Just a Number (Downtown #1) (7 page)

I wasn’t hallucinating. The woman was being tossed in the surf. On my feet, I rushed to the water.

And just like that, in the snap of a finger, she disappeared with a gust of wind that had me shutting my eyes. Fighting to open them, I saw a flash of her limbs. Then, she was gone again. Reappearing with just her head up, she had drifted down the shore.

As I moved toward her, she went under again. I was about to go in, but I wasn’t sure where she was going to resurface. Wild winds were whipping up the sand and swirling the ocean. I had never seen anything like it. I felt hopeless, waiting.

Crawling out from the water on hands and knees, yet farther down, she collapsed on her belly. Face-planted into the sand with her hair cascading around her head like a shield, I quickly reached down and pulled her up to a standing position. Steadying her on her feet, a gust of wind threw sand up and nearly knocked us down. Tucked into my side, I guided her away from the water before we were both captured by the raging sea. “Are you okay?”

With her head down and her hair stuck to her face, she nodded. Even though she had not spoken, it appeared she had not taken in water during her oceanic tumble—
Thank
.
God.

“Where is your stuff? We need to get off the beach before the sand rips our flesh open.” We were being sandblasted unmercifully.

With her petite hand, she brushed her hair up, looked around, and pointed to a crumpled up towel. Still holding on to her. I tried to shield her from the sand storm as we retrieved her bag that was weighing down the towel. “Let me get you to your car and I’ll come back for my stuff.”

“I don’t have a car.” Hearing her voice my whole body shuddered.

Ignoring the reaction, I headed toward my belongings. “Let me grab my…” It appeared my towel had sailed away. Only my sackpack remained with my journal and drink shaker sitting on top. Quickly packing my stuff in the bag, I swung it onto my back and re-engaged my arm around the beauty, and we pushed against the swirling wind that was embedding sand into our skin painfully.

Reaching the parking lot, I hurried us to the jeep. Inside, away from the abusive sand, I began to question her as she removed a cover-up out of her bag and pulled it over her head. “How did you get here? Live nearby?”

Turned in my direction, it was then that her hair was completely off of her face and I saw the icy-blue eyes that had been haunting my every thought. It was also at that moment that all air escaped my lungs. I gasped, noticeably.

“Are you alright?” A worried voice matched her expression.

“I’m fine… better than fine. You’re staying at the resort?”

“I’m Willow. You’re the yoga god—I mean yogi,” she quickly corrected herself. I smiled at the blush heating her cheeks.

“Yes. Dash. How did you get to the beach?”

“I went shopping after that ungodly sunrise yoga. No offense—too early.”

“None taken.”

“In haste—off my game—with my turbulent life lately, I packed clothes for a winter resort.”

“Sounds like you need a sexcapade—escapade.” A little slip of the tongue. She didn’t seem to be aware of my initial wording.

“You have no idea.” She let out a sexy-as-hell sigh. “Anyhow. I had one of the drivers take me into town to shop for some much needed warm weather resort wear. I didn’t even bring a bathing suit, crazy…” She did a really good job picking out the bikini she currently had covered up.
Damn! Down boy.

Snapping out of my thoughts of yanking the side strings on her hips, I realized her things may have blown away in the wind. “Oh no. You’re bags? Do we need to search… rescue them?”

“No. The driver took them to the hotel to be delivered to my room. I could use a shower with a good loofa and then a few drinks.”

“I’d like to join you.”

“The shower or the drinks?” She raised an eyebrow, challenging me.

“Both. I’ll settle for drinks, though… for now.”

She smirked. “Sounds inviting. I’ll meet you at the lagoon bar. Give me an hour to regroup and revitalize.”

I pulled into a parking space at the hotel too soon; she slipped out of the jeep and disappeared. I silently prayed that she would truly rematerialize, and that she wasn’t just giving me a brush off.

Willow

S
tripped of my new, less than pristine, beach attire, I stood in front of the bathroom mirror. “Oh my God! I look like a drown rat. It’s a wonder why that gorgeous man wants to see you again.” I laughed at myself, wiping off remnants of mascara and smeared red lipstick. He did see me looking a bit better early, didn’t he?
Hello, you were in the back of his class and you were not alone. He was teaching. Not looking for a chick.
I sure noticed him, even not completely awake.

On vacation and determined to take full advantage of the spa offerings, I decided to shake things up and headed for sunrise yoga. Half asleep, I snuck into a session just beginning. Tossing down my mat, I jumped right into action. Head up. In a lunging position my heart nearly popped out of my chest. I was suddenly wide awake. My eyes focused, when able, on the shirtless yumminess, sporting only semi-fitted yoga shorts, that was leading the class.

Breathing as he was instructing was not easy. I was not a novice to yoga, but his rippled abs flexing as his powerful arms flowed through the air into warrior one muddled my brain. As if the body wasn’t enough, shaggy, brown windblown hair and a scruffy, yet groomed beard framed his gorgeous, sculpted face. I couldn’t tell the color of his eyes, but oh my God—those lips. I’m not sure how to describe them but to say they were heaven sent. They were absolutely perfect; equal amounts of fullness. And their color was unique: a deep dark rose. Maybe that didn’t sound masculine, but I assure you, he was all man.

I wondered how they would taste. How they would feel on my mouth, and my lower lips. If it were allowed, I would have tackled him in the sand and explored every inch of him with my hands and mouth. How I managed to make it through… Well, I didn’t make it all the way. I skipped out on the meditation portion at the end. I was too amped up. Invigorated. And, since I couldn’t have him right there on the shore, I mouthed
Namaste
and fled to shop. A good distraction!

Katie’s Swim Shack was amazing with a capital A! Nothing like her website; it was a swanky boutique with a beachy vibe. Little grass shack meets Paris chic. Crystal chandeliers, with just the right amount of shells entwined, hung from the ceiling. White plantation shuttered windows with tied-back silk drapery panels. Velvet furnishes scattered amongst ornate, chrome clothing racks and white shelving. How she kept the sofa and chairs from molding, with all the French doors thrown open, was a miracle, thanks to secret chemical she administered to it religiously.

I fell in love with Katie, the owner, when I met her. I couldn’t help myself; I fawned all over her, her shop, and asked her a million and one questions. I was so intrigued. I talked her right into being my first island client. Before I left her shop, my office faxed over documents, brochures, and my graphic design guy was already in rescue mode. Her website was the only downside to her business. The rest was crème de la crème island divine!

And buy? Hell, yes!
Enough to fill two large rolling suitcases, for sure. Dresses, shoes, shorts, tops, bikini, cover-ups, a beach towel, and sexy yoga clothes. I refused to return to that fucking-yoga-god’s class without being equipped to make those yoga shorts of his tight enough to show me his goods.

On my way back to the resort, I took in the island’s beauty, courtesy of my driver pointing out various sights. My native-to-the-area tour guide told me about the island’s history and myths. Very interesting. Apparently, if I wished to find true love on the island, I would have to risk life and limb to achieve it. Good thing I wasn’t looking for love. But if someone was, you needed a pineapple to offer up to the Ocean gods. And in this day and time, if you secured the tropical fruit, according to the myth, you might need bail money—that is, if your life was spared.

So here is what I learned from my storyteller. Many years ago, a pineapple planation owner’s son found himself in love with, what I would call, a girl from the wrong side of the track. The father, of course, refused their union, and like all old tales, it ended tragically. The young couple, equipped with an outrigger boat, decided to run away to a neighboring island, and wound up drowning off the coast of it in a turbulent storm. Though they were no longer physically on the earth together, their souls ascended to heaven as one because their boat was filled with heavenly pineapples, and that pleased the Ocean gods.

What?! I thought as he continued this tale. According to myth, if you wanted to find true love, you must enter a pineapple field just before the sun rises and, without the sun catching you, pluck the juiciest, ripest, richest one. Then, you must carry it to the sea, say a little chant, offering your pineapple along with the name of your intended if you had one, or you could wish for one. The gods must accept your pineapple and carry it away for you to find your true love. But, if the pineapple was not swept away or was pushed back on shore, you were destined to walk alone.

“So, let me get this straight,” I questioned my guide, “if I wanted to find love, I need to grab a pineapple from a nearby field at the crack of dawn, take it to the beach, chant, and throw it in the ocean?”

He laughed like crazy. “No, not if you wish to live freely. Stealing a pineapple is against the law. Not to mention, other things often grow in the field near the prickly fruit and owners might think you are after that weedy crop. If not arrested, being shot is another possibility.”

“I think I will just stick to eating store bought pineapple on the beach, and forget about the love stuff.”

“Good idea,” he told me as he pointed out one of the most beautiful beaches on the island, according to him. Captivated by its beauty, he agreed to give me a closer look by pulling into a small parking area adjacent to the practically empty beach.

“I wish I would’ve changed into a bathing suit back at the store. I would love to relax on the beach for a bit.”

“Change in the car. I’ll give you some privacy and make sure no one peeks. When you’re done with the beach, just call up to the hotel and I’ll come back to pick you up. Meantime, I’ll deliver your purchases to your room.”

“Really? That would be great.” Hopping out, I searched the bags and then popped back into the car to gear up. All set, the driver reached into an ice chest he had in the front seat. Handing me an icy-cold water and a couple pieces of fruit—apologizing that it wasn’t pineapple for the gods—he said goodbye, and departed.

I spent about an hour on the beach, relaxing in the sunshine before almost departing this earth. I walked down to the water’s edge. I was standing ankle deep one minute and the next I was fighting the wash cycle. Tumbled. Pushed. Pulled. With a bit of luck, I was able to crawl out. First, on my belly, I dragged myself until I could get on my hands and knees.
Please let me make it out,
I thought as I felt a tug at my ankles. I just knew it was no use, and then strong hands pulled me up.

I clung to the stranger as he moved me away from the water. I didn’t care who he was. I was beyond grateful; he saved my life. I was certain to be tossed back for the rinse cycle. I may not have survived it.

Once my hair was out of my face, and I had rubbed the salt, stinging my eyes, out, I was able to focus on my hero. I couldn’t believe it, the yoga-god was before me, wanting to shower with me… wanting to have a drink with me. I couldn’t wait to see him again. Maybe thank him properly… improperly. I hurried to get ready and skipped out the door like a little girl about to meet prince charming. I giggled to myself practically the whole way to the pool area.

Seeing him, waiting at a table, next to the bar, with a couple of pineapple topped drinks… delicious. Not the drinks. Up close, he was even better. I was still drawn to those lips, but his eyes were dazzling, too. I was a sucker for dark hair and blue eyes. His were an unusual shade of denim blue. He was, quite possibly, the best looking man that I’d ever seen. I smiled. “For me?” I pointed to the tropical beverages. “Or, are you double fisting it?

“Yours.” He slid one across table top in front of an empty chair. “Join me.”

Taking a seat next to him our bare knees brushed. The contact was unsettling. I toyed with my libation as a distraction. Picking up the glass, I sipped a little through the straw, then removed the pineapple wedge attached to the rim, sucked at the fruit, and nibble it off the rind. About to set it on the table, I realized he was watching my every move. “For an encore, will you be tying the cherry stem in a knot with your tongue?”

“I could. But it will cost you.” We both laughed, breaking the tension.

“I saw you in my class this morning. You know, the back row is for bad students or beginners.”

He noticed me.

“I rushed in late.” I grinned. “And, I’m neither of those. I can follow along from anywhere. I made it through your session.”