Storms of Passion (12 page)

Like cold water dosing a fire, he released her and moved away. “I’m sorry.” His voice was hoarse and barely audible. “I got carried away.”

Her eyes were unfocused. The irises dilated to dominate their depths. “What?”

Running his thumb along her swollen lips, he slid his tongue out between his own battered lips, tasting blood.

“I…” He coughed. “I have to go.”
If I don’t go now, I’ll take you right here in Ethel’s flower garden
.

She shrugged her shoulders and turned, swaying toward the front door.

Despite her awkward gait, he still wanted to haul her back into his arms, and he could have. She was in no shape to refuse. But he wasn’t that type of guy. He shook his head, reaching a hand to inspect his battered lip.

The rage that consumed him when he saw Big Mike pawing her on the dance floor was a white-hot fury he had never experienced. Even when Tuck was married and men looked at his wife with carnal intent, he didn’t get angry. Back then ego ruled the day, and he would think
eat your heart out fellas
. Yet tonight was different. A possessiveness had taken over. He couldn’t stand the prospect of another man touching Vivian’s exquisite hips, or kneading her firm, rounded backside like he had some right to it. Tuck wondered why he should care. One kiss on a pier didn’t give him sole rights to Vivian, but he couldn’t deny that he wanted her for himself. He had experienced an unexpected closeness with her this afternoon. Something he had never experienced with another woman.

This is ridiculous. She’s just a tourist. She isn’t mine and I definitely don’t believe in soul mates.

If she wanted to get drunk in a bar and act idiotic, she would have to suffer the consequences. Why should he care? But Goddamnit, he did.

Even before he gave into his urge to kiss her this afternoon on the beach, he sensed she was special, that she was struggling to break free, but to do it on the dance floor?

Tuck had pulled Margie aside when he saw Vivian dancing. He jaw fell open when she told him Vivian was drinking whiskey.

Margie had shot him an irritated glare. “She orders, I serve. It’s called a Tavern for a reason. People come here to drink. Most times to get drunk.”

Before Tuck could do anything about Vivian, the crowd demanded another song. The guitar was thrust back in his hands and he was playing, craning his head to catch sight of the tall brunette with the spiky hair. Then he saw, her head back and laughing. Her long legs moved in rhythmic motion to the songs he played, and her body flowed like liquid, igniting a molten fire in the center of his being. He was mesmerized by her as if he was an ageless sailor watching the tide ebb and flow.

Playing the guitar was as easy as breathing. It was Tuck’s best way to relax, and after his little tryst with Vivian this afternoon he needed to get his head in order. Stopping that kiss had been one of the hardest things he had faced in a long while, but he didn’t want to take advantage of her. He decided to go to the Tavern to blow off some steam. Maybe hook up with Mary Anne and get the tourist out of his head.

Tuck and Mary Anne had a mutual agreement. Nothing serious, just a casual
as needed
relationship, and exactly what he needed to block his thought of Vivian. When Tuck walked into the Tavern and saw Mary Anne with Jared, Tuck didn’t interfere. He knew Mary Anne had a real thing for Jared and he hoped it would work out for them. He liked Mary Anne and wanted her to be happy.
Happy
was something he could never give her, because he wasn’t looking for a
forever
with her.

Continuing to reflect over this evening’s events during his walk home, Tuck realized casual had become his motto, his style for a long time now. He wondered if he would ever be cut out for a
real
relationship after the whip-burn he received from his ex.

The pain over his left eye erased all consideration of a serious relationship. He contemplated on how he was going to explain the black eye, that he was sure to have in the morning, to his his family. His mother would go crazy.

He was lucky to have just a shiner, and equally lucky that Big Mike fell harder than he punched. Tuck had tried verbally to let the big man know that Vivian was not there to be picked up, but with too much alcohol hazing Big Mike’s brain and his hormones rushing to all the wrong places by dancing with the luscious, tall woman, Big Mike was unwilling to back away easily. Tuck regretted that the confrontation had come to blows, but wasn’t worried about a long term, negative reaction from Mike. The big man had a reputation for getting into brawls at the Tavern and seldom remembered or even cared the next day. He’d probably punch Tuck in the arm and say, “Round two tomorrow.”

Tuck lengthened his stride, bone weary tired now. Emotionally exhausted, he walked with purpose toward his own home above the gift shop on Main Street. Too much thinking wasn’t getting him anywhere. He didn’t regret the kiss, neither one. Somehow Tuck didn’t think Vivian was the fling type. She seemed more long term. The serious relationship type—something he had avoided at all costs since his marriage disaster. Yet he couldn’t resist Vivian. Her facial expressions fascinated him. Pensive, compassionate, and not to mention passionate. Tuck touched his lip again.
Passionate, definitely
.

Long term and serious described his brother, Nate. Married to his high school sweetheart, two kids, a house, and car, Nate had all the fixings. Tuck had never been that way, even when he was married, no matter how short that turned out to be. Especially after that experience, he kept all relationships determinedly casual. Even his business programming style was easy. His whole motivation to make the program as easy for the end user is what had made him successful.
Goddamn Bart for blowing my business and for me for not seeing it coming
. Maybe if he was more like Nate, Tuck would have seen the writing on the wall and been able to do something about it before it all blew up in his face.

Chapter Eight

Seven would-be sailors, including Vivian, toured the vessel they would soon be manning. “It’s all about the wind,” Nate said when they paused by the large mast. “Without wind, no sail. The essence of sailing is the ability to read the wind, gauge the pressure of the water on the hull of the boat to propel it to the ultimate destination.”

As eager as she was, learning the basics was hard work.

“No use coming on board if you don’t know the terminology,” Randy’s graveled voice pierced the distance. “There are no
thingies
on board our ships.”

Vivian was exhausted. She remembered the laugh she and Jess shared the first time they had watched a movie with their favorite comedian, and how they wondered who in the world would pay someone to be a ranch hand. “Talk about role reversal. Don’t pay for the help you need, turn it into a tourist event and people will pay you to do the work,” Jess said between giggles of watching the actor turn out yet another golden line.

“We sailors try to avoid the no-go-zone,” Nate said, continuing his lecture on the sails. “That’s when the boat comes to within forty five degrees of the wind and then the sails shake or luff, and the boat essentially stops. So that’s way you see sailboats always seem to be leaning. They are actually. Sailing is a zigzag motion across the sea.”

To Vivian, the terminology was the hardest, but Nate assured them that once they practiced it would come to them as easily as knowing the basics of a burger. “Port is the left side of the boat when looking forward. Compare to left, each has four letters.” He smiled reassuringly. “Starboard is just like right, more letters and the opposite of left or port.” Nate went on to say that the aft was the back of the boat, while astern represented the front. Vivian had always wondered about the distinction, but it suddenly made sense. Outboard, toward the edge of the boat, as in outside the hull.
Funny, I had always thought an outboard was a motor prior to today
.

“You did good, girlie,” Randy said as he patted her shoulder, breaking her out of her reverie from where she stood with a half-sandwich in her hand. “Had quite a go with some of those knots, but you can climb a mast like a monkey. I was surprised.”

“Why? Because, I’m female?” Vivian’s tone came out more cranky than intended. She regretted her tone instantly, however, she had quite a day where her body ached in tune with her pounding head, and there just wasn’t enough headache medication to cover the pounding.

Randy eyed her, taking a marginal step back. “No.” He drew out the word. “Because you have never done it before.”

Which was, of course, the obvious answer and made Vivian feel bad for her smart remark. She smiled in what she hoped was an apologetic manner to compensate. The smile took as much effort as everything else she did today. “I’m sorry.”

“No need. Many a day I went to sea with a split head. When the trawlers use to come in here, oh, we were a rowdy bunch,” he said and began to walk away. “Whiskey is you’re drink is it?” He chuckled hardily.

Her hand flew to her cheek, mortified. Wasn’t it bad enough that she had to live with the small snatches of embarrassing memories that assaulted her pounding head, but to find out that others knew about how she made a fool of herself, was beyond humiliation.
What was I thinking?
What I did last night was both foolish and dangerous
.

Walking away, in the opposite direction, represented a better solution to her embarrassment than engaging in any conversation on the topic. Vivian made her way back to the Inn, slowly progressing toward the Mariner’s Roost, while trying not to think of Tuck. She failed to stop thinking of the way his arms surrounded her, the way his lips caressed hers, and the way she had responded with abandon.

“It was the whiskey.” Vivian frowned.

Even with Mike, she had been reserved. She always held back.
Why not with Tuck?
Holding back wasn’t an option with him. Whenever he was around she wanted him and devil be damned the consequences. It was so unlike her typical response to men, she didn’t know what to make of the situation.

As though her thoughts had conjured him, the devil himself strode her way.
Where’s that crack in the Earth when I need it?
If there had been a bush or a tree to duck behind she would have done just that. The easy gait, the long stride, the life by the tail attitude that seemed to radiate from Tuck was a natural attraction for Vivian who craved that kind of let-go attitude. But she had been schooled to be cautious. Her father taught her to think and determine, assess the risks first.

Shit, Tuck saw her. Lifting his hand in salute, he walked toward her. “Hey, you.” Tuck smiled.

Oh, that smile.
So much for hiding. She longed to suffer through her pain and humiliation in private. Feeling heat rise over her face, her mind was blank of polite conversation. How could she explain last night’s events? Aside from the fact she couldn’t remember most of it and the snatches that she did, she would prefer to forget.

Tuck stopped directly in front of her. His silvery eyes gazed into hers as he reached out to touch her face. “Don’t sweat it. It happens.”

She focused on the ground, his gaze too intense to bear. “Your eye.” She glanced up through the cover of her lashes at the small gash above his eyebrow and the faint, but distinguishable blue, purple, yellowing bruise along his brow bone. “I…I’m so sorry.”

“I’ve had worse done and not even for so worthy a cause.” Tuck removed his hand from her face to cup her chin, forcing her to meet his eye. Grey eyes seemed to see straight to the depths of her being.

“Really?” Vivian regretted the word as soon as it crossed her lips.

Tuck laughed. “Heading back to the Inn? I’ll walk with you.”

They walked in silence until Vivian stopped at the gate, her brain flooded with memories she’d prefer not to process or remember. Heated emanated from her every pore, she was sure she was aflame. Resting her hand on the gate’s latch was more to sustain balance than the need to go. Desire ignited her core, leaving her at a loss at what to say or do.

Tuck covered her hand with his, pausing her retreat. “I’d like to see you again.” He circled the inside of her wrist with his thumb. Her pulse jumped when his voice lowered. “You seemed to like my guitar playing. I could play for you, if you like?”

She glanced down, noticing the scuff on her otherwise white boat shoes. She swallowed. “I would.” Vivian nodded. “You do play beautifully.”

“Thank you.” His thumb continued its sensuous massage. When his thumb hesitated, she raised her eyes to his puzzled expression. He regarded her intently, seeming to read her every thought, making her feel like an open book. “You must be tired. How about tomorrow evening?”

“I’d like that.”

****

Back in her room, Vivian took deep cleansing breaths, enjoying the momentary solace. A soft knock on the door made her think Tuck had changed his mind. Maybe he wanted to spend this evening with me instead.

She opened the door a bit too eager to see the plump face of Mrs. Parson’s, still flushed from the excursions of the day. “We were wondering if you would like to have dinner with your fellow sailors this evening?”

“Of course. Just let me change.”

Clad in a casual, yellow sundress, Vivian made her way to the foyer to join the others.

Dinner turned out to be a lovely affair, which was comforting to her confused sensibilities and a diversion from her scrambled deliberations. She never had a one-night stand, let alone planned one out in advance, but that is exactly what she was planning for tomorrow night. There was no way she could resist Tuck and she didn’t want to. She never had a fling. She was not the type of person who would hook-up with someone and then leave as though it had never happened. Had she really kissed Tuck with such complete abandon? What if he hadn’t stopped?
What’s come over me?
Had he wrangled her away from that big man on the dance floor?

Just forget about it.
Toss the night up to what it was, one night of crazy. Even Marcy said Vivian tended to over-think and over-analysis everything. Everyone was entitled one night of crazy, right?