In Too Deep (10 page)

"Is that where the boarding schools came in?"

"Sure, when I could convince Bev to let me enroll. She didn't much like traveling alone.

"It wasn't until I got into my mid-teens that I realized she was traipsing all over the world searching for my father, which was incredibly sad. Because of course he didn't want to be found, so that proved pretty fruitless. Eventually she gave up."

"And did you?"

"Did I what?"

"Give up looking for your father?"

She shrugged, her eyes clouded. "My mother eventually remarried, and I like my stepfather."

"Yet you came all the way here to see him."

"He invited me. I was curious."

"How long since you last saw him?"

"Six years. Can we change the subject? I'm kind of stressed about this meeting, and it's worse because he's not even here, so I have to wait for him to get back. Kind of like anticipating pulling off a Band-Aid."

She was too open. Too easy to read. Her father's defection had hurt, and she was reaching out to him. Michael could've saved her the time. Trevor Church cared for no one but himself. If she had an inkling of the man she was hoping to connect with, she'd charter a flight off the island tonight and never look back.

"Mind if we talk about something else?" she repeated.

"Sure. What would you like to talk about?"

"You. What do you do for a living, Michael Wright?"

"I'm a sail bum."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

Tally flinched at the sound of a bar fight breaking out inside the bar. Michael figured if he got really antsy he'd go check that out later.

"No goal to sail around the world faster than the last guy?"

"I'm in no hurry," he said lazily, and watched the shades come down over those expressive blue eyes.

She had pretty hands, with long, slender fingers and bright red polish, which he found a real turn-on. Her toenails sported the same color. She was perfectly groomed, apparently perfectly in control, and he was starting to get perfectly pissed off.

He'd preferred her off-kilter, slightly untidy and passionate, as she'd been onboard. He wondered who was the real Tally Cruise.

"What about hobbies?" she asked doggedly.

"I sail. I eat. I sleep."
Your father's been my hobby for the last year. Ask me anything you like. Chances are I'll know the answers. Not that you'd like to hear any of them
.

"No TV?"

"Nope. Not in years."

"Movies?"

"Nope."

"Friends?"

He picked up his fork and balanced it on a finger. "Nope."

"Don't you get lonely?" she asked, big eyes serious and full of compassion he didn't fucking well need.

"I don't think about it. Do your friends make you less lonely?"

"Of course."

"How?"

"How? We talk, and go to the movies, and do things together. Shop. Go to the gym. Laugh. Cry." She gave an eloquent shrug. "Things."

"And then you go home," he said, looking at her. "And you're alone. How do your friends keep the loneliness at bay then?"

"It must be pretty lonely sailing around the world all by yourself," Tally said, not answering his question.

"It's not," Michael said flatly, tossing the fork onto the table with a clatter. He preferred to be the one asking questions. She'd neatly turned the tables on him.

"Dinner here!" Auntie caroled as she waddled out onto the lanai, hands full, followed by a beautiful Tahitian girl carrying more plates.

Auntie set a platter before Tally—who of course looked suitably horrified by the enormous portions—and the plump, sloe-eyed girl sidled up to Michael to deliver his dinner personally. By the look in her dark eyes she'd have liked to serve up something a lot hotter than mahi mahi.

Michael smiled.

The girl smiled.

Tally snorted.

"This be Leli'a. My sister's baby, come to visit her old Auntie. She take good care of you. You just sing out you want something. You hear?" Auntie departed in a froth of bright fabric and bouncing body parts.

"I'd like another nap—"

"I'm off duty," Leli'a informed Tally swiftly, and spun on one bare heel to follow her aunt inside. There were a lot more interesting bouncy body parts on the niece. Her legs were a little short, but her yellow pareu had done little to cover a great expanse of milk coffee-colored skin, and some very nice jiggly parts.

Things were definitely looking up.

Tally's knife flew across the table.

It landed in the dirt floor, vibrating, point down, beside Michael's bare, left foot.

He cocked an eyebrow. "Did you do that one on purpose?"

"Of course not," she said with a straight face. "If I'd done it on purpose the knife would be in your foot, and not in the floor." She picked up her fork and stabbed her dinner with considerably more force than necessary. "You certainly seem to bring out some weird klutzy thing in me."

"Pent-up passion."

Fork halfway to her mouth, Tally regarded him thoughtfully. "Pent-up passion?"

"Sure. It has nowhere to go, so you fall over your own feet and fling cutlery at me. Perfectly obvious. You need to get rid of some of that sexual tension inside."

"Didn't I do that last night?"

"Sure, but that was yesterday's tension." There was humor in the way he said it, but enough truth to be flattering. It was hard not to appreciate the combination.

She put her fork down on her plate and opened her eyes very wide. "Really?"

"Absolutely. You need sex and lots of it. Administered by the right person, of course."

"Of course. Hmmm. I'm going to have to give this serious thought, Doctor…" She bit her lower lip and opened her eyes very wide. "With careful deliberation…" She cocked her head and gave him a sultry look. "I'm afraid I must… disagree. My problem isn't sexual tension, it's a deep-seated homicidal tendency." She smiled at him sweetly and picked up her fork. "If I stick to my medication, and stay away from attractive, half-naked men wearing eye patches, I think I'll recover in no time."

"You're a dangerous woman, Tally Cruise."

She met his gaze head-on without blinking. "I have no illusions. I know what I am, Michael," she said, all seriousness now. "And all flirting aside, I'm really
not
going to sleep with you again. I know I instigated it, and I'm certainly not sorry, but that was it. I don't respect women who say one thing and do another. I enjoy the flirting part, but I have to make it clear that it's hands-off for the duration."

"Honey, you have the final say, and I certainly appreciate you spelling it out for me. I'm just curious why, when we have such obvious chemistry, you want to put the kibosh on a good thing?"

"You're far too rich for my blood, Michael. I can't handle recreational sex. Trust me when I tell you this sophisticated façade is paper thin. Inside, I'm still that insecure little kid being dragged from pillar to post with my mother, and never quite fitting in."

"You fit me rather nicely last night."

"Yes. Let's cherish the memory," she said with a demure smile.

The mahi mahi was tender, cooked to perfection, and delicious. She dug into her meal with delicate greed. She wouldn't sleep with him again. Unfortunately. Tally knew herself too well. Michael Wright was charming, amusing, and sexy. She was halfway in lo—
lust
with him already.

One taste had been incredible; another would involve a part of her anatomy she wasn't prepared to give up to a wanderer. When she gave her heart completely, it would be to a man who had both feet firmly planted. She'd had precious little stability in her life, and over the years she'd carved out a place for herself. A place where she felt safe.

As sexy and attractive, and downright appealing as Michael Wright was, as incredible a lover as he was, he
wasn't
the hearth-and-home type.

Tally wasn't going to settle for anything less.

No matter how tempting the package.

"This is delicious, isn't it? Do you have a big family?" she asked curiously. Michael wanted to vault over the glass table and lick that sheen off her lush lips. He took a swig of his beer instead. The taste wasn't even close.

"No, wait," she said, sparkly eyed, before he could speak. "Let me guess."

"Go for it."

"You're how old? Forty?" she teased.

"Thirty-four."

"Oh. Hard childhood. You were an orphan. Foster families, cruel, inhumane, of course."

"Of course."

"You were a runaway, always in trouble." She cocked her head. "Hmm. What kind of trouble? You're too in control to do drugs. Numbers running? The ponies?"

His lips twitched. "Are you finished?"

"I don't know. Was it better? Worse?"

"What gives you the impression I was an orphan?"

She shrugged. "I read a lot. The hero always has some sort of angsty background."

He went still. "I'm no hero."

"Am I right about
any
of it?"

"Not even close. I have a kid sister I adore. Three brothers I'm crazy about, and a father I get on with very well."

"Oh. Well, I'm glad you weren't an orphan, anyway." She picked up her water glass and took a drink. "Can anything be done about your eye, or is it a permanent injury?"

Michael stared at her. No one.
No one
! Had ever asked about his eye. Even his family only knew the barest of details. "It's permanent. And I don't talk about it."

"Perhaps you should."

"I. Don't. Talk. About. It."

"Does it hurt?"

"No."

"You'll work through it, you know."

"What the hell are you? A psychiatrist?"

"Brooding doesn't appear to be in your nature—or at least not intrinsically. I imagine you're going through a learning period. A time of adjustment. When you've come to terms with it, you'll adjust beautifully, and go back to whatever you were doing before you decided to hide, while sailing the seven seas."

"Jesus, Tally Cruise, are you for real?"

Chapter Six

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Tally rolled over and punched her pillow. She'd upset Michael with her questions about his eye. Why couldn't she learn to shut up? Sometimes her brain disengaged from her mouth, and she just blurted out her thoughts before filtering them.

She'd like to blame him for her open-mouth-insert-foot comments. Damn it, he'd sat there, bare and delicious looking—and
reasonable
!—and had expected her to have a rational conversation? Tally groaned. This was absolutely the most ridiculous, the most
inappropriate
behavior. She'd been shocked at the salacious thoughts dancing through her mind while she'd watched him eating.

At one point, when he'd dropped that slice of melon on his chest, she'd stared at the damp spot it left behind and had fantasized how the combination of Michael and melon would taste.

She rolled over again. Too hot. Too wound up to go to sleep, and punched the stupid, not down, pillow. "Get out of my head, blast you!"

She tugged the front of her pajamas away from her far too sensitive nipples, and scissored her legs to find a cool spot on the tangled sheets.
That
was a bad idea.

She rolled over again, eyes squeezed shut.
You are getting sleepy
… horny was more like it!

Sleeeepy, damn it. Verry veryyy sleeeepy…

Nope. Wasn't working. She wasn't the least bit sleepy.

Self-hypnosis was a bust, and she didn't want to count sheep. What she wanted was Michael Wright in bed, inside her.

She stared at the ceiling, softly lit by the dim glow of the night-light, and tried to convince herself that not repeating their sexual encounter was the right thing. Okay, fine. It had
felt
right at the time, but now she was reasonably rational, she had no excuse.

She turned over on her tummy. It wasn't as though the man
meant
anything to her. How could he? After such a short time? Women needed emotional involvement as well as physical release. At least
she
did…

Tally groaned. Was she trying to talk herself into taking the easy road and sleeping with him again? God only knew, her body was rarin' to go.

Sleeepy.

Nope. Cold turkey was the right thing to do here.

Why was
he
so blasted intriguing? Tally flopped over onto her back. She'd never lost sleep over any other man, but then, she'd never felt this kind of erotic heat in her life. She liked the feeling too much, so it couldn't possibly be good for her. She wriggled onto her side, punched the pillow, groaned, then turned on her stomach.

Not only was it inappropriate to say the least, the feelings weren't reciprocal. Which basically made her pathetic.

Michael Wright had slept with her because she'd crawled into his bed and let him do whatever he'd wanted with her. And, God help her, let her do whatever she'd wanted to him. Her cheeks flamed. Holy cow, she couldn't believe some of the things she'd done to his body. Michael Wright knew what he was doing in the lovemaking department, that's for sure. But she wasn't sure he was fully engaged in the exchange.

Sleeepy. Very, very sleepy.

"Oh, for Pete's sake!" She was ready for this night to end. She buried her face in the pillow. She wanted to sleep. She needed sleep. Tally lifted her head and flipped the pillow over to the cool side. It didn't help that it was barely ten p.m. when she'd come to bed. Far too early. No wonder she couldn't—

Her eyes flew open as a barely audible sound superimposed itself over the faint hum of voices from the bar below.

Was that Michael coming upstairs to bed? Her entire body tensed, as if for action. Would he stop outside her door, hoping she was awake? Would he be tempted to come in?

"You are such a wuss," she whispered. "Get a grip." She didn't hear the noise again and tried to relax.

Her bedroom door snicked open.

Wait a minute…

Her
door?