Ann went straight to the phone and dialed information, asking for the Miami number of Bimini Boat Works. When told by a sweet-voiced secretary that Mr. Bodine was not in his office, Ann left the message that she had called, along with her phone extension at the inn.
She was sitting in the armchair next to the phone ten minutes later when it rang.
“You called me?” Heath said without preliminary when she picked up the receiver and said hello.
Just the sound of his voice made her hands start to shake. “I’d like to get together and discuss the details of your offer,” Ann said quietly.
“I’ll meet you for dinner at the inn’s restaurant tomorrow night at eight o’clock,” he replied. He didn’t ask why she had changed her mind so quickly. He didn’t ask why she had changed her mind at all.
Obviously he didn’t care.
“Fine,” she said.
Ann heard a click as the line went dead. He had hung up without saying goodbye. Somehow, it seemed appropriate.
When you made a deal with the devil, common courtesy was probably de trop.
She sat back in the chair and for the first time since she’d returned to Florida she let her mind dwell on that fateful summer eleven years earlier, when she first met Heath. She had pushed the memories back for so long that when she finally opened the floodgate they all came rushing through, under pressure, drowning her in technicolor images of the past. She saw Heath as he had been; then as now the most beautiful man she had ever seen.
Chapter 3
Eleven years earlier...
Ann pulled off her sunglasses and sat up in annoyance, looking around for the source of the noise. She had been up late at a dance the night before and was trying to take a nap, but someone was racing the motor of her father’s powerboat. Every time she thought the grating sound had stopped, it would begin again, wearing on her nerves. She’d been just on the edge of sleep during a period of blessed silence when the engine roared to life once more.
Ann winced and sighed. The sound was drowning out the gentle lapping of the water against the bulkhead behind her. Ann fastened the straps of her bikini top and grabbed a towel from her deck chair, padding barefoot across the patio and the lawn and down to the dock that fronted the canal running behind her house. A thirty-two foot cabin cruiser and a twenty-foot speedboat were tied up there, the speedboat with its engine racing. Ann stood on the dock, hands on hips, waiting for the din to subside. When it finally did she yelled “Hey!” and paused for a response.
There was none.
Muttering to herself, she climbed down into the front of the boat and walked around to the rear well. There a deeply tanned figure was bent over the engine housing, fiddling with a screwdriver.
“I’m talking to you,” Ann said loudly.
The man turned to look up at her, and she froze under his stare, finally taking a step back and draping her towel self consciously over her shoulders.
She felt as if he were undressing her with his eyes.
He was about six feet tall, his skin nut brown from the sun, his hair and brows and lashes blue black, the color of anthracite. His face was arresting: wide amber eyes, a narrow nose, high cheekbones and a sculpted mouth with a thin upper lip and a full, cushioned lower one. His expression was not friendly as he looked her over, taking in her scanty bathing suit, bare feet and hair pinned up in a careless bun. He didn’t look more than a few years older than Ann. She fingered a hanging tendril nervously as he said shortly, “What do you want?”
“I want you to stop making all this noise,” Ann replied, her discomfiture making her sound equally abrupt.
“You from the house?” he said, jerking his head toward the lawn. He climbed out of the engine well and dropped the hatch.
“Yes.”
“You giving me an order?”
Ann gazed back at him, unsure of how to reply. He was wearing cut-off jeans that frayed to a stop at his muscular thighs, with lace-up work boots and nothing else. Perspiration ran in rivulets down his arms and back and his hair was damp with it. He was lean, but not thin, his well-developed biceps flexing as he moved. A sprinkling of black chest hair spread over his flat nipples and disappeared in a narrow line below the waistband of his jeans. He had a flat, concave stomach, ridged and tight, and his limbs were traced with a laborer’s prominent veins. His hands and the tip of his nose were smeared with engine grease.
Ann realized she was staring and looked away. “Wh-what do you mean?”
“You hired me. If you want me to stop, I’ll stop.”
“My father must have hired you. It’s his boat.”
The workman wiped his forehead with the back of his arm and then pulled a folded sheet of paper from the rear pocket of his jeans. “Henry Talbot?” he said.
“That’s my father.”
“I’m from Jensen’s Marina. I have an order from Henry Talbot to tune up this engine—it’s been misfiring. It can wait if the noise is bothering you too much. I’ll come back.”
He was looking at her with his cat’s eyes, hands on hips, waiting for her response. Ann could only imagine her father’s reaction if she caused a delay in the repair of his precious toy.
“No, go ahead. It’s getting too hot out here anyway, I’ll go inside.” Ann walked to the front of the boat and then realized that he was following her. She stopped short and looked around at him. He hopped onto the dock in one graceful movement and then bent down, extending his hand to help her climb out of the boat. He saw that his fingers were covered with sticky engine fluid, so he wiped them on on his pants, then reached out to her again.
Ann slipped her hand into his and he pulled her up next to him. He was so strong that she seemed to fly through the air and land on the dock with no effort at all on her part.
“Thanks,” she said, looking up into his face.
“No problem, Princess,” he said, and smiled.
His teeth were very white against his dark face, the incisors slightly crooked. A silence grew between them as they stood on the dock, immobile, their eyes locked.
Luisa appeared in the kitchen doorway and called, “Miss Ann, your mother wants to speak to you.”
Ann tore her eyes away from her companion and said, “All right, Luisa, I’m coming in now.”
“So long, Princess,” he said, and hopped down into the boat. He disappeared around the curve of the bow as she looked after him, then Ann turned reluctantly toward the house.
Luisa was making lunch as Ann came inside, closing the sliding-glass door behind her to contain the conditioned air. Luisa nodded toward the hall and Ann went down to her mother’s room.
“Mom?” she said, outside her parents’ door.
“Come in,” her mother called.
Ann walked into the dressing room where her mother was stepping into a pair of pumps.
“Hi, honey. I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be having lunch at the club. I’ve already told Luisa to save something for your father whenever he wanders in from his golf game, so just be a good girl and eat whatever she gives you, okay? And remember, those carpet people are coming, so stay out of their way and let them work. Your father has been griping about the stains in his den for the last three months. What are your plans for the afternoon?” Margaret Talbot’s cool, aristocratic tones, still retaining a hint of New England, floated toward Ann as her mother clipped on a pair of earrings.
“I thought I’d just hang around here, maybe take a swim. Amy is coming over tonight.”
“All right, sweetie, have fun. It’s so nice to have you home again. And remember, we’re going shopping tomorrow on the big island.” Her mother came over to her and kissed her cheek.
“Okay.”
“See you at dinner. Bye-bye.” Margaret picked up her purse and tennis racket, grabbing her carryall and waving to her daughter as she left the bedroom.
“Bye.” her mother into the hall, returning to the kitchen to find Luisa pouring out a glass of iced lemonade. Several oatmeal and
raisin cookies and a folded napkin sat beside it on a ceramic tray.
“Is that my lunch?” Ann asked.
“Of course not, your mother would have a fit,” Luisa replied crisply.
“It’s for that boy working on the boat, isn’t it?” Ann said, snatching a cookie.
“So?”
“I’ll take it out to him.”
“You will not,” Luisa said firmly.
“Why not?”
“Your father wouldn’t want you talking to that boy,” Luisa replied, picking up the tray herself.
“What’s wrong, is he a criminal or something?” Ann asked around a mouthful of oatmeal, intrigued.
Luisa didn’t answer, merely walked toward the back patio, the tray in her hands.
“So then why is it okay for you to talk to him, Luisa?” Ann inquired logically, abandoning the remains of the cookie on the kitchen table.
The front doorbell rang.
“I think you’d better get that,” Ann said to Luisa, deftly taking the tray from the older woman’s hands.
“You can answer it,” Luisa said.
“No, I can’t. It’s the carpet cleaners, I can see the van through the window. You have to talk to them.”
Luisa sighed and turned around as Ann slipped through the patio doors, balancing the tray with one hand as she moved the slider closed with the other.
Ann walked carefully over the back lawn toward the boat as the ice clinked in the tall glass. She was almost to the boat when she heard a yelp and a curse, followed by frantic rummaging sounds. She put the tray down on the lawn and ran the rest of the way, jumping down from the dock and peering into the engine well.
The workman was sitting cross-legged on the deck, wrapping a filthy towel around his hand as blood gushed from his thumb.
“Oh, my God,” Ann said, running to his side. “What on earth did you do?”
“I was trimming the fuel line when the knife slipped,” he replied tersely, wadding the dingy terry cloth against his hand. It was rapidly turning red.
“That’s really bleeding badly, you have to get to the hospital,” Ann said. “Let me just run inside and get my car keys and I’ll take you there.”
“No way,” he replied. “My truck is parked out by the road, I can drive.”
“You can’t drive with your hand like that, especially a manual transmission,” Ann said, already turning for the house. She didn’t wait for him to answer but sprinted back inside, grabbing her purse from her dresser and pulling a pair of shorts on over her bikini bottoms. She paused to slip into her sandals as Luisa came after her and asked, “Where do you think you’re going? Lunch is almost ready.”
“The boy working on the boat hurt his hand badly, I’m taking him to Palm Hospital,” Ann replied, running for the side door leading to the garage.
“You can’t drive him all the way to the hospital!” Luisa called anxiously, scuttling after her charge. “Let one of the carpet cleaners take him.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ann said to Luisa over her shoulder, jumping into her car and pressing the release for the garage door, which began to ascend automatically behind them. “They have a schedule to keep and they’re already unraveling the hose from the van. And you know what my father will say if his rug isn’t cleaned on time. I’m doing nothing, I can take him. Now get out of the way so I can back up the car, okay?”
Luisa moved reluctantly, her expression unhappy, as Ann backed the car down the long drive leading to the street. Once there she saw that the boat workman was trying to do a U turn in his ancient truck, operating the controls with his injured hand.
Ann zoomed in front of him, blocking his truck with her car. She got out, leaving her door open as she walked over to him and looked up inquiringly into the cab.
“Get out of my way,” he said tightly, not even pausing to glance at her.
“Having a little trouble?” she asked mildly.
“I’ll make it,” he replied shortly.
“Sure you will, if you can manage to drive that Stone Age truck with your mangled hand and don’t pass out from loss of blood along the way.”
“Not all of us can afford a new sports car every year, Miss Talbot,” he said irritably. He threw the truck into reverse awkwardly and it lurched and died. He closed his eyes.
“Very good—looks like you’re stuck. Now will you stop being such a macho idiot and let me drive you to the hospital?”
He said nothing, his conflicted expression indicating the struggle between his overwhelming desire to handle the situation himself and his realization that she was right. Logic finally won and he put the truck into neutral and let it roll to the side of the road. Then he jumped down from the cab and said tersely, “I’m going to bleed all over your fancy leather upholstery.”
“Why don’t you let me worry about that?” Ann replied, getting back behind the wheel of her car as he slid into the front seat on the passenger side, trying futilely to rewrap the already sopping towel around his wound.
“Use this,” she said, grabbing a sweater from her back seat and handing it to him.
“Isn’t this yours?” he said, accepting the garment with his good hand.
“I have others,” she said shortly.
He shot her an unreadable glance and then did as she said, dropping the towel on the floor and substituting her pullover for it. He cradled the injured hand in his lap and sat bolt upright, looking out the window as Ann drove.
“Why don’t you sit back and relax?” she said to him. “I’m not going to bite you.”
He obeyed, letting his shoulders touch the seat and closing his eyes. He looked pale beneath his tan and seemed drained. The loss of blood, or the shock of the accident, must have been affecting him.
“You should hold your hand upright and put pressure on the cut,” Ann said. “It will slow the bleeding.”
“Who are you, Florence Nightingale?”
“I had a first-aid course in school.”
“Stop telling me what to do, okay?”
Ann shrugged. “Okay. I’m only trying to help.”
Out of the corner of her eye Ann saw him lift the injured hand with the good one and press his opposing thumb over the cut.
She smiled to herself and kept on driving.
The trip to the hospital over the causeway to Big Palm Island took only ten minutes, but it seemed longer. When they reached the emergency room entrance he bolted out the door of her car as soon as it stopped moving.
“Hey, wait for me!” Ann called, throwing the gearshift into park and grabbing her keys from the ignition. By the time she got inside he was already registering with the clerk.
“Insurance?” the clerk said.
He shook his head.
“You have no insurance?” the clerk asked.
“That’s right.”
“I will pay cash for it,” Ann said, producing her wallet.
He turned around and glared at her. “You’re not paying for this with your old man’s money!” he said in a fierce undertone.
“They might not take you otherwise.”
He snatched the wallet from her hand and tossed it into a nearby trash can.
“You two kids want to take this outside?” the clerk said in a bored tone, pencil poised above the admitting form.
“I’ll pay cash,” he said firmly as Ann rooted in the trash for her wallet.
“Fine,” the clerk said. “Fill in the bottom part of this form and then see the triage nurse.”
He took the clipboard with his good hand and sat in one of the plastic chairs lined up in the emergency room. Ann, wallet secured, sat next to him.
“Look, you did me a favor and brought me here, now you can go,” he said to her.
She looked back at him blankly.
“Thank you,” he added shortly.
Ann didn’t move.
He sighed and began to fill out the form, holding the clipboard awkwardly on his lap.
“You’re getting bloodstai
ns on that paper,” Ann said.
He ignored her.
“You’re putting the information in the wrong section,” Ann noted pointedly, and he turned to her abruptly, dropping the clipboard on the floor. He groaned.
“Why don’t you let me do it?” Ann suggested as she retrieved the board for him. “Just dictate and I’ll write. You’ll bleed to death before they see you at this rate.”
“I can do it myself!” he said as her sweater slipped off his hand and a fresh smear of blood stained his pants.
Ann scribbled the date and time in the correct square and said, “Name?”
He closed his eyes in extreme forbearance, waited a beat and then said resignedly, “Heath Bodine.”
“Last name spelling?”
He spelled it.
“Address?”
He gave a Port Lisbon address unfamiliar to her.
“Age?”
In the course of the exercise, she found out that he was a nineteen-year-old male and worked full-time at Jensen’s Marina. Her reaction was disappointment. The only thing she hadn’t known before was his age and she didn’t learn any new information.
He turned in the form and was called by the triage nurse, who determined that he could wait his turn among the senior citizens, the toddler with a fever, and the plumber who had caught his hand in a pipe, all currently sitting in the reception area. He returned to his seat and stared straight ahead as Ann said, “Heath?”
He looked at her.
“Why are you trying so hard to get rid of me?”
“There’s nothing more for you to do.”
“I’d like to wait and make sure that you’re all right.”
“I’m all right, or the triage nurse would have sent me in ahead of the others. The cut’s hardly bleeding anymore, you can see that. You can go.”
She held his gaze with hers, feeling his cat’s eyes penetrating to her very soul. She felt like she was drowning in them.
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