The Surprise of His Life (22 page)

Slowly,
Lindsey stopped her massaging. She tried to look vexed, but the grin that kept
threatening to turn up the corners of her mouth was seriously interfering.
"Why didn't you tell me it was the wrong knee?"

"Why
should I? I was enjoying it."

"Were
you, now?" Her gray eyes had begun to twinkle, making them glitter like
finely cut diamonds.

His
eyes twinkled back. "Yeah. I was."

"Well,
enjoy this," she said as she unexpectedly splashed a screen of water in
his direction and started swimming away.

She
caught him totally off guard, but then, he thought as he instinctively started
in after her, that was pretty well how she'd caught him in every respect. Not
only hadn't he seen her coming, he hadn't had even the smallest glimpse.

Swimming
hard, he grabbed her ankle. She squealed, giggled, jerked her foot away. He reached
for her again, but all he got was a handful of where she'd been. His heart was
already pounding, but its tempo increased dramatically with the sudden need to
touch her. How long had it been since he'd touched her? Suddenly it seemed like
ten thousand forevers. Their playing took on an element of urgency.

Stretching
his arms to their full extent, he kicked harder, encircled her waist with his
arm and, to the accompaniment of her laughter, yanked her to him. They both
slipped beneath the surface of the water, she fighting him as though he were
her mortal enemy. Rolling and tumbling over each other, their bodies in
intimate contact, they scrimmaged and fought, teased and played. At last,
breathing became imperative. Gasping, they broke from the water.

Beads
of water dampened Lindsey's face, clinging like raindrops to her thick tawny
eyelashes. The same drops of moisture dewed her parted lips. Her hair, like a
veil of gold, hung straight about her shoulders, making her look like a
beautiful sea goddess.

Walker
was equally wet. His hair streaked onto his forehead, his whisker-shadowed jaws
dripped water. Runnels ran through the hair on his chest. He, too, looked like
a god rising from the depths of the ocean.

At
the sight of Lindsey, Walker's eyes darkened.

At
the sight of Walker, Lindsey's breath quickened.

Playtime
ended as abruptly as it began.

He
hauled her to him, savagely taking her mouth with his. Teeth clashed, tongues
probed, body collided with body in warm and wanting ways.

"I
want you," she whispered, once more brazenly, truthfully proclaiming her
need.

"Then
take me," he whispered back, his desire as frenzied as hers.

As
he spoke, he drew her legs upward, draping them about his waist even as she
folded her arms about his neck. Her breasts cozied next to his chest, while his
arms crisscrossed her bare back. She lay open to him, intimately open—her
heart, her body. He entered her, driving himself deep. On some plane of
thought, he registered the fact that the miracle wasn't that she'd aroused him
again, but that each time she did a curious thing happened. Each time, he
seemed to grow younger. Each time, his desire for her grew stronger.

This
is madness!
he
thought as his body moved inside hers. A fine and rare and altogether magical
madness!

A
long while later, each dressed in nothing more than a towel, they lay on the
chaise lounge. They were entwined in each other's arms. Overhead, gauzy clouds
floated past a full silver moon.

"You're
quiet," Walker said, the comment rumbling from his chest. There were only
a few hours left before daylight. The night would soon be over. Their night.
What would the morrow bring?

As
she lay in his arms, a dark thought had crossed Lindsey's mind. She hated
herself for letting the thought intrude, but found that she couldn't halt it.
Any more than she could stop herself from now bringing up the subject. The pain
was still there—sharp, acute, biting her to the quick.

"I
wonder if Dad and the girl—pardon me, the woman—from the diner are having a
similar evening."

Walker
tightened his hold. "Lindsey, don't do this to yourself."

"No,
I'm curious. How do men view affairs? Do you think he took her back to his
place for a quickie?"

"Lindsey—"

"Or
do you think she spent the night?"

"Don't
do this."

"Do
you think he told her he loved her, or do you think it was clearly understood
that everything was just fun and games?"

"I
don't
think he's doing this for the fun of it. He's trying to prove something to
himself."

Lindsey
laughed bitterly. "So you think he gritted his teeth and refused to enjoy
it?"

"I
think there's a difference between temporary pleasure and longtime peace."

Lindsey
wasn't placated. "Gee, next you're going to tell me that he thought about
Mom the whole time."

"I
think that's a real possibility."

"Then
you're more naive than I am," Lindsey said, her tone revealing the anger
she felt toward her father. The anger that could so easily become bitterness.

"He's
been upset by your mother's going on with her life. I think her being able to
stand alone took him by surprise. I think it also made him take another look at
her. She may not be exactly what, or whom, he thought she was."

Lindsey
sat up, sighed, and raked her fingers through her damp hair. "I don't know
what to think anymore. Right now, I don't much care. If Dad wants to bed Miss
Diner, let him. If he wants to run off to Timbuktu with her, let him. If Mom
doesn't want to fight for him, that's her business."

"But
you'd fight, right?"

Angling
her head, Lindsey looked at the man stretched out beside her. "I don't
know," she said honestly. "I used to think I'd fight for what I
wanted no matter what, but now I just don't know. If one would rather be turned
loose, what's the point of trying to hold on? If holding on is only hurting the
one you love, how can you conscionably justify fighting?" Both knew that
the conversation had turned personal. Personal as in their own relationship.
Lindsey now asked frankly, "Do you want me to fight for you? Or do we just
chalk this evening up to the kind my father's had?"

At
the first of her questions, Walker hadn't known what to answer. Did he want her
to fight for him? The second part of the question, however, he had no trouble
responding to.

"No!"
he growled, yanking her back down beside him—under him. "What happened
between us is in no way comparable to what happened to your father. And don't
you ever say that again! Do you hear me?"

What
she heard, what he heard, too, was an answer to the first question. He wanted
her to fight for him. He didn't want her to let him walk away. He didn't want her
to let him turn his back on what she was offering him.

"I
hear," she whispered only seconds before his mouth claimed hers.

"...The
tropical depression, located two hundred miles southwest of Jamaica, continues
to build in intensity, and weather forecasters predict that it will start to
organize over the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours. The depression is
currently being plotted on a northwest course which may strike the western tip
of Cuba. This storm has the potential to be a threat to the Texas and Louisiana
Gulf Coast...."

Walker
listened to the radio over the sound of sizzling bacon. Beyond that he could
hear the shower running. He hadn't slept a wink. Not one. Lindsey had slept
precious little more. At a little after five, she'd drifted off to sleep in his
arms, cuddling up to him in a way that had stolen his heart. He'd simply held
her, wondering what in hell was happening to him, wondering where they went
from there.

Still
no answer and careful not to wake her, he had crawled from bed at six o'clock.
Only minutes before, it had begun to sprinkle, a fact which didn't surprise him
in the least because his knee hurt like someone was pounding it with a hammer.
Slipping on his jeans and nothing more, he'd quietly taken Lindsey's car keys
from her purse and gone out to make sure the car windows were rolled up. On a
whim, he'd pulled the car into the garage. He didn't analyze why. He just knew
that it had something to do with wanting to keep their night secret from any
curious eyes. Returning to the house, he turned on the radio and put on some
breakfast. Something— perhaps the radio, perhaps the smell of perking coffee,
perhaps his absence—had awakened Lindsey, for shortly thereafter he'd heard the
shower.

A
thousand thoughts ran through his mind. What would they say to each other? What
did he want to say? What did he want her to say? She had said she loved him,
but had it only been the madness of the night? Would the same words tumble from
her lips by day? And what was he feeling for her? What name should he put to
the strong feelings dancing through his heart? Along with these questions came
the more practical question of whether or not Dean knew about the possible
storm. And what would his best friend say if he knew that he'd spent the night
making love to his daughter? He couldn't even begin to fathom an answer to this
last one.

Turning
the bacon, he opened the refrigerator and removed the juice jar. He poured two
glasses, one of which ran over the rim. Wiping up the orange puddle with a wet
rag, he then washed the rag out under the faucet. In lieu of a dish towel, he swiped
his damp hands down the legs of his jeans. The top button lay unfastened,
forming a vee low on his stomach. He'd just reached for a couple of eggs when he
heard yet another sound. It was the sound of a brisk knock on the back door
seconds before the door flew open.

"Good,
you're up," Dean said, storming into the kitchen the way he had a hundred
times before over the years.

Walker
dropped one of the eggs. It went splat on the kitchen floor.

"Sorry,
I didn't mean to startle you," Dean said. He was wearing cutoff shorts, a
shirt that needed pressing and sunglasses even though not a sliver of sun
peeked through the clouds. In fact, the sprinkling had evolved into a steady
drizzle.

Walker
said nothing. He simply stared at his friend— and listened to the shower. He
did have the presence of mind to put down the other egg before it suffered a
fate similar to the first.

Whipping
off his sunglasses, Dean grabbed a rag and started to clean up the mess.
"I didn't know whether you'd be up." Without giving Walker a chance
to comment, he added, "Have you heard about the storm in the Gulf?"

Storm?
Walker fought at a hysterical laugh. The storm in the Gulf was nothing compared
to the storm about to break in his kitchen!

"Dammit,
I hope we don't have to evacuate the platforms," Dean said.

Squatting
down as he was, Walker noted, in the idle way that one does the color of the
guillotine before the blade falls, that his friend was developing a bald spot
to go along with his receding hairline. Dean hadn't tried to cover it up, which
maybe was why Walker was noticing it now. It left Dean looking old. Dean also
looked tired, as in having been up half the night. He didn't, however, look
like a man who'd stayed up having a good time. Instead, he look worried.

Worried?

Walker
glanced in the direction of his bedroom. The shower was still running. Thank
God! Walker knew, though, that his time was borrowed.

"Look—"
Walker began.

"Geez,
you're burning the bacon!" Dean said, throwing the egg-stained rag into
the sink and yanking the skillet off the fire. Snakelike streams of smoke
billowed upward. "Man, what's wrong? You're the one who does mornings, not
me."

In
the silence, the shower sounded deafening, like a waterfall going over a steep
cliff.

As
clearly as a spring stream flows; Walker saw realization dawn on his buddy.
"Ah, man, I'm sorry. My timing is lousy. It just never crossed my mind
that you had a woman here. I had that storm on my mind, and I was up...
couldn't sleep... so I thought I'd come on over...."

Walker
heard the shower stop. His heart stopped along with it.

"I'll
call you later," Walker said, herding his friend toward the door.

"Yeah,
sure," Dean said, adding as he nodded toward the bedroom, "Anyone
special?"

"Uh...
look, let's talk later, huh?" Walker said, opening the back door.

"Right...
sure... I gotcha," Dean said, allowing himself to be almost physically
ejected from the house. "We'll talk later. Hey, wait," Dean said,
holding on to the door frame, "are you going into the office later?"

Office?
What office? Walker had to force himself to think straight. How long did it
take a woman to get out of the shower and into her clothes? Or—holy hell! —what
if she came in in nothing at all? He wouldn't put it past Lindsey. Not after
last night. Walker deliberately positioned himself between Dean and the now
crack in the door. "Maybe... maybe not... I don't know."

Dean
grinned. "That hot, huh?"