Just Kiss Me

by Amy Summers

  The wet suit had dropped to the sand, leaving Chris clad only in a tight, bright blue Lycra swimsuit. The sun was warm on the back of her head but his skin was cool. She could hardly breathe.

  "That was very nice of you to help me," he murmured, his eyes warm with something that looked very much like affection. Or was it amusement? She wasn't really sure.

  "I'm a nice person," she reminded him, standing very still, not wanting to give him an excuse to laugh at her as he would if she tried to get away from him.

  "A very nice person," he agreed. "A very pretty person." He pulled her closer. "A very sexy person."

  She tried to smile but it was wobbly. "They all say that," she managed to warble out.

  His breath was warm on her face. "In fact, I think you're so nice, you deserve a reward."

  "Oh... no, not really...."

  "Yes, really." His grin had a wicked edge to it. "But since I don't have any money with me, I'm afraid all I have to give you is... a kiss."

  Trish squirmed, but she didn't really fight very hard. "Not here. It's... so public."

  "Do you think the sea gulls will be offended?"

  No, she didn't really think that. In fact it was hard to think of anything else but Chris while he held her so closely, his heart pounding against hers, his breath smelling so sweet.

  “Or is it the kiss you're trying to get out of? Do you still think I kiss funny?"

  She shook her head mutely, her eyes huge.

  "Good." Lowering his head slowly toward her, he dropped a few tiny kisses at the corner of her mouth, then whispered, "I've been waiting to kiss you again for a long, long time, Trish. I surprised myself with my patience." He kissed the other corner of her mouth, his tongue flicking out to caress the edge of her lips. "I've been very, very good," he went on huskily. "But now I think I'm going to have to chuck all that nobility and seize the moment."

  She hardly heard his words, but her emotions were in complete accord with his, no matter what her warning system was sending out. She'd spent too many days trying to wipe Chris's face from her memory, too many nights tossing and turning with the remembered sensations of his embrace. It was no use trying to deny it. She was hooked on the guy, no matter what.

  Forgetting everything else, she lifted her face to his kiss. Her lips parted eagerly beneath his touch, as though her senses remembered how it had been before and were in urgent need of feeling that way again.

  Her arms rose and encircled his neck so that she could hold herself more tightly against him. Every fiber of her being was aware of every part of him, wanted him, needed his closeness, his scent, his heat.

  His hands seemed huge, covering her back, burning through the cotton cloth of her tank top. Crushed against his chest, her breasts tingled with sensitivity. The crashing of the waves, the scream of the sea gulls, the hot morning sun, the cool ocean breeze, every element seemed to swirl around them as he held her.

  Finally he drew back but his arms didn't loosen, and neither did hers. She stared up at him, her lips still quivering, her breath coming in quick, short gasps. She'd never seen anything more beautiful than his face, his eyes, his lips—

  "Face it, Trish," he said at last. "We're going to have to start seeing each other."

  She pulled away at that, shaking her head, still not thinking clearly, but sticking to the litany. "We can't see each other. We can't."

  His gaze darkened. "Do you want to explain to me why that is? I don't think I've ever quite gotten that straight."

  What could she tell him? That she didn't dare go out with him because he was such a playboy? She tried to formulate a sentence that told that very truth, but it sounded insulting. She couldn't say it. So instead she said, "Because you're not a... a serious person."

  "Serious?" That brought the humor back to his eyes in a hurry. "I could try getting real serious." He touched her cheek, his eyes darkening. "Just watch me."

  And that was exactly what she was afraid of. When he said things like that, she felt her resistance melting like ice cream left out on a hot Suzi day. Desperately she brought in another excuse. "And anyway, you're part of the problem. You don't want my parents to get back together."

  He frowned. "I couldn't care less whether they do or don't."

  "But you're helping to keep them apart."

  "I'm not doing anything of the sort. I'm just doing my job, the best I know how. What your mother wants to do about your father is no one's business but hers."

  She knew he made sense, but emotions didn't care about logic. She avoided his gaze and found something else to use in the brick wall she was trying to construct between them. "You're the one who got angry that day at the Regatta," she said accusingly.

  She wasn't sure she should have reminded him. His face hardened as he thought about it. "I had a right to be angry. I don't like being used."

  "I wasn't using you."

  "Are you going to tell me there was no plot to keep me away from your mother?"

  She bit her lip and looked out at the surf. "Well, yes, as a matter of fact, there was. But going down to the marina, going out to the cove..." She turned to face him again, her cheeks slightly red, but her eyes clear and candid. "That wasn't part of the plan. I did that because I wanted to. It just happened."

  His hand cupped her cheek and he smiled. "Sometimes things that just happen make the best memories," he said softly.

  She searched his smoky dark eyes. Did that mean he brought the mental pictures of their time at the cove out to go over in his mind the way she did? Impossible. Surely he had so many other pictures in his vast memory files that the incident between them had faded into nothing.

  Which reminded her of Brigitte, the tempting travel agent. They started to walk back across the sand, Chris with his board under one arm and his wet suit under the other, Trish deep in thought. What had ever happened with Brigitte, anyway? Suddenly she had to know.

  "So, how did lunch go?" she asked as casually as she was able.

  "Lunch?"

  "With Brigitte Holloway."

  "Oh." His grin flashed in the sunlight. "Fine. Just fine."

  The grin hurt, but "fine" meant absolutely nothing. Still she should leave it at that. Not say another word. Do nothing to let him know how important this was to her. Play it safe. Keep quiet.

  "So what exactly does 'fine' mean?" She heard the words coming out of her own mouth and she cringed, but it was too late to recall them.

  Chris laughed. "Why don't you come right out and say what you mean? You want to know if I had my way with her. Or, more accurately, did she have her way with me? Did I wine and dine her, did I enjoy her womanly charms? Well, I'll tell you, Trish. The answer is—" He threw her a wicked grin. "The answer is, it's none of your business."

  Her heart had been pounding with anxiety as she waited for his explanation. Now she wanted to throw something at him. Instead she managed to fake disinterest, turning up her nose and sniffing. "I'm sure I don't care one way or the other."

  He nodded and laughed low in his throat. "Right. That's why you advised her to hum her little heart out."

  Trish looked up with guilty delight. "Did she do it?"

  His eyes were sparkling. "Yup."

  They laughed together for a quick moment. "You've got a real cruel streak, don't you?" He shook his head. "I can't believe the stories you'll tell."

  They were approaching a big blue van with a huge scene of someone shooting the curl painted on the side. Trish knew it was Howie's. And there he was, waiting in the driver's seat. She stopped just out of Howie's hearing distance and replied to Chris's accusation.

  "Well, and how about you? What is this you've told Howie about how I'm staying away from you so that you can concentrate on the business."

  He shrugged. "It's true, as far as that goes." His mouth twisted in a bittersweet smile. "Do you think I usually deny myself something I want the way I've been denying myself you?"

  She swallowed, unable to speak, heart pounding. Why was he sayin
g these things? Were they just to entice her? He couldn't possibly mean them. Was this just part of his charm? She wished she knew how much she could trust, how much she should disregard.

  And then he undercut the tension with a quick laugh and a complete change of mood. "Well, what did you want me to do, tell him you were free as a bird again? Fair game? Easy pickings?"

  She blinked. Her heart was spinning with his changeableness. She wished she knew when he was serious and when he was only teasing.

  "How did you ever hook up with him, anyway?"

  "He's working with us. He just showed up one day and volunteered." Chris smiled at her surprise.

  "He's a handy guy to know. He's known you all your life. He's told me all about you—kindergarten—third grade—the senior prom."

  "What?"

  His evil grin was back, teasing her in a way that drew a smile no matter how hard she tried to suppress it.

  "I'm compiling a complete dossier, of course. What do you think? I'm learning the ways of business. Pretty soon I'll know everything about you. And then I can use you to my own purposes."

  "Fat chance!" She flashed him a glance she knew was flirtatious, but she couldn't make herself care anymore. She didn't understand him. She wasn't sure she trusted him. But she knew she was overwhelmingly attracted to him. And more and more, that was all that seemed to matter.

  He smiled, enjoying her. "Anyway, I don't think you have to worry about Howie anymore."

  She looked up in surprise. "Why not?"

  "I think he's transferred his allegiance to your sister."

  "Suzi?"

  "Yes. He moons over her all day long."

  "You mean they're all working with you?"

  How had this happened? How had everyone gotten caught up in this new business but her? She felt a twinge of jealousy, a flash of resentment that she'd been left out. But that was hardly fair. Everyone had been trying to get her to join in from the beginning. She was the one who'd been holding back.

  And another thing—what exactly were they producing at this business? No one had ever told her explicitly. She hadn't wanted to hear. Somehow she had an idea it had something to do with surfing togs.

  "When are you going to come down and take a look?" He was serious now, she could see it in his eyes.

  That was what it would take to answer all her questions. "I guess I'd better do that right away."

  "Today?"

  Yes, of course, what was she waiting for? She raised her chin and said firmly, "All right. Today."

  He grinned. "Good." He glanced at the van. "Can we give you a ride?"

  "No thanks." She was going to need the exercise of a good run just to get over this little encounter. "Well, I'll see you later." She started to walk away, and he called to her.

  "Trish."

  "Yes?" She looked back.

  "Just for your information. Even though I know you're not interested. All that humming gave me a headache and I had to go home early. Alone."

  She stared at him, trying not to smile. "You're right," she said coolly. "I'm not interested."

  But her grin took over before she'd fully turned away again, and she could hear him chuckling behind her.

  Chapter 11

  She avoided the issue for almost three hours before she actually got into her car and drove to where her mother's new business was located. The building was long and low, a typically anonymous industrial shell. The sign on the door said WhiteWaterWaves, Inc. With trepidation she pushed open the door and walked in.

  At first glance the place seemed almost a replica of her father's. Suzi sat at the receptionist's desk, her textbooks spread out around her, her glasses clinging to the tip of her nose. She was concentrating on her reading and didn't look up right away. That gave Trish a moment to take in the atmosphere, the smells, the sounds. They were all so very familiar. Something stirred in her, a feeling of apprehension. Just what were they making here anyway?

  "Hi!" Suzi had seen her. She bounced up out of her chair. "I'm so glad you finally came for a visit. Come on back and see everything. Mom and Bert are both here, so they can explain it all."

  Was it her imagination, or was Suzi strangely anxious? Trish couldn't imagine why. She followed her into the office. Her mother came toward her with arms outstretched. Bert stood behind her, grinning.

  "Trish, baby. Finally you're here. I'm so glad. Come on, you've got to see everything."

  She felt a smile stretching her lips and marveled at her own ability to hide what she was feeling. She hadn't realized she could do it so well. Why hadn't she ever explored this talent before? "That's what I came for," she said, and her tone actually sounded light and friendly.

  But why was her mother looking at her like that? And when had Bert developed that nervous grin? She followed them to the working area of the plant and as they went, a feeling of unreality was beginning to descend on her.

  This smelled like...this looked like...surfboards. It wasn't possible. They couldn't be making surfboards. That would be going into direct competition with her father. That wasn't possible.

  But here was the room full of blanks of all shapes and sizes. Her mother was talking but she couldn't focus on her words. Yes, these were blanks all right, the foam interiors that boards were built on. She'd know them anywhere.

  She followed the little group to the next room and there were workers applying the fiberglass. There was no doubt. They were making surfboards.

  Her mother was still talking, going on and on in an unusually high-pitched voice, but she couldn't understand the words. They passed the sealed, dust-free rooms where the resin was applied and the final coat of paint put on. She'd seen it all a thousand times. But it had always been at her father's. This was just like his place. This was just like his life. What the hell was going on here?

  Time suddenly had a weird, dreamlike quality. She had that feeling of being a part of herself, and yet watching herself at the same time, seeing herself put into strange situations that made no sense. She saw herself smile and nod and murmur the proper responses, and it amazed her, because inside something was ripping open and pain was spilling out.

  Finally they were back at the office. She looked toward the room with the fiberglass and knew she was going to have to say something. This wasn't right, what they were doing. Laura Carrington had deprived her husband of a wife, deprived him of a proper family. Was she also trying to deprive him of a livelihood? Or was it just that she didn't realize what she was doing? Maybe if Trish explained to her…

  She swung around in time to see Bert with his arm around her mother's shoulders in a way that told her more eloquently than words ever could have that they were no longer merely friends. Her gaze seemed riveted to his hand, the way the fingers caressed her mother's arm. The shock waves slashed through her like jolts of electricity. For a moment she was afraid she would never breathe again.

  And at the same time her mind was working furiously. Of course. How could she have been so blind? This was what it was all about. What a fool she'd been! This had been it from the beginning, hadn't it? There had never been any hope of a reconciliation. Not with Bert around.

  Bert had always been around. All her life Bert had been in the background, her father's best friend, his partner, the playboy her mother affectionately disapproved of.

  Mom and Bert. She felt sick to her stomach.

  "Well, I'm quite impressed."

  Could that really be her own voice she heard saying those words, calmly, pleasantly, as though nothing were going on. "I had no idea you would be able to get such a big undertaking off the ground so quickly."

  They were answering, saying words and phrases that merely buzzed in her ears. And she could see the relief on their faces. For a moment she couldn't think why. Then she realized what it was. They thought she was taking all this very well. They'd expected anger, fireworks, recriminations. And here she was acting as though this whole affair meant no more to her than the weather. If they were relieved at her re
action, she was pretty surprised herself. And not really sure why it was happening.

  Bert was displaying some of their finished product, two short boards with needle-noses in the latest hot-dogging style. One was hot pink, the other electric blue.

  "They're beautiful," Trish heard herself saying with brittle enthusiasm. "I'm sure they'll sell really well. Who's doing your distribution? Where are you planning to market them?"

  They were telling her, each stumbling over the other's answers in their excitement over their new project. Trish felt herself smiling, nodding. Suddenly she realized that Chris was in the back of the room watching her. How long had he been there? How long had he been watching her with that dark gaze that saw everything?

  And he did see everything. She could see it in his eyes. The others, the people supposedly closest to her, thought everything was all right. They were bubbling with happiness over how well this was going. Only Chris saw right through her fragile facade. His examination cut right into her, saw the pain inside, understood her anguish.

  She turned away from him, still smiling, and began to say the words that would let her escape from this hell of a place.

  "I'm so glad I came... so happy you're doing so well... this certainly looks exciting…."

  She was out the door and walking toward the car, moving like a zombie, praying she would get out of sight before the tears came. And suddenly Chris was beside her, steering her away from her car, leading her to his.

  "No," she said weakly. "I've got things I have to do. Let me..."

  His hand was a vise on her arm. "I want to talk to you," he said firmly. "Let's go for a ride."

  He settled her into the passenger's seat of his midsize sports car and she accepted his direction numbly. She didn't want to talk. She didn't want to do anything but get into her bed and cry her eyes out. But she didn't have the strength to resist him now. He swung into the driver's seat, his large body a vaguely comforting presence to her at the moment. He was such a strong man— so in command of himself and situations. Not that she wanted to lean on him. She didn't want to lean on anyone or anything ever again. If this encounter with reality had taught her anything, it was that she was going to have to stand on her own from now on. She couldn't depend on others. They always let you down.