Luke ran his fingers through her hair, working his way back toward the nape of her neck. Her senses stirred to awareness as though a thick cloud had been lifted from her allowing warm sunshine to trickle along every nerve ending.
Sandra’s common sense whispered for her to pull away, but his enticing touch overrode all conscious thought. Her body would no longer allow her mind to be the cool calculating instrument she wished it to be. Realizing she had lost all reason, Sandra arched back into his caress, surrendering to the urges pulsing within her.
The motion revealed her long slender neck. Luke caught his breath as he drew her into him. Trailing small kisses along her jaw, down her neck, on his way to her collar bone, his heart pounded like a sledge hammer trying to escape his chest. Nudging her shirt collar back, he nibbled at her delicate skin. He reveled in the way she responded to his slightest touch. Her collar bone invited him down into the neck line of her blouse.
He felt her long fingers slide across his shoulders and into his hair. His arousal ignited with the intimacy of her touch. If he didn’t stop now, there’d be no turning back. He’d be totally overwhelmed by this woman. Forcing himself to pull away, he looked into Sandra’s eyes. They were cloudy with passion. Her moist lips were parted in anticipation.
Cupping her chin in his hands, he examined her features unable to voice the question which hung in his mind.
Her hands touched the tops of his. “Luke, I’m sorry for the way I’ve behaved. You were a good friend to my father and you’ve been nothing, but a good friend to me.”
Sandra saw Luke’s jaw tighten. His eyes narrowed. The spark of light which normally radiated about the blue embers had disappeared.
“I don’t want to be just a friend to you, Sandra. Whatever we have between us, it is more than friendship. I’ve never had a friend who made me feel the way you do.” Accenting his words, his mouth came down on hers and he enfolded her in his arms.
Parting her lips, she invited his tongue to mate with hers, imitating the release they both longed for. As their kiss deepened, she released a moan of pleasure and desire as she exploded into an avalanche of impulses.
He stroked the skin beneath her blouse moving up to her breasts. When he found her skin bare without the trappings of a bra, he thought he wouldn’t last. He rubbed his thumb across her erect nipple. A shutter ran down her length as she bowed back into his arms. Her hips pressed against his throbbing manhood.
Picking her up into his arms, he carried her up the stairs to the living area. In the back of Luke’s brain, he could hear the small echoes of reason warning him that he was moving too fast. Intentions hadn’t been stated and both might feel differently in the light of day. However, they were both past the point of reason.
Her hands laced behind his neck, he laid her down upon the sofa. Straightening, he pulled his shirt off his chest, kicked off his shoes and stretched out along the side of her. Sandra’s hungry gaze sent heat along his skin making his passion mount. His breath ragged as his heart catapulted against his ribs.
A knock sounded on the side door, Luke vaulted up in surprise.
“Oh no,” Sandra mumbled and then frowned. “It’s Bernice. I asked her to come over. She’s going to help me with my father’s things.”
Luke felt as though a bucket of icy water had been thrown upon his smoldering body leaving him disoriented. He tried to focus his thoughts.
“Your father’s things?” he asked, in a brisk tone.
“Yes. You know, the man who used to live here, your best friend.” Her frustration clung to her voice. “I didn’t expect to see you.”
Luke grabbed her by the hands and pulled her closer. “Don’t answer it,” he told her, a sensuous smile gracing his lips.
“Luke, I have to. Our cars are out front and besides I invited her to come over. It would be rude of me not to answer the door.”
Frowning, Luke released Sandra’s hands and grabbed his shirt and shoes off the floor. “By the way,” he called after her as she moved to answer the door, “I came over to invite you to help me with the Fall Catamaran Festival.”
Another round of knocks sounded from the door. Sandra nodded briefly at Luke’s invitation while she tried to arrange her hair and clothes before greeting her guest. What had she been thinking? She had sure set him straight on the platonic nature of their relationship, she thought ironically and smiled. With that kind of resolve, she might as well be a mackerel in a tank with a great white shark. What was it about the man who turned all her thoughts to jelly and her blood to molten lava?
After shooting Luke a sidelong glance to make sure he’d managed his clothes, Sandra tugged her blouse down over her hips and opened the door. “Bernice, come on in. Sorry, it took so long for us to get to the door. Luke and I were downstairs discussing the . . . upcoming regatta,” she said, proud of herself for thinking quickly on her feet.
The older woman looked from Sandra to Luke and smiled knowingly. “I’m glad to see you here, Luke. Sandra’s help will be a real boost to the event.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Luke stated and grinned sheepishly at Sandra. “Behind those Irish eyes and temper, I hear she has a good business head on her shoulders.”
“You better believe I do,” she warned him only half teasing.
Bernice straightened her shoulders and examined Luke and Sandra. “Dear me, I’m sure Luke didn’t mean to offend you.” The older woman’s fine lined brows furrowed. “Don’t you want to help with the regatta?” she asked in an exaggerated drawl.
Sparks of amusement danced in the indigo irises of Luke’s eyes. He wasn’t laughing out loud, but Sandra could tell he was experiencing no end of delight at the turmoil he had caused.
“I really should go, ladies,” he stated apologetically. Sandra could visualize him standing before her in an earlier time, giving an elegant bough, dressed in a pirate’s attire, charming the socks off every woman in the room after having robbed them of their jewels.
“Give me a call this week and we can get together to . . . discuss the regatta plans,” he told Sandra, shooting her a knowing wink as he opened the door.
Sandra tilted her head to the side and narrowed her gaze upon the handsome rogue. “I will be sure to put it on my schedule.”
“Bernice, I’ll probably see you tomorrow morning if you’re going to be in the restaurant. I have an early fishing charter to run and I want to get a good meal in my stomach before I go.”
“I’ll tell the cook to put on some extra bacon,” she said, giving Luke a girlish smile.
Luke sent Sandra a speculative look as he stepped through the doorway and shut the door behind him.
Sandra and Bernice stood in silence staring at the door. “Would you like a cup of coffee?” Sandra asked the older woman, breaking the silence.
“That’d be great.”
Moving to the kitchenette, Sandra opened a can of coffee. Breathing in the fragrant aroma, she hoped would bring her back to herself. She could feel Bernice’s subtle glances. It wouldn’t take an expert to figure out something had been going on between her and Luke.
I’m glad to see you and Luke are hitting it off. He’s an awful nice man,” Bernice stated as though she’d read her thoughts.
“Yes,” Sandra agreed turning her back on the brewing coffee pot and resting against the counter.
“Your father would be pleased that the two of you are getting along. You know, they were close, those two. Luke can be helpful in the business community, too.”
“Bernice, I really can’t imagine why Luke would want to see my business prosper. After all, we are rivals in the same market.”
The older woman shook her head causing her short brown locks of hair to waft across her face. “Luke isn’t that way. He figures, the more we all do to promote sailing and tourism in the area, the better off we all are. Besides, his relationship with your father wasn’t like that.”
“Yes, but I’m not my father.”
“No, you’re not . . .
Luke likes you a lot, though.” Bernice shrugged her shoulders dismissing Sandra’s misgivings. “Anyway, he isn’t going to do anything to spoil his memories of your father. Give him a chance. Luke is always there for his friends.”
“Was my father always there for his friends, too?”
“You better believe it. He’d give you the shirt off his back if he thought you needed it.”
“I am starting to wish I had known him.”
“He cared about you, Sandra. You and your mother had your own life. He didn’t want to get in your way. If he’d thought you needed his help, he’d been there in a minute.”
“I never needed help, but I needed him,” Sandra spoke before she realized what she had revealed. Falling silent, she faced the cabinets, hoping Bernice would over look her last remark. In the strained silence, Sandra removed two cups from the cabinet and filled them with hot coffee. The large pottery mugs clattered as she set them down on the counter.
Bernice avoided Sandra’s gaze by rigidly staring at the chair leg of the bar stool. After several moments of silence, she finally looked up at Sandra. Thoughts and memories seemed to cloud the sheen in her mahogany colored eyes.
“Honey, it isn’t my place to be discussing your daddy’s feelings.”
“Who the hell’s place is it then, Bernice?”
“Perhaps, your mother’s, I don’t know much to tell you. Ben never talked to me about your mother or what happened between them. Sometimes things like that are hard to discuss, if you know what I mean.”
“Yes, but what about me? I’m his daughter.”
“All I can tell you, sweetie, is your father was a good man. I know in my heart if he thought it would’ve been the best thing for you, he’d been up there in Oklahoma with you in a minute.”
Sandra ran a hand impatiently through her hair. She knew the answer. Picking up one of the cups, she offered it to Bernice and touched her shoulder in a reassuring gesture.
“My father never . . . had anything to do with me because all of the letters he’d ever written to me were returned.” Sandra swallowed down the aching lump developing in her throat and tried to breathe in a relaxed breath before continuing. The air caught in her throat and taunted her. “My mother and grandmother returned the letters without telling me.”
“Are you sure?”
She lowered her head to examine the planks of the floor. “No, but in Ben’s things, I found a stack of letters a foot tall he’d written to me and to my mom. They’d all been returned. I figure grandma returned the early ones when we were living there with her. Later on, it most likely was my mother. I’m sure not the one who returned them. It must have been my mother.” Sandra reached up to her lapel and stroked the smooth cool starfish. “He sent me this pin before my sixteenth birthday. I found it returned, like the letters.”
“Perhaps he believed one day you’d seek him out and he’d give it to you then.”
She had sought him out, Sandra realized. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have gone to the funeral and read the letters. Only, now it was too late.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Deciding on the cautious approach, Sandra walked towards the business entrance of The Emerald Boat. Her sandals slapped on the boardwalk, announcing her arrival as conspicuously as a flock of sea gulls declaring the arrival of tourist with bread crumbs.
She forced her hand forward to turn the weathered brass knob. It clicked its refusal to open. Luke had already closed the shop for the day. Sandra’s heart picked up its rhythm. If he didn’t answer the business door, she’d have no choice but to go around. Lifting her fist to the door’s surface, she hesitated and then knocked. There was no answer.
Chasing away a stray strand of hair from her face, she threaded it behind her ear as her gaze followed the walkway to the upper deck. Why had she been so intent on picking him up at his place? There were other easier ways to assert yourself as an independent woman.
She worked her way up the ladder to the deck. Ascending the top run, she caught the light fragrance of his soap and aftershave. Remembering his essence, her thoughts went back to the gentle caresses they had shared. She tried to force away the invading thoughts. The sound of a radio, partially drowned out by a hairdryer’s roar, filtered its way to her. She followed the familiar oldies tune to a white Dutch styled door. Staring at the egg shell colored curtains which hung on the inside of the door, Sandra squinted her eyes against the sun’s glare, wishing she hadn’t agreed to go with Luke to Bernice’s barbecue dinner. She had to go or she’d hurt the woman’s feelings, though. However, she didn’t have to go with Luke. Could she just turn and walk away? She hadn’t handled herself very well last time they’d been together. What made her think this time would be any different? she wondered, as a shadow passed across the curtain. Fearing Luke would see her standing there gawking at his door, she lifted her arm and knocked. Several seconds went by and no one answered. Then the deep baritone of Luke’s voice floated to Sandra through a nearby open porthole window. He was singing the back up along with the radio to an old doo-whop-ditty type song that she’d heard before. Her curiosity peeked; she peered between the small space in the curtain and the door. She caught a glimpse of a towel clad sailor shaving in a small ship size mirror while his right foot kept time to the song. With each fluid stroke of his razor removing the frothy white foam from Luke’s face, Sandra’s stomach tightened. Knock on the door or turn around and leave, she told herself, fearing he’d turn around and see her standing there looking at him. Instead, she found herself watching the muscles in his legs flex with each pat of his bare foot upon the bathroom floor. Stop spying on the man, knock on the door or leave, her conscience admonished, again. This time, Sandra managed to force her eyes away from the window as she straightened her back, took a deep breath, tightened her fist and knocked as hard as she could. On the second knock, the door jumped open leaving her staring at the object of her interest.
“Excuse me, I had no idea it was ajar,” she sputtered while examining the royal blue carpet poking up between Luke’s toes. “I . . . tried downstairs, but no one answered.”
“A likely story, I’m sure,” he teased. “Don’t you know, I have women peeping in my windows and lurking around all the time? I’ve been thinking of getting a guard dog to control the problem.”
Sandra tried to laugh but embarrassment flooded her cheeks. Had he seen her watching him in the mirror? She searched his face for an answer. A pirate’s grin graced his full lips. His eyes held a knowing look of victory without honor. Sandra stood suspended in the moment. She didn’t even dare to breathe as his eyes embraced her every feature. Motioning toward the sofa with one hand, he held onto his towel with the other.
“Have a seat. I’ll finish dressing in the other room . . . unless you want to watch. A wicked smile cascaded over his face which made Sandra sure she’d been caught looking through the window.
“I am fine, thanks.”
Luke headed towards the rear of the boat, leaving Sandra to examine the pictures hanging from painted white wall beams and regain her composure. A photograph of an Emerald Coast sunset hung over a large oak bookcase. On top of the case, two adapted oil lamp replicas shone their diffuse light across the room.
Looking out the window at the now setting sun, Sandra compared the scene in the photograph with the one framed by the round port hole. The print appeared dull and lifeless in contrast to the rainbow hues now mirrored in the ocean’s still surface.
“Sure is calm tonight,” Luke commented in a low voice which melted into the view. “I hope we get some wind for the regatta.”
“It’s beautiful.” Sandra glanced over her shoulder at the now dressed man standing behind her. “I never get tired of watching the sunset.”
“It’s always been my favorite time of the day.” Luke handed her a fluted wine glass filled with white wine. Drawn in by the moment, she lifted the delicate crystal to her lips, sipped and looked back out the window.
“I’m sure Oklahoma has its sha
re of beautiful sunsets, too,” he said.
“It does, but the ocean adds an elusive quality. When I watch the sun set here, I feel as though, I am privy to a magical drama being played out for the first time. I can understand why my father fell in love with Fort Walton.”
Luke stroked Sandra’s shoulder. A warm surge ran through her sending heat to her face. She moved away from his touch toward the center of the room.
“Does that mean you’re glad to be in Fort Walton?” he asked.
“Yes . . . of course, I’m glad I’m here,” she stated in a serious tone.
“Is something wrong?”
“No. Nothing is wrong. I a . . . I’ve been having trouble sleeping.”
Luke grinned devilishly. “Staying awake dreaming of me, are you?”
“Hardly.” Sandra met his gaze with a challenge.
“I didn’t consent to go to the party with you because your irresistible personality.”
“Oh? Why did you decide to come?”
“You know good and well why.”
“Do I?”
“Let me set you straight, Luke Caldwell, I came here tonight to talk to you about the regatta, our business interests and . . . to tell you . . . that our relationship is purely business.” Walking over to the kitchen bar, she put the glass down evenly as she fought for control over her emotions.
“Is that right?” Luke watched her eyes spark with confusion, like a wild animal reduced to fighting his way out of a corner. His chest felt constricted by her pain. Crossing the room, he stood towering over her. She appeared so weak and fragile. Without thinking, he seized her in his arms and took her mouth in his. He felt her hands push against his chest, but Luke could feel her relaxing into his embrace. Tasting the wine on her lips, he urged her to return the kiss until he felt her body plummet into the folds of her own passion.
As she parted her lips for him, his kiss softened and his tongue found hers, exploring the warmth of her mouth. Releasing her, he looked into her hazy green eyes.
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