Night Swimming

by Laura Moore

  A malevolent grin split his shiny face as he announced the little surprise he had in store for the class. He was giving them a pop test—a frog dissection, which would count for a fifth of the semester’s grade. Sneel would assign partners, one to perform the dissection, the other responsible for taking notes.

  With sick fascination, Sean watched him remove the cooler’s lid. Sneel’s hand delved into it, then withdrew. Between his fingers, he dangled a squishy sealed plastic bag with a greenish, blackish blob trapped inside. At the sight, the class went quiet as the grave.

  Sneel picked up the cooler and carried it around the room. With each formaldehyde-pickled frog he plunked down, he rattled off two students’ names.

  Sean moaned in his sleep, dreading what was coming.

  Sneel stopped and crooked his finger toward the other end of the lab. “Miss Banyon, if you please? I’d like you to take notes while Mr. McDermott dissects the specimen. Oh, and don’t even think about taking the scalpel away from him, Miss Banyon.” His lips thinned in a smile. “I’ll be watching.”

  The dream’s pace shifted, fast-forwarding, and Sean was standing hunched over the lab station, staring at the frog on the metal tray. Legs splayed, it lay waiting to be sliced open with the kind of precision one saw Friday nights, sitting around a table at Benihana.

  Sean began sweating. Not because of the test, but because Lily was right next to him. She hadn’t stood this close in years, certainly not since eighth grade. Sean had seen to that, by doing his damnedest to avoid being anywhere near her. It was the only way to control his body’s treacherous response.

  He picked up the scalpel. And Lily sidled up to him. His indrawn breath captured the warm scent of her skin. Her long hair, which she brushed impatiently over her shoulder, was as fragrant as crisp green apples.

  Sweat popped out on his forehead, while his body temperature became an inferno of teenage lust. Unable to endure the torment, he gritted his teeth. “Back off, would you? Your breath stinks worse than formaldehyde,” Sean heard his sixteen-year-old self saying, “Give me some room here, or I’ll hurl all over you.”

  Lily was as frustratingly obstinate in his dreams as in real life.

  Did she listen to him?

  No, she pressed closer, peering over his shoulder, driving him crazy. Sean couldn’t stop his hands from shaking— couldn’t cut a straight line to save his life.

  But then the miraculous occurred. Sean got to feel the goods.

  In her distraction, Lily had unwittingly positioned herself so her left breast rubbed the rigid muscle of his arm. It was exquisite, the sublime softness that was Lily. The contact electrifying, his whole body jerked—hand and blade with it, plowing through frog guts and organs. Sean let loose a string of curses.

  Then, as though needing visual confirmation of her worst fears, she practically flattened herself against him, craning her neck to inspect the green flesh beneath his knife.

  Sean was past caring about the frog, the dissection, the test, anything. He’d touched Lily’s breast.

  All he craved was more of that earth-shattering sensation. He pivoted and faced her. His hand hovered, his fingers opening instinctively.

  The dissecting knife fell with a metallic clatter as it hit the linoleum floor.

  Lily’s gasp of horrified disbelief echoed throughout the lab. Shock made her eyes enormous. She was staring at the frog. What was left of it. In ragged pieces, it looked like it had suffered a particularly nasty encounter with a lawn mower.

  “My God, you botched the dissection completely!” Lily’s wail replayed with stereophonic clarity. “I told you to be careful! You ruined it on purpose . . . because, because you hate me!” she cried.

  Sean’s mind screamed at the gross injustice of Lily’s accusation. Hate her? She was practically all he ever thought about!

  “I was trying, damn it all!” came his outraged reply. “But how was I supposed to see the friggin’ frog when you were sticking your boobs in my face?”

  Loud laughter erupted around the room. They were suddenly the center of a horseshoe configuration, the entire class abandoning their stations to become avid spectators. They were pointing at him as they laughed. Sean glanced down. To his horror, his right hand still hovered guiltily close to Lily’s breast.

  It dropped like a ten-pound weight as Lily leaped back to the other side of their lab station. Around them, the laughter redoubled.

  The dream wouldn’t release Sean until Lily had her revenge. And Lily Banyon always gave as good as she got. It happened now, just as it had in tenth grade.

  Before Sean could duck, dodge, or hit the deck, Lily had hurtled a green, gut-filled bomb through the air. It found its target, smack dab in the middle of his chest.

  Then Lily was running from the lab, but not before he’d seen her face awash with tears. He was left, covered in green goo and sick with the knowledge that he’d never get another chance to be near her again.

  With a start, Sean sat up, fighting bed sheets tangled like thick ropes around his naked limbs. He looked wildly about the darkened room. With a shudder he dropped his head into the cradle of his hands and wearily closed his eyes.

  As quickly, Lily materialized again. No longer age sixteen, but as she was now. Random images teased him. Of how she’d appeared earlier at the reef meeting, then later, at May Ellen’s. They showed Lily, a woman grown, and a hundred times more dangerous.

  Sean straightened with a curse and swung his legs over the side of the bed without bothering to glance at his watch. He could forget sleep. He knew there was only one remedy for what plagued him.

  A cold shower.

  A cold shower to numb his body. Supplemented by hours of predawn work to barricade his mind. He hoped it would be enough to keep Lily at bay.

  “You’re up early,” Karen observed with a squint and a yawn as she padded her way to the galley-style, walk-in kitchen. “Did you use the pool?” she asked with a glance at Lily’s wet hair.

  It was common knowledge at the Marine Center that Lily was a swimming fanatic.

  “Not likely,” Lily scoffed. “Three strokes and I’d be doing a flip turn. I’ve been in Turkish baths that were bigger.”

  “So how far did you go?”

  “Half an hour out, then I turned back.”

  “Must have been tempting to swim a bit farther and check on the reef regeneration project in the Bahamas,” Karen said with a grin, which morphed into a second yawn.

  Lily laughed and shook her head. “I restrained myself.” She drank the last of her freshly squeezed orange juice and watched as Karen opened the refrigerator to stare blankly into its interior. “There’s sliced fruit in a bowl if you want some.”

  “Oh. Yeah.” Karen rubbed her face sleepily. “Thanks.” She bent, half her body disappearing into the maw of the refrigerator. With a backward shuffle, she withdrew, one arm wrapped around the plastic bowl containing sliced melon, kiwi, and orange. A package of whole-grain organic bread dangled from her fingers. “Want some toast?”

  “No, thanks. I ate enough fruit to keep me going for a while. Anyway, I have to go pound on John’s door.”

  “Ugh,” Karen said as she dropped two slices into the toaster. “I’d pound hard if I were you. He didn’t get back until about three-thirty last night. These walls must be insulated with tissue paper,” she added around a mouthful of melon.

  “He’d better answer the door. We’ve got to haul the gear and the equipment over to the Tangiers. I want to get an early start.” If they left early enough, Sean McDermott might very well miss the boat. Lily hadn’t forgotten his threat to keep tabs on her. He’d have to lose a little sleep to do so.

  Lily rose from her stool at the breakfast bar and turned to face the living room. The apartment’s ultramodern look had been radically altered. The place now resembled a FedEx warehouse, boxes aligned in rows. Box-filled or empty, the only thing Lily liked about the apartment was the view.

  On the far side of the living room ther
e was a wall of ceiling to floor windows, which looked over a crescent-shaped bay. The bay demarcated Coral Beach’s northernmost point. From the fifteenth floor, the palm trees and fine ivory sand were graceful sweeps of a painter’s brush, curling around and embracing the limitless expanse of sparkling blue sea.

  The sight of all that glorious, shifting blue filled Lily with impatience. She longed to be reimmersed in that watery vastness. She turned to Karen. “Can you be ready in twenty minutes?”

  “You bet.”

  “Time to wake Sleeping Beauty, then.”

  It took longer than twenty minutes to rouse a bloodshoteyed John Granger. Her research assistant had obviously found some worthwhile entertainment in Coral Beach. Deciding to take pity on John, Lily left him at the condo, his sole task to stand guard over the boxes in the condo’s parking lot. It was easier to drive the equipment over with Karen than badger a hungover John Granger. And Lily didn’t want her mood spoiled this early in the morning— not on day one.

  Today they’d begin diving, exploring the reef. It was the most exciting day of all, when one’s impressions were freshest, when the exotic colors and shapes of the coral reef and its extraordinary inhabitants jumped and waved, a welcoming parade of brilliant-colored flags and shapes buffeted by the current. As always, Lily couldn’t wait to lose herself in the magic of the spectacle.

  Still, a sense of unease dogged her, setting her on edge.

  Would Sean McDermott actually come and dive with them? And what if he did? This was her domain. She was the scientist and this was her project. She’d be cool, calm, and collected.

  The only problem with that scenario was, Lily seemed to have forgotten how to be cool, calm, or collected when Sean McDermott was near.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  It was early, even for the marina types. As Sean walked along the maze of wooden planking to where the Tangiers was moored, his footsteps thudded in steady rhythm to the accompaniment of short, metallic pings of halyards banging against sailboats’ masts, the low, drawn-out screech of hulls rubbing against fenders as the waves slapped them. Against the soft pinkish gray of the morning sky, the Tangiers’s lights glowed like a golden beacon.

  Owen Rafern, the captain hired by the Parks Department to ferry Lily and her team to the reef for the duration of the study, was at the stern of the Tangiers.

  He called out as Sean approached. “Mornin’, Sean. Dave left a message saying you might be joining the expedition.” Owen Rafern’s nostrils flared and he sniffed the air. “That bacon and egg on a bagel I smell?”

  “Direct from Norma’s.” Sean tossed Owen a brown paper bag. Norma Jean’s was a diner that dished up cholesterol and sold cold six packs to go. It was a favorite of the harbor crowd. Rafern’s girth attested to his steadfast devotion. “A welcoming present, Owen. Hope you don’t mind my tagging along.”

  “Not if you bring these, I don’t,” Owen replied grinning as he extracted the tinfoil-wrapped bagel and crumpled the paper bag into a ball.

  Sean swung his large, nylon duffel bag, which held his scuba gear, onto the deck, then passed his air tank to Owen, who grabbed it with one hand.

  “Dr. Banyon and her team show up yet?”

  Owen nodded vigorously, his jaw working fried egg and bacon. A jerk of Owen’s thumb had Sean noticing the boxes stacked against the pilothouse. Next to them, two air tanks and two bulging gear bags completed the picture.

  “Should be back any second now,” Owen managed at last. “Banyon seemed in a hurry to weigh anchor.”

  “I bet,” Sean murmured dryly. He had figured Lily would try and ditch him.

  “Fair amount of equipment they’ve got,” Owen remarked. “I’ll be interested to hear what this Dr. Banyon thinks about the reef.” Owen scratched his grizzled jaw reflectively and continued, “Don’t know whether I care to have any restrictions put on the reef, though. Seems like lately, everywhere you turn there are more dang rules and regulations.” He slanted a look at Sean. “What’s your stance on the issue, Mr. Mayor?”

  Sean glanced at the sky. “Little early for politics, Owen. Besides, I do believe the experts have arrived.”

  Owen looked past Sean. “Yep,” he confirmed to the sound of car doors slamming. “Got a guy with them this time. Must be one of those women’s libbers, letting Banyon and the girl carry those boxes by themselves.”

  “That must be it,” Sean agreed blandly and jumped onto the trawler’s deck as the others approached. It was a preemptive move on Sean’s part. It’d be damned hard for Lily to convince Owen to cast off and leave him stranded on the dock if he were already on board the Tangiers.

  Sean was there, waiting, as she’d more than half expected. The apprehension that had plagued Lily vanished in a rush of excitement, the thrill of anticipation.

  It made her realize how intimidated she’d been by Sean yesterday, by the sense of power, of easy command he exuded. But today things would be different. This was her world. The sea, its underwater cities and exotic citizens her familiars.

  Sean was the trespasser.

  He was standing on the deck next to Owen, his legs slightly apart, arms crossed. From this distance it was hard to read his expression. His body language, however, said it all: If she wanted to do battle, here was a strong, implacable rival.

  Lily leaped onto the fiberglass deck, then swayed easily, her body following the rocking pitch of the trawler as John and Karen boarded, too. She was dressed in what she jokingly referred to as her “field attire”: ancient canvas tennis shoes with holes big enough for her toes to peek through and wiggle in the Florida morning air; cutoffs and a faded cotton T-shirt that were equally old and disreputable. A floppy canvas fishing hat covering her short blond hair completed the look. She was a walking fashion disaster and loved it—usually. Seeing Sean, she abruptly wished her ensemble looked a little less like a composite of Salvation Army rejects.

  He, too, was wearing shorts, navy surfer shorts, and a gray T-shirt. The casual attire suited him as well as the elegant jacket and tie he’d had on yesterday. Better, she amended with a glance at his bare legs. They were as muscled as ever, tan with golden hair softening the sculpted lines of his calves, the corded muscles of his quads. Thank God she was wearing her mirrored sunglasses. They hid the direction her eyes had taken.

  Since overhearing Ferrucci talking to Sean, Lily’s instincts screamed that she should be wary of Sean. He certainly must have ulterior motives for wanting to supervise her study so closely. Now, however, she had another reason to be on her guard: her frightening vulnerability whenever she came face-to-face with him.

  Sean fixed his gaze on the distorted mini-image of himself in Lily’s sunglasses. Otherwise it’d be too easy to spend the rest of the morning salivating over her mile-long legs. In a state that teemed with sunburned, over-tanned bodies, Lily’s fair skin gleamed like the finest marble.

  “Great hat,” he heard himself say. A truly brilliant opener, but anything was better than, Hey, Lily, I realize you hate my guts, but would you be willing to let me drag you below deck, lay you on top of the cabin’s table, and trail my tongue over your legs for the rest of the morning?

  “Thanks. It does the job,” Lily said. She would not be so ridiculous as to worry about how unflattering the dratted hat was simply because Sean had remarked on it. They were on a research boat, for Pete’s sake.

  She turned to the trawler’s captain. “We’re all set now, Owen. Let’s take her out to the site. John, stow your dive gear over there, next to ours. Then if you’d give Owen a hand with the lines? Karen, you can check that the tanks are secured properly.”

  “I’ll help get the lines with John, Owen,” Sean offered. Lily wasn’t the only one in authority here. “John, do you want to take the fore or aft?”

  “Aft,” John replied, choosing the shortest distance from where he stood. He walked away, gear bag and tank in hand, his gait careful, as though he were walking on egg shells.

  “Oh, brother,” Karen exclaimed, watch
ing John’s snail-like progress. The beads on her braids clicked as she shook her head. “He’s going to feel like crap when he gets underwater,” she predicted. Then she, too, moved off to ready the Tangiers, leaving Sean and Lily alone.

  “Something the matter, Lily?” Sean asked. “You seem a trifle annoyed.”

  She recovered quickly. “Oh, no,” she replied. “I’m just surprised, that’s all.” Head cocked to the side, she studied him.

  “Surprised? About what?”

  “I’m surprised you’re here.” Her mouth curved upward.

  “I warned you I’d be joining you.” He ignored the heat that spread inside him at the sight of her smile.

  “That’s just it.” Her smile grew wider. “A politician who keeps his word—what a remarkable aberration in the species.”

  “How could I have forgotten that keen wit of yours?” he marveled. “Yeah, I’m full of surprises. Might want to remember that.” Then, throwing caution to the wind, he let his eyes roam slowly over her, lingering. She’d have to be blind not to see the hunger in them.

  Which she clearly wasn’t. She retreated a step. He followed, his longer legs closing the distance, until his body almost brushed hers.

  That cool composure of Lily’s was unraveling, no matter how hard she struggled to pretend otherwise. The signs were there, in the fine trembling of her limbs, in the flush that stole over her porcelain smooth cheeks. Fierce satisfaction filled Sean at her involuntary reaction.

  He dipped his head until his lips hovered, a soft whisper away. “Lily?”

  “Yes?” There was a husky catch to her voice.

  Sean’s fingers reached up and traced the rosy bloom on her cheek. Was it the sweet flush of desire that made her skin so soft? he wondered, his eyes and fingers memorizing every detail, every sensation. God, he’d die for a taste of her. But Sean denied himself the pleasure. He raised his head, putting distance between himself and his greatest temptation, and forced himself to lower his hand.