Sunset Bay Sanctuary

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Sunset Bay Sanctuary Page 14

by Roxanne Snopek

He needed to grasp some shred of power over her and she understood that. Nothing is worse than being completely at the mercy of another, having them know your ugliest, bloodiest secrets, while they stand above, un-besmirched, impenetrable and untouchable.

  He gave her a roguish grin. “Close your eyes.”

  “What?”

  “Do you want answers to your questions or not?”

  “Fine.” She closed her eyes. “Give me a napkin, on the one hundred percent chance of me needing to spit it out.”

  He opened the linen and tucked it into her hand. “You won’t need it. Now, imagine you are on a deserted island. You’ve been shipwrecked but are unharmed. It’s just you and this beautiful paradise but you’re so hungry.”

  She opened her eyes. “Is this a long story? I want to order a burger.”

  He wagged a finger at her. “Eyes closed. Now, you’re all alone, just you in this secluded bay full of warm water and colors, bursting with life. You start fantasizing.”

  Check that, she thought. His voice poured over her like silk, drifting and draping, touching and tickling her naked senses.

  “About food,” he added, and she could hear the grin in his voice.

  She cleared her throat. “Kobe beef and yam fries, to be exact.”

  “Your stomach is growling and suddenly you smell something delicious, something pure and clean and you just know that if you can find it, you’ll be saved. You won’t starve. There’s food all around you, a bounty, a banquet, if you can just figure out how to access it.”

  The conversations from the tables around them faded away and all Haylee could hear was Aiden’s voice, the rolling surf, and raucous calls of the ever-present gulls. She was there, exactly where he’d put her and yes, she was hungry, so hungry.

  “You wade into the water,” he continued, “shivering as your overheated body adjusts to the cold. There, way below the surface on a rock, you see these strange shells. You dive down, break one off, and bring it to the surface. You taste salt on your lips, briny and earthy. The shellfish smells of salt and ocean and . . . meat. Your stomach growls and suddenly your inner animal kicks in. You must eat.”

  If the waitress showed up right now, Haylee thought she might tear her apart with her teeth.

  “You take a knife,” continued Aiden.

  “I have a knife?”

  “You saved one from the shipwreck, don’t argue, it’s my story. You split open the shell. Inside you find, to your shock and delight—”

  “It’s empty?” said Haylee. Time to take this down a notch.

  “A perfect pearl,” Aiden corrected, “nestled inside the silvery flesh of the oyster. The pearl is lovely and you suddenly think that the pearl and the creature that created it are both gifts from the sea, an offering of strength and hope. Survival. You put the pearl in one hand and with the other, you suck the juicy oyster from its luminous bed.”

  She felt him touch her bottom lip.

  “Keep your eyes closed but open your mouth.”

  So much for ramping down.

  He placed the edge of the shell against her lips, then tipped her chin back slightly. A slippery mass slid into her mouth. She held it on her tongue for a moment, balling the napkin in her sweaty palm. But instead of the instant rejection she’d expected, her stomach growled, loud enough that Aiden heard it and laughed.

  It tasted not good, perhaps, but definitely not bad. Earthy. Which was weird, given it came from the sea.

  “Chew it if you like, or swallow it whole.”

  She bit down. It was tender rather than mushy and bursting with flavors she couldn’t quite categorize. It was a total surprise. She swallowed and waited for a fishy aftertaste.

  “Well?” said Aiden. “What do you think?”

  She opened her eyes. There was no aftertaste. Her mouth felt . . . clean.

  “If I’m ever shipwrecked on a deserted island, I’ll have a valuable survival skill. Except for the knife part. That seemed contrived.”

  “You liked it.”

  She made a face. “I didn’t hate it. That’s not the same as liking.”

  “It’s a step in the right direction.”

  “What do you see in your nightmares?” she asked suddenly.

  His smile faded. He straightened the cutlery, aligning it with the edge of the table. “You don’t miss a beat, do you?”

  “A promise is a promise.”

  But he was saved by Kelly, the perky waitress. “May I take your orders now?”

  Haylee guessed she’d been waiting in the wings for the right moment to interrupt them.

  “You bet,” she said, before Aiden could leap in and order for her. “I’ll have the burger with blue cheese and avocado and yam fries on the side.”

  “I’ll have the same,” said Aiden. “Make it easy on you.”

  He aimed his dark crinkly smile at the poor girl and Haylee watched her big eyes go all glow-y and vague. If she were a puppy, she’d be alternately licking his jaw and rolling over onto her back.

  Actually, that didn’t seem like such a far-out response for a human, either.

  As soon as the waitress was gone, he leaned forward again.

  “There are a couple of recurring themes,” he said, totally serious now. “I’m in a car and it’s going faster and faster and while I’m in the driver’s seat, I can’t control it. Just before it crashes, I wake up.”

  “How do you know it crashes?”

  He closed his eyes, as if willing away a scene. “I just do.”

  “What’s the other one?”

  He hesitated, frowning. “It’s hard to explain. Sometimes it follows the first one. Sometimes they sort of blend together. I’m in a small space, and I’m about to die, I know this with every fiber of my being. I have to get out, get away but I can’t move. I’m paralyzed. And . . .”

  “Yes?”

  He gave his head a little shake. “Nothing. You know dreams. Trying to remember details is like grabbing onto smoke.”

  “And are you disoriented when you wake up?”

  “No. I’m totally oriented, but it’s like the dream scene is overlaid onto my mind. I’m in my own bed, in my own house, but I’m breathing like I’ve run a marathon and my chest feels like it’s going to explode.” He gave a small grin. “It plays hell on the social life.”

  “Is that why you have an ex-wife instead of a wife?”

  “Not until you eat another oyster,” he said. He picked up another shell from the bed of ice. “Do you want to try doing it yourself?”

  She wanted to go back to the fantasy island and listen to his silky voice and have his fingers touch her face.

  “I’ll do it myself. Hot sauce and lemon?”

  He nodded and handed her the half shell. “Don’t look at it,” he suggested.

  “Good idea.” She closed her eyes and tipped it down the hatch, swallowing it whole this time. The flavors were stronger this time, perhaps primed by her first experience, but there was no visceral objection.

  “Better?” asked Aiden. “What do you taste this time?”

  “Ocean,” she said, thinking. “It’s like the essence of the sea. The life force of the water. Primal. I don’t know how to describe it.”

  “That’s pretty good. For someone who obviously loves the sea, you should have discovered oysters long ago. Though from my perspective, I’m glad you didn’t. It’s very rewarding sharing something you love with someone who hasn’t experienced it before.”

  “Even a reluctant learner?”

  She thought of how it felt to teach the basics of dog behavior to an eager student.

  “Especially then.” He smiled and picked up another oyster. “Now, let’s finish these before our burgers arrive. Want to try one naked?”

  He was playing with her and she wouldn’t have minded, but that whole deserted island thing had left her feeling a little breathless and squirmy. He was too attractive for games. And had way too much baggage.

  And although he didn’t know it, she
had far too much of her own.

  “You talking dirty to me, Dr. McCall? Surely that’s not appropriate.”

  “Naked?” He blinked innocently. “Oh, that’s just oyster talk for no sauce. Besides, this is a public place, Haylee. Taking your clothes off would most definitely be inappropriate. I’m surprised at you for even suggesting it.”

  Her mouth gaped. “I didn’t suggest it! You did. Oh.”

  She tossed her napkin at him, realizing too late that she’d walked into his trap.

  “Come on, let’s down these last ones and then you can ask me some less intrusive questions. I suggest: where are you from? Do you come here often? Tell me about your family. That sort of thing.”

  “Date questions,” Haylee said.

  “Questions that humans ask when they’re getting acquainted. If you agree to help me adopt a dog, I’m guessing we’ll be seeing each other from time to time during the process. Might as well know who we’re dealing with, right?”

  It had been a long time since anyone had teased the edges of her solitude. Everyone at the ranch knew her history, knew to leave it alone because hell, they all had a history of some kind they weren’t eager to talk about. Sanctuary Ranch was able to offer what they did because of those speckled and spotted pasts.

  “I have to ask things of you,” she said. “You don’t need to know anything about me.”

  “That seems hardly sporting. Fine, another question.”

  “How often do the nightmares occur?”

  His smile faded. “I don’t know. Once or twice a night.”

  “Every night? No wonder you’re losing it.”

  “Thank you.” He handed her another oyster. “Bottom’s up.”

  This time, she didn’t hesitate. The briny aroma and bite of sea salt combined with the sensual texture to make an oddly primal delicacy.

  He motioned for her to join him and together they slurped down the last of the oysters.

  “Addictive, aren’t they?”

  “Am I that transparent?”

  “The way you were moaning and licking your lips was a dead giveaway.”

  “I was not!” She felt herself blush. She glanced around her. She prided herself on not caring about what other people thought about her—she’d learned that attitude the hard way—but she didn’t like to think she might be revealing more about herself than she realized.

  Dear God. Did Aiden notice how his little story had affected her?

  “Maybe it was my imagination,” said Aiden, grinning. “Or maybe I just like to see you blush. You’re a beautiful woman, Haylee, even though you pretend you don’t care about such things.”

  She was momentarily speechless. She touched her cheek, where the heat beat like a sunburn. A beautiful woman? She hadn’t even washed her hair today. She’d stopped bothering with makeup years ago. She probably had Hannibal slobber on her arms.

  A beautiful woman.

  Who said things like that?

  “I’ve embarrassed you,” said Aiden. He reached out and captured her hand. “I’m sorry, Haylee. I didn’t mean to do that.”

  “I’m, I’m not embarrassed. I mean, there’s no need . . . I appreciate . . .” She swallowed. “Thank you.”

  She’d touched his hand before, but it hadn’t had this kind of effect. His big palm enveloped and dwarfed her fist, making her feel a little trapped but also oddly safe. Contained. Sheltered.

  “Haylee.” Aiden laughed and squeezed her hand. “Relax. You like oysters. I think you might even like me. Just a little.”

  “Don’t push it.”

  * * *

  The view in front of him was too good to waste. He loved to watch a woman enjoy her food. A woman who enjoyed food, he’d always thought, was a woman free of the tiresome vanities of calorie counting and dessert guilt. It boded well for her interest in other sensual pleasures.

  It also allowed him to eat his own French fries without the pick-pick-picking of someone who’d ordered a garden salad but thought it was romantic to eat off his plate.

  “I haven’t had a burger this good in ages,” said Haylee, licking a smear of sauce off the corner of her lip.

  “Maybe the oysters piqued your appetite.”

  “Or it’s because I haven’t dated since breakfast.” Her face went neon. “Eaten. I meant I haven’t eaten since breakfast. Good Lord.”

  She pressed the heel of her hand into her forehead as Aiden laughed out loud.

  “Usually it’s me talking around my size elevens,” he said. “Nice to see it happen to you, too. Makes you a little more human. And while some might say there was a Freudian element to your slip, I wouldn’t dream of suggesting such a thing.”

  The family with the child who’d looked so much like Garret got up to leave. He’d almost forgotten the vast amount of equipment and supplies that accompanied the transportation of children. The diaper bag slipped off the woman’s shoulder and he reached out reflexively.

  “Thank you very much,” said Haylee, not noticing his preoccupation. She took another enormous bite of her burger, catching an ooze of blue cheese with her finger and adding it to the mouthful. He heard the pop when her finger left her lips. The sound went straight to his lap and settled in, the sensations now one hundred percent adult-oriented.

  “Maybe it was deliberate,” he said, “and you’re trying to seduce me?”

  She gave a choking laugh and put her hand to her mouth.

  “Is that a no? Oh well. Worth a try.”

  She wiped her lips with a napkin. “So getting back on point. Where are you from?”

  He’d thrown her off her game. He liked that. “Seattle, originally. But we moved around a bit. Came back for pre-med and med school at University of Washington. Did my specialty track at UCal in San Francisco.”

  “A true West Coast boy.”

  “I also spent some time in South Africa and the UK. Thought a little experience in different cultures would make me a more rounded practitioner.”

  “And did it?”

  He thought of the riot victims he’d treated, how tear gas and bullets do the same damage no matter what continent they’re used on.

  “I got to try bunny chow and haggis, so definitely.”

  “Bunny chow.” Haylee set down her burger. “I hope that’s not what it sounds like.”

  She was no shrinking violet. She ate meat and wasn’t the least bit sentimental. She was trying not to look horrified, so he tried to hide his smile.

  He took pity on her. “It’s not really rabbit meat, though I’ve eaten that, too. Bunny chow is a hollowed-out half- or quarter-loaf of white bread filled with a blistering-hot curry, some meat, some vegetarian. It’s one of South Africa’s most treasured street foods but not for the faint of heart. I found that out the hard way.”

  “No details required. Who came up with the repulsive name?”

  “I don’t know. Apparently, the curries in bunny chow were brought to South Africa in the nineteenth century by Indian indentured laborers who came to work on the sugarcane fields.” He paused. “You completely passed over the mention of haggis. Of the two, that’s the one that should impress you.”

  She grimaced. “Look, I’ve eaten oysters for you today. Can we leave off the discussion of gastronomic extravaganzas for another time and get back to our reason for being here? You’re ruining my burger.”

  His brain latched on to “another time,” filing it away for the near future.

  “Sorry,” he said. “Please, enjoy. Your pleasure is my pleasure.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him, put the last bite in her mouth, and waved her fingers at him in a come on, let’s go fashion.

  He sighed. “Married during my residency. Good woman, bad timing. We hardly saw each other. Common mistake. She’s remarried now. I’m happy for her.”

  “Kids?”

  He’d been dreading the question.

  “A son.”

  “Ah.”

  An entire conversation in three little words.

>   Haylee crossed her hands, and he focused on her fingers, the elegant, unvarnished functionality. He’d been told he sounded cold and clinical when he spoke of Garret. It was the only way he knew how to speak of him.

  “He died when he was two. My marriage died soon after. He’d be six now.”

  He didn’t know what he was expecting from Haylee. He was tired of sympathy, the meaningless platitudes and the mind-numbingly repetitive required responses. It was a social dance unpleasant to all, awkwardly engaged in only when unavoidable. He’d just made it unavoidable.

  But instead of the usual empty phrases, she remained silent. Annoyance rippled over him, but quickly gave way to relief. Gratitude, even. He couldn’t bear to do that dance with her.

  “What was his name?” she asked.

  He sucked in a breath. “Garret.”

  “Garret,” she repeated. “Nice name. I don’t know much about kids. What was he like? Or is that a bad question?”

  * * *

  Haylee wasn’t sure how it happened. One minute they were arguing about oysters, the next, there was one slice of cheesecake, two forks, and Aiden was telling her about his dead son.

  She didn’t want to hear about it. She didn’t want to care. Couldn’t afford to invest herself in his life. He wanted a dog from her. She could help him with that. But she didn’t want to know the secret places of his heart or how he still ached for his losses.

  Everyone had losses. Some days it was all she could do to bear her own, let alone feel anyone else’s pain.

  When they finally left the restaurant and Aiden drove over the winding road to the ranch, the silence between them was not that of awkward strangers. Instead, the air was freighted with trust.

  She understood what it cost him to share the truth with her and she resented the empathy it awoke in her. She didn’t want to know that he was a broken human being, laboring under his burdens the best he could. She didn’t like the twist of desire she felt, because it was more than lust. She felt the desire to unburden herself in return and that scared the bejesus out of her.

  She didn’t want a relationship.

  He turned the engine off and opened his door.

  “Good night, Aiden,” she said, touching his hand. “You don’t need to get out.”

  But he was out and opening her door for her before she knew it. A gentleman, too. Damn.

 

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