Still Waters. Heather Graham
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sense of unease filled him, like a little inward shiver.
He literally shook himself, irritated.
He dealt with the scum of the earth, so why was he so bothered now?
With a slight groan, he turned away. Good God, Keith’s buddies—including the owner of the yacht—were right there. The Masons were down the beach. Brad and Sandy were unknowns, but what the hell, they were there, too.
Beth was as uptight as an old schoolmarm, worse than he was himself.
Everything was fine.
“Hey there!”
He turned. Lee Gomez was waving to him, heading toward the interior of the island.
“Looking for a few good coconuts,” Lee called to him. “Want any?”
“I’m fine, thanks,” he returned.
Down the beach, Sandy had moved to stand behind Brad. She slipped her arms around his waist and rested her cheek on his back.
Brad didn’t seem to notice. He was intent on the yacht. Then he turned, as if aware that he was being watched, and saw Ben staring at him.
Ben waved.
Brad waved back, then turned his attention to Sandy.
It’s all just fine, Ben assured himself.
And it was. They would be getting off the island.
He was amazed to realize he was glad the weekend was nearly over. He usually dreaded going back to work after a break. What the hell. There ought to be some saying about the scumbag you knew and the scumbag you couldn’t quite recognize.
He looked good rowing, Beth decided.
She purposely turned her gaze to the yacht they were approaching, dismayed that she seemed to be doing little other than appreciating the physical assets of the man.
Around boats, guys wore trunks, cutoffs, T-shirts, even no shirts. They tended to be bronze, and the club attracted a slew of well-toned, healthy, fit specimens of masculinity.
Keith Henson just seemed to have it all and carry it off just a little bit better.
This morning he was in blue-and-black swim trunks, the kind a million surfers wore, the kind that shouldn’t have been the least bit erotic. He had eschewed a shirt, since the day was hot—nothing unusual in that. But his skin seemed to be an unreal masculine shade of bronze, and his muscles flexed with each tug on the oars. Shades hid his eyes from her view, and she certainly hoped her own hid her thoughts equally well. Suddenly she blushed. She had been thinking about how he was dressed, but now realized that she, too, was skimpily clad in a bathing suit and sarong—an outfit that she would have thought nothing of if she weren’t with him.
But there was something between them.
She couldn’t stop herself from thinking of it as chemistry, though she was sure she never would have felt such a draw if it hadn’t been for his smile. Or the darkness of his eyes. Or the keen mind that seemed to lie behind his every word.
His every lie.
“Well, do you like her?”
They had reached the yacht. He stood, rocking the little dinghy, and tied on. The aft ladder had been left down, and he swung on, reaching out a hand to her. With the dinghy bobbing on the waves, she accepted. She found herself noting the ease with which he helped her. The man was strong. Did that make him some kind of a criminal? And if he was, what kind of an idiot was she to be here with him?
She landed on deck with ease and looked around. She estimated the original price of the boat at more than six figures.
“Really, really nice,” she assured him.
“Come on. I’ll show you around.”
He took her around the upper deck, then to the flybridge, and finally down to the cabin. She whistled softly.
“It’s like a luxury-hotel suite,” she told him.
“The great thing is that she can do anything. Despite her size, she’s got top speed, and she’s rigged for fishing as well as pleasure cruising.”
“That’s why there’s the global positioning system, sonar, radar, communications—and whatever else is up there and down here?”
“We all like to fish,” he said with a shrug. “What can I get you? Juice, soda...water? Want coffee? It will only take a minute.”
“I’d love coffee,” she told him.
He seemed to be involved in the task, but she had the feeling that he was watching her all the while. For her reactions?
Or to make sure that she didn’t notice something she shouldn’t?
“Make yourself at home,” he said.
“Thanks.” She took a seat on the sofa in the main salon area. She might have been sitting in the salon of a resort. Beyond the windows, she could see the sea, the sky and a glimpse of the island.
“How long do you think you’ll be in this area?” she asked him.
“Oh, a while.”
She laughed suddenly. “Do you ever have a direct answer for anything?”
“What do you mean?”
“Okay, how long are you going to be here? A while. A ‘while’ can mean anything. If someone had asked me about this weekend, my reply would be clear and direct. I go home tonight.”
He shrugged, pouring coffee into mugs. “I don’t know how long I’m going to be in the area. When we’re fished out, dived out and done, I’ll head back.”
She let out an exasperated sigh. “Back to Virginia?”
Even then, she thought he hesitated. “Yes.”
“Do you have a house there?”
“Yes. There—is that direct enough?”
“What part?”
“Northern Virginia.”
“Does your city or town have a name?” she demanded.
He came around and handed her a mug. “Whoops, sorry, did you want cream or sugar?”
“Black is fine, thanks. Well?”
“A fairly well known name, yes. Alexandria.”
“There, see, it wasn’t so hard. You have a house, it’s in Virginia, in the city of Alexandria.”
“Do you have a house?” he inquired in turn, perching on the arm of the sofa. Close again. The kind of close that made her wonder why she felt the need to analyze everything. Why not just take a chance? Why care so much about exactly who or what he was?
Just enjoy the simple things in life, she told herself. Everything doesn’t need to last forever. She never just met a man and went with him...anywhere. It seemed that she had never been so emotionally confused before. Last night she had lain awake during all that had been left of the darkness, thinking, tormenting herself. She could...no, no, she couldn’t, sure she could, she shouldn’t, mustn’t...and then, why not? This sense of something hanging in the balance was new to her. This kind of need, this kind of longing... She couldn’t actually even remember ever being spontaneous, simply acting on instinct. And yet she was free and single, over twenty-one, always responsible, dependable...
Surely everyone had a right to a moment’s insanity, to fulfill a fantasy. It was Sunday and she would head home, back to the real world, and most likely thought she would never see him again.
“Hey, are you still with me?” he asked, bemused.
“I, um...yes, of course.”
“Well?”
“Well