Kiss Me Awake

by Julie Momyer

  This felt less like a discussion and more like an inquiry. Gale was the one they should be asking. How was she to know his mind? Jaida glanced down at the saltshaker in her hands. When had she picked that up?

  She pushed the dispenser aside and told them the story she’d been telling herself. “It was his way of getting me off the case”—And his plan to keep her from learning the name of her mother.

  The intro to a ballad played while the next rising karaoke star took to the stage. Jaida craned her neck to see the performance. If she feigned interest in the amateur act, would it put an end to their prying?

  The waitress brought their drinks and pulled a handful of straws from her apron, leaving them on the table. Lance passed Jaida her Sprite.

  “I ordered you a Coke,” Kevin said, handing Carina the glass. Carina bit the end of the paper from her straw like a seasoned smoker biting the tip of a cigar then blew the casing at Jaida. It shot across the table and fell into her lap.

  Carina stuck her straw in the glass and whispered something to Kevin. “We’ll be back,” she said. The two of them rose and disappeared into the crowd.

  Jaida frowned at Lance. “Guess it’s just us.”

  He yawned then scrubbed his face with his hands. “All right by me. This feels good after that grueling hike,” he said. “Especially after carrying that one hundred-and-twenty-pound weight on my back.”

  “One hundred and eighteen pounds,” she corrected. “And it was chivalrous of you to carry me the rest of the way.” She had blisters on her blisters, and they had been scraped raw by the heels of her tennis shoes.

  “Chivalrous?” He snorted, mocking her use of the archaic word. His free arm slid behind her coming to rest on the back of the seat. “I’m no boy scout.” His hooded green eyes captured hers telling her things she didn’t want to hear. Hadn’t she made herself clear on the ride over?

  Jaida pulled away from him, but she was cornered in the booth. She tried to mask the flush of embarrassment with a half smile. She wasn’t new to this game, to men’s advances, just at pushing them away. She looked around the seating area searching for something, anything to transfer her attention to.

  “It’s packed tonight,” she said, catching a whiff of someone’s coconut shrimp. It smelled wonderful, but after dining on roast lamb and herbed red potatoes she had nowhere to put it.

  “Guess so.” Lance raised the bottle his fingers were wrapped around and took a swig of his Blue Moon.

  She watched his gaze drop to her hand where it rested on the seat. Almost hesitant, he opened and closed his fingers then without an ounce of caution moved his hand from the thigh of his jeans to cover the back of her hand, his fingers expressing a form of confidence when they slid between hers like pieces of a puzzle.

  He didn’t waste any time. But she had sworn off men and was now trying for some semblance of virtue. Hadn’t she done enough damage? Before she knew what was happening, Lance leaned in and kissed her. She should pull away, scold him for crossing her boundaries, but she didn’t.

  Nose to nose, she watched his eyes crinkle softly at the edges, the attractive result of the casual smile he wore. “Cold lips,” he said.

  She smiled back. “The warm heart makes up for it.” Warm heart? That was laughable. Her thoughts went to Spencer, and her smile faded. What would he say to that? If he were sitting here right now he would surely argue that it was a frigid block of ice occupying the left side of her chest.

  Jaida leaned her head back against the seat, appraising Lance. Pale green eyes, ash blond hair with a short practical cut that would have been standard for a military man. The sun had marked him with a faint streak of red down the length of his nose and a wide swathe across his forehead. He was strong, confident, good looking, and for her, dangerous.

  She looked down at her lap. “So, outside of the few places we’ve been together in our brief friendship, where do you like to go? What do you like to do?”

  He chuckled. “You have me pegged all wrong. I’m a homebody. I only venture out of doors when you’re around.”

  Jaida shook her head. “That was the sorriest line I’ve ever heard. You can do better than that.” Have done better than that, no doubt.

  He laughed without a hint of shame then leaned closer until she could feel his lips brush against her ear. “I find you very attractive.”

  She resisted the wooing, the softening of her will, and pulled back. “Not too creative, but definitely better.”

  “I just can’t please you.” Lance grinned and drained his bottle.

  Jaida tipped her head, her eyes narrowing as she zeroed in on Auggie standing across the room. “Would you look at that?” she said, pointing at the girl clutching Auggie’s shirt.

  “Yeah, Auggie lays on the Latino charm like a farmer spreads manure.”

  Jaida snorted when she laughed. “A deeply profound analogy. And I would bet you his Cuban accent is twice as thick. Women love an accent.”

  “Do they now?” Lance studied her a long moment then raised her face with a light touch of his fingers, his lids thick and lowered, he looked into her eyes. “Avete un bel viso e un bel corpo.”

  The rhythm of the foreign words sounded so beautiful. “What did you say?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know, but it sounded good, didn’t it?”

  She shoved him. “What do you mean you don’t know?”

  “Just because I’m Italian doesn’t mean I speak the language. Besides, I thought the only thing that mattered was the accent.” He grinned and cocked his head. “How was it by the way?”

  “Muy bueno,” she said.

  He shook his head. “This multilingual thing isn’t working for me. I declare English the official language of Catalina.”

  “Not until you tell me what you said.”

  “Okay, okay.” He held up a hand. “Just give me a minute here. I’m sure I butchered it, but if I got it right, it was something along the lines of, you have a lovely face, and a lovely body.”

  Heat burned her cheeks and she looked away. “Auggie isn’t the only one spreading a load of manure,” she said.

  “You don’t think I mean it?”

  Oh, she knew he meant it. She would have to be blind not to notice the way he looked at her, but it was all about the physical. He saw her as a good time and nothing more. Jaida shrank in her seat. For the first time in her life, she felt cheap.

  But wasn’t this what she wanted? Non-committal, one-dimensional relationships that never grew roots or put her heart at risk? It had never been about love, so why did she feel cheated when those were the offers she attracted?

  “We’re ba-a-a-ck.” Carina sang out, her voice and her presence grating on Jaida. She set a basket of deep fried mushrooms on the table. “Eat up.”

  Jaida arched a brow at the golden batter-fried fungus, “Are they poisonous?”

  “If they are, we’ll die together.” Carina snatched one up out of the basket and popped it in her mouth.

  Lance nudged Jaida with his shoulder. “Want to take a walk?”

  “Sure.”

  He looked from Carina to Kevin. “Hope you don’t mind if we take off.”

  Silent, they stared blankly across the table at the two of them. Apparently they did mind.

  Kevin ran his hands through his hair, shoving it back from the rounded line of his forehead. Why did he look so upset?

  “Get over it, Kev. Jaida just isn’t the kind of girl you take home to Mama.”

  Jaida bristled at the remark. So, she was still being punished. She felt her mouth twitch at Carina’s deliberate meanness. Sticks and stones, the cruel words should roll off of her carefully constructed armor. Instead they slipped through the unseen chinks and sank deep.

  She felt the warmth of Lance’s palm come to rest on her back. “That’s enough, Carina,” he said then stood, pulling her to her feet.

  Carina didn’t know when to hold her tongue, but she was right. She wasn’t the kind of woman men brought home to
their mothers. Why would they? Even her own mother had left her behind.

  7

  Lance never waited for daylight to make his exit, but this morning the sun rose before he did, and he had no desire to leave.

  It was the first time he’d stuck around to watch a woman sleep. He stroked the soft blonde hair fanning the white pillowcase, his gaze trailing the blanket-draped figure beside him. What started out as business had turned personal, and it was a clear conflict of interest.

  He’d been hired for his professional services because he was the best in the field and those who were bankrolling him would expect nothing less than the results he’d guaranteed.

  He shifted to his side atop the rumpled sheet and blanket and rested his cheek on his palm. Lungs filling and emptying, he watched the rhythmic rise and fall of Jaida's chest, each descent punctuated with a faint breath passing through a part in her lips.

  He had never met anyone like her. She was an enigma, a dichotomy of harlot and virgin, imp and angel. It seemed an impossible, even a perverse juxtaposition, but he was trained to know the psyche, the heart and mind of an adversary, and he would stake his reputation that at the core of her was the antithesis of how she lived, and even she didn’t know it.

  Lance rubbed a strand of silky hair between his fingers and considered his dilemma. Paradox or not, she’d managed to slip under his skin and it wasn’t conducive to good business.

  Affections warred against duty, but affections could be tamed. He already knew it was duty that would win out. He named his price, the deal was set, and he would give his people what they wanted.

  Lance released her hair and rolled onto his back. Sorry Jaida.

  *

  Jaida pressed her cheek against Mommy’s softness and listened to the thumping drumbeat in her ear. The rocker creaked, the battered wooden runners carving a groove in the polished hardwood floor, carrying them back and forth.

  She resisted the heaviness of her eyelids, the languid tug of her limbs. Sleep wooed, but didn’t claim her. She knew if she allowed it to win she would wake up in her bed alone.

  Jaida opened her eyes wider and stared into the shining tawny gaze smiling down at her.

  “I want down,” she said.

  “No. Sit with Mommy for a while.”

  Mommy rubbed her hand in soft circles on her back. Her shoulders slipped lower slouching at the gentle caress, her body curling into a ball in the crook of Mommy’s arm. She was drifting, floating on a cloud of dreams that were taking her deeper. Jaida jerked, her eyes popping open with a start.

  She tried to slide free from the clasp of soft arms, the curve of the warm lap, but those same arms clamped around her and slid her back into place, holding her tight.

  Jaida yawned. She was not going to sleep. “Where is Spencer?”

  “He isn’t coming today.”

  “Can I see him?”

  Mommy stroked her hair. “Later,” she said.

  Jaida sighed and laid her head back down. Mommy hummed then told stories of how Mommy and Spencer’s mommy and daddy used to play at the ocean.

  “Sunday, after church, we’ll go there to play.”

  “When you played at the ocean, how come I wasn’t with you?” Blinking the sleepiness away, Jaida lifted her head again, waiting for an answer.

  “You weren’t born yet.”

  “But where was I? Was I with you?”

  Mommy shook her head. “No. God didn’t make you yet.”

  Jaida rubbed her fists into her eyes, tears stinging the rims and spilling down her cheeks. She wailed and pressed her face into Mommy’s softness again her shoulders and back shuddering with every audible cry.

  Mommy stroked the back of her head. “What’s the matter? Why are you crying?”

  “Because I was all alone, and I didn’t wanna be alone.”

  Jaida’s lips responded to the warmth, the gentle pressure. Her eyes opened to the dark blond head leaning over her. Spencer? No. Not Spencer. It was Lance.

  He drew back, his face hovering over hers. Her heart raced in her chest. Was it him or her dream that caused the erratic beat behind her ribs?

  His cupped hand slid from her shoulder, down her arm and he took her hand in his, his fingertips toying with her own. “You were sleeping pretty solid, but then you started whimpering. When your breathing accelerated…” He shrugged. “I thought you might need a diversion from whatever held you captive in that beautiful head of yours.”

  Confused, she blinked. It sounded so clinical and detached, his words making no sense at first, but then she realized he was explaining why she woke to find him kissing her.

  She furrowed her brow. Whatever made her think it was Spencer? Her heart paused then resumed with a pounding when she remembered what Spencer’s kiss was like: tender and sweet and born of love. Her heart swelled then shrank.

  Swallowing, she lifted her face and gave Lance a feeble smile. “It was better than waking up to an alarm.”

  His eyes warmed, telling her it was the right answer. He turned her hand over and stroked her palm. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  The dream? No. It was the last thing she wanted to talk about. She shook her head.

  He offered a patient smile then stared into space as if weighing out each word before he spoke again. “I once read that dreams are one of the most powerful insights into the human psyche.”

  Lance watched her, then silently encouraged…no, more like urged her to respond, to tell him what tormented her, but his psychology wasn’t going to work, even if his reference was true...especially if it was true. Her psyche was the last place she wanted anyone poking around.

  Jaida’s nerves were still on edge. A brief shudder sent her body quivering and then took flight, leaving her utterly still. She said nothing, just turned to her side and snuggled against Lance’s chest, timing her breathing. In two counts out four.

  The weight of his arm draped over her and she closed her eyes, frantically searching for a place of peace and safety, but the corner she was trapped in was terrifying, the aloneness a great yawning giant.

  She squeezed her eyes tighter; shutting herself inside the world she feared most.

  Lance must have sensed her agitation. His arm tightened around her, drawing her closer. He kissed the top of her head. “Sleep,” he said. “We don’t have anywhere we have to be.”

  *

  Her breathing leveled into a light cadence, and Jaida slipped into a sound sleep. Lance rolled off the bed and pulled the covers around her shoulders. He stood over her, watching, considering the anxiety that gripped her in the throes of sleep.

  Was it just a meaningless collection of thoughts that plagued her, or was it something deeper, something that would point him in the right direction?

  With light steps, Lance crossed the room and collected the rest of his clothes that were laid out across the desk chair. He was only guaranteed one more day alone with her on the island, and he intended to use it to his advantage.

  The doorknob rattled followed by a sharp thud that shook the wooden door in its frame. He tugged his shirt over his head and opened it.

  “I thought I’d find you here.” Auggie’s fist was still suspended, ready to crash against the door one more time. He let it drop to his side, his searing gaze burning holes through Lance. He pushed his way inside, the back of the door slamming against the wall.

  Did he always play the irate father and bust in on her like this? “Am I missing something? Did I need your permission, Dad? I didn’t think you had any interest in her.”

  That earned him a dark look. “I do have an interest, just not the kind you’re suggesting. I look out for her.”

  “Keeping her safe from the likes of me?” Last night it was his shoulder Jaida cried on, so to speak. He found Auggie’s suggestion that she settle down amusing. Less amusing was the fact that he wasn’t considered suitable company for the fair Jaida.

  Auggie shoved a stiff finger against his chest. “Just watch yourself, man
.”

  The camaraderie between them was gone. Lance could take it or leave it since it wasn’t formed to last in the first place, but it would be a wise decision to hold onto it a little while longer.

  He nodded. “Will do.”

  After Auggie left, Lance stood at the foot of the bed mulling over the woman in it. He was surprised she’d slept through their skirmish.

  She was something special. He wouldn’t mind delving deeper, establishing an honest relationship without ulterior motives clouding it. But that was unrealistic. Once she discovered why he was involved in her life, she would have his head on a platter.

  8

  The line was busy. Jaida dropped the phone in the cradle and yawned. She’d been dialing Vickery’s office for an hour and a half and still could not get through.

  Either the machine was full of condolences to Vickery’s staff or someone left the phone off the hook. She stood, laced her fingers, and stretched her arms over her head then took a few steps across the black-and-white tile to work the numbness from her backside. The waiting was making her crazy.

  She had an early morning meeting scheduled with the head of Baseel or she would already be on the freeway headed to Ventura. It would be tasteless to crash a funeral, but at the moment, need trumped etiquette.

  She hit ‘speaker’ then ‘redial’ and got the same result. If by the end of the day she couldn’t reach a live person, or a recording to leave a message, she would drive out there first thing tomorrow morning.

  Vickery’s assistant was Barbara Ellenburg. She had located the woman’s name and was in the process of pulling up her cell number.

  Her only concern was that Ms. Ellenburg would stand by her boss’s views on attorney-client privilege. What if she refused to let her see the records? There was no reason they should be withheld. She was the only one they affected. Besides, who was left to object or even care what was in them?

  She had always wondered if Eva knew the name of her birth mother. If she had she never let on, and Jaida could never bring herself to ask. What mother, adoptive or biological, would want to share her child’s heart with another woman?