Island Promises (10 page)

“Captain Bligh there”—Riley inclined her head to where Joe and Anthony were swabbing down the decks—“would never turn on the air-conditioning for his crew. The good stuff is only for the paying customers, not the people who literally keep his business afloat.”

For half-an-hour more they cleaned in silence, the sticky conditions sapping any desire to talk.

“You ready?” Anthony came halfway down the ladder.

His forehead glistened from sweat and his tank stuck to his skin like a wet suit. Framed in the opening he looked strong and formidable and downright sexy.

Mitchell must have thought so, too, because he blew past Riley, nearly knocking into the settee, to stow the cleaning supplies and gather his belongings in record time. Then he shot up the companionway. Before she could even say goodbye, Mitchell and Anthony were in the Jeep, roaring away from the dock.

In the still, humid air, the sound of the motor sputtering could be heard to almost the end of the marina. When it finally died, the quiet that settled was unnerving.

Her motivation for any more work left the marina with Mitchell and Anthony. She stood, hanging onto the rigging watching them go. Then she turned her attention out to sea. The storm was still far out over the open ocean but even from here she could smell the burnt charge of lightning and feel the deep rumbles of thunder. The squall was impressive in its size and its fury. There was a crackling sense of anticipation, a jittery waiting for the behemoth to be unleashed and rock the world. In the still, heavy air, nature was holding her breath before all hell broke loose.

“You need to come below.” Joe’s hand appeared above hers on the rigging.

The charged atmosphere attracted their bodies like magnets to metal. Riley imagined particles of sweat floating back and forth between them, settling on different skin, bringing different smells and feels.

She turned from the storm and found herself within inches of Joe. So close she could see the hairs standing out around his tank top, feel the heat off his skin. Her face was inches from his chest but she didn’t look up and he didn’t move.

“It’s so hot,” she whispered.

He took her hand, their fingers entwining, slippery and warm. He backed up to the companionway and led her down the stairs into the cabin. Ahead of the storm, the sun still shone through breaks in the clouds, casting long, defined beams through the portholes of
Reprieve
. Despite their cleaning, dust motes danced as though it were their turn on stage and the spotlight had been cued. Riley stood in the middle of the saloon while Joe moved in and out of the spotlights, putting in hatch boards, making sure porthole openings were closed enough to keep out the coming rain. He also made sure the vents were open and rigged the wind scoop but the storm had sucked up all the wind and no breeze stirred.

When he was done, he stood silently watching her. A shyness came over her. A nervousness she hadn’t felt since she’d been a schoolgirl experiencing her first crush. Like the island outside, she was edgy with anticipation.

If the air outside had been still, inside it was stifling. Joe reached around her to flip a switch, and the fans at either end of the saloon came on. They didn’t cool much but they stirred the hot, anxious air around them.

Joe took her face in his warm and rough hands. He tilted her chin up and kissed her. Their lips locked together with sweat and heat. They tasted each other, salty and slick.

Stepping back from the kiss, he searched her eyes, holding her face steady. “You can’t run this time,” he said. “It’s too dangerous. You have to stay. Understand?”

She nodded.

He led her to his cabin. The only light was the waning sun’s rays. As the storm came closer, the rays flickered, one minute bright, the next nonexistent. He turned on a small fan and its whir was the only noise aside from the intermittent deep-based thunder.

He maneuvered her onto the bunk and drew the ratty old tank top over her head, followed by the moist sports bra. Freed, her breasts swung out, sweat trickling between them.

From the moment he touched her, she was gone. They slid against each other, their perspiration binding them. They shed their clothes without losing contact. His strong, capable hands roamed over her, gently dancing across her breasts until they ached for more. Those fingers, those long, able fingers, moved over her and into her until she bucked with need and want.

She explored the rippling muscles of his abs, then followed a line of sweat from his chest to where it disappeared into the thick of hair which marked the beginning of his lust. His back muscles, though, that’s what she loved the most. Hard and smooth near his shoulders, tapering off into his waist, blooming out again into the impossibly soft skin of his backside.

Outside, the storm announced its arrival, blowing over them.
Reprieve
strained against it, tugging at her lines, smashing into her buoys, rocking to the rhythm that had been thrust upon her. The rain pounded on the decks, resounding against the metal mast.

They made love in a whirlwind of arms and legs, their moist bodies coming together in a union that was sweet and urgent. In the narrow bunk there was no room to change position. She fell asleep with Joe’s breath on her face, his leg splayed over hers, his arm cradling her chest, to the rocking of
Reprieve
and the rhythm of the raindrops.

“Girlfriend, you’ve gone all purple.” Mitchell leaned across the deck where they were lying in the sun. This was the first time in several days Mitchell and Riley had seen each other.

Joe and Anthony had gone to buy some parts for the engine, which lay in big, gloppy, oily pieces on the cockpit and partly on the deck. “Thought you were fresh out of polish.”

“Lost and found on this ship is better than a second-hand store in Chicago.” Riley looked up, holding the tiny brush dripping purple nail polish onto her big toe. She could feel her smile, bigger and brighter than it had been since she arrived. When she thought about it, since months before she arrived. She could feel her whole body smiling into the tropical sun, from the pale roots growing into her dark frizzy hair, to the bright purple color on her toenails.

“You did it, didn’t you?” Mitchell propped himself up on one elbow. “Tell me. You and Joe? I can’t believe it. All the juicy parts. That’s all I want to hear about.”

“Is it that obvious?” She stretched like a contented cat and couldn’t stop smiling. No wonder it was obvious.

“Let’s see.” Mitchell stepped back and scanned her from head to toe, from her forehead pinked by the sun to the toes with pieces of rags shoved between them. “Obvious is an understatement. You might as well hang a sign off the bow.”

“You’re a fine one to talk.” It was Riley’s turn to do the studying. Mitchell had a stylish five-o’clock shadow going along his jaw line. His brown hair, in island tradition, was a little long, but neatly trimmed and shone with plenty of mousse. His body was tanned.

“That look tells me you and Anthony have finally gotten back together.”

“We’re not ready to pick out china patterns, but we’re very happy.” Unable to contain himself, Mitchell rose and did a little jig on the deck, bringing Riley up with him and swirling her around.

“Watch the polish.” She quickly danced away and dabbed at her toes.

“It could be just like a fairy tale.” Mitchell sprawled out on his back and squinted up into the sky. “You and Joe. Me and Anthony. Sailing away into the sunset. Living happily ever after. Having romantic dinners in secluded little coves. Swimming without our suits. Anthony and Joe catching fish. You and me grilling them.”

“I don’t cook. I don’t want to cook.”

“It’s a fantasy. My fantasy. You cook in it.”

After a few more intense minutes of polishing, Mitchell suggested they visit one of the island beaches and Riley jumped at the chance. So far he was her best friend on the island and right now she needed a friend.

They, or rather Mitchell, packed a lunch, an umbrella, some towels and were off the boat.

“We can walk.” He was standing outside the old, open four-wheel drive on the dock. “It’s only about two miles.”

“Why would we walk? You don’t want me walking. I’m already sweaty and aggravated and this damn cooler weighs a ton.” She paused and tilted her head at him. “You can drive, can’t you?”

“Sort of. I mean, on the mainland I had a really nice little car that I could zip everywhere in. And I do enjoy the four-wheel-drive experience. Although”—he looked at the ground instead of at her—“I’ve been told I drive a little fast.”

“How fast can you go around here? The roads are mostly dirt for heaven’s sake.”

“Well, then, let’s go.” He grinned at her and she got the sneaking suspicion there was something he wasn’t telling her.

Once in the vehicle, Mitchell adjusted the seat, the visor over the windshield, even though the top was open, and every mirror, including the cosmetic one, he could find. Then he started the old Jeep put it in gear, and sent the vehicle flying about five feet in reverse, just short of going over the edge into the water.

“I ask you again, you can drive, right?” Riley asked.

“Of course. I’m just a little rusty on the gears on the floor thingee.”

By the time they reached the beach, Riley’s hands hurt from digging her nails into her palms, her calves were cramped from pressing an imaginary brake, and her head was throbbing from what were probably several cases of whiplash. She was sure her face was as frozen from wind as any over-botoxed woman and her eyes were probably bulging from terror.

While she was still trying to make her muscles respond, Mitchell was out of the vehicle, wrestling with the cooler and the blanket.

“What?” he asked when he noticed her stuck to the seat.

“Nothing,” she said. “I’m just glad you missed those kids by at least a foot. And the tour bus, you left them a good six inches before the cliff edge. The old lady, I’m sure she’ll recover from having her outer layer of skin nearly removed by the side mirror.”

“Picky, picky,” he said. “You wanted me to drive.”

They found an open section of beach, dropped the blanket and the cooler, and stuck the umbrella in the sand. Her pale skin couldn’t handle too much time in the direct sunlight. The beach was crowded with a mixture of pale tourists parked in rented beach chairs under umbrellas, and locals sitting on towels in the sun.

“We couldn’t go to a private beach?” Riley asked. “I heard there are some breathtaking spots.”

“Boring.” Mitchell was smoothing his spot on the blanket. “This is much more interesting.”

“You are taking off those socks, right?” Riley nodded at the white ankle-high socks he wore on his feet.

“I told you I can’t stand sand in my toes.”

“Suck it up,” she said. “We have to suffer for fashion.”

In a sulk, he took off the socks and in a dramatic flourish made sure his toes were on the blanket and not on the sand.

They were quiet for a while, lying next to each other, shaded by the umbrella, listening to the surf, the chatter of other people on the beach, the rustle of palm trees.

Riley tried to nap but her mind was spinning. Not even the healthy dose of vitamin D from the tropical sun could quiet it.

“Mitchell, are you asleep?” She turned toward him and waited until he opened one eye.

“You know I’m heading back to my old life in Chicago as soon as I can, right?” When he didn’t respond, she sat up, wrapped her arms around her knees and faced the sea, watching the gulls dive for fish. “This is great. Everyone is great. But I have a life there. I’m a different person there.” She laughed. “If they could see me now, they wouldn’t recognize me.”

“This RK guy is there, right?” he asked.

“We were together. We are together.” Riley rocked back and forth, soothing her nerves.

“And now there’s Joe,” Mitchell said.

“And now there’s Joe.”

“Is this just a fling with him?”

“Yes. No. Maybe.”

“Seems to me if this RK guy was as solid as you think, you wouldn’t be so confused about where Joe fit in.”

A beach ball came rolling up to the blanket followed by two young boys who stood at the edge, looking at them expectantly.

“This brings back only bad memories,” Mitchell said as he tossed the ball back to them.

The boys smiled their thanks and ran off.

“Tough childhood?” Riley asked.

“Let’s just say sports weren’t my thing. I grew up in a town where football was worshipped and baseball was loved. A kid like me didn’t have many places to fit in.”

Riley reached over and patted his arm.

“My dad was actually the football coach.”

“No, sir. That must have been so hard,” Riley said.

“It was. But he taught me what it really means to be a man. When there was no doubt I was ‘different’, he just said, ‘Well, I tell my team, everyone has something to contribute. If we were all the same, it wouldn’t be much of a team.’ And he never said anything outright but he also never let his players, who were the gods of the school, pick on me or anyone else.”

“What a terrific guy.”

“Yeah, he was. He died two years ago, and I miss him every day.” Lost in his thoughts, Mitchell let a toe wander into the sand. When he realized what happened, he shrieked and began wiping away the grains.

Riley laughed.

“Back to you,” he said, settling down. “Anthony reminds me a lot of my dad—tough, quiet, good. So does Joe.”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t go breaking his heart.”

Riley snorted. “As if he has one to break. He isn’t exactly Mr. Sharing and Caring.”

Mitchell and Riley watched as a couple speaking French held their toddler’s hands and flirted with the waves along the shore. All three were laughing, enjoying paradise.

“So you’re really going back to your old life? This is just a pit stop?” Mitchell asked.

“Yes. No. Maybe.” She took off her sunglasses and stood up. “Time for a dip.”