by Ryanne Corey
His heart jumped and whirled in a triple somersault. He leapt off the couch like a deer in flight, racing toward the door. It wasn’t Colin…he had a key. He could think of no one else who would come calling. Would she be there?
He opened the door and the triple somersault went splat.
It was Harris.
It was hard to say who looked the more depressed, the man inside the condo or the man standing on the front porch. Harris seemed even thinner than the last time Billy had seen him, shoulders stooped with weariness, hound-dog eyes big and dark with misery. He was wearing slacks and a dress shirt with a navy bow tie, but for once the suspenders were missing. His slacks were hanging perilously low on his narrow hips.
“We need to talk,” Harris said, looking Billy up and down. “My word. Did you just get out of bed?”
“I haven’t been to bed yet,” Billy told him lifelessly. “And why would I want to talk to you? Last thing I heard, you were ready to hire a hit man to knock me off.”
“I am a law-abiding citizen. I hire lawyers, not hit men.” Ever the gentleman, he added, “I tried to call before I left Florida, but there was no answer. I was afraid you wouldn’t be here.”
Billy shaded his eyes against the intruding sunlight. “What do you want, Harris?”
“Can I come in?” Harris looked at him like a poor orphan begging for gruel. “Please?”
Billy shrugged, stepping back from the door. “Whatever.”
Harris had never seen a popcorn depression before. He stopped short when he entered the living room, looking around with gaping astonishment. “Lucas? What happened here?”
“Julie happened,” Billy snapped, heading for the bowl of popcorn on the table. “What can I do for you, Harris? Slit my throat? Jump off the balcony?”
“Of course not.” Gingerly brushing the popcorn off the sofa, Harris sat down. His slight body seemed to vanish in the deep cushions. “This is very difficult for me.”
“Sitting down?”
Harris folded his hands neatly in his lap. “Of course not. Asking you for assistance is very difficult, particularly when the last time I asked you for assistance you absconded with my sister. I have a situation at home.”
“A situation?” Billy lifted one dark brow. “Is that the rich and privileged way of saying you have a problem?”
“Yes,” Harris snapped. “It is. My sister will not do what I tell her. In point of fact, she has put her life in extreme danger. She doesn’t know how to swim.”
Billy stared at him. “You’ve lost me.”
“She bought a houseboat moored in the Keys, just like that, sight unseen. A houseboat that floats on water. You cannot put security gates on water. She moved down there yesterday.”
A ghost of a smile touched Billy’s lips. “Good for her. Knowing Julie, she’ll have one hell of an adventure.” Then, hesitantly, “What about Bo-Bo?”
“Bo-Bo?” Harris took four pieces of popcorn out of the bowl, one at a time. “You mean Beauregard? They are only friends. She’s made that perfectly clear.”
There was a long pause. Billy’s throat burned with the force of his frustration. “She’ll get over it, Harris. I’m entirely forgettable. Don’t lose any sleep over it.”
“I must say, I thought your feelings for her went beyond this callous nonchalance.”
“Why the hell can’t you talk like everybody else?” Billy snapped. He practically threw the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table. “Nobody says nonchalance.”
“Lucas, Julie has been an entirely different person since she left you last week. I know my sister better than anyone else in the world. Unless I miss my guess, she cares deeply about you.”
“You missed your guess,” Billy muttered. “She hates my guts.”
“Nobody I know says guts,” Harris retorted. “Do you love her?”
Billy groaned and slapped himself on the forehead. “Of course I love her! The whole world would love her if they had a chance. That changes nothing. She deserves better than me, Harris. You probably have more money in your pocket than I do in the bank. My father was a drunk, and I have no idea if he’s dead or alive. I’ve been intimately acquainted with the darkest and most twisted souls you can imagine. I’m riddled with bullet holes, for hell’s sake! Do you want to hear more?”
“No, that’s enough,” Harris replied mildly. He stood up, took a piece of paper out of his pocket and dropped it on the coffee table. “I’ve written down directions to her new floating house. Before I leave, I want to make something clear. Julie and I are fortunate enough to have financial security, but inheriting money is no test of worth. Julie is incredible because she is Julie. There have been times when I wished we hadn’t been saddled with a fortune, so that I’d know whoever married her would be marrying her because of love. I encouraged Beau because he had a great deal more money than we did, so I didn’t have to worry about his motives. I’m not a snob, Lucas. You, however, are. You refuse to fight for her because she has more money than you. How idiotic. If I weighed more than one hundred and twenty pounds, I do believe I would take a swing at you.”
“You’re forgetting something,” Billy grated out. “She never wants to see me again.”
“I imagine a woman in love is capable of forgiveness.” Harris walked to the front door as cool as a little cucumber. “It’s up to you now. You can’t blame me if there’s not a happy ending to this story. Or your father, your career, your bank balance. This time you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.”
The door closed between them, neatly and quietly. Billy remained on the sofa, shell-shocked. He let out a deep, tired breath, dropping his face in his hands. He was hurting so badly, it was difficult to think. Julie had been right when she’d accused him of seeing their relationship as only temporary. Believing in something permanent would have gone against everything he’d ever learned in his life. Having nothing left to lose was so comfortable.
The wind was picking up outside, rattling the sliding doors in their tracks. Drawn to the sound and fury of the coming storm, he wandered out to the balcony, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jeans. Particles of sand hit his bare chest with a barrage of tiny stings he barely noticed. Hell, it felt so alien to him, this being alone. Ironic, considering the comfort he had always found in his own company. Then along came Julie, and Billy Lucas had learned how to need. The longing was so strong, always there, always pulling at him. After all this time, he had finally learned what real loneliness was.
He closed his eyes against the wind, trying to anchor himself to something solid in his soul. All he found was Julie, in his mind and his heart. How could he go day after day without her? Try as he might, he could find no strength in his convictions. He had told himself over and over he was doing the right thing for her. Why, then, did it feel so wrong?
And where did he go from here?
Eleven
It was not necessarily a bad thing to live alone.
In fact, it had been three weeks of great discovery for Julie. Peaceful and calm, an existence untroubled by bodyguards and interfering brothers and other lower life-forms. She loved her new home, though it was a far cry from her old home. There were no manicured gardens, no security gates standing between her and the ocean. For the first time in her life, she felt as if she was a part of the rest of the world. Her boat was moored in a shallow inlet along with a couple of ancient fishing boats. Her little home, no one else’s. She told herself she had everything she needed to be happy. And she almost believed herself.
Julie doubted if she would ever live on dry land again. Her new “neighborhood” was a world away from the power lunches, jazzy nightclubs and general tourist infestation of Palm Beach. She loved the way her little houseboat lulled her to sleep every night with the soft rhythm of the waves, loved the gentle cricket sounds that filled the darkness and the brisk wake-up call of cool, morning sea air. There was a little town not far from the dock, a distance of less than a mile. She loved the name—Mystic Harbor. She w
ent there to buy fruits and vegetables almost every day, enjoying the quiet stroll through the sleepy waterfront village.
She kept busy. She had her own meals to prepare. She bought her first bucket and mop and learned to scrub decks, collecting many slivers along the way. When her thoughts wandered to Billy and became unbearably painful, she cleaned. Her houseboat was worthy of the Good Houseboat-keeping Seal of Approval.
She wore a succession of tank tops and shorts, never bothering with makeup. Her hair was usually twisted up in a ponytail, and the polish on her bare toes had long since worn off. Her nails were chipped and badly in need of a manicure, which she had no intention of getting. As her mind and body began to relax, she realized the healing power of long afternoons spent lazing in the sun like a cat. She felt like a child of nature, a solitary mermaid living neither on land nor in the water.
Harris visited her twice, which was once too often. She was still angry with him, though she had stopped fearing he would take away her independence. He couldn’t do that any longer, she was too strong, too determined. No one could. She served Harris tuna on toast, which he politely ate, then promptly lost. The subtle rocking motion of the houseboat did not agree with him. He made her promise to take swimming lessons, if only for his peace of mind. Then he made her cross her heart and promise again.
As far as Julie was concerned, her creaky, lemon-scented houseboat was the perfect haven for healing. She felt almost invisible there, just another little soul living out her days on God’s green and blue Earth. She knew there would come a time when she would need more, a time to decide where to take her life from here. She thought about possible careers, but she was in no hurry.
There were times, usually at night, when she caught herself yearning for a man’s touch, for the warmth of a male body next to hers. And not just any man; ironically, she ached for the man who had betrayed her and hurt her more deeply than anyone else ever had. She told her heart that the pain would ease, should ease, but the wound remained constant and raw. She had heard the old adage of time healing all wounds, but feared whoever made up old adages had a mean sense of humor. She had a measure of peace, but she couldn’t find a sense of completeness. A part of her was missing. She found herself wishing for a case of selective amnesia, something to blank out the bittersweet memories of falling in love. Oh, if only she didn’t know now what she didn’t know then.
The days ceased to have names. One afternoon—it might have been Friday or Monday or Thursday—she decided to set up an old easel and paint set left behind by the houseboat’s former owner. She had never tried her hand at painting, but it was a beautiful day, and she was in the mood to be creative. In lieu of a painter’s smock she wore the brief yellow bikini she had purchased in Laguna, the swimsuit Billy had never seen. Her hair was parted into pigtails, not a stylish look but very good for keeping wind-blown hair away from wet oils. She painted with great enthusiasm, recreating a fat yellow sun over a huge expanse of summer-blue water. The painting needed a focal point, she decided, chewing thoughtfully on the end of her paint brush.
And that was how Billy found her.
She was unaware of his approach, his footsteps on the dock lost in the soft wash of the waves against the boat. He watched her for the longest time, his heart suspended in his chest. She was utterly absorbed in her painting, brows drawn together fiercely. Her pigtails made her look twelve years old, escaped strands flying wildly around her face. Her swimsuit made her look quite a bit older than twelve. In fact, the sight of her generous, deeply bronzed curves barely contained by two wisps of buttery-yellow material almost gave him a heart attack.
It took him several minutes before he regained the power of speech. “Can I come aboard?” He was terrified she would turn him away. He was ecstatic just to see her again. He felt like a confused stranger in Billy Lucas’s body.
The woman-child in yellow froze, paintbrush hanging in midair. Then, very slowly, she turned her head to look at Billy. “What…what are you doing here?”
She had paint on her chin and the tip of her nose. Her feet were bare, toes curled tightly around the bottom rung of a wooden deck chair. Billy’s heart swelled in his chest with fierce, protective love. The world would never see her like this again.
He stopped praying that he would say the right things. He started praying for the ability to say anything. Finally, in a hoarse, shaky voice, “I came to see if your brother was right.”
Amazingly, Julie reached inside herself and found enough composure to turn back to her painting. As she dipped her brush in paint, she asked carelessly, “Right about what?”
“He said when a woman loved a man, she could forgive him.”
Julie realized she had just painted a huge pink cloud. She scooted her chair sideways, to block Billy’s view. She savaged herself inside, trying to stem the tide of panic sweeping her from head to foot. Even now she ached for this man who had betrayed her and hurt her more deeply than anyone else ever had. She had told herself she was healing, but the open wound in her heart remained constant and raw. She closed her eyes tightly, grateful her back was to him. “Harris is as innocent as I once was. He probably believes in happy endings, too.”
Billy stepped aboard without waiting for her permission. He very much doubted he would get it, anyway. He watched every muscle in her body tense as he walked closer. Taking those few steps, unsure of anything, was the hardest thing he had ever done. Harder than heading into a blind alley after a shooter, harder than being shot himself, harder than facing his own wretched mistakes. He had never felt more vulnerable in his life. Big, strong Billy Lucas, survivor of the dirty city streets, needed a bulletproof vest for his poor heart. What a poet she had turned him into.
“I didn’t,” he said quietly. “I never believed in happy endings.”
“Obviously,” Julie snapped, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice. “And you turned me into a cynic as well.” She couldn’t just sit there with him so close, especially when she was all but naked. It was as though they had never been together before, and all her old walls were up. She turned her painting over, put her brush down on the table and stood up, wrapping her arms self-consciously around her chest. “I’m cold. I’m going below to put something on.”
“Julie, please—”
“I’ll be back,” she said shortly, turning away so he couldn’t see the panic in her eyes.
“I’ll wait.”
“Whatever.”
Below deck, Julie leaned against the closet door and concentrated on breathing. She had forgotten the sheer physical impact he had on her. His hair had been cut, which was surprising, but he still wore it fairly long, carelessly brushed back from his face and ears. His jeans fit as beautifully as ever, giving wonderful definition to his male body. His lightweight white cotton shirt was rolled up casually at the cuffs, emphasizing the muscles in his powerful brown arms.
He was quite beautiful. Even liars could be quite beautiful.
She had no idea why he had come to her after three long weeks. In the back of her mind she had almost expected him at first. But as the days wore on, she stopped hoping against hope to see him on deck in the morning when she first came upstairs, his wide shoulders outlined against the blazing Florida sky. And now, when she had finally accepted the fact that he hadn’t cared enough to even try and see her, he showed up out of the blue. And not only that, but he showed up talking about happy endings. How dare he?
When she went back on deck, she wore a simple, pinstriped sundress with a deep scoop neck. The paint on her nose and chin had been washed off, the pigtails were gone and her composure was back in place. She padded over to the table, starting to clear up her paints. Billy watched her, leaning against the railing with his thumbs hooked in the pockets of his jeans. His heart was stuck painfully in his dry throat.
“You were saying?” she asked coldly.
Billy swallowed hard. She wasn’t making this easy, but then, he hadn’t expected it to be easy. “I was saying I never
believed in happy endings…until I met you. I had no reason to. My childhood, my job, my entire life taught me there was no such thing as a happy ending. I expected the worst and I got it. Hell, that attitude kept me alive. That’s why…when I met you, I wasn’t prepared. It never occurred to me I had a chance at anything or anyone like you.”
“You don’t,” Julie said flatly. “Love involves a certain amount of trust, don’t you think? I could never be with someone I don’t trust. Not to mention the fact you didn’t care enough to fight for me. How long has it been since I left California? Almost a month. Whatever possessed you to come looking for me now? Don’t tell me a nifty detective like yourself couldn’t track me down.”
Billy dropped his head back on his neck, staring at the sky till he saw nothing but exploding sunspots. “Julie… I’ve known where you were almost since the day you left. Harris told me.”
“You called him?” Julie asked, almost inaudibly.
“No.” This wasn’t going to reflect well on him, Billy realized. Julie didn’t understand his absence had been a form of well deserved self-punishment. “He flew out to California and we had a talk. He gave me your address. Unfortunately, I thought—I guess I still think—that you deserve far better than an ex-undercover cop whose only redeeming quality is staying alive.”
Julie closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them again, there was no hint of emotion in her expression. “Well, if that’s what you believe, you must be right. I do deserve better than what you were willing to give me. I want you to leave, Billy.”