“Yeah, well there’s a lot of that going around.”
“Point taken.” He suppressed a smile. “So where’d you pick that up? College?”
“Oldest brother, Kemble. I was the only one besides Father who’d play with him.” She sipped her drink. “Not Tris’s style, and the rest of the Brood were too young.”
Talk with Drew for any length of time, and her family always came up. Dowser wondered what it would be like to have a family like that. “How old were you?”
“Hmm.” She touched a red nail to her lip. God, but he wished she wouldn’t do that. He could feel it right in his balls. “Maybe ten. Kemble would have been seventeen.”
He tried to imagine a seventeen-year-old boy teaching his ten-year-old sister how to play chess. Must have been desperate.
“He was desperate.” Had she read his mind? “Father was in Bangladesh or something. Kemble was spending long hours designing a system for tracking the supply lines there. He needed some downtime.”
“And chess was his downtime.”
Her smile and downcast eyes were devastating. She shrugged. “That’s Kemble.”
The tubby waitress brought over the food. Drew had ordered a salad with fried conch on it, and Dowser had gotten his straight with lots of homemade tartar sauce and some shake-on chili sauce from Belize. Salad or no, Drew dug in with an appetite.
“Ooh. This is good,” she mumbled, spearing another conch piece.
“Don’t sound so surprised.”
“Sorry. I thought it might be ... I don’t know, tough or something. And I don’t usually eat fried foods.” She chewed and swallowed. That drew his attention to that slender throat. It made his breath catch. “But this is great.”
“You know they call these islands the Conch Nation.”
“I thought that was a drug reference or something because everyone here is really, uh, relaxed.”
He made a deprecating grimace. “Well, a little bit. But it’s based on fact. Nobody does conch better than the Keys. And Lillian’s is the best.”
She waved a fork in agreement, since her mouth was full. “I don’t think I’ve ever tasted anything this good,” she said after a minute.
Funny. He hadn’t either. His taste buds were bursting with the flavor assault. And the limeade was cool and refreshing. Even the smell of the clean hot grease they were using in the back for frying smelled better than he could remember anything ever having smelled. Except maybe Drew, as she had hung over him that morning, wiping down his naked body and apologizing for not making him more comfortable, the fresh, clean smell of her after her shower, the damp scent of wet hair, not quite covered by the scent of coconut shampoo.…
Uh-oh. Better not think about that. He was already in trouble, and now it was just going to be embarrassing if he had to get up anytime soon. He watched her eat for a minute. But that wasn’t any better. Under his gaze, she flushed and looked down at her plate. Damn, she knew he was looking at her. The heat from his loins must have made it up to his eyes.
But she wasn’t a coward. She lifted her head and he saw that same heat reflected back at him. He couldn’t believe his good luck. And his forethought. Tonight might just be one very good night.
What was he thinking? How could he even contemplate a one-night stand when he’d known the love he had with Alice?
*****
Oh, God. She’d done it now. She’d let him see how bad off she was. She was certain it had showed in her eyes. Not her fault. Any woman in her right mind would want him and just have to hope she could remain in her right mind. Drew didn’t want to go back to Miami tonight. She wanted to go home with Dowser. And maybe tie him up again. Only this time she wanted him moaning only her name, not in anger but in ecstasy as she....
How could she have thoughts like that? She’d never thought about Roger that way. With Roger, she’d always thought about them having children, and continuing the genetic line of the magic. But she hadn’t wanted to lick his body all over until he moaned her name.
It was all this tropical heat, and the scent of the huge hydrangea outside the little shack, almost like cake batter, and the mouthwatering conch on her salad, which was crisper and greener and more tasting of the earth the vegetables were grown in than any other salad she’d ever had. This whole evening was a sensory all-you-can-eat buffet.
Dowser had gone a dusky red under his tan. Her blatant need for him had embarrassed him. Great. She focused on her meal.
Dowser cleared his throat. “So, what was the job you had in mind for The Purgatory?”
“What?”
“You know. The reason you came down here in the first place.” He was only toying with the last of his conch now.
Dreadful. She couldn’t tell him the real reason she had come. But she had no specifics to back up her general lie that she wanted to hire the vessel. “Uh ... just ... just treasure hunting in general. I heard you were good. I thought you might know of a wreck we could go looking for....” Lame. Very, very lame.
“Oh.” When his black brows came together over that strong, crooked nose it did something to her already throbbing groin. “Uh, just adventure-seeking?”
She nodded a little too eagerly. “I needed some time away from the family.”
Again with the frown. “Uh. Okay.”
Now neither of them was eating. Dowser tore his gaze away from her face and looked out over the darkening beach to the clouds piling up from the south. “Looks like it might rain again.” When he looked back, his eyes had a heat in them. Could he be feeling the same desire that was drenching her?
“Want to get out of here?” he asked, voice husky.
“Yeah.” She tried to make it sound matter-of-fact. In spite of what that husky voice was doing to her. She had to go home sometime. That felt so wrong it almost made her physically ill. “Yeah, I should get going before the deluge.”
“Can you drop me by the dock? I’ll pick up my car.” He looked away as though he didn’t want her to see his expression. Was it satisfaction, or guilt? She couldn’t quite tell.
“Sure.” But she wasn’t sure of anything at all.
*****
Dowser leaned over the engine in his old Camaro. He was soaked to the skin. Warm rain splatted in huge drops against his back and water dripped from his forelock over the engine. He straightened, dropped the hood, and shook his head. “Battery must be dead.” He had to almost shout to Drew, dry in her car next to him, over the clatter of the deluge on the car hood.
Ernie had performed his assignment well. Two could play the game of the missing distributor cap. He had spent an intense and confusing dinner, his senses heightened, his need almost painful. And that was just the finale to a day where he had been incredibly conscious of her, even when he’d been focused on finding the wreck. He couldn’t let her disappear from his life forever just yet.
But he wasn’t going to do anything more than just be with her. He wouldn’t betray himself, or Alice, by taking advantage of Drew. What his body wanted to do would be taking advantage of her. He’d seen the heat in her eyes at dinner but that was probably just the psychic groupie factor. Something about him using his psychic abilities made girls hot. He didn’t want Drew waking up in the morning hating herself for a one-night stand with a drunk.
Who says it has to be a one-night stand?
Where had that come from? Dowser ran around the front of Drew’s car, almost shaking. More than a one-night stand would mean that he had moved on from Alice, and he might as well jerk his soul out through his dick as do that.
So. He wanted to be with Drew, just for a while, until he was really on his feet from detoxing. (Why didn’t he feel worse? He wouldn’t think about that right now.) Because she made him feel, well, not better, precisely. Chaotic, alive, strong, needy, guilty, a thousand things besides better. But he wanted her around. That was all. He was not going to give in to his needs and make love to her. He was not going to leave her feeling used, like that professor asshole made her fee
l.
He jerked open the passenger side door and slid in with a gush of dripping wetness. The wipers slapped against the windshield.
“What do we do now?”
“Tomorrow I’ll get a battery. Can you put off getting back to Miami for one more day?”
Was that relief in her eyes? “I guess so.”
“Hate to make you play taxi more than I already have.” Actually, he wanted to play any game she wanted, and some a proper girl like her would never mention. God, he was a prick. But he wouldn’t give in to it. Then why did you sabotage your car? Nope. Not thinking about that.
“I don’t mind.” She put the car into gear and pulled out onto the road.
The lights at O’Toole’s sputtered and went out, along with the lone street light. The night darkened further as lights went out all over Key West. The drumming of the rain sounded even louder on the car, an attack on the senses. Was the electricity out on Sugarloaf too?
He might be going home to a dark house with Drew. He’d never been afraid of the dark.
Until now.
*****
“Can you get along without us?” Brian Tremaine asked his wife as he stuffed some underwear into a leather duffel with a gold monogram. “Could be a few days.”
“They’ll have Tris,” Kemble said. He set his own duffel, a carbon copy of his father’s, down on a chair in his parents’ bedroom. Done in golds and blues, their sanctuary overlooked Catalina. The setting sun cast a reddish light over the room.
“Tristram is coming with us.” What? Kemble and his father could rescue Drew. They didn’t need anyone else.
At that moment, Tris himself showed up with a battered backpack, stuffed full. Tris went to their mother and she presented her cheek for his kiss. “So can you hold the fort?”
“Mm-hmm,” she said. “Your father has arranged for more security than I’ll be able to stand while you’re gone.” She let her second son go and moved over to pick up a stack of shirts just back from the laundry.
“I think Tris should stay,” Kemble said tightly. “Just to be sure.”
“I wish I could let him stay,” his father said, taking the shirts. “But we may need his talents.”
Tris gave Kemble the roguish grin that fit so well with the scars and the tattoo peeking out of his tee shirt sleeve. “Never know when you’re going to need power.”
“The plane has fuel. And the rental car will run on gas.” What was wrong with him? Jealous that Tris had gotten a power and he hadn’t? Probably. And Tris was coming, no matter what Kemble said. He was just making himself look foolish. “Never mind,” he said, disgusted, more with himself than with Tris. He’d probably be of more use than Kemble could be.
“You were just concerned for our safety,” his mother soothed.
“As he should be,” their father said, his brow creased. “I don’t like this. Not one bit.”
“Can’t we take the company plane?” Tris growled. “She’s been gone almost a week. We need to get there fast.”
“I thought of that,” his father said. “It’s in Argentina.”
Of course his father had thought of that. He thought of everything. Kemble had streamed the TV show immediately off the Internet. It had taken a while to track down this guy Drew had gone after and longer to figure out where he actually moored his boat—not at the fancy marina shown on TV, but in a run-down boatyard off Stock Key. He should have worked faster.
“We’re booked on the eleven o’clock,” Kemble said, trying to cover up his shame, as always. “That gets us in first thing in the morning.”
It was Tris’s turn to look disgusted.
“It’s the best we can do,” his father said, slinging his duffel off the bed.
Or the best his oldest son could do, anyway.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Was the battery really to blame for Dowser’s car problems? Drew wasn’t sure. Dowser surely had no reason to want her to stay after what she’d done to him, but he did seem to be warming to her. Especially over dinner. And now it was just possible he’d paid her back with her own trick: a missing distributor cap. Could it be he didn’t want her to leave after all?
She was sure glad for an excuse to stay, no matter how much heartbreak that meant.
The night was dark as hell without power anywhere. What fools there were out in this mess made traffic back up at every light, since they had all become four-way stops. The bigger resorts glowed again as their generators kicked in, but other than that, car headlights were the only illumination. Channels of crisscrossing light revealed the rain coming down in curtains. Dowser was silent, letting her focus on driving, until he pointed out the narrow track through the foliage to the shack. She’d almost missed it again.
She pulled up to the graveled parking area, and they made a run for it onto the porch. Now they were both soaked to the skin. That always made her laugh.
“Whoo!” she said, shaking her head. “That is some tropical rain storm. Sure it isn’t a hurricane?” She had to raise her voice over the clatter of drops on the tin roof.
“Nah.” Dowser ran a hand through his dripping hair to get it off his face. “Just summer in the Conch Nation.” His white shirt was translucent against his skin in the darkness. She thought she could make out the darker circles of his nipples through it. That made her shudder.
“You cold?”
She shook her head again. The rain was as warm as the heavy air. That wasn’t what was making her tremble.
“Let’s get in and get some dry clothes on.”
The thought of him stripping and toweling off had her dripping from more than the rain. She turned into the house and practically ran to the bathroom. She shut the door as though it was a drawbridge. God help her, he wouldn’t even have to lay siege and she’d be tempted to lower her defenses and surrender the castle. Her body seemed to be humming with some kind of urgency she’d never felt before. She put both hands out to brace herself on the sink, and just leaned there in the pitch black, waiting for her heart to stop pounding.
The knock on the door made her jump. “Got a candle here for you.” The door cracked open and his hand pushed through with a fat tallow candle stuck in an old brass candlestick.
“Thanks.” Was her voice really that shaky? She tried not to touch him as she took it. No luck with that. His skin gave her a warm electric shock, and it went right to her groin. She practically dropped the candle. “Out in a minute.”
Her robe was still hanging on the hook on the back of the door. It occurred to her that she’d never even packed this morning before they’d left to meet St. Claire. Had she really intended to go, or had she been secretly hoping that last night wasn’t the end?
She stripped off her wet clothes and draped them over the half circle rod that held the shower curtain around the tub, dried herself with one of the ancient towels she’d washed at the local Laundromat, and squeezed out her long hair, driving a rivulet of water into the sink. Pulling on the robe, she ran some water to wash her face and get ready for bed. The images that word brought on were not good. Or very good. No, not good. She soaped her face briskly. Just a moment here to get her balance and she’d be ready to go out and face him. Just go right to bed and she’d be okay. She looked down into the sink, ready to splash her face and was transfixed.
The candlelight was flickering and warm, but the vision in the water was clear and cold, independent of the room and the candle. A room was bathed in blue light from above. She was dressed strangely. Men she didn’t know were running toward the corner. More men were scattered around the big room. They had guns. “Wait,” one of them called. “Looks like they’re going to try a charge.” An elevator dinged. Fear of whatever or whoever was coming through that door drenched her.
The vision disappeared, leaving only flickering candlelight and a sink of water.
She staggered back and sank down on the edge of the tub. She’d had a vision.
Of what she had no idea. She didn’t know any room with blue
light. It had been a big room. There’d been a big table maybe, with a box of flowers on it. Some shadowy furniture. Couches? She couldn’t be sure. She had no idea who those men were. She realized she was making little sounds as she gasped, and tears were rolling down her cheeks.
“You okay?” His gruff voice sounded right outside the door.
“Yeah,” she said, and it came out all tentative and quivery. “I ... I just slipped.”
The door pushed open and he filled the bathroom, dressed only in sweatpants. “Are you all right? Let me see.” He knelt in front of her and reached for her chin, turning it to look at her temples. That wasn’t helping her at all. His touch did things to her. Things that weren’t normal. Just like having visions wasn’t normal. “Did you hit your head?”
All she could do was shake the aforementioned head, because she was crying harder now. She was all off kilter. Had been all night. And she did have a power. And she wasn’t just making something up so she could make it come true this time, because she didn’t even know what that place was or who those people were or when it was either. Psychotic was still a possibility. But she didn’t feel psychotic. Did psychotics know that’s what they were?
Dowser was examining her wrists and hands methodically.
What she felt was incredibly alive and incredibly attracted to this man. And she had a power. And that meant, without a doubt, that he was her destined lover, even if she wasn’t meant for him. She was so screwed. Because she liked him. More than liked him. He was strong and good and smart, and he’d had a purpose in life before the unthinkable happened and Alice had gotten cancer. He’d sacrificed his happiness to do what Alice had asked of him. He loved her that much. And he could never belong to Drew. He belonged to Alice.
He slowly stopped his examination. But he kept his hands on her elbows. “Tell me where it hurts,” he said and his voice was gentle but rough at the same time.
She could do nothing but shake her head. He slid up to sit beside her on the edge of the tub and put his arm around her shoulders. She turned into that bare shoulder and the scent of damp man penetrated her senses. Oh dear Lord, if she didn’t get out of here she would start running her hands over the nipples that were quite clear now in the light of the candle. Or over those abs, perhaps squeezing his biceps. She managed to push away. “I’m fine.” She touched her cheek to wipe away her tears and realized she still had soap all over her face. “Oh, dear.”
He's A Magic Man (The Children of Merlin) Page 14
