Summer's Last Breath (The Emerald Series)

by Kimberly James

  “What?” I asked, doing my best to sound disinterested. This was usually when I excused myself and went to my room or left the house in general. But Jamie wasn’t usually here so I decided to stick around.

  “You got a suit on under that don’t you?” He indicated my black cover-up with the dip of his chin.

  “Yeah.”

  “Then come on. Water’s fine.” He smiled and splashed water in my direction.

  “Donovan,” Ross warned as if some code of conduct had been violated.

  “I’m not hitting on her. Jeez Louise.” Donovan turned when my dad came back from putting the trash in the can and yelled, “Hey, Marshall, you’ll let Erin engage in a little two on two, won’t you?”

  “Go ahead.” My dad took a seat at the outdoor bar and smiled from behind his dark shades. Other than a few gray hairs and some fine lines around his eyes and mouth, he fit in well with these guys. He was certainly as fit as they were, despite the twenty-five or so years he had on them. “In fact, I dare you guys to try to keep up with her.”

  “Sounds like we got ourselves a game. Come on, princess. Show us what you got.”

  I really hated being called princess.

  “Oh, all right,” I said with the right amount of feigned resistance.

  I wasn’t exactly proud, but I’d been kind of hoping this would happen. Taking off my cover-up because I’d been asked to join in the game was different than parading around in my bikini for no other reason other than to parade around in my bikini. I wanted to be seen. I just didn’t want it to look like I wanted to be seen. The problem was that the person I wanted to be seen by was totally ignoring me. For all of Jamie’s intense, see-right-through-me stares in the kitchen, he hadn’t looked at me once during lunch. Not while we cleaned up. And not now. I was suddenly as invisible as I’d been freshman year in high school when he was a senior.

  I’d thought long and hard about which suit to put on. I had a few that were string ties and would come undone with a mere thought. Suits made for tanning, not playing, hardly able to withstand what would undoubtedly turn into a vigorous game of volleyball. These guys didn’t do anything halfway or for fun. I had my mom’s boobs, which was to say, there was no way I was getting into a pool full of athletic guys who were unlikely to take it easy on me just because I was a girl without wearing something that was full coverage and extra support.

  As nonchalantly as I could, I grabbed the hem of my loose-fitting cover-up, flicked it over my head, and discarded it in an empty chair. A lot of girls my age wouldn’t have been nearly as confident as I was when it came to disrobing in front of so many pairs of male eyes, who in their own rights were about as hot as they come, even if they were like brothers. My suit was modest. The top was more like a sports bra and the bottoms covered my cheeks completely. I looked good. I worked out with the volleyball team and worked out more with my dad, and it showed.

  My walk to the diving board was done without the provocative sway of my hips. I knew they were watching me. My heart sped up in a moment of self-doubt. What if Jamie didn’t like what he saw? He and his kind were so over the top gorgeous there was no way my slightly above average, regular human body—boobs not withstanding—would impress him.

  When I turned the corner of the pool and faced them, my heart fell into my stomach. Jamie had his chair reclined and he was flat on his back, his face toward the sky, with his arm over his eyes as though he were taking a siesta. I swallowed my disappointment. The one time in my life when I actually wanted a guy to ogle me, and here he was taking a nap. That little show had been all for nothing.

  I walked to the end of the board and dove in the water, coming up beside Donovan. It was September and the Florida sun was still hot so the water was lukewarm. I swiped my hair out of my face and rubbed under my eyes, knowing I probably had mascara smeared on my face. And then I was pissed for putting on makeup at all, something I never would have done had I thought I’d end up in the water. I’d worn a bathing suit for a guy that was, as far as I could tell, sound asleep.

  “You ready to go down?” Ross asked from the other side of the net. Ross was the serious one of the group. The rule follower. The one you’d call if you were ever in trouble and needed a quick out.

  “Give it your best shot,” I said. “Serve them up.”

  Nothing like a little pent up frustration to get the mojo going. I was killing it. Once Ross and Lassie realized I did indeed have some serious volleyball skills, and Donovan and I jumped up by three points, things got real serious, real fast. The game only slowed when Donovan and I went for the ball at the same time, and since he had a good fifty pounds on me, his elbow connecting with my face was enough to jar me and make everyone stop. They all wore the same horrified looks on their faces.

  “God, Erin. I’m sorry. Are you all right?” Donovan’s hands circled my wrists and he held my arms away from my face so he could get a look at the damage. His elbow had hit me in the cheek and it hurt. My eyes watered and I blinked in quick succession to keep a tear from falling. I’d probably have a bruise by tonight. What was it with me today? A burn on my hand and now a bruise on my cheek? Way to make a good impression.

  “Yeah, Donovan. I’m fine. That was clearly my ball, so back off, sweetheart.” I jerked my arms free from his hold, splashing him playfully, and the game continued. An elbow to the face was just the distraction I needed after my humiliating behavior. I wasn’t that kind of girl. I didn’t use my body to get the attention of a guy who, last time I checked—which was often damn it—wasn’t even in the chair anymore.

  My heart sank. I searched until I found him over by my dad, his back to the pool. They were engrossed in conversation.

  “Erin, incoming,” Donovan warned.

  My head snapped around just in time for me to stick my hands up and deflect the ball coming straight for my face. It sailed back over the net. Too high. A perfect set for Ross who took full advantage of the easy pickings. It was now their serve. A couple more points would win them the game, and I didn’t care because Jamie was leaving. He fist bumped the guys on his way out, first Ross then Lassie.

  Donovan swam to the side of the pool and held up his hand to Jamie. “Beers later. At the Oasis. Bartender’s a buddy of mine. No I.D. required.”

  “I didn’t hear that,” my dad said as he stood from his stool, presumably to walk Jamie out.

  “Don’t worry, Marshall. We’ll take it easy on him since it’s his first time and all.”

  “As long as he’s ready to get to work at 0600, I don’t care,” my dad shot over his shoulder.

  This news was met with a collective groan.

  “Tomorrow’s Sunday, sir.” Donovan was either brave or stupid.

  “And the day after that is Monday. What exactly is your point?” Over the rims of the glasses he’d pulled down his nose, my dad's eyes were glazier blue and just as cold. He’d used that look on me a million times.

  “No point, sir. Can’t wait.” Donovan turned his back to my dad and rolled his eyes where only I could see.

  “That’s more like it,” my dad said, putting his hand on Jamie’s shoulder and guiding him toward the gate. “I got to get out of here. Watching you guys get schooled by a girl is making my eyes bleed.”

  I didn’t point out we were about to lose due to Donovan’s going chivalrous on me after elbowing me in the face.

  Jamie didn’t even spare me a glance when he walked out with my dad. The game lost all its appeal. I wanted to go back upstairs and put on some clothes.

  “Erin,” Donovan said, his voiced pitched low so no one else would hear. “Don’t even think about it.”

  “What?” He was on to me and my tone dared him to call me out.

  “You know what. He’s trying hard to prove himself. I get the appeal. I do. Just don’t screw it up for him.”

  What exactly did Jamie have to prove? That he was better than everyone else? The proof of that was in the file I’d memorized from front to back.

  I m
ade for the edge of the pool, biting my tongue in agitation. “Relax, Donovan. I’m not even on his radar.”

  I dragged myself out of the pool and dried off with a towel before wrapping it around my hips.

  Walking back into the house, it hit me. Jamie didn’t even get a brownie.

  Chapter Three

  I was molded to the north side of the highest dune, peering through a clump of sea oats. I was in a protected area, one cordoned off by wires and warning signs, but there was nowhere else to hide in the empty stretch of beach. My dad allowed me to watch his team go through their various exercises, so long as I stayed out of sight and did nothing to distract them. The rigors of their training fascinated me. As an athlete myself, to witness the way they pushed their bodies past the limits of the ordinary was nothing short of inspiring.

  This was the glamorous side of Special Operations—yes, I found all the grueling physical training extremely glamorous—and the point at which these warriors were created. Though my dad would argue warriors were born not made and it was his job to find them and then mold them until they reached their potential. Until they reached near perfection.

  Jamie was already perfect. He was driven, outpacing the others ten times over like a machine. Not that he wasn’t breathing heavily like the others. He just seemed more capable of ignoring the discomfort and pushing through it. If Jamie had a weakness, it was the long-distance runs, but he came back first from their four mile run through the powdery sand. Then they took their training to the water, where Jamie was absolutely mesmerizing. My eyes tracked his movements, the long, languid strokes of his well-muscled arms. He would disappear for long minutes at a time, but I always found him when he resurfaced, my eyes inexplicably drawn to him.

  Once out of the water, they trotted over to a ten-foot log. Ross barked out the order and they all bent down, cleaned the two-hundred-pound log to their shoulders then, extended their arms overhead, holding the log in place. They performed a series of four-count lunges, and I found myself counting along with them. They jogged. Squatted. Dropped to the sand and knocked out what had to be a hundred sit-ups with the log held at chest level. Then they were up again, red-faced and sweaty, and jogged through the sand.

  By this point, their arms were starting to quiver, signaling fatigue. If they dropped the log, they’d have to start all over. Second chances didn’t exist. They either performed or they didn’t. I sucked in a breath when the log dipped under the buckling of Donovan’s elbows. He wasn’t only the youngest in the group, but the smallest. The fifty pounds he shouldered wore on him more than the others. His cheeks puffed in and out as his breath hissed between his clenched teeth. Ross barked an order and the others did their best to compensate, but it was obvious Donovan was losing the battle with the log. It was only a matter of a few more seconds.

  I mumbled my own words of encouragement as though I actually had a stake in the exercise. I understood the need to succeed. Failure for these guys was not an option. But that’s exactly what they were heading for until Jamie scooted in behind Donovan, bolstering more than his share of the weight.

  “Native, don’t you do it, you SOB,” Donovan grunted, his face a scowl of frustration as he struggled to keep his grip on the log, not ready to give up. Not ready to admit defeat. They crossed what passed for the finish line and one by one, each of them dropped out, Donovan first, followed by Lassie, then finally Ross. Jamie kept going another hundred meters, carrying the burden of the two hundred pound log overhead like it weighed twenty.

  Ross glared after him while Donovan cursed a string of expletives at the ground. I was too far away to read the expression on my dad’s face, but I imagined he wasn’t too pleased with Jamie’s showing off, exposing another weakness. These exercises were all about teamwork: being there for the other guy and not showing out or showing off. This whole operation was to see how well Jamie worked with others and them with him.

  Jamie made the turn and jogged the fifty meters back. When Jamie dropped the log, Ross approached him and I strained to hear what he said to him, but the words were lost to the wind. Jamie’s chest rose and fell as he fought to catch his breath, his words spoken haltingly. Finally, Ross laughed, and he and Jamie exchanged high-fives. Lassie followed suit, shaking his head. Not in disapproval, I thought, but in a respectful acceptance for what Jamie was and what he could do. They saw him as what my dad intended them to—an asset.

  Only Donovan hung back, hands perched on his hips, his features held in rigid passivity. Jamie walked up to him. I wished I was closer so I could hear what he said, but his back was to me and I was too far away. Was he apologizing? Donovan wouldn’t look at him. His eyes stayed cast over the dunes. I hunkered down farther in my spot, lest they drift my way. By the time I found the courage to look again, they had disbanded, Lassie and Donovan staggering back to Ross’s Hummer. Jamie stayed behind. He always worked extra, usually more running, putting in the time to overcome some perceived physical weakness. He didn’t have any as far as I could tell, unless being too good was a weakness. I always stayed and watched. Always sad when it was over and he disappeared into the surf.

  I waited for him to turn up the beach, but it appeared he would forgo his run today. He dove into the Gulf, right into the foam of a breaking wave. A desire rose up in me to follow him. Then, just as quickly as he disappeared, he emerged in a flurry of god-like glory, water streaming over his skin. He turned in my direction. It took me a few seconds to realize he was jogging straight for me. I ducked, making myself as small as possible, with nowhere to go or hide in this desert of a beach. If I got up, he’d for sure see me, and more than likely, so would the other guys as they pulled from the parking lot. I held my breath, not daring to move, like a rabbit caught in the path of a dangerous predator, as if that would keep him from finding me. The unmistakable squeak of feet on the sand grew closer then stopped right next to me. I smelled him—salt and sun and something unidentifiable. I inhaled, wanting more.

  Heat blushed my cheeks, and I waited for him to either say something or go away. He did neither. My eyes cut sideways and my peripheral vision was filled by his hulking form. When he crouched beside me, there was really nothing left for me to do but turn my head to look at him. I was met with the wall of his chest, the rise and fall of his hard pectorals, giving way to his rippled torso. I’d never seen a chest like his up close. Most guys in school were still on what I’d call the scrawny side, muscular but lean. Even the football players who were bigger tended to be a little chubby too. And while Jamie was definitely lean without an ounce of fat on him, he was also big. I doubted I could circle his biceps with both hands.

  “How old are you?”

  The hard edge in his voice prompted me to look up at his face. Water spiked his dark hair, dripping over his cheeks and jaw. Setting my jaw, I lifted my chin. It would be so easy to let him intimidate me, knowing what I did about him.

  “Seventeen.” The lie slipped out too easily. Eighteen wouldn’t have worked because I was still a sophomore, and the truth—that I was sixteen—sounded too young, especially with Jamie towering over me, even though he wasn’t even standing up. He blotted out the sun, the whole entire world, and I was content to let him.

  He lifted his hand to my face, his fingers lightly tracing my cheek where Donovan had elbowed me the previous day. His expression softened, his full lips turning slightly down. “Does it hurt?”

  “A little,” I confessed, drowning in the pools of his green eyes, so pale they were almost no color at all.

  He stared at me for a long time, as if he were mulling something over in his mind, and all the while his eyes searched my face. My skin shivered.

  My lips parted as my mind churned for some reasonable excuse as to why in the world I would be hiding here. What could I say that wouldn’t make me sound like a Navy groupie or worse, a stalker? The half-formed words stalled in my throat as his head descended toward me, and before I knew his intention, his lips lightly touched my cheek, stunning me into u
tter stillness. Then his lips found mine and the reasonable voice in my head told me I should push him away, that he’d stepped way out of bounds, and I was about to do it—I was—when his tongue darted out and teased my lips. They opened all by themselves, my body way ahead of my brain, eager in its response. I kept my eyes open, not wanting to miss a single second. The weird thing was he didn’t close his eyes either, which made his kiss all the more potent. I’d been kissed before, but never like this, sweet and gentle with an undercurrent of the not so gentle, a complete possession of my mouth and my heart along with it. He lifted his head a fraction and we shared a breath before he drew away completely. He pushed to his feet, then stood over me again as I met his forceful gaze.

  “You know what I am.” It wasn’t spoken as a question, but a declaration.

  “Yes,” I said. Like I would care after that kiss. I took the hand he offered and let him pull me to my feet. I thought I felt a tremor snake up his arm at the contact, but that couldn’t be right. Then it occurred to me that the kiss might have affected him as much as it had me. It gave me the confidence I needed to ask, “Why did you kiss me?”

  His mouth quirked at the corners, the almost smile making him look boyish and carefree. I really wanted to lean in and taste his smile. I thought he wanted the same thing. His eyes fell to my mouth then slid back to my eyes.

  “Couldn’t help it,” he said, and with that, he turned, leaving me no choice but to stare after him.

  Thinking crazy thoughts, I watched him trot back through the sand. A few dozen words shared between us and I loved him already. My mom said it had been like that with my dad. Love at first sight. Guess it ran in the family. Because I knew as Jamie Jacobs lost himself in the surf that I loved him. Or at least, I knew I would.

  Chapter Four