After opening the small metal door, she acquired the paper contents inside, sorting through them until she came upon a manila envelope from Adversity Magazine. She tucked the remaining mail under her arm and then slid her index finger under the fold to pry the package open. Inside she discovered an advanced copy of next month’s magazine, one of her photographs printed on the cover.
The picture had been taken three weeks before she’d returned to Butler Island. She’d traveled to Washington State to capture damage from a 5.0 magnitude earthquake that’d struck the area surrounding Mount Rainier. The photograph had captured a group of scientists kneeling in front of a broken segment of road, studying the damage near the base of the volcano, the majestic mountain’s snow-capped peak visible in the background.
Olivia reached into the manila envelope and unveiled a sizeable check for the use of her photograph. This wasn’t the first time one of her photos had made the cover of Adversity Magazine, but it was the first time she’d been rewarded a check with that many zeros. Apparently the magazine was beginning to appreciate her unique perspective, her freelance compensation proof of her hard work and talent.
Photography had always been rewarding—not always monetarily—but personally. She loved capturing moments in time through the lens of her camera, sharing her perspective anonymously through her still shots. It still amazed her that photographs could evoke such emotion—without sound or movement: anger, inspiration, empathy. Sorrow. Illustrating catastrophe in current events was only part of the job—extracting emotion from the person viewing her work was of utmost importance.
Since her return to the small island, she hadn’t captured many shots. But that was soon going to change. She needed to speak with Chief Handler and ask permission to accompany the firefighters on future calls. Most likely she’d only capture the rescue of the occasional stranded cat in a tree. But on the off-chance that another “suspicious” fire broke out, she wanted to be prepared.
The sun was finally beginning to win its battle with the murky clouds, its warm radiance glaring upon her skin. After quickly heading inside, she reached for her camera and her keys. Her destination: the beach. The jellyfish encounter robbed her of the opportunity to capture still shots of the powdery sand, clear gulf water, and the hypnotic horizon several weeks ago and with the clouds finally dissipating, a quiet afternoon with her camera at the beach was long overdue.
Raising his forearm to his brow, Grant wiped a bead of sweat away. He’d been sanding the exterior siding of his beach house for most of the morning, preparing the wood for a fresh coat of paint. He’d inherited the home after his grandpa died five years earlier. Over the years he’d made improvements to the interior: painted the walls, refinished the hardwood floors, and updated the kitchen and bathrooms. But he’d saved the dull, lackluster exterior for last.
Grandpa Gibson was eighty-four when he passed, his frail frame unable to manage the upkeep of his beloved home any longer. When Grant had first moved in, the task of restoring the historical stilt-home seemed daunting. He’d been so overwhelmed. After the initial shock had subsided, he’d set a plan into motion and little by little, transformed his inheritance into his personal coastal sanctuary.
The radiant sun chased the remaining dismal clouds from the sky, casting its warm, rejuvenating rays upon his bare back. A break from his hard work was long overdue. After tossing his sandpaper into his toolbox, he sauntered inside, grabbed a beer from the fridge, and then returned to the deck. He sat at the patio table and then took a pull from his beer, scanning the horizon.
He hadn’t been able to get his date with Olivia out of his mind. It was by far his best first date ever. He’d learned a lot about her and had even shared a glimpse of his past—something he didn’t do very often. In fact, come to think of it… that was a first for him, too.
The Ferris wheel ride couldn’t have gone better either. She’d been terrified, but had trusted him. Olivia stared fear in the eyes, refusing to let it cripple her and observing it had fascinated him. Hell, who was he kidding?—everything she did fascinated him! He’d thoroughly enjoyed their kiss and judging by her erotic moans, she had as well.
After they’d left the boardwalk she’d driven him home. He’d kissed her goodbye—this time with more control and restraint—and before he’d exited the car, she’d promised she’d call…
That was four days ago.
He’d carried his cell phone with him everywhere, afraid he’d miss her call. He even dialed her number a time or two—okay, more than a time or two—but had always hesitated to press the final digit. She’d said she would call. Maybe he was just overreacting? Maybe she’d been busy…
Yeah, that was probably it. She was probably organizing her closets or…
Listen to yourself, Womack. You sound fucking pathetic! She’s been busy alright—busy avoiding you!
Yeah, he was afraid of that. Because for the very first time in his adult life, he’d walked away from a first date desperately wanting another.
Grant took another pull from his beer and froze when his eyes landed on a familiar image: a black Mini Cooper parked approximately one hundred feet to his left in the adjacent public lot. He placed his beer on the patio table and then stood, scanning the beach in search of the owner. He finally spotted her, attaching her camera to a tri-pod not far from her parked car.
He glanced toward the deck railing where his chocolate lab was lazily lounging and then smacked the side of his thigh several times to get his attention. “Come here, boy”, he instructed. When the dog leapt toward him, he knelt down and gave his companion a satisfying scratch behind the ears and in return, he received a sloppy, wet lick to the cheek.
“You see that girl over there, boy?” he asked as he pointed in Olivia’s direction. “I’ve got a nice, juicy treat with your name written all over it. All you have to do is run over there and let her pet you. What do ya say?”
The dog answered with two loud barks, communicating his understanding. “Alright, boy, go get her!”
Without hesitation, the dog hurried down the wooden steps and took off toward her direction. Grant waited several seconds and then followed suit.
By the time he reached them, Olivia had already knelt down and was running her soft fingertips along Dexter’s neck. His dog appeared to be in a state of pure bliss.
Damned lucky dog—what he wouldn’t give to trade places with him right now…
“Hey”, he called out. “Sorry about that!”
“It’s okay! He yours?” she asked.
“Yes ma’am.”
“I didn’t know you had a dog. Where was he when you were fixin’ up my foot a couple weeks ago?”
“Probably inside napping.”
“Oh. What’s his name?”
“Dexter.” Grant whistled and jerked his head back toward the beach house. “Dexter, go home!” he instructed. Happy to please his owner—and secure his promised treat—Dexter pulled away from Olivia’s grip and raced back toward the deck.
“He’s beautiful”, she said as she watched him run away.
So are you… “Thanks.” He gestured toward the equipment behind her. “That’s a fancy-looking camera you have there.”
“This is my pride and joy—I bought it a few months ago. Do me a favor, will you?” Olivia pointed to the area in front of the camera. “Stand right over there.”
Grant shook his head and crossed his arms. “Oh, no—I don’t do pictures.”
Placing one of her hands on her hip, she tilted her head to the side. “Oh c’mon, it’s just a test shot. I need to adjust my focus—I promise I won’t make you do any silly poses. Please…?” she asked as she innocently batted her long lashes at him.
Grant slowly ambled in front of the camera, rubbing the stubble along his jaw. “Here?” he asked.
“Uh-huh, now turn and face me.”
She waited until he complied and then began fidgeting with her camera lens. Grant stood in front of her, shirtless, with his hands
shoved into his front pockets, his faded denim jeans sitting low on his hips. Her eyes swept along his sleeve tattoo, down his broad, toned chest, his rippled six-pack abs and finally ended at the dark trail of hair that disappeared behind the fly of his jeans.
Oh. My. God.
His body was certainly a temple—one that she was thoroughly worshiping at the moment.
“Can you back up a little…?” she asked. “A little more.” Still facing the camera he stepped backward, his feet only inches away from the water’s edge.
And suddenly, she had an idea…
She turned on the camera’s time-lapse feature, allowing her to automatically capture a picture every five seconds over the course of one minute. Adjusting the focus one last time, she instructed him to take one large step back…
Grant complied with her last request, so mesmerized by how beautiful she looked in those tiny cut-off denim shorts that he hadn’t noticed how close he’d been to the water’s edge. He’d taken a large step back and had ended up in the ocean, the chilly gulf water saturating his denim jeans midway up his lower legs.
“Whoops!” she called out sarcastically.
Grant glanced at his submerged feet and then focused his attention back on Olivia, who was guiltlessly smiling back at him. “Oh, you think that’s funny, do you?”
“Uh-huh”, she finally answered, biting her bottom lip to suppress her mischievous grin.
“Oh—you’re gonna pay for that one!” he shouted as he lunged toward her.
A playful squeal escaped as she tried to dodge him, but he was too quick. He grabbed her by the waist, pulling the back of her fleeing body against the hard plane of his chest and then lifted her feet off the ground as though she weighed nothing. She struggled to set herself free, but his grip was firm and she was weak from laughter.
Walking toward the shore, Grant waded in the chilly water while Olivia playfully squirmed in his arms, the sound of her laughter provoking his. He quickly repositioned her in his arms so that he was supporting her upper body and the back of her legs.
“Grant!” she cried. “Put me down!”
With the waves gently colliding against his knees, he met her gaze, mirroring the mischievous grin she’d given him moments earlier.
“Oh, no! Wait—”
But it was too late. He’d loosened his grip, carefully tossing her into the frigid gulf as though he was freeing a fish he’d caught. A high-pitched scream escaped her lips, followed by a loud gasp as her body sunk beneath the surface.
“You made me all wet!” she shouted breathlessly.
Smiling seductively, he offered her his hand. “Ah, the words every man longs to hear…”
“Okay, first you torture me with a Ferris wheel ride and now you throw me in the ocean—the very cold ocean. I think I’m finally beginnin’ to understand why you’re still single!”
After accepting his hand, he helped her up. “Boys always pick on the girls they like, you know.”
“Is that so?” she asked as she walked behind him, her fingertips trailing up his tattooed arm, over his broad shoulder, and eventually gliding down his muscular back.
Grant closed his eyes, relishing the sensation. “Uh-huh”, he finally managed.
Satisfied that he was distracted, her fingers continued exploring his back. “Are you ready, Grant?” she asked, her voice filled with desire.
Hell yeah, he was ready; ready to use his fingers on her—in her.
“Ready for what?” he questioned, deciphering whether or not they were on the same page.
Olivia brushed her lips along his back. “Ready to fall for me”, she mumbled.
Finally in a position to seek revenge, she swiftly shoved her foot along the back of his knee, causing his six-foot muscular frame to collapse into the shivery water; “falling” as she’d intended for him to do.
“Damn, that’s cold!” he cried. His quick reflexes landed him promptly back on his feet again; pivoting, he met her gaze. “Alright, I guess we’re even now.”
“Y-yeah, I think s-so”, she managed as she hugged herself for warmth. She watched in amazement as rivulets of frigid salt water descended down his powerful chest and rippled torso. Good heavens—the man was built like a Greek God!
Grant took a step toward her, placing his large callused hands on her upper arms. “We need to get you warm. C’mon, I’ll make a pot of coffee and get you a towel.”
Wading through the water toward the shore, they gathered her equipment and then shuffled their bare feet through the velvety sand. After reaching the beach house, they rinsed their feet and then quickly covered themselves with two extra-large beach towels.
“Take off your clothes”, he demanded.
“Excuse me?” She asked in disbelief.
“I’ve got a dry change of clothes you can put on. Unless, of course, you want to sit out here naked…”
Olivia smiled. “No, I don’t suppose that would be a good idea.” After rising from the lounge chair she started toward the sliding glass door.
“Down the hall, first door on your left. By the time you get back the coffee should be ready.”
“Okay, thank you.”
While the coffee brewed, Grant removed his wet clothes and changed into a dry pair of jeans and a plain white t-shirt. Before heading back to the deck, he stopped in front of the guest bathroom and knocked on the door. “Everything okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine”, she responded from the other side.
“How do you take your coffee?”
“Plenty of cream; a lil’ sugar.”
Olivia took off her water-logged wardrobe and lifted a flannel shirt off the counter that he’d left. She slipped her arms into the soft material, inhaling the aroma from his laundry soap, and then quickly fastened the garment.
What are you doing, girl?
Wasn’t that the million dollar question? The truth was, she didn’t have a clue. Staying here was probably the worst idea ever. She needed to go. They’d had their fun on the beach and now she needed to get far, far away from him. This friendship, this—whatever it was—was supposed to be all in the name of fun.
An adventure. Something light and easy and… well, fun. Watching him chase after her was fun.
But what would happen when he finally caught her…?
After glancing in the mirror, she tousled her hair with her fingertips and then retraced her steps back to the deck. Her intention: explain that she really needed to head home. But one look at the arrangement he’d set-up changed everything. Grant was standing with his back turned, tending to the fire in the portable black fire pit. He’d already hauled the outdoor patio loveseat closer to the flames, and had even draped a large Afghan over the cushion for added warmth.
Okay, so maybe she could stay for just one cup of coffee…
Olivia opened the sliding glass door and stepped onto the wooden deck. “I think somebody has a guilty conscience.”
“Wow!” he uttered as he glanced over his shoulder. The flannel shirt fell just below mid-thigh, revealing the sexiest pair of legs he’d ever seen. “You look… wow”, he repeated. “I had no idea a flannel shirt could look so good.”
Taking a seat, she covered her bare legs with the Afghan and reached for the cup of coffee sitting next to her on the adjacent table. “Flatterin’ will get you nowhere, Womack.”
Grant laughed softly, revealing that trademark grin he’d perfected. After he was comfortable with the size of the flames, he joined her on the loveseat.
“This is really nice. You sit out here a lot?” she asked.
“Yeah, I spend most of my time out here.”
“Well, I can see why.” Olivia palmed the side of her coffee mug with both hands, her icy fingers slowly absorbing the residual heat.
The wind was gaining momentum, gently blowing her blonde locks and before he could stop himself, his fingers twirled around a small segment near her ear. Shifting in his seat, he turned toward her. It was still slightly damp from their earlie
r plunge. “Your hair is so soft.”
Uh-oh. “Thank you.”
“You’re so beautiful—everything about you”, he murmured, his gravelly voice saturated with desire.
Olivia swallowed hard. “I’m sure you say that to all the girls you bring home.”
“Huh-uh”, he uttered. “I don’t usually bring dates back to my place.” He released her hair and cupped the back of her neck, his other hand grazing the afghan over her lap. Pressing his warm lips against the soft skin along her neck, he mumbled, “What are your plans tomorrow night?”
God he felt good. It was like he owned the instruction manual to her body. He knew where she wanted to be touched; how she wanted to be touched. Her eyes drifted shut as his lips migrated toward the sensitive area just below her ear. “I don’t know. It depends, I guess”, she whispered.
“Depends on…”
Olivia tilted her head to the right slightly, giving him better access. “What are ya offering?”
“Well, I had a good time the other night. I was hoping we could do dinner again… here.”
“I thought you were working tomorrow.”
“I am.”
Olivia placed her hand against his chest and gently pushed him back so that she could look at him. “I’m confused. If you’re working tomorrow, how are we gonna have dinner here?”
Tucking a strand of hair behind one of her ears, he answered, “I don’t work twenty-four hour shifts anymore.”
“I don’t understand—Ty does.”
“That’s because he’s a lieutenant. Last year the city was having a budget crisis. They were looking to eliminate four firefighter positions and three at the police station. So to prevent lay-offs, we all bound together and came up with a solution: work twelve hour shifts. Everyone pretty much agreed that cutting back our salary was better than no salary at all.”
“Okay, so, what happens if there’s an emergency after seven o’clock?” she challenged.
“Well, in the evenings I’m on call.”
“On call…”
“Yeah, we all have an on-call phone. When we’re needed, dispatch alerts us and then we either head back to the station, or meet the fire engine at the determined destination.”
Picture Perfect (Butler Island) Page 6
