Born Wild

by Julie Ann Walker

  She lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, and lengthened her stride. She’d just stepped onto the first metal tread of the stairs when she heard Mac fire up his Harley. The bike growled happily, all low and guttural, smooth and even. It was the sound of a well-tended machine. A sound she loved.

  She was on the landing when she heard him pull up and stop in the alley below. “What is it?” she yelled, leaning over the iron rail.

  When Mac threw his head back to stare up at her, the light from a nearby streetlamp caught on his face, highlighting the dimple in his stubborn chin and the hollows beneath his high, flat cheekbones. With the soft, yellow glow shining on him like that, she thought perhaps, just perhaps, he might be the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.

  “If you need anything, anything at all…” He raised his voice over the sound of the contentedly rumbling engine, letting the sentence dangle.

  She lifted a hand and nodded. And when he dipped his chin before pushing his helmet down over his head, torqueing his wrist, and motoring loudly down the alley, she realized, quite disgustedly, that she was a glutton for punishment. Because despite everything, despite all his rejections, she still had a thing for him. A silly, stupid, unrequited, unreturned, goddamned demoralizing thing for him.

  And, shit!

  But at least that gave her something to think about tonight other than the fact that one floor below her lay all the reminders of what’d happened that day. At least if she kept herself occupied and stewing over the idiotic fact that she was pining over a man who obviously didn’t return her feelings, she wouldn’t be thinking about Buzzard and agonizing over what she could have done differently. If she could have done something differently…

  Chapter Nineteen

  Lake Michigan

  2:02 a.m.

  Come on. Come on, Eve silently begged the small inboard engine as she leaned down into the cramped motor compartment, checking the plugs and the fuel lines even though she’d already checked them three times before, and they were working fine. Which mean they weren’t the reason the engine had suddenly stalled out. And it wasn’t the dreaded zebra mussels—those pesky little critters that’d been introduced to the Great Lakes by the bilge water from transoceanic vessels—that’d fouled the lines. Because there was no tell-tale sooty residue near the output port. Which meant…what?

  What the heck was wrong with the stupid thing?

  She wracked her brain, coming up with a big load of nada. Which wouldn’t normally be a problem. Just like being engineless on a sailboat wouldn’t normally a problem. Sailboat equals sails, after all. Sails catch wind and voila! The boat moves.

  Except for tonight…

  Because tonight there wasn’t a breath of wind. Tonight Lake Michigan showcased a glassine surface, not even one tiny ripple marred its blue-black expanse. Tonight it was an inky mirror, perfectly reflecting the glittering stars overhead and the minute glow of Chicago’s city lights far, far in the distance.

  Please tell me whatever is wrong with you is something simple. An easy fix, she begged the motor.

  But in the general way of inanimate objects, the engine refused to answer her.

  Thump. She pushed up and spun around in time to see Billy toss a big, yellow waterproof flashlight onto the turquoise cushion of the captain’s chair. The softly glowing LED lights that ran the length of the sailboat’s cabin and surrounded the small wheelhouse washed his dripping form in faint, bluish light. He tugged off his sopping T-shirt using that quintessential guy-move where he reached over his shoulder and grabbed the collar, dragging the entire garment off in one fell swoop. It landed on the teakwood deck with a splat. And if the sight of his mile-wide chest with its smattering of hair, and his tan, corrugated belly wasn’t enough to make her heart skip a beat, then the stars tattooed just inside each of his hipbones, emphasizing the delineation of his abdomen muscles and accentuating the large veins that ran down into his groin certainly were.

  Holy schnikes! Billy is ripped! Like seriously, brutally, cause-a-girl’s-tongue-to-hang-out ripped. And, sweet Lord in heaven, those tattoos. He hadn’t had them twelve years ago. And just looking at them now, looking at the perfection of his male body, watching the crystalline water droplets run down his chest and his stomach into the waistband of his swim trunks was enough to make the breath catch at the back of her throat, and caused most of her blood to pool hot and heavy between her legs.

  Well, that’s an improvement, I suppose. Because ever since she’d stood in the parking lot at Delilah’s, contemplating the fact that her father might be the one behind the attempts on her life—and certainly after she’d discovered he and Blake had conspired against her with the press—her blood had been like ice.

  “Jesus Christ!” Billy yanked off a set of diving goggles and tossed them onto the captain’s chair to join the flashlight. Grabbing the white fluffy towel that was draped over the back of the seat, he used it to roughly scrub the water from his hair before moving to dry off his arms and chest. “That water is colder than a penguin’s backside.” He shivered once, then shook himself like a dog shaking off water before wrapping the towel around his shoulders.

  Cold? Yep, she remembered just how cold it could be. Which was why she hadn’t put up a fight over which one of them would jump overboard to see if whatever was wrong with the engine had something to do with the propeller.

  And speaking of…

  “Did you see anything?” she asked, unconsciously licking her lips when her gaze snagged on one lone droplet of water as it rolled lazily down the center of his torso until it dipped into his bellybutton, reemerged, and got caught in the thin line of hair that arrowed down the lower portion of his stomach.

  Ripped. Jacked. Buff. A whole slurry of descriptors tumbled through her head, but none seemed quite up to snuff when it came to encapsulating the wonder that was Billy and—

  “We ran over some sort of rope, I think. The damn thing’s wrapped six ways from Sunday around the prop,” he said, bending to wring out what water he could from his loose swim trunks. “I’m going to need to go back down there with a knife and see if I can saw it loose.”

  Saw it loose…which meant he’d have to go back into that frigid, pitch-black water time and time again. Coming up for air, going back under. Rinse and repeat until he was a human popsicle. Although, it would certainly go much faster if she just went with him. She could hold the light while he worked on the rope.

  She could hold the light…in all that endless, frigid, pitch-black water…

  The memory of the scooter ride, of the weight of her backpack pulling her down, down, down into the abyss flashed through her head and refroze her blood in an instant.

  “Crap,” she cursed, biting her lip and glancing out over the lake. “Crap, crap, crap!” She turned to slam the teakwood hatch down over the top of the engine compartment.

  Blam!

  The loud report echoed out over the water and gave her a tiny niggle of satisfaction. But not enough to mitigate the tsunami wave of self-pity and frustration and…fear that threatened to engulf her. And was it too much to ask that Fate throw her one, just one—she didn’t need more than one, but she’d like just one—flippin’ bone? Seriously? After everything, didn’t she deserve just a teensy, tiny break?

  She reached up to fist both hands into her hair, her wet hair, which reminded her how twenty minutes ago she’d tried—without any luck—to shower away all her cares and worries. The maneuver usually worked. Being out on the water, on her Catalina 34-foot sailing yacht nostalgically named Summer Lovin’, with none of the bullcrap day-to-day…things around her, save for the absolute bare necessities, she was usually able to find some clarity, some…peace.

  But not tonight. Because either her ex-husband or her father or both were trying to kill her, and they’d apparently teamed up years ago to ensure she’d not only lost what little free will she had, but also completel
y annihilated any chance she had of making a life with the one and only guy she’d ever had the good fortune to love and…and…on top of all of that, an innocent man was dead because of their duplicity, because of them, because of her.

  Blood running down a beer belly…Bearded mouth slightly open…Gray eyes glassy and dead…A red puddle of waning life steadily growing on the floor beneath a bar stool…

  The images invaded her brain like a disease, and shoot! Now, she was going to lose it. She was supposed to have toughened up. She was supposed to have grown a set of brass ladyballs, but right now, despite her best efforts, everything was catching up with her, pressing down on her, pressing in on her. And she was going to lose it.

  She bit her lip to try to hold it all back, but the sharp pain of her teeth sinking into the delicate pad didn’t work. The world around her began to dissolve into a jumble of fuzzy shapes as tears welled in her eyes. No, no, no…Don’t do this. Don’t—

  “Hey, hey,” Billy padded over to her, throwing a heavy, damp arm around her shoulders. “It’s no big deal. If I can just cut it away—”

  “Y-you’ll need m-my help,” she sobbed, turning her face into his shoulder, breathing in the crisp smells of lake water and Billy. And it was official. The dam had broken. No, not broken. Exploded. Suddenly, she was shaking and bawling and probably working herself up to be a big ol’ snot factory. But she couldn’t help it. It felt like the entire world was out to get her, out to punish her for…for…“And I-I,” she hiccupped, “I’m scared to go down there with you after,” hiccup, “I nearly drowned!”

  “You don’t have to go down there with me. I can do it on my own, and—”

  “Th-that’s not it,” she cried. “I’m n-n-not supposed to be scared of the water. It’s my,” hiccup, “my job!” Turning to wrap her arms around his neck, she choked on another sob when he immediately hugged her close. Hugged her up all tight and secure against his warm, solid chest, instinctively trying to sooth her, protect her. Being so nice. Being…Billy.

  Oh, God! What had she done? Why hadn’t she been tougher twelve years ago? Why hadn’t she told her father to go screw himself when he kept after her about Blake? If she had, she’d have never betrayed Billy and she wouldn’t be in this mess right now. If she’d only remained strong, remained true, her whole life would be different.

  What was that old chaos theory about a butterfly flapping its wings and setting into motion a series of events that resulted in a hurricane? Well, her decision to submit to her father’s wishes was like the flapping of that butterfly’s wings. And now she was experiencing the hurricane. She wished, oh, how she wished she could blame it on something or someone else, but it had been her decision, so this was all her fault…

  And, holy cow, she was so tired. So tired. And so scared. And so unbelievably sorry for…for everything.

  “Okay,” Billy murmured next to her ear, his deep voice calm and capable-sounding. “You’re not really scared of the water. You’re just exhausted.” She opened her mouth to refute his claim but snapped it shut when she realized he might be right. She was exhausted. Exhausted and defeated. “Which means you’re going straight to bed.”

  “Wh-what about the rope?” she asked.

  “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m a highly trained Navy SEAL. This little problem is exactly that. A little problem. And once I take care of it, by myself,” he stressed, “everything will be perfectly fine.”

  Perfectly fine. Ha! Was he delusional? Nothing was perfectly fine. Everything was perfectly wretched, and see! Defeated. She was completely defeated. Which was…pathetic. And so not the kind of woman she’d been working hard to become.

  Another wracking sob shook her shoulders despite her best efforts to hold it back, and Billy held her tighter.

  “Hey now,” he crooned. “It’s okay. I know things look really bad and everything feels really disastrous right now. But you just need some good, solid sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning. Things will look better in the morning. I promise.”

  She tried to nod. Unfortunately the gesture just elicited a wet-sounding whimper.

  You are such a loser, Eve! A pathetic, wimpy, spineless, pathetic loser. Did I mention pathetic?

  “All right,” he said. “I can see we’ve reached an impasse here. So, up you go.” He bent to wrap an arm beneath her knees, then hoisted her up against his chest with the ease of the supremely fit.

  “I can w-walk,” she protested, her nose buried in the crook of this wonderfully solid shoulder.

  “Shh,” he murmured, turning sideways so he could squeeze them down the stairs leading to the small cabin. “I know you can walk, sweetheart. You can do whatever you set your mind to.” No. No, she couldn’t. Because she’d set her mind to winning him back, but so far she’d managed diddly-squat. Sure, he was being nice to her now, but that’s only because she was having some sort of nervous breakdown and he was Billy. Loyal Billy. Courageous Billy. Trustworthy Billy. Sweet Billy. Kicking someone when they were down wasn’t in his nature. But that didn’t change the fact that her betrayal had cut him so deeply that even now, all these years later, he still had a hard time even agreeing to be her friend.

  Maybe…Someday…The two words he’d mumbled back in BKI’s onsite gym tumbled through her head like a couple of hot, thorny boulders, making her tears flow faster.

  See? A loser! A sorry, pathetic loser!

  “Come on, Eve,” he begged. Peripherally she knew he was shuffling past the compact galley and the small table and booth toward the lone berth. “You’ve got to stop that. You’re breaking my heart.”

  Oh, great. As if she hadn’t done enough of that already!

  “I’m s-s-sorry!” she wailed, now crying so hard her bones were rattling, so hard her lungs felt like they were trying to crawl out of her throat. “I never wanted to-to hurt you!”

  “I know, sweetheart,” he said, gently placing her on the mattress, dragging a pillow under her head and flipping one side of the blue and green coverlet over her. “I know you didn’t. Just take a couple of breaths, okay? Can you do that for me?”

  Could she do that for him? Was he serious? If asked her to jump off the John Hancock building, she’d happily pioneer unassisted human flight. But he wasn’t asking her to jump off the John Hancock building, was he? He was only asking her to calm down, to take some breaths. Which she could do. Which she would do…

  Fighting with everything she had, fighting for him like she should have fought for him years ago, she raked in a couple of ragged breaths through her stuffy nose. Then sucked in another through her mouth for good measure. It helped. Miraculously, her lungs once more settled into her chest. But when she raised her eyes to Billy’s face, she had to bite her lip to keep from losing it all over again.

  His intent brown eyes—his beautiful brown eyes—watched her with care and kindness and…and sympathy. Holy Mother Mary, a sob the size of Lake Michigan itself threatened to choke her. But she held it back.

  “I-I’m okay,” she sputtered, her stomach quivering so hard she thought she’d be sick. By the way he twisted his lips—his beautiful lips—it was obvious he didn’t believe her. “Really,” she assured him, her breath hitching only slightly this time. “R-really I am.”

  “You’ve always been a terrible liar,” he told her, smiling gently. And his expression was so warm. So warm and understanding and…and his nearness…all that tan skin covered in all those star tattoos was overwhelmingly intoxicating, and—

  “B-Billy, please,” she begged him for…what? To take pity on her? To love her? To make love to her.

  And just the thought had everything inside her screeching to a halt. Except for her heart. Her heart was pounding against her ribs so fiercely she was surprised her oversized T-shirt wasn’t fluttering.

  “That’s better,” he said, mistaking her stillness for calmness. Lord knew she was anything but calm. Beca
use her grief and fear and sense of defeat had morphed into something else, something she’d been told grief and fear and defeat often morphed into, though she’d never experienced the phenomenon herself.

  The French referred to it so eloquently as convoitise de la chair. But in the far more suburban English it was known simply as…lust…

  And how was that possible? How could a mental switch just flip like that?

  “I’m going to run up, cut that rope from the propeller, reset the auto-pilot, and then make us some PB and Js,” he said, reaching forward to squeeze her knee. The touch of his big palm—his hands were rough from years loading and cleaning weapons, arming and disarming explosives, battle-hardened hands, if you will—set her on fire as surely as a lit match touching a pool of kerosene.

  “O-okay,” she told him, licking her suddenly dry lips.

  “Okay,” he repeated, offering her a wink that caused his thick lashes to cast a faint shadow on his cheek.

  When he turned to shuffle back down the length of the cabin, she pushed up on one elbow to watch him go, her breaths coming short and fast. The muscles of his broad back bunched beside the deep divot of his spine, his big, sturdy shoulders rolled slightly with each step, and his butt? Well, not to put it too crudely, but his mama must’ve been a baker because holy smokes did she ever make the perfect set of buns!

  Geez Louise and praise be to good genetics and squat thrusts!

  Thrusts. Gulp. Just the word brought to mind carnal images. Images of Billy above her, pumping, straining, sweat dampening the hair on his brow and trickling down his temple, his warm eyes watching her as—

  Okay. And that was it. She had to think of something else. Because the truth was, he may not know whether or not he could ever forgive her enough to call her a friend, but that didn’t mean he didn’t still want her. She knew he still wanted her from the ferocity of his kisses alone, not to mention the fact that there’d been no mistaking his erection when she’d been pressed against him both back at BKI and out in Delilah’s parking lot.