No Sunshine When She's Gone (9 page)

Jill understood what softened her voice. Mike pulled open the front passenger door of the black Armada and, instead of climbing in, lifted Sadie onto the seat. Sadie nosed his cheek, giving him a kiss. Mike then slid into the back.

Carrie brushed back her hair to get a better look. “Any man who gives up his seat for a dog has a heart,” she said.

“Mike is a man unto himself,” Jill reflected. “First impressions stick.” Mike reminded her of the guys from their old neighborhood. Tough and not giving a damn. “He was rude to you.”

“He got in my face, all right,” Carrie agreed, still staring after him. “He didn’t like me at all.”

“That’s his problem, not yours.” Jill felt protective of her friend. “Stay out of his way.”

“He may coach our slow-pitch team.”

“You were determined to involve him, weren’t you?”

Carrie shrugged. “I merely made a suggestion.”

Jill shifted the Triumph into reverse the moment Aidan pulled his SUV onto the main road. “You see something in Mike that I don’t?” she asked.

Carrie bit down on her bottom lip. “He’s broken,” she said.

“You’re not going to try and fix him, are you?” Jill feared Carrie’s answer.

Her friend was a fixer. And a people pleaser. She was kind and positive, and always saw the good in a bad situation. She did her best to make everyone happy and comfortable, even if she got hurt in the process. Mike Burke would walk over her and never know he’d stepped on her heart.

“He needs more than I could give him,” Carrie admitted. “I’ll keep my distance.”

Thank goodness, Jill thought. She doubted Mike would come looking for her friend. Their paths would cross only during slow pitch. That was if Mike kept his word to coach.

They arrived at the Barefoot Inn a short time later. Both women yawned their way from the parking lot and up the stairs to their rooms. “It was a good night,” Carrie said, hugging Jill at her bedroom door. “Trace and Shaye are an amazing couple. Aidan is handsome and personable. He had his eye on you much of the night.”

He’d watched her all right. Jill had felt his gaze. He’d been waiting to catch her in another white lie. She’d stuck strictly to the truth. Except for her comment on Carrie’s Corvette.

“We’ll see more of him tomorrow,” Jill said. “I can’t wait to board the houseboat.”

F
ive minutes aboard the vintage Horizon and Jillian Mac fell in love with the dry-docked houseboat. The boat sat on Land’s End, a cul-de-sac off Houseboat Row. All the other vessels were anchored along a small wooden dock. Several Cates family members preferred the Gulf over a yard; they had less to mow.

Aidan assisted Jill and Carrie as they climbed the boarding ladder. It was steep. “Careful,” he said to Carrie when she missed a step. He was quick to grab her arm.

He took Jill’s hand next. His callused palm was right in line with his hard, muscled body. He felt like a man. She brushed against him as they stood outside the weathered front door. Goose bumps skimmed her arm. Heat touched her everywhere.

Aidan looked amazing, she thought, in his dark green pullover and khaki walking shorts. His topsiders were as broken-in as his work boots had been the previous day. He didn’t wear socks.

A turn of the key, and the women followed him inside. Aidan began the tour. The houseboat had wide windows and bamboo blinds. Finished in maple, the compact space was decorated in summer-sand tones. The vessel had all the amenities of home. The living room connected to the galley, which was small, but modern. The orange countertops reflected Shaye’s quirky personality. The center hallway led past two bedrooms. Both were fully furnished.

Shaye had installed a hot tub on the upper deck. A basket swing hung between two tall poles. The lush foliage of potted plants provided greenery and privacy. “My sister stops by every week to water her plants,” Aidan told them. “This was her sanctuary.”

Here was a place to meditate, Jill thought, or to sunbathe nude. The thought of no tan lines made her smile. She looked at the sky, painted a pale blue, and let the sun’s rays play over her face. The air was still. Warmth and happiness soothed her soul. She could breathe here. “So serene,” she said, running her fingers over the canvas cover on the hot tub.

Aidan pointed aft. “The water slide is your emergency exit,” he said. “The fish finder is wired for security.”

Jill’s heart swelled. The houseboat was perfect. It welcomed her home. The two decks combined the freedom of the ocean with the security of solid ground. She could be happy here. She hoped Carrie would agree. She turned to her friend, wanting her approval.

One look at Carrie and her hopes for living on the Horizon were swept out on the tide. She stood across the deck, clutching the blue railing as if her life depended on it. Her shoulders were slumped, and her face was ashen. Her breathing came in puffs. Carrie appeared on the verge of collapse.

Jill hurried toward her. Aidan was right behind. She gently touched Carrie on the shoulder. “What’s wrong?” she asked, deeply concerned.

“I’m queasy.” Carrie’s voice shook. “We’re land-docked, but I feel the houseboat sway.”

Jill’s stomach tightened with worry. She knew the cause. “It’s your ear, isn’t it?”

Carrie managed a nod.

Jill felt sick herself. The abuse of Carrie’s alcoholic father had left her gripped by dizziness and nausea at inopportune times. Land seasickness was as bad, if not worse, as being on the water.

“Help me get her off the houseboat,” Jill appealed to Aidan.

He was there for her. Taking Carrie by the hand, he carefully led her down the narrow staircase to the lower deck. It was slow going. Carrie grasped his shoulder from behind, steadying herself. Jill came last; empathy for her friend made her own knees wobbly.

Carrie stopped in the hallway to catch her breath. She pressed her hand to her heart, her eyes were misty. “I didn’t mean for this to happen,” she whispered to Jill. “I’m so sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” Jill assured her. “We had no idea the houseboat would affect you this way.”

The Horizon was no longer an option, she realized. She swallowed her disappointment. They’d find somewhere else to live. Carrie was far more important than the houseboat.

She was close behind Aidan as he assisted Carrie down the boarding ladder and back onto the sidewalk. Carrie leaned against his side until her head cleared and she regained her land legs. Aidan stroked her forehead, like a father would his child. He was a kind man.

“Better now?” he asked, looking down at her.

“Much,” said Carrie, although her voice was still weak.

Aidan released her, and Jill hugged her friend so tightly she wrinkled the pin tucks on Carrie’s white poet shirt. “You frightened me,” she said.

“I scared myself,” Carrie admitted. “I felt claustrophobic on the houseboat; the walls seemed to close in on me. And standing on the upper deck made me nauseous.”

Jill released her, easing back. “The apartment will be better,” she assured Carrie.

Carrie studied her now, giving Jill one of her best-friend stares that got into Jill’s head and read her mind. “I saw the look on your face when we were on the upper deck,” she said. “You were excited.”

Jill shook her head, was quick to deny it. “The Horizon was an option, but it’s not for us.”

Carrie wouldn’t let her off the hook. “You wanted to live here.”

“No, I did not.”

Carrie frowned. “Don’t lie to me, Jillie Mac.”

Jill fingered the hem of her Rogues T-shirt. “I’d never lie to you.”

Carrie actually smiled. “Oh, yes you would, and you have many times,” she stated. “You’d say anything to make me feel better.”

“The houseboat is already forgotten.”

“Then why do you keep glancing over your shoulder?”

“It’s a novelty.”

“It would be a cool place to call home,” Carrie insisted. “Just because I can’t move in doesn’t mean you—”

Jill held up her hand. “Don’t go there. We made a pact, agreeing to stick together. We’ll find the right place.”

“Beach Walk is two blocks north,” Aidan put in. “Take a look at the apartment; see what you think. Then you can make your decision.”

They proceeded along the sidewalk to where Aidan had parked his SUV. Jill couldn’t help sneaking one final peek at the houseboat. Her gaze lingered too long. She hadn’t meant to sigh.

Carrie heard her. “Caught you,” she said.

White lies came easy to Jill. “I was watching a seagull,” she made up.

“The gray gull on the wooden piling that just dove for a fish?” asked Carrie.

“That’s the one.”

“There was no seagull.”

Jill saw Aidan smile. The man was amused. “What’s so funny?” she wanted to know.

“Carrie holds you accountable,” he said. “I like that.”

“There are two sides to Jillie Mac,” Carrie revealed. “She can be so honest she’ll make you blink. Other times she’s known to fabricate and sugarcoat to protect her friends.”

“Sugarcoat, huh?” Aidan raised his brow.

“I can be sweet,” Jill informed him. She then opened the passenger-side door, offering the front seat to Carrie. “Hop in.” She would’ve liked to sit next to Aidan, but she didn’t want to seem obvious. She slid into the back, buckled up, then stretched out her legs in her skinny black jeans. She noticed her disc sandals had lost several more beads. She needed to locate the shoe repair shop.

Six times
Aidan glanced at her in the rearview mirror on their way to the residential complex. Jill kept count. She’d had her eye on him, too. His glimpses were quick, direct, and hot.

Their gazes again met when he parked the Armada at Beach Walk. This time his stare was so sexually intense, he set her heart racing. She wiggled on the leather seat, and her fingers became all thumbs. She fumbled with her seat belt. It took her three tries to release the clasp.

Jill eased from the SUV and admired their destination.
Built by Aidan,
the six stories of pink stucco rose amid a landscape of Queen Palms. White hibiscus bushes bordered each corner. Terraces trimmed each apartment.

Keeping an open mind, she gave the complex a chance, even though her heart remained on the houseboat. She’d felt an immediate attachment to the Horizon. She’d been embraced by the indefinable sense of coming home. She shook off the feeling and concentrated on the residential building. It was massive and impressive.

She trailed Aidan and Carrie to the front entrance. Automatic glass doors gave way to an expansive lobby. A security guard sat at a desk off to the right. The floor was laid out in rich burgundy, white, and cool blue tiles. A center coffee and pastry bar welcomed the residents.

Carrie pointed to the display case. She flashed her metal smile. “There are bagels, Jill, and my favorite cake donuts.”

Jill nodded. This was a nice amenity.

“Kylie Cates runs the kiosk,” Aidan told them. “Sandwiches and chips are added over the lunch hour for anyone in a hurry who needs to grab a bite.”

Jill liked having snacks on the premises. The food bar would provide easy access when her stomach growled and there was nothing more than a packet of ketchup in the refrigerator.

An elevator bank stood off to the left. A set of mailboxes lined the wall just beyond. Designed for conversation, two burgundy leather couches faced each other. A single chair sat separately for anyone preferring privacy.

“Let me grab a key,” Aidan said, crossing to the manager’s office. He returned in seconds. “This way.” He ushered them to the nearest elevator. “Do you have an objection to a corner penthouse?”

Carrie’s eyes rounded. “Sounds expensive. Maybe we should come down a few floors.”

“It’s brand new, completely furnished, and the only apartment I have available at the moment,” Aidan said as they rode up in the elevator. “The view is great.”

Carrie was all nervous energy and fidgety hands when she exited the elevator. Jill felt her friend’s anticipation. Carrie was as psyched over seeing the apartment as Jill had been stopping by the houseboat.

Aidan slipped the key into the lock and then stepped back to let them enter. Carrie drew in a deep breath and walked in first.

Jill was a bit more reserved. Aidan sensed her hesitation. He placed his hand on her shoulder, a gesture of comfort, yet it jarred them both. His hand was big and his fingers were so long, they stretched to cover the swell of her breast. His fingertips reached nearly to her nipple.

Sparks flew across her chest, hot and sexual. Aidan felt them, too. He shook out his hand as if it were burned. Heat collared his neck. Jill’s own color was high. His startled expression mirrored hers.

“Jillie,” Carrie called to her from the breakfast bar. She’d propped herself on a tall swivel stool, the heels of her loafers hooked onto the bottom rung. “All the appliances are new and shiny,” she was pleased to note.

“They’ve never been used,” said Aidan. “You’d be the first.”

“The first . . .” Carrie said so softly, Jill barely heard her. “When were we ever first at anything?” she asked.

They had never been first. They’d been second or third on a good day, and last more often than not. Their clothes had been handed down when they were kids. They’d shared half a sandwich at lunch. Jill hadn’t tasted steak until she was sixteen. There had been few toys and fewer dolls. They’d invented imaginary friends. The invisible had seen them through the worst of times.

Their adult lives had changed for the better when they’d joined the Rogues Organization. They’d been hired within a month of each other. They worked in the same office. Friendships came and went, but theirs endured.

Jill watched Carrie now as she hopped off the stool and strolled into the living room. Her gaze was wide and her lips were parted. Her feet sank into the plush gray carpet. She appeared in a happy trance. She dropped down on a charcoal-gray leather chair. Her body sank deep. She lifted her feet onto a matching ottoman. Leaning her head back, she closed her eyes. “Soft as butter.” She sighed.

Jill could tell from Carrie’s expression that she was sold on the apartment. She was ready to move in today. They had little to relocate, only their suitcases and a few boxes. They could sleep here tonight.

Aidan came to stand beside her, but this time he didn’t touch her. “My decorator furnished the apartment,” he told them. “Nothing is set in stone.”

Carrie started and looked around further. “What’s not to like?” she asked. “I wouldn’t change a thing.”

“The one-hundred-inch projection screen television is like sitting in a movie theater,” Aidan pointed out. “The custom shelving was built for books, photos, but could also hold a fifty-gallon aquarium.”

“I like the art,” Jill admitted. “The colors are vibrant.” She was attracted to the floor-to-ceiling painting of crashing waves on the seashore. The white froth whipped up the sand and seethed between the seashells.

Carrie rose from her chair, motioned to Jill. “Let’s check out the bedrooms.”

They did. Aidan held his place at the corner of the breakfast bar, allowing them to move about freely. The master bedroom had a king-size bed and a modern, black lacquered dresser and desk. The bathroom hosted a Jacuzzi tub, deep shell-styled sinks, a heated towel rack, and padded vinyl toilet seat.

Carrie grinned. “Cushy tushy.”

The price one paid for comfort, Jill thought.

A double bed fit comfortably in the second bedroom, and a mirrored armoire made for additional closet space. A half-bath was at the end of the hall.

They returned to the living room and found Aidan seated on the corner of the couch, talking on his cell phone. He rubbed the back of his neck, and his expression was serious. He appeared all business.

Carrie motioned Jill onto the balcony. She unlocked and pushed aside a panel of sliding-glass doors tinted against the harsh rays of the sun. Thick wrought iron railings secured the terrace. Two red-cushioned loungers were stacked against the building. An umbrella table would allow meals to be taken alfresco. A cedar Adirondack chair sat amid a small private garden. The view from the two-sided balcony was spectacular.

Jill noticed a brochure for the complex on the table and went to pick it up. Someone had left it behind, she guessed. She soon understood why. The pamphlet listed the size of each apartment and the rental fee. Beach access and the view came with a high price. Even if she and Carrie combined their yearly earnings, it wouldn’t cover six months in the penthouse.