Ten Good Reasons (22 page)

Evan looked away. “I had no idea you felt that way about her,” he said instead. “I really didn’t mean—”

“You didn’t mean to come here and steal one more thing that might be mine?”

“Of course not.”

“Then leave her alone.”

Evan’s back pressed against the upholstery in the dinette. It sounded like a simple solution. He’d just met her, after all, and he was leaving in a few days anyway. And she’d just said their really, really great sex “meant nothing.” Of course. Yet his heart did a strange thud when he imagined saying good-bye.

“I’ll talk to her,” Evan said.

“There are plenty of other women,” Drew said.

Evan nodded. Of course.

“How long are you staying?” Drew asked.

“Few more days.”

“She knows that?”

“Yeah.”

“Where are you heading?”

“Might go up north to see Mom and Dad. Or maybe south, for another loop around.”

“Really? You’re going again?”

“I might.”

“Where do you start?”

“Panama to the Marquesas, usually.”

Drew nodded. “Well, talk to Lia. Make sure she knows. I’m serious, Ev. If you hurt her—if you screw this up—I’ll seriously never forgive you.”

“Got it.” Evan took a deep breath. He wasn’t sure what he
was getting himself into, but he knew he didn’t want to hurt Lia, either. And he didn’t want to screw this up. He wasn’t a man who didn’t care. At least he hadn’t been, in the old days. Renece and Luke’s death had changed him, sure, but he didn’t want to be changed into a man who had no feelings for people who really mattered.

“So a few more days?” Drew asked. “You still up for the charter on Monday? Everyone seems to think you’re the best captain ever.”

Evan didn’t miss the eye roll. Or the jealousy in Drew’s voice. He didn’t mean to take over his boat, too, though. Or his staff. He’d be sure to make this all right. “Sure.”

“I’d appreciate that. I have someone coming on Wednesday, but can you handle things until then?”

“Sure.”

Drew didn’t seem completely comfortable with the idea, but he wasn’t frowning anymore. “I might join you on the charter,” he said.

“You don’t have to do that. I can handle it.”

“I know. But I just want to . . .
be
there. It’s important. Kyle Stevens is—”

“I know about Kyle Stevens.” Evan didn’t really want to hear his name anymore.

“He might want to invest.”

“You need an investor that badly?”

A sadness crossed Drew’s face as he nodded.

Evan sighed. Damn. He didn’t know Drew was this bad off. But he didn’t want to harp on it right now—his intent wasn’t to make Drew feel worse.

He moved Douglas’s bottled water around on the table and thought about something else that had been bothering him.

“You named the boat after Luke,” he said.

The words flew out of nowhere. He worded it as a statement, but in reality it was a question. If Drew had never forgiven him, and couldn’t even bring himself to go to the funeral—still a thorn in Evan’s side—why had he named his boat after Evan’s son?

“I saw pictures of him,” Drew said. “Mom showed me. He looked just like you
and
Renece. He reminded me of you, but he had her smile—that smile I remembered.” He looked out
the porthole for a minute as the boat swayed. “I wish I had met him, Ev. I’m sorry I didn’t. I know you’ll never forgive me for that. And I was always sorry about your loss. It’s hard to imagine. I just couldn’t go to the funeral, you know? But I wanted to honor him in some way.”

On the list of things they had each grown to resent in the other, Drew’s not attending Renece’s and Luke’s funeral was at the top of Evan’s.

But they were breaking this cycle now. . . .

“I appreciate the gesture,” Evan finally said.

Drew’s hand slid across the dinette for a shake. “Move on?”

Evan stared at it for only a second before taking it. Yes. They would move on. The pain was still raw for everyone. They both still missed Renece. Evan would never stop missing his son. Drew would still feel the pain of being betrayed in his mind. Evan would still feel the pain of Drew missing the funerals. They might not learn right away how to stop feeling jealous of each other and what the other had. But in a world where things could be taken from you in a flash, Evan was learning that—despite the heartache and misunderstandings a family could bring—you had to hold on to the people you cherished. Although there had been numerous misunderstandings between them, Drew was still the little brother who had made him the carrot soup.

“Move on,” he said, shaking Drew’s hand.

The smile that stole across Drew’s face was tired, not entirely certain. But the relief there was unmistakable.

But quickly the smile disappeared and his eyes turned as dark as a night ocean: “And
don’t
hurt her,” he added.

Evan finished the shake and nodded.

He suddenly had his priorities rearranged.

*   *   *

Lia tugged on the net from one side, but Douglas came up behind her and nudged it out of her hands. “Evan and I can get this later, sunshine.”

“I want to help.”

Douglas looked up and down the deck. Fluffy navy purple clouds, tinged in pink from the bottom, lined up across the blue sky like baked goods, promising dusk in a couple of
hours and possibly a little rain. Sounds of the festival—a distant rock band, children laughing, a clown’s horn—bounced down the hill from Sandy Cove and across the marina.

“Do you do windows?” Douglas asked.

“Sure.”

“Can you give them a quick swipe? Don’t spend too much energy—it might rain. We just need a quick rubdown to get the saltwater off.” He set her up with a barely filled bucket and a sponge squeegee, then picked up the deck hose and began hosing down as they listened to the distant strains of a Neil Diamond impersonator from up the hill.

“Think they’ll be okay in there?” she asked, nodding toward the galley and taking a few quick swipes at the closest window.

“They should be. Family’s all you got, you know?”

Lia thought about her sisters, and how she often missed their events because of work. She’d felt especially bad for missing Coco’s first school play, and one of Coco’s surf meets that Fin helped with. And she had felt really bad for missing Giselle’s first wedding dress shopping day. She’d also missed a pet fair that Noelle had put on and had been really proud of. And her mother had been sick with pneumonia once and Lia had never been able to get up to see her in L.A. because Elle kept her late every night.

The guilt curdled in her stomach as she soaped up the next window.

“Do you have family, Douglas?”

“Little boy in Vegas.”

Lia’s arm froze mid-circle. The fake Neil Diamond launched into “Sweet Caroline.”

“Is that why you always go out there?” she asked.

“Yep. He’s eleven,” Douglas said over his shoulder as he continued sweeping. “He was a late-in-life one. But I love him like crazy. His mother I have a problem with, but the kid’s terrific. I’m trying to save enough money to go live out there, but my work has always been on the ocean. I’ll have enough saved right about the time he leaves home.” He chuckled. “But you’ve got to try.”

Lia continued soaping the window.
Yes, you’ve got to try. . . .

She glanced toward the galley and felt immeasurably proud of Drew and Evan.

“I heard you and Cora are sort of an item,” she said, ready to change the subject.

“What?”
Douglas turned off the hose. “Did Cora say that?”

Lia turned her face toward the window so he couldn’t see her smile. “Not exactly. I just assumed, by the way she looks at you.”

“
Looks
at me?”

“Douglas, you men can be so daft.”

He looked out at the ocean for several seconds, then turned the hose back on. “I won’t argue with you there, sunshine.”

As she rounded the last curve to get the front windows, she came face to chest with Evan. “Oooh!”

With one glance at the chest she’d just been running her hands over—and the arms that had just been holding her, naked, against a wall—a ray of tingles shot throughout her body like some kind of fireworks show gone awry. If she’d been worried before that she didn’t have the gene to enjoy sex properly, she knew the worry was over. The secret, apparently, was not being a yoga instructor or a Cirque du Soleil performer. It was having a large man with very soft lips pressing you against a very hard wall, kissing you like he was drinking water after a long, long drought.

She smoothed her dress and looked away so he wouldn’t see her blush. Then she wondered for about the twentieth time who she was around Evan Betancourt.

“Hey,” she said to his third button. She couldn’t quite bring herself to lift her eyes to his face.

“Hey,” he said in a voice that reminded her of slow, sweet syrup.

“How’d it go?”

“It went okay.” He took the bucket from her hand. “You and I need to talk, though.”

“About what?” She had seen the way Evan shot a look at her when she said their little . . . um . . . encounter “meant nothing.” Could she have actually hurt his feelings?

“Drew,” he answered.

“Oh.”

Of course he wouldn’t have been hurt. That was a silly thought. These Neil Diamond songs must be putting romantic notions in her head.

“Douglas and I are almost done here,” she said. “Want to get something to eat?”

“You
are
done here,” he said, taking the squeegee out of her other hand and dropping it into the bucket. “And I don’t know if my brother is quite ready to see us walk off this boat together. Maybe you should get home. Big day again tomorrow.”

She started to protest. She wanted to be with him. She wanted to talk more. She wanted him to kiss her again, and maybe have a round two of that “really, really great sex.” She wanted to give him someone to talk to and let him vent about Drew. She wanted to be there for him, and help him sort out all his relationships. She wanted to hold his hand, and sit there with him in the falling dusk, and tell him that he was inspiring her to be a better sibling.

But then she realized, with a degree of horror, that she was about to beg. So she pressed her lips together. “You’re right,” she said. “But let me help.” She reached for the bucket.

“Go home, Cinderella.”

His gaze tore away from her and went over her shoulder. She followed it to see Douglas carrying Drew back to his wheelchair. Fake Neil Diamond crooned “Love on the Rocks.” The scent of popcorn drifted down from the festival booths.

“Let me walk you off,” Evan said in a voice that sounded strange and distant.

She was surprised he was pushing her away so quickly. And
sheesh
, the way he was holding her elbow to steer her off the boat felt like their perp walk by the harbor patrol the other night.

“I thought we’d at least get to spend a little time together,” she found herself saying.

His glance first looked nervous, but then it relaxed into something more like amusement. He slowed. “All right. You do need to leave now, for Drew. But . . .” His low voice tickled her ear. “If you want to come by later . . .”

Lia smiled to herself and let him guide her the rest of the way off the boat.

Yes, yes, yes . . .

CHAPTER

T
he chaos of the festival erupted around them as they sauntered through the grass in the twilight. They’d played the ring toss and water-balloon gun shoot, and had picked up hot dogs and funnel cakes for dinner. Evan snuck up and squirted the last of his ketchup onto Lia’s hot dog. She squealed and squirmed away.

He laughed and resisted the urge to tackle her in the grass—she was getting sexier and cuter by the second, and was lifting the weight of the world off his shoulders. She was reminding him what it felt like to laugh again; and just act stupid; and, quite frankly, to live.

He watched her hair swing around, and his memory shot him back to just hours ago, when she’d leaned against the fiberglass, breasts and belly and thighs all bared to him, hands behind her back, waiting for him to ravish her. And he wanted to be back there right now, doing it all over again.

But damn, he needed to talk to her.

“So Drew was concerned about why you came back here?” she prompted, balancing her red-checked paper hot dog boat to point to a picnic table on top of a grassy knoll beneath a lantern that had just popped on.

He followed her to the top. She’d been pushing him to describe his conversation with Drew. Most of it he wanted kept to himself—he and Drew would have to tread lightly into working out their own differences—but he knew he had to tell her the part that involved her. He’d need to back away from her slowly, but he wanted to give her a reason.

At the table, they laid out their dinner spread, set down their drinks, and crawled into opposite benches.

“He seemed to be under the impression I was here to steal his life.”

“Steal his life?” Lia frowned across the table. “That’s crazy.” She leaned over and snagged one of his French fries. “Although, I guess if that’s how he interpreted your past with Renece, maybe that makes sense.”

A spear went through his lung as he struggled for air. There it was. Her name again. He hardly ever heard it anymore, and Lia said it so casually. He focused on his French fries a minute while he pulled himself together, then stared out at the view. The table was perched at just the right angle that they could see the marina through a narrow patch of trees. Sandy Cove sprawled like a glittering half moon.

“He seemed to think I was moving in on his boat, his clients, his life here . . . you,” he said.

“Me?”

Evan nodded.

“But I’m not part of his ‘things.’”

“He has a lot of affection for you.” He didn’t want to say more than that. It was Drew’s story to tell, Drew’s feelings to reveal or not to reveal. But Evan had to make the next point.

“He wants me to back away from his life, including you,” he said.

Lia frowned. “But he has no right to ask that.”

“He sees it differently.”

Lia seemed to think that over as she stared at her food. Children’s laughter drifted up over the hill, and a slew of kids came running through the grass, shooting each other with fluorescent water guns they must have won at a booth. Evan thought about how Luke would play like that. He’d loved watching Luke laugh, play, run. There had been nothing in Evan’s life that had prepared him for how much he’d love
being a dad, but he had. He glanced up at Lia and had a strange, distant curiosity about whether she wanted kids someday.

“I’m a little suspicious,” Lia finally said.

“Of what?”

“This sounds like a ‘wham, bam, thank you ma’am.’”

Evan frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“Your way of explaining to me that the bang was good, but you’re done now.”

“I didn’t say anything remotely like that, Lia. We can still . . .” He motioned toward the boat but then wasn’t sure what he was offering. They could still what? Fuck a few times? But make sure no closeness was involved? How nice.

“I mean, we can do whatever you want,” he said.

A smile curved her lips. “I think, what I want, is more of that ‘really, really great sex.’”

He chuckled. At least she wasn’t the helpless victim Drew seemed to think she was. And how awesome that she might be open to a physical relationship that didn’t have to go anywhere. But even so . . . He had to be sure.

“Drew thinks I’m using you,” he reiterated.

“So ‘use’ me.”

Evan smiled. She was getting better and better. “He thinks I’ll hurt you,” he added.

“You would only be hurting me if I had feelings for you.”

The same tug from earlier dragged a hook through his chest. Damn. He looked away. He was turning into a sap. He knew she
didn’t
. Have feelings for him, that is. But maybe part of him thought she was starting to. And maybe part of him hoped she would.

“Yeah, no worries there,” he said.

“I don’t mean . . . I mean, of course I have
feelings
.” Cinderella waved a French fry around. “I
like
you and all. But it’s not like we’re going to get
married
or anything.” She laughed.

Evan remembered Drew’s comment that Lia had a distinct type—usually suits, guys with lots of money. Guys like her Forrest, probably, who left for Bora Bora without her. Guys like Kyle, undoubtedly, who had Harvard degrees and watches that needed to be insured. No wonder she was rolling her eyes at the prospect of him right now.

He concentrated on the ketchup and resolved to dismiss the burning jealousy around his ears.

“Well, Drew has more affection for you than you might realize,” he said. “And it might hurt him to see us together.”

“So we won’t let him see us together.”

“He might be joining us on the charter.”

It was her turn to raise her eyebrows. “All right, we’ll play things off on the charter. But we still have today and tomorrow.”

Evan nodded, then gathered their trash. Walking over the slight hill and back in the cool evening air did him good.
She didn’t need this to mean anything. She just wanted great sex.
He could get on board with that. If his heart was starting to bleed, he’d just close it up. Lia was being clear about what she expected out of this. He’d just enjoy the sex and walk away.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and pushed away any stray guilt regarding Renece:
It was normal to want a woman. Renece wouldn’t expect him to be celibate. This was perfectly normal. He didn’t need to feel bad. . . .

Then he shoved aside
any remaining guilt regarding Drew:
He’d made Drew’s worries clear, and Lia was making her own decisions
.

When he came back down the hill, she was ready to go, looking up at him from the long drag she was taking on her milkshake.

“I think I have enough fuel in me now to beat you at that water-balloon game,” she said.

He let himself watch her full, beautiful lips; let himself stare as she sucked hard; let himself close his heart a little about how much he was growing to like her. He’d just concentrate on the sex.
Those lips could do some damage. . . .
He let his mind go to all the body parts he’d like to have those lips on and then cleared his throat before finally looking away.

“Lead the way,” he choked out.

*   *   *

Lia galloped from game to game, feeling flirty and strangely comfortable in the blue stilettos she’d worn. The shoes had arrived today as yet another wedding option—complete with
sparkly hardware in a “buckle” pattern across the top—and she’d been surprised to actually like them. Plus they didn’t look bad with the sundress she wanted to wear tonight for Evan. She’d thrown them on with the hope of breaking them in. She’d tossed some sandals in her bag just in case, but so far these were great. Maybe they’d be her lucky shoes.

She tugged Evan beneath the bright festival bulbs strewn across the fairway, and he followed behind her, his hands in his pockets, his mouth in a constant quirk of amusement.

Harry James had set up a harbor patrol booth with a spinning wheel game near the marina entrance, planning to stay until seven with his deputy Steve, so Lia and Evan decided to wait to slip past him and get to the boats. They didn’t want to give any indication that Evan would be a sneakaboard tonight. And maybe Lia. If she could summon the courage, that was.

This kind of behavior was not like her at all. She was not the type to sneak aboard boats. She was not the type to sleep with men she’d known for only five days. She was not the type to stare at a man’s body as he leaned over a wooden gun rack and shot at moving cardboard ducks.

But she
was
with this man.

And she liked it.

And she liked him.

Plus, he
wasn’t staying
. It was such a rare, delicious opportunity to spend time with a sexy man without any fear of growing too attached. They could just have this incredible few days—help each other over a hard time—then go on to live the lives they were probably meant to live.

Evan won two games for her and handed her a stuffed dolphin and a pewter goldfish ring. They talked to some of her friends from the Ocean Museum. Then she won the Ping-Pong ball toss and handed him a pair of oversized sunglasses. Every time she heard him laugh, she couldn’t help but feel a sharp sense of accomplishment. His laugh sounded rusty and reluctant, which gave her an extra dose of joy.

She still couldn’t believe he’d lost a son. A wife. Her memory opened to the gem she’d kept carefully tucked away: his comment before he kissed her the first time,
You make me forget about my wife. And you’re the first woman who’s ever
done so. . . .
That awareness brought her the greatest joy of all. She tucked the gem back into the furthest recesses of her memory, the furthest recesses of her heart, where she knew she’d pull it out again and again over the next several years. She hoped she could help him for just a few days at least and make this memory a rich one.

The band struck up off to the edge of the marina where the beach was. “Band in the Sand!” Lia clapped. “Let’s go listen!”

“Harry should be leaving soon.” Evan glanced toward the harbor patrol booth hopefully.

“It’ll take him at least fifteen minutes to clear it out. Let’s listen to the band.”

Without waiting for his protest, Lia grabbed Evan’s hand and dragged him toward the beach. He offered a trace of resistance, but still had that quirk of amusement around his mouth and seemed to hold her hand tighter. She pictured him on his sailboat, wind in his hair, alone for two years, and wondered how long it had been since someone had simply held his hand.

About a hundred people had staked claims with their low beach chairs around the stage. Spotlights lit the makeshift amphitheater, where five middle-aged men in Hawaiian shirts crooned “Surf City” like the Beach Boys. Although the beach-chair crowd had settled their places carefully, most were already up out of their chairs, twisting to the beat in the sand, or doing impressive “swim” moves to the music.

Lia shot a smile over her shoulder as she dragged Evan closer. “Wanna dance?”

“Absolutely not.” Evan looked mortified.

“C’mon, dance with me.”

“How about if I sit over here and watch you instead?” He pitched his behind into the sand. His jeans were already sandy as he made himself comfortable, leaning on his side, propping himself up on one arm. He looked sexy enough to jump, but Lia got ahold of herself. Her sweep of his strong thighs and flexed triceps probably lasted a beat too long, but she bit her lip and turned toward the band. She loved to dance. She tugged off the blue shoes, wriggled close to the edge of the stage, and let loose her joy.

After the first number, she returned to Evan and fell next to
him, panting. He actually had a smile on his face that looked like it had lasted longer than a nanosecond.

“I enjoyed that,” he said.

A blush heated her cheeks, which were already rosy, she could tell. Strands of hair were already plastered to her hairline. The fake Beach Boys went into “Surfin’ Safari.” The cold sand felt good.

“Go for it.” He nodded toward the band. “I’ll watch again.”

His obvious enjoyment, and the rumble in his voice, gave her goose bumps. She ran her toes through the night-chilled granules. “How about if you get to watch for three songs, but you join me for the fourth?”

“I seriously don’t dance.”

“Then you seriously don’t watch, either.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “You drive a tough bargain.”

She stood and brushed the sand from her hands. “I’m going to dance way over there unless you change your mind.”

He grabbed her wrist before she could even take a full bare step through the sand. “I want to watch.” His smile was embarrassed.

“Fourth song.”

Without letting go, he stared at her for eight beats of “Surfin’ Safari,” then gave a nod of acquiescence.

Lia bounced back to the edge of the dance floor, bobbing to the smooth, summery music, and found a cluster of dancers who were as enthusiastic as she was—one was Vivi’s hairdresser on Main Street and another she thought was Mr. Brimmer’s daughter. They welcomed her into their fold and danced through the rest of “Surfin’ Safari” and then “Barbara Ann.” Lia threw her hands in the air with wild abandon, and shook her hips with joy. One of Xavier’s friends saw her from across the “floor” and shimmied toward her for “Fun, Fun, Fun.” Before that song was even finished, she felt a hand at her back.

“She’s mine,” Evan said to Xavier’s friend. He smiled and drew her away from the group.

Startled at the interruption, at Evan’s words, at the way this caveman behavior was thrilling her instead of insulting her, Lia started to open her mouth to protest. But when she caught his wolfish gaze, her breath caught. He pulled her toward a lone palm tree in the dark, away from the crowd.

“I’d better keep this proper,” he said, lifting her left hand in his right. With his other hand, he touched her back lightly in a waltz pose. “Is this right?”

“That’s perfect.”

They did a sort of waltz to “Little Surfer Girl” far away from the others, their feet barely shuffling through the sand, mostly rocking in a light circle in the shadows. Evan was a terrible dancer.

Lia bit back a smile.

“When’s the last time you danced, Evan?”