Janelle Taylor (16 page)

“What do you want to do for dinner?” Beau asked as Jordan came up the stairs after her shower.

“What do you want to do?” she countered, conscious of Spencer’s presence. The little boy was sprawled on the floor beside the couch, where Beau was leafing through a coffee table book about Outer Banks shipwrecks.

“I want a Happy Meal,” Spencer announced, looking up from a couple of miniature metal cars Beau had brought back from his earlier trip to the supermarket. Spencer had built a ramp for them using Beau’s beat-up loafers and a local telephone book.

“A Happy Meal?” Jordan echoed, wondering what the heck that was.

“I don’t think there’s a McDonald’s out here, fella,” Beau said, leaning over to ruffle Spencer’s hair.

Okay, so a Happy Meal was clearly some kind of fast-food kiddie fare that Spencer would have to do without.

Spencer gave the glass coffee table a disappointed kick.

“Careful!” Jordan said, reaching out to steady a sculpture of a seagull that sat in the middle of it.

“Don’t worry about him hurting that thing,” Beau said. “It’s solid and it weighs a ton. It’s not going anywhere.”

“When can we go back to the beach?” Spencer wanted to know.

“Tomorrow, if the weather’s nice,” Jordan promised.

“Can I play on my rock?”

She smiled. “Sure.”

Spencer’s “rock” was a jutting boulder just in front of the dunes. It seemed out of place there amid the mountains of soft sand. He had spotted it not long after they arrived on the beach today and seemed fascinated by it. He scaled it fairly easily and sat up there, looking out at the sea, wearing a pensive expression. Jordan had found herself wondering whether he was thinking about his mother. It was Beau who had broken the spell, coaxing Spencer down from the rock and into a spirited game of Frisbee.

Jordan handed Beau the bottle of aloe lotion he’d loaned her. “Here you go,” she said. “Thanks. It helped.”

“Did you get all the burned spots?” he asked, looking concerned.

“I think so.”

“What about your back? It looked pretty bad when we left the beach.”

“I couldn’t reach it,” she said. The moment she saw
the look that crossed his face, she wanted to take the words back.

“I’ll do it for you. Come here.”

“It’s okay. It isn’t—”

“Come here,” he repeated, moving over and patting the couch cushion beside him.

She plunked herself down, her back to him. Her skin did feel tender and sore from the sand and the blistering sun. She’d worn sunscreen, but had foolishly applied a lower SPF to her skin than she had to Spencer’s.

Now she would pay the price. The little boy’s cheeks were barely rosy, while every inch of Jordan that had been exposed to
the
hot Southern rays had been singed a light, painful pink.

“Lift up your T-shirt in back,” he said, almost gruffly, all-business.

She wanted to protest, but she didn’t, again conscious of Spencer’s presence. The little boy had gone back to his cars, grumbling about wanting a Happy Meal and clearly oblivious to the taut undercurrent between Jordan and Beau, just as he had seemed to be all day at the beach.

Not that the day had been entirely fraught with tension. There had been moments of fun, when the three of them frolicked in the water or joined forces to build a sand castle.

It was Spencer who came up with the idea of burying Beau in the sand, an enormously satisfying occupation for a preschooler. But he insisted on Jordan helping, and that was where she got into trouble.

It was impossible to ignore Beau’s finely sculpted physique when she was crouched over it, letting warm sand trickle over his firm, tanned muscles. It was too easy to recall what it had felt like to lie against his naked skin,
and to imagine what would have happened between them if the time and circumstances had been right.

This was another of those moments, Jordan realized, as Beau’s hand made contact with her naked shoulder as she bent forward, the hem of her T-shirt gathered near her shoulder blades.

She gasped, nearly leaping off the couch at his touch.

“I’m sorry. I thought I warmed the lotion in my hands. Is it cold?”

“Not too bad,” she managed.

In truth, the lotion was warm … and her thoughts had darted into steamy territory.

“I’ll try to be gentle,” Beau said.

“Mmm-hmm.”

His fingertips swirled
the
moist lotion into her hot, thirsty skin, bringing instant relief from one problem and exposure to a far greater one.

How could she be thinking about making love to him at a time like this?

The truth was, it was far too easy for sensual thoughts to take over.

Time and distance had brought her to a false sense of security. She could simply forget why they were here, could forget all about Spencer, and poor Phoebe, and the pirate.

She could almost convince herself that this was nothing but a decadent beach vacation, and that later, when the sun went down and Spencer was asleep, they could pick up where they’d left off.

He had fallen silent, she realized. And his movements had slowed, less clinical and efficient than before. She wanted to protest when he lifted his hand away, then heard him squeeze the bottle to drizzle lotion over his fingertips again. Thankful the massage wasn’t over, she
closed her eyes and bent farther forward to give him access to the untouched region above her bra clasp.

He obliged, resting one hand on her shoulder to hold her steady as the pads of his fingers on the other worked the rich, fragrant moisture into her parched flesh. He used circular movements, a heavenly swirling pattern reminiscent of her far more intimate encounter with his tongue.

Fighting back a moan of pleasure, Jordan managed a half-strangled-sounding, “Thank you. That’s great. Thanks.”

“Are you sure? Did I get every spot?”

No. Not every spot.

Jordan tried to ignore the part of her that tingled with electric reminiscence and wistful anticipation. She tried to turn her thoughts—and the conversation—to a safer brand of hunger.

“I’m starved,” she said, struggling to attain lightness as she pulled down her T-shirt and rose from the couch. “How about you guys?”

“I want a Happy Meal,” Spencer announced, as though sharing a late-breaking bulletin. He looked ominously capable of a tantrum.

“Fine,” Jordan said, heading him off. “I’ll make you one.

There was a moment of silence.

“You’ll make me one?” Spencer echoed, looking at Beau, who looked at Jordan.

“Yeah,” he said, setting the bottle of lotion on the coffee table. “You’ll
make
him one?”

“If the mountain can’t go to MacDonald’s, MacDon-ald will come to the mountain. I mean, the beach.
Whatever, “
Jordan said, brushing off their blank looks as though they were the ones who didn’t have a clue.

She went on briskly, “I checked out the contents of the fridge and cupboards earlier. Beau did a great job stocking up on the basics. I think I can whip up a decent Happy Meal for all three of us.”

Beau and Spencer exchanged a dubious glance.

“Let’s see what she can do, fella,” Beau said with a shrug. “Give her a chance.”

“Okay,” Spencer said reluctantly.

Jordan started toward the kitchen, displaying a confidence she didn’t feel. Halfway there, she turned and called, “Beau? Can you come here for a second?”

He did, ambling toward her wearing a good-natured
now what?
expression.

When he was close enough, she leaned toward him and whispered, “What the heck is in a Happy Meal?”

“Okay, Spencer, you can open your eyes!” Beau said, his hands on the little boy’s shoulders after having propelled him to the dining area.

Spencer opened his eyes and gasped. “Wow! What’s that?”

“It’s a Happy Meal,” Beau said, as the little boy picked up the white paper bakery bag. Beau had recycled it from the rolls he’d bought this morning and had decorated it using markers he’d found in a kitchen drawer. It looked almost like a bag that might hold a fast-food kid’s meal.

“Thanks, Beau!” the little boy said, opening the bag and peering inside.

“Thank Jordan,” he said, turning toward her. She stood a few steps away from them, looking hesitant to take the credit that was due her.

“Thanks, Jordan,” Spencer mumbled, not looking at her.

Beau saw the disappointment in her eyes before she turned away. His heart ached for her. She was doing everything within her power to win Spencer over, but the child still maintained a cautious distance from her—and a stubborn resentment. Yet with Beau, Spencer was affectionate and playful. That had to be painful for Jordan.

As Jordan carried food for her and Beau over to the table, Spencer plopped into his seat and began removing the items she had packed into his bag.

Along with a juice box, napkins, and real McDonald’s ketchup packets from the glove compartment of Beau’s car, there was a hamburger wrapped in waxed paper Beau had decorated to resemble an authentic fast-food wrapper, and homemade french fries in a small waxed-paper pocket he had made.

“This looks great,” Beau said, lifting his own hamburger from the plate Jordan had set in front of him. “Thanks so much.”

“You’re the one who bought the burgers and buns and potatoes,” she said. “All I did was cook them.”

“You spent an hour cutting the potatoes into those thin strips before you fried them,” he said, mainly for Spencer’s benefit. “That was an incredible amount of work.”

The little boy was oblivious, having just discovered the cellophane-wrapped “prize” Beau had tucked into the bottom of his bag. It was a miniature box kite he’d bought in the supermarket with Spencer in mind. He’d picked up quite a few small toys and trinkets for the child, thinking Spencer might grow bored here without a television.

“Wow, thanks, Beau,” Spencer said, putting the kite aside and reaching for a ketchup packet. “Can we fly it later on the beach?”

“Maybe tomorrow,” Beau said. “It’s already dark out there.”

He watched Jordan take a halfhearted bite of her own burger. Their eyes met as she chewed. He could see the worry etched in her gaze once again, and he knew what she was thinking.

While she was cooking, the telephone had rung. It was Beau’s partner, Ed. He was trying to keep Landry at bay, but it looked as though Beau might have to head back to Washington tomorrow morning. Ed was going to call back in a little while to let Beau know for sure.

“You know,” Beau said quietly, “it’s only a six-hour drive.”

His meaning registered on her face. He saw her glance at Spencer, who was busily squirting more ketchup onto his fries from yet another red-and-white packet.

“It took us longer than six hours yesterday,” Jordan said.

“There was traffic, and we didn’t take the interstate. I would. I’d leave at dawn, take Ninety-five up away from the coast, get to D.C. by noon, have my meeting, and drive back. I’d be here before dark—okay, maybe later at night. Or in the middle of the night. The point is, I’d be back.”

“That’s too much driving for one day.”

“Not for me.”

“It could be dangerous. You’d be exhausted.”

“I’ll drink coffee,” he said simply. “Look, I might not even have to—”

As though summoned by fate, the phone rang.

Avoiding Jordan’s gaze, Beau put down his burger, walked over, and picked up the receiver.

It was Ed, of course. Nobody else had this number.

“I’m sorry, Beau,” his partner said. “I tried to get him to reschedule, but he wouldn’t. He demanded to see both of us, tomorrow afternoon.”

Beau wanted to tell Ed to forget it. That he should tell Albert Landry to forget it. The billionaire CEO could find another architect, another firm …

Torn, he looked toward the table. Jordan’s eyes collided with his. He was surprised at what he saw there.

Go,
she mouthed.

And she really meant it. He could see it in her expression.

“Hang on a second,” Beau said into the receiver before lowering it and pressing the mouthpiece against his shoulder.

“We’ll be fine,” Jordan told him in a low voice. “Really.”

“Are you—”

“I’m sure. Go.”

He shot her a grateful look, but renewed worry ignited within him. Yes, she and Spencer were isolated here. Nobody knew where they were. They would be safe until he got back. But…

No. He couldn’t let paranoia get the best of him. They were safe here, and Ed needed him. If he didn’t meet with Landry, they could kiss the future of the firm good-bye.

Beau lifted the receiver again and spoke into it, saying simply, “Okay, I’ll be there.”

When Spencer was tucked safely into bed, Julia took another shower. She had taken one after the beach, but the cool, gentle spray felt good on her sunburned skin. Afterward, she realized that she’d better apply more lotion to her back and shoulders if she wanted to avoid peeling. She should have brought some of her own—or at least, should have kept the bottle Beau had loaned her earlier.

Maybe he had left it on the coffee table, she thought, as she quickly combed her damp hair and pulled it back into a ponytail.

All was quiet upstairs. He’d probably gone to bed early, in anticipation of tomorrow’s long drive.

Instead of the short cotton nightgown she’d laid out on the bed, Jordan slipped on her terry-cloth robe, tying it quickly at her waist. It would conceal more of her just in case Beau was up and about, which she doubted.

As she left her room in search of the aloe lotion, she wondered what it would be like here tomorrow, alone with Spencer.

She knew this place was safe. She was certain nobody had followed them here. Theirs had been the lone pair of headlights crossing the long causeway onto the Outer Banks late last night.

There was no reason for Beau to miss his important meeting. She and Spencer would be fine without him. Yet the thought of being here alone was unnerving.

Today, playing with Spencer on the beach, had felt almost like a vacation.

Yes, there was tension between Jordan and Beau; there was underlying fear and grief, too.

But they couldn’t discuss the situation or their next move in front of Spencer.