Masquerade by the Sea — A Read by the Sea Contemporary Masquerade Romance Series

by Traci Hall

  “How are you feeling?” Her voice wavered and she cleared her throat.

  “You’re an excellent captain. I feel surprising comfortable.”

  “Really?” Jolie risked another peek at him. Jeans, bare feet. Delicious.

  Heath caught her look and winked. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I think you’d make a sexy pirate queen, if you wanted to add to your fleet the old-fashioned way.”

  Her nerves went as tight as an anchor line dropped twenty feet at his observation. “I grew up on pirate stories,” she said, trying to get beyond the fact he thought she was sexy. “The Keys were infamous in the 1800’s. Gramps found a gold coin, once, and some pottery shards but I never understood the lure of treasure hunting.”

  “I remember Blackbeard and Treasure Island.” Heath gave an exaggerated shiver. “The Black Spot—terrifying.”

  “I loved those stories, too.” Jolie smiled and pointed to a busy area to the right. “If you want to see some sunken ships, Hawk Cay offers all sorts of tours. Snorkeling, or diving.”

  “Uh, that would require me getting in the water,” Heath said in a dry tone. “I can Google it.”

  “Technology is a great thing.” Jolie stretched her shoulders and slowed near a pair of kayakers crossing the channel where they shouldn’t be. “I looked up skiing accidents,” she nodded down at his leg. “The people seemed so small against the mountain. Caught in a wave of snow, instead of water.”

  He tilted his head, studying her. “I never thought of it like that. I was fearless on the slopes. Confident. Respectful, too. It was more than just a job, teaching folks how to ski. I shared a piece of me, my love for the packed white powder. The biting wind against my cheeks,” Heath put his knuckles to his face as if the memory placed him back in time. “The rush, taking on the mountain and becoming one with it.”

  “What happened, Heath?” Jolie witnessed his love for the sport, though she didn’t understand it. What went wrong?

  His jaw clenched. “A freak accident. An avalanche. Half a dozen people died.”

  Jolie, one hand on the wheel, the other on Heath’s arm, sucked in a breath. Pain laced his tones and hardened his features. She’d seen his leg and knew he’d come close to death as well. “Heath, I’m so sorry.”

  Hands fisted against the dashboard, Heath spoke in a harsh voice. “I couldn’t have changed anything that day to save those people’s lives. The avalanche was random.” He closed his eyes. “That part just,” he breathed in, his shoulders taut and his cheeks red. “It rubs me wrong.” He met her gaze. “I can’t fix it and I’m left starting over. I didn’t choose this.”

  She slowed the boat, letting him talk without any pressure.

  “I’m not looking for sympathy,” he said with a dismissive wave of his large fingers. “I’d just like to know why.”

  “And there’s no answer.” Jolie got it. She bowed her head and thought of Melody. It had taken a long time to accept that there were certain things she couldn’t control.

  Heath left his position standing next to her and stretched his injured leg. “I can’t. I just...can’t accept what happened. It pisses me off. And what pisses me off even more is that I know I should be grateful for my life. For the fact that I still have my leg. At the bottom of my soul somewhere I get that. But in the day to day rebuilding of Heath Hamilton, I’m really angry.”

  He stopped walking and grabbed her hand, his grip like ice beneath the warm South Florida sun. “Why the hell did I live?”

  Chapter Twelve

  Immediately embarrassed for over-sharing his deepest emotions, Heath released Jolie’s hand. It was her fault, he thought, for making him feel too comfortable. When was the last time he’d let down his guard? Even before the accident he’d been careful with his heart.

  Jolie slid her sunglasses up to the top of her head and studied him with her hazel eyes, more gold and green than brown in the morning sun. She wore a white crocheted bikini top that contrasted with her skin tone beautifully. And the low slung linen shorts?

  The woman should be illegal.

  Long, tanned legs and narrow feet. A gold ring centered the index toe and her nails were painted light pink. Her hips flared, the skin on her stomach looked soft, her breasts full.

  “I am sorry,” she said, her voice like whiskey over rocks. Sensual and velvety. “It took me a whole year after I lost Melody to find I could breathe again. Sometimes there just isn’t a reason for the shitty hand we’re dealt.”

  She blinked and averted her gaze, but he’d have to be blind to have missed the glistening tears before she put on her shades.

  “Listen, forget I said anything. Caught me in a weak moment.”

  Jolie flipped her hair back, her attention on the water ahead. “Really? Emotions are weak?”

  “Duh.”

  “And now you’ve reverted to being twelve.” She snorted and didn’t look at him, studying the GPS thing and then the horizon.

  He walked across the small bridge deck. Fourteen steps. He balanced against the roll and wave of the boat and peered over the other side. “Do you ever see dolphins?”

  “Chicken!” Jolie shouted with a chuckle. “You, Heath, are an emotional chicken. But that’s okay. I like you anyway. And what better place to find yourself than the ocean?”

  “The mountains,” he immediately countered. She liked him? He wasn’t stupid and felt their mutual attraction but liking was different. Liking implied friendship to go with the sex. He kept his back to her and massaged the muscle behind his knee, turning around after a moment as if he was fine.

  Jolie was cool and confident, one hand on the wheel while the other held her coffee cup, which had to be cold by now. “The mountains haven’t been that good to you.”

  Ouch. Heath thought of the accident that had killed his parents, but quickly filed that memory away, next to the avalanche that changed his life. He sprang to their defense. “Mother Nature. Utah has snow, you have hurricanes and shit out here. Tsunamis.”

  “That’s the other coast.”

  “Whatever. You know what I mean. I watched the hurricane coverage a few years back. No thank you.” He pointed to the mangrove-covered islands. “Out here? You’d be toast.”

  Jolie peered over her shoulder at him. “As you can see, people live here just fine. You have to prepare for a storm. There is plenty of warning to make it off the Keys.”

  They rounded a smaller marina and a few houses—a neighborhood in the middle of the bay. “I’d rather stick with the devil I know.” Not that he’d be doing any real skiing anymore, but he didn’t want to think about that. “So, where is Key West?”

  “About forty-five minutes south.” She tapped the GPS with a long, tan finger.

  “That’s party central, right? Ernest Hemmingway and Jimmy Buffet.”

  Jolie’s full mouth curved up in a smile. “It’s five o’clock somewhere,” she agreed. “Folks tend to be laid back. But you can’t be stupid about it, you know? Tourists let loose, but for the people that live here, it’s different. Not a lot of nine to five jobs, though if that’s what you want, there are a few. Cudjoe even has an Air Force base.”

  “Why?” Not much room for a landing strip that he could see.

  “Drug smuggling, mostly.” She looked up from the wheel to share her smile. The dark lenses on her sunglasses hid her eyes.

  “Nice.”

  “A fact of life,” she said, turning back to the expanse of water in front of them. “Paradise has a price.”

  Heath had to admit, to himself, that the tiny mangrove clusters were beautiful. The water smooth, the waves manageable. Jolie was a more than competent captain and after hearing her stories he was interested in meeting the rest of her large family. He’d try not to dwell on what would happen during a tropical storm. There was barely a breeze and blue skies.

  She turned the boat past a long dock area and an inlet that had canals instead of paved roads separating the houses. Most were single story homes in pastel colors
, with tropical looking bushes and greenery.

  “Why do they have a pool when the ocean is right here?” he asked. He was used to over-the-top luxury with his skiing clients, but this seemed right up there. Was Jolie’s family wealthy? He’d gotten the idea that Jolie had to work for a living.

  “Fresh water versus salt water. We have one too. The pool can be cleaned, and the ocean, well, as you pointed out—nature has control over that. Which is good for you, Heath, because Sabina will be able to do your therapy in the pool.”

  He swallowed past the lump in his throat. His leg ached like a bitch and he didn’t want to think about a stranger’s hands touching him where it hurt.

  Jolie adjusted the throttle on the boat, slowing down, but then it jerked and Heath grabbed the rail as the party charter swayed. The engine made a noise like gears grinding. “That can’t be good,” he said, trying to sound casual over his rising apprehension.

  “Sometimes it sticks. It’s on my list.” She tossed her hair back over her shoulder and spoke in a smooth voice after looking at his face. “Why don’t you have a seat? We’re almost there.”

  Heath couldn’t have removed his grip from the railing for all the money in the US Treasury, not that he could tell Jolie that. The boat chugged forward with a lurch. What would he do if the boat actually sank? Could he walk to shore without getting eaten by sharks?

  “That was just the rudder, Heath.” Jolie tapped at the screen on her dash. “This is an underwater camera. Want to see what I’m talking about?”

  “I can see from here.” His voice sounded higher than normal as he breathed through the anxiety keeping him in place.

  “Sometimes seaweed gets caught around the paddle but it works loose. If it doesn’t,” she shrugged, “I’ll dive under and pull it off. It’s okay.”

  The picture of Jolie in the water didn’t ease his panic. “You said you needed a new engine.” His held the railing so tight his fingers went numb. Did she have life jackets? She had to have them. It was a law or something.

  “It’s true, yes, but I didn’t say this one was on its death bed, all right?” She reached out for his arm, touching him, sharing her warmth. Compassion flowed from the softness of her fingertips as she gave him a slight caress. “Trust me, Heath.”

  “Sure.” The thing was, he did trust her. She’d brought them across the water safely. His pulse steadied, and his heart stopped kicking against his chest.

  He gritted his teeth and forced himself to let go. One hand. The other hand. Walk the fourteen steps back to his seat. Collapse. Made it. He buried his head in his hands, running his fingers through the hair at his temples. “Bet you’re sorry you hired me now.”

  She squeezed her hand over his nape, massaging his neck and shoulders. “No, Heath, I’m not. I’m terrified of heights. Found out on the top of the roller coaster at the Key West fair. Couldn’t get off until the ride was over. I was sure I was going to die, you know? Roscoe teased me the whole time for throwing up after.” She took her hand back and maneuvered the party charter down a tight canal lined with boats at docks like parking spots. The loss of her touch caused a chill.

  “No way could I do the ski lifts like you do. Look, there’s Mom!” Jolie waved toward a woman that, with the exception of darker skin, was the older version of Jolie. Tall, slender, stunning.

  Jolie moored the boat at the dock, with her mother helping tie it off. Heath promised to figure out how to beat his healthy respect for the water and be a decent crew member. He was a quick learner.

  He got off the boat and held out his hand. “Hi. I’m Heath.” His bare feet fit right in—neither Jolie or her mother wore shoes.

  “Anjelica,” she said, her Jamaican accent discernible but not pronounced. “You’re the new bartender my daughter told me about?” She shook his hand, then patted his arm, as if checking his biceps out. “You’ve got Benedict beat in the heavy-lifting department.”

  Jolie laughed. “Stop manhandling my employees, Mom.” She lifted the small cooler and handed it over to Heath. “Jamison sold me some Wahoo.”

  “My favorite.” Anjelica swept by Heath and he got a whiff of something sweet and floral. If he had to guess, he’d say she was a young fifty something, but only because he knew the ages of her children. She barely looked a few years older than Jolie.

  “I’ve never had Wahoo.” Heath followed the ladies as they walked across the sparse grass, past a giant pool, and onto a cement patio and back entrance of the house.

  “Dad has a special marinade,” Jolie said. “And a grill.”

  Food sounded great, he thought, taking in the large windows, floor to ceiling, overlooking the pool and dock. Single story, sturdy. Not over the top at all. Like Jolie, pretty yet practical.

  Jolie smiled at him. “Glad to be on land?”

  Heath exhaled and adjusted the cooler in his arms. “I think my body is still swaying.”

  “It takes some time to adjust,” Anjelica said, leading them into an airy kitchen with high ceilings. The floor was stone, the fixtures and furniture driftwood and marble. The smell of bacon clued him into breakfast, but the counters and stovetop were clean.

  “Where’s Dad?” Jolie gestured for him to set the cooler down by the refrigerator.

  “He’s out front with the dogs.” Anjelica turned toward him. “We’ve got two Schipperkes that are the light of his life. Way more spoiled than our children, and that’s saying something.”

  “We were not spoiled,” Jolie said, but she wasn’t able to keep a straight face. “The dogs look like bears. Way cuter than us kids, Dad says.”

  Heath hooked his thumbs in his pockets and wished the room would stop tilting. This kind of crap didn’t happen when you skied—only when you were at the bar after.

  The front door opened and a very tall Caucasian man with silver-white hair and hazel eyes, Jolie’s eyes, walked in. “Is that my girl home again?”

  His voice also had a Jamaican accent, but with a British twist. He held out his arms and Jolie walked into a giant hug. “Hey, Dad. Where are Skipper and Scooter?”

  “Kept them outside. Scooter found something disgusting and rolled in it. And who do we have here?”

  Heath quickly untucked his thumbs and held out his hand as the man strode toward him. His palm was completely engulfed by the other man’s calloused grip. Warm, and real. No bullshit. “I’m Heath Hamilton.”

  “Richard Gordon. Nice to meet you. Going to work on the Masquerade? Now that’s a piece of—”

  “Don’t start, Dad,” Jolie said, shaking her head and moving into the kitchen where Anjelica pulled something golden and puffed from the oven.

  “Breakfast?” Anjelica asked. “I made mimosas, too. Let’s eat in the sunroom.”

  Jolie quickly grabbed a stack of plates.

  “How can I help?” Heath asked. Did Jolie’s dad not like the Masquerade? Didn’t he approve of his daughter being captain? Truth be told, if he had a daughter, he’d probably never let her out of his sight. Maybe it was different with five kids.

  “Napkins from the holder there, and silverware in that drawer.” Jolie brushed by him with a smile. “I hope you like quiche.”

  He’d never had quiche, but he liked food and the dish smelled incredible. His appetite returned now that they were off the boat. And who didn’t like champagne and orange juice? Heath gathered the items Jolie had instructed, then followed her across the kitchen, past the living area with big couches and a coffee table on a wooden dolphin, to the sunroom. All glass windows, opened for the breeze off the water. Large brown paddle fans kept the room cool.

  A big, round carved wood table topped with glass over broken pottery pieces was in the center of the room. It could easily seat ten, maybe twelve. Had her dad made it himself? Were those the pottery pieces Gramps had discovered? The house wasn’t new but well lived in, Heath thought. Like their house used to be, before he and Cody sold it.

  “This is a great room. Great house,” he added.

  “Yo
u’re sweet,” Anjelica said, taking a seat. “The place is falling down around us but we just can’t sell it. Sit down. Let’s eat. I miss having you kids home. You should run the Masquerade from here, Jolie. Save on docking fees.”

  Jolie shook her head. “I’m good. Jamison is practically free, since I volunteer for Ocean Green. Quiche, Heath?”

  He sensed this was a discussion that never ended. Wouldn’t end, unless Jolie moved back home for good. This house was freaking huge. When she was in Lauderdale by the Sea, she slept on a full-sized bed on the boat, with a tiny bathroom, or head as Jolie called it, with bad lighting.

  If it was up to him, he might reconsider and stay here.

  Then again, there was a lot to be said for independence. “Yes, please.” He handed Richard his plate, and Jolie’s dad gave him a steaming bacon-laden wedge of egg stuff in a pie crust.

  He used the edge of his fork to cut off a bite and stuck it in his mouth. Salty bacon, fluffy egg. Delicious. Better than an egg sandwich, hands down.

  “So, what do you think of the Masquerade, Heath?”

  Richard’s question caught him off guard. If he satisfied his curiosity by asking about the engine, that might piss Jolie off, and he wasn’t stupid enough to alienate his new boss. Heath finished chewing and swallowed. “It’s nice.”

  Anjelica gave a soft laugh and Richard scowled over his plate of food. “Nice?”

  Jolie studied her champagne glass then said, “Heath hasn’t really been on a yacht before. He’s a ski instructor.”

  Embarrassed, Heath tried again. “I’m looking forward to learning more about sailing over the summer before I go back to Utah. The mountains.”

  “You teach skiing?” Richard took a bite and chewed, watching Heath closely.

  That was true, even if the actual location had changed from the slopes to a virtual machine. “Yes.”

  “How’d you land on the Masquerade?” Richard asked.

  “Dad, stop asking so many questions. He’s my new bartender. That’s it.” Jolie glared at her dad over her mimosa. “For the summer, until Benedict comes back.”