Love Me if You Dare

by Toni Blake

  And maybe we won’t be. Because maybe he’ll decide it’s not worth it to him. Or maybe I’ll let his indecision make the decision for us. Still, no matter how she sliced it, it left her a little sad inside to realize that, in comparison to Christy and Jack, her life definitely lacked romance.

  But we all make choices—and you’ve always been perfectly happy with yours.

  Up to now anyway.

  In an effort to quit thinking so hard and quit feeling so much, Cami focused on studying Christy’s jewelry, piece by piece, and before the afternoon was done, she bought a beautiful bracelet constructed of thick pearls of white and pale pink, with little silver heart-shaped charms mixed in. It was very different than any other jewelry she owned, and like the cottages on Sea Shell Lane, it somehow spoke to her. She thought it looked . . . romantic.

  And when they parted, Cami felt surprisingly energized—by the gorgeous day, by Christy’s friendly company, by the salty scent of the sea breeze, the call of seagulls in the distance, and the quaint splendor of the pastel cottages.

  Of course, when she waved at Tamra while getting in her rental car—and Tamra lifted only the stiffest, smallest wave in return—that brought her down a little. And as she drove back toward the Happy Crab, she felt a bit . . . empty inside.

  Maybe it was Reece’s indecision. Or maybe it was about envy; she’d never been around people—around lives—like the one Christy was leading, and it seemed unexpectedly appealing, even special.

  But you have a good life, too—don’t forget that. God knows you could have a worse one.

  Just keep reminding yourself of that and everything will be okay.

  AN hour after she’d finished planting flowers, Tamra sat on Fletcher’s porch with him sipping iced tea in the shade.

  “Did you know there’s a new lifeguard working the beach at the lifeguard tower across from Reece’s place?” Fletcher asked her.

  “No,” Tamra answered. “Why?”

  “Met him after my show at the Sunset Celebration last night. Seemed like a nice guy—mid-thirties, I’d guess. Handsome muscular blond type of dude.”

  She tossed him a sideways glance from the white wicker chair next to the one he sat in. “And you’re telling me this for what reason?” she asked dryly.

  He returned the sideways look. “Came up that he was new here, just moved down from the Panhandle, and he’s single. Seemed interested in meeting people. That’s all.”

  She rolled her eyes. “When you describe someone to me as handsome and muscular, that’s not all.”

  The ponytailed man beside her just shrugged.

  “Remember that girl in the tie-dyed bikini I pointed out to you a few days ago?” she asked. Because two could play at that game.

  “Mmm hmm.” Though his answer sounded absent—he appeared far more interested in looking out across the now-empty sand toward the water.

  “I saw her at the Sunset Celebration and struck up a conversation. She works at Sunnymeade, the nursing home where Christy’s grandfather lives, as an art therapist. Seemed nice. And also single.”

  “Still not interested,” he said.

  And she let out a sigh. “Well, sounds like we should fix the tie-dyed bikini up with the lifeguard since they’d probably be more interested in each other than either of us are.”

  He let out a laugh. “Now that’s an idea. We could start a Coral Cove matchmaking service.”

  “Because we’re both such shining examples of romantic bliss,” she said—and Fletcher laughed again.

  Then more quietly said, “Don’t worry—I will be. Soon enough.”

  She studied him long and hard, trying to really see the man behind the ponytail and beard, the man behind the bravado on the tightrope. “I don’t understand how you’re truly so sure,” she said, honestly trying to grasp it.

  He squarely met her gaze in response. “If I doubted it,” he said, “then I’d worry. And what good does worry ever do? For anybody?”

  “Sometimes worry makes you . . . prepare. Or take precautions. Develop a backup plan. What’s wrong with having a backup plan?”

  “What’s wrong with having a backup plan,” he said, “is that it makes you . . . prepared to settle. For the thing you don’t really want. And then that’s what you end up doing. But I don’t want that. And I know she’s coming back, so I don’t need that anyway.” He ended with a smile that, as usual, almost made her believe his wife really would just suddenly reappear one of these days. “So that’s why I’m not interested in the tie-dyed bikini,” he went on. “But why aren’t you interested in the lifeguard?”

  Now it was she who peered out over the sea, weighing her answer. Fletcher was her friend. Probably her best friend. And if you can’t tell your best friend the truth, who could you tell?

  Even though something about this truth felt . . . scary. Because it would change things. It would make her . . . vulnerable. So much more vulnerable than she wanted to be, even with him.

  Still, something urged her to quietly say, “Maybe you were right the other day,” her eyes still on the ocean. She found a sailboat on the horizon to fasten her gaze on. It made the confession easier. “Maybe I do have feelings—those kinds of feelings—for Reece. But I just don’t think it would work.”

  “Why?” Fletcher asked calmly, not sounding the least bit taken aback.

  Tamra’s stomach churned. “Because I doubt he feels the same way.”

  “How do you know until you put it out there?” The question sounded so well-reasoned and sensible.

  Though she thought her answer was full of good sense, too. “I guess I really don’t. But once you put it out there, you can’t take it back. It’s kind of sink or swim. And if it’s sink, I lose his friendship. And that’s huge to me.”

  “Look,” he said, leaning forward, “I understand your worries. But like I just said, worrying is just borrowing trouble, creating a worst case scenario that doesn’t even exist.”

  She bit her lip, let out a sigh, finally met his gaze. “But I still have to consider the consequences, don’t I?”

  And Fletcher shrugged. “There are consequences if you never tell him, too.” And as those words were worming their way into her soul, he took it even further. “If you go after what you want, you might not get it. But if you don’t, you guarantee it.”

  She drew in her breath and promised him she’d think about it.

  Then they sipped on their tea in silence for a minute, and she found herself watching him again, tilting her head slightly, and . . . trying to see him through fresh eyes. She tried to see him in a whole different way. Just to . . . try it on for size.

  Because the truth was, they had a lot in common. They got along well. They appreciated each other. They enjoyed each other’s company.

  And, squinting lightly, she said, “You know, there are probably people who would say you and I should get together.”

  In response, Fletcher narrowed his gaze on her and she could feel him doing the same thing as her, trying to weigh the idea she’d just tossed out, trying to see her in a new light.

  After a few quiet seconds, the only sound that of the waves rolling up onto the sand in the distance, he leaned slightly toward her, and so she leaned toward him, too . . . until their mouths met in a tentative kiss.

  Which made them both immediately back away from each other as they both said, “Nahhhh.”

  REECE attached the pink collar and leash Tamra had bought for Fifi a few years ago. “At least if you’re going to have that thing, we can make her look a little more like a girl,” Tamra had said. Reece remembered being surprised and amused when a Christmas gift had turned up at a holiday gathering at the Hungry Fisherman with the Feefster’s name on the tag. He let her have the run of the Happy Crab and the dock area behind—she wasn’t one to wander off—but when he took her off the premises, he used the leash, more to keep from scaring the shit out of tourists than anything else.

  As they ambled slowly—slow ambling was Fifi’s u
sual pace—down the walk that led past the motel rooms, he was caught off guard by a faint sound. Sort of like a . . . mew. He stopped, confused. And so, then, did Fifi. “Did you hear a cat?”

  He knew the iguana couldn’t answer, of course, but he tended to talk to her anyway.

  He could have sworn the noise came from his right, from one of the rooms. But other than Riley’s, near the office, the only room occupied was number 11, and he knew Cami didn’t have a cat.

  Then again, Fifi had managed to get trapped in Cami’s room before she checked in, so he made a mental note to ask Riley to inspect all the vacant rooms to make sure a cat hadn’t snuck in while maintenance was being done. He was an easygoing guy, but a cat or dog in a motel room not equipped for them was trouble and he didn’t need any messes right now. Well, not any additional ones anyway—even if most of the messes in his life at the moment were more figurative than literal.

  Cami—she was a figurative mess for him. As he and Fifi went on past her room, he wondered what she was up to in there. Or maybe she was out and about—it was a nice day. He hadn’t seen her since last night after the snorkeling trip.

  And that was good. Wasn’t it?

  Part of him couldn’t believe what he’d let happen in the water with her. He couldn’t recall a time when being attracted to a woman—or hell, let’s just call it lust—had gotten the best of him that way. He’d never fooled around in snorkel gear before—it wasn’t exactly the sexiest situation in the world. But apparently the pull between him and Cami was that strong—strong enough to override fins and a mask and an inflatable lifejacket all at once.

  Of course, now that had him thinking about how it had felt. To kiss her soft mouth. To wrap around her warmth beneath the water. To touch between her legs. And . . . to feel her response.

  Even now, as he and Fifi crossed the road to the beach, remembering made him a little hard in his khaki cargo shorts.

  Taking things that far with her had been foolish, ill thought out. Or actually, not thought out at all—he sure as hell hadn’t left for the snorkeling excursion planning to get any closer to her than they’d already been. But then she’d grown unexpectedly panicky in the water. Which—unlike when she’d been screaming bloody murder at his iguana—had given him the urge to take care of her a little. And so he’d followed that instinct. And the next thing he’d known, things were happening. The touching. The kissing.

  And then her coming in his arms. His heart-beat kicked up now, and he got a little harder still.

  And then he’d told her he wasn’t sure they should go any further. Maybe it made him a jerk to fool around that way and then put on the brakes—but he’d been as honest about the situation as he could be. And if he didn’t protect himself, who would? Given what she’d come here to do, going to bed with her still sounded like a mistake, despite her claims of keeping business and pleasure separate.

  So it’s good you’re resisting her charms.

  It’s good you haven’t seen her today.

  It’s good you’re walking your iguana instead of knocking on her door to say hi.

  And still, how long would he successfully resist those charms? She was a clever, quick-witted smart-ass who, underneath it all, showed a sort of sweetness and vulnerability that kept surprising him.

  She’s your perfect match.

  Except, wait, where had that voice in his head come from? He was seriously hearing weird things lately, or letting his thoughts get away from him. And he seldom did the latter. Things had happened in his life that he couldn’t control, but when it came to his thoughts, his mind, that he usually kept in check.

  As he and Fifi zigzagged around towels, umbrellas, and beach blankets toward the water, then turned to meander up the shore, he perused the beachgoers, keeping an eye out for bikinis, or more specifically for bikinis unaccompanied by swim trunks or kids. Single women, or groups of them. It was easy to meet girls on the beach, and though he’d never have guessed it in the beginning, Fifi was often more of a chick magnet than a baby or a puppy would be. She was unique, interesting, something to ask questions about—a natural conversation starter. Young women on vacation thought it was fun to take a picture with Fifi for their Facebook page or to text to their friends back home. He wasn’t much of a social media guy himself, but he had a feeling Fifi was probably famous there by now.

  But he didn’t see any bikinis that interested him in that way today. And he supposed it was because a particular coral bikini stayed on his mind the entire time.

  He walked Fifi to the pier, then turned back. White seagulls with gray wings flapped about nearby, terrorizing tourists who didn’t know better than to let their snacks be seen from above. Two little kids digging in the wet sand near the tideline seemed both terrified and fascinated by Fifi, so Reece stopped to let them look at her. Their dad came out from under the family umbrella to take a few pictures.

  The whole while, though, questions about Cami flitted through his head. How long was she planning to stay? And what was she hoping to accomplish and how? Did she really think anything would convince him to sell at this point? Or was staying about . . . him, about pursuing this thing between them? And did she think ending up in bed with him could affect the situation? Surely not.

  Cami was a lot of things, but he didn’t think she was fake, or manipulative in an underhanded way. No, she kept all her manipulations on the surface. A thought which made him laugh out loud as he padded up the beach in a well-worn pair of flip-flops. He actually admired the tough, determined way she did her job, even if he was glad to have discovered the rest of her personality, too.

  He didn’t know the answers to his questions. But he did know he needed to figure out what he was going to do about her. He didn’t want to lead her on, didn’t want to get them heated up only to decide again that it was a bad idea. Either it was a bad idea completely, in a hands-off kinda way—or he had to decide he was going to go there, completely, and let go of any doubts.

  As he and Fifi meandered slowly back past Room 11 a few minutes later, he considered stopping, knocking. Doing the letting go thing. Thinking about her still had him a little hard, and it wasn’t just about the way her curves looked in a bikini or how it had felt to touch her—everything about her drew him like a magnet. That was what it felt like—that strong, that intense, that forceful.

  But as his chest tightened, he thought better of it—didn’t knock, kept walking.

  He hadn’t reached that letting go point, that no doubts point, quite yet . . . and maybe he never would.

  IT was late that afternoon when Reece went out to clean the pool—one nice thing about no guests was being able to do that sort of stuff whenever you felt like it—and found Cami sitting next to it. Of course, she again wore the same coral bikini he’d come to know so well now. And damn—everything inside him tightened when he saw her. In a good way, a hot way. With her hair piled up on top of her head, a few messy tendrils falling down around her face, her cheeks sunkissed, she looked fucking beautiful.

  She lay stretched out on a lounge chair, eyes closed, and as he walked past, headed toward the pool shed where he kept supplies, he said, “Got your sunscreen on, Tinkerbell?”

  He glanced over in time to see her eyes bolt open in surprise. “Um—yes.”

  He was pretty sure a seductive expression snuck out, even as he said, “Cheeks looking a little pink there, honey—might be time to reapply.”

  She reached up to touch her right cheek, appearing at once sleepy and slightly alarmed. Again, it brought out a strange innocence in a woman he still found it hard to believe he could see that in. And as he went on about his business, grabbing the stuff he needed from the shed, he began to ask himself a new question about her. What would she be like in bed? Take-charge, determined, controlling? Or would he find some hint of innocence there, too? And he didn’t even care what the answer was—he only knew he wanted to find out.

  “Is it bad?” she asked.

  He looked up from what he was
doing, distracted by his own thoughts. “Is what bad?”

  “My sunburn—my cheeks.”

  “Ah.” He tipped his head back in understanding. He’d almost thought she’d been reading his mind and was reprimanding him. “No, not bad. Just need to . . . be careful.”

  Sounded like good advice. But somehow he feared he was getting closer to tossing caution to the wind every moment.

  AROUND ten that night, Cami found herself padding in flip-flops toward the office of the Happy Crab. Having declined Reece’s most recent offer of maid service in order to protect a certain kitty, she needed fresh towels. She should have mentioned it to him earlier, at the pool, but had forgotten. She’d been more wrapped up in what it felt like to be near him, remembering him stroking her to orgasm, and her awareness that they weren’t talking about it, or about much of anything.

  It had left her wanting and perturbed. The truth was, she’d have never let him touch her that way if she’d known it wouldn’t go further than that. She just wouldn’t have wanted to, well, go racing to third base without rounding it for home.

  And she knew she could have called the office and he would have brought her some towels. But hey, if he wanted to not talk about where things stood between them, fine—yet that resulted in making her not want to be around him or converse with him about anything at all right now. Take that, Donovan.

  She entered the now dimly lit office quietly, pleased to find it still unlocked at this hour. She had no idea where towels might be, but thought the large cabinets behind the check-in desk seemed a likely spot. Only . . . a door lay open—the one she knew led to Reece’s apartment, and she could hear the sound of a TV.

  Well, just be quiet and he won’t even know you’re here. Find some towels, then head back to your room and Tiger. Who she had, for some reason, not bothered to return to Polly today. And Polly hadn’t come for him, either. Maybe he was okay to have around. He didn’t cause any trouble, and he used his litter box like a champ, and coming back to the room to be greeted by him continued to just be kind of . . . pleasant. So why put him out just yet? She decided to think of it as a little vacation for him, too. And she’d even picked up a little catfood at a nearby convenience store.