The Sea of Aaron (9 page)

“Me, Valerie.”

Of course he had known that, but it never paid to be careless, even while in Belize. He opened the door, allowing her to enter, but she remained in the doorway amidst the noise of other hotel guests entering their rooms, her hair tousled, her face glowing with tropical rainforest health.

“It's getting late, so I'm not going to disturb whatever you're doing,” she said. “Just wanted to let you know that I had a good time on the tour and…” She hesitated for just a split second.

“And?” his eyes narrowed.

She laughed, and he liked the bordering-on-amused, slightly sarcastic sound of it. “Don't be so brusque,” she said. “People tend to take it the wrong way when you don't let them finish a sentence.”

A faint glimmer of a sly smile curved his mouth. “Should I care about these so-called people?”

“That depends on whether you wish to be offensive or not. But right now you need only care about the one who is standing at your door.”

“And?” he repeated, folding his arms across his chest.

She shook her head. “You are truly impossible. Did you hear from the doctor?”

“Yes.”

She jutted her chin and glared at him, her ebony eyes fiercely mesmerizing. “And? And?”

Aaron studied her, knowing full well he was breaking his own rule again. “It would be much easier to talk if you would just come inside and sit down. I believe I've already established that I'm not going to bite.”

Rolling her eyes, she reached out and gave him a gentle but persuasive poke in the ribcage, nudging him out of the doorway. “Neither of us bites,” she said entering the room, “but we do kiss quite ardently, and we both know exactly why we should stay out of each other's room.”

She noticed that the TV was on even though he probably hadn't been watching it. He sat on the edge of the bed and she sat on the chair facing him, crossing her legs, aware that he was monitoring her every move.

“Now that you've finished luring the fly into the web, what about the doctor?”

He related what the doctor had said and finished by thanking her for insisting that he go. “Tell me about your day,” he said.

It was agonizing for her being in such close quarters while entertaining amorous thoughts. To make matters worse, Aaron stretched out on the bed, feet crossed at the ankles, arms folded behind his head. A relaxed, seductive pose if ever there was one. “If you're tired and want to go back to your room, I'll understand,” he said, apparently oblivious to what his body language was doing to her. “It's just that I've spent an entire day doing very little that could be considered productive, and I'm not handling the downtime well.”

She started talking then and he did listen, his navy blue eyes not piercing in their usual confrontational way, but meeting hers at the right moments, his aesthetically pleasing eyebrows arched to perfection.

“I never realized just how much the Mayan culture influenced Central America,” she babbled on enthusiastically, and then stopped upon noticing that his eyes were closed and his breathing even. Instead of being irritated, she felt a bizarre warmth spread over her. There was something ingratiating about gaining his trust to the extent that he would lower his guard and actually fall asleep in front of her. How boyishly vulnerable he looked.

Valerie rose quietly, leaned over him and brushed her lips lightly over his clean-shaven jaw, a kiss that was not lustful, but genuinely affectionate. She covered him with the blanket that lay at the foot of the bed and tiptoed out of the room, locking the door behind her.

During Aaron's convalescence, Valerie came to know Caye Caulker and most of its people on a first-name basis. In fact it disturbed her to realize that the country opened up to her more than Aaron did. She was even offered a job at the clinic, which she considered flattering, but she knew she could never leave behind her place of birth and what remained of her family.

When he was well enough, Aaron took her out to see the Mayan ruins at Altun Ha, without benefit of a tour guide. None was needed because he was a wealth of knowledge and he explained all the geological and architectural wonders.

As the days rolled by, they spent the time visiting many places of interest. Once on the way back to Caye Caulker from Belize City, Aaron chose the long route and flew over the area known as The Blue Hole, giving her a plane's view of the marvel of nature. It appeared exactly as he had painted it—a huge indigo circle like a giant eye in the center of the aqua sea.

By the time the week was up, Valerie was agitated at having to return home. She still knew no more about Aaron than what others had told her, because even though she had given him plenty of opportunities, his conversations had been all about the aesthetics of geography and nature—nothing personal at all.

Sunday evening, Valerie started packing. A mechanical coldness settled over her as she sifted through clothes that were strewn all over the bed. She'd had to pick up additional luggage since she was taking back more than she'd arrived with, mostly worthless touristy junk, a few arts and crafts, and gifts purchased for Jasmine's kids.

The prospect of returning home to two million dollars should have been exciting, but it wasn't. In her opinion, it was blood money that she shouldn't have received in the first place, and she had no idea what she was going to do with it.

Aaron's last MRI had confirmed that his lungs were clear. His improvement probably meant that he wouldn't be staying in Belize much longer, either, and that he'd most likely return to New York or go off on another one of his top-secret missions and get killed. Yes, she was angry, furious, in fact, and she knew it was partially her own fault because she hadn't exactly opened up to him, either, feeling that her life was too boring to talk about.

She glared at a swimsuit, a skimpy white bikini that belonged on the body of an anorexic eighteen-year-old, not a top-heavy thirty-something with too much caboose. Why had she purchased the thing? She balled it up and threw it at the door just as it opened and Aaron, perfect reflexes and all, caught it.

“Sorry,” she said, without looking at him. “I thought the door was locked.”

“I knocked but you didn't answer.” He dangled the offensive garment on one finger. “Have you worn this yet?”

“No. It's not for me,” she lied.

She turned, sauntered over, and snatched it away from him, and then went back to what she had been doing. Rude, but she didn't care. He could think what he wanted.

“You're packing,” Aaron said, helping himself to the chair nearby.

“You noticed,” she replied, forgetting to ask him why he'd come to her room in the first place.

“I didn't realize you were going so soon.”

“Can't stay here forever.”

“Would you?”

“Would I what?”

“Stay if you could?”

“Of course not. I don't know anyone here.”

“Except for Noah and Jasmine and your cousin, who do you know in New Jersey?”

She clenched her teeth, crumpled up two T-shirts, and crammed them into the suitcase.

“Aren't you going to fold them?”

“You're messing with me, Aaron.” She slammed the suitcase shut and whirled to face him. “I
hate
it when you do that.”

“Woman, I haven't even begun messing with you.” He rose to his full height and abruptly pulled her into his arms.

Before she could wrestle herself free, the grip became a locking one, his strength so apparent she would have been completely helpless had he been an enemy. But he was not an enemy, and she knew if she really wanted him to let go he would.

“Tell me why you're so angry,” he said.

“I'm not angry.”

“Prevarication isn't one of your virtues, but suit yourself. Maybe you'd like to know why
I'm
angry.”

His grip had not loosened, yet she felt some of her own combative tension drain. “I didn't realize you were. Why are you angry?”

“Because I'm not ready to let you go.”

“I, um…” She stumbled over her words. “I guess I'm surprised to hear you say that.”
Boy, what a twit.
She rarely stammered, and now here she was doing just that. “I'm not ready to let you go, either,” she admitted finally.

“Good, we've reached common ground. So, what do you think of marriage?”

Her breath caught. She simply could not believe the turn the conversation had taken, the words that had come out of his mouth. “I think,” she said slowly, “that in most cultures there is such a thing as engagement first.”

“I'm not into customs and I don't do engagements.”

She blinked. “Aaron, what exactly are you saying?

“Marry me, Valerie, here in Belize.”

Speechlessness combined with numbness overtook her. A wild impulsive part of her wanted to throw all common sense out the door and say yes, but how could she? She had already had one ill-conceived marriage, and if she made another foolish mistake, she wouldn't even be able to blame it on youth.

“Have you lost your mind?” she asked him, realizing even as she said it that the question was too harsh, too cold.

He released her then, so abruptly that she nearly stumbled backward. Somehow she made it back to the bed and sat down while he paced around the room like a caged panther.

She inhaled deeply. “We can't…nobody gets married just like that. There are too many things I don't know or understand about you, and you don't really know me, either.”

“I do know you,” he said bluntly. “And I'm willing to tell you some things about myself.”

She had a zillion things she wanted to know about him, but her mind fixated on his staunch statement regarding his so-called knowledge of her. “What do you
think
you know about me?”

He stopped pacing and began to recite as if reading a fact sheet, or, worse, a newspaper obituary. “You were born to Joel and Ruth Redmond in Middletown, New York, where you spent most of your childhood and went to school. Your father served honorably in Korea and extended his tour of duty for six years. He later resigned from the military and became a minister. You have an older brother, Greg, a corporate lawyer living in Chicago. He's married with two children. You went to college briefly in Ohio, but returned home when your father died and, soon after that, married a much older man. The marriage ended in divorce after a year. You returned home and transferred to a local college, where you took up nursing. Your mother is …”

“Enough,” she said coldly, rising, ready to show him to the door. “You know statistics about me. Everything and nothing at all. Do you also know the name of the person I was married to?”

“Yes.”

“Are you going to tell me his name?”

“Apparently you don't want me to.”

“How did you find out all that stuff? Surely Jasmine didn't tell you.” She yanked the door open wide, hoping he'd take the hint and leave. “No, wait…that's right, you have all these resources, these ways of invading a person's privacy without even asking permission.”

Aaron did not move from where he stood. “I'm sorry you're offended. It's just standard procedure. When I was looking into the Allard case, I had to know a few things about you, too, in order to rule out suspects.”

“You could have just asked me.”

He remained silent for a few seconds, and when he spoke the mechanical tone to his voice was gone, and his pitch was lower, more emotive. “You're right. I should have asked. It just never occurred to me at the time. I'm sorry.”

Valerie realized what she already suspected, that he was a man who rarely asked others for permission to do anything, and in the last few days he'd probably apologized to her more times than he'd ever apologized to anyone in his entire life. On that basis alone, she wanted to forgive him, but she was having a hard time handling everything that had been thrown at her in the last few minutes. What she really wanted to do was shove him out the door, lock it, and then get back to him in an hour when her head stopped spinning and her heart rate had returned to normal. But he clearly wasn't going any place on his own, and, unless she started screaming bloody murder, there was nothing she could do except deal with him.

“It's late,” she said, trying to sound calm, hoping he'd take the hint. “We both need to think.”

Aaron, who had started pacing again, stopped and moved closer to her. “Perhaps you're right about me losing my mind. I've not only lost it, but maybe I've misjudged you as well.”

“Meaning?”

“What I said earlier was ridiculous. We don't have to get
married.
We can still be together without making that commitment.”

“No!” She raked her fingers through her hair. “You haven't misread me at all in that regard. If I believed in no commitment, you and I would have been all over each other the first time I kissed you. The issue here is why won't you do an engagement so we can get to know each other better?”

He jammed his hands in his front pockets. “Because we both know that an engagement will give us time to think, and if we do that I will consider all the reasons why I never intended to marry and the engagement will be off.”

Better to break an engagement than a marriage,
she thought lamely. But, yes, the words were spoken and there was nothing romantic or intriguing about the truth—the cold, brutal truth, and now they had arrived at an impasse with no way out. Valerie avoided looking at his eyes, sat back down hard on the bed, and laughed insanely, deliriously, because it was better than screaming.

“Valerie, stay just a little while longer. A week. Three days.” Aaron sat down beside her. “I'll try to answer whatever questions you might have.”

Why couldn't he have just volunteered the information two or three days ago when they were relaxed and at peace? But no, he had to wait until the atmosphere was heated and volatile. “I can't discuss this anymore…not tonight,” she said firmly. “I need space.”

His arm slid around her, and she started to pull away, but the gesture was conciliatory, consoling. He caressed her shoulder lightly, his touch smooth as silk.

“Tomorrow morning,” he said rising slowly. “We'll go for a sail on
Saniyah II
, and I won't take no for an answer.”

***

The night stretched on endlessly. Wearing only a long T-shirt, Valerie slipped out of the bed and wandered toward the terrace. The balmy sea breeze welcomed her as she slid the screen doors open and stepped out into full view of the amber moon, which stared blatantly, luminously, and deviously at her, its leering visage reflected perfectly in the somnolent blackness of the sea.

Already she knew she'd go sailing with Aaron, for despite his arrogance and cynicism, there were many good things that she did know about him—things she'd gleaned from her own observations and things she had been told by others. Sometimes the truest portrait of a person came from their friends and associates. She'd heard that, as a very young man, he'd flown fighter jets for the Israeli Defense Force. She also knew that he was generous, heroic, fiercely protective, and loyal to those he called friends. Jasmine's husband, whose life he'd saved more than once, would readily attest to that.

Harrison Porter didn't even deserve to crawl in Aaron's shadow. Just thinking about her ex made her flush with embarrassment and humiliation. She had been so young and naïve back then. The marriage had dissolved in a year immediately after she'd suffered a miscarriage and had been told by doctors that she would never be able to have children.

After years of obligatory dating, attending church socials, and everything in between, she had never felt anything beyond brotherly affection for the other men who'd flitted in and out of her life. Only when she was around Aaron did she feel passionately alive and open to all possibilities. She absolutely owed it to herself to stay in Belize a little longer.