Taken (6 page)

“What are you thinking?” you ask.

I throw my hands in the air. “I have no idea what to think.”

“Then don’t.” You hook your arm through mine and we begin walking again. “I’ll show you where the helicopter lands.”

Everything about the past few days is surreal.

I’m here with you, Merrick Rocha, on Turtle Tear Island.

My mom is on a European cruise that you sent her on.

I have a happy mom on a dream cruise, my dream hotel renovation and you…my dream man? I’m not certain, but I think I would feel that way if I let myself forgive you.

Chapter Six

We stand in the center of a clearing beside a black helicopter. The tall grass around us has been blown over. It lies flat on the ground. “It’s the only spot on the island where there are no trees. I was afraid it might be a marsh when I first landed the helicopter here.”

“When was that? How many times have you been here?”

You pat the side of the helicopter and lean against it. “About two years ago. This is my third time.”

Third time’s a charm
. Funny, I’ve only slept with my high school boyfriend and my ex-boyfriend, Lance, who I met my second year in college and dated for two years—you’d be my third. Experience isn’t on my side.

I run my eyes up your strong legs, over the lines of your chest where your t-shirt hugs, down your well-defined arms—I can’t imagine how good they would feel wrapped around me.

I want you to be my third. If I get the courage to make a move, I have to be sure it’s more than just sex. I’m not a one-time and done kind of girl. I’d be crushed if I got past how we started and gave myself to you only for it never to happen again—if that was all you wanted.

“The island’s three miles in circumference, right?” I need to get my mind off of you and me and all that implies.

“It is.” You step toward me and hold out your hand. “I’ve never been all the way around. Let’s go explore.”

There are a lot of things on this island I’d like to explore.

My fingers tingle as I take your hand. We head to the far side of the clearing and duck into the trees. “Whoa. How are we getting through here?” Mangrove roots arch and turn, forming cage-like structures at the base of each tree.

“We climb and watch for water. I don’t want you sinking.” Your hand slips up my arm and clamps down just above my elbow. “Hold tight.”

I twist my fingers in the side of your t-shirt and follow you, stepping where you step. You help me up and over the mangrove roots. It takes us a while, but finally, we emerge from the tangled trees into tall grass that gives way to a sea of water lilies.

“There’s water under there,” you say, pointing to the lilies. You grip me even tighter. “I don’t want to scare you, but watch for gators. You never know.”

My eyes skirt around us, delving into the tall grass and lilies. “Maybe we should go back.”

“Look over there,” you say, ignoring my suggestion. “It’s a boat house.”

The ramshackle wooden structure looks like an abandoned shack to me, not a boathouse, but I step lightly behind you through slick mud, admittedly curious about what’s inside.

Bugs buzz in the trees, and the relentless sun beats down on my face. It has to be nearing noon. I slip; one foot shoots out from under me. You lunge for me and pull me against you before I fall.

 
“Thanks.” I’m pressed into you, your hands flat on my back holding me tight. Your eyes are hazy, expectant.

I reach up—my hand shakes—and brush a curl back from your forehead. I caress your cheek with my eyes; run them over your nose and down to your lips. Should I?

In my hesitation, you to set me back on my feet before I have a chance to act. “Close one,” you mutter. I’m not sure if you mean my slip, or the almost kiss.

You forge ahead the few yards to the boathouse and peer inside. “Hey! Looks like we’re catching our dinner.”

I catch up and find you digging around through fishing gear inside a big canoe. “I thought you said the kitchen was stocked.”

“We’re on an island!” You’re beaming holding a net in one hand and a fishing rod in the other. “Let’s get out on the water and see what we can catch.”

I can’t help but laugh at your exuberance. A flash of what you were like as a young boy comes to mind. All curls and big brown eyes. “Did you go fishing with your grandpa when you went camping?” I step in the canoe beside you and pick up a red and white bobber.

“Yeah,” you say bending and opening a tackle box. “My sister was like the fish whisperer. Every time her bait hit the water a fish would jump on.” You take a rusty hook out of the box and hold it up examining it.

“You weren’t as lucky?” I toss the bobber up and catch it.

You chuckle. “I have crap luck at fishing. Let’s hope you’re better.”

“Don’t count on it. Thank God for grocery shopping assistants, huh?”

Your wide grin mesmerizes me. You narrow your eyes, holding a question in them.

I lift my brows. “What?”

“I hoped I could make you happy by bringing you here. I guess I never realized that I’d get something from you.”

Now I narrow my eyes at you. “What are you getting from me?”

“I haven’t smiled this much in a long, long time.”

“And I haven’t even kissed you yet.” The words slip out before I realize what I’m saying. My eyes widen, and I suck in my lips.

You laugh and pull me in for a hug. “I’m glad it’s on your mind at least. I’ve been dying to know what’s been going on in there.” You playfully tap your knuckles on top of my head.

“Glad I gave that away,” I mumble, making you laugh louder.

Out on the water, you cast your line with a shiny fake bug on the hook for bait. The boat rocks, and I grab the sides. You watch me, relaxed and amused.

Fortunately, we only found one reel, so I’m off the hook for the fishing part of this expedition. Instead, I slip to the bottom of the boat and stretch my arms and legs out in the sun hoping I don’t burn to a crisp. Water laps at the sides of the boat. A fish jumps. Birds fly high overhead calling to each other.

“Content?” You balance the pole against your bench and lean back to wait for a bite.

“Why would you say that?” I can’t give you satisfaction for dragging me here yet.

You fold your arms over your chest and quirk a smile. “You sighed.”

“Could’ve been a sigh of irritation.” I glance away from you then back. I can’t stop looking.

Your dimples deepen. “No, it was contentment.” You mimic my sigh and thread your fingers behind your head. “I could live here. Maybe I won’t leave.”

“Don’t you have responsibilities? A little business to run?” I nudge your leg with my bare foot.

Your gaze shifts out over the water. “I’ve been thinking about retiring.”

“You’re thirty-two!”

“I’m a billionaire.” You sit forward and pick up your rod, reel in the line and cast it back out. “None of it matters, anyway. What does it mean to own a bunch of buildings?”

“You’re not old enough to have a mid-life crisis, you know.” I nudge you again, but you don’t respond. “It has whatever meaning you give it.”

You rub the stubble on your jaw. “Yeah. I guess that’s the problem. It doesn’t mean much anymore. It’s just…empty. I don’t know. It doesn’t make me happy anymore. Maybe it never did.”

“This place makes you happy, so you’re ready to chuck it all in for a rundown hotel and a canoe?”

You close your eyes and nod. “I don’t want the competition anymore, the back-stabbing, the rumors. It’s so peaceful here without all of that.”

What’s happened to you to make you want to throw it all away? “It’s a big decision.” Your whole life has had to have been wrapped up in your business to make it what it is today.

Your eyes open, and you lean toward me. “That’s another reason I had to have you here. You know how to make hard decisions—even ones that tear you up inside, like turning down a job you really want. I need you to help me make mine.”

I rise back up on my bench so we’re eye-to-eye. “I can’t help you make that decision, Merrick. I barely know you.”

You take a strand of my hair and pluck out a leaf. Our hair and eye coloring are so similar; we could be brother and sister. Only the heat I feel at your touch isn’t sisterly at all. “We’ve only just started our time here together,” you say, flicking the leaf in the water. “You’ll know me well enough soon.”

“How long will I be here?” You make it sound like this is an extended stay for both of us.

“A few weeks.” You lean back again and pick up your pole. “This time.”

“I can’t…” Before I finish saying I can’t stay, I realize that I can. I’m not missing anything at home. My internship—my internship sucked anyway. I haven’t found a job yet after turning you down.

You eye me across the boat. “You can. I made sure of it.”

I’ve never been free to do whatever I want. From the time I was old enough to take the dance classes my mom signed me up for, through college at the university she and dad chose—close to home—through the past few years trying to intern and help my mom care for my dad after his cancer diagnosis. Then he passed away and she was so lonely. I couldn’t leave her. My time, my choices have never been my own.

“Do you resent having to answer to everyone else?” You’re staring at me, very perceptive of my feelings. Too perceptive.

“Sometimes. Then I feel guilty.” Your bobber dips underwater and pops back up. I smack your leg and point. “You got one!”

“No way.” You jerk the line and start reeling it in. “I never catch anything. You must be my lucky charm.” You wink at me and pull an ugly green-brown fish out of the water. “Big mouth bass.”

I grab the net and hold it out for you. Once the fish is in the boat, you take the hook out and plop him in a rusty bucket with some lake water. “You’re keeping it?” It stares up at me with a big, googly eye, its gills flaring.

“I told you, we’re eating it tonight.” Your head joins mine over the bucket. “Mmm, mmm. Good eatin’.”

Laughter erupts from my belly. “Are you sure you’re a billionaire business god?”

Your laughter joins mine. “I did sound like I real swamp-man just then, didn’t I?”

“If you do stay here, you’ll fit in nicely with the neighbors.” I put a hand up, shading my eyes. “If there are any in a hundred mile radius.” I drop my hand and shrug. “You can always fly them in.”

“Nah. Too pretentious. I’ll stick with the canoe.” You sit and cast the line back out. “Let’s see if your luck holds.”

Turning on my bench, I glance out across the water, scanning in all directions. There is so much untamed green—trees, lilies, sea grass—it’s like we’re pioneers who trekked out here and discovered this secluded spot.

A firefly wisps by my head, hovers like a helicopter between us, then darts away. How can you mesh your life of luxury with one on a deserted island?