Beach Colors

by Shelley Noble

  She pulled away with an expulsion of air. “I want you . . . but not here in the kitchen.”

  “No.”

  “Upstairs.”

  He took her mouth, his hands splayed across her back, pulling her closer even as he walked her backwards toward the hallway. By the time they reached the stairs, neither of them was leading or following. She let go of him long enough to open a door and Nick followed her inside, not knowing if this was a dream come true or if he was making the worst mistake of his life.

  Twenty-two

  Margaux melted into Nick. Heat radiated from him, and she wanted to be closer, her moth to his flame. Colors filled her head as she tugged the T-shirt from his jeans, pushed it up his chest so that she could splay her fingers against him, hard, strong, safe.

  His hands seemed to cover her back and she wanted to feel them on her bare skin. She grasped the edges of his shirt and pulled it upward; he lowered his head so that she could yank it over his head. It left his mouth close enough to nuzzle her neck. She was on fire, impatient, ready and eager. She pulled off her own T in one movement.

  Nick growled, low like an animal, and a thrill shot through her. He cupped her butt and pulled her up to him until she wrapped her legs around him. His jeans were rough on her thighs, the friction sent shock waves through her body. He unclasped her bra; she leaned backwards, and they toppled onto her bed together.

  In a flurry of movement, they shed their clothes while Nick spread kisses over her lips and breasts, nipped at her collarbone, and finally settled himself above her.

  And stopped—hovering there like a film when the projector breaks.

  “What?” Her question was almost a wail.

  “I—are you—?”

  “Dammit. Don’t think, don’t analyze, don’t be responsible. Just love me.”

  He pushed her knee to the side and drove into her. Margaux’s breath caught, then he began to move, slowly, rhythmically, braced on his elbows, his eyes open and staring deep into hers.

  And they climbed together, him setting the pace, leading the way; and she let him, reveling in him, soldier, policeman, historian, uncle, son.

  And her lover. Selkie and merman, together, spiraling tighter, driving, driving to that one moment when the world winked out, turning the dusk to black, frozen in time, before it shattered and burst into light.

  Slowly they descended, slick with each other’s sweat, sweet from their kisses, until they lay together, heaving bursts of heated breath, synced, in tandem.

  Nick rolled off her, pulling her with him. He wrapped her in his arms and pressed her head to the hollow of his shoulder.

  She curled into him and began to cry.

  She felt him stiffen, ease away so he could see her face, alarmed. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you? What?”

  She shook her head, tried to tell him, but words didn’t come. She just cried, feeling like a fool, afraid that he would hate her, would get up and leave. That she had ruined everything.

  “Margaux, talk to me.”

  “Stupid. That’s all. Just cathartic nonsense. Sorry.”

  “I won’t let him hurt you. I won’t let anybody hurt you.”

  Cold water couldn’t have moved her faster. She slapped her hand over his mouth. “Let’s forget everything but now.”

  She felt him relax but he held her tight. “Everything will be fine.”

  She settled into him.

  “Better now?”

  She nodded, enjoying the rasp of his chest against her cheek. “That was good. Really good.”

  They slept.

  Nick propped himself on one elbow and watched Margaux sleep, half covered by the sheet, which they must have pulled up somewhere during the night. One arm was flung out above her head, wild and abandoned in sleep. It was late, close to midnight, and he knew he should be going, but he wanted to kiss her. Make love to her again. He wanted a lot of things.

  It was dark in the room, but the sliver of the new moon seemed to shine right through her window. It turned her skin luminescent. There was a dusting of freckles across her nose that he hadn’t seen in daylight. He smiled, she’d probably be pissed. He’d bet anything freckles weren’t chic.

  He thought they were damn cute and he wanted to kiss every one of them. Which made him a certifiable nutcase. He touched her hair, she stirred in her sleep, and he pulled his fingers back. He should leave.

  “Nick?”

  He looked down, her eyes were open, sleepy, sexy, and heartbreaking.

  “Yes?”

  “You’re not about to do a hit-and-run are you?”

  He laughed. It was just what he’d been thinking. “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On if you want me to stay.”

  “I think I can convince you.” She slid beneath the sheet; he felt a supple, warm hand on his thigh; fingers trailed up his skin, leaving goose bumps when they left. Her fingers found him.

  “I’m convinced,” he said on a strangled breath. “I’m convinced.” And he slipped beneath the sheet to join her.

  It was still dark when Nick got out of bed and dressed. He leaned back to kiss Margaux and murmur, “I have to leave.”

  Her lashes fluttered open. “It’s still dark.”

  “I’ve got the early shift.”

  She smiled and stretched. “You just don’t want anyone to see your truck in my driveway.”

  “I’m pretty sure it’s too late for hiding.” He sat down on the edge of the bed. “Do you care?”

  “Not in the least. Do you?”

  He thought about it. “No. Not at all.”

  She sat up, belatedly pulled the sheet up to cover herself.

  Nick frowned at her.

  “What?”

  He moved her hand from the sheet, pulled it toward him, and looked at her arm.

  “What?”

  He reached over and turned on the bedside lamp. Margaux shut her eyes.

  “Damn him,” Nick said tightly.

  Margaux cautiously opened her eyes against the light, and looked down at her shoulder. Five finger marks bruised her upper arm where Louis had grabbed her.

  “I swear, if he so much as shows his face around here, I’ll take him out.”

  Margaux captured his hand and pulled it from her shoulder to kiss it. “Don’t think about him.”

  He leaned over and kissed her. She was so tempted to pull him down and make him late for work. It had been a long time since she’d slept with someone who warmed her, who cared about her.

  But he had the early shift, and she didn’t want to be the reason he was late . . . probably for the first time ever. She watched as he hurriedly dressed in the shadows of the lamplight. Returned his drugged goodbye kiss and stretched languidly. When she heard his truck back out of the drive, she reached over and pulled his pillow close, breathed in the scent of him, and went back to sleep.

  Morning, Chief,” Finley said, fighting a grin.

  “Finley.” Nick refused to look him in the eye. Dee had already beamed at him when he walked into work. It was probably no secret that he’d spent the night with Margaux. The whole damn town probably knew and were casting their votes of approval or not.

  He’d just opened a big can of worms, but hell, it wasn’t like he’d been on duty with the cruiser parked there all night. He wasn’t the pope. He had the right to a life.

  “Sure you do. Nobody’s saying you don’t.”

  Nick stared at Finley. “What?”

  “You were kinda talking to yourself. Out loud,” he added in case Nick didn’t get it. “In fact, most of us are glad to see you finally getting some action.”

  Nick shot him his most quelling look. Finley walked nonchalantly out the door. “Oh, by the way, I gave myself the night shift this week. Hope you don’t mind.” He closed the door
before Nick could think of anything to say.

  He caught up on paperwork for an hour, then went out to give the updates to Dee Janowitz.

  Dee looked up from her knitting. “You’re looking awfully chipper today,” she said innocently.

  Nick gritted his teeth. “I’m going on patrol.”

  “Have a nice day.”

  He barely got out the door before his cell rang.

  “Did you apologize?”

  “Hi, Jake. Yes, I did.”

  “So did she forgive you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And? I don’t want to appear nosy, but what the hell happened?”

  Nick sighed, his life was a fishbowl. But of course he owed all this to Jake. He’d still be angry and alone if Jake hadn’t badgered him into apologizing. “Her husband was there trying to extort money from her. I threw him out. She asked me in. And the rest is history.”

  “I hope not.”

  “Me neither. I hope it’s just the beginning.”

  “Attaboy. Have you seen her today?”

  “Not since I left.”

  Jake whistled. “Stayed all night, did you. Good for you. Now, listen, don’t wait to see her, because the longer you wait the more awkward it will be.”

  “Is this the voice of experience? As I recall, you’re not much luckier at this than I am.”

  “Yes, and the reason I’m dumber than you is that I didn’t learn my lesson the first time. Go take her flowers or something.”

  “Thanks for the advice, but I’m pretty sure we’re past the flower stage.”

  “Women are never past the flower stage, unless you’ve moved onto the jewelry stage.”

  “Where do you get this shit?”

  “From my sister Pat. Trust me, she’s a pro.”

  “Duly noted. In the meantime, I do have the law to uphold. I’m on patrol for the next four hours.”

  “Just make sure you patrol past the flower shop.” Jake paused. “Good luck, man. You deserve it.”

  At eight o’clock Margaux woke up for real. And for the first time in months, she faced a new day without worry clenching her gut.

  But she’d had her fun. Now, it was time to get her life on track. She grabbed a notebook and went to the kitchen to make coffee and a list. By nine o’clock she had a plan.

  Linda was waiting for her with a cup of tea and a grin. “Well, at least you didn’t come in together. That would have just been too obvious. Take this.” She handed Margaux the tea, cackled, and broke into a happy dance.

  “Cut it out. Did Nick tell you?”

  “Mr. What-the-hell-are-you-talking-about? Nope, but he had that warm fuzzy glow when I waylaid him to give him a cup of coffee.”

  “To pump him for details,” Margaux added. “And I don’t think Nick has ever had a warm and fuzzy glow in his life.”

  “Yeah he did, kinda like the one you’re wearing.” Linda shot her a saucy look.

  “Do not make jokes around Adelaide.”

  “Honey, how do you think Nick got on earth? Adelaide’s no fool. I bet she took one look at him this morning and has been smiling ever since.”

  “Oh God,” Margaux groaned, remembering that Nick kept the cruiser parked at his mother’s house. “This is so embarrassing.”

  “But was it good? No, don’t tell me. I just want to imagine. Feelings,” Linda warbled, and swept into the beauty salon.

  Margaux went into her workshop and closed the door, looked around and smiled. Damn, she felt good. The patterns they’d cut the day before were clipped together waiting to be transferred to fabric. The fabric was folded in the other room.

  It was time. She picked up her cell and called Bri. The call went to voice mail.

  “Hi, I’m probably out feeding the chickens. Leave a message.”

  “Bri, it’s Margaux—”

  “Mags.” She sounded out of breath. “What’s up?”

  “I think it’s time to hold an organization and projection meeting. Are you really interested in helping out?”

  “Absolutely. Grace is in court today, some zoning thing, but she’ll be out by four. How about then?”

  “Perfect. We’ll meet at the workshop. Thanks.”

  “I’m in,” Linda called from across the hall.

  “I’m counting on it,” Margaux called back.

  Adelaide and Connor arrived at ten.

  “Margaux. Uncle Nick isn’t mad anymore.”

  Adelaide smiled contentedly. “And all is right with the world.”

  “It certainly is,” agreed Margaux. “Let’s cut some fabric.”

  Together they spread the yellow, painted chiffon on the worktable. Tested ways to fit the pattern pieces and decided on a bias-cut skirt.

  “It takes more fabric,” Adelaide said, “but the movement is worth it.”

  It was exactly what Margaux had planned. She and Adelaide were going to be a good team.

  By the time Adelaide was ready to leave for the day, the Sunrise dress was pinned to the dressmaker’s dummy. The bodice lay in graceful folds from a thin halter top. The skirt billowed with each tiny breeze that came through the half-open window, swirling the colors gracefully across the fabric.

  Adelaide made one more adjustment to the neckline and stood back to study the finished product. “Well?”

  Tears sprang to Margaux’s eyes. “It’s just as I imagined it. Thank you.”

  “You’re on your way.”

  “We’re on our way. I think we’d better hire some more seamstresses.”

  “I’ll go home and begin calling some local ladies.” She and Connor left a few minutes later.

  Margaux’s cell phone rang.

  “Hi,” Nick said. “I just thought I’d call and . . . see how you were doing.”

  Margaux made an exasperated face at the phone. “Great. We draped the first piece today and I’m really pleased. Your mom is a genius.”

  “Uh, yeah. How’s everything else?”

  Margaux looked at the ceiling. Well, if she was sick of suave, shallow men, she’d come to the right place. Nick was deep and caring and strong—and about as rough around the edges as she could imagine.

  “Everything else is good, too.”

  “I was wondering if you’d like to do something again, sometime, tonight maybe. I’m off. Finley volunteered for night shift all this week.”

  “Bless him. Yes, let’s do. I’m meeting Grace and Bri for a planning meeting around four o’clock. You saw them at the flea market. We should be finished by six or seven. How about dinner at my house?”

  Silence.

  “If you’re worried about people seeing your truck two nights in a row, you could walk.” She bit her bottom lip, trying to keep the smile out of her voice.

  “I don’t care about that.”

  “See you at eightish?”

  “Okay. Can I bring anything?”

  “Just you.” She hung up. She was feeling way too giddy for her own good and she did have business to take care of.

  She called her lawyer. “Louis was here last night, demanding money and threatening me.”

  “That explains a lot. I just got back from the precinct. The Feds picked him up this morning for questioning. They let him go, but not before calling me. While he sat there sweating, I—with a little help from my friends in the agency—strong-armed him into signing the divorce papers. I just sent them to the judge. It’s a done deal, you should be officially divorced by the morning. I’ll send you a copy.”

  “I don’t know how to thank you. Besides paying you of course. As soon as I can.”

  “Like I said, I can wait. Besides, I got a great deal of pleasure nailing his ass. What a scumbag.”

  Things were suddenly moving fast, snowballing, amplifying the urgency of getting her show mounted and her
name back in the workforce. But this latest news was welcome. Not being divorced wouldn’t have stopped her from seeing Nick, but being divorced made it a lot more justifiable.

  Bri came in at four. She went straight to the back room and stopped in front of the Sunrise mock-up. She frowned at it, cocked her head, lifted the hem of the skirt, and let it fall while Margaux held her breath.

  She turned to Margaux. “Girl. You’re back. Magsy, you’re back. This is fabulous.”

  Margaux exhaled. “Not back yet, but I will be.”

  Linda joined them just as the “Toreador Song” played from the foyer. “Damn, this better not be a walk-in.”

  Grace walked into the workshop; blue suit, sensible two-inch pumps, and leather briefcase.

  Margaux introduced her to Linda.

  “You ever consider red highlights?”

  “Uh.” Grace took a step back.

  “Don’t worry,” said Margaux. “She’s enthusiastic, but harmless.”

  “And I know my highlights. Shall we retire to the kitchen?”

  As soon as everyone was seated at the kitchen table, Margaux cleared her throat. “Before we begin, I have an announcement. I’m divorced. Well, I will be by tomorrow.”

  “Forget coffee,” Linda said. “I’m breaking out the sparkling cider.”

  “Does this mean the merman is a real possibility?” asked Bri.

  “Bri,” Margaux warned, and cut a look toward Linda. It was too late.

  “The merman? What merman?” Linda snorted a laugh. “You mean Nick? Yowza. Margaux and the merman. If that ain’t a happily-ever-after.” She wiped her eyes.

  “Margaux?” Grace said. “Are you holding out on us?”

  Margaux shrugged.

  Grace slapped the table. “Wow. He’s already had his day in court and you didn’t tell us.”

  “You sneaky little so-and-so. What was the verdict?”

  Margaux smiled slowly. “Guilty as sin.”

  They all laughed. Linda poured a round of cider, and Margaux got down to business. She outlined her plans for the runway show, the effect she wanted to create and her intention of using the show to produce a video she could send to established houses. “And if the video is good enough, someone might pick up the whole line and the designer.”