Evan remembered Drew’s comment that Lia had a distinct type—usually suits, guys with lots of money. Guys like her Forrest, probably, who left for Bora Bora without her. Guys like Kyle, undoubtedly, who had Harvard degrees and watches that needed to be insured. No wonder she was rolling her eyes at the prospect of him right now.
He concentrated on the ketchup and resolved to dismiss the burning jealousy around his ears.
“Well, Drew has more affection for you than you might realize,” he said. “And it might hurt him to see us together.”
“So we won’t let him see us together.”
“He might be joining us on the charter.”
It was her turn to raise her eyebrows. “All right, we’ll play things off on the charter. But we still have today and tomorrow.”
Evan nodded, then gathered their trash. Walking over the slight hill and back in the cool evening air did him good. She didn’t need this to mean anything. She just wanted great sex. He could get on board with that. If his heart was starting to bleed, he’d just close it up. Lia was being clear about what she expected out of this. He’d just enjoy the sex and walk away.
He shoved his hands in his pockets and pushed away any stray guilt regarding Renece: It was normal to want a woman. Renece wouldn’t expect him to be celibate. This was perfectly normal. He didn’t need to feel bad. . . .
Then he shoved aside any remaining guilt regarding Drew: He’d made Drew’s worries clear, and Lia was making her own decisions.
When he came back down the hill, she was ready to go, looking up at him from the long drag she was taking on her milkshake.
“I think I have enough fuel in me now to beat you at that water-balloon game,” she said.
He let himself watch her full, beautiful lips; let himself stare as she sucked hard; let himself close his heart a little about how much he was growing to like her. He’d just concentrate on the sex. Those lips could do some damage. . . . He let his mind go to all the body parts he’d like to have those lips on and then cleared his throat before finally looking away.
“Lead the way,” he choked out.
* * *
Lia galloped from game to game, feeling flirty and strangely comfortable in the blue stilettos she’d worn. The shoes had arrived today as yet another wedding option—complete with sparkly hardware in a “buckle” pattern across the top—and she’d been surprised to actually like them. Plus they didn’t look bad with the sundress she wanted to wear tonight for Evan. She’d thrown them on with the hope of breaking them in. She’d tossed some sandals in her bag just in case, but so far these were great. Maybe they’d be her lucky shoes.
She tugged Evan beneath the bright festival bulbs strewn across the fairway, and he followed behind her, his hands in his pockets, his mouth in a constant quirk of amusement.
Harry James had set up a harbor patrol booth with a spinning wheel game near the marina entrance, planning to stay until seven with his deputy Steve, so Lia and Evan decided to wait to slip past him and get to the boats. They didn’t want to give any indication that Evan would be a sneakaboard tonight. And maybe Lia. If she could summon the courage, that was.
This kind of behavior was not like her at all. She was not the type to sneak aboard boats. She was not the type to sleep with men she’d known for only five days. She was not the type to stare at a man’s body as he leaned over a wooden gun rack and shot at moving cardboard ducks.
But she was with this man.
And she liked it.
And she liked him.
Plus, he wasn’t staying. It was such a rare, delicious opportunity to spend time with a sexy man without any fear of growing too attached. They could just have this incredible few days—help each other over a hard time—then go on to live the lives they were probably meant to live.
Evan won two games for her and handed her a stuffed dolphin and a pewter goldfish ring. They talked to some of her friends from the Ocean Museum. Then she won the Ping-Pong ball toss and handed him a pair of oversized sunglasses. Every time she heard him laugh, she couldn’t help but feel a sharp sense of accomplishment. His laugh sounded rusty and reluctant, which gave her an extra dose of joy.
She still couldn’t believe he’d lost a son. A wife. Her memory opened to the gem she’d kept carefully tucked away: his comment before he kissed her the first time, You make me forget about my wife. And you’re the first woman who’s ever done so. . . . That awareness brought her the greatest joy of all. She tucked the gem back into the furthest recesses of her memory, the furthest recesses of her heart, where she knew she’d pull it out again and again over the next several years. She hoped she could help him for just a few days at least and make this memory a rich one.
The band struck up off to the edge of the marina where the beach was. “Band in the Sand!” Lia clapped. “Let’s go listen!”
“Harry should be leaving soon.” Evan glanced toward the harbor patrol booth hopefully.
“It’ll take him at least fifteen minutes to clear it out. Let’s listen to the band.”
Without waiting for his protest, Lia grabbed Evan’s hand and dragged him toward the beach. He offered a trace of resistance, but still had that quirk of amusement around his mouth and seemed to hold her hand tighter. She pictured him on his sailboat, wind in his hair, alone for two years, and wondered how long it had been since someone had simply held his hand.
About a hundred people had staked claims with their low beach chairs around the stage. Spotlights lit the makeshift amphitheater, where five middle-aged men in Hawaiian shirts crooned “Surf City” like the Beach Boys. Although the beach-chair crowd had settled their places carefully, most were already up out of their chairs, twisting to the beat in the sand, or doing impressive “swim” moves to the music.
Lia shot a smile over her shoulder as she dragged Evan closer. “Wanna dance?”
“Absolutely not.” Evan looked mortified.
“C’mon, dance with me.”
“How about if I sit over here and watch you instead?” He pitched his behind into the sand. His jeans were already sandy as he made himself comfortable, leaning on his side, propping himself up on one arm. He looked sexy enough to jump, but Lia got ahold of herself. Her sweep of his strong thighs and flexed triceps probably lasted a beat too long, but she bit her lip and turned toward the band. She loved to dance. She tugged off the blue shoes, wriggled close to the edge of the stage, and let loose her joy.
After the first number, she returned to Evan and fell next to him, panting. He actually had a smile on his face that looked like it had lasted longer than a nanosecond.
“I enjoyed that,” he said.
A blush heated her cheeks, which were already rosy, she could tell. Strands of hair were already plastered to her hairline. The fake Beach Boys went into “Surfin’ Safari.” The cold sand felt good.
“Go for it.” He nodded toward the band. “I’ll watch again.”
His obvious enjoyment, and the rumble in his voice, gave her goose bumps. She ran her toes through the night-chilled granules. “How about if you get to watch for three songs, but you join me for the fourth?”
“I seriously don’t dance.”
“Then you seriously don’t watch, either.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “You drive a tough bargain.”
She stood and brushed the sand from her hands. “I’m going to dance way over there unless you change your mind.”
He grabbed her wrist before she could even take a full bare step through the sand. “I want to watch.” His smile was embarrassed.
“Fourth song.”
Without letting go, he stared at her for eight beats of “Surfin’ Safari,” then gave a nod of acquiescence.
Lia bounced back to the edge of the dance floor, bobbing to the smooth, summery music, and found a cluster of dancers who were as enthusiastic as she was—one was Vivi�
��s hairdresser on Main Street and another she thought was Mr. Brimmer’s daughter. They welcomed her into their fold and danced through the rest of “Surfin’ Safari” and then “Barbara Ann.” Lia threw her hands in the air with wild abandon, and shook her hips with joy. One of Xavier’s friends saw her from across the “floor” and shimmied toward her for “Fun, Fun, Fun.” Before that song was even finished, she felt a hand at her back.
“She’s mine,” Evan said to Xavier’s friend. He smiled and drew her away from the group.
Startled at the interruption, at Evan’s words, at the way this caveman behavior was thrilling her instead of insulting her, Lia started to open her mouth to protest. But when she caught his wolfish gaze, her breath caught. He pulled her toward a lone palm tree in the dark, away from the crowd.
“I’d better keep this proper,” he said, lifting her left hand in his right. With his other hand, he touched her back lightly in a waltz pose. “Is this right?”
“That’s perfect.”
They did a sort of waltz to “Little Surfer Girl” far away from the others, their feet barely shuffling through the sand, mostly rocking in a light circle in the shadows. Evan was a terrible dancer.
Lia bit back a smile.
“When’s the last time you danced, Evan?”
“It’s been a while.”
“I see.”
“Can you tell?”
“A little.”
The embarrassed grin that swept his face was too cute.
“Like the driving and the steak dinner, the kissing and the sex, it’s been a while?”
“Hmmm.”
“Were you faithful to Renece?”
He looked startled at the question. Or maybe at the mention of her name. His face seemed to go a little white whenever Lia said it. But she could tell there was some guilt clouding his enjoyment of their kisses, and even their “really, really great sex,” and Lia figured it was because of his wife. Maybe he hadn’t quite mourned her. Maybe he hadn’t talked about her enough. Maybe Lia could help him remember her, honor her, have respect between them. But Evan must know that his wife would have wanted him to move on—certainly she would have wanted him to have joy again.
“Of course,” he said.
“Some men aren’t into monogamy.”
“I was.”
For the first time, Lia let herself imagine Evan as a husband. Perhaps he had been a good husband to Renece. The thought filled her with a strange warmth.
“Did you two have a good marriage?”
“We did.”
“Did you have good sex?”
He smiled. “Lia. We’re not going there.”
“You told Drew you’d talk to me about your sex life. In private.”
“I meant the parts that concern you.”
“Like how many ports you’d visited?”
He chuckled. “Exactly. Drew’s an idiot.”
“You weren’t sleeping with prostitutes at every port?”
“Not even close.”
“Have you slept with anyone since Renece?”
Drained face again. His smile slid away. “No.”
“No one?” She leaned back to peer into his face.
“There were two close calls, but I couldn’t go through with them: Once I was too drunk, and once I was too aware.”
“Aware of what?”
“Aware that she wasn’t Renece.”
“So . . . earlier today, with me . . . ?”
He leaned down and kissed the part in her hair. “That was a first.”
The warmth that had been sweeping through her continued, turning her legs into linguini noodles. Maybe, even though she thought none of this meant anything between them, it did. Maybe it meant something to him. And, judging by her linguini legs, maybe it meant something to her. Maybe it meant more than she was acknowledging. She concentrated on hanging on to him and realized she was the lame dancer now.
He shuffled through a few more notes of the song, then stared over the top of her head.
“Harry’s gone.” He strode to where her blue shoes were, then scooped them up and handed them to her.
“You don’t want to dance anymore?”
“This conversation is reminding me of what I really want to be doing.” He grabbed her hand and began trudging through the sand with his long strides.
Lia took a deep breath of relief. Yes. This was only about really, really great sex. She’d said so, and he was agreeing. They were back on common ground.
“Hey!” She hopped and skipped to keep up. “I feel like you didn’t complete your end of the dancing bargain here.”
“Did I mention I never got the bacon-wrapped shrimp the other night?”
“The prosciutto-wrapped asparagus was good.”
“It wasn’t bacon.”
She laughed and tried to keep up with him in the sand.
* * *
Evan’s boat at slip ninety-two was just as messy as the last time she saw it. She glimpsed inside from the doorway, but he pushed her gently back with an apologetic smile, then went on a scramble, snatching clothing off the bed, shoving boxes aside with his foot, closing the motor door and moving a set of dumbbells off to the side. “Okay. I think you can make your way in here now.”
“You sure are different than Drew,” Lia couldn’t help but speculate, stepping over another box. She had the shoes back on, and they were making her feel very sexy.
“We shared a room when we were kids, but my mom realized that wasn’t going to work. I drove him to the brink of insanity by the time he was eleven: He’d start crying if any of the socks or clutter from my side even crossed the clothesline onto his side.”
“You actually had a clothesline?”
“Oh yeah. All the way across the room. But it didn’t work. My mom gave me my own room, in our attic.” He moved a box of greasy boat parts off the dinette chair. “Drew was spoiled.”
“What were you like, as kids?”
“Jealous.” He laughed. “Drew was pretty coddled. I was jealous of him all the time. I thought he had everything.”
“Maybe he thought you did.”
Evan looked thoughtful about that for a second. “That’s what he said. . . .” A cloud passed over his face.
Lia wanted to kick herself. Way to set the mood, girl. . . .
She scrambled to recover. Her fingertips sought his T-shirt, but he didn’t notice and leaned just out of her reach toward the dinette. He swept a handful of crumbs off the seat. “Do you want something to drink?” Worry etched lines between his eyebrows.
“I’m fine.” Lia stepped toward him again, but this time changed her mind. She needed to be even more direct. She went all the way around him and made her way down the narrow entrance toward the bed.
He looked immeasurably uncomfortable, and passed her before she could get to it, snatching a few more shirts off the navy comforter. The scent of cedar, which lined every hard surface, from the bedframe to the cabinetry, was heavy in the air. He closed one of the curtains and opened a window. The sound of the festival trickled in as she sat primly on the edge of the bed. Lia could hear a distant “Wouldn’t It Be Nice” from the fake Beach Boys.
Evan headed back to the front part of the cabin, dimmed the lights, and came back. “Harry will have to think no one’s here.”
“Of course.”
She watched him slow as he came toward her, looking her up and down, then he leaned near the door frame.
“Aren’t you going to sit down?” Her voice was sort of shaking.
“This is definitely okay with you, Cinderella?”
“Am I making you nervous?”
“Drew’s going to kick my ass.”
“Only if you hurt me.”
He nodded.
“You’re not hurting me.” She
smoothed the bedspread nervously. “You’re simply giving me the great sex I’ve never had before.”
A quirk of his mouth followed that—pride, maybe, or more relief. “Are we talking orgasms here?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“You don’t normally orgasm?”
“No.”
His eyebrows rose. “Seriously?”
She nodded.
“You did okay earlier.”
“That’s why I’m back.”
He didn’t smile at that. Just studied her carefully. “Come here, then, Cinderella.” His voice sounded husky.
“This bed seems nice.”
“Come here.”
“Are we going to go through this bossiness thing again?”
“Do you have any complaints about last time?”
Her memory only had to get through three flashes of how it felt to be stripped down and held against a wall by this man before her breathing became shallow. She shook her head.
“Then come here. And leave those shoes on.”
CHAPTER
Twenty-four
Lia approached Evan tentatively, but he didn’t have “tentative” anywhere about him. He drew her toward him, pinned her hands against the wall, and worked his way down her body with his lips, his tongue, his fingertips. He peeled down her dress, keeping the shoes on, and explored her breasts, her stomach, her hips—first in a gentle way, then in a way that felt more desperate—and traced a fingertip down to her panty line, where he hooked it and got on one knee. She knew something lovely and raunchy would follow. He didn’t disappoint.
By the time all the sounds fell away from the festival—after the laughter had subsided, the guests had driven away, the booths had been packed up, the band had packed away its last instrument—Lia and Evan lay soaked in exhaustion and perspiration across his navy sheets, Lia facedown, having tried at least three new positions she’d never even heard of before, and Evan on his back. The comforter lay in a crumpled pile on top of the shoes somewhere.
“That was . . .” She struggled to lift her cheek off the mattress, but found the effort too taxing, and let it fall back. . . . Incredible. Fantastic. Phenomenal. Stupendous . . . She let him fill in the proper word because she couldn’t even make the effort at this point. And she didn’t even care what word he used. For her, it had been all of the above. And her worries were truly over. . . .
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