Part 9 (1/2)
Every time she thought of Nick Brogan she wanted to punch something or somebody. But she couldn't punch Jack, because he was the person who had saved the day. He also looked surprisingly good without his s.h.i.+rt. He was pale, though, and already starting to burn. Lucky for him she had both sunscreen and lotion in her suitcase.
And condoms. Why she suddenly remembered that was a mystery. She would not be using them with Jack, that was for sure. She already had enough to live down with that incident in the sand a while ago. One thing her mother had drummed into her head was that you didn't get physical with a man unless you thought he had marriage potential.
Jack would make a sorry husband. Try asking him to bring home a carton of milk and a loaf of bread from the store and see what you'd get. Probably a case of c.o.ke and a package of Gummi Bears. Even those would arrive hours late because he wouldn't even remember to come home in the first place.
Genevieve wanted a man who would be attentive. Nick had fooled her into thinking he'd be attentive, but from the moment he'd picked her up at her house she'd started questioning that. Now she knew why he'd treated her so poorly, not opening doors or helping her in and out of places. He was fixing to kill her, so why bother?
Jack stopped wading and started swimming. His direction was a little off, probably because he couldn't see without his gla.s.ses.
She made a megaphone with her hands. ”To the right!” she shouted.
He didn't act like he'd heard her, and he probably hadn't with the sound of the surf and the distance. The suitcase was farther out than she'd thought, but she was beginning to realize that distances were tricky on the ocean.
Jack stopped to tread water and look around. He must have spied the suitcase, because he set off in the right direction this time.
As she watched him head for it, her heart did a funny flip-flop. The minute she'd asked him to go after her suitcase, he'd started into the water without a single argument. He hadn't asked her what was so important in that suitcase, and he hadn't told her to wait and see if the tide brought it in.
Now that she considered how willing he'd been to plunge into the water on her behalf, she wondered if she should have asked, after all. He had a thing for her, no question, and it would be cruel to encourage him. Asking him for favors was a kind of encouragement, and she needed to watch herself on that.
About the time she was vowing not to make any more requests of him, she saw the shark fin, gliding like a toy sailboat along the water, a sailboat with a black sail instead of white. It was behind him, and he was concentrating on reaching for the strap of the suitcase, so he wouldn't have any idea what was coming.
”Jack!” Tossing his gla.s.ses up on the dry sand, she splashed into the surf, yelling his name and waving her arms. He paid no attention. She launched herself into the waves and swam as fast as she could. Yelling took too much breath, so she stopped doing that.
She switched to the breast stroke so she could see him, and here he came toward her, the strap looped over one arm and the suitcase b.u.mping his back each time he stroked. At first she didn't see the fin and prayed the shark had gone away. But then she saw it again, not far behind Jack. She tried to call out his name and got a mouth full of water instead.
Coughing and sputtering, she sculled the water with one hand and pointed over his head with the other. He must have finally figured out her signal, because he turned his head. Then he started swimming like crazy.
”Leave the suitcase!” she yelled.
But he must not have heard her because he kept the suitcase, which only b.u.mped more frantically against his back. Heart pounding, she tried to gauge whether he was putting any distance between him and the shark. And then, miracle of miracles, the shark turned and started back out to sea. She closed her eyes in relief.
Jack nearly ran her over. Grabbing her shoulder, he shoved her through the water toward sh.o.r.e. She started swimming just to keep him from manhandling her any more. She doubted that he'd understand her if she told him the shark was gone.
They stumbled out of the water together and both fell to their hands and knees, gasping for breath.
”I got”-Jack's chest heaved-”I got it.” He slid his arm out of the strap.
”Oh, Jack.” She glanced over at him crouching there, water running from his hair into his eyes, and she had the urge to hug him. She didn't, though, because that could lead to more of what had happened before. ”I shouldn't have sent you out there.”
He pushed back on his haunches and wiped the water from his face. It clung in bright droplets to his bristly beard. ”You didn't know.”
”I could have guessed. I know these waters are loaded with sharks.” She eased to a cross-legged position and tucked her skirt around her legs. She should probably save the effort. The water had made her dress transparent again, so Jack could see about all there was to see.
He was looking, too. Fortunately he didn't have his gla.s.ses, so she'd be hazy, just like he was hazy to her. They probably both looked like dream people to each other, fuzzy and soft. But she could sort of see his belly b.u.t.ton, so he could probably identify her nipples through the wet dress. She crossed her arms.
”Where are my gla.s.ses?”
Uh-oh. ”I took them off before I dived in to save you. I tossed them up on the dry sand.” She uncrossed her arms and stood, facing away from him as she tried to figure out where she'd been standing when she'd thrown the gla.s.ses. ”I'm sure they're around here somewhere.”
Jack got to his feet. ”Let's hope they're around here somewhere. Couldn't you have set them down, like on a rock?”
”How could I think about where to set your precious gla.s.ses when I was sure you were going to be gobbled by a shark?” She surveyed the fuzzy landscape and started forward, hoping for a glint of sun off either the lenses or the metal frames.
”Those precious gla.s.ses are critical to this operation. Hey, don't walk too fast! You might step on them! Jesus.”
Although his tone irritated her, Genevieve paused. He had a point. ”What we need is one of those metal detectors. That's how they found Granny Neville's false teeth, with one of those things.”
”If you're fantasizing, you might as well ask for something really useful, like a helicopter.”
She faced him, no longer caring if her nipples showed or not. ”Your mood is getting downright ugly, you know that? You're acting like a pup who got his nose stuck in a knothole, and I don't much appreciate it.”
”Well, I don't much appreciate that you tossed my gla.s.ses into the sand! G.o.d knows if we'll find them again, with both of us blind as bats. And even if we do, sand is an abrasive. The lenses will be scratched all to h.e.l.l.”
She lifted her chin. ”Oh, kiss my grits.”
He stared at her. Then a snort of laughter popped out of him, followed by a chuckle and at last a full-blown belly laugh.
Watching Jack laugh was a novel experience. Now that she thought about it, she might never have seen him laugh like this, doubled over, holding his sides while tears ran down his cheeks. She wasn't sure why he was laughing, though. Maybe he'd finally cracked and this wasn't laughter but hysterics. That wouldn't be so good.
”Jack, are you okay?”
”Yeah.” He swallowed and wiped his eyes. ”Yeah, I'm good.”
”What's so funny?''
He grinned at her. ”Kiss my grits. That's what's funny.”
”I think the sun is getting to you. There's nothing funny about that. People say it all the time back home.”
”I'll bet they do.” He continued to smile at her. ”Now, c'mon. Let's get down on our hands and knees and crawl around until we find those gla.s.ses.”
As Jack searched the warm sand for his gla.s.ses, he couldn't help glancing up once in a while to watch Genevieve on her hands and knees a short distance away. The woman he saw bore little resemblance to the poised secretary he'd l.u.s.ted after, but this new version was even more tantalizing than the old.
He'd thought of her as cool and regal. Instead she was spirited and warm and funny as h.e.l.l. And he'd love to kiss her grits, no matter what part of her anatomy that stood for.
”I found them!” She leaped to her feet, spraying sand everywhere as she waved his gla.s.ses by the earpiece. ”And they're not broken or anything!” She slipped them on. ”Well, okay, they might have a couple of scratches.”
He sank back on his haunches and enjoyed his fuzzy view of Genevieve wearing his gla.s.ses. Even the prospect of scratched lenses didn't bother him as those wire rims transformed her into a studious s.e.x kitten. He didn't know if there was such a category. If there was, she belonged in it- barefoot, her clothes wet and transparent, and her hair all mussed like she'd just climbed out of bed.
”They're smudged, though.” She took off the gla.s.ses, breathed on each lens, and then lifted a corner of her skirt to polish them.
”Gen, let-” He clamped his mouth shut before another idiotic word came out. So her skirt was probably full of sand and she'd only make matters worse. She might ruin the d.a.m.ned gla.s.ses. But while she polished, he had a blurred but tantalizing view of her thigh.
”What?” She glanced at him.
”Nothing.” Worrying about his gla.s.ses was a reflex. It wasn't like he had a computer screen to deal with, so scratch-free gla.s.ses weren't a necessity right now, anyway.
”You were about to say something, Jack.”