by Amy Knupp
They walked down the half flight of stairs to the sand and headed north, parallel to the waterline. When they reached the concrete seawall that protected one of the older motel properties, Cale gestured to it. “It’s quieter here and there’s a wall to lean against. That okay?”
“Perfect.”
Rachel slid her back down the rough wall and sat on the cool, dry sand. Cale sat next to her, maybe an inch away, close enough that she could feel the heat coming off his body. The sensation, combined with his faint, masculine scent, was responsible for the goose bumps up her arms and left her with a slightly heady feeling.
“Thanks for meeting me tonight,” Rachel said between licks of marshmallow. “I needed to get out of the house like you wouldn’t believe.”
“Issues with your mom?”
“Not really. She was heading to bed.” She debated mentioning the whole bedroom issue and decided if anyone would understand, Cale would. “When I woke up this evening, I discovered my well-meaning mother has decided to open the door.” She emphasized the last two words to convey their significance.
“Which door?” Cale asked, crunching his first bite of cone already.
“The door to our bedroom. Mine and Noelle’s.”
“Ah,” he said, understanding registering in his tone. “It was closed this morning when I was there, right?”
“It’s been closed since I’ve been home. Since...probably since the night Noelle died.” Her throat threatened to close up as the memories of that night tried to force their way in. When she could breathe, she added, “That probably sounds twisted, I guess.”
Cale chuckled quietly. “Not so much. I get it.”
“I’d hoped my mom would have gone through everything long ago, before I moved back home. I couldn’t believe it when I discovered she hadn’t touched a single thing.”
“Probably just as hard for her, don’t you think?”
“I have no idea, to be honest. I don’t even recognize the person she’s become, but that’s a whole different story.”
Neither of them spoke for a couple of minutes as they worked on their cones. The waves roared on, but Rachel hardly noticed them for once.
“It’s just a room,” she finally said emphatically.
“It’s her room. Full of her stuff.” Cale’s simple understanding sent a shot of warmth through her. Made it easier to say more.
“The other day, I worked up the courage to open the door and tried to go in.” She licked her ice cream several times and attempted to focus on the richness of the cocoa flavor, the crunchiness of the nuts.
“How’d that go?”
“I couldn’t do it. But I looked inside for a few minutes. Saw all her stuff just where she’d left it. That’s...progress.” She scoffed at herself. “Like I said, twisted.”
“Twisted,” Cale repeated. “Bet I can outtwist you any day.”
“Yeah?” she asked, catching an ice cream drip on her cone before it landed in her lap. “How’s that?”
He took his time answering, taking several bites of cone first. When his cone was half-gone, he tilted his head back, groaned and shook his head. “You have a room you’ve been avoiding. I have a whole condominium.”
“You live with your sister, right?”
He shoved the rest of the cone in his mouth and finished it. “Yep. That’s the twisted part. I have a condo of my own—Noelle helped me pick it out for our future together. A condo right on the beach, that a lot of people would kill for, and I live with my sister in her dinky two-bedroom apartment in the middle of town.”
As Rachel tried to absorb that, a drop of cold ice cream hit her leg. She licked from the bottom to the top of the cone to prevent more drips and dabbed at her leg with her finger.
“I remember Noelle talking about condos. The one you bought is on the first floor, right? Opens right out to the sand?”
She didn’t really need to ask. She remembered it as if it’d been last week, not two years ago. Noelle had foregone email and text messages—their usual means of communication—and had called Rachel the day Cale had made an offer on the condo. She’d been so excited she could hardly get the news out. She’d always wanted to live right on the beach. Rachel had been thrilled for her sister, honestly. And yet, at the same time, the announcement had been almost as painful as the night Noelle had called to share the news of her engagement. When Cale had bought the condo, he and Noelle had not yet gotten around to setting a wedding date, allowing Rachel to continue to play the denial game. But buying a home, even if Noelle’s name hadn’t been on the mortgage—that had hit Rachel hard, and she’d had to work to bury yet another bout of disappointment. In the end, she had, because she truly wanted her sister to be happy as much as she wanted her own happiness.
“It is,” Cale answered. “Up north of here. It’s a small, older building near Miller Street. I lucked into a fixer-upper unit on the first floor, with sand six feet from our door. Noelle swore she was going to sleep on the patio once she moved in—which we planned for after we got married.” His voice became gravelly with sadness and, without thinking, Rachel reached out and touched his thigh just above his knee where his shorts ended. She relished the texture of his light-colored hair and the warmth of his skin beneath her fingers.
He was quiet for a bit, and neither of them moved, except for Rachel’s continued attempt to consume her ice cream before she wore it.
“The unit I bought has so much potential,” he finally continued, “but it needs a lot of work. I fully intended to do it myself. Even started some of it. And then...”
She didn’t need to ask what the and then was.
Rachel quickly finished her ice cream and licked her fingers clean. The combination of the sea breeze and the ice cream made her shiver, so she scooted toward him, closing the small distance between them.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
He seemed lost in his thoughts as he started running his fingers up and down the back of her hand, still resting on his leg. “I’m going to get back to it. As soon as I finish some projects for my parents.”
“Good for you.”
The movement of his fingers on her hand was mesmerizing. The innocent motion awoke a hunger in her, a yearning she hadn’t felt for...ages. If ever. Not just a physical wanting, but more. She wanted to ease his sadness. Wanted him to ease hers. The strength of her need to become closer to him, emotionally and otherwise, at that moment, was overpowering. She closed her eyes and waited for the intensity to die down before she embarrassed herself.
“Have you been in your condo since she died?” Rachel asked in a voice barely above a whisper, unsure if he could hear her over the continuous roar of the waves.
He sucked in the sea air, his chest expanding up against her side. “Once.” The word was hoarse, croaklike. “About a month afterward. It was still too fresh. Awful. All I could think about as I looked at the partially stripped-out kitchen was the way she’d stood in that room and talked so animatedly about the project. Her excitement about every little decision we had yet to make, because according to her, planning it all out in advance would be too much of a chore. It’d ruin the ‘journey.’”
“She was a seat-of-the-pants girl all the way,” Rachel said with a bittersweet smile.
Cale ceased tracing her fingers and took her hand in his instead.
“Let me guess,” he said. “You’re a planner, one hundred percent.”
“I try to be. Noelle, God love her, used to make me nuts with her inability to even plan the next day in advance.”
“There were downsides,” he agreed. “Like planning a trip or, say, a wedding. I sometimes wondered if she was going to show up one day with some crazy idea of getting married that weekend or something.”
“You never knew with her. When we were seniors in high school, she convinced me to drop everything one weekend and drive to Houston with her to power-shop. No hotel reservations, no idea where we’d end up. She loved it. It freaked me out.”
Cale laughed quietly, a deep rumble in his chest. “At times it was challenging, but I did love her spontaneity and playfulness.”
“Yeah,” Rachel said, trying not to think about how much she herself didn’t even begin to embody those traits. Instead, she let herself recall the Houston shopping trip in more detail, which had turned out to be one of the best weekends the two sisters had ever spent together. They’d gotten makeovers at one of the department-store makeup counters, had gone to dinner at a fancy, high-priced restaurant as they’d tried to act older than they were. Once they had found a hotel—a four-star one because Noelle had insisted they deserved to splurge—the fun had continued. Noelle, being daring, flirty Noelle, had introduced herself to a couple of brothers they’d run into in the lobby, and the four of them had gone swimming and then sat in the hot tub for the rest of the evening. It had led to Rachel’s first kiss, something that never would have happened without her sister’s spirit of adventure. “God, I miss her.”
Cale squeezed her hand and put his other arm around her, pulling her closer to his side. The movement jolted her from her reverie, in a good way. She normally didn’t let herself think back on specific memories of Noelle very often. It was too damn painful.
She looked up at him with a vague smile of gratitude. His gaze met hers, so close she could see the lighter flecks in his eyes, and she was suddenly unable to drag her eyes away. Instead, she was drawn in deeper, lured into glancing at his lips, and that was all it took for her to forget who she was and who he was. She lifted her head and pressed her lips to his.
CHAPTER TEN
CALE SHOULD HAVE been shocked at Rachel’s bold move. Maybe he was, for an instant, but that was quickly swept aside by a wave of heat that rushed through him at the feel of Rachel’s soft, sweet-tasting lips on his.
Holy shit, the girl was more assertive than he ever would have imagined. There was nothing tentative about her kiss—she slid her hand around to the back of his neck and pulled him closer, not that he was trying to get away. He was taken by her way of going after what she wanted full-throttle.
The sexy little sound she made struck him deep and low, got his blood pumping to parts that hadn’t had any action in a damn long time. Her tropical, coconut scent surrounded him as he ran his fingers through her hair. At the touch of her tongue to his, his need ratcheted higher, and he wished her body was closer to his, wanted to press his into hers and fit their bodies together. As soon as he had the thought, he felt her leg sliding over his lap, her torso turning toward his, breasts pressing into his chest, arms winding around his neck. He ran his hands over her greedily, learning her curves, exploring the softness of her skin by sliding his fingers beneath her shirt.
Rachel’s fervor was a turn-on in itself and, again, surprising, given the lack of self-confidence he knew she harbored in situations outside of her job. Once again, so opposite of her sister. Noelle had been plenty passionate in bed, but she’d always been a shy, hesitant kisser and rarely one to make the first move.
Abruptly, he pulled away, turned his head, closing his eyes and swearing to himself. Rachel nipped the corner of his lips lightly then eased back enough to peg him with a questioning look.
Cale shook his head minutely. “This is too weird.”
When he opened his eyes, he caught the look on Rachel’s face—embarrassment, just for a moment, and then regret. She swallowed as her lids lowered, and then she quickly climbed off him and stood, leaving him sitting on the ground alone. “Yeah.” She glanced around at the waves, then up the beach and down it at the various groups of people in the distance, as she took a step back from him. “I...I’m gonna go.” She dared a look down at him, where he still sat, stunned at himself.
He knew he should say something. Tell her...what? Something. At the very least, he should walk her back to her car, not that there was any safety concern, but just to be a gentleman. Before he could force something out or make himself move, though, she nodded once and walked back the way they’d come from.
Cale let her go, too caught up in the maelstrom inside him as his heart rate gradually slowed.
How in the name of God could he kiss his fiancée’s twin sister? What the hell was wrong with him?
* * *
RACHEL KNEW THE CHANCES of Buck being at the boathouse at 11:32 p.m. were next to nothing, but she drove there anyway. If she could only get out on the bay, paddle all the way to the middle, where nothing could get at her, no thoughts, no guilt, no humiliation...
The gravel lot was deserted as expected, but she pulled in and parked right next to the dark, closed-up boathouse, stubbornly ignoring reality. She only vaguely felt like a criminal when she rattled the door against its padlock to make sure it was indeed locked. She knocked. Just in case...
There was, of course, no reply. There was no sound whatsoever. Barring her disappointment, the silence of the area in general was a welcome respite after the nonstop hammering of the waves on the shore at the other side of the island.
God, she just needed to breathe.
The placid, mirrorlike water beckoned to her, even though all she could see of it from that distance was a dark void. She could see the lights of the mainland reflecting on the far side, though, and as she walked closer, the calm surface of the water came into focus just feet away. Without hesitating, she walked out onto the old, wooden dock.
Down the way about three quarters of a mile, she could see the bright security lights shining at the marina. To the north, all was dark, with the exception of a couple of restaurants and a few houses scattered in the distance, including the one where she’d met Cale. Where Noelle had met Cale.
Rachel got down on her belly and stretched out on the dock with her head propped on her arms at the very edge. The water was high—only a few inches of space separated the wood planks from it. It was as close to being in her kayak as she could get for now, and being facedown above the water made her feel as if she was floating in the air. Unfortunately, that wasn’t enough to take her away from what had just transpired.
Pressing her face into her arms, she wished with all she was worth that she could hide. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, unable to protect herself from the guilt that closed in on her from every direction, making it impossible to get a full breath.
She’d never told a soul about the heart-crushing, awful guilt that had plagued her for every single day of the past year and a half. It was something she had to face alone. She deserved it.
Rachel had no illusions that, even as a medical resident—heck, even if she’d been a full-blown doctor—she could have physically saved her sister from the asthma attack that had killed her. Not without being there at the onset. But their argument beforehand, the one that had sent Noelle running out of the house so fast she’d left her purse and her inhaler behind...
She slammed a mental door down on that thought, imagining the sound of a metal jail cell clanging shut to accompany it. Nausea boiled up in her gut, and she felt light-headed even though she was lying flat and unmoving. Fighting to regulate her breathing, she dangled her arm over the side of the dock and dipped her fingers into the cool water. But instead of being an escape for her as it was when she was in her boat, the water now felt threatening, unsafe. When she was in her kayak, she felt as if she was part of the bay, connected to it, but here, six inches up, she felt separate. Unwelcome. As if the water was living and breathing...and blaming.
She pushed herself up abruptly, distancing herself from the inky vastness of the bay. She hugged her knees to her chest, the panicked feeling that the guilt always brought subsiding slowly.
Unbidden, Cale’s face appeared in her mind’s eye. His horrified look as she’d stood before him. The silence.
Embarrassment seared her, made her cheeks burn even as the cool breeze blew over them. She’d practically climbed on him, acted like a desperate loser who couldn’t wait to get it on. And she’d been so humiliatingly into it, loving the sweet taste of him, drinking in the way he k
issed, treasuring the feel of his hands on her skin. The thrill that had jolted through her when she’d realized he was turned on, as well, when she’d felt his hardness against her... She’d been shameless in that instant. And now she was overpowered by shame.
Her sister’s fiancé. The man her sister would have been married to at this very second. The man her sister had died loving.
She couldn’t even fathom how she’d made Cale feel by throwing herself at him.
Never again.
Cale was going to be in her life because of the ties between them—the committee she’d committed to, the hospital and, yes, his position as the man who’d planned to spend his life with her sister. Avoiding him would be cowardly, but she wasn’t going to seek him out. Wouldn’t be calling him and asking him for ice cream again. And she sure as hell wouldn’t be touching him and kissing him as if she had a right to.
* * *
WHAT CALE REALLY NEEDED was a nice three-alarm fire to occupy his mind. An explosion rocking a deserted factory, maybe, or a mainland warehouse burning to the ground. Something huge that required all his concentration.
As he sat on one of the loungers on the fire station’s beachside patio and stared out at an oil tanker light on the dark, indistinguishable horizon, the silence of the fire department’s alarm system seemed to mock him.
He’d spent the past twenty-four hours beating himself up for the freak thing that had happened last night with Rachel, and he had yet to work through anything so that it was okay in his mind. There was no way to make any of it—kissing Rachel and liking every last second of it, letting her walk away embarrassed—okay.
He glanced through the wall of windows to the station’s common area and realized the baseball game the rest of the crew had been watching must have ended. The TV had been turned off and the room was deserted except for Clay Marlow, who sat on one of the ugly plaid sofas studying for his hazmat certification test. It was after midnight. Most likely, the rest of the guys had retired to their rooms to try to get some shut-eye since it’d been a slow night so far. It was Cale’s chance to slip inside without having to talk to anyone.
