of his thumb stealing her breath. Outside, the palm leaves rustled. It almost sounded like a crackling fire.
Inside, something also burned.
Nick’s eyes smoldered. “Just do it, Briana. We’ll figure out what to do about the Merryweather in the morning.”
The mere mention of the ship doused the heat. Clutching her hands about her arms, Briana turned away.
***
The steam of the shower seeped in. It rinsed away the ache and eased some of the fear. Briana tipped her head into the cascade of water and felt the vise of terror abate. The plummet into the black ocean now seemed like a surreal dream.
Beneath this indulgent spray, she grew lethargic. Her arm might as well have been cast in cement as she lifted it to turn off the faucet. Bare feet met cold tiles when she exited the stall and wrapped a white terry towel about her.
In the misted mirror, her reflection made her flinch. What Nick must think when he looked at her? A head case.
That’s what she looked and acted like.
Shaking away the unsettling thought, Briana searched the vanity and smiled at the yellow sticky note that reminded Nick of a meeting next Tuesday. Or was it last Tuesday?
The formica counter held no decor. There were only masculine necessities such as a razor, toothpaste, and a toothbrush next to a plastic Jack In The Box cup.
The bathroom was wood-paneled and brightly lit from the shell lamp above the mirror. Briana drew in a breath and smelled Nick’s scent. Her pupils widened in the reflective glass. Everything—her hair—her body—it all smelled of his soap, of his shampoo.
Conjuring up an image of the man, she wanted nothing more than to feel those strong arms around her. The turmoil of the night, and all the moments leading to this revelation faded. Unexpectedly desperate, she hoped that when she opened the door, he would be lying in bed waiting for her.
A flick of her wrist flipped off the light switch. She hesitated a second until her eyes acclimated, and then she slid open the panel.
The room was empty.
Disappointed, but not surprised, she was still tempted by the queen-size bed. Fatigue stalled her efforts as she crawled and collapsed against a pillow that smelled of Nick. She drank in that scent and fantasized about the man.
Three long breaths and she fell asleep.
***
With a scream muffled by the pillow, Briana shot out of her nightmare. Bewildered by her surroundings— the huge oak dresser and enchanting seascapes on the walls—lucidity finally returned. Her heart dulled to a soft thump as she glanced at the bedside clock. 3:18am. Straining to hear any sign of Nick, all she heard was the soft moan of the trade winds that invaded the bungalow.
Briana tossed aside the sheets that had knotted during her restless slumber. Her feet landed on the soft throw rug as she crept towards the bedroom door and inched it open. The house was quiet, with only the whispering hiss of a curtain that billowed inside an open window. A brief inspection confirmed that she was alone.
Drawn towards the French doors, she stood with her hand against them and looked out at the moon illuminating the shore in diverse shades of blue. Midnight was the solid banyan trees, and cerulean was the sand. Azure was the ocean, and the mysterious cobalt of night lined the dark horizon.
Everything dimmed into shades of gray when she located the lone silhouette standing beneath a coconut palm.
Solitude.
It was a cloak she often wore. Looking at this man, she felt his isolation and connected with it.
On bare feet, she descended from the lanai, drawn towards Nick. He wore no shirt, and the moon seemed to covet his skin with velvet fingers caressing muscles in a manner that she longed to do.
Even though desire emboldened her, she still hesitated beyond the fringe of shadows.
***
Nick heard the door slide open. Briana’s tentative tread soon followed across the sand. He resisted the urge to turn around, and instead, focused on the sea.
Briana advanced with the diffidence of a wild animal approaching a child’s extended hand. The tread halted and he knew that if he moved now, she would most likely bolt.
In seconds the muffled footfalls resumed. He thought he would go mad when he sensed Briana directly behind him, yet her silence persisted. Like the feathery brush of a palm frond, he felt her tremulous touch on his arm.
Slowly, he turned.
Briana raised her hands to his chest, sculpting him with her fingers—testing the resiliency, ensuring that he was real and not a conjured ghost of the sea.
“Nick.” It was a whisper. It was a sigh.
Nick reached out and touched her hips, gently coaxing her closer. Her breath hitched when they connected. Not hesitating, he slid his palm up her back and around her side to graze her breast. Briana arched into that caress, an innocent invitation for him to continue.
Beneath the thin tee shirt, Nick felt every curve of Briana’s body. The sensation was erotic, voyeuristic knowing he wasn’t actually seeing her naked. Gently, his thumb grazed her nipple, inciting a gasp as Briana watched him with wide eyes. He held that gaze as his other hand rose and captured her, massaging what fit so perfectly in his palm. He ached to toss the thin fabric aside and taste what his hands now cherished.
“Briana,” he rasped.
Seemingly emboldened, she leaned forward and brushed her lips across his collarbone. Using his body for leverage, she tipped up and dusted the pulse in his throat with a timid flick of her tongue.
Nick was paralyzed. His hands froze directly atop her breasts, the moist stroke on his neck a foreign sensation—and so intoxicating. He dipped his head and captured her mouth, making them both weak by the force of his kiss.
Sinking into that heat, his hands dropped to Briana’s hips, where he hauled her against his hardness and heard the rumble of approval deep in her throat. That sexy sound turned him on so much he dragged the t-shirt off of her in one impatient move.
For a second they stood parted by the motion. Briana’s body was a visual feast that he committed to memory. High breasts did injustice to his imagination. A long slim abdomen flared into the hips he was now kneading with his fingers.
And those legs.
God bless her, Briana had legs that made him dream of a variety of ways to wrap them around him.
“Come closer,” he issued a husky command.
She responded without hesitation.
His hands sculpted her, feeling the trail of goosebumps explode across her skin. She quivered under his touch and begged with a whimper, tugging at the top button of his jeans as his lips captured hers.
“Let’s go inside,” he said against her mouth.
“No,” she mewled, kissing him back.
Briana was like lava in his grasp. Nick yanked the zipper down on his jeans and growled when he felt her fingers there, driving him to the brink.
“Baby,” he uttered hoarsely. “If you don’t stop, I’m going to make love to you right here in the sand, and without a blanket it’s going to hurt.”
“No,” She shook her head in between kisses. “Out there, Nick. Make love to me out there.”
He jerked back.
Setting Briana back a step, he looked into eyes that had grown hazy and waited until she blinked and focused.
“The water? You want to go out in the water?”
Her shimmering glance lingered on the placid surf and then she turned to him.
“Yes.”
“Briana,” Nick caressed her face, pushing back silken hair. He needed a moment to regain control. Her assault of the senses was something he had no defense for.
The outcome was inevitable, though.
He was going to have her.
Every fevered beat of his pulse reminded him of that fact. But he wanted it to be right. He wanted it to be right for her. He wanted to take any shred of pain or indecision in those exotic eyes, and turn them into passion.
But could he ever make Briana feel as damned hot as he did right now? Blanketed in the moon’s blue veil, her body, with its endless legs and high breasts made his head shake in wonder.
“No?” she asked bleakly, misinterpreting the gesture.
Eyes level with hers, he reached for the waistband of his jeans and yanked them and his boxers down, stepping out to stand naked before her. Briana’s eyes widened.
***
Shadowed contours revealed muscles that ev
en now flexed with the effort not to touch her. Nick’s thighs were those of a swimmer, a hiker, a powerful man.
Briana leaned forward and grazed his chest with the tips of her fingers. Her pointer spiraled down the dark trail of hair until she heard his satisfying intake of breath.
Without warning Nick bent and laced an arm behind her knees, hoisting her into his arms. Her heart raced, but she clung to him and felt each thump echoed by his own.
“For the record, Ms. Holt, you are the hottest contractor I’ve ever laid my eyes on.”
She smiled and linked her arms around his neck. “Well, as you are the only geologist I know, I have no comparison, but—” her words were stolen by his mouth.
Aggressively, Nick dipped inside her, using his tongue to mate.
Progress was slow as he paused, either to kiss her or to acclimate her, and she reveled in each intermission.
The sound of water cascading off his legs made her imagine a mist enveloping them. The tepid ocean clashed with the heat of his body and produced a vaporous cocoon. With the sea lapping gently at her dangling toes, she tensed. Immediately, the arms around her constricted.
“Are you okay?” he whispered.
She nodded, and drew his head down so that their mouths could connect.
Nick took another step as the water rippled around his waist. The buoyancy made Briana feel weightless in his arms.
“I’m not going to let you go.”
“You’re not going to have a choice,” she murmured. “I’m going to be glued to you.”
When her probing tongue glanced the base of his ear she felt him tremble. It emboldened her.
“Actually,” she pointed out. “I’ll be so close you’ll practically be inside me.”
“Practically?”
The banter was provocative and managed to release some of the tension.
“I mean it, Briana.” His voice was grave as he cradled her tighter. “You don’t have to do this,” he whispered. “I can tell you in all honesty I would want you anywhere. It doesn’t have to be in the ocean.”
***
Struggling to be freed, Briana shifted until Nick released her legs. The friction of them sliding down his thighs was torture.
With her arms still hooked around his neck, Briana looked up and he jolted at what he saw.
HIGH TIDE Page 13
