Hot Island Nights

by Sarah Mayberry

  She stretched her arm out and trailed it in the icy water, feeling the tug against her fingers as it resisted her invasion.

  Maybe this whole trip had been a huge mistake. A gross miscalculation on her behalf. Maybe she should cut her losses and go home now, save herself from further rejection.

  “Come back up this end, Lizzy. We’re going to tack and head downwind and I need your weight back here.”

  “How flattering,” she said.

  She pushed herself up onto her hands and knees and made her way to the rear of the trampoline where Nathan sat at the helm, one hand on the tiller, the other on the line that controlled the boom.

  She felt uniquely inelegant as she plopped down beside him in her borrowed board shorts and T-shirt. Fabric was bunched around her middle where she’d cinched his too-large shorts tight and the fluorescent orange safety vest made her feel ten times her normal size.

  Nate reached across to tug her hat lower on her face.

  “Careful with that complexion, Lizzy. And when we run downwind, we have to keep the bow up out of the water to avoid pitchpoling. That’s why I need you back here with me.”

  “What’s pitchpoling?”

  “It’s when the bow pushes down under the force of the wind so much that it dips under the water.”

  He made a tipping motion with his hand to illustrate.

  “Are you saying that the whole boat could flip over?” she asked, alarmed.

  “Relax. I haven’t pitchpoled the Rubber Ducky for years.”

  “Dear God,” she said under her breath, glancing around the small, sleek catamaran with new eyes. It had all seemed so innocuous up until now.

  “Here,” Nathan said, and she found herself holding the tiller as he scrambled forward to do something with the sail.

  “Isn’t this a little like asking a passenger to volunteer to fly the plane?” she asked nervously. The tiller vibrated beneath her hand with the force of their movement through the water.

  “How are you going to learn to sail if you don’t get some time at the helm?” Nate asked, his deft fingers threading rope through a cleat.

  “Learn to sail?” she squeaked. “Are you kidding?”

  She stared up at the mast towering overhead with its acres and acres of taut sail. Never in a million years would she feel confident enough to captain such a delicately balanced piece of engineering.

  “What did you think this was? A leisure cruise?”

  He sat beside her. “Okay, so we’re heading downwind at the moment…”

  He explained the theory of tacking to her, pointing out the tightly bound boom—close hauled, in sailor speak—and showing her how they were keeping the wind on one side of the Ducky or the other as they worked their way across the bay. Then he took her through a tack, talking her through each stage and forcibly pushing her head down when she became so absorbed she forgot to duck as the boom swept from one side of the boat to the other.

  “I did it!” she whooped as the sail bellied out over her head and the Ducky started to move again.

  “Yes, Captain, you did,” Nate said, offering her a salute.

  After a couple more tacks they sailed back to shore. Elizabeth watched, fascinated, as Nate lifted the rudders and glided the boat straight up onto the sand.

  “And that doesn’t hurt the thingies at all?” she asked.

  “The hulls? Nope. They’re made out of superstrong fiber-glass. Of course, we probably don’t want to beach on a chunk of rock.”

  She accepted his help to scramble off the trampoline and stood upright for the first time in hours, a big, goofy smile on her face, her board shorts dripping with seawater.

  “That was wonderful. I can’t understand why I’ve never done it before,” she said.

  “Maybe because you live on a little island where it rains most of the year?”

  She wrinkled her zinc-covered nose at him. Nate stepped closer and for a moment she thought he was going to kiss her, but he reached for the clasp on her life vest and worked it loose. “Oh. Thanks.”

  The vest loosened around her waist and she shrugged out of it.

  “Thank heaven. It’s like wearing a straitjacket,” she said as she threw it on the trampoline.

  Nate shrugged out of his own vest. She couldn’t help admiring the way his wet T-shirt clung to his chest.

  “Now, the not-so-fun part—packing up,” he said.

  She worked alongside him to bring the sail down, then carried it with him up to the clubhouse where they washed it down with freshwater to remove any salt spray. Once it was dry, they rolled it and stowed it in a long canvas bag. Then she helped him coil ropes, copying his expert moves in her own fumbling way.

  “Sailing can be addictive, so you’d better be careful,” Nate said as he tied off a coil of rope and dropped it onto the trampoline. “Sam’s like that—not happy unless he’s on the water.”

  It was the first time he’d ever mentioned her father and she shot him a look. His face was absolutely neutral as he checked to make sure the rudders were locked upright. As though they were discussing the weather or something equally banal.

  “Sam’ll do pretty much anything to get out there,” he said. “A lot of small yacht deliveries for rich guys who need their boats sailed from one port to another, crewing with bigger yachts when the work comes up. He’s more than happy to spend days out on the water on his own. Which probably explains why he’s a taciturn bastard at the best of times.”

  It took her a moment to understand what he was doing: letting her know that her father’s rejection wasn’t personal, that he was an isolate by nature. She stroked her finger along the silky weave of the rope she was coiling, assessing the conversation she’d had with her father from this new perspective.

  If her father was a shy man, a loner, socially awkward…it was possible that his first response to contact from a long-lost child might be retreat.

  “Thanks,” she said quietly.

  Nate wiped his brow with the hem of his T-shirt, leaving a pink smear on the fabric from the zinc across his nose and cheeks. “Better go see if there’s anyone in the clubhouse who can give us a lift back up to the racks. Unless you’re hiding muscles I don’t know about, Lizzy?”

  “No, I’m afraid not.”

  “Didn’t think so.”

  She watched as he made his way up the sand. He’d gone out of his way to be kind to her today, taking her out on the water to distract her from her disillusionment then offering her some insight into her father’s character so she could better understand his behavior. Nathan was clearly uncomfortable with having that kindness acknowledged, however. She remembered how he’d told her he didn’t want to get involved in any This Is Your Life situations that first time they’d met—then proceeded to follow her to her car and reassure her, as well as make contact with her father on her behalf.

  She realized she was staring after him like a love-struck teenager and forced herself to turn away and concentrate on coiling the last rope. She needed to tread carefully. She’d already acknowledged that he was different from any other man she’d ever met. He’d introduced her to a world of sensual pleasure she’d only ever suspected existed, and he’d been very kind to her, in his own quiet, low-key way. Then there was the intense, intelligent, intriguing conversation they’d shared last night….

  She was smart enough to know that all those things together were a pretty deadly combination, no matter how many times she assured herself she understood that he was a good-time guy and this was only a holiday fling.

  The sound of masculine laughter heralded Nathan’s return with three other men, all of whom were tanned and fit-looking, dressed casually in T-shirts and board shorts like Nathan.

  “Lizzy, this is David, Gary and Steve,” Nathan said.

  “Hi,” Elizabeth said, offering them all a wave of her hand.

  She tugged on the hem of her soggy, oversize T-shirt, aware she probably looked like something the cat had dragged in.

  A
s though he sensed her self-consciousness, Nate draped an arm around her shoulders and dropped a kiss onto her nose before ushering her to one side.

  “Stand back and let us men do our thing,” he said in a deliberately deep, gravelly voice.

  “Should I cheer you on? Or maybe squeal a little?” she offered drily.

  Nate stripped off his wet T-shirt, tossing it over to her.

  “Save the squealing for later,” he said with a wink.

  The other men laughed, and Elizabeth rolled her eyes as they each grabbed a corner of the boat and hefted. Muscles rippled down Nate’s arms and back, and she forgot what she’d been about to say in response.

  She followed them as they carried the catamaran up the beach. She couldn’t take her eyes off Nate. And it wasn’t just because of his body.

  Be very careful, Elizabeth.

  But it was hard to listen to common sense when the sun was shining and she was walking on the wild side for the first time in her life.

  7

  NATE WOKE TO FIND Elizabeth curled into his side again. Even as his cock rejoiced, his shoulders tensed.

  He shouldn’t have invited her to stay for dinner last night. The sailing lesson was one thing, but he shouldn’t have cooked her dinner, then pulled her into the studio afterward and peeled off her clothes and laid his body over hers. Definitely he shouldn’t have wrapped his arms around her afterward and fallen asleep nuzzling her neck.

  What he should have done was send her home and nipped this thing in the bud. She was a good person—a nice person. He didn’t want to hurt her. But it was inevitable if they kept seeing each other like this.

  The problem was, he really liked her. The sex was fantastic, and she was smart and funny and she didn’t play games.

  And he was a guy who could barely get through the night without nightmares. A guy who’d retreated to the far corner of his own life in an attempt to stop himself from going completely nuts—if it hadn’t happened already.

  He had no business starting something with her that he couldn’t finish. He had nothing to offer beyond sex, and somehow, despite his best intentions, this thing between them was already moving past that.

  So. It was time to pull the pin. She might hate him for it in the short term, but she’d thank him in the long run.

  Having made his decision, he told himself to get out of bed and start putting distance between them. Instead, he smoothed his hand down her shoulder, savoring the cool silk of her hair against his fingers. Then he lowered his head and inhaled the warm smell of her skin—sweet, with just a hint of her citrusy perfume lingering.

  There was no getting around it. He’d found more peace, more comfort in her arms the past few nights than he had for months. Ridiculous as it seemed after such a short time, he was going to miss her.

  Get out of bed. Get out of bed. Get out of bed.

  He knew the voice in his head was smart and rational, but he didn’t move. Instead, he waited another half hour until she woke, her eyes fluttering, a slight frown on her face. She smiled when she saw he was awake already, the warmth in her eyes making him hard and uneasy at the same time.

  “Hello,” she said.

  “Hi.”

  She glanced down and noticed his hard-on.

  “And good morning to you, too,” she said.

  She smoothed a hand down his belly. He caught it just before she wrapped her fingers around his cock and forced himself to say what needed to be said.

  “Listen. I have to leave the island for a few days,” he said.

  She stilled and he knew that she understood the unspoken message behind his casual words.

  She withdrew her hand. “Are you, um, heading off today?” she asked, her tone carefully light.

  “This afternoon, most likely,” he lied.

  She nodded. “Well. Have a good trip.”

  “Yeah. Thanks. I will.”

  It was a ludicrously stiff and formal conversation to be having while naked, lying side by side in bed. He threw off the sheet and stood. Elizabeth’s dress and underwear were folded neatly on the chair in the corner and he passed them to her. She gave him a small smile of thanks that didn’t reach her eyes.

  He turned away and pulled on a pair of cargo shorts.

  “Might go make some coffee,” he said.

  He left her to get dressed, crossing the dewy grass to the house, cursing himself every step of the way for being about as subtle as a sledgehammer.

  But he only had to remember the flash of hurt he’d seen in her eyes to know he’d done the right thing.

  He was pushing open the back door when someone spoke behind him.

  “Nate.”

  He looked over his shoulder. Jarvie stood near the corner of the house, a wary expression on his face. His business partner looked tired, older than when Nate had last seen him. It took Nate a moment to find his voice.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Jarvie lifted his hand and Nate saw he was holding another one of those damned envelopes.

  “I brought your mail.”

  Nate stepped back onto the lawn. “Last time I looked, there were a bunch of people they paid to do that.”

  “Last time I looked, people actually opened their mail.”

  “You’ve got my vote. Do what you like with the business.”

  “It’s your company, too, Nate. I can’t make all the decisions on my own.”

  Jesus. They’d been over all this a million times. He stared at the ground, his jaw tight, not saying anything. He didn’t want to think about any of this. Couldn’t. All of it—the company, his old life—belonged to a man who didn’t exist anymore. And Jarvie knew that. Yet he kept sending mail and now he was here, asking for something Nate didn’t have it in his power to give.

  “We can’t keep going on like this. The company works best when we’re both there. We need you,” Jarvie said.

  “Believe me, you don’t. I gave you power of attorney over my share of the business. Just do whatever you need to do.”

  “It’s not that simple and you know it. You’re the one who wrote the software. No one knows it better than you. We’ve had requests for new features, modifications…”

  “Hire more programmers.”

  “They’re not you. They don’t know Smartsell like you do.”

  “They’ll work it out. It’s not rocket science.”

  Nate could feel himself getting angrier and angrier. Why couldn’t Jarvie leave him the hell alone? He knew why Nate was here. He knew everything. So why did he keep pushing and pushing? “Nate—”

  “You think I want this? You think I like living like this? Do you have any idea—” He broke off, breathing hard. He clenched and unclenched his hands, hot pressure building at the back of his eyes.

  “Listen, I know it’s tough, man. But you can’t just lock yourself away down here. You need to come back up to the city, start seeing that doctor again. She was helping, right? And maybe if you came into work a few days a week, things would start looking up again.”

  Looking up again.

  Right.

  Nate laughed. Jarvie had no idea. Standing there talking about Nate returning to the city and returning to work. As though there was nothing in the world stopping Nate from doing any of those things if he wanted to.

  But, of course, as far as Jarvie was concerned, there wasn’t. He didn’t understand that after six months Nate still had to anesthetize himself with beer or vodka to get to sleep each night. Jarvie had no idea that all it took was the screech of tires or the wrong combination of noises or simply Nate letting his guard down and he was in the middle of a flashback to those long hours in the car, at the mercy of his own messed-up subconscious. Jarvie didn’t have his little sister’s voice in his head, pleading with him to do something, anything, to stop the pain.

  He didn’t have to live with the knowledge that he’d taken the life of the one person he loved more than any other in all the world.

  Nate stared at his old f
riend, his body shaking with the force of his fury. For a moment he teetered on the brink of giving in to the urge to pound on something, anything, to release the anger and self-hate and fear inside himself. Then he reminded himself that this was Jarvie, his oldest friend, his business partner, and even if Jarvie didn’t understand, he was here for the right reasons.

  “You should get out of here,” Nate said, turning away.

  Jarvie stepped into his path. “You have to stop running from this, man.”

  “Get out of the way.”

  “Not until you listen to me.”

  “Move,” Nate said between his teeth. “No.”

  Nate’s hand curled into a fist, his arm muscles bunching, his shoulders squaring. If Jarvie wanted a fight, he’d come to the right place.

  “Nathan, don’t!” Suddenly Elizabeth was between them, her hand on his arm. She was barefoot, her hair a tangle around her head.

  He had no idea how long she’d been watching, how much she’d heard. Jarvie released his grip and Nate took a step away from his old friend.

  “Don’t come again,” Nate said.

  Then he turned and fled the accusation in his old friend’s eyes.

  ELIZABETH WATCHED NATE walk around the corner of the house. She couldn’t believe he’d been on the verge of a fight before she’d intervened.

  “Shit,” Nate’s visitor said, the single word full of frustration and regret.

  She glanced at him. He was about the same age as Nate, dressed casually but expensively in designer jeans and a Paul Smith shirt with striped cuffs.

  He returned her regard, his gray gaze flicking up and down her body assessingly.

  Since she didn’t know what else to do she offered her hand.

  “I’m Elizabeth Mason,” she said.