Diving In (13 page)

She was fine. Nothing bad had happened. Ansel was just fooling around, no harm intended, none done.

In fact, he’d been great. He’d seen her freak out when he’d tried to join her on the rocks and had chosen to go into the water fully dressed, with his phone, without hesitating.

So what if he’d teased her a little? Wasn’t she always so proud about her sense of humor, funny Ms. Fitch who told jokes and played
The Simpsons
during lunch on Fridays?

He came up behind her. “Nicki, I’m sorry…”

“It’s fine, really. Ignore me. I’m fine.” She smiled but couldn’t look at him; the sudden emotion was making her eyes burn.

“I didn’t mean to scare you. My feet went out from under me and I sank to the bottom…”

“It was funny.” She turned, smiling brightly. “How’s your phone?”

“Are you crying? Jesus. I’m such a dick.”

“This is my problem, okay? Not yours. You’re fine.”

But he was moving closer. Wet hair dripped onto his face, emphasizing his high cheekbones, the deep gray eyes.

He lifted a hand and brushed his thumb along her cheek.

With her emotions already out of control, she couldn’t resist leaning into his touch.

He edged closer and lifted a second hand to her face, his eyelids falling as his gaze dropped to her mouth. “I really am sorry,” he said softly.

“Don’t be…”

His voice dropped. “No, I mean for this.” And then he kissed her.

* * *

Of course he had to kiss her. From the moment she’d admitted she had a Prius back home and slid behind the wheel like a sacrificial warrior, he’d known it was hopeless; he’d have to try.

When he’d been under the surface and heard her screaming profanity—muffled by the water—it had taken all of his self-control not to pull her in with him and have his way with her right there in the water she hated.

He wasn’t a vain guy, but he saw the way she looked at him every now and then. He knew the type of woman who wasn’t into him at all, and Nicki Fitch wasn’t one of them. She was into him a little bit. If he were smooth, she’d be into him plenty.

And why not? They were adults, happily isolated together in Hawaii, and the warm climate was conducive to undressing.

He caressed the back of her neck, admitting to himself that his feelings ran deeper than that. She felt real, she felt important, she felt…

Better under him than he’d imagined. Her soft lips parted for him just as he tilted her face to fit against his. Shivering with lust and his soaked clothes, he ran his hand down her back, pulled her against his hips, and stroked the curve of her bottom before sliding his fingertips back up along her curves to her neck and jaw. He held her face there between his palms and focused on kissing her.

She tasted sweet and salty, like lip gloss and tears. It bothered him that little everyday things made her suffer, or that he could’ve contributed to any of it, however unintentional.

He licked her bottom lip and felt her tongue slide out to meet his. What had started as a fun impulse flared into hot, serious need; he deepened the kiss, forgot about her cute neuroses, and ran a hand down her body, pushing aside her jacket to touch her breast through her thin, damp T-shirt. She gasped into his mouth, arched into him.

Since he’d been shockingly young he’d been a breast man, and he’d often joked, if he were a woman, he’d never get anything done because he’d stay home all day fondling himself. Therefore, when a woman let him kiss him, a woman he’d seen all week in a bikini, a woman with just the kind of breasts he loved—a woman’s breasts, with nipples, right there on her chest—he couldn’t help himself.

And Nicki didn’t seem to mind. Emboldened, he tugged up the hem of her shirt and felt the satiny bra fabric over her hardening nipple, then the nipple itself as he glided his hand under it from above, turned on further by the little moan she made in the back of her throat.

She was perfect. She felt perfect, she tasted perfect, she sounded perfect, she smelled perfect. God help him, he loved women. It had been much too long. The surge of raw lust he felt shocked him, and he wished he’d chosen a better spot than a tourist-infested rainforest for his first move. Somebody was bound to appear on the trail any second.

Time to get back on the road. With him driving, they could get back to the condo in under three hours. Maybe even closer to two.

Aware of his own trembling, he caressed her breast back into the bra, withdrew his hand, pulled the shirt down over her, and returned his hand to her face. Her eyes were dark, seductive, watching him hungrily. Unable to resist, he leaned into her again, mouth open, and she rose up to kiss him with gratifying enthusiasm.

It was when she did something wild with her tongue along his top teeth, sucking and tickling, that he remembered.

Like an anvil on a cartoon coyote’s noggin,
the ten-year-old memory slammed down on him.

Food, pillows, candles, beer, secrets, friends, girls in the dark.

Girl.

The others had left, but he’d stayed, totally into the cute one in the dark corner of the room who kept making jokes, even after they’d started fooling around. He’d never had so much fun in his entire life, laughing and feeling her up, French kissing, groping, giggling, gasping, falling a little in love until he’d realized he was drunk out of his mind and so was she and had the decency to leave.

He tensed and drew back, still holding her face, eyes closed, between his palms. “Mickey,” he said roughly.

It was as if he’d slapped her. Eyes popping open, she stiffened, staring, mouth still parted. Then she pushed free and pivoted away from him.

“I remember you now,” he said.

She walked away from him down the muddy path, arms out for balance. An elderly Asian couple, hand in hand, appeared in front of her, hiking up to the waterfall with a grinning black Lab on a leash pulling them along. Mickey—Nicki—whoever she was—greeted them with a loud, cheerful hello as she left the path to pass them. Once the couple was between them, she broke into a jog.

Ansel watched her in a frustrated, confused daze. Was she going to run all the way home? Steal the car and leave him on the Hana Highway with a broken, waterlogged cell phone and a half-erect dick?

“Hi,” the woman with short hair said, smiling at him.

“Hi,” her companion said.

They were side by side, taking their time, savoring life under their six-foot-wide golfing umbrella. Even the dog moved as though he had bad joints, slow and deliberate, and the three of them blocked the path completely.

Ansel nodded his hellos and moved into the ferns to let them pass before bolting after Nicki. She still had the keys, after all. Phobia or no, she could take off without him; she probably was more afraid of him than of driving. What had been a shock to him couldn’t have been to her; she must’ve known who he was before she ever landed in Hawaii. Rachel had found out he was in the condo, then set him up with Nicki.

He stumbled over a clod of earth. As he recovered, a new thought struck him: would Nicki
ever
have told him she was that girl in college?

He caught up to her just as she climbed into the driver’s seat. “Wait!” He ran along the shoulder and threw himself against the hood of the car just in case she was going to peel out and leave him—on his birthday, damn it—and then he pulled the passenger door open and jumped in, soaking wet, breath heaving, and put on his seat belt.

“Want to drive?” she asked. Her voice was low, flat.

“What?”

Without looking at him, she held up her hands. They shook like a laundry basket on top of a college dorm’s coin-op washer during the spin cycle.

Memories of his university days were fresh in his mind just then.

“You want me to drive?” he asked, sucking in another breath.

“Yes. If you would.” She looked at him, chin raised. “Please.”

“Fine.” He pushed open the door. “Hope you don’t mind if I head back home.”
Home,
he thought. As if they were a happy family.

She shook her head and got out. He walked around the back, she walked around the front, and in a minute, they were both seated again and on the road to Kahului.

Chapter 10

N
ICKI
PULLED
THE
SUITCASE
OUT
of the closet. Her new jeweled sandals caught on the wheels, dragging along the carpet like the security boot on an inner city grocery cart. She jerked harder, stumbled, and fell to one knee with her heart pounding.

It had felt so… sweet. Not just hot, but warm, soft, and familiar. For two years in college, she’d had recurring hot dreams about him; now she’d start having them again.

Damn it.
Obviously she couldn’t resist the guy; one peck on the lips, and she’d practically flung herself on her back in the mud.
Way to go, Nick. That’s exactly why you came to Hawaii, so you could humiliate yourself again.

She lifted the suitcase onto the bed, swiping the hair out of her eyes. It had dried in frizzy waves around her face. She probably looked like a crazed witch. All she needed was a cauldron and a few animal parts. She certainly felt like doing black magic, anything to make herself forget what had happened, or to wipe the shock off that handsome face.
 

He’d barely spoken during the drive back to the condo. Shivering behind the wheel in his wet clothes, he’d stared straight ahead, jaw clenched, stopping once only for gas. While she’d been trying to recover from the rush of blood to her reproductive organs, he’d seemed irritated and put out. As though it were
her
fault he hadn’t remembered her.

She dragged her poppy-pink fingernail along the zipper. Expensive polish chipped off the edge.

It wasn’t entirely his fault, either. She’d never sought him out after that night, just waited for him to come to her and act smitten and romantic. If she’d really wanted him, she should’ve gone to him. Used Rachel to track him down, at least for his phone number. But she’d been a coward. Giving
him
all the power.

She stared at her empty suitcase. Then up at the ocean glimmering out the window. Her feet had touched sand, but not salt water, not even once.

Why should
she
be the one to leave?

It was late, almost dark. She had time to run to the beach for a minute. She shoved her feet into the sandals and grabbed a towel before she froze.

Was putting her toes in shallow water right before she ran away the sort of courageous act she’d had in mind when she started this trip?

A knock broke her daze. “We need to talk,” Ansel said through the door.

She threw the towel on the bed. If he had the nerve to act irritated again, she’d shove him off the balcony. But his voice was polite. Not warm, but neutral.

“I thought we could go for a walk,” he added.

Letting out a breath, she checked herself in the mirror. Frizzy hair, flaking mascara, mountainous zit, stress rash on her neck.

Perfect. She headed for the door.

What had triggered his memory at the waterfall? Was it stupid to hope she was such a great kisser that her skills had haunted him all these years? Back in eighth grade, prompted by some yellowed, coverless paperback a friend had given her at summer camp, she’d practiced for hours making out with the inside of her arm. She shuddered to think of it, grateful she didn’t have siblings or YouTube to worry about back then. Some humiliations were too big to be lived down. Kissing a rich, good-looking guy in Hawaii was nothing compared to that.

She pulled open the door. “Hi.”

For a moment, they stared at each other. She didn’t know about him, but the feel of his mouth under hers was fresh in her mind. He broke his gaze to glance over her shoulder. “You’re packing.”

The plea to stay didn’t come. She gave him another second before she stiffened her spine and said, “No. Just getting out my clothes for tomorrow.”

Was that relief on his face? Or discomfort? “Well,” he said, glancing away. “The wind has died down. We could walk to Kaanapali.”

Nothing like a stroll along a tropical beach at sunset to kill the sexual tension. “We can talk here.” She maneuvered around him and down the hall to the kitchen, where she busied herself pouring a glass of water and putting a few plates and a handful of silverware in the dishwasher.

“First question,” he said, taking the stool behind the breakfast counter and clasping his hands together like a judge. “What’s your name? Mickey or Nicki?”

She spun to look at him. “Where did you hear my name was Mickey?”

“That’s what you said. How could I forget?”

She gulped down some water. “That is an excellent question. How
could
you forget?”

“You said Mickey. I totally remember thinking, ‘Why not Minnie?’”

“And I remember thinking, ‘I wonder if he’s going to run out of the room like a bat out of hell.’”

“It was college. We were drunk. We barely knew each other—obviously—and we fooled around. Once. Neither one of us made any promises. I left before anything really happened, if I remember correctly.” Slight unease crept into his expression.

She took another drink and swallowed slowly to buy a few seconds to calm down. Did she really want him to know how much that night had meant to her at the time?

“Okay, exactly.” She inhaled deeply over her pounding heart and managed to smile. “That’s exactly why I decided not to remind you of it. Why dig up ancient history? Especially since you’d forgotten it. It was embarrassing, okay? Besides, if I weren’t friends with Rachel, I probably wouldn’t have recognized you. That was over ten years ago. Neither of us was even remotely sober.”

“
I
certainly wasn’t,” he said.

Was he suggesting she’d taken advantage of him? It was almost funny, given her complete lack of experience with men or alcohol at the time. Or now. “It was just too awkward to bring it up. I wish you’d never recognized me.”

“Did you know I’d be here?”

Her voice rose an octave. “What?”