Distracted (3 page)

“Ahh, be still my heart,” he said and drained half
the bottle.

Fascinated, Erin watched as he licked the lime from
his lips and smiled at her.

Well, I’m off on the right foot, she thought. She
searched for a chair and, not finding one, headed back to the bar,
brushed off a few stray crumbs and hoisted herself up onto the
counter. Obviously, this was a one-person deck and guests had to
make do. If he wasn’t going to provide a chair, she would have to
find her own seat.

“You know, sometimes that’s my kitchen table.”

“I don’t mind. These are old shorts,” she lied again.
She lifted the bottle to her lips. Another shot of courage, she
thought.

She heard him chuckle, a low rumble. “You’re kind of
feisty, aren’t you?”

“Not really, Mr. Spence. I’m your assistant. I’m here
to do whatever it takes to help you write your book.”

She waited. She had learned that sometimes, in
situations where the client didn’t appreciate professional
intervention, reaction was better than proaction. She would bide
her time.

Unfortunately, Stephen Spence was the kind of guy who
didn’t mind the time spent biding. The hammock rocked gently as he
occasionally put one of his big feet against the deck and
pushed.

Erin was nearing the bottom of the bottle when she
finally gave in. “Do you have any questions?”

“Nope.”

He upended his beer, savoring the last of it. He
shook the bottle at her expressively and then set it on the deck
beneath him where it joined the other three empties.

Erin exhaled a bit forcefully, blowing wayward
tendrils off of her forehead. She lifted her bottle and drank its
contents in a series of chugs, then licked the lime pulp off her
lips. After setting her bottle to the side, she jumped off the bar
and once again bent over to open the fridge. Out of the corner of
her eye, she saw Spence lift his sunglasses.

“Are you checking me out?”

“Yes ma’am. You sure have nice legs.”

Erin shuffled her feet to the left, giving him a
profile of her rear instead of full-on view. “Perv,” she muttered.
She pulled two more beers from the ice box and, again, slid lime
slices into bottles. She walked to the hammock and put the icy beer
into his hand. Then she picked up her purse and went back to the
bar. She lifted her long neck bottle in salute and took a deep pull
before hopping back up.

“I’m told you’re having problems meeting your
deadlines.”

Spence did not reply, just rocked slowly in the
hammock, the cold beer cradled in his right hand.

“You do understand why I’m here, don’t you Mr.
Spence?”

“Spence.”

Erin felt a flash of impatience. “You do understand
why I’m here, don’t you?”

“Yep.”

She pulled a small notebook out of her purse and
clicked her ink pen, the tip poised over a fresh sheet of paper. “I
think the first thing we should do is make a schedule.”

Spence snorted softly and raised his beer to his
lips.

“You think that’s funny?”

He lifted his sunglasses and winked at her. “Honey, I
don’t have a schedule.”

“Well, now you do, Mr. Spence. You’ve signed a
contract to produce a book, and there are deadlines to meet. I’m
here to make sure you do. And,” she added, “I’m not your
‘honey.’”

“Touchy, eh? You married?”

“No. Not that it’s any of your business,” Erin said,
stonily staring across the wetlands.

“Relax, sweetheart. Just don’t want some angry
husband knocking on the door next week.”

“Well, you won’t. And don’t call me sweetheart,
either.”

“Don’t you like men?”

Erin sputtered angrily. This conversation is getting
way out of control, she thought. “Mr. Spence …”

“Spence.”

“Mr. Spence! I’m here to do a job. My sexual
preferences are none of your concern.”

“So hands off, huh?”

“If I want a relationship, I’ll get a puppy,” she
snarled.

“Hmmm. Sounds like the voice of experience,” Spence
observed.

Erin frowned. In the distance, the Pamlico Sound
shimmered.

* * *

Four beers later Erin was sitting on the deck, her
legs stretched in front of her, burning in the mid-afternoon sun.
She felt loopy. Her continental breakfast had consisted of a plain
bagel and a Styrofoam cup of bitter orange juice. She missed dinner
the night before. She began chewing on lime rinds and peeking into
the cracks of the deck for stray peanuts.

So far she had learned that Stephen Spence rarely got
up before noon, and it was only because he fell asleep in the
hammock late last night that she had the pleasure of his company
now.

He also talked a bit about Ocracoke, telling her how
his family came to the small island.

“I was born here. There’s not many of us; about 800
or so year-round residents. My folks came to the Outer Banks in the
‘60s and opened one of the first dive shops in the area. My dad was
in the Navy and learned how to dive. He taught my mom, and they
worked together for years.”

Erin nodded gently, relaxing at his soft, Southern
accent.

“How long have they been married?”

“My dad is gone now. He died a few years ago.”

“Oh, sorry to hear that.”

Spence sobered. “He died of emphysema. He
smoked.”

“What about your mom? How is she?”

“She gets along. Still runs the dive shop. She’s a
tough old lady.”

“How old is she?”

“Well, I’m the youngest, and she had me late. She was
in her forties, I think. Surprised as hell when I came along. She’s
in her seventies now, but she doesn’t act like it.”

Finally, he swung his legs out of the hammock and
walked over to his guest. She licked her lips. They felt swollen
and more hairy than the kneecaps in front of her. He offered his
hand. She put her left hand into his and waited.

“One, two, three.”

He pulled her to her feet at “three” and smiled.
Devastating, she thought, her gut clenching at his brilliant, white
smile.

She leaned against the bar and burped.

“Oh, my gosh! Excuse me,” she said. “I’m not used to
drinking beer for lunch.” She valiantly swallowed the next
burp.

“Don’t apologize. I’m impressed. “ Stephen Spence
smiled again, disarming her. “Let’s go inside. You’ve had too much
sun.”

He picked up her purse and slung it over his
shoulder. Then he put a hand on her shoulder and steered her
towards a sliding glass door. Once inside, her head began to clear.
It was at least ten degrees cooler and she spied a large, white
sofa.

“Sanctuary!”

“I take it you’re not from the South?”

Erin slumped on the couch and, uninhibited by the
alcohol, stretched out and sighed.

“No. I live in D.C. but I’m from Pennsylvania.”

“You tired?”

“Mm hmm.”

“How ‘bout I let you take a nap while I shower? You
mind if I leave you alone for awhile?”

Erin snored softly.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

He stood in the middle of his living room a few
moments and watched her sleep. Honey blonde hair spilled out of her
ponytail and covered her face. He was tempted to brush it back.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Erin woke up and realized she
had to pee. She sat up and immediately felt woozy. Whoa, she
thought, what have I done? No matter; her bladder was more
important. She walked slowly down the hall and opened every door
she came to. She found the bathroom on the fourth try. She
frantically pulled her shorts down and sat on the toilet. Relief
was immediate. She put her elbows on her knees and began rubbing
her eyes. They were filled with salt.

“Could you hand me that towel?”

Her head snapped up and she looked towards the
shower. Stephen Spence, half hidden behind a fogged glass door, had
turned off the water and noticed that his guest had found him once
more.

She hid her face in her hands and muttered, “Good
lord.” She shook her head slightly then, reaching to her left,
picked up the towel he had asked for and proffered it in his
direction.

“Thanks. ‘Preciate that.”

He closed the shower door and turned away, whistling
“How Much Is That Doggie in the Window?”

Erin peeked through her fingers and watched through
the foggy glass as he rubbed down with the towel, his back to her.
Despite her best intentions, she let her eyes slide down, taking in
the wet curls against his neck, the broad expanse of his back
tapering into a slim waist. A few seconds later, she was slipping
through the door but not before stealing one last peek at the man
in the shower. He finished drying off and wrapped the towel low
around his waist. As he stepped out of the shower, she quickly
closed the door and sprinted towards the living room.

Spence didn’t bother dressing. He followed her into
the living room and collapsed into one of the large armchairs. He
exhaled loudly.

“That’s a chore. You ever notice that taking a shower
is a lot like work?”

Erin looked away.

“No. I, um, generally take showers early. I find it
very refreshing.”

“That so? I don’t generally get up early.”

Erin laughed. Embarrassed, she attempted to act and
converse normally, though she still looked away. “Mr. Spence, I
apologize. I didn’t mean to intrude. I had to use the bathroom and
didn’t realize you were there also.”

“Spence. Call me Spence.”

“I don’t think I’ve gotten off on the right foot
here. I …” Erin trailed off. She stared out the sliding glass doors
at the back bay and licked her swollen lips. “If you want me to
leave, I understand. I’m sure I can find a hotel on the
island.”

“Are you thirsty?”

“What?”

“Are you thirsty? You keep licking your lips like
you’re thirsty.”

She bit her lower lip, confirming the fact that they
were still there although she still couldn’t feel them. Alcohol did
that to her. “I am. I could use some water.”

He stood up, retied his towel, and walked into the
kitchen. Now she was looking.

Erin heard ice clinking into a glass followed by a
stream of water. He brought her the glass and, as she reached for
it, sat down next to her. She downed it in several large gulps. He
watched as her throat jiggled. She lifted the glass to her forehead
and closed her eyes.

“It’s so hot here. It feels like summer already.”

Smiling, Spence took the glass from her.

“Why don’t you lie down and relax. You got a little
burned out there. You may have sun stroke.”

“Really? Is that serious?”

“Can be. Some people die from it. You’re probably
just dehydrated.”

Erin’s head swam. She closed her eyes and sank into
the cool, white sofa. Spence stood up and, after placing a pillow
under her head, went into his bedroom to dress.

* * *

Hours later, Erin woke up. For a moment she felt
lost. She blinked to clear her vision then sat up and straightened
her clothes. She heard music in the distance and followed it down
the hallway. She found him in his studio, standing at one of his
canvasses.

He frowned as he concentrated, then glanced back and
forth from the painting to several photographs he had clipped to
the corner. A tackle box filled with paint tubes sat on a tall
table next to his hip. He had pulled out the tackle box tray and
was using it as a palette. The table top also served as a palette
with layers of dried oil paint stacked one on top of another like
an artistic archaeological dig. He had a brush behind one ear and
was chewing on another. He didn’t move for several minutes,
studying the scene before him. He didn’t notice Erin, her footsteps
muffled by the carpet.

He glanced first over his shoulder at the sun now
sinking into the Pamlico Sound then back at his canvas before he
spied her. She didn’t move.

“The light’s wrong now.” He put his brushes in a
bottle of linseed oil and the tray on a table behind him, then
sauntered towards her. “How ya feeling?”

“Fine. I think I should find a hotel on the island
and freshen up.”

“Thought you were going to stay here?”

Erin backed up as he came towards the door. “I think
you and I need a bit of privacy and maybe a fresh start.” Even as
the words came out, she realized they did not sound convincing.

“Nah, no worries. I’ve already put your suitcase in
your room. It’s at the end of the hall,” he said, taking her arm
and escorting her to the opposite side of the house. He opened a
door and Erin was dazzled by the view from the large windows. The
room seemed to float in light as the mirrored closets on the far
wall reflected the blues and browns of the wetlands. Centered in
the middle of the room was a king-sized bed covered with a
champagne silk spread. Minimally decorated, there was no other
furniture in the room other than mahogany floating shelves attached
to the walls. He moved to one of the mirrored doors and opened
it.

“See? Your own bathroom.” He emphasized the word
“own” and his smile was overly bright.

Erin cringed. She was embarrassed but it was the
memory of his wet, tanned, muscled body that flushed her cheek, not
his gentle teasing.

“I unpacked for you,” he added, stepping towards the
built-in dresser and opening the top drawer. He pulled out a lacy
bra and swung it around his index finger.

She gasped. He had retrieved her suitcase out of the
SUV while she slept and put her clothes away? She blushed
furiously. He dropped her bra, closed the drawer and changed the
subject.

“Hungry?”

“Yes,” she replied, disarmed by the simple
question.

“I don’t have much in the way of vittles here so
we’ll go out. I suppose you’ll want to take a shower? You might
want to lock the door. You know, to keep out intruders.”