Only for his nerves, waiting for her to come back up from the dark and treacherous depths of the ocean. “No, not at all. As long as I can be back on board in time to help them pull in the nets when they’re done, the guys and my da should be able to manage the rest without me.”
He watched Tito’s progress out of the corner of one eye, trying to gauge how much time he had left before the other two rejoined them.
“Uh, do you have any plans for tomorrow evening?” He braced himself to hear her say she was going out with that guy Kesh again; it seemed like he was always around these days. Staking out his territory, which just happened to include Beka, apparently.
“Nothing definite,” she said. “Why?”
“It’s no big deal, but a couple of the guys I knew from high school asked me to meet them in Santa Carmelita tomorrow night. There’s some sort of barbeque on the beach, with fireworks and stuff, and they’ve been asking me to get together and do something since I got back, so I really couldn’t say no.” He took a deep breath. “The thing is, I’m not great with crowds these days, and explosions, well, they make me kind of edgy. I thought if you went with me, it would help remind me that I wasn’t in Afghanistan anymore.”
She lifted an eyebrow in question, but he didn’t know how to explain to her that something about being with her seemed to ground and calm him—even when she was frustrating the living crap out of him. It was as though the sunlight in her soul shined a light into the dark places in his. But there was no way he could put that into words without sounding like a complete idiot.
“Please?” he said instead. “It might even be fun. We don’t have to hang out with my friends the entire time.”
Beka nodded at Candace and her son, who were nearly back to where they were sitting. “Why don’t you ask them? I’m sure Tito would love fireworks.”
Marcus shook his head. “Past his bedtime, and I’m sure Candace has to work. Besides, I’d rather go with you. It’ll impress the hell out of my friends if I show up with a gorgeous blonde on my arm.”
Beka rolled her eyes at him, the movement barely visible behind her sunglasses, but a big grin slid across her face and a hint of a blush touched the top of her high cheekbones. “I suppose you want me to wear something low-cut with a short skirt too,” she said, choking back a laugh.
“Well, if you insist,” Marcus said. “I wouldn’t try and talk you out of it.” He held his breath, trying to remember that he didn’t really care if she came or not, that it was just to keep him from jumping every time they set off a sparkler. “So you’ll come?”
Her smile would have set the showiest fireworks display to shame. “It sounds like fun,” she said. “And I’ve got the perfect dress. It’s going to knock your socks off.”
Marcus wasn’t sure if that was good or bad, but he couldn’t wait to find out.
FOURTEEN
BEKA WAS FEELING ridiculously cheerful when she arrived back at the bus. Anticipation and excitement effervesced in her blood like bubbles in a champagne glass; sparkling and popping against the edges of her aura. A rosy glow seemed to suffuse her vision, rendering the mundane world unusually bright. A seagull’s raucous cry sounded like Mozart as she climbed the steep bluff with her surfboard on her shoulder, and the ragged, hardy weeds that grew to either side of the path were suddenly more beautiful than the loveliest hothouse orchids.
By the sea god’s beard, you have got to get a grip, she told herself sternly. It’s not a date. Marcus just needs someone to ground him in a tricky situation and you were the easiest person for him to ask. It didn’t matter. The stupid grin wouldn’t leave her face anyway.
She tucked the board away on its rack in the storage space under the bus and, giving in to impulse, spun around in an impromptu dance around the clearing, only stopping when she grew dizzy.
“What the hell has gotten into you?” Chewie was sitting in the open doorway of the bus, his mouth gaping open to display an impressive array of very sharp, very white teeth and a lolling black tongue. “Are you drunk? Or, I don’t know . . . possessed?”
Beka didn’t even care that her dragon was laughing at her, that’s how good a mood she was in.
“I’m fine,” she said, pushing him out of the way so she could go inside. “I just had a really nice afternoon, that’s all. It was a lot of fun watching Marcus teach Tito the basics of surfing. He’s great.” She plopped on the couch, noticing in passing that Chewie had actually put away all her magical supplies. It truly was a red-letter day.
“Who’s great?” Chewie asked slyly. “Marcus or Tito?”
Beka sat up straight. “Tito. I meant Tito, of course.”
“Of course.”
“Although it turns out that Marcus maybe isn’t quite as big a pain in the ass as I thought he was.” Beka fiddled with a blue-green cushion embroidered with bright orange fish. “He was really patient with Tito today.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And he kind of asked me to go into Santa Carmelita with him tomorrow night for some barbeque thing they have on the beach,” Beka added in what she hoped was a convincingly casual tone. “Some old friends of his asked him to come, and he’s apparently not too comfortable with the fireworks they’re having later in the evening and thought he’d do better if he had someone to, uh, hold his hand. Metaphorically speaking.”
“Right,” Chewie said dryly. “Metaphorical hand holding. You should be good at that. As long as there’s no actual hand holding.” He snorted, tiny flames shooting out to singe the edge of the couch. Beka extinguished the flames and repaired the damage without even thinking about it, since such things were a common occurrence when one lived with a dog who was mostly dragon.
“I think he has a bit of post-traumatic stress disorder, even though he would never admit it,” Beka explained. “Mister tough guy. But obviously he can sense my Baba nature, and realizes subconsciously that I can help him to stay more in control.” She could feel that silly grin still flitting in and out of existence like sunspots during a flare; trying to keep it off her face was as impossible as catching a rainbow. Hopefully Chewie wouldn’t notice.
Fat chance.
“Maybe he senses your great boobs and fabulous legs too,” Chewie said, leering at her.
“Oh, shut up,” Beka said. Fat chance of that too.
Chewie gave her a long, considering look. “Oh, oh,” he said.
“What?” Beka looked over her shoulder, wondering if something had somehow snuck through the hut-bus’s defenses. She had been neglecting her protective magics lately, what with everything else that had been going on.
“I don’t believe it,” Chewie said. “You’re in love with him.”
That wiped the grin off her face. “I’m what? Don’t be absurd.”
“You are,” the dragon insisted. “You’ve finally fallen in love. It’s about damned time.”
“Have you been chewing on my salvia plant again?” Beka asked. “Because I think you’re having hallucinations.”
“You wish,” Chewie said. “I saw you—you were dancing. It’s a classic symptom. You’re in love.”
“I can’t be,” Beka said in a whisper. “He’s a Human. A Human who dislikes everything I stand for.”
Chewie shrugged, knocking over a chair in the process. “Better him than that damned Selkie prince. And hey, you never know. It worked out for Barbara. She and her sheriff have settled down together and she’s happily training little Babs to be a Baba Yaga. If it can happen to her, why not you?”
Because I’m no Barbara, Beka thought. And Liam might have learned to deal with the fact that the woman he loved was a powerful witch straight out of Russian fairy tales, but somehow, she couldn’t imagine Marcus dealing with her special brand of weirdness nearly that well.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said firmly. “You’re wrong. I’m not in love with Marcus. I’m not in love with anyone. I was just in a good mood. Which you have now ruined, thank you very much.”
She stalked over
to the refrigerator and glared at it until it offered up a nicely chilled bottle of sauvignon blanc. Then she pulled a couple of her favorite knives down off the wall and proceeded to sharpen them until they practically glowed.
Chewie very wisely made himself scarce.
* * *
IF MARCUS HAD been wearing socks, they definitely would have been knocked off. As it was, his toes curled in their sturdy sandals, and he had to fight the impulse to stand up even straighter and salute.
Beka looked amazing.
In the slowly gathering twilight of the summer evening, there was something haunting and magical about the dress she wore. As promised, it dipped low in the front, highlighting her abundant feminine curves. Capped sleeves ended in wide ribbons of silk that matched the panels of the skirt below, seeming to flow around her as if the dress were a living thing. The length of the skirt gave the illusion of modesty, until she took a step forward and the panels parted and swirled, revealing long swaths of shapely leg.
The fabric itself was a watercolor swirl of yellow and gold and amber, and a few hues he didn’t even have a name for, like the sunrise on a foggy day. It set off perfectly the glorious glossy fall of her blond hair, which flowed loose and shimmering over her shoulders and down her back. The only adornment she wore was a simple gold necklace in the shape of a dragon, and the matching earrings he’d noticed the first day he’d seen her. He’d thought then that she was some miraculous sea creature. Now, he thought she was a goddess. Much too good for a mere mortal like him—but man, was he going to have fun showing her off.
“You’re staring,” Beka said, a tiny wrinkle appearing between her brows. “Is it too much? I could go change.”
“Don’t you dare,” Marcus breathed. “You look incredible. I was just trying to figure out if I should charge people just for the privilege of being on the same beach with you.”
“Oh. Uh, thanks, I guess.”
For the first time since he’d met her, Beka was at a loss for words. If he didn’t know any better, he would have said she’d been worried about what he thought. But this was Beka; so clearly that wasn’t true.
“Shall we go?” he asked, gesturing toward his Jeep. “I’m sorry I don’t have a carriage that does justice to that dress, but I wasn’t expecting Cinderella.”
Beka laughed and patted Chewie on the head before heading toward the car. “I’m more like the fairy godmother than I am Cinderella, but that’s okay—I’m not in the mood for Prince Charming tonight anyway.”
Take that, handsome Irish surfer guy. Marcus felt an unaccustomed trickle of happiness swirl around his heart like the way Beka’s dress eddied and flowed over the ground. Her hand felt warm in his as he helped her into the passenger side.
“That’s good,” he said. “Since I am neither a prince nor charming. But I’ll do my best to be a little less crabby than usual.”
“That’s what I was hoping for,” she said with a laugh, “Prince Hardly Crabby At All. Dude, this is going to be a great night.”
* * *
AND IT WAS. Marcus hadn’t expected much more than to just get through the experience; show up, be as sociable as he could manage, pretend to still have something in common with guys he hadn’t seen since he was a teenager, try not to make an ass out of himself in front of Beka, eat some food, drink a beer or two, and go home.
So far, none of it had gone the way he’d expected, except for the eating and the beer. Maybe Beka’s magical dress had turned him into Cinderella, because he was actually having a ball. Even the crowds weren’t bothering him as much as he’d thought they would, probably because he was too busy watching Beka to pay much attention to anyone else.
His old high school friends turned out to still be pretty nice guys, all married to attractive and pleasant women who went out of their way to try and make him welcome in what was obviously a tight-knit group. He’d worried that he wouldn’t have much in common with the men, since their lives had taken a much different path than his. He was fairly certain that none of them had ever killed an enemy in battle and watched the life seep out of his body.
But everyone else was happy to keep the conversation going, occasionally stopping to ask him a question about his father’s health or what it felt like to be back after all these years. Those he mostly sidestepped, so as not to bring down the mood. Still, it was more fun than he’d expected to hang out on the beach and eat decent barbeque with a cold beer in his hand and Beka by his side, making him look good merely by being there.
If he was going to be completely honest with himself, Beka was most of the reason why the evening was going so well. She’d already charmed all of his friends and their wives, and subtly filled in the spaces in the conversation when he couldn’t think of an acceptable answer to things like, “So, how are you and your father getting along these days?” One of the women recognized her from a craft fair where Beka sold her jewelry every year, and that got them chatting about all sorts of female-centric topics that Marcus eventually tuned out.
Instead, he studied the beautiful woman next to him. In the flickering lights of the torches set out by the restaurant hosting the barbeque, she seemed almost ethereal, as if she might vanish between one moment and the next. She gave every appearance of having a good time, but he’d noticed that she hardly ate anything, pushing the food around on the plate but rarely bringing the fork to her lips. He thought she looked pale, too, although it was hard to say in the tremulous torch light.
Of course, maybe she was just thinking about her work and her lack of progress finding answers. Dave, the guy who invited Marcus in the first place, had already mentioned that he was planning to finally give up the fishing boat he’d inherited from his dad—too few fish to keep going, he’d said. And Frank, who loved the sea almost as much as Marcus’s father did, confessed that he was worried about having the money to send his kid to college, since he’d already taken out a second mortgage on his house. Frank’s wife, Nancy, laughed and said if necessary, she could always take up prostitution. But you could tell that, under their cheery exteriors, they were all worried.
They changed to more pleasant topics of conversation, but Beka just looked grimmer and grimmer. Marcus wasn’t having any of that.
When there was a break in the chatter, he leaned over and said quietly in her ear, “Are you okay? If you’re not having a good time, we don’t have to stick around for the fireworks.”
She gave him a startled look, blue eyes wide. “I’m having a great time,” she said. “I’m just a little tired from the dive earlier. It took more out of me than I thought, I guess.”
Marcus wasn’t surprised. He wasn’t sure how deep she’d gone, but her return journey to the surface seemed to take forever. By the time her head had broken through the water by the dinghy, he’d been on the verge of jumping in to make sure she was okay. Only her periodic tugs on the rope between them kept him from doing so, and by the end he’d been sweating and agitated from the wait.
“You should probably take a couple of days off,” he suggested, although he hated the thought of not having her on the boat. When had he grown so addicted to her company?
“Maybe,” she said. “I could use the break to do some research. I’m not sure I can learn anything more from diving anyway. I’ve replaced all the samples I got originally, and I can’t dive any deeper than I did today.”
The fact that she didn’t argue with him made him even more concerned. Beka always argued with him. She must be feeling lousy indeed. Maybe she was coming down with one of the summer colds that was going around. They’d warned his father at the hospital to stay away from anyone who showed signs of being sick. All the more reason to keep her away from the boat, dammit.
Marcus suddenly had enough of being social. “This has been great,” he said to the group they were sitting with. “It’s been really nice to see you all again. But I think we’re going to take off for now. Thanks again for inviting us.” He stood up and Beka stood with him, smiling at everyone and
adding her thanks.
“Aren’t you going to stick around for the show?” Frank asked. “It starts soon.”
His wife Nancy elbowed him in the ribs. “I think maybe Marcus would like to spend a little time with Beka without all us old married people cramping his style.” She nodded toward the bonfire where a local band played an eclectic mix of rock, swing, and jazz. A dozen couples had kicked off their shoes and were dancing on the sand. “I’m guessing he’d rather dance with his beautiful date than sit around talking over the good old days, most of which you guys made up anyway.”
Frank studied Beka a little too earnestly, about one beer over his limit. “Hell yeah, I see what you mean.” Nancy elbowed him again, harder this time, and everyone else guffawed. Eventually they managed to get away, and Marcus could feel his face burning like the fire they were heading toward.
“Sorry about that,” he muttered. “They meant well. We don’t have to dance, of course.”
Beka stopped walking and put one hand on his arm. Electricity shot through him where her flesh touched his. “Does that mean you don’t know how to dance?” she asked, a sly twinkle in her eye.
“I’ll have you know that I am the best former Marine–fisherman dancer on this beach,” Marcus said stoutly. The fact that he was probably the only one didn’t make it any less likely that he would step on her feet, of course, but if the music stayed slow enough, he could probably keep up without making an ass of himself.
Her laugh trilled lightly above the notes of the flute player, flying up like lightning bugs into the night sky. When they reached the circle around the band, the tune changed to something quiet and slightly mournful from the eighties; Billy Joel, maybe. He wasn’t sure. All he knew for certain was how right Beka felt in his arms, her face turned up toward his with a smile, the silk of her hair brushing against his skin as he twirled her around.
The rest of the world vanished into the distant background, until there was nothing left but the salty breeze off the ocean, the warmth of Beka’s presence, and a music that seemed to come as much from the stars and the moon and the rare bubble of happiness in his chest as it did from any human hands.
Wickedly Wonderful Page 15
