by Amy Summers
He said it aloud. "I'm in love."
A passing surfer looked at him strangely, but he didn't even notice.
"I'm in love," he repeated, feeling his face light up with wonder. It broke over him like a wave, this new realization. He could go back to his old life, but he would never be happy now. Not without Trish. He needed her more than he needed freedom. He needed her more than he'd ever needed anything in his life.
He could go back to the company. He knew he'd been running away, just as Trish had accused him of doing. He'd come down here to the beach to change his life, and he was now in the process of blowing it and ending up worse than before he'd come. What a self-indulgent idiot he was. This had to stop.
Excitement welled in him. He would go to Trish and spill it all out and somehow convince her to take him back, give him another chance. And then he would go to Laura and work something out.
He rose and looked down at the board in the sand, then out at the swells in the ocean. One more ride. He would take one last ride, a symbolic farewell to the old Chris. And then he would get on with his life. Grinning, he took up the board and began to run toward the surf.
It was only a few blocks to the beach from Chris's apartment, but Trish felt as if she'd been driving forever. She could hardly wait to see him again and talk to him. A siren blared through the mist and she saw an ambulance race by. It was the paramedics, coming from the beach.
The beach. Suddenly it sank in. There wasn't anything out here on the point but the beach. And who would be out there on a morning like this but surfers?
Fear rose in her. She was shaking, but drove on steadily toward the beach. She pulled into a parking space close to the sand and jumped out to run toward the small knot of people she saw milling a few yards away.
"What happened?" she demanded, fear making her voice harsh. "Who got hurt?"
One of the young men turned and filled her in. "I don't know. Some surfer got hurt. Board hit him or something. He was out cold. They had to pump air back in him."
Chris. Oh Lord, could it be him? He wasn't very experienced at surfing, and he was out here all alone. "Is he all right?"
"Who knows? He looked pretty blue. Some guy was giving him artificial respiration like there was no tomorrow and then the paramedics came."
"What did he look like?"
"I don't know. He was all wet, you know? He had on a blue swimsuit. There's his board."
Trish whirled and stared down at the short board painted in stripes of day-glo pink. Chris's board. Her heart sank and her knees almost let go.
"Where?" she gasped, turning beseechingly toward the man. "What hospital?"
"Balboa Central, I guess." He called after her as she began to run for her car. "Hey, I'll give his board to the lifeguard to hold for him, okay?"
Trish didn't answer.
She was back in her car and trying to maneuver it although her hands seemed to have turned into clubs. Her heart was beating so hard in her throat, she had to force air around it to breathe. Back in traffic she zipped in and out of the lanes, muttering little prayers as she went. He had to be all right. What would she do if he were badly hurt?
She parked in the emergency entry and ran in through the huge glass doors, skidding to a stop before the desk. "Chris Dawson," she cried breathlessly. "Where have they taken him?"
"Chris Dawson?" The nurse frowned, checking her list. "I don't have any Chris Dawson listed here."
"The surfer. He was just brought in. He was hit by a board."
"Oh, the surfer? They took him in that way, but listen, miss, you can't—"
Trish was in no mood to hear what she could or could not do. She dashed in through the gurneys and stacks of equipment and found the row of little cubicles set apart by screens. She grabbed an orderly and asked, "Chris Dawson? Where have you taken him?"
From behind her came a familiar voice. "I'm right here, Trish. What's the matter?"
She whirled and there he was, standing straight and tall and not at all injured, his hair plastered against his head from the salt water, his body encased in his short wetsuit.
"Chris?" She came up and touched him as though she was afraid he was merely an apparition. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine. It wasn't me who was hurt. It was some young kid. I just helped bring him in."
"Oh, my God." She clung to him, tears welling in her eyes. "Chris, I was so scared." The lump in her throat hindered further speech and she pressed herself tightly against him sobbing quietly.
He held her, his arms gentle, his face in her hair. "Trish, Trish, you feel so good."
She looked up, her face tearstained. "You're really all right? Nothing broken?"
His crooked smile warmed her. "Only the heart," he told her sadly. "It got broken a few days ago when you turned your back on me. Otherwise, I'm okay."
The heart. How could he joke at a time like this? But when she looked into his eyes, she could see the joke was only a way to cover the depth of his emotions, for it was all there, burning in his eyes. There was no room in her any longer for doubts. Maybe Chris had always been a ladies' man. That didn't matter any longer. He was her man now.
"Oh, Chris," she said shakily. "Let's go home."
She had no idea why home was suddenly his apartment, but it was. They drove back in her car and he told her how he had seen the boy go down, how his board had hit him and how he'd disappeared under the surface of the water.
"I had to dive a few times, but I finally got hold of him with one hand and pulled harder than I've ever pulled anything in my life. I got him up on the sand and tried CPR. I think it helped. He was breathing when the paramedics arrived. They think he'll be okay."
''You saved his life."
"Maybe. But so did the paramedics. And so would anyone else in the same situation."
She didn't want to hear that. He was a hero. They went up to his apartment and he took a shower while she fixed him some of that Irish coffee they had never gotten around to the other night. He came out in a terry cloth robe and sat on the couch beside her. It felt so right being there with him. They didn't need words to communicate. A touch, a look, was all it took.
"How did you know where I was?" he asked at last.
"I was coming down to the beach to look for you."
"Why?"
"To show you these." She reached into her bag and pulled out the photographs she'd received in the mail. "Jerry, the photographer, sent them to me. I thought you might enjoy seeing them."
He took them out of the manila envelope and studied them one by one, his face expressionless. "May I have this one?" he asked, showing her one where her face was toward the camera and his was hovering close.
"Of course."
He rose and walked over to the shelf where the pictures of his family were scattered. He picked one up, removed the photo from the frame and slid in the one he'd just taken from Trish.
She watched him, biting her lip. "I thought you didn't keep pictures of old girlfriends around," she reminded him.
He came back and sat beside her on the couch, so close, their shoulders were touching. "You're not an old girlfriend."
"I see." She wished she could read what he was thinking behind those dark eyes. Her pulse was starting to beat loudly in her ears and she wasn't sure if it was because of his nearness, or because she was afraid to hear the answers to questions—questions that had to be asked. "Then what am I?"
His arm came around her shoulders and began to pull her close. "You're mine, Trish Carrington," he said huskily, his eyes soft with feeling. "You're all mine." One hand took hold of her chin. "Do you think you can handle that?"
She nodded her head slowly, drowning in his gaze, unable to look away. If he really meant it... "It took me some time to come to my senses," she admitted softly. "But I think I've come to terms with...with the way I feel about you."
A slight smile hovered on his lips and his hand caressed her cheek. "I've missed you, Trish," he told her, his voice calm with s
incerity. "Don't go away from me like that again."
She smiled back, so sure of herself all of a sudden. "I won't, Chris," she promised, eyes shining. "Not ever."
He kissed her as though he were drawing life from her lips, and she pressed herself against him, ready to offer him anything he might want, if only it would make him happy.
Looking up, she whispered, "I love you."
He opened his eyes and stared into hers. "Enough to forgive me for quitting?" he whispered back.
"Oh, yes. Enough for that."
He turned fully toward her and pushed her hair out of her eyes with a gentle hand. "Enough to teach me all your surfing secrets?" he asked with a smile.
She grinned. "Absolutely."
His eyes darkened and his hand tightened, grabbing a handful of hair as if to hold on to her, and when he finally spoke again, his voice was rough with emotion. "Enough to marry me?"
Shock tingled through her. "Marry you?" She could hardly believe he'd said the words. Maybe she'd just imagined them.
But he nodded. "I don't want to lose you, Trish. I can't. And I hear that's how you do it. You get married. Then the other person is committed to stay and tough it out with you."
Her heart was beating so loudly, she could hardly hear what he was saying. But she smiled and touched his cheek, her love in her eyes. "That's what they say."
"You want to try it?"
She swallowed. Tears were welling in her eyes. She blinked them back. "But ChrisI never thought that you would want to do something like this."
His smile was self-mocking. "You mean you never thought a playboy like me would want to tie himself to just one woman? I shared that opinion once upon a time. But you changed my mind." He stroked her hair. "Do you remember that day at the Regatta, when you took me to your secret cove and found the condo being built there? I never saw a woman so open, so honest about her own emotions as you were that day. I think I started falling in love with you there."
She tried to smile, but the tears were welling again. "Then it was worth it after all," she murmured. "Chris, I thought I couldn't face giving up my life here but when I stopped and compared that to losing you, I knew I would do anything it took..."
His arms tightened around her. "You'd change for me? That dreaded word?" His tone was teasing, but his eyes held nothing but serious intent.
She gazed at him candidly. "I'd do anything for you, Chris. Anything."
He held her close, breathing in the scent of her hair. "You won't have to throw away your life and start over, Trish," he told her. Touched by her devotion, his voice was husky. "I'd do anything for you, too. I'm going to see if I can work things out with your mother. I want to go back to work."
She drew back and stared at him. "You would do that for me?" she whispered.
He stared back, then kissed her soundly. "I would do that for us," he corrected.
She curled against his chest, her heart singing. "I love you," she murmured happily. "You'll have to give up being a ladies' man, though," she noted as an afterthought.
He sighed with mock despair. "It'll be tough. But I'll even do that." Leaning down, he kissed her nose, her cheeks, her eyelids. "Actually, not so tough," he admitted quietly. "Now I've found you, there's no need to look further."
She tried to laugh. "Ooh, that sounds so cold-hearted!"
He drew her close. "That's me. Old cold-hearted Chris." He kissed her nose. "And that's the way I'm going to be from now on. To everyone but you."
"And the kids," she added tentatively, still blinking back the moisture in her eyes.
He looked surprised. "Do we have kids?" he asked.
She grinned, letting the tears spill down her cheeks. "Not yet," she said shakily. "But we're going to have them soon."
"Good." His hands began to slide down to explore her body once again. "Then we'd better get started." He kissed her neck. "Having kids takes work. Lots and lots of work."
She slipped her arms around his neck and sighed happily. "It's enough to turn me into a workaholic," she murmured.
"You and me both," he agreed, breathing in her scent and sighing with contentment. "You and me both, forever."
"Forever," she echoed. And, looking at the love in his eyes, all her doubts burned away like fog before the summer sun.
Epilogue
The baby kicked and Trish gazed down at her rounded tummy reproachfully.
"Take it easy, little one," she whispered. "I would like to get through Mom and Bert's wedding without giving birth in the aisle.''
The baby quieted and she smiled. "What a good little baby," she said, patting her tummy. "If you're half this cooperative once you're out here among us, I'll be a happy mom."
"Are you talking to the squirt again?" Chris entered the room and came up behind where she sat applying last minute touches to her makeup. "Tell him 'hi' for me." He placed his hand on her stomach and smiled as he felt a kick. "This kid's got great legs. He'll be a surfer for sure."
"She," Trish said quietly.
Chris looked startled. "What did you say?"
"She," Trish repeated, her eyes crinkling with teasing humor.
Chris put his ear to the baby. "How do you know? Did it tell you something?"
"No." She reached down and stroked his hair, gazing at him lovingly. "But you've been calling it a 'he' so confidently lately, I just wanted you to remember that girls are nice, too."
"Nice!" Chris rose and kissed her tenderly. "Girls are more than nice," he murmured, nuzzling her neck. "Girls are my very favorite things."
"Straighten your tie," she advised, laughing. "The president of White Water Waves should look presentable at the wedding of the two company founders, don't you think?"
Chris pulled away reluctantly and did as she advised. Trish watched him with love in her eyes. Everything had worked out so well she hardly dared think about it. Did she deserve this much? Maybe not. But she wanted it all anyway.
Bert and Laura were finally getting married—and about time. It had been two years since they'd started the new surfboard company.
"What do you think is holding them back?" Chris had asked often over the months.
Trish didn't know and didn't venture to guess. She and Chris had planned a quiet wedding themselves, only to find three hundred guests at their reception. Laura liked parties. And the wedding today promised to be big as a circus.
"We've got an hour before we leave for the church," Chris told her. "I've got some calls to make. You rest." He bent to kiss her forehead. "And take care of Junior."
She smiled, watching him leave the room, remembering how she'd once worried that he was too much of a playboy, too full of restlessness, to ever settle down and make a good husband and father. "Wasted time," she murmured to herself. That old Chris had melted away, leaving this new one who was as domesticated as they came.
When Trish looked back over the last two years, she couldn't imagine where the time had gone. When Chris had shown up at WhiteWaterWaves to work things out with Laura and Bert, the two offered him a proposition—take over the company for them while they went on an extended tour of Europe. Chris readily accepted and had things running smoothly and successfully by the time the couple returned. It wasn't long after that when they offered him the top job. He would be in control and they would take minor roles.
The plan had worked like a charm. Chris was making great boards. The company was one of the fastest growing in the West Coast. And Bert and Laura were traveling and having a wonderful time. Even her father was happy. He'd moved his operation to Carmel and was living like a hermit, happily shaping long boards and ignoring the rest of the world.
Trish sat quietly in the sunlit room thinking about the past and dreaming about the future. Things were very quiet inside her. She put both hands on her rounded stomach and listened, as though she were tuning in to the current of her life. The minutes ticked away.
"Time to go." Chris was back, rushing into the room for his suit coat, then turned to help her
up. He stopped when he saw her face. "What is it?"
She smiled at him tremulously. "I think...I think we'll make the ceremony," she said, her voice low and husky. "But I'm not too sure about the reception."
"Oh, my God!" He felt her stomach. It was hard as a rock. Their eyes met and they both laughed aloud.
Well, here it was—her chance to bring about the strong family she'd craved all her life. She swallowed hard, looking at her own reflection in the mirror, looking at the reflection of her husband hovering over her. Was she up to the challenge? Was she ready? Was she afraid?
Looking down she stared at her own hand entwined with Chris's, the fingers laced together tightly, forming a bond that looked impossible to break. No, she wasn't afraid. She wasn't doing this alone. And that made all the difference.
"I love you, Chris," she said proudly, her eyes shining with tears.
"I love you, Trish," he murmured back, holding her close. "I love you and I love that little baby you're bringing into the world. I love you both, with all my heart."
That was it—the secret, the key. Thank God she had realized it in time.
THE END
JUST KISS ME!
Is part of
the Carrington Cousins Series
Don’t miss JUST TRUST ME,
the next book in this series of
stand alone Romantic Comedies.
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