To the Edge (40 page)

"Nothing?" Jillian met Ethan Garrett's somber gaze across his desk at E.D.E.N., Inc., two weeks later. "You've heard nothing from him?"

Looking like a
GQ
ad in his dark suit and tie, Nolan's older brother glanced between Dallas and Eve, who had joined them in his office. "Sorry," Ethan said, avoiding Jillian's eyes. "Haven't heard a word. I wouldn't worry about it, though. He'll turn up ... in time."

He'd had plenty of time, to Jillian's way of thinking. Two weeks was enough time for anyone to outrun the truth. Two weeks was enough time to outrun it, figure it out,
and
come to terms with it.

It had only taken her one. And in that one week, she'd gone through all the stages. Played "poor me," then "vindictive me," then "doubtful me," and finally "determined me." She loved him. He loved her. And she wasn't going to let him mess this up for them. That's why she'd spent the second week trying to find him. And that's why she'd ended up here.

"How are you doing?" Eve asked, crossing her arms and easing a hip on the corner of Ethan's desk. No power suit for Nolan's twin today. She looked feminine and curvy in a watered silk pantsuit in rosy mauve.

"I'm good." Jillian smiled at the genuine concern in Eve's expression. And she
was
fine. She was rested and for the most part she was physically healed.

The rest would come eventually. Eventually, she'd come to terms with the lengths Diane had gone to in order to try to kill her. God, she'd even been instrumental in getting Jillian her position at KGLO. In retrospect, it all fit now. Diane had had complete access to her schedule, had always known the best time to get to her. She'd had the pull to get John Smith a job at the Breakers and the savvy to manipulate him into helping her. Poor John. He was so lost and had been used so badly.

"Jillian?"

She looked up to see Eve watching her with concerned eyes.

"I'm sorry. Little lapse there. I'm really fine. And if I haven't already thanked you for the flowers, they were beautiful. It was very thoughtful of you to send them. All of you."

"We're just glad it's over for you." This came from Dallas, looking all-American delicious in his button-down shirt and khakis.

Dallas, however, was wrong. Very wrong. It was not over. At least not where she and Nolan were concerned. Despite his siblings' concern and their united front, she didn't doubt for a minute that they knew exactly where Nolan was. Blood, after all, was thicker than anything she and Nolan had managed to forge together. At least, the Garretts thought it was.

They, however, didn't know what she did: She loved their brother. And he loved her. If she had to hit Nolan over the head with that information, so be it. But she had to find him first.

"You don't have to look so guilty," she told them with a resigned smile. "It's good that you all care about him. But I care, too. And with or without your help, I will find him."

Although she'd just given them absolution, the siblings exchanged guilt-filled glances. She shook her head, couldn't help but smile. Lord, they were a gorgeous lot. It made her ache inside to watch the brothers; their looks, their voices, even their actions, were so reflective of Nolan's. Even Eve, with her petite blond-bombshell look, was unmistakably a Garrett.

Knowing she was wasting her time here, Jillian bid them good-bye. Didn't bother to ask them to give her a call if they heard anything. It would be another waste of time and breath. And who could blame them for aiding and abetting him? Were she in their shoes, she'd be helping him hide out, too. After all, who in their right mind would want to get involved with the media circus her life had become since the "rest of the story" had broken?

Not that she thought Nolan was in his right mind, but it was no wonder he'd run away. Now, however, it was time for him to come back. To her.

She'd just reached the elevator when Eve called her name. "Jillian."

Nolan's twin smiled as she approached. "Men," she said, and if her inflection on that single word hadn't summed up her opinion of the species, her next words did. "They're idiots. It's like they all take a vow of stupidity or something."

Jillian returned Eve's smile. "That's a given, but what does it make us when we continue to fall in love with them?"

"Idiot squared, I guess." Eve sobered and studied Jillian's face. "You do love him, don't you?"

"Yeah," Jillian confessed. "I do."

"Give him another week. Then check the marina. He'll be there. On the
EDEN."

Jillian couldn't help it. She reached for Eve, hugged her hard.

"Well, damn. Don't cry." Eve laughed, but she was a little teary eyed herself when she pulled away. "And don't thank me. I'm not so sure I'm doing you any favors. He's a knot-head and probably more trouble than he's worth."

"Knot-head, yes. Trouble? Absolutely.
My
kind."

"Good luck. " Eve said with another warm smile. "And, Jillian... for what it's worth, I think you're exactly the kind of trouble
he
needs."

27

Jillian pulled into a parking space at
the marina and cut the motor. She'd given Nolan his week. Then for good measure, she'd given him another, telling herself it was to afford him a little more time to deal with his insecurities. It was possible though, she thought, staring toward the
EDEN's
slip, that her own uncertainty may have made that call.

What if she was wrong? What if her radar had completely gone off the scope on this one and she was wrong about Nolan's feelings for her?

She hesitated as she checked her hair in the rearview mirror, damned the nervous tremor in her hand as she freshened her lip gloss. Maybe she should just leave well enough alone. Forget about the fact that for the first time in her life she'd fallen head over heart in love. Forget that she missed him so much she physically hurt with it.

She let out a deflated breath. Maybe she should simply figure out a way to factor Nolan out of her life and just... just get on with it.

Coward.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." she muttered, and reached for the cooler she'd stowed on the front seat beside her. She'd be a coward if she didn't at least confront him and make him tell her to her face that he didn't want to be a part of her life.

But he
did
want to be. He
had
to want it And she was just the woman to make him admit it.

Buoyed up by that conviction, she headed for the docks. She'd never played the shrinking violet in her life. Never used tears or threats or a quivering lower lip to get what she wanted. As she approached the
EDEN,
she was determined she wasn't going to start now. The stakes were too high. She was going to face this like she faced everything else in her life. Head-on.

"This is it, Kincaid," she told herself as she stepped onboard.

She reached for the companionway door, then hesitated when she heard a muffled sound from the bow.

Bracing her shoulders, she stepped around the back of the flybridge ... and felt all the air sough out of her lungs at the sight that met her.

Whether nerves or battle mode caused it, her heart pounded so hard it competed with the growl of a sailboat motoring by toward open water.

Nolan was doing push-ups on the deck, looking tough and buff and... incredible. His hair was wet with perspiration; his skin was oiled with it, too, as he pressed his body to the limit, muscles straining, sinews stretching. She'd forgotten how truly beautiful he was. How could that be? And how could it be that all she had to do was look at him and she could feel the kiss of his breath on her skin?

Powerful. It was so powerful, this love she felt, that a physical ache tugged way down deep in her center. So powerful that she needed these few moments before he spotted her to reacclimatize herself to the reactions zinging along her bloodstream like pinballs.

When he finally rose and, unaware of her presence, wiped the sweat from his forehead with his upper arm, she told herself she was ready. She could do this, she thought as he crossed the deck and lifted a fishing rod from a holder fastened to the bow rail and slowly reeled in the line.

Ducking behind the cover of the flybridge, she opened the cooler and drew out two ice-cold bottles. Then she stepped out of the aft deck and walked toward him.

There was no backing out now.

Nolan had been back in West Palm and aboard the
EDEN
for two weeks. He'd done a lot of thinking in the past month. A
lot
of thinking.

He'd also done a lot of fishing. He hadn't caught a damn thing. It hadn't kept him from trying. Over and over again, he'd baited up, cast in, waited patiently, and reeled in an empty hook.

As he reeled in yet again, it seemed his luck was holding true—or was it? he thought when he heard footsteps on the deck behind him.

He turned around.

And there she was.

The catch of the century.

God, she looked amazing. Healthy. Vibrant. Hot.

He'd known she was well again. He'd kept tabs, but damn, seeing her like this, long bare legs, short white shorts, tight red top, it damn near stopped his heart.

In each hand she gripped an ice-cold bottle of root beer. So cold the bottles were fogged over, dripping wet with sweat. Or maybe his eyes had fogged over. For sure, his brain was a muzzy mess.

"Hot today," she said, like it hadn't been thirty fricking days since he'd seen her, like his heart wasn't clogging "Lord of the Dance" against his rib cage.

She extended a bottle. "Thought you might be thirsty."

Oh yeah. His mouth was as dry as a desert-bleached bone.

Gaze locked on hers, he took it. Still watching her, he twisted off the cap and sucked down a long, deep swallow, all the while trying to pretend she hadn't rocked his world like a daisy cutter blasting through an Afghanistan mountain.

He should say something. He needed to say something, but he couldn't get his fill of looking. Didn't ever want to stop looking at her. Pale, creamy skin. Red-gold hair. Dark glasses covered her eyes, but the vivid sea green of her irises was burned into his mind like a brand. He'd seen those eyes in his dreams—the welcome ones that had replaced some of his nightmares.

"So," she said, the picture of a woman in control. "Catch anything?"

His breath. Maybe. If he was lucky.

He snagged the towel he'd looped over the railing, then dragged it across his face, wiping the sweat from his eyes. So he could get an even better look.

Sweet Gezus, she was a sight. He remembered those shorts. They were the ones she'd worn the night he'd dragged her to Nirvana. He remembered that little strip of pale skin between them and her skimpy red top, too. Remembered most of all how that skin tasted, how silky soft it felt against his tongue.

And suddenly he realized she'd known exactly what seeing her in them would do to him.

Well, I'll be damned.
His princess was here on a mission, all decked out in her battle gear. And wonder of wonders, she'd come to fight for her man, not tell him to take a long walk off a short pier.

Yeah, she was tooled for battle and she wasn't planning on being gentle about it.

A relief so huge it damn near buckled his knees swept through him. Elation so overwhelming it hurt swelled in his chest like a wet sponge. He'd been dying to go to her, crawl over broken glass on his hands and knees to beg for another shot, and here she was, bringing the action to him. It took everything in him not to break into a big, gooney grin.

Oh man. He was the luckiest SOB in the world. He didn't deserve her—wouldn't in a million years—and he damn well should have stayed the hell away. But she was the best thing that had ever happened to him and if it took the rest of his life, he was going to figure out a way to become the best thing that ever happened to her.

Right now would be a helluva fine time to start, to confess that if she hadn't shown up today, he was coming after her. So while he'd like nothing better than to run up the white flag and let her have her way with him, she deserved the chance to hit him with her best shot. So he stood there and prepared to take his licks like a man ... a man in love.

"You come all this way to talk about fishing?" he asked when what he wanted to do was drag her into his arms and plaster her against him like glue.

She looked past him toward the bow ... the first sign that she wasn't as sure of herself as she wanted him to think. "No. But I did come to talk."

When he didn't say anything, she lifted the bottle to her lips, swallowed. The face she made set the corner of his mouth twitching.
Definitely not champagne, huh, princess?

"What's on your mind, Jillian?"

"You," she said with unabashed frankness.

He searched her face and for the first time since he'd discovered her on
the EDEN's
deck, realized what he'd done to her. She'd suffered because he'd skipped. And yeah, one hundred times yeah, he'd suffered, too. That's why he was back. He'd missed her. Missed her like hell. Missed her until his insides felt as empty as a retired tank. Rusted. Hollow. Gutted of purpose.