Pink Satin

by Jennifer Greene

Over the suit she pulled on a lemon-yellow terry-cloth top and navy shorts, then donned sneakers and a lemon-and-navy scarf. She fed Truce, stuffed a towel into a beach bag, threw open the door to her apartment and stopped dead.

  Ryan was standing there, leaning negligently against the doorjamb as if he’d been waiting in that same spot for four and a half years. His long body was casually attired in white jeans and a loose short-sleeved black shirt, open at the collar. His grin, impossibly, was both lazy and impatient. “Your meeting go okay?”

  “Yes. Fine,” she said, bewildered.

  “Exactly okay? The dude didn’t give you any trouble?”

  “Ryan. Of course not. For heaven’s sa-”

  “Good. Let’s go find my ocean,” he said.

  If she didn’t need a keeper, why did he seem to have the job?

  Chapter Seven

  “ Your ocean?” Greer repeated with amusement some hours later, as they were driving down the central-and only-road along the Cape Hatteras National Seashore.

  “All right, all right, you can claim a little shoreline.” Ryan shot her a grin.

  “That sounded grudging.”

  “I grew up believing the Atlantic was mine. Your coastline may be a little different from Maine’s, but I’d still swear that’s my baby.”

  “Possessive about the little things, aren’t you?” Greer made one more vain attempt to adjust her scarf so the offshore wind wouldn’t blow the hair into her eyes. Giving up, she pulled the thing off and tossed it on the dashboard.

  “Better,” Ryan approved.

  “You’d think so. I can’t see.”

  “Irrelevant. You look more like a sexy mermaid with your hair going every which way and the sea behind you.”

  Greer shook her head in despair. “No one’s ever accused me of having scaly legs before.”

  She had to shout. When they’d reached the coast, Ryan had opened all the windows, liberally applied his foot to the accelerator and turned up the radio. Barry Manilow claimed he couldn’t smile without them. Greer had always been a sucker for Manilow’s love songs.

  And she was getting a glimpse of a very different Ryan today. His lazy grin never stopped; he clearly wasn’t going to allow a serious thought to surface; and he was radiating a Huck-Finn-playing-hooky kind of charm.

  Scrub-covered sand dunes whipped past them, bordering the road on both sides. Every once in a while they drove over a low hill and suddenly caught a glimpse of endless gray-green waters and foaming breakers. A puckish wind gathered enough momentum to push the clouds to someone else’s horizon; other than that, the day was impossibly calm.

  For Greer, work, people and crank callers had disappeared. And McCullough, she thought dismally, was very badly under her skin-and getting worse. Few people could drag her near the water these days, and yet she hadn’t hesitated to accept the invitation from Ryan, and worse, she had enjoyed every minute of it.

  “…didn’t even live that close to the water, but close enough. It was never sufficiently warm for swimming-but we swam anyway. And we caught hake and trapped lobsters and any other sea creatures stupid enough to come near a half dozen noisy kids…” Ryan threw up a hand at her patient-saint expression. “All right. All right. I’ve been talking too much. You can have your turn.”

  “I just thought I’d point out that the North Carolina coast has a few goodies to offer that you Maine derelicts never heard of.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “My ocean,” Greer said firmly, “has got it all over yours. For one thing, there’ve been zillions of shipwrecks. You can hardly walk the sands anywhere around here without coming across a relic or two, memories of lost treasures and history. This whole coast was famous for its pirates, you know.”

  “Which is why you’re dragging me all the way down to Okracoke Island, when we could have stopped anywhere for the last hour?”

  “Hush,” Greer roared, and then mildly continued, “Okracoke is sacred. Blackbeard’s old lair. Although I’m convinced that as a group the pirates were terribly misunderstood.”

  Ryan burst out laughing.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You. And misunderstood pirates.”

  “They were.”

  “Only to you, Brown Eyes.”

  She was about to explain indignantly, but didn’t immediately have the time. Within fifteen minutes, they were on the small ferry to the island, cars packed in front of and behind them. The little white boat curled and veered around endless channel markers, reminders of just how treacherous these shallow inlet waters could be.

  But treacherous was hardly the mood of the day. Greer’s senses were busy, soaking in the flavor of the windswept, sun-drenched waters. Islands no bigger than a minute popped up from nowhere, coated with so many terns and gulls you couldn’t see the sand. The mood was wild and free. A hot breeze came and went, and the air smelled fresh, sharp, and as if exhilaration were a component of the oxygen. Greer smiled, and kept on smiling as Ryan carefully drove off the ferry a few minutes later and then zoomed inland.

  From the look of it, the ancient village of Okracoke might not have changed in three hundred years. The harbor was chock-full of swaying, paint-peeling boats, nets and buckets were strewn on the wooden walkways, and houses clustered close to the water, all watched over in benevolent silence by a tall white lighthouse. In minutes, they were past the town, and suddenly there was nothing. A sand-swept road without people or houses, and endless green waters beckoning on both sides of them, inviting them to enjoy.

  Ryan pulled the car off the road and stopped. They paused thirty seconds to look at each other and then moved. They tossed their shoes in the back; shucked off their clothes; grabbed towels; and the race for the water didn’t stop until their bare feet touched sand. Then, obviously, they had to dig their toes into the sun-warmed sand and savor a little.

  Ryan draped an arm loosely around Greer’s shoulder, and they wandered at a much lazier pace to the water. Waves were thundering in, scooping up fistfuls of sand and hurling them back into the depths. Beyond the breakers was a submerged sandbar, the covering blanket of water pale green in the sunlight, barely wrinkled from the touch of the breeze.

  “Nice?” Ryan demanded.

  “Nice,” Greer agreed.

  They walked. Shells speckled the high-tide line, sprinkling the sand with mauve and blue and sun-bleached white. Driftwood was scattered everywhere, sometimes in gnarled shapes that almost looked like people, but there was no one else around. High on the dunes, wild grape and sea oats waved sporadically, less to a wind than in the rhythm of the day.

  In sheer laziness, they finally collapsed on the sand, utterly content simply to close their eyes and relax. The sun’s rays soaked into their skin like warm magic, not too hot. The sun wouldn’t have dared be too hot. Obviously, this was their beach, their sun, their day.

  Not until then had Greer really been physically conscious of Ryan, of his long brown body and the bareness of it. His swimming trunks were relics, frayed and once blue. They didn’t cover much. He had a walker’s legs, his thighs angular, distinctly male. His chest was smooth and gold, his small male nipples flat and dark. There was softness to his skin, but not to his body.

  She was aware that she’d chosen the wrong swimsuit to wear around him. Perhaps, though, no swimsuit had been invented that was safe to wear around Ryan. Too quickly, his eyes had darted from her right thigh to the left, catching that minuscule error in Marie’s design…only leaving Greer feeling that he didn’t find it an error at all. She lay on her back with her eyes closed and tried to ignore that building physical awareness, but it was difficult.

  He was slowly, intently pouring sand around her navel and then brushing it off. “You promised me some history,” he accused. “I don’t see anything that looks anything like Blackbeard’s lair. In fact, there’s nothing here at all.”

  Greer opened one eye. “That’s the problem with you Maine people. No imagination. We’re sitting right in the mid
dle of his living room.”

  “Ah.” Ryan leaned back and threw an arm over his eyes with a contented sigh. “It’s coming to me, slowly. The spirit of plunder and pillage.”

  Greer chuckled. “You were born with that, McCullough.”

  He squinted open one eye. “There isn’t a soul around. I’d watch what you say, if I were you.”

  “Are you going to listen to me tell about the pirates or just continue to harass me?”

  “If I have my choice-”

  “You don’t.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “All these coves and inlets made ideal pirate hideouts. The cargo ships had deep hulls that grounded in shallow water, where the pirates had cutters, swift and maneuverable anywhere. They could hide easily, ducking into the inlets, or they could chase a cargo ship into unfamiliar waters. Diamond Shoals, for example…” Touch him, Greer. The impulse surged through her like a wanton breeze that didn’t want to settle down. His eyes were closed. His navel was an innie. She loved navels that were innies. There were specks of sand on his chest that needed brushing away. His skin was sun-warmed; she wanted to feel it.

  “Are we getting to the misunderstood pirates yet?”

  “Yes, you patronizing oaf.”

  She was afraid. She’d been afraid from the instant she’d met him. He was a boldly sexual man, different from any man she’d been close to, and the vibrations were…wrong. But not at this instant. Just once, she kept thinking. Just once…

  “Pirates have acquired this terribly unfair reputation,” Greer continued absently. “Exactly that plunder-and-pillage thing. I’m sure they were nasty enough on the high seas, but when they got into town I’ve always had the feeling they turned into genuine good guys. I’ll even bet the women lined up when a pirate ship came in. Where else were the ladies going to get their tea and sugar? And they would have been struck with broadcloth and homespun cotton if the pirates hadn’t brought in taffetas and silks and laces. And the pirates would hardly have risked alienating the coastal people. Who else would they have sold their goodies to?”

  Again, Ryan opened one lazy eye. “Perhaps the women did line up when they saw a black flag flying. But just maybe they wanted to get a good look at a romantic devil with a black eye patch.”

  The breeze combed through her hair like the caress of a lover. The sun beamed down, so warm, so soothing. Something about the island was infectious. At least the strangest fever seemed to be infecting Greer, because she couldn’t stop looking at Ryan. She couldn’t stop wondering what his sun-warmed body would feel like close to hers.

  “Greer?”

  “Some romance. Most of the pirates had scurvy, scars and VD. I figure even the most man-hungry woman alive had to be pretty desperate,” Greer said prosaically.

  Ryan burst out laughing, and lifted his head to look at her. “Hey,” he said suddenly, his voice soft.

  He felt it, the change in her. An openness, an alluring wistfulness in her eyes, a spark of something free and burning and yet wary. Her eyes shuttered closed just that quickly.

  She needed touching, his lady. Badly. And he so badly wanted to touch her, but it hadn’t proved that simple. Not from the instant she’d stripped down to that simple black swimsuit. It was modest, as two-piece suits went, but then he hadn’t understood until he’d seen her naked that no swimsuit was ever going to look modest on Greer. Her breasts were high and firm and full, her skin satiny, her hips gently rounded, her legs long and beautifully shaped. Tantalizingly shaped. Woman. All of her was Eve, the tease of lush curves and softness.

  He wasn’t in the mood for a little touch. He craved all of her. And now.

  Abruptly, he stood up and grabbed her hand. “In the water with you.”

  “Wait a-”

  “Insto-pronto. We’ll swim past the waves and have a race for the sandbar.”

  She tried to regain that lighthearted feeling they’d shared earlier, laughing with him as he tugged her unwilling body to the shore. “I forgot to tell you, you’ve only got a wader here. No marathon swimmer. Ryan. Wait-”

  “No waiting.” His voice was teasing, yet it carried an undertone of tension. He needed, now, to get cool.

  Water splashed and surged around her bare ankles, and Greer stiffened. “Ryan-”

  “It’s not that far. No more nonsense, woman.”

  “I don’t swim.”

  His jaw dropped along with his hand. “You what? You live this close to the ocean and you don’t-”

  “Swim.”

  ***

  “I used to be able to,” Greer said uneasily less than an hour later as she stared down into a placid aquamarine swimming pool. “As a kid, I was even into fancy diving. And that’s exactly where I got into trouble. I was doing a double back-flip off the board-”

  “In,” Ryan said firmly from the waist-deep water in the shallow end. He stretched out both arms to reach her, his fingers motioning impatiently.

  “And I moved wrong, hitting the water on my back. I conked out-it must have been only seconds. When I woke up, I was underwater and I thought I was dead. Anyway. Ever since then-”

  “In.”

  She gave him a sour look. “What if I just plain completely change my mind about this?” she asked casually.

  “Then we’ll go home, foolish one. Obviously. But an hour ago, you were embarrassed as hell that you couldn’t swim. Of course, the ocean’s not the place to teach anyone to swim, but this will do beautifully.” He motioned impatiently to her again.

  “I would just like to discuss this a little longer.”

  “You’ve been discussing it for over fifteen years. The lady should have known enough to get back on the bike after she fell off.”

  “I got on the damn bike after I fell off,” she said dryly. “This is different.”

  “It is not.”

  “It is. Oh, hell!” She could have delivered a long dissertation about how the reaction of teenage boys to her figure in a swimsuit had been another reason why she’d never developed her swimming talents, but she didn’t. She could never have told Ryan that; she’d never shared those embarrassing moments with anyone.

  She slid her legs into the pool and then jumped, feeling the cool, clear water immediately rush and enclose her flesh to her ribs, but no higher. She dipped down, just to where her breasts would be modestly covered by water. She’d forgotten how delicious that feeling of weightlessness was.

  The other resort guests should have been enjoying the pool, but most of them were sitting in lawn chairs absorbing the sun. Greer was totally unfamiliar with the resort. Ryan had stopped on the cape at the first place with a pool. The owners had accepted a bill from him for their right to use it.

  The man could move incredibly fast when he was in the mood. And at the moment, his arms very swiftly, protectively enclosed her. She shivered free from that touch, staring at the droplets of water on his chest. And then up to his face. His hair was slicked back, wet from his dive, and for some reason his eyes looked bluer right now. Endless blue, a captivating sky blue. And those eyes wouldn’t let her alone.

  “This is silly, you know,” she said with an embarrassed laugh. “First of all, I’m fine in the shallow end, and it’s not as if I don’t remember the strokes. I really did know how to swim once.”

  “Feel comfortable enough to prove it?”

  “Of course.” She raced him the width of the shallow end and then again, and then again. She was rusty and slower than molasses and increasingly annoyed with herself. One really didn’t forget how to swim. And it had been so long…she’d forgotten how deliciously buoyant water was, what it felt like to slice through that smooth coolness and just savor the sensuality of the water. On the last lap, because it was the only possible way to beat him, she dipped her head under, felt a moment’s uncertain panic, and swam the last of it underwater.

  She should have known she couldn’t win. He was grinning, languidly relaxed with his arms outstretched at his sides, when she surged up with wa
ter dripping in her hair and eyes. “Feel good?”

  She nodded.

  “Not scared?”

  She brushed the hair away from her eyes and tugged up her suit straps. “I feel like a perfect idiot,” she said lightly. “I won’t even mention coward. It’s too humiliating.”

  He immediately pushed off from the side of the pool, gliding next to her, his hands sliding to her waist. “You’re a long way from a coward, Greer,” he whispered. “I never thought that. You think you’re the only person who’s ever been afraid of something?”

  “All right. What phobias have you got?” Greer obliged. She was certainly more than sick of her own at the moment.

  “Mice.”

  “Mice?” Her eyes sparked with amusement.

  He nodded solemnly, his sun-browned face inches from hers. “Can’t stand ’em. I had a little argument with a black bear in the woods once, and weathered that fine. But give me a mouse running across the room and my machismo immediately shrivels up. So there.”

  “Mice are adorable,” Greer mentioned. “I’ve always loved mice.”

  “And you love swimming. Just not in deep water, right, lady?”

  He captured her waist in his hands. The water skimmed over her ribs, then her breasts, then her throat, as he propelled her closer to the deep end. And they hovered there, their faces above the water, Ryan’s arms securely around her. Deep water. Damn deep water, Greer thought suddenly. She could feel the brand of every one of his fingers on her bare waist.

  “You afraid of anything else?” she asked breathlessly.

  Her senses were picketing her rational mind, having a strike for unfair deprivation. She’d never felt deprived before. It was just now. The way the tips of her breasts grazed his bare chest. The way his shoulders felt slippery beneath her arms. The way her legs had to fight against the water’s special gravity, not to move toward his, not to let thighs touch thighs. The water no longer felt cool, but warm, silky, inviting.

  Danger was a sultry, sun-warmed day, a sky so blue it hurt her eyes.

  “Just a little deeper,” Ryan coaxed. “Hold on now.”