Dangerous Waters

by Janice Kay Johnson

  *****

  Mac made love to her that night with the same single-minded intensity he'd brought to the swim lesson. He was tender, sometimes gentle, sometimes rough, passionate to the point of desperation. With kisses he drank in her cries, but except for an occasional involuntary groan was silent himself. She knew when his body shuddered with release, but he gritted his teeth to hold any sound in.

  Megan wondered about that silence and what it meant. What was it she always told her kindergarteners? Talk to each other. Don't wonder why someone is mad at you; ask. Tell your friends what you feel.

  So she kissed his chest, which happened to be the closest part of him, and said, "How come you're so quiet?"

  "Right now?" He sounded surprised.

  "Well ..." Now she'd gotten herself into it. "I mean the whole time. When we're...you know."

  "Are you blushing?" He lifted her chin and his amused eyes took in her hot cheeks. "You are. What's the matter? Can't you say it?"

  "What should I say?"

  "We were making love." His eyes narrowed as something showed on her face. "Or isn't that how you look at it?"

  "Speak for yourself," she said tartly. "I'm just not used to talking about it. I'm only a kindergarten teacher. Our school district doesn't start sex education until fifth grade."

  Mac laughed. "You haven't talked about sex since fifth grade?"

  Megan punched him. "You're evading the subject."

  "What's the subject?"

  "Why you're so ... so quiet."

  He brushed her hair back from her face with a gentle hand. "Just because I don't tell you how beautiful you are doesn't mean I'm not thinking it. You have the perfect body. Feminine..." He lightly cupped her breast. "Strong." His hand stroked over her flat stomach. "Just enough softness, but not too much."

  That wasn't what she wanted to hear. Well, she didn't mind hearing compliments from him, but what she really wanted to know was how he felt. But she had said all she dared. She should be grateful he wasn't the kind of man who used the word love easily, trading it for sex. What if he did smile at her with that wicked, sweet grin and say he loved her? Would she believe him?

  He felt her sigh. "Bored already? Jeez, lady. What's it take?"

  Forget love, Megan told herself. Enjoy the moment. It wouldn't last long.

  "Um." She pretended to think. "How about going skinny-dipping?"

  "One lesson wasn't enough for you?"

  Megan sat up and tucked her feet under her, then grabbed a pillow and very casually hugged it so that it hid most of her from the neck down. "I won't teach you a thing," she promised.

  Mac crossed his arms behind his head. Tufts of light-brown hair in his armpits struck her as very sexy. And wasn't she far gone when she found armpits attractive, she thought ruefully.

  "I don't know if I'm quite ready for night swimming," he said. "Especially after my last experience. I kind of like to have an idea where the bottom is. Speaking of which..." His hand snaked out to deftly whisk her pillow away, "I don't mind keeping an eye on yours, too."

  Megan gasped and dove for the pillow, which he tossed across the room. When she jumped up, he grabbed her and rolled her under him. Laughing, he pinned her down. "Hiding?"

  She made a face at him. "I was being modest."

  Mac kissed her, hard. "I like you better when you're being immodest."

  She began, "I'm never..." but he kissed her again and her hands crept up around his neck.

  When he lifted his head, Mac was breathing hard, and Megan had forgotten what they were arguing about. "Like that," he said roughly, and kissed her again.

  *****

  "What we need," he announced the next morning, "is someplace that sells books."

  "And a toaster," Megan mumbled, as she stirred the scrambled eggs and waited for hot water to boil before she could have a cup of coffee.

  "A little under the weather this morning?" he asked with infuriating good humor as he pulled a T-shirt over his head.

  "I never get enough sleep when you're around."

  "I didn't hear you complaining."

  She wrinkled her nose and started dishing up the eggs. "Well, now I am."

  Mac's voice dropped a note, becoming husky. "Remind me tonight."

  "Right," she said, knowing how likely that was. Megan poured two cups of instant coffee and then plopped the plates of eggs and bacon on the small dinette table just as Mac sat down. "Lunch is your turn," she announced. "And we really need some more groceries."

  "Like I said," he agreed, "we can find a store. As long as it has a decent selection of reading material. Not that you bore me..."

  She melodramatically clasped her hand over her heart. "Surely not."

  He grinned, his face utterly relaxed, his eyes downright friendly. He'd changed, Megan thought, as though he had set aside his internal guards when they fled Devil's Lake. Was he usually like this, when life was a little less stressful?

  The coffee helped unfog Megan's mind right away. "What do you do for fun when you're home?" she asked out of the blue.

  "Read." Mac swallowed some coffee. "Take in a baseball game. I play city league basketball. Run to stay in shape." He shrugged. "I'm in one of those Big Brother programs. I have this kid named Raul, who's a real hellion. We've gotten along okay since I pounded him at one-on-one. He couldn't believe somebody so old could still put a move on him."

  Megan nibbled on a piece of bacon. "Does he know where you are?" she asked softly.

  Mac shrugged again as though indifferently, but he also turned his head and gazed out the small-paned window at the lake, the hot mug of coffee cradled in his hands. "I...let him know I'd be gone for a while. He understands."

  "You sound like you miss him."

  The crease in one cheek deepened. "Yeah, I guess I do. God knows why. Half the time his mother calls me to bail him out of hot water. He cuts classes, gets caught smoking in the hall... His dad's in the state pen for armed robbery. But you know, Raul's a good kid. Despite everything, he keeps a B average, says he's going to college. He's stubborn. I'm betting he makes it."

  With Mac on his side, Megan would bet on it, too. Assuming Mac could ever go home again. She wondered if Raul missed him, if he was cutting more classes because Mac wasn't there to nag him, if he'd be tempted to do something stupid with a group of friends because Mac wasn't there to care. Part of her had been wishing this small idyll would last forever, that she and Mac could just linger here, responsibilities to others forgotten. But the picture her mind had formed of Raul, mouth sneering and dark eyes full of hero worship, killed her secret reluctance to face the future.

  She had a life to return to, too. Even if she suspected it would never be quite the same.

  "Can we really go grocery shopping?" she asked.

  "Hm?" Mac turned his head to look at her, his expression abstracted. She wondered what he had been thinking about. Remembering. On a stab of apprehension, she wondered for the first time if there was a woman, back in that other life.

  She bit her lip and studied his face. "Did you have a girlfriend?"

  His eyes sharpened. "What brought that on?"

  It was her turn to shrug with pretended indifference. "Your expression."

  He grimaced. "Did I look like I was pining away? No. I haven't had a 'girlfriend' in a while. My job tends to make it hard."

  "Did you ever think about quitting?"

  "Frequently." He took a bite. "What's with the questions?"

  "I don't know," she said honestly. "I guess this is just the first time we've had a chance to, oh, seem normal. I'm sorry. I don't mean to be nosy."

  "I don't mind." He smiled, reminding her suddenly of one of the monstrous little boys in her class who looked sweet while planning something awful. "Gives me a chance to ask the same questions."

  Megan pushed her plate away. "Is there anything you don't already know about me? Maybe what brand of toothpaste I buy?"

  "Oral-B. Bubble gum flavor, no less. I put away the groceries la
st time, remember?"

  "I like it," she said defensively.

  "Yeah, sure." There was that grin again, sexy and dangerous. "Must be undue influence. You spend too much time with five-year-olds."

  Megan stuck her tongue out at him.

  Mac saluted her with the coffee cup. "I rest my case."

  "Can we drop it and talk about something important? Like whether we can go grocery shopping?"

  "Sure we can. After you answer the rest of my questions."

  What did she have to hide? But for some reason she felt like a teenager in her first job interview. She slouched more comfortably in the padded booth and tried to look nonchalant. "Okay. Shoot."

  His intensity showed even while his tone was lazy. "How come no boyfriend?"

  "Would you believe, not much choice in Devil's Lake?"

  "No."

  She looked away. "I'm not exactly Miss America. Men aren't lined up to break my door down."

  Megan sensed a change in the atmosphere even before Mac leaned forward and said tautly, "Do you know how badly I wanted to splinter your damn door every night? You can't tell me I'm the first man who has felt like that."

  Her smile wavered. "Yeah, I can tell you that. I mean, I dated in college. But lately? I have lots of friends who are men. None of them even knock on the door."

  "Bullshit."

  "True." She made herself meet his gray eyes. "When I was a teenager, I wasn't flirting with boys. I was staring at a black stripe in a swimming pool. I think I missed a stage in there. Flirting 101. I just don't know how to do it."

  "Sweetheart." Very deliberately Mac put his mug down and levered out of the booth to stand. He held a hand out to her. She let him tug her out of the booth, somehow ending up half sitting on the table with Mac standing between her legs. "Sweetheart," he said again, "you do it just fine. Trust me." He bent his head and kissed her, his mouth lingering. Then he lifted his head and said huskily, "I'd give you an A."

  The constraint she'd felt miraculously lifted, and Megan was able to respond in kind. "What I want to know is, what do I have to give you to get that A?"

  "Um. A little of this . . ." his hand cupped one breast, "a little of that..." the other hand stroked down her throat. "We'll figure something out."

  "Oh, good," she breathed.

  "Do we really need to go grocery shopping?"

  "Only if you're desperate for a good book."

  "I think we can put it off." Mac unexpectedly lifted her, and Megan grabbed hold, wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. "For an hour or two." He kissed her, then smiled.. "Too bad the table's covered."

  "Ever seen Bull Durham?" she asked provocatively.

  His rakish grin flashed. "I don't want to pay for the dishes."

  "Oh, well." She tried to look disappointed. "I guess the bed will do."

  "We'll replay this scene," he murmured as he nuzzled her ear. "After dinner. Once we've washed the dishes."

  "Good," she whispered, and let her head fall back.

  *****

  Mac drove right past the big Safeway and found an out-of-the-way Mom-and-Pop store. Prices were higher there and the reading material consisted of used paperbacks, but he felt safer. He settled for a couple of thrillers and some westerns, and somehow wasn't surprised when Megan chose historical romances. He'd known from the beginning that she was a closet romantic; not the kind of woman you messed with unless you meant business. So what excuse did he have?

  They swam again, to Zachary's delight. Mac face-floated and kicked for close to twenty feet. When he shook water off his head, he said, "Hey, Teach, what d'ya say?"

  "Very good," Megan said in a sugary voice. "You know what? I think you're ready to learn the arm stroke."

  "You mean, we get to the real stuff?"

  "Right." Her full mouth curved into a smile that offset her stubborn chin.

  Mac watched half seriously as she leaned forward to demonstrate a crawl stroke that even his inexperienced eyes recognized as long and smooth. Trouble was, her bathing suit was hardly decent, which had a way of distracting him. He'd noticed that life-guarding she had worn two, one over the other. Now he knew why. Wet, the thin fabric of the racing suit clung to her supple body, showing nipples that had tightened the minute she hit the water. The damn suit was cut high over her hips, which were almost—but not quite—boyishly narrow.

  Hell. Why did this one particular woman push his buttons so hard? Hard being the operative word, he thought ruefully. Well, he never had liked lush and overblown, in women or anything else.

  He also had a suspicion he was focusing on his physical attraction to Megan in part to keep his mind off the rest of it. He could handle lusting after a woman; wondering if he could live without her was another matter.

  "Now you try it," she said, and he obediently leaned forward and immediately felt inept as he tried imitating her movements. "Good," she said, "just get your elbows a little higher. Reach out in front. Like that. Very nice."

  Patiently she took him through the strokes. She coaxed and soothed until he was confident enough to add the arm stroke to his face-float. Mac didn't tell her about the panic that clutched him every time the water closed over his head. He tried opening his eyes, knowing the darkness was part of his fear, but the lake water was so murky that didn't help. He'd never been crazy about water in any quantity; hell, maybe he hadn't liked being trapped in his mother's womb. Whatever. Perhaps swim lessons when he was eight years old would have cured him. But he didn't get them, and now he was thirty-two. Worse yet, somebody had tried to kill him not so long ago by dropping him into deep, dark water.

  And he had to fall for a woman whose natural element was water. Who was insisting he start rhythmic breathing.

  "If God had meant man to breathe in the water, he'd have given us gills," he muttered.

  "I think he did and we just got tired of them," Megan retorted.

  "Why don't we save the breathing for another day?" Mac suggested. "My book, my lawn chair, and a cold beer are calling me."

  Megan splashed him. He splashed back. Somehow he ended up carrying her, slung over his shoulder, out of the water. She was shrieking and he was enjoying the view of her rear end, just rounded enough.

  "Make you a deal," he said, when she came close to wiggling out of his grip. "We call it quits now, and I'll take you skinny-dipping tonight."

  She stilled, and he could hear the smile in her voice. "Deal."

  Hell. Now he'd done it. He didn't just have to go swimming, he had to do it in water dark as midnight.

  *****

  "Are you sure nobody else is down here?" Megan whispered.

  "I don't see anybody."

  "I can't see anything," Megan said.

  "Then nobody'll be able to see us, right?" Mac's low, amused voice made her feel prudish. And this had been her idea, for heaven's sake.

  "Ow." She stubbed her toe and hopped a couple of steps. Once the trail passed out of the scattered trees, moonlight added visibility, and Megan could make out the line of dark shore and glass-smooth lake. Considering it was midnight, she wasn't surprised that not a soul was in sight.

  In front of her Mac dropped a towel on the beach and began to disrobe. Gulping, Megan did the same.

  Moonlight silvered Mac's skin, accentuating shadows and the lean play of muscles. Megan hesitated, threw off her T-shirt and said quickly, "Race you in!"

  The evening had cooled the air to nearly the same temperature as the water. The sensation of passing from one element to the other with so little contrast between was eerie. The water slid over Megan's bare skin, and she stretched and rolled her shoulders as she dove porpoise-like beneath the surface. She surfaced and turned back to the dark shape that must be Mac.

  "It feels good," she said, hearing her own surprise.

  "You've never done this before?"

  "Nope." She lazily breast-stroked toward him. "We used to talk about it sometimes. Maybe climbing over the fence into the pool at night, but
we never actually did it. It wouldn't have been the same anyway. A pool is so...artificial."

  "Yeah, and you could have turned the lights on." Under his casualness, Megan could hear tension. The memory of that night and the endless dark water didn't disturb her, because this was where she belonged. Swimming had always been a primal pleasure to her. She'd sometimes fancied that she did have gills, that she had been made to live her life in the water. As a child she had often felt so clumsy out of it.

  "You don't have to come in if you don't want," she said repentantly. "This was probably a dumb idea."

  "Nah." He lowered himself into the water. "It's better to face things that scare you."

  "Um." She slipped around behind him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "A little company never hurts."

  "What scares you?" He turned so suddenly she lost her grip and floated free.

  Megan half sat, half treaded water with her hands making easy figure eights. The moon was behind Mac, so she couldn't see his face. Something made her decide on honesty. "You do," she admitted.

  A moment of silence greeted her admission, and she wished desperately that she could read his expression. Then he said abruptly, "You scare the hell out of me, too. I thought you were a mermaid the first time I saw you. Something out of a fantasy. I thought I must be dead."

  "Is that why you didn't fight me?"

  "I figured I was dead either way. You looked more pleasant than the alternative."

  A small shiver cooled her skin. She'd thought of the alternative, too. "I'm sorry," she said. "We shouldn't have come."

  "I don't know. This isn't so bad." Then, surprising her, he lay back and floated. She followed his example, looking up at the moon. Unexpectedly, Mac's hand came out and found hers. Megan returned his grip, grateful for a small peaceful moment. For the first time in weeks, all fear left her. She didn't even let herself think, only revel in sensation: the strength of his fingers, the brush of air against her skin, the weightlessness water gave her, the moon and the night.