by Anne Conley
"You're only breeding confidence in their foolishness. With you here, they have a false sense of security."
"I know that, but they'll be out here, regardless. Somebody has to keep an eye out for them."
"Don't you think somebody does?"
Confused, she looked over at him, but his face was a mask.
"What do you mean?"
"Don't you think that we are all being watched over? That a higher power knows what's going on?"
Grace could remember going to Vacation Bible School with a friend one summer when she was nine. Her mother was all about the week of free babysitting, and Grace wanted to spend time with her friend. But she didn't realize that the church where the bible school was held would be so scary. The teachers there convinced her that if she didn't confess her love for Jesus and become "saved" that she would end up in a fiery pit somewhere, doomed to be evil for eternity. As a nine-year old, she was terrified at the notion, and marched herself to the altar to get dunked in a tub of water. Her life hadn't changed. She didn't become a different person. And her mom had been pissed at her when she went home and proudly told her what she'd done. So, no. She didn't really believe a higher power knew everything that was going on. Although the power emanating these storms was impressive.
Instead of telling this near stranger the story, Grace shrugged at Rafe. She returned her gaze to the water, where the fishermen were standing in their waders, baskets attached to their hips, casting into the turbulent waters. Fish weren't really worth this, were they? "I hadn't really thought about it."
He was silent, leaning back on the bar behind the bench, watching the water with her.
She broke the silence. "Besides, I like watching the power from here."
"Pardon?"
"The power. Mother Nature, God, whatever you want to attribute this to." Her hands waved in an encompassing sweep across the waves in front of her. "I love storm watching."
"Me too." But as she glanced over, she realized he wasn't watching the storm. He was watching her.
Redirecting her gaze, Grace noticed a fisherman was missing from the cluster. She stood and raised her binoculars. Dammit, she'd gotten distracted and hadn't seen where he went.
She saw him, then. He bobbed in the waves several feet from where he'd been, his waders having gotten swamped. She threw off her jacket, blowing her whistle shrilly, out of habit, not because there was anybody else there to help her.
Ignoring Rafe's protests, she jumped from the stand and went running into the water with her shorts on. The air was cold, but the gulf waters were still warm.
As she swam out to the man, she could feel the rip tide pulling on her body, aiding her swim, dragging her out into the gulf. She tried not to think about how hard it would be to get back carrying the man.
She pumped her arms and legs, running through the steps of the save in her mind, vaguely aware that she was missing something.
When she got to the man, the air that must have been trapped in his waders had kept his feet afloat, but his face was under water, being pummeled by the waves. He was unconscious.
Grabbing him around the shoulders, Grace pulled his face out of the water, and tried to speak to him. Getting no response, she turned to drag him back to shore.
She almost swam into Rafe, who was with her in the water, holding a pocket knife up. He must have followed her out.
"Here, let me cut those things off." He slipped the blade under the suspender straps and cut them off easily, dropping the weight off the limp body. Grabbing under one of the man's arms, Rafe helped her pull him back to shore.
Together, they fought the rip tide, Rafe's powerful muscles adding strength to Grace's attempts. She was sure that she probably wouldn't have been able to do this alone. The surf was just too strong.
By the time they'd made it to shore, Grace's breath was coming in ragged gasps, but the adrenaline was flowing. Everybody else had exited the water, much to her relief. She turned the man over and began administering CPR.
As she worked, the green haze filtered her vision, tunneling it, and Rafe's comforting hand rested on her lower back.
"You're doing good, Grace," he said, his voice almost a whisper, but she could hear it clearly over the pounding surf. It was almost as if he spoke inside her head.
She was aware of Rafe shifting beside her, so he could touch the man. "Let me help. I'll do the compressions." He straddled the man and laid his hands on his chest. Grace breathed into his mouth, and Rafe pushed on his chest. Almost immediately, the man began to sputter and cough, water coming out of his nose and mouth. She turned him to his side and lifted his arm, to help.
His fishing buddies and the surfers had been standing around, silently watching. When the man regained consciousness, there was a collective sigh, and the surfers began to disperse, muttering appreciations to Grace under their breath. The fishermen helped their companion to his feet and led him off. Grace turned to Rafe.
"Thank you for the help. I'm not sure I could have done that alone." Feeling chagrined, she felt a sizzle in her insides at the look he was giving her.
It was a look of compassion, mixed with awe, and it took her breath away. She suddenly realized why his eyes looked so familiar. They were the same shade of green as the haze that came over her during her saves. He seemed so…otherworldly. No wonder when she looked at his eyes, she felt so calm.
As she shook her head to clear the thought, a gust of wind came from across the gulf, nearly knocking her over. Rafe reached for her elbow.
"Can we go home, now?"
Nodding, she turned as he grabbed her hand and led her off the beach.
The storm gathered in intensity as they made their way back to the house, rain beginning to fall, pelting their exposed skin with needle pricks. By the time they reached home, they were both soaked to the skin, and the cool wind had her teeth chattering. But Rafe held her hand the whole way, and it made Grace warm, the sensation traveling up her arm and coursing through her body. She ignored it as best she could.
Grace giggled at Rafe, as he shook the water out of his hair in front of the door before going inside. He grinned down at her, wet hair hanging around his face. She reached up and tucked a piece behind his ear, fingering the tendril.
"You're soaked," she said softly.
"You're every bit as wet as I am. Let's get inside and change, shall we?" He opened the door for her, and ushered her inside.
Chapter Eleven
Rain was pelting the roof in sheets, and even if the windows hadn't been covered, Rafe was sure they wouldn't be able to see anything out of them. He could hear the wind howling outside. The power had gone out, and Rafe was walking around the living room, lighting candles when Grace emerged from her room. He managed to retain his air of nonchalance despite her appearance.
She was wearing what was left of a pair of blue jeans, faded with holes everywhere, and a ragged sweatshirt that somebody had cut the collar off, so it hung off one shoulder. He could see that she wore nothing underneath it. He had seen her in bathing suits, a short skirt, and shorts, but nothing compared to this outfit. The tightness in his groin came back, and he turned away, unable to make it stop. She looked so sexy, it was unnerving.
Towel in hand, she sat on the futon and leaned over to rub her hair with it. Rafe lit the last candle and went to sit next to her on the futon. He could see the graceful curve of her smooth neck and the top of her back and resisted the urge to lean over and lay a kiss on it.
Of all the women he had known, had helped, and had contact with, for The Boss to choose this one for him left Rafe breathless with anticipation.
"Where did you come from, Rafe?" The voice emerging from under the mane of wet hair was soft, like silk caressing his skin.
"Houston." Rafe didn't recognize the voice that rose from his mouth. It sounded ragged, but he answered her question the best he could. He didn't think that was what she was asking, as he'd already told her that's where he'd moved from.
"I
mean…" He turned to look at her, and her eyes held questions that he knew he should answer, but now wasn't the time. It was too soon. "…Never mind. Forget it." She dropped her gaze.
Trying to sound casual he said, “Was I the reason you broke up with Brad?” Realizing that didn’t come out right, he amended the statement. “Did you break up with him because of what he said about me?”
She shrugged, eyes downcast. Rafe wondered why she wasn't looking at him. "He's gotten a little too…clingy. I guess. We started out as friends with benefits, just having fun, you know? The other night at the party, he was a complete ass. I think he's getting a little too attached."
"You don't like attachments?"
"No. Not really."
She was opening up to him, and Rafe seized the opportunity. "Is there someone else? That you'd like to have fun with?"
She looked up at him, and the desire in her eyes was obvious, but she said, "No. Not really."
"What about me?"
"What about you?" Her gaze dropped again, and Rafe resisted the urge to hop inside her head and find out what she was thinking.
"We could have fun." He was hopeful for an opening. He wasn't sure he wanted to start with sex, but if that's what it took, he would give it a shot.
"I don't think so, Rafe. We're roommates. It would be awkward."
Something on her face told him she wasn't being entirely truthful. Sure, it would probably get awkward with Nicole and Bree around, but it wasn't like nobody in this house had sex. He had gathered that much, just from the week he'd lived here. Instead of pushing further for the truth, he simply agreed.
"Yeah, you're probably right." He leaned back on the couch. "So what do you look for in a boyfriend, if you don't like attachments?"
Shrugging again, "I just want to have fun. I don't want to be used, or get tied down to anything I can't get out of." Her words didn't make sense to Rafe. She was saying one thing, but the way she was looking at him told Rafe to make her want something more. Unless he was reading too much into her. Again, he resisted the urge to jump inside her head to figure her out. "I mean, I want a guy that's into me. Who treats me like I'm the most important thing in his life. But I don't want to have to sacrifice myself for that, you know?"
"Have you ever been in love, Grace?" He asked her, quietly.
She shook her head, much to his relief. "No. Definitely not. Have you?" She looked at him, her blue eyes so wide Rafe felt like he could fall into them and drown.
"No. I haven't." He couldn't tell her how hard he'd tried, how badly he wanted to, how much he wanted her to be the one. "Have you ever wanted to be in love?" He was quiet, prodding her for the truth.
She leaned back on the futon, sighing and closed her eyes. Her eyelashes on her cheek were long, and Rafe wanted to touch the smooth skin they rested on. "Sure. Who doesn't? But I don't want to love somebody so much that I have to sacrifice myself to make them happy. I want the fairy tale. And those don't exist." Her voice dropped with the finality of her last statement, and she sat back up to look at Rafe, a blush rising on her cheeks. Changing the subject, she asked "Do you…date much?"
He smiled to himself. "A little." If he averaged out the number of women he'd courted over the millennia, it would probably be less than one every fifty years or so.
She turned to look at him. "Can I ask you a personal question?"
He shrugged as if he didn't care, but he would answer anything she asked. He watched her take a deep breath before she asked the question, rain and wind howling in the background.
"What do men want, Rafe?"
The question surprised him. Was she actually asking him for relationship advice? Without thinking, his gaze rested on her bare shoulder, and he swallowed the lump in his throat.
"Sex and sandwiches." He grinned through the sudden discomfort he was feeling. "That's it."
Grace burst into gales of riotous belly laughs, an incongruously deep laugh, that made him want to take her into his arms and carry her off to a bedroom. Any bedroom would do. He shifted on the futon, uncomfortable with the sudden twinge in his pants.
After her laughter subsided and his goosebumps faded, he said, "No, seriously…Guys just want the same thing women do: someone to connect with. Don't you think?"
She scrunched up her brow, concentrating. "Sometimes, I think that's true. But don't guys want more of the physical stuff? I mean Dave Chappell pretty much said guys want sex, food, and quiet. In that order. I've seen the stand-up routine."
Rafe was quiet for a minute. He thought about it. It did seem like sex was a major factor in guys' thinking, but it was the same for women, too. Just maybe not as much. He had to admit to himself that when he was around Grace, his physical form had reacted in ways that he hadn't known were possible. "It isn't that way for women?"
She shook her head. "Not me. I mean, sex is fun and all, but it's not the end all, be all, to intimacy."
"Is that what women want? Intimacy?" If so, this would put a different spin on things. He'd have to think about it for a while. He didn't have much of a concept of intimacy…
Grace nodded, biting her lip. His gaze focused on her teeth turning that piece of her bottom lip pale. "I think so, yes."
"So, you want to be able to connect with a man on a level that's more than sexual? Is that it?"
She nodded again, looking unsure of herself. Hesitantly, she explained herself, "I mean, I don't really care for the intimacy stuff. Really." It seemed to Rafe that she was trying to convince herself. "But most girls do. They want to be able to talk to their guys like this, about important stuff." She tossed her hair over her shoulder. "I just want to have fun, you know?"
"Why can't you do both?" He could see the confusion in her eyes, and he felt like he was getting closer.
She blushed. "It's just that Brad and I never just talk about ourselves. We talk about work, about movies, music and stuff like that. But we don't talk about anything personal. I think he wants more intimacy from our relationship, but I'm just not ready for that. In the week that I've known you, I've done more things with you that I think Brad wished we did together."
"Like what?"
"Well, like this." She gestured between the two of them. "Talking, and the stuff we talked about at the party." She looked down. "But the truth is, I don't think Brad really cares about what I want to do after I graduate or that I don't want any emotional attachments. He just wants what he can get, and doesn't ask for more."
"Do you want more? With Brad?"
"Not really. I don't care about him that way. I just wanted something fun with him."
"This isn't fun?" He was trying to understand, but it was difficult. He thought he was getting close. Then she would say something else, and he was confused again.
"Yes, it is, it's just that…" Her eyes lowered and she watched herself twist her hands in her lap. Rafe felt like he was getting so close. The rain pelted against the boards on the windows, and the candle light flickered in the darkness. He could hear the wind kicking up as it howled across the island. Gently, he used his index finger to lift her chin and look into her eyes. Deep fathomless pools of blue that turned his stomach over. He couldn't tell if it was ozone in the air or the electricity that seemed to constantly spark between them, but the hair on his arm was standing at attention.
"What, Grace?"
"I don't want to lose myself." She lowered her eyes again, biting her lip and Rafe felt a tightness in his chest. Feeling triumphant, he raised her chin once more, daring her to look at him.
"Why do you look like that?" He lowered his voice, so that she had to lean closer to hear him over the wind outside. "Not that I'm complaining, I like when you bite your lip. But it goes back to the whole sex thing, I'm thinking. You are doing something to me here, Grace."
She stared at him, and he realized he'd rendered her speechless.
"I've enjoyed getting to know you, Grace." Her eyes were wide and scared looking. The candles that Rafe had lit after they'd changed clothes g
ave the room a romantic ambience. The rain pelting against the roof soothed him, helped him deal with his jittery nerves.
"This is what I’m talking about. I do want this” she gestured back and forth between the two of them, “in a relationship. I just don’t know how to get it without sacrificing myself." She hurried along before he could respond. "Not that I want you, or anything. It's just..."
“Just what, Grace?”
“It’s just you’re too much for me.”
“Too much what?”
“Not casual enough.” She let out an exasperated sigh, dropping her head in her hands.
Her scent wafted up to his nose, smells of the sun and the sea, and his heart pounded in response. The tightness in his chest hadn't faded, nor had the heat in his belly. His gut stirred again at the memory of her skin under his fingers at the dance club.
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“I couldn’t just do a casual thing with you…You would need more from me than I’m willing to give you.” Her voice had dropped to a whisper, and he breathed in her exhalations, trying to taste her. His finger was still on her chin, but it snaked around to caress her jaw, then her neck, going around to the back of it, pulling her closer.
"How can you tell that? We’re just talking."
"It's not the talking; it's what we've been talking about. Intimacy and all that." He could barely hear her, her voice barely above a whisper. “Nobody’s made any declarations, but I can just tell…”
"It does feel intimate, doesn't it?" Rafe leaned closer, until their breaths were commingling.
Concentrating on the rain and the candle light, instead of his nerves, he steeled himself. Rafe had no idea this would be so hard. "You said nobody had made any declarations. Well, I'm declaring that we're not going to be just friends. Just so we're clear on that." He lowered his mouth to hers, just for a little taste. He couldn't stop himself.
As soon as their lips touched, her hands went to his chest, clutching handfuls of his tee shirt. Her lips were warm and smooth under his, and a raw need consumed Rafe. A roaring filled his ears, and he raised his other hand to caress the smooth skin of her shoulder. The tumult of emotions inside Rafe came to a fever pitch, drowning out everything but the touch of Grace, the scent of Grace, the taste of Grace.
