Diving In
Page 19
He couldn’t believe it. She was worried about him?
Nicki put a motherly arm around his shoulders and guided the cup to his lips. “Thanks for the rescue, by the way.”
He gulped the coffee and savored the scalding pain on his tongue and throat. Anger simmered deep within him, the stewed remains of his fear. She had no idea how badly she’d scared him. He barely understood it himself.
“You’re welcome.” He stood up and handed her the half-empty cup. “I need to use the bathroom.”
He left her there without another word.
* * *
Flying as high as a hippie on Telegraph Avenue in 1968, Nicki strode down the gangplank to the dock, smiling, swinging her arms, and humming a tune as she watched Jared walk ahead with his mother.
She knew he felt humiliated, and she really did empathize, but he was alive and Nicki was cured and she couldn’t regret any of it.
Yeah, she knew it was temporary. And she still couldn’t swim very well. But she’d faced a nightmare and not only survived but had risen above it.
She refused to think about what would’ve happened if Ansel hadn’t come for her. Of course he was going to look for her—that’s why she’d brought him along. She knew the crew would be too busy to watch her every second.
But even if he hadn’t found her, she would’ve survived. She hadn’t wanted to wear herself out, but when she was doing the dead lady’s float, she’d steadily kicked her legs, moving the fins enough to keep her relatively close to shore and the other snorkelers—but not too close. She’d been bracing herself for a rough landing on the beach, worried she might hit the reef on her way in, which would be bad both for her and the coral. But then he’d found her.
First thing she’d do back at the resort is get in the pool. Strike while the fear remained submerged, so to speak. Drown it. Drown it until it was dead, dead, dead. Then take more lessons. She’d join a swim team back home. Compete on weekends.
It felt great to be triumphant.
“Slow down,” Ansel said behind her. “Please.” His voice was clipped. He’d disappeared into the bathroom for so long, she’d wondered if he’d been seasick.
“Sorry.” She waited, hugging her damp towel to her chest, smiling warmly at him—though his gaze was fixed on the dock.
When he looked up and saw her, his scowl deepened. Rather belatedly, she realized he was angry with her. She’d thought he’d been worried about her, then cold and maybe seasick, but angry? At her?
“What’s the matter?” she asked, dropping the smile.
He jogged ahead, reaching out for her bag as he passed her. “You got everything from the boat?”
“Ansel.”
“Cap’n Crunch’s floating piece of shit?”
“Ansel?”
“Sorry.” He slung her bag over his shoulder. He was walking so far ahead of her that she let him go on without her, watching his rigid back disappear behind an RV parked in the lot next to the harbor.
Now she was angry, too, and she didn’t even know why. She reached the car—he was already behind the wheel—and took a moment to dry her hair with her towel. Maybe it had nothing to do with her. Something had happened, he wasn’t feeling well, he’d explain over lunch.
She got into the car and he floored it, as much of a floor as the old hybrid had in it.
“You’re angry,” she said.
“You want to drive?”
“I’d love to. I’m having a great day.”
“Because you’re invincible, is that it?” He adjusted his rearview mirror. “Hold on, some of these curves are pretty tight.”
“What’s the matter with you?”
The car screeched around a turn in the road; the foaming sea lapped the rocks directly below her. Her stomach lurched, but she closed her eyes and didn’t make a sound. She’d kill him later, when he wasn’t in command of the vehicle she was strapped inside.
He slowed, exhaling through his nose like a bull. “Sorry.” The car took the next turn and the one after that at a crawling pace that created a line of three cars behind them, and after a silence stretched out between them, he flicked on the radio.
She watched him from the corner of her eye. They were traveling south, away from the condo. “Where are we going?”
“Near Wailea. Not far.”
She knew that from reading the tour guides. “Why?”
“You said you wanted to see more of the island.”
“When did I say that?”
He turned on the radio. Turned it off. “I thought you did. Don’t you?”
“I suppose. Yes, of course.”
He didn’t answer, just turned the radio back on. It was mostly static.
She turned to the window. The Pacific was much better company.
After about thirty minutes of poor radio reception and awkward silence, he turned off the highway onto a street lined with coconut palms and brightly colored gardens. They snaked past a rolling manicured lawn to park behind a fountain shaped like a wedding cake, right between a Tesla and a Ferrari. The ocean was just below them to the left, past a luxury metropolis of bungalows.
Eager to escape the pressure cooker, she got out of the car and walked around to the hatch to get her bag and towel. Other people of modest means were walking through the garden toward a path at the end of the parking lot, on their way, she assumed, to the public beach. She wasn’t dying to get back in the water, but she didn’t mind sunbathing, people watching, reading, and reliving her morning triumph.
She pulled on the hatch but found it locked. She knocked on the metal and waited for him to pop it open, but he didn’t move; the hatch still wouldn’t budge. She knocked again.
Eventually it clicked open, and he got out to join her. “I hope you’re hungry,” he mumbled. “I made us reservations for lunch.”
She slung her bag over her shoulder. That sounded formal. She was wearing a wet swimsuit and a dress more like a large washcloth than anything suitable for a place that took reservations.
“Where?”
He scowled. “Here.”
“I’m not dressed for this kind of place.”
“Didn’t you bring a change of clothes?”
She had noticed he’d already changed into khakis and a gray polo shirt on the boat. She’d worried he’d been sick on his other clothes; now she didn’t care. “Yes, but I’m not going to strip in the parking lot. And I need a shower.”
He bit his lip, turned away. Then he said, “Fine. I’ll get us a room.”
“What?”
“Relax. I’ll wait in the bar. Hang out here. I’ll be right back.” He strode away before she could stop him.
Get them a room?
She was more confused than angry, but definitely angry. What the hell was the matter with him? Ex-girlfriend on the boat? The captain beat him at poker?
She took a deep breath and sat on the edge of the fountain, hugging her bag in her lap and letting the sweet aroma of tropical flowers and her coconut sunscreen calm her down. Working with hormonal teenagers every day had taught her how to deflect other people’s irrational emotions. Just because Ansel was upset about something didn’t mean she had to follow him off an emotional cliff.
Clearly, she should’ve left him behind. She’d rescued a kid when she could barely swim. She was in a damn good mood. Damn it.
Ansel reappeared, the scowl still fixed on his face. “All right, here’s the key. It should be one of those over there.” He pointed at the cabanas overlooking the beach.
Walking out of one of the tastefully arched doorways was a man in a tux and a woman in the type of fashionable getup Nicki had only seen on the covers of periodicals displayed in the checkout aisle at the supermarket. The dress had lots of feathers—and holes—yet the effect was stunning.
“Got all your stuff?” Ansel asked.
She didn’t answer him, mesmerized by the couple moving toward them. Then she gasped. The woman was the star of a TV show she used to watch.
“I’m rich, remember? I like an excuse to throw my money around.” He thrust the plastic key card at her, not meeting her eyes.
She couldn’t take much more of this. “What happened on the boat?”
“Nothing happened on the boat.”
She got up, adjusting her bag on her shoulder, and walked to the car. “I want to go home.”
“What?”
She opened the door and got in.
“You can’t! I just spent two thousand bucks on this lunch!”
“Then you’re an idiot.” She slammed the door.
Jesus. Two thousand dollars? Her heart pounded in her ears. Hands shaking, she put on her seat belt.
He walked away from the car, arms rigid at his side, then spun around, marched to her door, and yanked it open. “I am an idiot,” he said.
Suspecting he was being sarcastic, she said nothing.
“I’m angry because I’m an idiot,” he continued.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Will you please get out of the car?”
“I can’t believe you spent two grand so I could take a shower,” she said.
He held out the key, head bowed. “It’s nonrefundable,” he muttered.
Unbelievable.
She sighed. She was curious to see it. He could mope in the bar, whatever; she didn’t care. She snatched the card in its little white envelope, then read the number noted in a curly metallic script before striding past the Tesla to find cabana 7.
The lawn was as springy as a birthday cake. She was tempted to bend over and taste it.
He caught up with her as she stormed around one of the unit’s private patios looking for the number. “It’s down there,” he said, pointing at the one at the end under a trio of palm trees that leaned into each other like gossiping girlfriends.
“I see it.”
He was right behind her when she walked through the courtyard and unlocked the door. The ocean was over her shoulder, the beach only ten steps away. A white hammock stretched between the palms, bright orange pillows and a red throw blanket arranged at one end. When she stepped inside the cabana, a pitcher of fruit juice and a wooden bowl filled with cut tropical fruit greeted them on a hall table.
What a waste.
She turned to him. “I thought you were going to sit in the bar.”
Kicking the door behind him, he picked up the pitcher and began to pour. “I was afraid you wouldn’t be able to find it.”
“I’m not helpless. I rescued a kid in the ocean and I can’t even swim. I think I can manage to find a stupid little bar in a stupid little resort.”
“You—you—” He slammed the pitcher down. “You didn’t rescue anybody.”
“Like hell I didn’t. You should’ve seen that kid. He was going under.”
“The only person who was in danger of going under was you. If it weren’t for me…”
She flung her bag on the floor. This was it. This was why he was mad. “I would’ve floated up on the beach.”
“You didn’t know that,” he said. “You should’ve called for help.”
“We were too far,” she said. “And I didn’t want to embarrass him.”
“So you gave him your life jacket?”
“Yes!”
“You—you—” He held up his hands, staring at her as if he wanted to throttle her. “I should go to the bar.”
“Go ahead!”
“Good luck guessing which one.” But instead of leaving, he moved closer. His voice dropped. “You scared the hell out of me.”
That was it. She’d been so busy being proud of herself, it had never occurred to her he might worry. “I was fine.”
“You were lucky.”
“I was practicing how to float for days, Ansel. You didn’t have to worry.”
Shaking his head, he took her by the shoulders. “I don’t usually drink, but I will today.” His unblinking gaze fell to her mouth.
Her breathing, already shallow, stopped altogether.
He slid a hand up over her shoulder, behind her neck. “I haven’t had a drink since the night I met you.” His other hand found the small of her back and pulled her against him. He lowered his mouth to hers. “Mickey,” he said.
Chapter 19
THIS ISN’T LOVE, HE TOLD himself as he kissed her. This is the same thing it always is.
He ran his tongue along the seam of her lips and heard her groan.
Nothing wrong with that.
All the anger that had been raging in him changed direction, feeling the opportunity to explode here into nothingness with her in his arms, under his mouth and hands.
Of course he’d been scared out there in the ocean. In the heat of the moment, he’d called it something else.
She snaked her arms around his neck. “Ansel,” she whispered into his ear. Her hot breath triggered another cascade of desire.
He’d been dreaming about this since he saw her juggling, or even before that, when she ran down the stairwell with her suitcases.
And over a decade before that, when he’d had to walk away from a little fun before it got out of hand. He’d told her he didn’t have a condom. She hadn’t seemed to care. If he hadn’t already had a close call in high school, he wouldn’t have cared either.
Christ, she felt good. He deepened the kiss, pushed her against the wall. She bit his lip. He ran a hand up her ribs and cupped her breast, hard, demanding, remembering how he could’ve lost her.
“Nicki, damn it,” he moaned. He could still see her motionless body facedown in the water, far from the boat, floating away from him.
“At least you got my name right this time,” she whispered in his ear, slipping a hand under his shorts.
Oh my God. “Minnie?”
Her fingers wrapped around him and squeezed. “This seemed to bother you last time,” she said.
“Not the word,” he choked out.
She withdrew her hand. “If you’re going to freak out and run away again, you better tell me now.”
He slid his hand up her throat to cup her face. “Didn’t have a condom last time,” he said, tasting her, smelling her. “Don’t have that problem today.”
“You didn’t… that’s why… but we didn’t have to go all the way, I didn’t think we—”
“We would have. I couldn’t stay. Even if I managed to keep it up long enough, and even if I was eighteen, I was so drunk…”
She stepped back. “I wish you’d told me.”
“I did.” The thought of having to leave her right then made him press her harder against the wall. Maybe she’d try to rescue some other kid and finish the drowning she’d started this morning. Getting her in bed could be a very limited-time offer.
“I’m thinking about taking a shower first,” she said.
He dipped a finger into the V of her swim cover-up along the soft, warm flesh. She was still wearing her swimsuit. “Later,” he mumbled. Taking her mouth in his, he untied the soft drawstring at her neck and shoved the soft fabric over her shoulders.
“I don’t mind taking a shower,” she said. “Really.”
He pressed his palms against her breasts, driving his tongue into her mouth as he slipped down the fabric to expose her nipples. He leaned back to look at them, dark pink and hard. “Not”—he licked the left one—“necessary.” Then the right.
He sucked. Hard.
Moaning, she arched her back. Her skin was salty and sweet, the best thing he’d ever tasted. He ran his hands up her arms to stretch her out along the wall to lick her everywhere.
But in his haste, he bumped the water pitcher; it crashed to the floor, jolting both of them back to reality for a split second.
“Bed?” she asked, panting.
“Hope so.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her around the corner. The bedroom was tiny, barely more than an alcove. Floor
-to-ceiling windows overlooking the beach dominated the space, making the low bed look like a raft in their own private ocean.
“This isn’t going to work.” He hooked an arm around her waist and tried to turn her back toward the main room.
“What’s the matter?”
“There are people right out there,” he said.
“The windows are tinted,” she said. “And the bed is low. Nobody can see.”
“Look at those kids,” he said. “The light could hit the window at a certain angle, right when—I can’t relax, thinking we’d be giving those babies a show.”
She squinted at the window. “I don’t see any kids. But I do see something else.” Breaking away from him, she reached up and pulled down a sleek modern blind, then two more, turning the beach outside, and any inhabitants, into unfocused silhouette.
“Can you relax now?” she asked, turning to him. Her breasts swelled over the cups of her bikini, where he’d bared them.
His voice fell to a growl. “No.”
She shimmied out of the cover-up, which had fallen to her hips. Then she wriggled out of the bikini top, flinging that off, too.
“How about now?” She put a hand on her hip.
He had his arms around her before she finished the question. “I’m still mad at you, you know,” he said as he fell backward onto the bed, pulling her on top of him. He held her face between his hands. “You could’ve drowned.”
Collapsing against him, she brushed the hair away from between their lips and kissed him. Hot, molten need engulfed him.
In his fantasies about making love to her, she’d been sweet and passive—not because that was his preference, but because he’d assumed, given the phobia thing, she’d be skittish in bed.
Boy, was he wrong.
While he was trying to ease his tongue into her mouth, she lifted the hem of his shirt up to his armpits, dragged her nails across his chest, and pinched his nipple until he broke the suction, giving her the opportunity to push the shirt over his chin and face.
He groaned in shocked pleasure, then rolled her aside so he could tear off the shirt altogether.
“You’re beautiful,” she said, shaking her head, watching him. She dug her heels into the bed, lifting her pelvis in the air, and pulled off the bottom of her swimsuit with one hand while she clasped the back of his neck with the other. “Kiss me.”