Love At Last Page 6

  Deacon winced as the man stepped front and center. “Not the air guitar.”

  “Yep. He’s bringing out his air guitar. They are seriously going to regret that tomorrow.”

  “Maybe sooner.

  In silent agreement, they walked on until the sound of the ocean reclaimed the night.

  “Windy,” she said, looking overhead. The palm fronds waved and rustled almost violently even though the night was clear enough and the moon was bright enough to light their way.

  A fine mist blew off the water, and Clare shivered.

  “Cold?” He rubbed his hands up and down her arms.

  “A little.”

  He pulled her back against him and wrapped her up, giving her his warmth. For a moment they just stood, bathed in the silver light of the moon spreading across the ocean.

  “Speaking of regrets,” he said, turning her to face him. It was unlike him to act spontaneously or to make plans before he’d worked through every scenario and sorted out all the arrangements. But Clare made it hard to think. “I was thinking of staying until Friday. Unless you’d rather spend the rest of your lady-moon alone.”

  Her lips curved up in a slow smile. “No.” Her voice was soft and breathless. Her big dark eyes stared up at him.

  “No what? Me staying or you spending the rest of your week alone? And I don’t want to sway you, but… I might need a little more time to redeem all of mankind. I wouldn’t want you going home until your mind is at ease on that.”

  “Ah. That’s nice of you.”

  “I thought so.”

  “Well…” She drew out the word, maybe taking a moment to think about it. “I’d say…that’s a really good idea. Are you saying it?”

  “Yes.” Even if the edge of guilt did burn for not returning home when he’d planned. But he hadn’t planned on this—on Clare. Sure as hell hadn’t been looking for it. He’d have to call home, make sure it would work, iron out the details. “I’ll still have my own room. The conference blocked them out for the entire week.”

  “Wow. You’ve really thought this through.”

  “I told you,” he said, sliding his arms around her waist. “Dinner was boring.”

  Her sexy mouth was already tempting, then she licked her lips and rolled them together. Damn. Just the thought of taking that mouth had his heart thundering and his body hot. It’d been so long he’d almost decided those days were over. He’d been wrong. “I’m having a really hard time not kissing you right now.”

  “You are?”

  “Mmm.” The questions buzzing in his head were nearly deafening. Was she soft all over? Did she like to be loved hard and fast or soft and slow? He could imagine doing both.

  “But you said—”

  “I know. And you also said.”

  “I know,” she whispered.

  But still, he pulled her closer, their combined breaths mixing with the wind. Then his lips were on hers. He kissed her like he’d been dying to, tried for slow and gentle, but it wasn’t easy. Not when her taste shot through him and her scent tossed around him like the silky strands of her hair.

  His tongue brushed against hers in a sensual dance of thrust and retreat. He speared the fingers of one hand through her hair, while the other stroked down her back, lower and lower still. The little sounds she made vibrated through him, driving him crazy, and his fingers tightened in her hair.

  He lifted his head, thinking a smart man knew when to step back, but with one look into her upturned face, he knew he wasn’t that smart. He kissed a path across her jaw and down her throat, forgetting everything but Clare. There was nothing but the sweet taste of her skin, her body pressed against his, and the sound of the ocean pounding beside them.

  His hunger for her staggered him, and he had to draw back before he laid her down and took her right here in the sand. But that wasn’t what she needed or what he wanted. One quick flash of heat in the sand with Clare wouldn’t be nearly enough.

  Breathing hard, he rested his forehead against hers and took a minute. He swiped his thumb over her cheek then ran both hands down her arms until their fingers were linked. He held them there at her sides, mostly to keep himself from putting his own anywhere, and everywhere, else. “I think I should walk you back to your room.”

  “Okay,” she said, her own voice soft and more than a little breathless.

  He lifted his head, and the smile she gave him hit him square in the chest. It filled him up and knocked him flat at the same time.

  He’d make the calls, make the plans to stay. But he was already afraid even that wasn’t going to be nearly enough.

  * * *

  CLARE STOOD IN THE prearranged meeting spot for her snorkel excursion at exactly one o’clock the next day. Three couples stood with her in the semicircle. Young newlyweds—they’d announced that fact to the group upon arrival—playfully dabbed sunscreen on each other’s noses and cheeks. Clare imagined they’d done the same with their wedding cake icing.

  An elderly couple held hands, talking softly to each other. A tall, serious-faced man and woman stood at attention, waiting for instructions.

  Clare shifted under the harsh sun beating down on her head and shoulders. She thought longingly of her spot in the shade. The excursion was already paid for, though, and she didn’t want to waste it. Besides, it would do her good to get out and talk to someone other than Deacon.

  And after the kiss last night, she hadn’t thought of much else.

  A shortish man with bulging upper arms and ebony skin smiled in the center of the group. “Hello, hello. I am Isaac, your handsome guide on the beautiful waters today. And this is Manuel, your not-so-handsome boat driver. But don’t worry, I will be there to make sure we go smooth sailing.” He scanned the semicircle, mentally counting people and checking his clipboard. He stopped at Clare. “You are one?”

  She felt the eyes of the group watching her. “Yes. One.”

  “Two,” a deep voice said. “We’re two.”

  Clare swung around and lost her breath at the sight of Deacon strolling up behind her. He wore navy swim trunks, a gray T-shirt that fit across his chest in just the perfect way, and dark sunglasses. Her stomach took a happy dive, and a huge smile spread across her face.

  He handed a piece of paper to Isaac then came to stand beside her. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  “No. I don’t mind.” Deacon Montgomery: savior of animals, fearful of public speaking, and skilled dancer. And she felt herself getting lost.

  “Okay,” Isaac said, turning. “We have our number six. Everyone has signed the waiver, and no one gets seasick, yes?”

  The young couple laughed, and the man hugged her close. “We’re not sure.”

  “We will find out soon. And if you get sick, we have a rope to pull you back to shore.”

  The group laughed as Isaac continued with his good-natured jokes and led them down the beach, where their boat waited.

  “So you’re staying?” Clare asked Deacon.

  “I am.” His tone when he said it and the way he took her hand made her heart stumble.

  The mostly white, mid-sized boat idled in the shallow surf. Another man she assumed was Manuel stood at the helm. Isaac gave the group instructions on how to wait for the wave to recede then quickly climb the ladder before the next rush of water pushed them against the boat.

  When their turn came, Deacon ushered her in front of him. She felt his hands on her waist and his body at her back, making sure she boarded without incident.

  Once on board, they took seats on a bench in the back near the elderly couple and the newlyweds. The young couple were locked in a stare of love and devotion, and she imagined their biggest disagreement to be who loved who more. But they were cute.

  “Sorry.” The young girl dodged her groom’s kiss. “We just got married.”

  “You go right ahead and kiss him, honey,” the older woman said.

  The girl turned her smile back to her groom, happiness oozing from every pore. She went on
to tell them all how she and her new husband had been college sweethearts. “Our parents thought we should wait, but life is short, right? Why wait? How long have you two been married?” the young bride asked the elderly woman.

  “Fifty-four beautiful years.” She squeezed her husband’s arm.

  “Any secrets?” the young man asked.

  “Keep kissing,” the older man said then laughed. “And learn the phrase ‘whatever you say, dear.’ That’s the secret to a happy marriage.”

  They all smiled, and Clare wanted to ask them how to know when love was real. She’d liked Adam, had loved the idea of being married to him. Of having children and spending her days at the park with a toddler on her hip and a baby in a stroller. She’d decorate a house and plant a garden, try new recipes for Adam to rate when he came home from work. She’d make a home and together they’d raise children and get a dog and go on vacations and—

  And it was all lovely. But it wasn’t love.

  “And what about you two?” the older woman asked her. “Are you on your honeymoon?”

  “Umm…no.” She groaned inwardly, tempted to sneak a glance at Deacon.

  Thankfully, the motor started up, loud enough to drown out all conversation. The boat bounded up and over the waves rolling toward shore, tossing Clare’s stomach along with each dip and rise. At the first jerk, Deacon slipped his arm around her, his hand cupping her bare shoulder. His thigh, pressed to hers, was thick and muscled and warm.

  As the waves leveled out, they picked up speed, and Clare turned her face into the wind. They passed empty virgin beaches backed by rain forest, where misty gray clouds hung over the mountains. The hull of the boat slammed over the water, and Isaac whooped with laughter. An unexpected shock of ocean spray had her curling into Deacon’s side. He wrapped his other arm around her, pulling her so tight that she felt the rumble of his laughter, and she laughed too.

  They continued on until the boat slowed, and Isaac stood and pointed off to the right. “Sea turtles! This is not our stop, but we can say hello to my friends.”

  The boat bobbed and rocked as Isaac passed out some kind of pellet-like food, and they all strained to get a look.

  Clare stood and leaned over the side. Deacon came to stand behind her, his hands braced against the boat, his muscled arms caging her in. If she even breathed, his chest would touch her back. She wanted to take the deepest breath.

  “Here.” He reached one hand around in front of her and held out the food Isaac had distributed.

  The boat was too high for her to reach the water, so she dropped it the twelve inches or so off the tips of her fingers. The group watched with bated breath as the turtles came closer. Their flippers fanned back and forth in the water, their heads just breaking the surface.

  A mouth opened slowly, taking the food Clare had dropped.

  “Aww. He’s beautiful. I’ve never seen a sea turtle. Have you?”

  “No.” He held his hand over the side to drop more food. “Pretty cool.” His deep voice was right at her ear, making her shiver in the heat.

  They watched in silent awe. Beams of sunlight pierced the clear-blue water, giving their shelled bodies an ethereal shimmer. “I wish I had a camera.”

  “Here. Turn around.” Deacon pulled his cell from his pocket. “I can’t get the turtles, but I can get you and the water.”

  She threw her arms out to the beauty and smiled for the picture.

  “Nice. Give me your number later, and I’ll send it to you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Time to say goodbye,” Isaac called. “We have more to see.”

  They took their seats, and the boat sped up again. Deacon sat close, his arm along the rail behind her. The wind tossed his brown hair back from his forehead and plastered his cotton T-shirt against his sculpted chest. It was intimate and very couple-ish, and she felt an odd flip in her belly that she’d never gotten sitting close to Adam.

  “Okay, now,” Isaac said when the boat came to a stop again. “It’s time to let it all hang out! Let’s see those bikinis!” He pulled off his shirt and swung it over his head like a lasso. Or a stripper. His partner laughed and shook his head as both guides went to the back of the boat and began dragging equipment out.

  Clare had already pulled off her cover-up. Without the wind, her skin went from warm to hot in seconds, reminding her she didn’t want to burn. “I’m going to need more sunscreen.” She went for her bag and looked up just in time to see Deacon get rid of his T-shirt and Holy Mother. She’d had a good idea of what he might look like after dancing with him, but her ideas hit far below the actual mark. Golden-brown skin covered lean, sculpted muscle from his shoulders to his abs. The man had a body that belonged on magazine covers. Billboards.

  Deacon held out his hand, and enthralled as she was, she mutely placed her palm in his.

  “I meant the sunscreen,” Deacon said, his voice low and amused.

  “Oh. Right.” She slapped the bottle into his hand and spun around.

  She barely held in her sigh at the first touch of Deacon’s hands. Gentle and efficient, his palms glided over her shoulders, down her sides, then back up. He covered every exposed inch, even running a finger along the edge of her bikini bottoms. Despite the glaring sun, chills broke out on her arms.

  “What about your legs?” he asked, that deep voice right at her ear.

  “I—” She cleared her throat. “I can do those. Let me do your back,” she said, turning. “And don’t say you never burn. That may be true, but that’s not the only reason to wear sunscreen.” And I want to touch you.

  “I wouldn’t say no.”

  “If you did,” the older man said as his wife covered his face in white zinc, “I’d say you were a lot dumber than you look. A beautiful woman wants to rub lotion on your back, you let her.”

  A moment of silence, please, Clare thought as she ran her hands over Deacon’s back. Smooth skin, lean muscle. She covered every inch, twice.

  They took their equipment and followed Isaac’s instructions. Clare let out a squeak when she hit the water. Isaac had called it refreshing. She called it freezing. But Deacon was waiting, so she reached forward and fanned her flippers to reach him.

  “You good?”

  “Yeah.” Except her teeth were chattering.

  Deacon’s arm came around her. Oh…that’s much better. The water was cold, but Deacon was…hot. She held onto his shoulders above the water. Warm and wet and—

  “Swim!” Isaac yelled, pointing to the outcropping of rocks away from the boat.

  Right. Swim. Snorkel. See fish.

  “Let’s go.” Deacon put in his mouthpiece then took her hand.

  Together, they swam, faces down, scanning the world below. The sun shot rays of wavering light straight through the crystal water to the sandy bottom. Her breathing sounded like a wind tunnel.

  A bright-blue fish darted under her. A million colors surrounded her. Deacon pointed to a sea anemone, and with their hands linked, they watched it wave softly in the shallow water. Floating on top of the water, her loud breathing rhythmic, she got lost in a world where there was only her and Deacon.

  Chapter 7

  AFTER SNORKELING, THEY MOVED to a narrow, secluded beach for an hour of free time. Several yards from the ocean, a line of palm trees grew wild, hanging over the sand as if reaching for the water, fighting for first sunlight.

  The couples paired off again. Clare and Deacon walked a little way, then she spread her towel on the sand. Deacon hadn’t brought one, which made her smile. Such a man. “I’ll share,” she offered.

  “No, you’re a girl. You take the towel.”

  Rolling her eyes, Clare sat then lay back. He dropped onto the sand beside her and a minute later laid his head in her lap.

  “See,” he said smiling up at her, his eyes squinting against the sun. “It pays not to bring a towel.”

  With a bit of wonder, she brushed her fingers through his damp hair. His head was heavy in her lap. Reggae m
usic played from the boat, and Isaac poured drinks from a cooler he and Manuel had carried onto the sand.

  Eyes closed, she lifted her face toward the sun. “I could really use a mango tango right now.”

  “What in the hell is a mango tango?”

  “It’s a drink. A really good drink.” She breathed out a relaxed sigh.

  “A girlie drink?”

  “I don’t know. I’m sure anyone with good taste would like it. What do you want? Bourbon or something more manly?”

  “I’d take a nice cold beer.”

  “You probably also drink Mountain Dew. The kind with the camo packaging.”

  He laughed. “You probably drink grape soda.”

  “As a matter of fact, I do like grape soda. You know what I was thinking when we were snorkeling?” Clare asked.

  “I’m sure I have no idea.”

  “Did you see that movie where the people went snorkeling and then the boat left them out there?”

  “No.”

  “Well, it happened, and it’s a true story. There was no land in sight, and they had to tread water for like a day and were eventually eaten by sharks.”

  “That’s what you were thinking while we were gazing upon God’s beautiful underwater creation?”

  “Not the whole time.” She pouted. “Just part of the time.”

  “If it was a true story, how does anyone know they got eaten by sharks?”

  “I guess they don’t. I mean, they never found them, so they really have no idea what happened to them. That’s the sad part.”

  “That’s the sad part?”

  She laughed. “Okay. It was sad before that.”

  “And morbid. Is that your favorite movie?”

  “No. I was just telling you about it.” She thumped his head lightly.

  “So what is?”

  “What?”

  “Your favorite movie.”

  “Gladiator. Hands down best movie ever.”

  He looked at her, surprised. “So violent.” He rubbed his head where she’d thumped him.