Degrees of Wrong (26 page)

“Are…are you serious?” I couldn’t really believe he would send me away—postpone my swimming lesson, no less—because of my swimsuit, or the lack thereof, really. Still, I saw the frustration in his eyes. And the desire.

Something inside me burned in response to that look. I fought it, knew it was wrong. And knew it would never go away. The fire would stay as long as Nicoli did.

“I can show you just how serious—”

I didn’t give him time to finish. As he reached for me, I turned and ran toward the beach as fast as anyone’s bare feet could take them on a wooden dock.

As I passed Dr. Folsom in the kitchen, I yelled at her, “You are in
so
much trouble.”

I didn’t stop running until I was in my room behind the locked door. I peeled out of the stringy offender, bunched it up and shoved it in my top drawer. I dressed as quickly as possible, in case he decided to pursue after all. He didn’t.

Still, I didn’t come downstairs for a very long time.

Someday, somewhere across the world, some anonymous woman had damn well better appreciate the great lengths I took to resist the advances of her irresistible fiancé. And the way I would suffer on her behalf when I had to leave him behind.

Chapter Twelve

Today is our last day on the island. I should be relieved. So why am I disappointed?

I glanced beside me in the bed. The slight impression his body had left on the covers became all too symbolic. And I was definitely, undeniably, irresponsibly disappointed.

He hadn’t brought up swimming lessons again, and I was grateful for it. The physical tension between us had subsided, although—for me, at least—the attraction had intensified. I could barely keep my eyes off the man, so the fact that he stayed at my side all day and slept next to me at night worked out to my extreme convenience.

He tried to keep us busy with different activities, wanting me to experience as much of the Maldives as I could in our short visit. We took the pod to the reefs around the islands. The underwater scenery appealed to me more than anything on the land masses, man-made or not. He took care to point out each species of fish, to acquaint me with the marine plant life, to inundate me with endless facts about the Indian Ocean in general and the Maldives specifically. Some of them I already knew, and some I did not, but a more willing pupil there couldn’t be found—he was by far the most captivating teacher I’d ever had.

Also, what he said was interesting too.

When he wasn’t hauling me to our next adventure, he went out of his way to attend to my comfort. He constructed an old-fashioned hammock between two coconut palms outside the beach house so I could read in the warmth of the sun. When I came inside with shiny red cheeks, he built a small lean-to of palm branches to protect me from the rays.

He took me deep-sea fishing on one of the tourist charters, despite my insisting there would be no point in catching a fish since I wouldn’t be eating it. The captain of our boat accidentally snared a small—by the standard of the species, according to Nicoli—whale shark. That I almost climbed overboard to get away from it made him nervous, and he kept his hand at the small of my back or his arm touching mine the rest of the day. Against my will, I tried half-heartedly to pull away from him several times. To my delight, he didn’t take the hint.

Knowing I would be tormented with the loss later didn’t stop me from enjoying my time with him now. Even if I could collect the willpower to stay away from him, Nicoli was too attentive to be ignored. Still, it didn’t matter. With each second, our time left together dwindled. Both of us would need to adjust to life back on the
Bellator
.

With this thought, I flung off the covers and dressed. If my sleeping habits were any indication, it was already midmorning. Nicoli refused to wake me, insisting my late-night research earned me the right to sleep in. I wasn’t bold enough to tell him I considered sleep a squander of my time if I could be awake doing something with him.

I took the last step into the kitchen and found him at the counter behind a mountain of white cloth grocery bags. He was pulling out the contents of them when he saw me and smiled.

“Good morning, love. You woke up just in time. Come over here and make yourself useful.” He winked.

I stood next to him and stared in awe at the spread. There were loaves and loaves of bread from the market on a neighboring island, two netlike bags full of oranges and pounds of sliced lunch meat, which looked like some sort of poultry.

“What are we doing?” I asked.

He handed me a knife and a loaf of bread. “Start cutting slices. There’s a baseball game every Sunday on the island of Dhoonidhoo. It’s my turn to bring lunch.”

“Will the population of China be there, then?”

He laughed. “Nope. Just a bunch of lanky teenage boys who eat a lot.”

“How many are there?”

He shrugged. “At least a dozen show up regularly. Sometimes more. You might have to sit out.”

“All of this is for a dozen people?” It could feed thirty and their next of kin. “And you mean you would actually let me
play
?”

He eyeballed me. “
Can
you play? I mean, let’s face it. You’ve lived a sheltered life, love.”

I turned my nose up at him. I knew how to play baseball. Was pretty good at it, in fact. Baseball was a recreational staple back home. “That’s where you try to get the ball in the goal basket, right?” I asked, percolating with sarcasm. “Or wait. It’s not the one with the puck, is it? Oh, I
do
hope it’s an indoor rink.”

He rolled his eyes and muttered something low that sounded like, “Can play baseball but can’t swim…” And something else about “irritable”, but I couldn’t quite make it out.

We loaded our cargo in the pod and descended. When we surfaced, we were approaching a small dock alongside which Nicoli pulled the pod to anchor. He jumped up and lifted me out, and jumped back in to hand me the smorgasbord we brought.

He began to hand me the first box, then snatched it back, glaring at me. “This water isn’t very deep. If you fall in, just stand up. Think you can do that for me?”

“Yes, yes,” I snapped. “Just stand you up,” I said, convoluting his request.

He grinned. “I don’t think you’re sleeping well enough at night, love. You’ve become so moody. Instead of researching tonight, maybe you should try some
physical
exhaustion.”

“You mean like running?”

“No, I was thinking more of an indoor sport.”

The fire roared in my stomach. “Hand me that bag, Nicoli. And be quiet.”

He laughed but handed it to me. After unloading, he jumped on the dock, and together we carried our burden to shore. As we climbed up the small dune leading to the flat land, an old ruined building came into view. It was several stories tall, gray with dilapidation, and at least the first two floors were overgrown with a jungle of cascading vines.

“What is that?”

“You mean what did it used to be? A prison. They shut it down over half a century ago, when they realized the island was eroding. Bad things happened in that building at one time.”

I shivered in the tropical breeze. “I can tell. Looks like it’s still being punished for it too.”

Nicoli smiled. “No one comes to this island anymore, aside from these kids who aren’t so superstitious that they would neglect the perfectly useful baseball field over there.” His hands full with our bounty, he inclined his head toward it. On the side of the haunting structure, tiny figures hustled behind a wire fence. I followed Nicoli, oranges in tow.

When we reached the open field, about a dozen black-haired boys—who all could have been related in some way—greeted us. They chattered in a language I didn’t understand, and circled around us so we all moved as one body toward the wooden benches lining either side of the field.

This really had been a baseball field at some point, with the original bases still intact. Constant use kept the foliage away, although a fresh cut might benefit a short right fielder. I glanced at the building looming behind us and flinched as goose bumps sprouted on my arms. Prisoners had played on this field.

The tallest boy spoke to Nicoli, and he laughed. “He wants to know why I brought a girl to the game. And he wants to know if you’re single.”

I smiled at the boy, who grinned even wider. “Tell him I am single, if I can be on his team.”

Nicoli relayed my message to him. “At least I don’t have to worry about you being the last one picked,” Nicoli told me. “You’d probably pout for weeks. Ouch! Why do you twist when you pinch? Are doctors allowed to do that? That’s going to bruise.”

The tall boy took my hand and led me to our bench. He called something over his shoulder to Nicoli. “He said he likes feisty women,” Nicoli yelled to me.

“Tell him there’s plenty more where that came from,” I called back.

“I already did,” he said, rubbing his arm.

The teams divided evenly, which always made for a better game. Since each team was short by one player, my boys suggested I cover centerfield. “Since you have long legs, they think you’re fast,” Nicoli said.

I sniffed at him. “I
am
fast.” Fast enough, anyway. We couldn’t all be endurance sprinters like the good captain.

The sun siphoned the sweat right out of us, but no one complained. If
I
complained, it would be okay since I was a girl, Nicoli had explained. If any of
them
complained, it would be scandalous, because it would mean that they too were a girl.

After lunch we agreed not to drag the game beyond forty-five innings to accommodate curfews, sunburns and blisters. We had tied the score all day, but in the forty-fifth, my team gained a run. If our win came to fruition, I would never allow Nicoli to forget it.

With loaded bases, Nicoli grabbed the biggest bat. Smugly, he pointed it in my direction and stepped into the box. I backed up an ample distance, figuring it was easier to run forward if his aim fell short than it would be to run backward. A wasted effort—he sailed the ball over me, farther than I thought was possible, and scrambled just to get it into play before he made it home. I relayed it to the shortstop, who threw it to our frantic catcher, who then breached the language barrier with the colorful expletives he screamed.

Nicoli slid into home, colliding with the colossal teen like a bull. They crashed to the ground, and only after it was decided that Nicoli was safe did they untangle themselves from each other. It was then that I noticed the blood on his face. Mortified, I ran in to home plate.

“You’re bleeding.” I closed the distance between us. A gash over his brow trickled blood over his already puffy right eye. I cradled his face in my hands and walked him this way to the closest bench, ordering him to sit.

“Will you stop it?” he asked, grinning. “You’re embarrassing me.”

“Nicoli, your eye is already black. It doesn’t hurt? I think you need a stitch or two.” I bit my lip as I examined my all-too-willing patient. I wiped the blood from his face with a corner of my shirt, and decided that although a single stitch might benefit him, it wasn’t worth fighting about.

“If I say it does, will you kiss it and make it better?”

“Maybe,” I told him, for shock value. When his smile vanished, I knew I’d landed my mark. I raised an I-dare-you brow.

His boyish grin almost stopped my heart. “Too bad I didn’t bust a lip.” He pulled me down to him.

I snatched myself from his grasp. “I could arrange that, you know. Busted lips are my specialty.”

“No doubt.” He spoke to the bearish boy he’d pummeled into for his grand slam. Then he said, “They think you’re my girlfriend. What should I tell them?”

“Tell them you wish,” I answered, and trotted back to my position.

“That one’s rather obvious, love,” he called after me.

The next batter was even burlier than the catcher. He hoarded home plate like it marked the spot for buried treasure. Even from centerfield I could see the unkempt facial hair that marked his close on adolescence. He steadied himself in the batter’s box and waited for the pitch.

He cracked the ball, and it soared toward me. I backed up a few steps, and then a few more. I steadied my glove, positioned myself under the ball. And then lost it in the sun.

The hollow-sounding thud of impact as it walloped my upturned head embarrassed me. The blow knocked me to the ground, and while I couldn’t see just yet, I heard the stampeding sound of teenage feet herding my way. My face throbbed with the pain, but I was
more
sore about how hollow my head sounded when struck.

“Elyse!” Even though my name was only two syllables, I could tell from the start to the finish of it that Nicoli was running toward me.

I sat up. And like an ostrich hiding its head in the ground, I buried my face in my glove.

I felt Nicoli beside me amid the indiscernible chatter of both sweaty teams. His voice was saturated with concern when he said, “Elyse, love? Let me see. Can you hear me?”

He tried to gently pry the glove from my face. He would have to do better than that—gently wasn’t going to cut it.

“No.”

He chuckled, probably relieved I wasn’t crying. “Let me see, love. Does it hurt?”