Sweet Talkin' Scoundrel (7 page)

Chapter 9

Dax

My wetsuit scraped
over the sandy wax on my board as the swell blew up like a balloon beneath me. I grabbed the edge of the board and my feet popped under me to stand. I knew before I’d even straightened that I’d overshot the wave. The water that had been a semi-solid surface underneath the board sucked back down. I bailed, headfirst, into the water. My leg snapped straight as the leash held tightly to my ankle as it headed in the opposite direction of the surfboard. My shoulder smacked the sea bottom. The churning water spun me as if I was a sock in a washing machine before releasing its hold on me.

I headed in the direction of sunlight. I shook the water from my ears as my head popped through the surface.

“Fuck, dude, you can’t surf worth shit this morning.” Larry’s chiding words rained down on my head from above.

“Yep, it seems the surf gods aren’t with me today.” I wiped the saltwater from my eyes and climbed up on my board. “I’m going to head in. I’ve got to drive out to the hangar and do some work on Tero before my first pick-up.”

“Seems like something’s eatin’ ya, my friend. Now, I know it can’t be a shortage of women friends, cuz, well, cuz you’re fucking Dax. Is business bad now that summer’s long behind us?” Larry wasn’t a best friend or someone I hung out with much outside of the water, but we’d spent enough early morning hours on our boards to know each other pretty well.

“Yeah, that’s it. Money’s always tight once tourist season slows down.”

Larry lowered himself down on his board and paddled over to me. “But old lady Underwood keeps you plenty busy taking people back and forth.”

“I’ll manage. Catch you later.” I glanced back to watch for a swell to take me to shore. As I coasted in, I thought about the conversation I’d just had. It felt like everything in my life right now was off balance as if I’d been slammed in a fight and my world had tilted sideways with the blow. But my dark mood, my new preference for solitude over fun and willing girls like Zoe and my shitty surfing had nothing to do with business and everything to do with women. One woman in particular. There was no way I could have seen it coming. The last thing I expected was to have a five-foot-two, blue-eyed girl pop into my life like a damn explosion of dynamite. And the worst part about it was she didn’t actually pop into my life. She wasn’t here for me at all. I was just the guy in charge of taking her back and forth to Wildthorne Island. Only every time I preformed that task, my life turned sideways just a little bit more.

I stood up and waded the rest of the way in with my board. At the rate I was going, after a few more weeks of transporting Kinley back and forth, having to hear her cute stories and watch that button nose wiggle, all the while knowing she was never going to be mine, I wouldn’t even be able to stand on the fucking board, let alone ride it.

Chapter 10

Kinley

I finished brushing
my hair and swept it up into a ponytail, a hairdo I’d found worked best on an island where an ocean breeze could kick up at anytime. It wasn’t until I put the brush down that I noticed there was more activity than usual in the normally quiet manor.

I left my room and headed down for a quick breakfast. I was going through the day’s lessons in my head when a rather harried looking Janice met me at the landing. “Miss Kennedy,—”

“Kinley, please,” I corrected her.

Janice’s round cheeks puffed out with a polite smile. “Kinley, Mrs. Underwood needs you to run an errand this morning. She’s in the kitchen right now trying to reach Dax.”

“But I have lessons prepared for this morning.”

“Then you haven’t heard. Becky isn’t feeling well. Her mother has instructed her to stay in bed. And I was sure we had orange juice but there is only a thimbleful left in the carton.”

“Janice, you’re losing me. Does Becky have the flu?”

“No, no. But she does have a temperature.”

“How high?” I asked as I was already turned and heading back up the stairs to Becky’s room.

“I believe Mrs. Underwood said it was 99.3.”

I stopped midway and looked back at Janice. “Did you say 99.3?”

Janice tapped her chin and seemed to be rethinking the number in her head. “Yes, that was it. 99.3.” She repeated with confidence. “And her mother insists she must drink orange juice. High pulp. You’ll want to get your coat. It’s cold outside. I think there’s a storm coming.”

My heart had raced ahead at the mention of a temperature, but it slowed considerably, even with an uphill climb to the second floor. That was hardly what anyone would call a temperature. And now, it seemed, I was to be shuttled off in a rickety plane with a storm brewing on the horizon, all in pursuit of high pulp orange juice that would of course do nothing to stave off a temperature or whatever possible ailment Mrs. Underwood feared. It did, however, mean an unexpected encounter with the sweet talkin’ scoundrel. Of course, my last trip to King’s Beach, when I’d temporarily lost all reason and kissed Dax, made the prospect of seeing him again a bit terrifying.

I knocked on Becky’s door. She answered in her usual, jolly, energetic voice.

She was sitting in the center of her four poster bed surrounded by books, stuffed animals and pillows. A humidifier had been set up on the dresser. It was spewing a hot, menthol laden steam around the room.

Becky’s cheeks were bright with healthy color, a far more natural hue than either her brother or mother. She stretched her arms up and put her hands behind her head as she leaned back. “Guess that rewrite on my personal narrative will have to wait. Darn. And I was really looking forward to it.”

“Funny, funny girl. But if you are truly upset, maybe I could talk your mother into letting me bring the paper up here to work on while you convalesce.”

She had the cutest face scrunch worked out whenever something confused her.

“Convalesce means to recover your strength after being sick.” I sat on the edge of the bed and looked at the pile of books. There were even some colored pencils and drawing pads thrown in. “I’ve got to say, you don’t look too sick.”

I reached up to her forehead. It felt perfectly cool. “Do you have a sore throat or stomach ache?”

“Nope.”

“Headache or earache?”

“Nope.” She clamped her mouth shut. It seemed I had no choice but to move on with our game of twenty-questions.

I decided to take a different tact and ask her a question that couldn’t be answered with yes or no. “What’s bothering you enough to keep you in bed?”

As she shrugged, the little kittens on her pajamas tilted their heads back and forth with the movement. “Mother says I have a fever.”

I had to bite my tongue to not comment on her mother’s idea of a fever. “What prompted her to take your temperature? Surely you must have had some kind of complaint.”

“No complaints at all. Although the eggs this morning were gross. Janice added in some little green things called chives.” She pursed her mouth as if she’d sucked on a bitter lemon. “But no complaints other than the yucky eggs. Mother takes my temperature every morning, rain or shine, sickness or health.” She laughed. “That sounded like wedding vows.”

Her laugh, unlike her seemingly nonexistent illness, was infectious. “It would be funny if some people decided they’d only be married on rainy days. Speaking of which, I need to grab my coat. I’ve been instructed that you will need orange juice to recover from this. And it looks like rain later this afternoon.”

“Wait.” She picked up a drawing of a haunted house. “Making this one for Halloween,” she declared excitedly and then tossed away the picture. It fluttered to the floor. “Of course, trick or treating, costume parties and caramel apples are only pretty pictures in my mind. Sometimes I miss the world.”

“Maybe one day you can fly with me to King’s Beach for the errands.”

Her face lit up like a little girl who had just been given a pink pony with a silver mane. Then the light dimmed, and she burrowed back into her plush pillow. “Mother would never allow it.”

My gaze landed on the Halloween picture. She’d added in plenty of scary details. I bent down and picked it up. “I’ll hang this in the classroom.” I leaned over and kissed her forehead.

“Aren’t you worried you’ll catch what I have?”

“I’ll take my chances. Get better so we don’t have to cancel the slumber party.” I fluttered the paper in my hand. “And our ghost and mummy stories.”

“Oh my gosh, you’re right. I’ll drink all the orange juice. Even if those little pieces get stuck in my teeth, I’ll soldier through.”

I headed out of the room, and all I could think was that Marcus’s extreme aversion to germs might just have been the result of a highly overprotective and cautious mother.

Chapter 11

Dax

I knew the
weather would delay the return trip. I knew it the second I brought Tero down below the clouds and over the Wildthorne runway. Hell, I knew it by just glancing out the window on take off. The ominous clouds on the horizon couldn’t have been more clear if they’d had it spelled out across the gray sky. Just like I knew the second I saw the tiny figure below, waiting on the side of the runway, nearly guzzled up by her puffy jacket and hood, that I was glad the return trip would be delayed.

The clouds were spitting a thin drizzle as Kinley walked out of the store with her cartons of orange juice. It had been a ridiculous and expensive errand, one that could only have been dreamt up by someone as wealthy and eccentric as Katherine Underwood. But today I appreciated the old lady’s constant illness paranoia. It had afforded me the unexpected pleasure of seeing Kinley. And as I watched her slim hips sway in her tight jeans, it reminded me just what a pleasure it was. I’d thought of little else other than that damn kiss since the last time I saw her.

Earlier, when she’d boarded the plane, she piped right up in a cheery, casual tone about the weather and other inconsequential topics as if we were just two semi-strangers thrown together by circumstance. But I knew by the fast, almost edgy way she was talking that she was thinking about the kiss too. She might not have been thinking about it in the same way I had been, but she was thinking about it.

I hopped out of the jeep and grabbed the orange juice from her hands. I put it in the back and opened her door.

She peered up at the dark sky. The movement sent the deep hood of her coat back off her head, exposing her incredible face and a good portion of her long smooth neck. And that damn kiss came right back to me.

“That sky looks a little scary.” She pulled up her hood and wrinkled her nose as she looked at the jeep. “Guess there’s no cover. It’s going to be a wet ride back to the runway.” She climbed up on the seat.

“We’re not going to the runway.” I shut the door and walked around to the driver’s side.

“What do you mean?”

I climbed inside and pushed the key into the ignition. “The high winds from the incoming storm make it too dangerous to take off. We’ll have to wait it out.”

I started the jeep and backed out of the spot.

“But the orange juice. I need to get it back to Becky.”

I stopped and tilted a brow at her. “It’s orange juice. It’s not as if you’re transporting life-saving medicine to a sick patient.” I pushed the stick into first gear and headed for the exit.

“According to Katherine Underwood, I am. If it weren’t so absurd, it would be laughable. She’s making Becky stay in bed for a 99.3 temperature. She could have gotten that just running down the stairs too fast. It does explain some of Marcus’s quirks though.”

A laugh shot from my mouth before I could stop it. Not that I really wanted to stop it. A heavier rain started to fall, spotting the windshield. I turned on the wipers. They stuttered and squeaked across the glass. “Quirks? That’s a frilly little word for it.”

Kinley sighed heavily and pulled her sleeves primly over her wrists for no other reason except she wanted to look miffed. And every time she looked miffed, it just made me want her more.

“We’re not going to spend time gossiping about Marcus. Besides, Katherine told me the tragic story about how she lost her husband and it turns out Marcus is easy to misjudge.”

“How’s that?” I asked.

Kinley turned her face to look at me past the edge of her hood. “I’m surprised you don’t know. It seems you know so much about the Underwoods, although I guess you’re only focused on the negative.” She faced forward again and tightened her hood by pinching it together under her chin. “Marcus saved his siblings from certain death when the family boat caught fire. He had to swim a long way to get each one to safety. But his father had insisted he take his brother James back first. By the time Marcus returned, his father had died.”

“Is that right?”

Her puffy coat rustled with indignation as she turned in the seat. “What? You don’t believe it?”

I shook my head. “Hey, if that’s what she said happened, then who am I to question it. Good for Marcus. Glad to know he isn’t a complete waste of space and air.”

“Oh my gosh, you are impossible.” She sat back hard against the seat and shrank down into the dry warmth of her coat. After a few minutes of brooding silence, she popped her head back up and looked around. “Where are we going?”

“Back to my place.”

She sat forward fast enough to cause the hood to slip back. Having full view of her face caught me off guard. I knew I was staring at her, but I couldn’t pull my gaze away. I didn’t want to pull it away. She was amazing. Kinley was that girl who walked into your homeroom on the first day of school and you knew right then you weren’t going to hear one fucking word the teacher said all semester. She was that girl you peered at over the top of your book. She was that girl you watched across the lunchroom as she laughed with friends because you knew catching a glimpse of her smile would be the only awesome thing to happen all day.

“I’m not going to your place.”

The rain drops fell faster. They pinged off the front of the jeep and the tops of our seats. “Suit yourself. But that’s where I’m heading. Those fat gray clouds up there mean business, and I have to get the jeep under the carport before the deluge.”

I turned the corner toward the beach and onto the tattered road that led to my house. It was just a one bedroom beach cottage, or at least that’s what the rental flyer had called it. Shack would have been a far better word to use. But I didn’t mind. I had never been big on luxury, and the house sat right on the sand. Couldn’t ask for anything more than that. Although my own private landing strip would have been nice.

Kinley hadn’t figured out a good response yet. The storm looming above us gave no room for argument. There was no way to take off safely in it.

“How long will the storm last?” she asked as I pulled into my short driveway and under the lopsided carport.

“An hour or two. I can make some coffee.” I turned off the jeep.

Kinley had her arms crossed as tightly as her plump coat would allow. “I’ll just wait here.” Her bottom lip jutted out as if she was working hard to keep her resolve.

The offshore winds kicked up into sharp, brittle bites of air, spraying the shore with icy rain. The carport would keep the inside of the jeep from getting soaked, but it was hardly protection from a brutal rainstorm.

“Kinley, it’s freezing out here. Your little rabbit nose is turning pink, a good look for you, by the way. Come inside.”

Her big eyes darted around to survey the carport above our heads. “I’m safer here, under this structure, even though it looks as if it was built using glue and paperclips. But I wonder if it will hold.” I thought she’d changed her mind but then she squiggled on the seat as if screwing herself down tight. “No, I better not. I’ll just stay here.”

“Better not?” I lifted my hands. “You can trust me. I promise not to get within three feet of you.” Of course all my mind could think about was getting not just within three feet but within three inches.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you.”

I laughed. “Oh really?” Just then a long, shouting wind raced through the measly shrubs running along the side of the house sending a chill through the jeep. “Then why the hell are you thinking about staying out here where you run the risk of freezing off that button nose?”

She pulled her hood up higher, but it was useless. The relentless wind shooting off the beach pushed it back. “I don’t trust myself.”

I stared at her profile, waiting for her explanation. She refused to face me.

“I get near you and I do stupid things like kissing you and . . .  It’s just a bad idea.”

“I don’t think a kiss is ever a bad idea. Pretty fucking great idea if you ask me.” I reached over and straightened her hood. “So you
do
like me.”

“Didn’t say that. Just said I tended to stupid things in your vicinity.”

Her surprising confession over, she stuck her hand out from the protection of her jacket to wave me along. “I’ll be fine. I’ve got my big pillowy coat.”

“You’re stubborn, Rabbit. I’ll give you that.” I climbed out of the jeep and headed inside.