The House on Mermaid Point (27 page)

When they’d finished eating, William led her over to the Adirondack chairs, which he turned to face the western sky. Maddie set the citronella candle on her chair’s broad arm as they settled in to watch the show. This time the sun rimmed the clouds in a band of yellow gold and shone through the gaps like a message from God. Or a bold stroke from Michelangelo’s brush.

“I can understand why you wouldn’t want to give this up or share it with strangers.” Her eyes remained on the slash of brilliant light in the sky, but the pull of the man beside her was as strong as an outgoing tide.

“I feel better here, more whole, than I do anywhere except out on the water.” William said this quietly, his face also turned toward the sky. “It’s criminal to live in a place like this and stay too stoned to see it.”

“Is it hard to stay sober?” The words had slipped out before she could stop them.

He said nothing for a time and she debated whether to apologize.

“I don’t think the struggle ever goes away,” he finally said, turning to her, his tone reflective. “But it’s gotten easier.” His lips quirked up. “I spent a lot of years trying to blot out the bad parts; but it doesn’t really make any of it go away. Turns out I kind of like seeing things the way they really are.”

The sky darkened around them and the mosquitoes and no-see-ums came out to feast. Maddie could practically hear them scoffing at the citronella.

“It’s your perfume,” Will said. “It attracts them.”

She should have known better. Hud had told them that early on when they’d complained about insect bites, but she’d automatically spritzed herself with scent after her shower.

“Personally, I think you smell great.” His voice was husky. “I understand where the mosquitoes are coming from. I might even be slightly jealous of them.”

He stood, giving her a moment before he reached for her hand to draw her to her feet. She felt a crackle of sexual electricity arc between them. Her eyes fluttered shut as he bent to fit his mouth to hers. His lips were warm and firm. The kiss began slowly but grew hot quickly. Way too hot for her brain, which seemed unable to process the fact that William Hightower was kissing her—and she was kissing him back.

“I don’t normally ask permission.” He kissed her again, more deeply this time. Lust—there was no other name for it—rippled through her. “Do you understand what I’m saying, Maddie?”

She couldn’t think. Didn’t want to talk. She just wanted to feel his lips on hers, lose herself in the overwhelming heat of him.

He placed a finger under her chin and tilted it up so that their eyes met. “We’re adults. We’re obviously attracted to each other.” His eyes were darker than the night sky. There was passion in them. Passion for her. “Unless you say otherwise, I’m going to make love to you.”

They were alone here. With no one to chaperone them. No one to know what they did or didn’t do. Her body tightened, strained toward his. But her brain couldn’t absorb the enormity of what was happening. How could she possibly do this? How could she bare her middle-aged self to a man who had slept with some of the most beautiful women in the world? She hadn’t even kissed anyone but Steve for the last thirty years.

She took a step back, pulled her hand free, broke the connection.

She aimed her eyes somewhere to the left of his chin.

“I . . . I have to go. I . . . I’m sorry. I . . . thanks for dinner.” Her hands clasped in front of her. She stole a glance at his face and saw that the heat in his eyes had begun to give way to what she was afraid was surprised amusement.

“I . . . I really appreciate the offer. It’s a . . . good offer.” She was nodding her head now for emphasis. “But I think I’d better get to sex. I mean to bed. No, no, I mean to sleep.” If she didn’t stop now she’d babble on forever. “So . . . good night.”

“Good night, Maddie.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “You be sure and sleep tight.”

“Thank you. You’re tight, too.” She closed her eyes in abject humiliation. Then, before she could make it worse, she turned and pretty much fled toward the houseboat.

To say that Maddie had trouble sleeping that night was kind of like saying Noah had assembled a few animals on his ark. She tossed and turned from the moment she laid her head on her pillow, unable to forget that she was alone on a deserted island with William Hightower. Who for some unknown reason—which might or might not be the fact that she was the only available female on the premises—wanted to
make love
to her.

Make love. As in
have sex.

She sweated through the night and knew that this time she couldn’t blame it on menopause or the inadequate air-conditioning or anything but the two ridiculously contradictory things she felt: unbridled lust and abject humiliation at how she’d handled their encounter. Personal modifiers even more unfathomable than fifty-one and single.

At two
A.M.
she moved to the main cabin and lay on the sofa staring out the rectangular window at a slice of moon and bits of the star-filled sky. At three she went up on deck, where the warm breeze riffled her hair and she heard the steady kick and splash of laps being swum in the swimming pool.

For a wild moment she considered simply slipping naked into the pool, which would keep him from seeing her imperfections, and silently, with no stammering or Freudian slips, offering herself to William.

In this scenario they’d have wild monkey sex, whatever that was, and then somehow, possibly while his back was turned, she’d slip out of the pool and disappear into the night. Where she’d become some brief but treasured memory.

Coward
.

Back in her cubicle of a room she stared up into the shadowed ceiling and debated which was worse: the fact that she’d humiliated herself so completely or the fact that she’d run away from something that she had never imagined could happen and was unlikely ever to happen to her again. The idea of starting a new life, being free to take risks and even make mistakes, sounded so wonderful. Until you actually had to do it.

Maddie cursed, slapped at her pillow, turned on her side. She was still chastising herself and wondering how she would ever face William Hightower again when sleep finally claimed her.

Romeo and his band of Juliets woke her a few hours later, and she forced herself out of bed, made a cup of coffee, and carried it out to the deck, shocked to discover that the cock-a-doodle-doo had occurred so close to daybreak. The sun was just on the rise, a red sphere breaking through the morning mist. She settled on the bench seat, brought her knees up to her chest, and breathed the beginnings of the new day into her lungs. Across Mermaid Point she could see fishing boats heading out for the day, the big ones headed offshore past the reefs, the smaller, backcountry skiffs headed into the bay. Dive boats were already floating beside their mooring balls out near Alligator Reef Lighthouse. Fishing was an early morning sport; perhaps the most successful anglers got their lines out while the fish were still half asleep and not yet fully caffeinated.

At six thirty the air was already hot and muggy. She was smiling at the thought of fish sipping tiny cups of coffee, when William stepped out of the pavilion wearing only cutoffs and carrying a fishing rod. He crossed the small half-moon of sand and moved out into the shallow water. His arm arced behind him and then arced forward. She watched him for a time as he whipped his line back and then outward again, admiring the fluid, balletlike nature of his movements.

She dithered yet again over how to face him. But this morning, in the clean bright light of a new day, continuing her internal debate seemed silly. They were confined on a small island, in exceptionally close proximity, for another six to eight weeks. Climbing into a hole and disappearing seemed unlikely. Dying of embarrassment was even unlikelier. It was the Fourth of July. By the next afternoon everyone would be back and it would be business as usual; plenty of people to hide behind, work to dilute her desire. She felt something akin to panic when she realized that it might also mean a missed opportunity that might never come again.

As William had so astutely pointed out, they were both adults. It was time to start acting like one.

Maddie washed her face, brushed her teeth, twisted her hair up in a clip, and pulled on shorts and a bathing suit top. Pouring a second cup of coffee, which she carried with her, she left the houseboat and walked past the tidal pool and out to join William, where he stood almost knee-deep in the water.

“Good morning.” Her voice broke on the greeting but she pretended not to notice and, thankfully, William did the same. He looked like a noble savage or early hunter-gatherer with his bronzed skin stretched taut over a lean, muscled frame, his shaggy dark hair with its streaks of gray brushing his broad shoulders.

“Morning.” His tone was casual as he turned toward her, but then, it was unlikely that his interest in her the previous night had been anything but casual, just like all sex undoubtedly was to him. Her reflection shimmered back at her from his mirrored sunglasses.

“What are you fishing for?” She matched his tone and wished she had sunglasses to hide behind.

“Bonefish. Last two hours of tide going out is a good time to get them. But they’re tricky and skittish.” He lowered his sunglasses briefly and looked pointedly at her. “They don’t call them gray ghosts for nothing.” He turned his attention, taking the rod back and then forward, the yellow line snapping forward and disappearing beneath the surface.

“What kind of bait are you using?”

“They like small shrimp and small crabs, but I’m using an epoxy head fly.”

“Is that one of the ones you made?”

“Yeah.”

“The bushy yellow one or the shiny copper thing?”

He smiled, a simple flash of white teeth, and she felt herself begin to relax.

“Shiny copper colored. I didn’t know you were so interested in fishing.”

“Never thought about it before I came here. Is it difficult?”

“Mostly it just takes patience. Both learning to fly cast and understanding how the fish think.”

“Fish
think
?” Who knew, maybe they drank tiny cups of coffee, too.

“Well, I’m not sure they could ever be accused of premeditation, but they can be pretty wily. And bonefish are fast as all get-out.”

“Do you mind if I watch?”

“No, but from what I hear the only thing that takes more patience than fishing is watching someone else fish.”

Maddie laughed.

“Move over to my left just in case. Wouldn’t want to hook you by mistake.”

He whipped his line in and cast back out as they talked, smooth, easy movements that seemed entirely reflexive. She sipped her coffee for a while, enjoying the feel of the water ebbing around her calves. The early morning sun was warm but not yet brutal on her skin. She was enjoying watching William Hightower’s graceful movements. The long arcing cast that looked as if he were sending the fly to a specific location, the smooth movements of the rod that were half jerk and half glide.

“Are you aiming at something out there?” she asked as she watched the line pierce the surface.

“Absolutely.”

She peered more closely, but all she saw was water.

“The fish are over there.” He nodded to where he’d just cast. “You see that motion and the muddy water? That’s them tailing. They’re eating off the bottom and their tails are sticking up. You’d be able to see them if you had polarized sunglasses on.”

She wished she could see his eyes so she’d know if he was pulling her leg, but the set of his lips and his tone indicated he was completely serious. “I just placed that fly right in front of the fish I have my eye on. That’s how you get a fish’s attention. I want him to think it’s fresh food. Those little movements?” He gave a few smooth pulls of the rod. “That’s a method of trying to tempt him to take a bite.”

“Doesn’t that seem like a lot of effort to expend on catching one fish?”

He laughed. “I’ve never really looked at it that way, but I guess you have a point.” He whipped in the line and arced it back out again. “Sometimes one fish is all you need and it’s worth the effort.” He looked right at her when he said it. Her chest tightened.

“About last night . . .” she began.

“It’s okay, Maddie.” He whipped in the line, cast it out again. She noticed that he held on to a loop of the line with his left hand. “You were probably right to say no. I doubt I’m what you need right now.”

“Well, I . . .” An odd sense of disappointment struck her.

“Really, there’s no need to worry about it.”

He looked completely unperturbed. Clearly she’d given his interest way more importance than it deserved.

“Do you want to give it a try?”

“What?” Her mind was still on what they might have done together if she hadn’t behaved so moronically.

“Casting,” he repeated. “Do you want to give it a try?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I know you’re busy here and I . . .”

“You don’t want to let fear keep you from trying new things, Maddie. I’d be glad to show you how.” Once again he looked at her and it was clear that they weren’t just talking about fishing anymore. “I’ve been told I’m a decent teacher.”

When she didn’t answer he brought in his line. “Come on. If you’re going to stay out in the sun you need a hat and lotion and you’ll need to keep those flip-flops on so you don’t cut your feet. I’ve got a fly rod that will be a better fit for you.”

She followed him into the pavilion, where he pulled two bottles of orange juice out of the refrigerator and handed her one. “Drink up. You don’t want to get dehydrated. And you’re going to need your strength.”

He pushed a tube of sunscreen toward her then opened what she recognized as the sheath that housed the signed rod she’d found in his closet.

“Oh, no, I can’t use that. I know how valuable it is and what it means to you . . .”

“You’ll do better with an eight weight. And I don’t think this rod was meant to sit unused in a closet forever, do you?” he asked, cutting off her protests.

“Well, I don’t know if—”

“The correct answer to that is, ‘No, Will, it shouldn’t. And good for you for moving on a little in your thinking. You can’t hide from the hard/hurtful things forever.’” He had removed the three parts of the rod and now began to put them together as he talked, pointing out the butt, with its cork handle, and the tip as he screwed them on. Then he snapped and twisted the reel into place and began to feed the line up through what he told her were the guides.

“Here.” He put the assembled rod into her hands then picked up the tube of sunscreen. “Turn around.” The next thing she knew his large, strong hands were rubbing lotion onto her shoulders, the backs of her arms, down her back. She stood completely still, careful not to whimper with pleasure as he completed what felt like a deep-tissue caress. At that moment she would have followed him and his hands anywhere.

Two hours later . . . not so much.

•   •   •

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to lift my arm again.” Maddie looked at the man who had seemed so easygoing just a couple of hours before and had turned into such a hard-hearted taskmaster.

“That’s okay, the tide’s out. You won’t be catching anything of value out here now anyway.” It was just after eight thirty. The sun was still on the rise.

“As if. I didn’t even get close to a fish or a fish’s mouth,” Maddie complained. “But I’m pretty sure I heard a few of them laughing at me.”

There was that devastating flash of white teeth again. But then, that was probably because he thought she was joking. “You didn’t do so bad for your first time out.”

She looked to see if he were joking. He’d kept her far enough away from the mangroves and the palm trees that she couldn’t snag or break her line, but that hadn’t stopped her from looping, tying, pooling, and knotting it on virtually every single attempted cast. She handed him the rod and accepted the bottled water he pulled out of the fridge. “I appreciate the lesson, but I don’t seem to have a single scintilla of aptitude for fly-fishing.”

He laughed and took a swig of water. “It was your first time. It’s a little soon to decide that.”

“No, I can tell.” Her arm wasn’t the only thing feeling too heavy. Her body was remembering that she’d barely slept the night before. So were her eyelids. “I need a nap.” She yawned. “Thanks for the torture. I mean the lesson.” She flashed him her own pearly whites though it was more of a yawn than a laugh by the time she was done. For once she couldn’t have cared less how he saw her or what he thought. All she could think about was getting to the houseboat, pulling down the blind, and sleeping as long as she possibly could.