Ten Good Reasons (23 page)

“It’s been a while.”

“I see.”

“Can you tell?”

“A little.”

The embarrassed grin that swept his face was too cute.

“Like the driving and the steak dinner, the kissing and the sex, it’s been a while?”

“Hmmm.”

“Were you faithful to Renece?”

He looked startled at the question. Or maybe at the mention of her name. His face seemed to go a little white whenever Lia said it. But she could tell there was some guilt clouding his enjoyment of their kisses, and even their “really, really great sex,” and Lia figured it was because of his wife. Maybe he hadn’t quite mourned her. Maybe he hadn’t talked about her enough. Maybe Lia could help him remember her, honor her, have respect between them. But Evan must know that his wife would have wanted him to move on—certainly she would have wanted him to have joy again.

“Of course,” he said.

“Some men aren’t into monogamy.”

“I was.”

For the first time, Lia let herself imagine Evan as a husband. Perhaps he had been a good husband to Renece. The thought filled her with a strange warmth.

“Did you two have a good marriage?”

“We did.”

“Did you have good sex?”

He smiled. “Lia. We’re not going there.”

“You told Drew you’d talk to me about your sex life. In private.”

“I meant the parts that concern you.”

“Like how many ports you’d visited?”

He chuckled. “Exactly. Drew’s an idiot.”

“You weren’t sleeping with prostitutes at every port?”

“Not even close.”

“Have you slept with anyone since Renece?”

Drained face again. His smile slid away. “No.”

“No one?” She leaned back to peer into his face.

“There were two close calls, but I couldn’t go through with them: Once I was too drunk, and once I was too aware.”

“Aware of what?”

“Aware that she wasn’t Renece.”

“So . . . earlier today, with me . . . ?”

He leaned down and kissed the part in her hair. “That was a first.”

The warmth that had been sweeping through her continued, turning her legs into linguini noodles. Maybe, even though she thought none of this meant anything between them, it did. Maybe it meant something to him. And, judging by her linguini legs, maybe it meant something to her. Maybe it meant more than she was acknowledging. She concentrated on hanging on to him and realized she was the lame dancer now.

He shuffled through a few more notes of the song, then stared over the top of her head.

“Harry’s gone.” He strode to where her blue shoes were, then scooped them up and handed them to her.

“You don’t want to dance anymore?”

“This conversation is reminding me of what I really want to be doing.” He grabbed her hand and began trudging through the sand with his long strides.

Lia took a deep breath of relief. Yes. This was only about really, really great sex. She’d said so, and he was agreeing. They were back on common ground.

“Hey!” She hopped and skipped to keep up. “I feel like you didn’t complete your end of the dancing bargain here.”

“Did I mention I never got the bacon-wrapped shrimp the other night?”

“The prosciutto-wrapped asparagus was good.”

“It wasn’t bacon.”

She laughed and tried to keep up with him in the sand.

*   *   *

Evan’s boat at slip ninety-two was just as messy as the last time she saw it. She glimpsed inside from the doorway, but he pushed her gently back with an apologetic smile, then went on a scramble, snatching clothing off the bed, shoving boxes aside with his foot, closing the motor door and moving a set of dumbbells off to the side. “Okay. I think you can make your way in here now.”

“You sure are different than Drew,” Lia couldn’t help but speculate, stepping over another box. She had the shoes back on, and they were making her feel very sexy.

“We shared a room when we were kids, but my mom realized that wasn’t going to work. I drove him to the brink of insanity by the time he was eleven: He’d start crying if any of the socks or clutter from my side even crossed the clothesline onto his side.”

“You actually had a clothesline?”

“Oh yeah. All the way across the room. But it didn’t work. My mom gave me my own room, in our attic.” He moved a box of greasy boat parts off the dinette chair. “Drew was spoiled.”

“What were you like, as kids?”

“Jealous.” He laughed. “Drew was pretty coddled. I was jealous of him all the time. I thought he had everything.”

“Maybe he thought you did.”

Evan looked thoughtful about that for a second. “That’s what he said. . . .” A cloud passed over his face.

Lia wanted to kick herself.
Way to set the mood, girl. . . .

She scrambled to recover. Her fingertips sought his T-shirt, but he didn’t notice and leaned just out of her reach toward the dinette. He swept a handful of crumbs off the seat. “Do you want something to drink?” Worry etched lines between his eyebrows.

“I’m fine.” Lia stepped toward him again, but this time changed her mind. She needed to be even more direct. She went all the way around him and made her way down the narrow entrance toward the bed.

He looked immeasurably uncomfortable, and passed her before she could get to it, snatching a few more shirts off the
navy comforter. The scent of cedar, which lined every hard surface, from the bedframe to the cabinetry, was heavy in the air. He closed one of the curtains and opened a window. The sound of the festival trickled in as she sat primly on the edge of the bed. Lia could hear a distant “Wouldn’t It Be Nice” from the fake Beach Boys.

Evan headed back to the front part of the cabin, dimmed the lights, and came back. “Harry will have to think no one’s here.”

“Of course.”

She watched him slow as he came toward her, looking her up and down, then he leaned near the door frame.

“Aren’t you going to sit down?” Her voice was sort of shaking.

“This is definitely okay with you, Cinderella?”

“Am I making you nervous?”

“Drew’s going to kick my ass.”

“Only if you hurt me.”

He nodded.

“You’re not hurting me.” She smoothed the bedspread nervously. “You’re simply giving me the great sex I’ve never had before.”

A quirk of his mouth followed that—pride, maybe, or more relief. “Are we talking orgasms here?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“You don’t normally orgasm?”

“No.”

His eyebrows rose. “Seriously?”

She nodded.

“You did okay earlier.”

“That’s why I’m back.”

He didn’t smile at that. Just studied her carefully. “Come here, then, Cinderella.” His voice sounded husky.

“This bed seems nice.”

“Come here.”

“Are we going to go through this bossiness thing again?”

“Do you have any complaints about last time?”

Her memory only had to get through three flashes of how it felt to be stripped down and held against a wall by this man before her breathing became shallow. She shook her head.

“Then come here. And leave those shoes on.”

CHAPTER

L
ia approached Evan tentatively, but he didn’t have “tentative” anywhere about him. He drew her toward him, pinned her hands against the wall, and worked his way down her body with his lips, his tongue, his fingertips. He peeled down her dress, keeping the shoes on, and explored her breasts, her stomach, her hips—first in a gentle way, then in a way that felt more desperate—and traced a fingertip down to her panty line, where he hooked it and got on one knee. She knew something lovely and raunchy would follow. He didn’t disappoint.

By the time all the sounds fell away from the festival—after the laughter had subsided, the guests had driven away, the booths had been packed up, the band had packed away its last instrument—Lia and Evan lay soaked in exhaustion and perspiration across his navy sheets, Lia facedown, having tried at least three new positions she’d never even heard of before, and Evan on his back. The comforter lay in a crumpled pile on top of the shoes somewhere.

“That was . . .” She struggled to lift her cheek off the mattress, but found the effort too taxing, and let it fall back. . . .
Incredible. Fantastic. Phenomenal. Stupendous . . .
She let him fill in the proper word because she couldn’t even make the effort at this
point. And she didn’t even care what word he used. For her, it had been
all of the above
. And her worries were truly over. . . .

Cirque du Soleil was unnecessary.

All you needed was a manly man.

And the courage to be vulnerable, and let him take over, if that turned you on.

And, apparently, for her, it did.

The boat rocked gently as the sounds of quiet waves lapped the side of the hull.

“Drew’s going to kick my ass,” Evan said into the quiet air. He rolled toward her and touched her hair, stroking it off her shoulder. “If he had any idea what I was thinking . . .”

“Which is what?” she mumbled into the sheets.

His hand ran down her back, over her bottom, between her thighs. “About five more ways I’d like to ‘use’ you before I leave this week.”

Lia giggled and found the strength to lift herself and turn toward him. “Permission granted.”

His face lit up. “To board?”

She laughed and pushed at his chest. “Give me a minute, dude. Sheesh. I thought men were the ones that needed recuperation breaks.”

“It’s been a while, remember?”

“That’s your excuse, huh?”

He chuckled while Lia moved slowly toward the side of the bed—a sloth came to her mind—and finally managed to snatch one of the blankets off the floor. She rolled back toward Evan and threw it at him. She’d love to explore those five more ways. And she meant to do so later in the week. But, for now, she needed to leave. She wasn’t in the habit of spending the entire night with a man—it smacked of neediness and dependence—and if she left any later, she’d be like a sloth trying to drive a car, draped over her steering wheel.

She inched her way to the side of the bed.

“Where are you going?”

“I need to leave.” She found her underwear on the other side of the cabin.

“You don’t need to leave.”

“I do.”

“Lia. It’s dark and it’s late. Just stay here.”

“I don’t make it a habit to spend the night.”

“You also said you don’t make it a habit to orgasm. And you broke that rule. Four times, I might add.”

She hurled a pillow at him, and he caught it and grinned.

“So tell me about this,” he said.

She found her dress and stepped into it. “Tell you about what?”

“Why a beautiful, sexy woman like you is not out there having great orgasms. . . . Outside of this cabin, anyway.”

He caught a second pillow and chuckled.

She didn’t quite recognize the lightness and the teasing in his voice—she hadn’t, until now, heard him speak in a way that hadn’t sounded like he was weighted down by a ton of bricks—but she liked it. A lot.

“Maybe you were right about that control thing.” She found her dress belt.

“Lia, come back to bed. Take off your clothes. Let’s explore this.”

She laughed but tugged her belt through the loops.

Damn. If she took one look at him, she might very well stay. That had been incredible. And fun. Evan was a great lover. But she didn’t want to “explore” why she’d never found that kind of joy out of sex before. Maybe it was because she dated men that were too urbane. Maybe it was kind of sexy that Evan took control. Maybe she kind of liked being vulnerable. Maybe she liked being protected. . . .

She pushed those last thoughts away. That couldn’t happen. And damn,
where was her cell phone?

“Lia.” Evan sat up in bed. “Stay.”

“I have to feed Missy.”

“Missy will be fine. She has the extra bowl of dry food in the laundry area.”

Lia bit back a smile at Evan’s memory. “Well, I’ll take your card and swipe it through the exit gate for you so you can stay here all night. Harry James will think you’ve left and will be none the wiser.” As she finished buckling her belt, she glimpsed her purse and her phone sticking out, and made a move toward them.

“Lia.”

She didn’t want to look at him. If she turned around, all she’d see—even through the dark—was a man who knew exactly what she was doing right now.

They were two people who were staying removed, who both knew how to do it, who had both perfected the maneuvers—Evan probably since his wife had died, and Lia all her life. They both knew that if you opened your heart a crack, you could let too much emotion come in. And Lia knew that if the emotion began flowing, you could become dependent on someone else, lose your footing.

But Evan was in her camp on this one. He didn’t want to get too close, either. He probably wanted someone to stay who understood all this. Who he could hold all night, the way he’d held his wife, but who wouldn’t read too much into it the next day.

And Lia might enjoy that, too.

They could both—with their simultaneous understanding—possibly bring each other peace, and one night of a feeling they both wanted. Temporarily.

“Yes?” she asked, her hand still on the back of a chair, her phone still untouched.

“Please stay.” His voice had now dropped into something husky and embarrassed.

As the water lapped the sides of the boat and a fog horn sounded somewhere in the far distance, Lia ignored her phone and took off her clothes in the darkness, under Evan’s watchful gaze, and crawled back into his bed. He wrapped his arms around her, kissed the part in her hair, and pulled her toward his chest.

“Too tired for another go-around?” he whispered.

“I am pretty tired.”

“It’s okay.” He stroked her hair in a way that felt more comforting than sexual. “I just want you to stay.”

“Good night, Evan,” she finally whispered.

“Good night, Cinderella.”

And Lia, for the first time ever, fell asleep in the arms of a man, who rested his lips against her temple and breathed softly into her hair.

*   *   *

The next morning, Lia awoke to the sounds of a marching band drifting from a distance, followed by distant applause and toy horns blowing. The scent of pancakes and cotton candy seemed
to float into the bed around her, but—more immediately—she could smell coffee. When her eyes peeled open, she sat up with a start, remembering she was in Evan’s bed.

It was Sunday. No work today
 . . . She repeated the mantra about five times, until her heart started beating normally.

She looked around the cabin. Evan was nowhere to be seen.

She wrapped a sheet around herself and padded into the galley, which was also empty but where the glorious scent of the coffee originated. A single cup steamed in a tiny coffeemaker for one. Through the open galley door she spotted him, out on the fog-filled deck, fully dressed, a beanie pulled onto his head and morning stubble still across his jaw. He wound a rope around his arm and stuffed it into a bag.

While she admired his masculine movements, at peace with the world as he moved deftly through the fog, he spotted her and came shuffling back in.

“Mornin’,” he said.

“Good morning.”

“Coffee’s for you.”

Her hand reached thankfully for the single cup. “We can share.”

She took a life-affirming sip and handed the cup to him. He smiled and took the second sip while his eyes took in her toga-style bedsheet. “Now, that’s a nice sight in the morning.” He handed the coffee back.

“What are you doing out there?” She nodded toward the deck.

He didn’t seem able to look away from her sheet, but finally tore his eyes away long enough to glance down at the bag he’d just filled. “Just getting together some things to take out today in case we spot Valentine’s baby and she’s tangled.” His gaze went back to her shape. “But now I’m regretting getting up so early.”

He dropped the bag into the dinette bench and moved toward her, yanking the beanie off his head and removing the coffee cup from her hand to set it on the counter. “You have to be anywhere this morning?” His trajectory was still coming right at her.

Lia giggled. “I just need to get ready for the festival booth today.”

His fingertips tugged the sheet out of her hand. “We have plenty of time for that.”

*   *   *

Lia made it down to the booth around nine-thirty, a half hour late, and mumbled her apologies to the folks sitting to the left and right of her, even though they certainly didn’t care.

Evan plopped the box of bookmarks into the grass, along with the whale teeth they’d had to pick up from the
Duke
, since that’s where they’d left them in what was starting to feel like her trail of irresponsibility.

Lia caught him grinning at the way she offered apologies, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he set up the tables and chairs and adjusted the awning so the sun didn’t beat right on her.

“Beautiful day today,” she said too loudly to the folks in the next tent over. They were an older couple, there to sell rubber ducks for the Rubber Ducky Derby to be held in the ocean that afternoon, and Lia had the strange feeling they could see straight through her clothes, straight into her most vulnerable self, straight into her secrets. Although she didn’t know what secrets she was afraid of people seeing. That she’d finally had an orgasm? That it was with that pirate-looking guy back there? That she was falling into some kind of weird traditional female role, admiring a man using a screwdriver to adjust awnings, even though her mother had always told her to “be her own man”?

The older couple nodded and went on to set up their own booth, stacking yellow ducks, while Lia adjusted her dress and began setting up the bookmarks. Luckily she had changed clothes last night and no one would recognize she was wearing the same thing. Cora would be there any minute. And luckily she’d had the sandals in her bag, which she tugged on this morning for the festival. Unfortunately, she’d left one of the blue shoes on Evan’s boat in her haste to scoop up her discarded clothing, but she’d get it later. She was always going to think of those as her “sex shoes.” Break them in, indeed.

At noon, she and Evan took the last weekend tour out on the cat. They left Cora in the booth, despite the fact Lia had wanted to leave Cora and Douglas alone together. But Evan needed Douglas to help with the deckhand duties. Lia felt a bit
superfluous, but Evan insisted her narration was terrific. Once or twice, he turned to grin at her. “Very good, Cinderella,” he’d say, low, so it couldn’t be picked up in the microphone.

Much to her surprise, her knees went a little weak each time.

The only time Evan seemed distant and unreachable was toward the end of the tour, when he went about ten minutes off course.

Lia pulled herself up the steps to the bridge to check.

“The baby.” Evan thrust his chin out toward the horizon. “I thought I saw her, but maybe not.”

“Are we off course?”

Evan glanced down at the gauges. “Not really. We’ll be fine. I just thought I saw her. . . .”

“We should get back, Evan.”

He nodded absently and lifted the binoculars, seemingly forgetting she was there. But after another minute, he pulled the boat around and grinned at her as if he’d just remembered.

After the tour, she, Douglas, and Evan spent a couple of hours cleaning up the boat—they needed to do a good job for the charter the next day. Evan kept trying to get her to take off, but she insisted she wanted to help. The physical activity, out in the bright sun, with the seagulls cawing overhead, was strangely edifying.

In the evening, once the booths closed up, Cora joined them, and the four of them grabbed dinner at the festival after wandering through the sandcastle-building contest.

After they said their good-byes to Douglas and Cora near the grassy knoll, Evan grabbed Lia’s hand and tugged her back to his boat just as the sun set, where they enjoyed two more of the five positions, to the distant sounds of the new Band in the Sand, which was supposed to sound like the Rat Pack.

“I really need to go home this time,” she said, as “That’s Amore” came drifting down the cove. Her head hung over the side of his bed.

“Why?” He rolled toward her and ran his hand down her backside.

“The charter is tomorrow, and I have to get ready—at least wear fresh clothes, feed Missy.”

“You look fine.”

“Fine enough to fuck?”

Evan raised an eyebrow.

“I’m sorry.” She waved her hand. “I didn’t mean to say that. Sometimes my mouth filter doesn’t work.”

“You do have quite a mouth on you, Cinderella.”

“Not very Cinderella of me, is it?”

“It’s not.”

“Does it bother you?”

“Not at all. I think I love it, in fact.”

The word “love” fell so beautifully from Evan’s lips, so naturally, so right for him, that Lia rolled over and stared. Although the word sometimes gave her the heebie-jeebies, and she knew he didn’t mean it in a serious way, Lia felt a strange, sudden bolt of jealousy toward the wife who heard this from him for real. She rolled away from him.

Her head lolled toward the drawer where she remembered Evan shoved that photograph that first morning.