Breaker's Passion (4 page)

The ocean breeze blew the wayward strands that had fallen out of the clip in her hair. She had taken extra care to secure it when she put the top down on the car, but between the convertible and her stroll along the beach, more than a little had escaped. She opened the clasp and set her hair free to fall across her shoulders.

She stepped onto the patio and stopped just short of the decorative fence. A few people were on the beach in front of her room, but her patio was at a slightly higher elevation than the beach itself. This assured her that sunbathers wouldn’t be on her patio or, worse yet, peeking into her villa.

Taking another deep breath of fresh air, she closed her eyes and an odd sensation pulsed in her. She seemed to be humming with a combination of peace, excitement, and something she couldn’t put her finger on.

Returning inside, she retraced her steps through the living room toward the kitchen. She was more than an average cook and had outfitted her kitchen back in New Hampshire with better-than-average appliances and cookware, all of which she used as often as possible. Unfortunately, her ancillary duties as president of a private college took up most of her free time, so she hadn’t had anyone over for dinner in months.

The stainless-steel appliances and spacious marble countertops here drew Elizabeth farther into the brightly lit work space. She opened drawers and cabinets, deciding what she needed to buy at the grocery store tomorrow and all the possible meals she could create for herself these next weeks. She didn’t especially want to dine on her creative concoctions alone, but at this point she didn’t have many options.

Several of her friends had joked about coming along, either to carry her bags or simply keep her company. A college professor that she had dated three or four times had joked that all work and no play in paradise would make her a very dull girl. More than once she had mentioned that she wasn’t working all summer and made several not-so-subtle offers to rub sunscreen on Elizabeth’s back. She would rather rub certain other parts of her body, and Elizabeth just wasn’t interested. At least not in her.

Going back to where she first entered the villa, she approached the bedroom. A king-size bed sat on a pedestal on the far wall, and she had a quick image of running across the room and leaping onto the bed. Covered in a dark plum-colored bedspread with six pillows in accenting colors, it dominated the room. An overstuffed chair, ottoman, and side table filled the sitting area in front of a bay window to her right. The bellman had placed her suitcases on top of the padded cedar chest nestled at the foot of the bed. The matching mirror and chest of drawers were on her left, a large bouquet of orchids sitting prominently on top of a large dresser. Nightstands flanked the big bed with a tasteful lamp centered on each. Covering the smoky gray walls were several paintings of the ocean in a style similar to the one in the living room. The only word to describe the room was sensuous.

Wanting to get settled, she quickly unzipped her two suitcases and unpacked. Then she grabbed her toiletries and went to take a quick shower before she turned in. She stopped as she stepped inside the bathroom. “Holy crap.” Her voice echoed. It was bigger than the guest room in her home. Farther in was a whirlpool tub under another large bay window. The drapes were open and she was sure she’d have another stunning view of the ocean in the morning.

The variegated blue tile of the shower set off the chrome fixtures and clear glass door. Dual shower heads were mounted high on opposite walls, with a large seat on one end. Too bad, she mused. A shower built for two would be wasted on only one this trip.

As she washed off the fine film of salt that had accumulated on her skin and got ready for bed, her thoughts kept drifting to the surfer. Not long after her head touched the pillow a woman who was gliding along, floating in the clouds and standing on the shimmering water, filled her dreams.

Colby grabbed the shopping cart out of the neat row and headed down the produce aisle. She hated shopping. She’d rather go to the gynecologist than the grocery store and put off both until she had no choice. Her cupboards were bare; the refrigerator shelves contained little else than a couple of six-packs of beer, four half-empty takeout cartons, and assorted condiments. She didn’t cook, she made things, and there was a big difference. When other women followed a recipe or transformed leftovers into a three-course meal, she simply boiled water and added macaroni and spaghetti sauce from a jar. Occasionally she grilled a burger, but more often than not she pulled a box or can off the shelf and opened it. If her microwave ever went on the fritz, she’d probably starve.

In her previous life she never had to cook. She never had to shop, for that matter. First she lived at her parents’ house, then went to college and ate in the cafeteria or grabbed a bite where she could. Then came Gretchen, who shopped and cooked and did all the other household duties, which freed Colby to concentrate on her career. When she came home, dinner was miraculously on the table. She had no idea what it took to get it there, but she certainly enjoyed the result.

Now, however, she had to cook, and she didn’t know if she didn’t like it because she wasn’t any good at it or if she was no good at it because she didn’t like it. And postponing shopping until absolutely necessary more than likely added to her dislike of the event. She had tried several times to make a list but gave up and now simply trolled, grabbing whatever caught her eye.

She filled clear produce bags with half a dozen apples and twice as many oranges, and grabbed a pre-wrapped carton of six tomatoes. Seeing nothing else that enticed her, she moved to the next aisle, tossing a couple loaves of bread and a package of English muffins and one of tortillas into her cart. At least they were whole wheat. Wanting to get out of the crowded store, she moved at a rapid pace up and down each aisle. Chips, beer, cans of soup. God, she ate like this in college and here she was twenty years later, eating like she was nineteen again. She grabbed two gallons of milk, rounded the next corner, and ran right into the cart of a shopper approaching from the opposite direction.

“Shit,” she murmured, and looked into the same eyes she had seen just twelve hours earlier. But more important, those eyes looked back at her in recognition. Under the bright fluorescent lights she had the chance to see the woman much more clearly than she had last night on the beach. She was a little shorter than Colby’s five foot ten inches, her hair tied back in a ponytail high on the top of her head. A white tank top over pale blue shorts did little to hide long, firm legs from Colby’s appreciative eyes. When she retraced a path up the woman’s body, she was momentarily stunned by her beauty. Her face was free of any makeup and clear green eyes sparkled in amusement.

Should she apologize for blatantly cruising the woman in front of the peanut-butter-and-jelly display in aisle nine? No. The woman had done the same to her last night when she walked across the sand, and as an attractive woman she should expect it.

Elizabeth was frozen to the spot, oblivious to the other shoppers jockeying around her as the surfer from last night slowly ran her eyes up and down her body. She flushed all over, as if the woman was caressing her with her hands instead of those black eyes staring at her now. The surfer should say something, apologize, or at least acknowledge that she had run into her.

In the few seconds they both stood there, Elizabeth glanced at the contents of the woman’s cart. Everything was either frozen, prepackaged, or in a jar. Her own cart was filled with fresh fruit, veggies, and spices—everything she needed to fix herself several meals during the next few weeks. Not only were they a different height, build, and hair color, but chose very different food. How could the woman have such a fabulous figure with all the carbohydrates, fats, sugars, and sodium she had loaded in her cart?

If she asks me to dinner I’m definitely cooking or we’re going out. The thought came out of nowhere and shook Elizabeth out of her stupor. The woman was looking at her, clearly waiting for a reply.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“I said sorry. For running into you.” The voice was as smooth as Elizabeth remembered. The woman handed her the grocery list she had dropped during the collision.

Her voice wouldn’t come. She swallowed a few times and cleared her throat and was finally able to reply.

“It’s okay. No problem. I wasn’t watching where I was going either.” The woman didn’t say anything more but smiled at her, maintaining eye contact even after she was almost behind her. A warm pulse tickled down Elizabeth’s spine.

After fixing a light lunch, Elizabeth changed into her swimsuit, grabbed a towel, sunscreen, and the latest bestseller, and headed to the beach. Other than her trip to the grocery store that morning she had nothing exciting on her agenda today except soaking up the sun.

Settling into a lounge chair and making sure every exposed inch of flesh was covered with SPF 30, she let her mind drift back to the surfer in Safeway. Her eyes were bold, almost brazen, as if saying, “I know you are and you know I am, so do we intend to do anything about it?” Elizabeth had remained where she was for several more seconds before another shopper jostled her and she moved to finish her shopping. As much as she tried, she couldn’t stop thinking about the woman, her athletic body, and the confidence that filled the air around her. Elizabeth was completely attracted to her. Interesting.

The sun was high in the sky and she adjusted her sunglasses. She wasn’t paying much attention to the people around her, but a group of kids in the water with surfboards caught her eye. They were obviously having a lesson, the instructor’s back to her. Even thirty yards away she knew it was the same woman. The one from last night and again in the grocery store today. It was a small island and simply coincidence that they kept running into each other. But her skin tingled.

The woman spent an equal amount of time with each child with what appeared like words of encouragement and instruction, as well as heaps of praise when they accomplished what they had set out to do. The woman had more patience than she would in a similar situation, the lack thereof typically getting her into trouble. Patience with children was definitely not one of her strong suits.

Throughout grade school, college, graduate studies, and her PhD exams and dissertation, she planned and accomplished each phase with complete determination. She thought out every step of the way almost ad nauseam before she took the next one. As a result, she was a nationally known scholar in seventeenth-century history, and she frequently received calls from other universities inquiring about her interest in joining their academic institutions.

In the beginning she was flattered that people were seeking her out. In her typical methodical way she outlined the pros and cons of each offer, and several times went as far as visiting the campus and the surrounding area. Most of the times her decision to stay at Embers College was easy, but several times the pros almost outweighed the cons. Those decisions were the difficult ones. Her analytical brain told her one thing but her gut said something different.

She liked living in Essington, a small town in eastern New Hampshire. She loved her job, the energy of the students almost palpable whenever she walked down the hall. She had a few good friends and many acquaintances, and she had worked hard to build what she considered a pleasant life.

Sometimes when she saw a couple holding hands or sharing a coffee over breakfast at the corner café, she wondered if she was missing the desire gene or passion vein or whatever drove someone to be totally infatuated with another human being. As an academic she studied people and intellectually knew the body’s reaction and chemical reaction to someone. But she hadn’t really experienced it. She had been attracted to someone and had acted on it often, but she had never been totally consumed by a woman, experienced an overwhelming need to be with her, know everything about her, breathe her air.

She had to have a much lower sex drive than her friends, at least according to the stories they told over their Sunday brunches. She could take or leave sex. Well, she’d rather take it than leave it, but it was normal for her to go months, if not years, between liaisons. Though it might be a bit odd, that was just the way she was.

Every few months she would drive to South Humbolt, where she would spend the weekend with friends, then drive back in the wee hours to be in her office by eight o’clock Monday morning. She didn’t regret any of her decisions or how she chose to live her life. But the tingling between her legs as she watched the surf instructor was new and uncomfortable. She needed another drink and needed it bad.

Colby couldn’t wait for the class to be over. The woman from last night and in the grocery store was lying half-naked on the beach in just about the same spot as she was when she first saw her. A few quick glances throughout the afternoon told Colby what she had suspected. The woman had been watching her again. As much as she wanted to go over and talk to her, she had three other sessions before her day was over. After that she was invited to Amelia’s house for dinner at five.

She ate with a friend at least once a week, not necessarily because she needed the company. On the contrary, she enjoyed her solitude, breaking it when she needed to, not because society’s standards wouldn’t let her be a hermit. But the six women she had somehow become friends with didn’t let up, and after she finally gave in they rotated dinner duty. This week was Amelia’s night. The more she thought about it, the more annoyed she became. Amelia could talk the white off a picket fence, and Colby would have to make up some excuse to leave early. She wanted to come back to this spot tonight and see if the beautiful woman was here again.

It was unusual to be so attuned to the stranger. Between their few words last night and not many more than that this morning at the grocery store, she felt the familiar pull of desire. She wasn’t looking for love or any kind of attachment. Anything more than three or four nights with a woman was definitely on her Do Not Do list. Obviously the woman was a guest at the resort. She had a checkout date with a life to get back to, which made her perfect. That and the fact that what Colby had seen of her body was stunning.