He seemed intent upon telling her something—but perhaps the timing wasn't right.
"Do you like your job?" she asked, filling the lengthy silence.
He sent her a modest grin. "Yes. I tell myself I'm a modern-day Don Quixote, except that the giants I fight are real."
She could imagine how terrifyingly real they were. "Well, I'm proud of you, Don Quixote." Her throat constricted with unexpected pride. "You've done something so few men are capable of achieving."
His chest seemed to expand. "Thanks. It means a lot to hear you say that."
She added with forced levity, "So, do you have a Dulcinea, yet?"
He regarded her steadily. "There's never been another woman like you, Emma."
The compliment, uttered so frankly and unexpectedly, caused her to face the ocean and change the subject. "The water is lighter today than yesterday."
Tiny whitecaps foamed here and there, rising up and disappearing on the swells that rolled past them. The cooling breeze seemed to kiss her bare skin. Sea birds wheeled overhead serenading them. The setting couldn't get any more romantic.
His large hands resting on the rail next to hers made her think of the scene from Titanic when Jack held Rose while she stood at the prow, arms spread wide pretending to fly. Most likely hundreds of couples had reenacted that moment while on a cruise.
Dreamy nonsense, she scolded herself.
"That's because we've entered the Caribbean," he stated on a thoughtful note.
"Now the color is—what would you call it?—azure, maybe teal?" she asked him.
"I wouldn't know," he answered with a hint of humor. "Men have a pretty basic color palate—dark blue, light blue, navy blue."
"You're not like most men." She glanced over at him. "You've read Pride and Prejudice."
"It's a classic," he said with a dismissive shrug. "But this view does remind me of a poem by Wordsworth. Let me see if I remember it."
He had a gift for memorizing verse that had blown her away the first time she heard it—and every time subsequently. She turned slightly so she could study his arresting profile and waited for him to begin.
"And I have felt a presence that disturbs me with the joy of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime of something far more deeply interfused, whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, and the round ocean and the living air, and the blue sky, and in the mind of man."
The words hung between them, too perfect to be sullied by mundane commentary. Her heart lifted on the breeze as if held aloft by something true and eternal.
"I wish I could do that," she stated wistfully. "My memory is awful."
He shrugged and looked at her. "I can't really take credit for it. That's just the way my brain works."
Feeling his gaze on her lips, her heart skipped a beat. Was he so focused because he meant to kiss her? If so, what was taking him so long?
"There is something else that I've worked hard to develop, though."
He removed his sunglasses as he turned to her, and she knew they'd gotten to the point of their stroll.
"What's that?" she asked dismissing her shallow disappointment over not being kissed again.
"My intuition. You know, we all have untapped mental powers." His hazel eyes searched for her reaction to his words. "With concentration and training, intuition can be enhanced and strengthened, just like the muscles in our body. Intuition resides right here—" he said and lightly touched a spot on her forehead between and above her eyebrows. "Between the left and right hemispheres."
Her skin seemed to burn after he pulled his hand away. She frowned, wondering where this was leading and also wishing his lips would go where his fingers had just touched her or lower, capturing her mouth once more.
"You've probably heard it referred to as the third eye."
His words distracted her from craving the feel of his lips on hers. "Are you saying you've developed extrasensory powers?"
"Anyone can," he answered. "Haven't you thought about someone when the phone rings, and it turns out to be the person you were thinking of?"
"I always know when my sister is calling," she admitted.
"Well, there you go. That's called prescience. Your intuition picks up on the energy of their intent and gives you advanced warning. American Indians used to be able to see the road ahead of them before they walked it. I've learned to do that, too."
She regarded him in amazement. "You can see what's lying around the bend before you take the turn?"
"Yes, and more. I can see puddles, ditches, and enemies lying in wait behind a wall."
"Oh, my gosh." A thought entered her mind. "Did you know that our paths would cross again?"
"No." He shook his head. "Unless I'm actively remote-viewing—that's what it's called—then I don't see anything. But sometimes I get intuitive hits, like when I boarded the ship yesterday." He broke eye contact to study the pilot house on the fourteenth level, immediately above and behind them.
She could sense the tension building in him. "What did you see?"
He looked back at her and immediately away again. "I'm not sure yet."
For some reason, his vague answer disturbed her.
"Just..." His gaze sought hers again. "Keep vigilant," he pleaded. "And if you see anything suspicious, please tell me right away."
Gooseflesh rose on the surface of her skin, and her thoughts flew immediately to her daughter. "What should I be looking for?"
His warm hand settled on her bare shoulder. "Look, I'm not trying to scare you. I'm not saying something's going to happen for certain. It's just that, in my experience, there are no real coincidences. I think there's a reason why I'm here on this ship with you. Maybe it's to keep you safe. I don't know." He gazed into her eyes, making sure she heard him.
She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. "You've got me feeling nervous."
"Don't be. Thinking positive thoughts leads to positive outcomes, and vice versa," he admitted.
His gaze had dropped, locked now on her lips. As he began to incline his head toward hers, her lungs expanded. How terrifying that, in ten minutes' time, he had captivated her all over again. Even as a young man, a mere tadpole to the Bullfrog he would become, he had inspired her infatuation. Imagine the influence he could wield over her heart as the self-realized warrior he'd become... if she let him.
In the next instant, his supple lips brushed hers with the same intensity as the night before but far more gently. Beguiled by the sweet pressure of his mouth, she parted her lips. With a languorous stroke of his tongue, he turned her world on its axis.
Her thoughts flashed back to the moment in her office that had tipped the scales of their relationship. She'd come so close to giving him all of herself, only to push him away for the sake of her marriage. Yet her marriage was over—and there was nothing standing in the way of letting their natural inclinations take over.
Belated panic ricocheted through her, pinging from the tips of her toes to the ends of her fingers. Pulling free of his light embrace, she faced the sea again, gasping for air.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him grip the railing with a white-knuckled hand. Silence fell between them.
"I shouldn't have told you all that," he said at last. "Do you think I'm crazy?"
"Not at all," Emma insisted.
Against her better judgment, she covered his hand with hers. She told herself to let go at once, but the smooth swells of his knuckles tempted her to stroke them with her thumb. "Do you still play guitar?" she asked.
He had played for her once in her office, his knuckles rippling as his dexterous fingers plucked the strings.
"Don't get much chance to practice," he answered on a rueful note, staring down at their touching hands. "There are always windmills to attack, and more online classes to take."
"Are you working on a master's? A doctorate?"
"Neither. Still finishing up my bachelor's degree."
Reluctantly removing her hand from his, she swiveled to face him
. "You didn't graduate?" No wonder she hadn't heard his name at commencement.
"No, I left that semester and never went back."
"Oh, Jeremiah!" Dismay had her clapping a hand to her heart. "I'm so sorry."
"You already apologized," he reminded her. "I'm not sorry. You were the best thing that ever happened to me."
Panic jolted her a second time. "Don't say that," she pleaded. "What we feel right now—what we felt then—it isn't real."
His eyebrows shot up. "It isn't real?"
"No, I've read all about this. What we're feeling is a biochemical reaction involving hormones and endorphins. It renders the victims completely blind to the other person's faults and unable to think logically. Psychologists have even given it a name—limerence."
"Limerence," he repeated, dubiously.
"Yes, it lasts between six months and up to two years, sometimes longer if the relationship is illicit, but it's only temporary. And once limerence fades, reality returns, and suddenly you see the other person for who they really are."
He rubbed his forehead and briefly closed his eyes. "Let me get this straight. You're saying love isn't real?" he asked.
The L-word gave her a start. "Falling in love isn't real," she corrected him. "It's actually just a temporary madness."
He cocked a disbelieving eyebrow. "Then Tennyson was wrong to say 'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all'?"
"Absolutely." She spoke with confidence—after all, she could have avoided the pain and the disillusionment of Eddie's betrayal if she'd never fallen in love with him. But her heart gave a pang of remorse at the idea of not getting to explore the feelings she felt for this particular man standing next to her.
Jeremiah folded his arms across his broad chest. "If no one had ever fallen in love, imagine the detriment to art and literature. Every masterpiece ever created was probably a product of—limerence, is that the term? And for the record, I've always seen you for exactly who you are," he added with a glint in his eyes.
His clever reasoning put a crack in her argument. If she weren't careful, she would lower her guard and let limerence persuade her that what they felt was real. Even worse, Jeremiah himself wanted to convince her that love was an inspiring and enduring force.
Confusion assaulted her. "I'm sorry, I don't know if this is a good idea."
"What?" He cocked his head. "This?" He gestured at the cruise ship under their feet and the ocean spread out before them. "Or this?" He gently stroked his thumb across her lips, teasing her with the promise of more to follow.
She turned her head away to avoid his tempting touch. "I need to think about what I'm doing." Her voice wavered with uncertainty. "I'll see you." Pivoting on her sandals, she hurried to the steps, all the while hoping that he would chase after her and reassure her that it was safe to feel this way.
How pathetic was that?
Love wasn't safe. Love wasn't even real. Plus, he was a Navy SEAL. Hadn't she read somewhere that ninety percent of SEAL marriages ended in divorce? And why was she even thinking of marriage when all she'd had in mind was a bit of fun? Knowing Jeremiah's effect on her, she ought to have kept as far away from him as possible.
Hurrying down the stairs, she sent one last glance back at him. He stood exactly where she'd left him, arms folded over his chest, his expression contemplative but not in the least bit discouraged.
* * *
At Emma's disappearance, Jeremiah swung around and faced the wind. She must have picked up that nonsense about limerence from a self-help book when her failed marriage had left her looking for a reason.
Well, damn him for a fool. On top of trying to keep her safe, now he wanted to prove to her she was wrong.
But first he needed to know what the hell was going to happen on this ship. Gripping the rail hard, he focused his energies on trying to see what lay ahead. Envisioning their navigational route, he remote-viewed the Island of Roatan, Honduras, rising from the sea—mountainous and quilted by a tropical rainforest. Was that where the hostile forces would board the ship or were they already here, waiting for just the right moment in which to strike?
The previous night, following a disappointing conversation with the tight-lipped security officer, Jeremiah had searched the ship from stem to stern, poking his nose into places seen only by the staff, looking for the source of his disquiet.
There were a number of Middle Easterners working as part of the crew—mostly Syrian immigrants, part of the recent exodus out of war-torn Syria. But their country of origin didn't, in itself, make them suspect. There were also a number of Africans with Muslim ties on board. But was the mayhem he'd envisioned an act of terrorism born out of an aggressive militant jihad? Or was it a different entity all together?
If he wanted to insist that Tristan, Emma, and her family abort this trip, he needed to have proof that something would go wrong. Oddly, the more he attempted to see what happened next, the dimmer his visions became.
What the hell? Emma's bizarre lecture on the nature of love seemed to have shut down his receptivity. Suddenly, he couldn't pick up any energy—good or bad—coming toward them.
Opening his eyes, he rubbed his tight forehead and muttered a rare curse word.
At this rate, they would be set upon by trigger-happy terrorists, and he would be too late to save anyone.
Chapter 5
"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," Emma huffed as she peered into the treetops at the zip line fifty feet over their heads. Her thighs still burned from the long climb up to the first staging platform.
"You'll be fine." Juliet, who worked out regularly, didn't sound the least bit winded. Sammy had put them both to shame, bounding up the steps that zig-zagged to the top of a cliff.
Emma caught her sister's arm and squeezed it. "You know, I'm still not fond of heights."
"That's exactly why you need to do this. First you're going to overcome your fear, and then you're going to enjoy it," Juliet predicted.
Emma didn't see how anyone could enjoy herself dangling seventy feet in the air with nothing but a safety harness strapped around her upper thighs. A cold sweat enveloped her. "I wanted to relax on this cruise, not jumpstart my adrenal system."
"You need to jumpstart something," Juliet muttered.
Emma thought at once of Jeremiah and whether she ought to jumpstart her sex life. But how could she do that and not succumb to the illusions associated with limerence?
Jeremiah and Tristan had gone scuba diving in the glorious reef of Mahogany Bay. She suffered a moment's envy—until she remembered there were sharks.
At last, they reached the wooden shelter perched on the edge of the cliff. This would be their launching pad.
"Look, Mom!" Sammy stood on tiptoes at the edge of the platform, leaning her slender body out as far as she could to peer down into the verdant forest below.
"Honey, be careful!"
They had climbed up and over the tops of the trees. A sea of green leaves rolled away from them, edged in the distance by a turquoise ocean. Emma had to admit, the climb was worth the view. A pair of yellow parrots ascended from a gumbalimba tree, flew a short distance, and dived out of sight again. Jeremiah would probably recite a poem if he were there.
As one of the dark-skinned guides explained how the zip line worked, Emma's stomach roiled and her mouth turned dry. Resolving to view the world through her excited daughter's eyes, she watched in silent dread as Sammy, in full harness, stepped free of the ledge and started her smooth descent down the wires, laughing in delight.
Verses from one of Blake's Songs of Innocence poems trickled in bits and pieces through Emma's mind.
'When the green woods laugh with the voice of joy /And the dimpling stream runs laughing by; /'...She couldn't remember the next few lines until, 'Come live, and be merry, and join with me, / To sing the sweet chorus of 'Ha ha he!'
Juliet went next. And then it was Emma's turn. Terror ambushed her, turning her queasy. White-knuckling the
harness, she fought the urge to scream as the guide gave her a gentle shove off the platform.
She dropped. Air rushed up to greet her, cool and sweet with the scent of frangipani.
The line went taut and the harness caught her, carrying her in a rapid descent over leafy tree tops. The wind caressed her face. Leaves brushed the tips of her sandals. A tentative sense of security returned.
Down the line ahead of her, she could see Sammy leaning way back, angling her face to the sun and arching her back as she surrendered to the feeling of total freedom.
Emma relaxed her grip. Slightly. With a deep exhale, she released her fears and opened her senses to the brilliant greens and the exhilarating freedom that came from being airborne.
Juliet was right. She needed this.
Some experiences are worth the risk, she realized. She imagined Jeremiah risking his life day in and day out for his country's sake. No one could accuse him of not living life to its fullest. So what if her heart was at risk of falling prey to an illusion of love? If she let herself spend time with Jeremiah, she would have memories to cherish forever, just like this one.
* * *
"Dude, the reef was incredible. You feel any better?"
At Tristan's sudden entrance into their cabin, Jeremiah shoved the blueprints of the ship under his pillow, but he wasn't fast enough.
His colleague dropped a disbelieving gaze at the printouts. His diving mask had left a pale oval around his eyes and nose.
"What are you doing? I thought you were sick. Don't tell me you're studying for a class!"
Jeremiah chuckled. "You make studying sound like the vilest pastime imaginable." He showed him what he'd been trying to hide. "These are blueprints, not class notes. I'm doing research."
Silence. "On what?" Tristan drawled out the question.
"I've been getting some hits," Jeremiah confessed.
Friendly Fire (The Echo Platoon Series, Book 3) Page 5