A Yuletide Affair. Monica Richardson
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“That’s nice.”
“Why don’t you take your clothes off and come in?”
“Imagine that,” she said, and then decided to remove her leather pumps.
The last thing she needed was to ruin a perfectly good pair of Manolo Blahnik shoes. Never mind that she’d caught them on clearance at a Saks end-of-season sale. Still, they weren’t cheap! And she would not be removing her clothes in front of a man that she barely knew. She was appalled that he would even suggest it.
She rolled up the legs of her pants, tiptoed through the sand and moved closer to the water. Samson was doing a backstroke in the water. He was moving farther away from the shore, and she feared that he was being careless.
“Hey!” she called. “You shouldn’t swim so far out.”
He smiled and waved and continued to swim farther out. Soon he disappeared, and she couldn’t see his head. Her heart pounded as she moved closer, and soon she was standing in the water.
“Samson!” she called again.
No response and no sight of him. She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket. She quickly tried to dial 911, but her fingers were shaking.
Samson had swam farther out into the deep part of the ocean. She was breathless when she didn’t see him anymore.
A Jet Ski zoomed past, and she tried flagging it down. They waved as if she was saying hello, and kept moving. She crept farther into the water. As she pressed the numbers on her cell phone, it slipped from her grasp and fell into the water.
“Shit!” she exclaimed and crouched down to pick it up.
She missed seeing the wave that suddenly crashed against the shore and the side of her face. It soaked her hair and clothing with one splash. She inhaled deeply and attempted to catch her breath. Then she tried turning her cell phone on.
“Looking for someone?” Samson popped up out of the water, startling her.
“Are you crazy?” She swung at him, but he grabbed her hands. Restrained her.
“What is wrong with you?”
“I thought you drowned!”
“Well, I didn’t.” He grinned. “I’m glad to know that you cared, though. You were willing to save my life?”
“Let go of me! You are so twisted! And this is definitely not funny!” she yelled. “You’re an asshole! My phone probably doesn’t work anymore, and my hair is wet and my clothes are soaked!”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know that you thought I was drowning. I was fine. I’m a swimmer.”
She rushed angrily to shore. Samson followed, attempting to express his sorrow. Her clothes and her hair were ruined, and she was livid. Stephen couldn’t return to the island soon enough, she thought. Samson Steel had certainly burned his bridge with her, and there was no recovering from this.
The weather in the Bahamas was beautiful—warm and tropical—but it was as cold as ice on the boat ride back to Harbour Island. Samson glanced back at Alyson, who was seated on the port side of the boat. She’d managed to pull her wet hair back into a ponytail. Her clothes were wrinkled and drenched. A pair of overpriced shoes rested next to her on the seat, and a set of earbuds was inside her ears. He wondered what she was listening to, but dared not ask. He was just grateful that her phone still worked.
“She’ll be okay.” Stephen caught him checking her out.
“I didn’t know she thought I was drowning. I went out a little deeper than I probably should have,” Samson tried to explain. “And she should’ve seen me swimming back to shore.”
“She said she wasn’t looking...too busy trying to get her phone to work. But I tell you what... I wished I’d have seen her rushing out into the water like that. I bet that was a sight to see.” Stephen laughed.
“Why doesn’t she date?” Samson asked.
“Oh, she dates,” said Stephen. “She just doesn’t commit. She’s afraid of letting someone in. Whenever someone gets too close, she runs them away.”
“Dealing with her seems like so much work.”
“Alyson Talbot is a lot of work. But I believe when the right guy comes along, she’ll let him in.”
Samson glanced at Alyson one last time. Her eyes were closed this time.
The trio reached Harbour Island by nightfall. Samson helped Stephen guide the boat to the deck and secure it with a rope. Stephen helped Alyson climb out, and then he helped Samson. She never looked his way, just stomped toward a bench and sat down, folding her arms across her chest.
“Give me a minute and I’ll drive you both to the Grove,” Stephen said.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll take a cab!” Alyson snapped.
* * *
Samson Place was decorated in tropical colors—pink and turquoise. It was tranquil and oozed with romance. It was the sort of place where lovers retreated for long weekends. He watched as Alyson spoke briefly with the young woman at the front desk. The woman handed her a key, and she breezed right past Samson, walking briskly toward the wooden stairwell.
“I’m sorry, Alyson.” It was his last attempt at penance.
“Don’t worry about it,” she said and kept walking.
With a long sigh, he pulled his room key out of his pocket and headed for his room, as well.
“Where have you been?” Samson recognized the voice immediately. Bijou wore a bikini top and a pair of cutoff jeans. Flat stomach, silky smooth legs and leather flip-flops. Her toes were painted in a hot-pink nail polish that matched her bikini top. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you! Did you forget?”
“Forget what?” he asked.
“That we had a date, silly.” Her breasts were perfectly round and buoyant. “Remember, I was going to show you around the island?”
He didn’t think they’d actually set a date. In fact, he thought they were just making flirtatious small talk. “Was that today?” he asked.
“You did forget.” She pouted.
“I can’t today, Bijou. I’m sorry.”
“Oh, no, mister!” She grabbed his arm. “I’m not letting you renege.”
He couldn’t believe he’d actually agreed to the rendezvous. And there was little he could do to get out of it, so he followed Bijou to an old pickup truck parked in front of Samson Place. Bijou jumped into the driver’s seat and slammed the door shut. Samson reluctantly walked around to the other side of the truck, hopped into the passenger’s seat and slammed his door shut. She started the engine, and although the rusty Chevy was in desperate need of a paint job, the engine hummed like it was brand-new. He held on to the door handle as Bijou peeled away from the curb. She tuned the radio to a Caribbean party station and turned up the volume as loud as it would go. He held his breath as she sped through the streets of Harbour Island. He barely heard as she pointed out some of the island’s landmarks. His mind was elsewhere—on Alyson and the anticipation of making amends with her.
“Let’s go for a swim!” Bijou pulled up at the beach without warning.
“Let’s not,” he told her. “I didn’t bring any trunks.”
He didn’t need trunks, but had no desire to take a swim with Bijou. He’d had his fill of swimming in the ocean for one day, and it hadn’t gone well at all.
“Don’t you want to go skinny-dipping?”
What