Diving In (18 page)

“Hi honey,” he said loudly. “Where’d you go? I rolled over and you were gone.”
 

She had to grab him to stop herself from falling over. “What are you doing here?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing.” He gave her a wounded look.

She tried to pull free, but his grip was surprisingly strong. She gritted her teeth. “I’m learning how to swim.”

With the sigh of the long-suffering, Ansel pulled her closer. “Is that what you’re calling it now?”

Torn between kneeing Ansel in the crotch and putting her arms around his neck, she turned to Law. “This guy is crazy. Ignore him.”

“I’m crazy, all right,” Ansel said. “Crazy for loving you.”

Law was already back in the hut, reaching up to arrange the display along the back wall of designer sunglasses for sale. She watched his cowardly but muscular buttocks.

“Guess he’s a lover, not a fighter,” Ansel whispered in her ear.

 
“I’m not.” She dug her elbow into his ribs and strode away. That was the second time Lawless had bailed ship; she’d find somebody else.

Ansel chased after her, speaking in a low voice at her shoulder. “You should thank me, you know. Old Lawrence has slept with half the women who’ve ever stayed here.” He took her elbow and squeezed it. “There isn’t enough chlorine in the world to sanitize that dude’s equipment.”

She snatched her arm away. Her heart was beating too fast. “I only wanted a swim lesson,” she said, brushing the hair out of her eyes. “Thanks for screwing it up.”

“I’d be a better teacher. Seriously. I’m also free.” He gestured over the fake boulders. “There’s a great pool over there that’s empty.”

“Why are you doing this? Aren’t you busy?”
 

“I’m between appointments. Look, I couldn’t let you give that guy actual money.”

“I’m not going to sleep with you.”

His eyes widened. “Of course not.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Rule number one of water safety, maintain consciousness.”

She snorted. He was wearing a black T-shirt, gray shorts, and black flip-flops. Even his towel was colorless. So much of him, though, like his laughing mouth and sunburned cheeks, blazed with life and color.

She couldn’t stop looking at him. “Why do you always dress like an undertaker?”

“Since when do undertakers wear board shorts?”

Every reason to avoid him—there had to be loads of them—went out of her head. Why would she pay for a guy like Law when she could have Ansel Jury-Jarski for free?

“Let me get my shoes,” she said.

After she slipped them on, he led her out of the fake grotto, past the baby pool and two more spas, to a round pool with a slide at one end. Before she could avert her eyes—or get them into sharp focus—he pulled his shirt over his head and strode over to the water, his shorts low on his hips, a hint of two dimples above the waistband on either side of his spine.

Don’t look
, she chanted silently.

He turned just then and saw her staring. Grinning, he put his hands on his hips. “Not bad for an old man, huh?” He looked past her to where they’d been. “But you do seem to have a thing for geezers.”

“Be quiet. All I ever wanted was a swim lesson.” She put her bag on a deck chair, slid her feet out of the sandals again, and hesitating only a second, tore off her cover-up. “Now I’m going to drown. It’s all your fault.”

“Blame the victim,” he said. “No, seriously. If you do drown, it’s your own darn fault. Why the heck didn’t you ever learn before now? Too crazy?”

This time, she did laugh. She liked that he wasn’t afraid to call it what it was. “Basically.” She walked over to the pool and squatted at the edge, tilting her knees so he didn’t see she wasn’t as well shaved as the Olympic volleyball mom; although, her generous thighs didn’t allow a clear view of that area anyway.

“Why so determined now?”

“It’s past time, that’s all.”

He looked at the sky. “I can relate to that.” A bird peeped nearby. He sat next to her and put his feet in the water. “How are you feeling right now?”

The sun was too low to reflect off the water, giving her an unimpeded view of the pool bottom. Another deep one. Did anglerfish need such a large habitat?

Her heart was beating harder and faster than normal, but it wasn’t because of the water. She’d broken through the worst of the irrational anxiety the first day just by getting in. Now just the rational fear of drowning remained. She didn’t have gills or flippers or skill.

The racing pulse was because his body was inches from hers, and his dark gaze was watching closely.

Jumping in might actually be a welcome escape. She held her breath, expecting cold water, twisting around to grab the edge. “Fine,” she said through her teeth. When she realized the water wasn’t cold at all, she relaxed her jaw. “Why’s this one so warm?”

“Kiddie pee.” He slid in next to her.

She wasn’t sure if he was kidding, or if she cared. It felt good.

Okay, she cared. “Seriously,” she said, lifting her chin above the surface.

“They do water therapy in here.” He dunked his head. “Gets way too hot in the afternoon, but it’s nice in the morning. So, what do you think? You willing to let me help you a little bit?”

She relaxed into the water but didn’t want to let go of the edge. “You didn’t bring a noodle.”

“
Au contraire
.”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s not big enough.”

“Give me a minute.”

She put her face in the water. How could she have a panic attack when she was laughing?

“Now that you’re blowing bubbles, put your hands on my shoulders,” he said. “I’ll pull you to the other side while you practice.”

She lifted her nose out of the water, skeptical, but he’d turned his back to her and was treading water a couple of feet away, waiting.

She had to let go of the edge. Just once, before she died, she wanted to see a sea turtle on the other side of a mask—not a TV screen.

Rejecting the comfort of solid concrete, she reached out her right hand and clasped his shoulder, flinching at how much she enjoyed the feel of his bare skin under her fingers before she took a deep breath and grabbed onto his other side with her left.

“Hold on, here we go!” He started to move. His muscles flexed under her palms like an elite stallion. Practicing her bubbles, she put her face closer to the water and checked out his ass.

This really isn’t so bad at all
, she thought, watching him propel them through the water. The water was warm, she was getting warmer, and he was
hot
.

God help her.

Too soon, they reached the other side. Her body floated closer to his, her knees bumping his thighs, but she didn’t let go, assuming they’d do another lap. Putting a hand on the edge, he turned and met her gaze over his shoulder. His smile wasn’t quite as cocky as before. “You doing all right?”
 

Nodding, she stared at the water droplets clinging to his eyelashes.

His voice lowered. “Want another go?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah,” he repeated. His gaze dropped to her chest before he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Hold on tight. I’ll go faster this time.”

He pushed away from the ledge with her in tow, and he seemed to reach out wider with his arms and kick harder with his legs, though she was preoccupied with the feel of his biceps. Somehow she’d slipped her hands lower. He hadn’t seemed this muscular when he was dry.

They got to the other side again, but he didn’t pause, just pivoted in the water and kept going. She pretended to work on her technique—face in, face out, kick, kick, kick—while she thought about the different kinds of fears a person could have, how some of those might be reasonable, given her limitations, but how they could steal away some of the greatest pleasures in life.

This time when they reached the edge, he held on with both hands and didn’t turn around. She didn’t let go of his arms, and without him pulling her along the surface, her feet sank, and soon her body extended along his, lengthwise, floating vertically in the water, skin to skin.

“I’ve got that noodle for you now,” he said.

She stayed where she was.

Okay, you’d better let go, or he’ll get the wrong idea
, she told herself.

Any minute now…

Finally, she splashed away from him. For a full second, powered by the engine of her pounding heart, she swam unassisted. Water filled her mouth, open from all the panting she’d been doing.

She folded her arms over the concrete edge and rested her forehead between them, more impressed than afraid of the raw need flowing through her. It defied thought. It was a thing separate from her mind, a living force without words or memory. All it wanted was to be satisfied.

Ansel moved closer, stopping about two feet away. “Sorry. Bad timing. Are you all right?”

She nodded into her folded arms. Never in her life had she felt the urge to launch herself upon another human being the way she did at that moment.

“I was a jerk.” He touched her shoulder briefly, so lightly she wouldn’t have felt it if her nerves weren’t already on red alert. “You’re doing this amazing thing that scares the heck out of you, and I had to go and make a dick joke. Do you need help getting out? I won’t make a pass, swear to God.”

He thought she was freaking out about the water? She lifted her head and gave him a small smile. “I’m great. That was great.” Knowing she wouldn’t have the strength to gracefully get out of the water with just her arms, she hand-walked around the edge of the pool and climbed out at the stairs. Her knees wobbled but she felt good. The breeze against her wet skin didn’t bother her at all. She felt like she could fly.

“I’ll get us some towels.” He climbed out of the pool and jogged off to a hut near the bathrooms. Naturally, she watched him go, watched him while he waited in line and talked to the attendant, watched him stride back with the stack of white terrycloth in his arms. “Here. You’re shivering.”

She took the towel from him and unfurled it to wrap around her shoulders. The longing she’d had for him years ago, like how she felt for Miles, was a soft, weak wanting compared to this raging hunger burning her now.
 

“Thanks for the lesson,” she said, hearing the huskiness in her own voice. “You’re a much better teacher than Law.”

He stopped rubbing the towel through his hair. “Yeah?”

“Someday I’d like to go out on one of those chartered boats and snorkel around the reefs. I’ve never seen a sea turtle.”

“This is the place for sea turtles if that’s what you want,” he said.

Far more terrifying creatures than big, cute turtles lived in the ocean, ones that even scared brave people, ones that could even kill you. She swallowed. “That’s what I want.”

It seemed impossible that having this hunger satisfied could be a bad thing. The alternative was starvation.

She had some thinking to do.

* * *

This time Brand woke Ansel up at 5:12 a.m.

He’d have to get an app that shut down the volume on his phone every night because he could never remember to do it. At least he’d fallen asleep before midnight.

“What now?” Ansel asked, pulling the sheet over his face.

“You photoshopped the pictures.”

Ansel worked up some mock outrage. “What?”

“Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?”

“I hardly did anything. I just made it look more like real life than I was able to capture on camera,” Ansel said.

“If I didn’t have a meeting in Chicago today, I’d be on the first plane to Kahului.”

“This is how we’re different. If I had a meeting in Chicago, I’d be sure to be on the first plane to Kahului.”

“Chicago’s a fantastic town. Have you ever been there?”

“I saw the weather report. Ninety-eight—Fahrenheit, humidity, and percentage of people who’d rather be in Hawaii. No thanks.”

“Do you even remember why I’m going there?” Brand asked.

Ansel groaned into his pillow. What kind of friend grilled you in bed in the middle of the night? That’s what girlfriends were for.

“It’s a restaurant supply convention,” Brand answered. “Ring any bells?”

“Restaurants have bells now?”

“Ansel, I swear to God…”

The genuine anger in Brand’s voice snapped Ansel fully awake. “The CDA! You’re going to the CDA.” Creative Dining America had an annual convention in Chicago every summer. “I thought you hated the idea of investing in restaurants.”

“You’ve already sunk fifty grand in Jordan’s hole-in-the-wall, might as well try to recoup a little of it.”

“I told you,” Ansel said. “That was a gift, not an investment. My money. Get it out of your head that it has anything to do with you.”

The line went quiet for a second. “Talking as your financially savvy friend here, Anse, not your partner. You throw too much of your money away on lost causes.”

“Jordan would kick your ass if he heard you call him a lost cause.”

“That’s why I’m telling you, not him,” Brand said. “Asian fusion peaked ages ago.”

“He’s doing great. That’s just what he has to call it so people aren’t scared away. Running a restaurant is all he’s ever wanted out of life. He’ll figure it out.”

“With a little help,” Brand said, “maybe he will. I’ve got six hours of workshops lined up to get some ideas. Dinner with a few bright guys. I’m taking a lot of notes.”

Ansel imagined uptight Brand walking into Jordan’s kitchen. “Better bring a bodyguard if you’re going to tell him how to run his restaurant. Even without his knives, he’s scary.”

“You’ll talk to him. Leave me out of it.”

“I’m trying to,” Ansel said.

“And tell Jenny we’re buying the hill-facing property.”

“Now who’s throwing money away?”

“I’m serious,” Brand said.

“You’re always serious.”

“Rule number one about getting rich,” Brand said. “You have to take in more money than you give out. Basic math.”

“I’m not going to buy that crappy building, Brand.”

“And I’m not going to sign on the other one.”

Ansel stopped himself from saying he’d do it himself; he needed Brand’s money and his MBA expertise. “Give it a few days to look over the pictures again.” He yawned loudly. “I’m going back to sleep. Talk to you later.” This time he remembered to turn off the phone completely.