“What in the hell are you doing?” Jill screeched. One of her arms hooked around him while the other scrambled for freedom.
“Easy,” he said, drawing her closer. “Let’s get you back on the towel and have a look at it. Nothing like walking through sand on an open wound.”
Her expression indicated that his rationalization did not pacify her. With eyebrows knitted in a frown and her lips pressed together, Jill’s bottom lip stuck out. He was fascinated with her mouth, and he was hypnotized by the racing beat of her heart against his chest. Wet flesh caressed wet flesh, the sensation sinful enough to almost make him growl. He felt her thigh rub his abdomen and indulged in the feel of her breasts crushed against his chest. Eyes that reflected the turquoise ocean watched him, as her frown slowly receded. Her free hand stopped flailing and came to rest atop her knee rather than clutch his shoulder for support.
He would have been fine. He could have started walking towards shore with this weightless woman in his arms, but he caught her gaze drop to his mouth. He felt her eyes on his lips and it was all he could do not to dip his head the few inches that separated his mouth from hers. In fact, he was losing the battle and he stared at her lips, now parted on a breath.
“Jill.” The word spilled without thought.
Everything−Luis, Al, the Neptune Majesty−everything ceased to exist and his mind was consumed with one notion. Touch those lips. Kiss them. Dive in and immerse yourself in that heat.
“Brent−”
The focus of his attention opened to speak. It jarred him. She watched as if each of them awaited the next move. Clarity returned and Brent resumed his stride towards shore. With each step, the water receded and he could feel the weight of her in his arms. This time she had to loop her arm across his shoulder for support which splayed her breasts tighter against his chest. Mercy.
He reached dry sand and set her down on top of the rainbow-colored towel. Jill curled up immediately with her knees tucked under her chin.
“How am I supposed to look at your foot?”
“I didn’t ask you to.” She sounded petulant and seemed to realize it. She extended her leg.
Brent traced the curve of her calf with his hand and tried to lift her foot for inspection, but her defensive posture left him little slack.
“Can you please lie back so I can get a better look?”
Brent couldn’t understand the challenge in her eyes.
After a huffed, “Fine”, she reclined against the towel. He lowered his head to inspect the cut on her heel. It wasn’t too bad. The saltwater had cleaned it out, and as long as she kept her foot out of the sand until it had time to dry up, she would be fine. He set her leg down on the towel and rolled back on his heels.
“You’ll be okay. Just stay off it−”
His glance scaled her leg and landed on the scar running vertically across her knee. From the raised surface of the score he suspected it was from recent surgery. Prepared to ask her about it, he caught sight of the discolored patch of skin on her stomach.
“Oh God.” He wiped a hand over his face to erase the image.
“I know it’s hideous.” Jill threw her sundress over her knee.
She shuffled on her elbows, hoisting herself up, but Brent placed his palm flat on her abdomen, stilling her.
“Lay back down,” he commanded in a gentle voice.
Beneath his hand, the heat of Jill’s skin and erratic pattern of her breath tempted him. Her glance fought against his but she relinquished and settled back onto her elbows.
He brushed his palm aside to expose the bruise, but he would not leave contact with her flesh.
“I did that to you,” he whispered.
Jill glanced down at her stomach. “It really doesn’t hurt that much.”
The contusion was a purple strip scoring her stomach−a stamp of impact from the railing. The sight of it staggered Brent. He had done this to her. An innocent woman, minding her own business and he had slammed the craziness of his life upon her. Not only was there this visible exclamation mark for all of his stupidity, but there was the fact that she was in danger now due to him. Luis knew her face.
Luis was just a grunt, and Brent was certain that the peril lie ahead for him once he reached Alfredo’s parents. But Luis could not be discounted. He could still inflict harm or worse. The sight of that bruise across soft, sun-kissed skin tormented Brent. So much so, that he was powerless as he stooped over to brush his lips against the tarnished flesh.
Beneath him, Jill jumped. His splayed hand kept her still for another pass of his lips until finally he retreated to meet her confused gaze.
“I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” Her voice was hoarse. “Sorry for the bruise, or for−” She glanced from his lips to her stomach and back to his lips before finally looking him in the eye.
He wasn’t sorry for that kiss, but damn it took all amounts of control not to slide her back against the towel and resume what he had started. From the moment he had lifted her into his arms, he was beguiled by her lips and wanted to feel their texture−to part them with his own and taste the pleasure he was certain awaited there.
“I’m sorry to have met you like this−” Brent hesitated, “−because if it had been any other time, in any other manner, I could have never stopped myself from kissing you.”
***
Jill struggled to breathe. Since the moment she felt his lips on her stomach, oxygen had fled her. Brent’s husky declaration did not help. Even now his intense glance bore into her and she felt light-headed with a need that she could not put a name to. She wanted to sit up so that she could touch his face and slide his mouth towards hers, having already felt how gentle his lips could stroke her skin.
Brent cleared his throat and sat back out of range so that once again the sun consumed him as she had to squint to distinguish anything more than a shady profile.
“What happened to your knee?”
She could feel his eyes bore through the sundress resting atop the scar. Damn, the two unsightly blemishes she didn’t want him to see−although he had kissed one of those ugly flaws as if it were something beautiful. Only now was Jill conscious of how hot it had become. The cloudless sky provided no respite from the orb directly overhead. She formed a shield over her eyes with her hand so that she could better see Brent. Concern sharpened his features, not revulsion. Perhaps the revulsion only belonged to her, and the rest of the world simply saw a scar.
“I had surgery five and a half months ago. ACL. The patellar tendon.”
Brent’s frown grew. “What happened?”
Why was she embarrassed to answer? Everyone reminded her that she was not behind the wheel. But, it was the fact that she wasn’t behind the wheel that was the source of her shame.
“A car accident,” she mumbled.
She felt his shadow cross over her as he moved in closer. Her body stiffened in anticipation.
“My God, are you okay?”
His eyes traced over every visible patch of skin and she wished she still wore the sundress instead of exposing so much in the bikini.
“Yes, please, can we just move on to something else? Like, why aren’t you back on the ship searching for your guy?”
He winced. At least she had deflected him, but he didn’t seem to want to respond so she pulled her foot up and analyzed the damage. Brent had startled her when he approached her from behind in the water. Spinning around, her knee had buckled and she jumped with her other foot to stabilize herself…and landed directly on a shell. Looking at the small slash now, she nearly laughed at the absurdity of it compared to some of the rehabilitation she had to go through.
“Have dinner with me tonight.”
Jill’s head jerked up. “Excuse me?”
“I want to−”
There was something about the expression on his face. His eyes eluded her and the lack of any sort of smile made his fishtail scar more prominent. She could see it clearly because his head was in profile, his gaz
e still locked on her bruise to the point that she felt it best to yank the sundress off her knee and throw it across her stomach.
Sensations assaulted her as she recalled being hoisted into his arms in the ocean. She could still feel his wet muscles caress her body, and later, the heated course of his lips just above her belly button. The prospect of a romantic dinner with this man made her dizzy, but there was no romance in the eyes that avoided hers. There was no hand-holding or traditional dating signals here. There was implacable resolve.
“Wait a minute,” she said. “You−” she struggled to put the pieces in place. “You think I’m not safe. That Luis guy saw me and you think I’m not safe now. You’re here to keep an eye on me.” The more she spoke the more sense it made, and the more riled she became. “You want dinner tonight so that you can kill two birds with one stone. Keep an eye on Luis and keep an eye on me.”
Jill no longer cared about what was awkward or not. She grabbed the sundress and hoisted it over her head, thrusting her arms through and yanking the material down over her hips. She pulled her sandals on and rose with her towel in hand, ready to shake out the excess sand. She started at Brent’s quick ascent. Before she knew what was happening he had a grip on her arms and he was pulling her in tight against him so that his mouth was close enough for her to feel the breath born from his words.
“I want you to have dinner with me−” his voice was hoarse, “−because I am having a tough time keeping my hands off of you and I need to torture myself some more.”
Jill shivered at his declaration. Her pulse beat in double-time, but she delved into his eyes, searching their shadows for the truth. She whispered, “You are protecting me.” Her head shook and she managed a step of retreat. “I don’t need to be protected. Go chase your blackmailer. Stay safe, because yes, I will still be concerned. But I will go on and enjoy my cruise as you’ve instructed time and time again.”
Chapter Five
They returned to the cruise ship in silence and Jill tried not to notice Brent’s vigilant glance down the corridor. She didn’t protest as he accompanied her to her cabin, but when it came time for her to shut the door on the man standing with his shoulder propped against the doorframe, there was a moment of hesitancy on her part. Finally, she closed the door.
Listening to her mother’s voicemail, it stated that they would be having dinner in the Oceanic Restaurant if she wanted to join them−but that if she had other plans it was certainly understandable. Jill sighed at the message. She stared at her black cocktail dress in the mirror. The thin straps showed off the sun acquired today. Her hand splayed against the satin fabric across her abdomen as she recalled the feel of Brent’s lips, so soft, so slow, as if he could have spent the afternoon cherishing that single spot of flesh. The memory made her throat tighten with yearning. A quick cough dispelled it.
Why did Brent Coales have to be the first man to ever make her feel like this? Never before had her fingers and ears gone numb at the mere thought of a man. No one elicited involuntary sounds of longing from her. But life was full of irony−a sad, twisted irony that this man represented danger−a shift in her stable axis. There was no point in investing time in something that was never to be.
A glass of wine and the convivial conversation of Catherine Perry and Betsy Tarantino was exactly what she needed. Jill grabbed her purse and opened her cabin door, and almost shrieked when she saw the object of her fantasies standing outside it.
Brent was dressed in black pants with a white long-sleeved shirt, the cuffs rolled up. His hair was darker than normal, still slightly damp from a recent shower. She could smell the humid mist of that shower emanating from him and felt her ears grow numb again.
“Why are you here?” She tried to sound composed.
He had been standing on the opposite side of the hall and now approached her door. There was no preamble of romance, she thought. He was here as an armed guard−as security, not as a date. It was a notion that irked her and made the heat rise in her cheeks.
“I can take care of myself.”
He grinned. “I don’t doubt that for a second.”
To his credit, he didn’t survey the corridor. He kept his eyes trained on her, and the unerring intensity entranced her.
“There is a little restaurant I would like to take you to on shore. It will get us away from the ship for awhile.” He held his hand out and there was an earnest plea in his next words. “Please say yes, Jill.”
He wasn’t throwing her over his shoulder and whisking her away for her own protection. He was offering the option to decline.
“Am I overdressed?”
Brent cocked an eyebrow as his eyes slid down her dress. She had thrown on black pantyhose to hide the scar, and was grateful for that fact when his glance landed there. He hesitated and continued down to her black heels before his gaze took a slow climb back up to hers. The corner of his mouth curled up and he shook his head. “That’s a loaded question.”
With his arm crooked in invitation, she slipped her hand through it, grateful for the stability it provided.
“Are you okay?” He glanced down at her knee again as they started walking.
“Please. You didn’t know about the knee before and I was walking just fine, wasn’t I?”
“Just fine,” he repeated on a grin.
His playful smile was infectious and spread to her lips.
***
Seated on the terrace of the Guanahani Restaurant, the interior lighting exposed a white sand footpath just outside, and beyond that the moon illuminated a docile ocean. Brent relaxed for a moment. Jill was safe. There was no sign of Luis. Brent could not fool himself into believing this dinner was anything more than an opportunity to keep an eye on Jill, but as he looked at the profile of the woman staring out to sea he felt a wrench in his chest. He had been on dates with hot women before, but Jill did not fall into the hot woman category. Her blond hair was not bleached. Each strand seemed to offer a unique shade of gold, as diverse as the sand. Freckles tarnished her nose and cheeks, and even her bare shoulders, while some dusted across her collarbone. Unpolished nails wrapped around a perspiring glass of water as she sipped it. He was drawn to the gentle pulse of her throat when she swallowed. The wrench returned when she turned to look at him with guileless azure pools. Her eyes were the one feature that could bring him to his knees.
“You knew of this place?” she asked. “You’ve been here before?”
“No. I just read that this place opened up, so I was curious. I’ve been to this island before, though.”
“Oh.” Jill drew patterns in the condensation on her water glass and then looked up as a waiter placed a glass of Chardonnay before her. She smiled at him, but went back to trailing her fingertip down the side of her water glass. “So, you were here before on vacation?”
He was tempted to chuckle at her subtle inquiry. The laugh died as he recalled the last time he was here. It was hard to believe that it was twenty years ago. He reached for the glass of beer the waiter set down before him and hoped the sip would erase some of the pain.
“Yes−” he paused. Jill was most likely envisioning him on vacation with a gorgeous woman and wondering if he was some sort of playboy. He was quick to add, “−with my parents.”
“Oh.”
Her shoulders relaxed and she reached for her wine, but he detected the softest trace of a smile on her lips. God, she was beautiful.
“You design boats,” she probed. “How did you get into that?”
Ouch. More pain. “It was the family business. It was why we were down in the Caribbean so often. Dad was either looking for engineering ideas or testing out something he had designed.”
A dent formed between Jill’s eyebrows. “I like that. I wish I could share my business with my father, but he’s too busy. He’s a lawyer.”
“Too busy to take the cruise with your mother?” Brent asked.
Jill nodded. “If he could have gone with her, maybe I could have gotten out
of it.”
Her fingers now toyed with the stem of the wine glass. The fidgeting reflected her nerves and Brent couldn’t stop himself. He reached across the table to set his hand on top of hers to subdue the motion.
“Part of me wishes you did get out of it,” he said in a husky voice. “The selfish part of me is damn glad you didn’t.”
Jill glanced from their joint hands up to his eyes. She parted her lips to say something, but hesitated and seemed to rephrase whatever had been first on her mind.
“Yes−well−” She withdrew her hand from under his and retrieved her glass for a quick sip. “Is your parent’s company in Florida?”
“Sarasota.”
“Do they still come down here?”
He recognized that she was making polite conversation, and that he had instigated the subject, but the questions were like pin pricks. Twenty years ago they might have been like daggers. Now they were pin pricks.
“My parents are−” He saw his father at the helm, and his mother reading in her droopy hat. “−they passed away.”
Jill’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh! Oh, I’m so sorry.”
He could see it there. Her eyes were too expressive. She was wondering how both parents of a man in his mid-thirties could be deceased, but he could also see her quell her desire to ask.
A respite came in the form of two blackened grouper plates which were too good to allow for significant conversation. Afterwards, sitting back with his second beer and Jill with her second glass of wine, Brent could feel the cloud of tension drift out to sea.
“Can you tell me what happened to your knee?” he asked quietly. “Can you tell me about the accident?”
Jill turned from the ocean to meet his eyes. She shrugged and said, “What is to tell? It was an accident.”
Emotional Waves Page 6