Hale's Point (17 page)

She turned around. “One…”

He braced his good leg against the wall.

“Two…” She positioned her arms. Shaking his head, he did the
same.

“Three…” She glanced back at him. As soon as he saw her face,
he knew, hopeless or not, that he had to give it his all. He had to try. He had
to have her. Against his better judgment, he braced his bad leg next to the
good one for extra power in the push-off.

“Go!”

Her feet sprang up behind her and she flutter-kicked forward
as Tucker pushed away from the wall. In his competition days, he’d shoot a good
third of the length of the pool before he had to start stroking. This time, he
made it just a few yards.

The pain—in his chest as well as his leg—began the moment he
left the wall. He willed it from his conscious thought, as he had trained
himself to do, but it wasn’t easy. Every stroke, every kick, renewed it. His
form was abominable, not only because of the pain, but because critical muscle
groups in his left leg and chest were all but useless. Almost immediately he
knew that there was no way he could possibly catch her. Lifting his head to
take a breath, he saw her, reaching out to touch the deck at the deep end. He
had only just entered the deep end.

Disgusted, he came to a stop and trod water, but that hurt
almost as much as swimming. When she looked over her shoulder at him, he turned
away and glided to the side of the pool. He held on to the deck and realized he
was slightly winded, despite the brevity of the swim. He never used to get
winded when he swam as a teenager. But he never used to smoke back then,
either, except for the occasional Marlboro he and Phil would sneak from his
dad.

Would he even be able to push himself up onto the deck, or
would he have to use the steps? He growled a raw oath before he realized that
Harley was coming up behind him.

She hung on to the deck next to him. “I don’t generally hear you
swear very much,” she said. “Except for the occasional ‘damn.’”

His smile was more of a grimace. “It’s an absurd souvenir
from my Hale’s Point upbringing. I don’t like to swear in front of women.”

“I don’t think it’s absurd. I think it’s sweet.”

“Sweet?” Laughing wearily, he said, “I’m doomed. Not only am
I a physical wreck and completely unlucky in love, now I’m sweet.”

She said, “You made it halfway. That’s not bad.”

“How much of you do I get for halfway?”

“Well, none.”

“Then it
is
bad.”

He decided he had rested his body enough to try to get out of
the pool. Pushing with both arms against the deck and grunting with the effort,
he made it in one try, to his immense relief. Sitting on the deck, he felt
something in his back pocket, groaned, pulled out his wallet, and shook its
sodden contents out onto the concrete. His money, snapshots, licenses, and
business cards were completely soaked and would have to be spread out somewhere
to dry, or else discarded. Ironically, the only unaffected items were the ones
he had the least use for: the two little square packets labeled
Trojan
. He noticed Harley’s gaze linger
on the condoms for a moment and then flick away. He stuffed everything back
into the wallet, replaced it in his pocket, and leaned over to massage the
aching muscles of his left leg.

“Are you in pain?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I didn’t want this to hurt you,” she said, her voice small. “Or
depress you. I just wanted to inspire you. Maybe I’m just not as inspirational
as Eve Markham—”

“Oh, honey…” A tendril of hair hung across her eyes, and he
leaned over to tuck it behind her ear. “You are very inspirational. Trust me,
my effort was heroic, even if the results weren’t.”

She propelled herself out of the water with fluid ease and
sat next to him. After a few moments of silence, she wrapped her arms around
her
updrawn
knees and said, “Maybe you’ll have better
luck tomorrow.”

She was staring off toward the diving board. He strained to
meet her eyes, then finally just took her by the chin and turned her head to
face him. “Tomorrow? You want to do this again tomorrow?”

“Sure. This is supposed to be physical therapy for you. That’s
not just a one-shot deal, you know that. Improvement takes time. I figured we
could do this every day, during my evening swim.”

He searched her eyes. He was certain that she had originally
intended this as a one-time-only challenge. “Why are you doing this? Really.”

She seemed to be choosing her words carefully. “I want you to
get better. Really. I like you. You’ve been good to me. You took care of me
yesterday when I was sick. Let’s just say I’m paying you back.”

“Yeah, but aren’t you concerned that I’ll catch you and you’ll
have to pay up? Are you really willing to go that far in the interests of my
rehabilitation?”

“Maybe I’m just dead sure you’ll never catch me,” she said
smugly.

“Maybe you’re dead wrong.”

“Maybe I am. But don’t worry. I know a deal’s a deal. If I
lose, I’ll pay up.”

“Do you really consider it losing?” He leaned toward her and
murmured into her ear, “Who knows? You may like it.” He took her chin again and
turned her face toward his, but just as his lips brushed hers, she abruptly
turned away.

“Probably not.”

He paused. “Hey, I may be out of practice, but I still know
how to—”

“I’m not talking about you,” she said, without looking at
him. “I’m talking about me. I just don’t want you to get your hopes up,
thinking it’s going to be… I don’t know, some kind of night of unbridled
passion. I don’t think I’m very…
responsive.”

He rested a hand on her shoulder. “I know you’re
inexperienced.”

She shook her head. “I mean, I don’t think I can…” She sighed.
“I had this boyfriend in college, Brian. He was always trying to get me to…
you know….”

“I can take an educated guess.”

“But I just never wanted to, and he said I was, that I was
probably… that I couldn’t—”

“He said you were frigid?” She nodded. “Oh, honey, that word
should be stricken from every dictionary in existence. There is no such thing.
Just men who don’t know what they’re doing.” He leaned toward her, kissed her
throat, and said, “I’m not one of them.”

“I don’t know. Brian said—”

“Brian’s an idiot.”

“No, he’s not.”

“Sure, he is. He let
you
get away, didn’t he?”

A satisfied little smile slipped past her defenses. “Who said
you weren’t smooth?” She rose to her feet and he struggled to his, waving away
her attempt to help. “I’ll go get your cane.”

He draped an arm over her shoulder. “I can just use you. If
you don’t mind.” After a brief hesitation, she circled an arm around his waist.
The spaghetti straps of her suit were tied in single-knotted bows, not double
as he would have expected. As they walked, he imagined taking one end of each
bow and pulling. In his mind’s eye the suit peeled down like the skin of a
fruit.

When they got to the chaise longue, she extended her hand. “So
I take it we have a deal?”

He took her hand and drew her toward him, encircling her with
his arms and leaning down to take her mouth with his.

He kissed her with unthinking passion, tasting her ripe lips,
probing between them until his tongue met hers.

After a brief hesitation, she returned the kiss, wrapping her
arms around him and molding herself against him, her soft breasts crushed to
his chest, her hips pressed to his. She was so warm and wet and sleek, she felt
like no woman he had ever held. His hands traced hungry paths over her back,
sliding down to cup her small, round bottom, pressing her toward him. Her
nipples stiffened against his chest, and his body stirred in response. She felt
it and broke the kiss, gasping, “Tucker…”

She tried to pull back, but he held her tight, murmuring
hoarse words into her ear. “Forget the deal. Make love to me. Now.” He tried to
claim her mouth again, but she turned aside and pushed away from him. He let up
on his grip and they stood for a few breathless moments in a loose embrace.

“It’s best my way,” she breathed. “It has to be my way or not
at all. That’s my only offer.”

He emptied his lungs in a ragged sigh. “Wow, you drive a hard
bargain.”

She held her hand out. “Is it a deal?”

He wrapped his big hand around her small one and shook. “Deal.”

***

Harley looked up from her book when she heard the telltale
creaking stair. That sound was soon followed by others—the thump of the cane,
the muffled footsteps in the hall outside her bedroom door.

Again? They had made their deal just that evening. Was he
already tired of waiting?

But no, the footsteps passed her door and continued on down
the hall. She heard another door open and close; its characteristic squeak told
her it was the door to
R.H.’s
suite. What did he want
in there?

After a few minutes of hearing nothing more, she settled back
against her pillows, wondering what had possessed her to actually go ahead and
make such a deal. Was it as simple as what she had told Tucker, that she wanted
to inspire him to rehabilitate himself? Certainly she did want that, but she knew
that she had also shocked the hell out of him, which was rather satisfying
after all his comments about how uptight she was. On reflection, though, the
most important purpose of the deal was to ensure that their relationship
remained platonic. She certainly couldn’t trust Tucker to draw that line, but
neither could she trust herself. When he kissed her, she knew that she could
give herself to this man, heart, soul, and body, despite her many misgivings
about life-styles, values, goals, and dreams. And what then? He would bolt.
Probably immediately, and probably without saying goodbye. And she didn’t think
she could bear that.

Hence the value of the deal. They both respected it; they
would both abide by it. And, of course, he would never catch her. In September,
when his father came home, he would leave, and she would probably never see him
again. Because she cared for him, she would miss him. But missing him was
better than hating him.

She closed her eyes and took some deep breaths to clear her
thoughts, then opened her book and continued reading. This was a much more
absorbing book than
Priorities for the
Successful Manager,
and she found she didn’t want to put it down and go to
sleep. About an hour passed by, and then she heard the footsteps again. This time
they did stop outside her door, and then came the two soft knocks.

Again she looked down at herself. Tonight an oversize T-shirt
served as her nightgown. She adjusted it so that it covered her leopard-print
panties, but stopped short at pulling up the sheet, remembering that he had,
after all, seen her naked. How coy did she really need to be?

“Come in.”

He didn’t hesitate in the doorway this time, but walked right
up to her and tilted his head to try to read the title of her book, which she
immediately covered with her hand. “What is it tonight?
How to Make Enough Money to Pay for Your Therapy?
” He reached for
the book and she held it away from him, but he snatched it out of her hand,
laughing delightedly when he found out what it was. “The
Kama Sutra
! I told you you’d like it!”

He handed it back to her and she took it, feeling the warm
blush crawl up her throat and over her face. “
You’re
in a good mood,” she said.

“Endorphins,” he explained, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I’ve
been working out in the gym.”

“Ah!” That explained his appearance. He wore a gray T-shirt
soaked through with sweat, navy gym shorts, and old running shoes. Strands of
wet hair hung over his forehead, and he raked them back with his fingers.

He said, “The only way I’m ever going to make good time in
the pool again is to develop the muscles that have deteriorated since the
crash. Mainly my left
pec
and left quad. So I’ve
tailored my workout for plenty of work in those areas— lots of leg extensions
and leg presses, cross flies, bench presses…. You don’t mind spotting me on
the bench press tomorrow, do you? We can work out together. You spot me, I’ll
spot you.”

She nodded mutely. She had never seen him so animated, and
she didn’t quite know how to take it.

He went on. “Of course, I can’t just work those few muscle
groups. I’ve got to get the whole body into condition if I want to be really
fast. When I was competing, I was a bullet in the water. No one could touch me.
I’m going to train the way my swim coach had me train back then. An hour of
weight work a day, in split sessions, alternating upper- and lower-body work.
Plus, every day, a hundred crunches and a hundred push-ups. He also used to
have us run five miles, but I’m going to substitute forty-five minutes on the
rowing machine. And, of course, laps, as many as I can manage. My goal is a
hundred. So what do you think?”

“I think—I think you’re going to be in pretty good—”