Low Tide Bikini (A Pleasure Island Romance) (24 page)

“I expected as much, and I think it’s what you need to do. We’re fine here now. Join me in the study for a moment?”

Brock stepped inside the study of dark paneled wood and bookcases floor to ceiling. A large cherry desk sat beneath a shuttered window that let in morning light through opened slats. The table lamp, nestled next to a threadbare floral chair, cast an incandescent glow. The familiar scent of tobacco lingered in the air. Next to the lamp was his father’s favorite pipe embellished with the carving of a fox hunt.
 

His dad closed the door behind them, and his face became somber.

Brock didn’t understand the reason for the change in mood. “Is something wrong?”

“No. Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s right, so right it has me counting my blessings.” His father lifted a wooden box from a nearby bookshelf and opened the lid. He pulled out Gran’s ruby ring and held it out to Brock. Brock opened his hand, and his father placed the ring in the center of his palm. “You’ve held your grandmother’s heart in the palm of your hand since the day you were born. She wanted you to have this, when you’d found the woman who captured
your
heart. I think you’ve found that woman.”

The ring sparkled in the light streaming from the windows. The yellow gold reminded Brock of Sam’s hair. The large oval ruby stone surrounded by minuscule diamonds resembled a rose bud drenched in dew drops, waiting to unfold its petals.
 

Something awakened and rustled in the dark and lonely recesses within him. Brock knew this ring belonged on Sam’s finger, and he belonged by her side.

THE SUN SAT high in the sky. Rays shimmered on the calm water dotted with paddle boarders enjoying their mid-day laps up and down the waterway. A clammy film of sweat coated Sam's skin. She rolled her bass toward her truck parked in the shady carport. The fragrance from the white English roses Brock had recently planted in the front yard wafted through the air. Every day since he’d left, she’d smelled those roses and thought of him.
 

She wished he’d come back home to her, but she had to put her trust in fate, just like Leah had told her. Between Leah and Myrtle, Sam had held up surprisingly well since Brock’s disappearance. That didn’t mean she had come to terms with his leaving, it just meant she’d been able to function in his absence.

Myrtle pedaled her extra large tricycle down the side of the road, headed toward the restaurant for lunch. Sam waved to Myrtle and lowered the tailgate. After putting her bass into the bed of her truck, she drove toward the drawbridge. A few yards down the road, she heard “Inside the Aquarium” by Inked Religion on the radio.
 

She’d played the bass part on that recording because their bassist Brandon had been in the hospital, recuperating from a car accident and hadn’t been able to lay down the tracks in time for the release date of the album. They’d been signed by a local indie label called Wavation.
 

Her solo hit the airwaves, and she swerved. Myrtle pulled onto the shoulder of the road to keep from being hit.

Sam came to a screeching halt and cranked up the radio. She called out to Myrtle. “Listen, I’m on the radio.”

“What the hell’s wrong with you?” Myrtle scrunched her face and stomped over to Sam.

"Listen. That's me." Sam plucked her air bass right there in the driver's seat.

"Well, I'll be damned." Myrtle danced in the street, shaking her bottom with all her might.

Mazy barreled over the bridge in her purple hearse with her radio wide open, honking her horn as she neared Myrtle and Sam. She stopped smack dab in the middle of the road, jumped out of her vehicle, and boogied with Myrtle.
 

"Shake it, Myrtle." Mazy turned a cartwheel and finished her move off with a Michael Jackson spin, crotch grab and all.

The song ended, and Sam put her palms on her face. Her cheeks were sore from smiling so hard. "I can't believe it."
 

Mazy walked over to the truck and slapped the driver's door. "You hit the big time now, bay-bay. Boomyow.” She high-fived Sam.

Myrtle kept on doing her little jig and waving to people as they drove around her, whistling and hooting with huge grins on their faces.
 

Mazy said, "We got to go celebrate and tell Leah and Kendal about this. Come on, Myrtle, let me buy you a drink. You're bound to be thirsty after all that wiggling."

Myrtle attempted to moonwalk and damn near fell on her butt. Luckily, she grabbed the handlebar of her tricycle just in time. She dinged her little bell in the process of breaking her fall. She dinged a couple more times for fun. "Saved by the bell."

Mazy made a rimshot sound and struck her imaginary drums. "Myrtle, you could have been a Vaudeville superstar."

"Fan dancing is my specialty." Myrtle shimmied her shoulders, jiggling her floppy-water-balloon boobies.
 

Mazy mimicked Myrtle's moves, and nothing on her skinny body jiggled. She looked down at her chest and made a sour face. "I swear I'm going as Dolly Parton for Halloween just so I can see what it feels like to need a bra at least once in my life."

LEAH FURROWED HER eyebrows. "Inside the Aquarium...I think I heard Inked Religion play that before. Has a heavy rock beat to it?"

Mazy attempted to sing, “Sometimes it feels like...I'm on the inside...looking outside...through the aquarium...." She sounded like Rod Stewart on helium.

For the next hour or so, Sam told them about her recording session and how everything fell into place as if she'd been playing with Inked Religion for years.

Her phone rang. She didn’t recognize the number. Brock sprang to mind. Could he be calling? Her heart beat fast. "Hello?"

"Hey, Sam. This is Tox from Inked Religion."

He must not be on his cellphone. “Hey, Tox. I just heard Aquarium on the radio. I freaked. It sounds so good."
 

"I'm glad you caught it. They've played it three times today. It's amazing. Listen, Brandon is still out of commission, and we've just booked four more gigs for next week. We really need you. Hope you're available." Spider's cymbals crashed in the background and Jones ripped a solo on his electric guitar.
 

"Let me check my schedule and call you back." Sam wanted to do the gigs something fierce but she couldn't just ditch her girls.

"She's available.” Leah hollered loud enough for Tox to hear.

Mazy and Leah huddled together.

“Did ya hear that?” Sam asked Tox.

Tox laughed. "I'm relieved. The spin you put on that bass line for Aquarium is killer. Swing by tomorrow around noon, and we'll fill you in on all the details."

"Sounds like a plan. Later." Sam hung up and made eye contact with Leah.
 

Leah applauded. "You did it, girl. All these years you've dreamed about being on the radio, showing your pops that you had what it took, living the dream he died too early to live for himself."

Sam could have burst into tears just thinking about how happy her father would have been to witness this moment in her life. He'd always dreamed of making the big time, hearing his music playing on the radio. She'd taught herself to play his bass with his dream fueling her own. She wanted to make him proud. And for the first time, she knew she'd succeeded.
 

She wondered if Brock would be proud of her too. It would’ve been nice to share this moment with him.

SAM STOOD ON the beach, admiring the freshly painted Carolina blue house. It contrasted perfectly with the pink and orange sunset. The once sandy lot had been transformed into a lush, putting-green-style lawn bordered with flowering plants in a array of colors. It was gorgeous.

She'd been pissed that Brock had wanted to change things, but he’d made good choices. Hopefully, he'd like the paint color as much as she did. It really suited the house and the island.

Being mad at him had taken more energy than she had to give. Myrtle was right, it was far more useful to remember the loving moments shared than to speculate. That didn't stop her from wondering where he was, if he was okay, and why he'd left. Maybe one day she'd get the answers to those questions. Today, she'd simply appreciate the changes he'd made for the better, including the changes in her heart that told her she was worthy of the love she'd been missing. She'd never settle for less again.

BROCK STOOD IN the master bedroom of the beach house and looked out the sliding glass door. Sam waded in the water and gazed back up at the house, shielding her eyes from the sun. She looked perfect in her cutoff shorts and white tank top, just like the day he met her. He wanted to run out to say hello to her, but kept himself hidden from view. What if she didn’t want to see him? What would he say?

The bedroom was just as he'd left it, unmade bed and all. It was as if she'd closed the door on all the memories that bedroom held. He could picture her arching in pleasure as she straddled him in the moonlight. The fragrance of her intoxicating scent lingered in the air. That was probably just his imagination, but it seemed real. He'd memorized her scent, her taste, the timbre of her moans.

There she was, a flesh and blood woman on the horizon, knee-deep in waves, and the sky blushing at the sight of her beauty. He unpacked his poetry journal and began to capture the moment in verse, hoping the process would lead him to the right words to say to her when she came back inside and found him there.
 

After writing for about an hour, Brock put down his poetry journal and squinted from the sunlight striking the balcony at the precise angle to damn near blind him. Using a salute to shade his vision, he took in the oceanic view. A faint electrical shock zapped his heart when he spotted Sam trekking toward the house. Halting mid-way along the beach path, she put her phone to her ear. As she talked on the phone, she twirled a lock of hair around her finger and grinned like a lovestruck schoolgirl. Was she talking to a bloke? Her body language was set to flirt-mode—dragging her toe in the sand, tossing her head back with laughter. What the hell?

She disappeared beneath the balcony. He abandoned his post and crept downstairs, his body cloaked in shadow.

He stayed hidden as she entered the living room. She coyly flipped her hair. Luckily, she didn’t even glance toward the stairs. Too busy playing lovey-dovey, he assumed.

With a giggle, she plunked down on the overstuffed chair across from the couch and draped her legs over the armrest, her back to him. “Oooo, Tox, you want me bad, don’t you?” She lowered her voice to a husky coo. “Tell me how bad.” A jostling snicker shook her shoulders as she kicked a leg into the air and held it there, wiggling her toes and rotating her ankle. “I am good, aren’t I?” Slinking farther into the chair, she swooped her hair off her neck. As she lowered her head to the armrest, she released her golden tresses, and they cascaded to the floor. “I want to hear you beg.”
 

Beg
? Brock couldn’t take anymore. He stormed over to her and stood by her feet with his hands on his hips. His bulky frame cast a shadow that engulfed her entire body.
 

She gasped, dropped her phone, and bolted upright.
 

He snatched her phone off the floor and handed it to her.
 

Lifting the receiver to her mouth, her eyes not leaving his, she said, “I gotta go. Call you back later. Bye.”
 

Fear glinted in the blue pools of her eyes. To his dismay, instead of wanting to kiss her senseless, he’d now prefer to shake some sense into her. “Who was that?”

“Hello. Where have you been? Umm, you didn’t even bother to say goodbye to me, and you’re asking me who I was talking to on the freaking phone?” She pushed to her feet and squared her shoulders in confrontation—toe to toe, eye to eye. With her index finger stabbing him in the chest, she said, “You’re a coward for leaving without saying goodbye. You owe me an explanation. I owe you nothing.” She flicked her hand away from him.

“I left you a note and asked you to call me. Instead, you call some other man who will beg. I can only imagine what you wanted him to beg for.”
 

“What the hell’s your problem?” She shouted as her face purpled, and her neck veins bulged. “You left no freaking note. What you left me was the task of monitoring numerous workers who installed a fricking elevator and painted the house. By the way, you’re lucky I changed the paint color and saved you some embarrassment.” She shouted louder, and her hands flailed. “I’ve been up to my ears in men traipsing in and out of this house for the better part of a week, and none of them were men I cared to be around.” She drove her foot into the floor, fury pouring off of her. “You asshole. You installed an
elevato
r instead of repairing the guest quarters. What happened to our plan? Nevermind. Your actions said it all.”

He liked the house color she chose, and he installed the elevator for her, but he couldn’t dismiss that phone call. “You must’ve become chums with at least one of those men, judging from your conversation.”

“Oh, poor you. How troubling it must be to discover you aren’t the only man in the universe.”

“Stop trying to throw this off on me. Who were you talking to?”

“Okay. I’ll tell you. Because I know how to answer a question, unlike you. That was Tox. He’s the lead singer—“ She waved her hand and turned away from him. “You know what. I don’t even want to bother. You haven’t told me why you left. Until you can figure that one out, Sherlock, I have nothing more to say to you.”

“I left you a letter. I told you everything.”

“Bullshit. For the last time. There. Was. No. Letter.” She shoved her hands on her hips.

“What about the money by the refrigerator. Did you get that?” She’d probably spent every last cent.

Red-faced and eyes-narrowed, she exploded, “No, Daddy Warbucks. I didn’t know to look for a piggy bank next to the deep freeze. Besides, leaving money behind isn’t telling me why you left.”

There had to be a logical explanation for her not seeing that note. He grabbed her hand. “You’re coming with me. We’re settling this and finding that note. It has to still be in the room.”