by Meryl Sawyer
“Really?” A thoughtful smile curved her lips. “Good for you.”
“It made me feel better, but a few punches didn’t help Trevor. The ordeal changed him. Outwardly, he’s perfect. Inside, he’s still hurting.”
“He needs to deal with his feelings.”
Matt nodded his agreement as they sat there in the shade. A minute passed, then another, the only sound the whir of Jet Skis on the water in the channel between the Keys and the wind rustling the palms. It was a comfortable silence. For the first time, the tension between them was gone.
She reached for his hand, and her soft fingers brushed his bruised, skinned knuckles. “What happened?”
“I looked up Simon Ambrose. Don’t worry about him. He’s decided that job opportunities will be better in Key Largo. His nursing license has been revoked.”
“You didn’t,” she said in a choked voice.
He laced his fingers through hers and gave her hand a squeeze. “There’s nothing as satisfying as walloping someone who really deserves it. Trust me. It’s a guy thing.”
“Thank you. I—ah—don’t know what to say.”
He leaned forward, still holding her hand, and brushed his lips against hers. He knew he shouldn’t, but after that kiss last night, something inside him kept gnawing away at him, urging him to kiss her again.
Her lips parted and the velvet warmth of her mouth welcomed him. Excitement rippled through his body at the unexpected sweetness of her response. He thrust his tongue forward and found hers waiting.
Christ! This woman had his number. He was so damn confused that he didn’t know from minute to minute if he should strangle her or make love to her.
As he kissed her, Matt remembered how she’d looked earlier, emerging from the water like a siren from the sea. Just watching the water purling down her body had made heat rise in dangerous places.
Right now, his gut instinct told him not to put his arms around her, not to crave the lush softness of those breasts, not to run his hands over her silky skin.
He released her hand and pulled her into his arms, deepening the kiss. Her pebble-hard nipples pressed against him, the wet fabric of her suit dampening his shirt.
Who in hell listened to gut instincts anyway?
He kissed her, holding her close, yet giving himself enough room to work one hand between them. As he captured one breast in the palm of his hand, her body went rigid. She pulled her lips away from his.
“Matt!”
“That’s the first time since the accident that you’ve used my name.” His mouth was a fraction of an inch from hers. He cradled her breast in his hand, gently squeezing, testing its soft fullness while he caressed her nipple with his thumb. “I like Matt better than Jensen. When you say Jensen, it reminds me of a drill sergeant.”
She might have giggled. He wasn’t sure about the strange sound. Her lower lip was trembling now, and her eyes were wide with shock.
Or something.
He was too aroused to hold the thought. Instead, he bent down and took the nipple into his mouth. The bikini was slick and wet beneath his tongue, the nipple marble-hard. He suckled her, drawing the nub into his mouth.
Her startled little cry of pleasure made him smile inwardly. This was a numbers game. She had his number. He had hers.
Her nails sank into his shoulders as his tongue roved over the tightly spiraled nipple, urging him on. Not that he needed any encouragement. He was a man, right?
He nudged aside the damp fabric and coaxed her bare breast into his mouth. She made a soft, throaty sound that shot right through him. The iron heat of his sex jammed against his fly. Man, oh, man, what she could do to him without half trying.
She broke away, breathing hard. “Matt, Matt, don’t you think we should …”
He could think of several things they should do right now. All of them in the horizontal.
She fumbled with her bikini top to cover herself. “Trevor … we’ve got to let him know what happened.”
He threw his head back and took a big gulp of air. Who said women were the weaker sex? He had but one thing on his mind, but somehow she’d managed to keep focused.
“You’re right,” he said, although he dreaded breaking the news.
“I have an idea how to help Trevor get through this.”
“Shelly, I know you mean well, but Trevor will want to be alone.”
“He needs his friends. He was there for us. We need to be there for him. I’ll round up Bubbles, Zeke and Zoe, then I’ll find Clive.”
“Clive? Not a good idea. Trevor hasn’t had a relationship since Yale. Sure, he goes out, but it’s just one-night-stands. He wouldn’t want Clive involved in anything this personal.”
“I believe you’re wrong. Clive and Trevor are perfect for each other. Now, here’s the plan.”
Honest to God, how could he say no to her?
Chapter 18
She hung her damp bikini on the shower door to dry, then changed into a T-shirt and shorts, another of the outfits purchased at Jo Mama’s. As fast as her weak leg allowed, she hurried down to the dock and found Bubbles waiting for her.
“Matt told me what happened.” Bubbles shook her head. “Poor Trevor.”
“Where is Matt?”
“He took a water taxi to see Trevor. He said to meet him at the Sunset Key section of the Key West dock.”
“Okay,” she said as casually as she could. She felt the good side of her face warming as she thought about Matt. How could she have let him kiss her and … everything?
She carefully stepped into Trevor’s boat and sat down while Bubbles cast off. The doctor had warned her to take it easy, slowly working her leg back to full strength. She should elevate her leg, but she couldn’t take the time now.
“You go for the flowers while I run by Clive’s,” she told Bubbles.
“Right. Matt told me the plan, but I’m not coming out on the boat with you.” Bubbles stared straight ahead, guiding the craft around a fishing trawler returning with its catch. Her red hair fluttered behind her like a banner, and the late afternoon sunlight glinted off the studs and hoops piercing her body. “I can’t, like, stand anything that has to do with death.”
Personally, she thought everyone at Half Moon Bay owed it to Trevor to be there for him, but she didn’t voice her opinion. “Could you see if you can locate Zeke and Zoe? They may want to join us.”
“Sure.” Bubbles maneuvered the launch into one of Sunset Key’s slips at Key West’s main dock and secured the mooring lines.
“I’ll meet you right here,” she called as Bubbles headed off toward Duval Street.
She waved over the first rickie she saw and gave him Clive’s Truman Annex address. She had tried to reach him by telephone, but, like most doctors, Clive had an unlisted personal number.
Truman Annex was a posh neighborhood adjacent to the Little White House, where Harry Truman had often stayed when he’d been president. It looked quaint, she thought as the driver pedaled by the white clapboard home.
“John Kennedy vacationed here,” the driver yelled over his shoulder.
She couldn’t imagine a president and his entourage staying in the small cottage. Before Kennedy had been assassinated, life had been simpler. Now a president needed much more security.
Beyond the Little White House, they entered an elegant neighborhood with white picket fences like petticoats around homes with large verandas and gingerbread dripping from the eaves. A large brass plaque with a star marked the Truman Annex as a National Register Historic District.
Stately trees shaded the homes along the waterfront. Unlike other parts of town, all these homes were either new or immaculately restored. It didn’t have the patchwork look typical of the rest of the area, where only some of the homes were restored to prime condition.
“Wait for me,” she told the driver when they arrived at Clive’s home.
She hurried up to the door, taking care not to put too much weight on the leg that had recently come
out of the cast. Ahead, the door to the large home was open. She rang the bell, and a moment later the doctor came down the stairs.
“Shelly, what are you doing here? I was trying to reach you.” He swung open the screen door.
“Really? Why?”
“My office called. Some man came in asking questions about you.”
Oh, my God. Dexxter. Or had the FBI tracked her down? It was all she could do not to shudder. As calmly as possible, she asked, “What kind of questions?”
Clive grinned and shook his head. “Someone at Groomingdale’s told the man about Jiggs. He’s a producer looking for an unusual dog for a commercial.”
“Really?” She hoped she didn’t sound too suspicious. Maybe it was nothing, but an unsettling prickle of alarm raised the hair on the back of her neck. “Jiggs is so shy. I can’t imagine him in front of a camera.”
“I told the receptionist to have the man leave his card. We never give out patients’ names or phone numbers.”
She nodded, thankful for his discretion, but still suspicious. “I came by to talk to you about Trevor.”
Behind his wire-rim glasses, Clive’s dark brown eyes brightened. “What about him?”
“His mother died a week ago, but his family didn’t want him at the funeral. His father just called today to let him know.”
“Jesus H. Christ. How could they?”
“Good question.” She released a pent-up sigh. “We’re going out on the boat now and have our own memorial service for his mother. We’ve got to help Trevor get through this.”
“Trevor wants me to come?” Clive sounded surprised.
She hedged. “Yes. He needs you.”
She wasn’t certain how—or if—anyone could help Trevor, but she had to try.
Matt walked up the stairs to the house Trevor was renovating, taking care to avoid the third stair, where a plank was missing. Shutters were hanging by broken pegs or gone entirely, and the paint was peeling so badly that the building appeared to be molting. Still, he could see this house was the most stately home on Angela Street and had to be among the finest historic mansions on Key West.
He stood at the open front door, listening to the sound of hammering coming from somewhere inside the house and thinking about what Shelly had said. She was right—damn her sweet hide—men didn’t express themselves enough. How in hell was he going to break the news to Trevor?
Unexpectedly, Trevor bounded down the stairs, a workman at his heels. He spotted Matt and greeted him with a wide grin.
“Hey, Matt. Let me give you the tour.” Trevor turned to the man behind him. “Finish up the back porch, then I’ll come show you what to do next.”
White paint smudged Trevor’s nose; his cutoffjeans were splattered with at least three colors of paint. For Trevor, this was unusual. He’d always looked as if he’d just stepped off the pages of GQ.
Right now, messy paint or not, Trevor was in his element, doing something he clearly loved. He was as happy as Matt could remember seeing him. Man, oh, man, he did not want to devastate Trevor.
“This is the best house I’ve ever had—and the biggest challenge.” Trevor smiled again, his green eyes reflecting an excitement that was almost contagious.
Almost.
Matt was tempted to put off the news. What could one more day hurt? But he couldn’t stall. Shelly would have everything ready and be waiting at the boat.
“There are more homes on the registry of historic homes here than anywhere else in the country,” Trevor informed him with unmistakable pride. “I’ve renovated more of them than anyone else on Key West. This one is special. It’s even more interesting than Calvin Klein’s—”
Trevor halted mid-sentence, gazing at Matt, concern replacing his elation. “What’s wrong? Is it Shelly?”
Matt sucked in a stabilizing breath. Shelly. What a head trip. He couldn’t afford to think about her now.
“No. Shelly’s fine. She’s waiting for us down on the dock.” He looked around, not sure where to have this conversation without risking being interrupted by workmen. “Let’s go outside.”
Trevor led him through a set of side doors that opened onto the side of the veranda. They leaned against a railing that had already been stripped and prepped for a fresh coat of paint.
“This afternoon someone called Half Moon Bay,” Matt began, breaking the news as gently as he could. “They—ah, he, wanted to let you know that—” Suddenly, his throat locked up.
Worry marred the handsome planes of Trevor’s face. “Know what?”
Bracing himself, Matt answered, “Trevor, it’s about your, ah … your mother … she has passed away.”
The words detonated on impact, leaching the blood from Trevor’s face. He gripped the railing and gazed, unseeing, across what had once been a beautiful private garden but now was nothing more than a snare of weeds and vines growing unchecked in the tropics.
“It must have been a heart attack or a stroke. Mother was never sick a day in her life.”
Matt studied his friend’s bent head, then noted the way Trevor’s hands clasped the railing as if he couldn’t stand without support. No one ever promised life would be easy, Matt reminded himself. If your best friend couldn’t tell you the whole truth, who could?
“Six months ago your mother was diagnosed with cancer. She died surrounded by her family.” Matt gazed into Trevor’s tear-sheened eyes and almost couldn’t go on. He hesitated, then forced himself to deliver the final blow. “The funeral was last week.”
For a moment Matt thought Trevor hadn’t heard him, but then Trevor turned slowly, his back now to the railing. He slid down slowly, collapsing to the floor, his shoulders against the spindles. Matt had never seen a look like this on his friend’s face, not even when Trevor had been in the hospital, physically and emotionally shattered by a beating.
Say something! Do something!
There were a thousand things he should say, creating a logjam in his mind. Coming over he’d rehearsed this a dozen times, but now he couldn’t remember what he’d decided to tell Trevor. Instead, he sat on the floor beside Trevor and put his arm around his friend.
They stayed on the veranda, listening to the workmen hammering inside the house for almost ten minutes. Finally Trevor broke the silence.
“I should have known better than to expect Mother to forgive me.”
Forgive! Matt bit back a curse. What was there to forgive? But Trevor’s voice was so choked with emotion that he didn’t want to interrupt.
“It’s been years since she spoke to me. Do you know what the last thing she said to me was?”
Matt hoped Trevor was going to answer his own question, but he didn’t. “It must have been at the hospital.”
“Yes. I had a cut over my eye, remember. She said she hoped it wouldn’t leave a scar.”
Beneath Matt’s arm, Trevor stiffened as if someone had struck him. Matt gave him a one-armed hug. How sad, Matt thought, recalling his own mother’s death so vividly that it brought an ache of sadness too deep for tears. She’d lost her ability to speak, but her expressive eyes conveyed her deep love. A mother’s love.
“There they are.”
Ahead, Shelly was waiting in the boat with Clive as Matt and Trevor made their way through the throng of tourists migrating to Mallory Dock for the sunset festivities. It had taken a little convincing before Trevor agreed to the memorial service.
What was he doing? Matt asked himself. Did he want to go out on the water and talk about death? No way.
But he was trapped.
He couldn’t leave Trevor. So he stepped onto the boat, ducking beneath the navy and white striped bimini, shading the craft. While Clive spoke to Trevor, Matt whispered to Shelly, “This was your idea. You’re in charge.”
“No problem, Jensen.” She pointed to the lavender roses standing upright in the ice chest. “We have the flowers. We’re all set. Your job is to drive the boat out to a picturesque spot.”
Jensen. So she was back to
calling him Jensen. Just wait, he thought. Now was not the time to pull her into his arms and kiss her until she cried “Matt” in that breathy voice he found unbelievably erotic.
Matt motored the launch up the channel, dodging a bevy of wind surfers and a Jet Skier who insisted on crossing in front of them. The others were silent. He figured no one knew what to say. He sure hoped Shelly could pull this off.
He cut the engine and drifted into Fleming Key’s shallow waters. The property belonged to the navy. SEALs usually trained there, but today the ellipse of crystal-white sand flanked by mangroves was deserted. He removed the “lunch hook” from its locker, then tossed the lightweight anchor into water so clear that he could see a crab burrowing into the sand.
To the west the sun was setting over the Gulf of Mexico, glazing the water with golden light. Herons and egrets were stalking dinner in the mangroves, while a mangrove cuckoo sang his heart out.
“It’s perfect,” Shelly told him as she lifted the roses out of the chest.
She handed each of them several lavender roses. He didn’t know what in hell to do with them or what to say to Trevor that could possibly make up for the way his family had treated him.
“We’re here to help Trevor say good-bye to his mother,” Shelly began, her voice gentle and compassionate. “It’s hard to realize someone who has been a very important part of your life since you can remember is no longer going to be around. When death comes slowly, it isn’t easy, but when the news hits us suddenly, it’s like a physical blow.”
Trevor nodded, his expression somber. Clive muttered, “True. So true.”
“I know how it feels,” she said, her steady gaze on Trevor. “I lost my mother too. One moment she was here, the way I assumed she would always be”—tears misted her eyes and her voice dropped with each word—“suddenly, she was gone.”
Matt recalled Shelly had lost her whole family in the ValuJet crash. Evidently, she had been closer to her mother than the other members of her family. They all were closer to their mothers, he decided. Mothers were special, no question about it.
