Once again, there was the small problem of not having bathing attire.
And once again, she was caught in the spell of the island. She didn’t care that she didn’t have a bathing suit. She wanted to be unencumbered, not just by clothing, but by every single thought that had ever held her prisoner.
SO AWARE OF the look on Drew’s face as he watched her, Becky undid the buttons of her blouse, shrugged it off and then stepped out of her skirt.
When she saw the look on Drew’s face, she congratulated herself on her investment in the ultra-sexy and exclusive Rembrandt’s Drawing brand underwear. Today, her matching bra and panties were white with tiny red hearts all over them.
And then she stepped into the water. She wanted to dive like him, but because she was not that great a swimmer, she waded in up to her ankles first. The rocks were slipperier than she had expected. Her arms began to windmill.
And she fell, with a wonderful splash, into where he was waiting to catch her.
“The water is fantastic,” Becky said, blinking up at him.
“Yes, it is.”
She knew neither of them were talking about the water. He set her, it seemed with just a bit of reluctance, on her feet. She splashed him.
“Is that any way to thank me for rescuing you?”
“That is to let you know I did not need to be rescued!”
“Oh,” he said. “You planned to fall in the water.”
She giggled. “Yes, I did.”
“Don’t take up poker.”
She splashed him again. He got a look on his face. She giggled and bolted away. He was after her in a flash. Soon the grotto was filled with the magic of their splashing and laughter. The days of playing with him—of feeling that sense of belonging—all seemed to have been leading to this. Becky had never felt so free, so wondrous, so aware as she did then.
Finally, exhausted, they hauled themselves out onto the warmth of the large, flat rock, and lay there on their stomachs, side-by-side, panting to catch their breaths.
“I’m indecent,” she decided, without a touch of remorse.
“I prefer to think of it as wanton.”
She laughed. The sun was coming through the greenery, dappled on his face. His eyelashes were tangled with water. She laid her hand—wantonly—on the firmness of his naked back. She could feel the warmth of him seeping into her hand. He closed his eyes, as if her touch had soothed something in him. His breathing slowed and deepened.
And then so did hers.
When she awoke, her hand was still on his back. He stirred and opened his eyes, looked at her and smiled.
She shivered with a longing so primal it shook her to the core. Drew’s smile disappeared, and he found his feet in one catlike motion. As she sat up and hugged herself, chilled now, he retrieved his T-shirt. He came back and slid it over her head. Then he sat behind her, pulled her between the wedge of his legs and wrapped his arms around her until she stopped shivering.
The light was changing in the grotto and the magic deepened all around them.
“What were you upset about earlier?” he asked softly.
She sighed. “I unpacked Allie’s wedding dress.”
He sucked in his breath. “And what? You wished it was yours?”
“It was mine,” she whispered. “It was the dress she drew for me one of those afternoons all those years ago.”
“What? The very same dress? Maybe you’re just remembering it wrong.”
Was there any way to tell him she had kept that picture without seeming hopelessly pathetic?
“No,” she said firmly. “It was that dress.”
“Representing all your hopes and dreams,” he said. “No wonder you were crying.”
She felt a surge of tenderness for him that there was no mockery in his tone, but instead, a lovely empathy.
“It was just a shock. I am hoping it is just a weird coincidence. But I’m worried. I didn’t know Allie that well when we were teenagers. I don’t know her at all now. What if it’s all some gigantic game? What if she’s playing with everyone?”
“Exactly the same thing I was upset about,” Drew confessed to her. “My brother was supposed to be here. He’s not. I’ve called him twice a day, every day, since I got here to find out why. He won’t return my calls. That isn’t like him.”
“Tell me what is like him,” Becky said gently.
And suddenly he just wanted to unburden himself. He felt as if he had carried it all alone for so long, and he was not sure he could go one more step with the weight of it all. It felt as if it was crushing him.
He was not sure he had ever felt this relaxed or this at ease with another person. Drew had a deep sense of being able to trust this woman in front of him. It felt as if every day before this one—all those laughter-filled days of getting to know one another, of splashing and playing, and throwing Frisbees—had been leading to this.
He needed to think about that: that this wholesome woman, with her girl-next-door look, was really a Mata Hari, a temptress who could pull secrets from an unwilling man. But he didn’t heed the warning that was flashing in the back of his brain like a red light telling of a train coming.
Drew just started to talk, and it felt as if a rock had been removed from a dam that had held back tons of water for years. Now it was all flowing toward that opening, trying to get out.
“When my parents died, I was seventeen. I wasn’t even a mature seventeen. I was a superficial surfer dude, riding a wave through life.”
Something happened to Becky’s face. A softness came to it that was so real it almost stole the breath out of his chest. It was so different than the puffy-lipped coos of sympathy that he had received from women in the past when he’d made the mistake of sharing even small parts of his story.
This felt as if he could go lay his head on Becky’s slender, naked shoulder, and rest there for a long, long time.
“I’m so sorry,” she said quietly, “about the death of your parents. Both of them died at the same time?”
“It was a car accident.” He could stop right there, but no, he just kept going. All those words he had never spoken felt as if they were now rushing to escape a building on fire, jostling with each other in their eagerness to be out.
“They had gone out to celebrate the anniversary of some friends. They never came home. A policeman arrived at the door and told me what had happened. Not their fault at all, a drunk driver...”
