Emotional Waves

by Miller, Maureen A.

  Chapter Eight

  Fist raised, Brent took a fortifying breath before he rapped against the door. It had taken him the past half hour to dissect all Jill had made him own up to this afternoon. He had not handled it well, and though he didn’t want to toy with her, he was ashamed to admit how much he was looking forward to this dinner. There was little time to work on his appearance, managing a quick shower, shave, and throwing on a suit. In the span he wasn’t berating himself he was on the phone with Al trying to assure him that he had a plan for tomorrow.

  He had no plan. He knew that Luis took the three million dollars simply as a distraction. On the last phone call Al had received, Luis told him that if he was to bring the money to his associates in Santo Domingo that Al’s parents would be freed and that would be the end of it. Brent doubted that, but at the same time, wanted to be there to ensure that it happened. Sure he wished the law was with him, but there had been no time. If time had permitted…at a minimum, a private investigator could have been arranged for. But with hostages being involved−dear hostages, he didn’t want to piss off the captors.

  The door opened, breaking Brent from his reverie. Seeing the woman standing there, the impact was as fierce as being clubbed in the face with a two-by-four. She looked stunning in the red dress, with her bare arms flowing down to her waist and only a short distance away her bare legs picked up and poured into high-heeled red pumps.

  “Oh God, I should put pantyhose on, shouldn’t I? You’re staring right at it.” She set her red purse down on the dresser and turned around, starting back into her cabin. “It’s just that it was so warm out today, and the thought of putting them on seems so−”

  “I was staring at your legs,” Brent interrupted, “and well, other things.” He put his fist up over his mouth coughing to clear his throat and then followed her inside. “And personally, I’d rather see your legs bare.”

  At least he corralled his mouth from saying, all of you. The back view of her did not help his condition, with her fair hair falling onto her shoulders, and her back exposed as the red fabric rimmed the base of her spine.

  When she spun to face him, the crimson fabric fanned around her legs before settling into place. The scar was there, a shade deeper than the material, but he thought it made her real. Without that scar he would have felt that she was otherworldly and been too intimidated. But the scar proved that she was as susceptible to pain as he.

  “Will you stop staring at it?” her voice pitched.

  Brent chuckled and stepped inside, shutting the door behind him after a quick glimpse down the hall. “You have sexy legs. I can’t help it.”

  “You’re not staring at my legs−you’re staring right at that damn gash.” Jill’s hands were on her hips.

  He should have kept his hands off her. It was his intention to keep tonight a friendly affair, but she provoked him in unique ways every time he saw her. Brent reached for her arms and before he could stop himself, he dipped down to press his lips against hers, loving the little gasp he felt just before he claimed her mouth.

  “Let it go, Jill,” he breathed against her lips. “There is nothing wrong with your knee. I see a scratch…you see a gaping laceration. It’s all in the eyes of the beholder.” He gave her another light kiss and withdrew.

  “Now,” he crooked his arm in invitation. “Let’s get some dinner.”

  ***

  Luigi’s was a small restaurant, with only twenty intimate tables lined up against a wall of windows so that every table enjoyed a stunning view. As the maitre de seated them, Brent looked out at the ocean−the windows so close he felt as if they were suspended in the air, above water. With the sun setting, the sky had turned a dusky rose and the moon emerged as a pale arc high over the clouds.

  “This is beautiful,” Jill whispered after the maitre de set down their leather-bound menus and walked away.

  In the glow from the casement skylights, Jill resembled the sunset with vivid shades of rose ebbing into pastel eyes.

  “I was just looking for a place that served lasagna. This−” his hand flicked at the view, “−is just a perk.”

  The meal was perfect and the company even better, but in the back of his mind, Brent couldn’t shake the sense of impending doom.

  “You’re doing it again,” Jill said softly over her glass of chardonnay.

  “Doing what?”

  “There are only twenty tables in here, and yet you have searched them over and over again.”

  “Would it ruin your impression of me if I was to admit that I was nervous?”

  Jill’s eyes rounded and she set her glass down. “No, but it would make me worry about tomorrow all the more.”

  He was mad that he revealed his inner turmoil. Jill should be enjoying her cruise and not worrying about a guy with a death wish.

  Their plates were removed and the transom wall was now a black curtain with a few shimmering stars visible to mix with the reflection of candles. He wasn’t much of a wine drinker, but they had a bottle in a stand beside the table, so he poured them both another glass. Studying the woman before him, Brent hesitated and then said, “What happened after the accident?”

  Jill blinked. “What do you mean?”

  “I know you had the ACL surgery, but were you in the hospital long? Did the guy come see you?” The thirst for knowledge could not be quenched by his wine. Brent wanted to know more about her.

  “Well,” she toyed with the rim of her glass. “I wasn’t in there long, but my right leg was injured in several places. No broken bones, though.” She looked up and smiled.

  She was beyond beautiful when she smiled like that. It was impossible to look at her and not grin in return.

  “And the guy−”

  Jill cast him a curious glance. Was his jealousy so transparent?

  “He came to the hospital once,” she said. “Of course his insurance agent was with him.” Jill shrugged. “I still see him.”

  “What?” Brent had to take care not to snap the long-stemmed glass.

  “I mean, I see him for work. It can’t be avoided. We cross paths a lot.” Jill tipped her head close to the window as if she was looking down towards the water.

  “Do you resent him?”

  She still faced the water, but looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “Resent him?” she paused to contemplate that. “I think I’ve always kind of felt bad for him. Everyone has labeled him as a loser,” she laughed and turned to give Brent her full attention. “−which he is. But I do see that he tries so hard to impress and just ends up screwing things up in the process.”

  “What he did to your leg was more than screwing things up.” Brent pointed out quietly.

  “What purpose does it serve for me to resent him? Mom has taken up that stand for me. I just want to do my job. I just want to take pictures and share them with the world. That’s all I want.”

  “You don’t want a man in your life?”

  Eyes that reflected the midnight shade of the ocean locked on him. She parted her lips to respond and then clamped them together. The waiter appeared to ask if they wanted anything more, to which they both declined. As Brent settled up the bill he caught Jill pushing her chair back. He hastily handed over the paperwork and started after her as she breezed through the close confines of the bistro.

  “Jill,” he caught up to her once they stepped into the foyer.

  She turned to look at him and Brent reeled at the tears in her eyes.

  “What is it?” He took hold of her arms.

  “Dammit,” she averted her glance. “It’s nothing.” She cleared her throat and he could see the swell of her breasts rise above the neckline of her dress as she took a deep breath and then focused on him again with a tentative smile. “Thank you for dinner. I ate so much I don’t think my knee will support me.”

  Brent observed the furrow beneath the blond wisps of hair, and the anxious clutch of her hand around her bag. She cast her eyes down at her feet and then back up to his and
tried to pin her shoulders back and force another smile.

  “Are you tired?” he asked. “Do you want to call it a night?” Do you want to end it right here?

  She shook her head. “I don’t want it to end,” she whispered.

  Damn.

  A couple emerged from the restaurant and joined a group of several people waiting for the elevator. The acoustics of the foyer enhanced the volume of their conversation.

  “Come on.” Brent reached for Jill’s hand.

  “Where are we going?”

  “On the deck for a minute if the wind doesn’t blow us off.”

  He pushed open the door to the outside deck and immediately felt the cool breeze. They were up in the tower of the ship where the wind increased and the temperature diminished. He wrapped his arm around Jill’s shoulder and walked silently beside her for a bit. Her hair lashed in the breeze but she didn’t seem cold or upset with the assault.

  He avoided the railing because it still haunted him and he couldn’t imagine how it must unsettle her.

  “I’m not afraid,” she whispered in the dark, sensing his trepidation.

  “I might be,” he countered.

  Jill turned to look at him and the wind tossed the hair back from her face, casting her skin in a blue glow. Music filtered from speakers lodged up on the ship’s façade−soft violins playing a love song that tempted Brent with the siren before him. He reached for her and pulled her into his arms, sheltering her from the ocean breeze and satisfying his need to feel the feminine curves nestled against him. She slipped her hands up his chest and behind his neck, as together they began to sway to the melody. She laid her head against his shoulder and he felt the slow rhythm of her hips as she rocked in tandem with the chorus. He touched his lips to her hair but she might have suspected it was a tickle of the wind.

  They remained in this carnal mimic of a waltz, neither wanting the song to ever end. As the next one kicked in they didn’t stop their cadence until a couple stumbled out of the doors, laughing.

  Brent pulled back and hated the cool air that filled in between his and Jill’s chest.

  “We better get back inside.”

  She nodded and accepted his lead as they returned into the light of the Neptune Majesty. At the door to Jill’s cabin, he hesitated. He wanted to confirm that all was in order, but that would necessitate him going inside, and it was going to hurt all the more to come back out.

  “The security office gave us that bottle of wine for our troubles, remember?” Jill said with a thick voice. “Do you want a nightcap?”

  Before he could decline she was inside and opening the sliding door to her deck. “At least this deck is private.” Her attempt to smile was breaking his heart. Behind her the moon illuminated the balcony and portrayed her as a nautical goddess.

  He closed the cabin door.

  “I can’t stay,” he declared softly. “I have to get up very early, and I didn’t get much sleep last night and I really need to be sharp for tomorrow−” It all sounded lame. No argument sounded credible enough to turn away from her.

  Jill’s silhouette was stoic in the moonlight as he saw her nod. “So this is goodbye?” she whispered.

  “Jill,” he took a step towards her, but she held her hand up.

  He was tempted to take her into his arms, but her posture was stiff, dissuading any advances. I’m sorry would have been a ludicrous statement. Promises of seeing her again could be empty lies, and he would not give her a false hope. He hesitated, waiting for her to meet his eyes, but she eluded them and now wrapped her arms around her body either to ward off a chill or to hold herself together.

  “Stay.”

  He wasn’t sure he heard her as her face was cast down and the fallen hair concealed her mouth. He remained silent until she looked up with plaintive eyes.

  “Stay here tonight,” she said. “What if Luis comes here? I’ll feel safer if you are here. The couch is much bigger in this room if you don’t want to−”

  He doubted Luis would be any trouble for Jill at this stage in the game. Both men had a single train of thought for the morning. But Jill offered him an excuse to extend their time together−as wrong as it may be. He should decline. He should protect her heart−he should protect his own.

  “I don’t want an excuse to stay with you.” He said in a husky voice. “I want to stay with you.” He hesitated. “But, I’m not going to sleep with you.”

  To his surprise Jill smiled, which took all the disparity of the moment and sucked it away.

  “That’s why I offered the couch, Mr. Coales.”

  His mouth twitched in response. “I probably wouldn’t have slept back in my cabin. I would have worried about you being safe.”

  “Now you won’t have to worry. You can see firsthand that I’m safe.”

  Brent shook his head. “From Luis maybe,” he whispered, “but what about from me?”

  She took a step towards him so that only a foot of evergreen carpeting separated them. “I’ll take my chances.”

  “I repeat,” he cleared his throat, “I’m not going to sleep with you. I’m going to stay on that couch.”

  “I heard you. And that is probably best for both of us.” Jill glanced over her shoulder. “But, will you just finish that dance with me out on the balcony?” Her bottom lip quivered, revealing her uncertainty. “I really would like that.”

  Who was he kidding? He would really like that too. He crossed the gap that separated them and took her hand, feeling her fingers splice with his. It was such an intimate connection.

  “And what are we going to do for music?” He asked all too close to her ear.

  Jill bent over to reach for the bedside clock/radio, but with the close proximity, the motion pressed the curve of her rear against him. Brent choked down the growl in his throat. After a few unproductive station attempts, Jill landed on a blend of soft jazz and stood back up, sparing him and depriving him with one fluid move.

  “Will that do?”

  How in God’s name was he going to put his arms around her and not want more?

  “That will do.”

  She took his hand and drew him out onto the deck which was enclosed on both sides for privacy. There was an open space before the plastic white chairs and table, and Jill hesitated there.

  “Do you mind if I take these off?” She pointed down at her high heels.

  “Not at all.”

  Jill kicked the shoes off, which immediately reduced her size so that the top of her head landed just below his chin as he drew her into his arms. At first they rocked in an awkward motion until the rhythm of their joined bodies took over. Brent dropped his arms so that his palms were splayed on the bare patch of skin at the base of her spine. Jill linked her arms around his neck, the motion pressing her breasts against his chest. Just like on the island of Grand Turk her hips began to sway to the music and the effect left him breathless.

  “Why do you have to feel so good?” she mumbled, her face tucked into his neck, her warm breath fanning his throat.

  “You know, nobody ever told me I felt good.”

  Her head snapped up and he averted his chin just in time. “How could that be? How can you not have a girlfriend…or do you?”

  Brent grinned at the flash of envy reflected in the moonlight.

  “I’ve had some girlfriends. And no, I don’t have one right now.” He reached around, pulling her tighter at the waist. “It’s hard to gauge women. A lot of them feel that I’m loaded because I own a boat company. I came to learn that the girlfriends were not always sincere. That insincerity starts to get to you after awhile.”

  Jill’s head hung back but she was rooted to him at the waist by his embrace. “And here I thought you were loaded. It’s what attracted me to you from the start.”

  “Oh really?” He nudged his hips slightly to the music and saw her lips part in reaction. “I thought you were attracted to the dangerous element in me.”

  “No,” she nearly cried. “Right no
w I want you to be ordinary, broke−and maybe even bald.”

  “Bald!” he laughed. “For heaven’s sake, why?”

  Jill dipped her head against his collarbone and muttered, “So you wouldn’t be so attractive to other women.”

  The pain in his chest had returned with a vengeance. Acid reflux. Too much pasta.

  “I’m not attractive.” His lips touched her hair. “I have scars.” He felt that she understood he meant more than physical blemishes.

  “As do I.”

  To illustrate the fact, she lifted her knee, but the action slid her inner thigh up alongside his. The jolt of that connection was visible in her wide eyes as he set her back with unsteady hands.

  “I’m sorry,” she held onto his outstretched arm for balance. “I’m such a klutz.”

  Get a grip. He had to step away from her or she would see−or feel−how crazy she was making him. Even now, his blood pumped in overdrive at the sight of the moon dipping into the low neckline of her dress, glowing against the soft arcs of skin. He wanted to brush his mouth on those curves.

  “It’s getting late, and I really better try to get some sleep. I have to set the alarm for six.” He walked inside the cabin, away from temptation. Focusing on tomorrow morning was a quick passion deflator. “As soon as the doors open up for San Souci, I have to be there.”

  “San Souci?” Jill followed him in, patting down her ruffled hair.

  “It’s the port in Santo Domingo.”

  “Oh.”

  Brent turned at her dejected tone and saw her face cast down at the floor, her hands clutched together before her. He stepped forward and took hold of her arms. The skin was chilled from outside so he rubbed his palms up and down to incite heat.

  “I’m sorry, Jill. This is how it has to be.”

  She drew out of his touch and walked over to the couch and sat down. Her hand slipped around her knee, massaging it.