Night Diver: A Novel

by Elizabeth Lowell

  Vincentians, mostly older men, but some young ones, sat in the shade of palms and other trees. Many were drinking from shared cans of beer or slicing bits of mango off with pocket knives. The end of the workday was close, though the lion’s share of men had been off work for several days by the look of them. Or longer. Employment didn’t seem to be the most important goal of island life.

  The Dive In was an outdoor affair, with a small, weathered cottage where the cook and the serious drinkers could keep their red eyes out of the sun. Even in the shade of the trees, it was sultry, especially when the indifferent breeze vanished. Banners of purple and yellow and orange threw colored shadows over the mismatched tables and chairs. There wasn’t a female in sight, not uncommon for a dive bar during the day.

  When the waitress appeared, she wasn’t holding a pad and pencil, much less a portable electronic device. She recommended the spicy seafood chowder, told them what else the cook was serving today—mixed-meat stew and fish every which way but swimming—and took their drink orders. Kate asked for cold tea. So did Holden. The waitress walked away with a languid grace that Kate envied.

  “Does it come with being born on a tropical island?” she asked after the waitress disappeared.

  “What?” he asked.

  “That walk.”

  He looked puzzled.

  “The waitress,” Kate explained. “Her walk is so graceful.”

  “Ah.” He smiled. “The difference between sand and concrete, bare feet and tired feet. Island time, a lovely slow motion. You have it, you know. The longer you spend here, the more it shows.”

  “No way I walk like a panther.”

  Holden slipped his mirrored glasses up on his hair. “But you do. Makes me want to growl and pounce.”

  The multicolored crystal blaze of his eyes against his sun-darkened skin was like a caress.

  She flushed and changed the subject. “Did you know that the red chowder you ordered comes with a wicked hot-pepper kick?”

  His lips quirked. “I’m looking forward to it. To me, spice is like red hair, something that gives life a special fire.”

  “You’re doing it on purpose.”

  “What?”

  “Making me blush,” she muttered.

  “I find it charming.”

  “You wouldn’t if you did it.”

  He laughed, picked up her hand, and kissed it—with a sneaky little lick thrown in.

  “You’re not acting at all the proper Brit,” she said, pulling her fingers back. Slowly.

  “If Brits were as proper as you seem to think, how would we ever reproduce?”

  “Lie back and think of the Queen,” Kate retorted.

  Holden’s rich, deep laughter drew smiles from the scattered diners. “I’ve never tried it that way. Would you care to demonstrate the technique?”

  She gave up and gave in to the teasing, sensual side of Holden Cameron, letting her worries and fears and hopes dissolve as quickly as ice cubes on a tropical beach. She’d never met a man like him, one who intrigued and exasperated and charmed without giving up a whit of his intelligence and sheer animal presence.

  The speed of service and size of the servings lived up to the diver’s recommendations. Kate looked at the steaming heap of seasoned rice and black beans, fruit chutney, and a pile of reef fish that was as fresh as any she’d ever caught and cooked herself. She inhaled the steam rising from seasonings shy and bold, a whiff of cinnamon and bite of peppers, a cuisine that was both simple and a complex melding of flavors from many cultures and countries.

  Her plate held enough for two, four if they weren’t divers. Holden’s platter was enough for a family of six and included a vat of seafood chowder. The waitress also left a bowl of fruit that must have weighed four pounds, a loaf of French bread, a pitcher of cold tea, and a smile as bright as the sun.

  Holden waited until Kate took a bite before he all but dove into the chowder. He ate steadily, ignoring the sweat that began to leave a sheen on his forehead and upper lip. If his skin had been pale, it would have been flushed now.

  “Spicy?” she asked innocently.

  “Try some,” he said, nudging the huge bowl into the middle of the table.

  She took a spoonful, sniffed, and licked it clean. “Hoo doggies, that’s hot.”

  “Are you certain?” he asked gravely as a drop of sweat ran down one cheek.

  She dipped in again, lifted a heaping bite of crab and octopus, and chewed happily. She ate some rice and beans to soak up the heat, then went back to the soup even though she hadn’t ordered it.

  “The rest of the food will keep better than the soup,” she explained, “and it’s way too good to let go bad.”

  Holden looked amused as she ate steadily, ignoring the heat rising on her cheeks as her body reacted to the intensely spicy chowder. He scooted his chair closer to hers so that they could both easily reach the chowder and dug in. The level of the red broth and chunky seafood retreated down the bowl until they were both reduced to soaking up the last of the soup with the bread.

  She sat back and flapped her loose blouse so air could circulate beneath. She knew her face was red and didn’t care.

  He wiped his forehead on a paper napkin, drained his glass of tea, and moved on to what the waitress had called a “mixed-meat” stew. He hadn’t asked what kinds of meat and the waitress hadn’t offered.

  “How is it?” Kate asked between sips of tea to cool her mouth.

  “Excellent. The goat, particularly. Beef is lean to the point of leather, but full of flavor. Some meat that could be snake or eel, hard to tell after hours of cooking.”

  “Snake? You’re kidding.”

  He shrugged. “As I said, hard to tell.”

  “And you don’t care.”

  “Protein is protein.”

  He glanced sideways and laughed at her look of horror. “Should I warn you that I have younger sisters and cousins, as well as an older brother?”

  “And you’re used to teasing them. I’m relieved.” She started to ask if he really ate snake, then decided she didn’t want to know. The stomach didn’t care, but the mind flinched.

  She forked up a bite of eel from the sauce on top of her fish and chewed happily, then looked at Holden as he laughed.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Do explain to me the difference between eel and snake.”

  “One I eat, one I don’t.”

  Shaking his head, Holden ate the rest of the mixed-meat stew. Then he cleansed his palate with several tiny bananas with lime squeezed over them, drank another glass of tea, and went to work on rice, beans, and fish.

  She watched from the corner of her eyes as she ate, wondering if there would be any leftovers. His manners were excellent, yet he went through food with a speed she associated with mess halls and stopwatches. After a few more minutes he leaned back in his chair, sipped at his third glass of cold tea, and smiled rather blissfully.

  The waitress came by with another pitcher of tea and dark eyes that approved of Holden’s appetite.

  “Please tell the cook that the chowder is among the best I’ve ever had,” Holden said.

  “My grandmother will smile. The recipe is hers. My mother, she buys from only the best fishermen and divers.”

  Holden looked around the open air café. “Do a lot of divers eat here?”

  The waitress smiled. “Yes. My father and brothers, they dive.”

  “Do you know of anyone looking for dive work?” Kate asked.

  “They come, they go.” The waitress shrugged. “Are you looking for a quick dive trip?”

  “No,” Kate said. “The Golden Bough is doing salvage work. We can always use more hands.”

  The instant the waitress heard the words Golden Bough she began shaking her head. “Divers talk. They don’t like that boat. They say she is cursed.”

  CHAPTER 11

  THE HONKING OF a scooter shooing chickens from the road filled the silence that followed the woman’s words.
/>   Cursed.

  “Utter rubbish,” Holden said cheerfully. “There is nothing wrong with the ship but the pay scale.”

  “Of course,” the waitress said with a polite smile. “The divers, they gossip like old women. Would you like more chowder?”

  Holden looked at Kate.

  “No, thank you,” she said to the waitress. “But we would like the ticket and some boxes for leftovers.”

  The waitress nodded, retreated to the shabby kitchen, and returned with a handwritten bill and a plastic bag lumpy with boxes waiting to be filled with food. Holden paid the bill—adding a good tip—and helped Kate empty the contents of the plates into boxes. Carrying the plastic sack full of food in his left hand and snagging her hand with his right, he led her back to the side street where they had parked.

  “I wonder which diver started that nasty rumor,” Kate asked as she slid into the steamy cab of the pickup.

  “If your brother kept a personnel roster, I’d have a go at the local dive bars and ask questions,” Holden said. “Not that it would make any difference. Rumors are harder to pin down than smoke.”

  She frowned, not liking her brother’s lack of interest in bookkeeping any better than the output of the local divers’ rumor mill.

  Holden touched her cheek. “Let it go. We’re on holiday, remember?”

  “We are?”

  “Yes, we are. Even wage slaves get a day off now and then.”

  She blew out a breath and started the truck. Twice. The fact that it kicked over after only two tries made her feel better. She glanced over at Holden, who was touching his forehead experimentally.

  “Headache?” she asked.

  “No. I think it’s numb from the chowder.”

  “Thank God. I thought I was the only one.”

  They drove in a peaceful silence to the rental where the metal workboat was tied to the sagging dock. The thought of going back to the dive ship didn’t appeal.

  The gleaming, pale shades of the protected water did.

  “You know what I’m going to do?” she asked.

  Holden watched her through half-open eyes, thinking of a lazy, horizontal kind of dancing.

  “Swim,” she said. Then she saw the expression on his face. “You don’t like to swim?”

  “It’s my second favorite thing to do.”

  She noted the wicked gleam in his eyes and didn’t take the bait. “I saw an extra sheet that would make a decent beach towel.”

  Indecent would have better suited his mood, but he didn’t object. He just changed into faded black swim trunks, folded his khaki pants for a makeshift pillow, and met Kate at the front door.

  She almost dropped the tube of sunscreen when she saw him. She had spent a lot of time trying not to remember how he had looked wearing only lamplight and tight briefs. He had been aroused then.

  He was aroused now.

  Heat shot through her. Her nipples tightened as her lower body loosened in ancient female preparation to take her mate. She knew he noticed the change. A flush burned along his cheekbones that had nothing to do with spicy lunch or the tropical sun.

  “Are you sure you want to swim?” he asked in a gritty voice.

  “I’ve always dreamed of playing in the water with a dragon.” Her voice was low, husky, invitation and plea at once.

  “Ah, the dragon again. I’m going to get jealous.”

  “Of yourself? Holden, you must know how sexy you are.”

  His lips curved in a gentle smile. “You’re the only one who thinks so. But you never seem to notice when men look at you, tongues hanging out.”

  She laughed. “That’s because it never happens. Even if it did, the only tongue I want hanging out for me is yours.” She looked startled, put one hand over her eyes. “That came out wrong, didn’t it?”

  He was still grinning when she peeked him from between her fingers. He walked close and tugged at the tube of sunscreen she had clenched in one hand.

  “We’ll talk about it while I put sunscreen on the places you can’t reach,” he said.

  “I’ll have you know I’m quite limber.”

  He gave her a smoldering look. “You’re tempting me.”

  “Just saying.”

  “Limber. Yes.” He licked his lips. “Let me help you anyway. I promise I won’t peel you out of that screaming green bikini.”

  Yet.

  She turned around. “Have at it.”

  He all but groaned. The promise of her walk was fulfilled by her beautifully shaped rear. Perfect for his hands, his teeth, his tongue.

  Is she freckled beneath that hip-spanning strip of green? God, I hope so. Ginger and cream and then pink, so pink and simmering with sexual heat.

  She looked over his shoulder and saw him studying her butt. “Yes, I know it’s too big, but that’s the way it came.”

  Slowly, slowly, he met her eyes. “Too big? Love, it’s perfect.” He filled his hands and squeezed slowly, savoring the flex and lush heat of her flesh. “Bloody damn perfect.”

  He moved so close she couldn’t help but feel the hard, thick ridge of his erection nestling in the seam of her rear. Her eyes widened. He moved once, slowly, and then released her.

  In a silence that hummed with things unsaid, undone, anticipated, Holden put some mango-scented cream into one palm and rubbed his hands together. When he raised them, his khaki pants dropped softly to the floor.

  “Lift your arms,” he said.

  “The sheet . . .”

  “Let it go.”

  With a whispering sigh, the sheet slipped to the floor.

  The flush on Holden’s cheekbones darkened as he surveyed the graceful lines of her body. He raised his hands and began massaging sunscreen into her neck and shoulders, sliding his fingers down until they caressed the top of her bikini.

  “I—” Her voice caught as he traced the swell of her breasts. “I can reach there.”

  “So can I.”

  She shuddered when his fingers pinched her nipples with sensuous care beneath the thin bikini material. When his hands moved away, she sighed.

  “Too much?” he asked.

  “And not enough.”

  He laughed softly and squeezed more sunscreen onto his palm.

  She felt the warm rush of his breath and shivered. Her skin felt tight, hypersensitive, fully alive to the lightest touch. And that was what he did.

  Touch her.

  Lightly.

  “You’re going to drive me crazy,” she whispered.

  “Fair enough. You’ve already made me mental. Your freckles look tasty.”

  “The sunscreen isn’t.”

  “That’s all that is keeping me in check,” he admitted.

  He spread his big hands across her back, working in the cream, sliding beneath the bikini bottom and flexing, savoring her lush curves as he groaned almost soundlessly deep in his throat. Reluctantly he slid his fingers free, pressed out more sunscreen, and went on his knees to knead the cream into her thighs, her calves, her feet.

  Eyes closed, she felt each touch as a smooth whip of warmth, a promise of the pure fire to come.

  Dragons were very good with fire.

  By the time he finished with her legs, they were trembling. He ran his palms from her ankles to her hips, flexed his long fingers, and then stood in a coordinated rush. Bunched sheet in one hand, sunscreen and pants in the other, he ran the knuckles of his right hand up the long, shallow crease of her spine.

  “Ready for the sun,” he said, his voice a sensuous rasp.

  Kate was ready for a lot more than that, but she had just enough sense not to say it. “This will be my first time in the ocean since . . .”

  “Your parents died?”

  “Yes.” Her voice was so faint that it was barely a whisper.

  “I’ll keep you safe.”

  She gave him a look from shadowed turquoise eyes. “I should have done this years ago. In some ways, I gave up as much as the sea took.”

  He shifted everyt
hing to his left hand and laced the fingers of his right hand through hers. “Let’s take it back.”

  She led him out the door and down to a patch of dazzling white sand that was shaded by palm fronds shimmering in the uncertain wind. He shook out the sheet, put his pants and the sunscreen in one corner, and waited. She took a deep breath, let it out very slowly, and concentrated on how good he made her feel now rather than on the old fears of the past. Kicking off her sandals, she headed toward the water.

  The sand was hot enough to make Kate hurry to the edge of the sea. The water itself was so warm she barely felt its first touch.

  “I expect to hear my feet sizzle,” Holden said from just behind her.

  “The water will be cold farther out, where it turns to cobalt and drops steeply away from the volcano.”

  “Born of fire, yet surrounded by the sea,” he said. “I’ve always been caught by the collision of opposites and by the delicate balance they achieve. Such an intricate, slow-motion dance.”

  “I never thought of it that way . . . but yes, it’s a balance, a dance, and it changes every moment.”

  “Rather like us,” he said, tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear. “Ocean and land simply live on a vastly different time scale than the two-legged mayflies known as humans.”

  Smiling, Kate curled her toes, enjoying the fine texture of the sand with every step. The shallow water was so clean it was virtually invisible and the air was the temperature of her skin. She felt suspended between sky and sea.

  And the water was above her waist.

  She waited to feel fear. She was still waiting when a swirl of tiny fish flashed around her ankles, like colorful confetti tossed in a wind. The tiny brush and nibble of their mouths tickled her toes and she laughed.