A Woman To Blame Page 13

  "Practicing for the 10K obstacle course." Once he had her trapped against the dining room credenza, he lifted her up in his arms, announcing, "I win!" Nuzzling her cleavage, he set her on the edge of the credenza and unbuttoned her vest. "And now I claim my prize," he said, covering the tip of one breast with his mouth. Her tightly beaded nipple fit against the curve of his tongue like a pink pearl inside an oyster. After a moment he tasted the other one, giving it the same delicious attention before lifting his head to see her reaction.

  Leaning back on one hand, she lifted her gaze to his as she skimmed her fingertips between her breasts. "What do you think of my hybrid concept now that you've explored it?"

  Raising his eyebrows, he continued his meticulous perusal. "Pretty pizzazzy."

  "But are you thoroughly convinced that this is the best idea?" she asked with a teasing wink.

  "Not quite yet," he said, taking off her hat and tossing it over his shoulder.

  "What can I do to convince you, Captain Parrish?"

  "Hold on a second and I'll let you know," he said, trailing kisses down her throat and onto her breast again. He felt her hand, encased in white satin, sliding over his shoulder, pulling him closer as she dropped her head back.

  "Don't wait too long," she said in a husky whisper.

  "For starters, I'm convinced I like the taste of your formal half," he said, pushing her vest back to press kisses across the tops of her breasts. When she began shrugging her shoulders to slip out of her vest, he helped her pull it off. Reaching for her bow tie, he studied it a moment, then decided to leave it, and not explore the reason why. All he knew was that she'd put it on for him and, combined with the rest of the outfit she was half wearing, it excited the hell out of him. Running his fingers down her front, he captured her breasts, thumbing her nipples with exquisite care. He loved the way they stiffened with only a look from him, but the way they felt against his fingers and mouth was magical. Pretending seriousness, he asked, "So you're convinced that this formal half combined with this informal half will work together well?"

  "Perhaps we should experiment and see," she said, inserting a gloved finger between his lips. When he caught a piece of satin between his teeth, she began working her hand out of the glove. In an agonizingly slow minute she managed to peel the white satin down her arm and withdraw her hand while he kept the glove in his mouth. Lifting her off the credenza, he turned toward the bedroom.

  "Not the bed. This is starting to feel like more of a floor experiment," she said, taking the glove from his mouth and motioning toward the rug nearby. They were both out of their shorts and kneeling face to face in a matter of seconds.

  "Your experiment or mine?" he asked, after a long hot look from the nest of auburn curls at the apex of her thighs to the bright red lipstick still coloring her lips.

  "Mine," she said, pushing him back on the rug. Picking up the glove she'd dropped, she dragged it down his naked body until she produced the effect she wanted.

  Tossing it aside, she drew her other fingers, still gloved, over him, stroking him boldly. When she heard the hiss of air being sucked between his teeth, she changed hands, gentling her touch as her skin met his. "I think this combination is having a satisfactory effect," she said in a breathy whisper.

  "Uh, I think this is moving out of the realm of satisfactory and into something spectacular."

  "You appear to have the evidence to support that theory, Captain." When he didn't have a quick retort, she continued. "Isn't compromise wonderful? A little something from me, a little something from you, and before you know it," she said, bending low to run her lips across his flat, hard stomach, "everyone's having a wonderful time. What do you think, Rick?"

  Pushing up on one elbow, he rolled her onto her back, covering her mouth with a long, slow kiss. He raised his head enough to speak. "I think I can better answer that question once I find out what the informal half of you tastes like," he said as he lowered his mouth to her navel and then below.

  * * *

  He watched her from his deck a week later as she transplanted petunias into the planter near the bottom of the stairs. Over the past few days she'd become quieter. At first he thought it was the relaxed feeling between them that didn't demand a constant stream of conversation, but her reflective mood had begun to worry him. If he didn't know better, he'd think she was withdrawing from him. But he did know better. Every night they became closer in their profound physical intimacy.

  Walking down the stairs, he sat on the second step from the bottom. "I thought Rita was going to leave the meeting the other night to run home and start putting together her outfit for the ball."

  Scratching the soil with the three-prong gardening tool, Bryn nodded. "Everyone thought the idea sounded like fun. By the way, Liza called to ask if you'd get in touch with Wigglin' Willie to add the ball to his announcements."

  "I already took care of that."

  An anxious silence hung between them, at least he felt anxious with it. Leaning back on his elbows, he rested an ankle on his knee. "That planter hasn't had flowers in it in years," he said.

  Bryn stopped loosening the soil and propped her wrist on the edge of the curved terra-cotta container. "I, uh, had to do something with those petunias lining the walkway to the Crab Shack. There are enough here to fill the two containers on your deck."

  "All red ones?"

  "Yes, is that okay?" she asked, pushing back the royal blue broad-brimmed straw hat to brush perspiration from her brow.

  "I wouldn't let you plant them if they weren't red," he said teasingly.

  "Why not?" she asked, reaching for a flowering plant from the flat next to her knees.

  He studied her as prickles started down his spine. Even in their earliest encounters, she'd never sounded as stilted as she did now.

  Dropping his foot to the bottom step, he leaned forward to rest his arms on his thighs. Maybe he was the one having a strange morning. Time was speeding by; the sports festival was a week away. Pappy would be well enough to come home for it, and that meant Bryn's time on Malabar Key was coming to an end. Rubbing his eyes, he reminded himself that he was the man he was today because of self-discipline. Looking up at her, he said gently, "I'll always associate the color red with you."

  Patting the soil around the petunia, she lifted the small watering can, splashing a generous amount at the base of the plant. "I'm driving up to Key Largo today," she said, ignoring what he'd said. "Some people by the name of Dixon want their pool cabana redecorated." Muddy water spilled over the edge and onto her thighs. "Damn," she muttered, smearing the spill as she tried to brush it off.

  "Here," Rick said, jumping to his feet and taking the watering can from her hand. "I'll rinse you off."

  "Don't. Please don't, I can do it myself."

  Relinquishing the can to her, he sank back onto the step. "What's wrong?"

  "What's wrong? I just made a mess, that's all," she said with an exaggerated shrug.

  "I'm not talking about that and you know it," he said quietly as he stood, then helped her to her feet. "Come on, Bryn, where's that easy flow between us? What's happened? Is it Pappy again?" That had to be it. "Bryn, I'm sorry. I've been so wrapped up in my work and the sports festival, I never asked you how that conversation went with you and Pappy."

  When he reached for her chin, she twisted away from him. "I took part of your advice. I didn't mention Uncle Ron to him, but I did tell him that I'd forgiven him for not being there for me all those years."

  "How'd he take it?"

  "He was fine with it," she said, shaking her head.

  "Then it's something I said?" he asked, placing his hand on his chest.

  There wasn't a cloud in the sky, but the air seemed to vibrate with coming thunder.

  "Rick, it's what you haven't said."

  Walking away from him, she knew he would follow by the suspicious look on his face. Or maybe that was a fearful look. Either way, the morning was about to become a lot more difficult because she
refused to push aside the matter with lighthearted bantering, more talk on the fund-raiser, or soul-shattering love-making. Kicking off her sandals, she walked in the ankle-deep aquamarine water lapping gently on the fine sand by his house. Reaching the mangroves, she turned around, bumping into Rick's broad chest. She'd give almost anything to press her face against the comforting mass of warm muscle and steady heartbeat and forget the inevitable for a while longer. But she'd laid most of her cards on the table with her grandfather, and she was going to do the same with Rick.

  "What's this about?" he demanded.

  "It's about what Liza and Pappy offered to tell me weeks ago, but I refused to listen to them because I was sure you'd tell me sooner or later. It's about last week when you were in the parking lot at Pappy's. Jiggy let something slip out and everyone there went silent. It's about that beautiful house up there, with no flowers in the planters and no photographs on the walls except for trophy fish. It's about you always having an excuse when I mention going out to those little islands out there," she said pointing to the dark green clumps dotting the flat expanse of glimmering aquamarine beyond his side yard. The words rushed out and there was nothing she could do to stop them. Pressing a hand to her chest, she continued. "You told me about Sharon Burke and I understood. Rick, why don't you ever mention your ex-wife to me? What does everyone around here know that I don't?"

  "I didn't divorce my wife," he said quietly.

  She couldn't have been more shocked if he'd pushed her face first into the shallow water. Staring at him, she waited for the sharp pain in her heart to subside. When she realized it was going to be there for some time to come, she let the next question form on her lips. "You're still married?"

  "No."

  "But—"

  "Bryn, my wife died five years ago. I don't know why I never got around to telling you that," he said as he slipped his sunglasses on. "I guess I've put it all behind me."

  No he hadn't. His thin smile and bowed head told her that much and more. With more confusion than she thought she was capable of experiencing, Bryn reached out to take his hand. No matter what unnamed threat his manner presented, Rick Parrish was the man she loved. And right now he needed her understanding. "Lord, Rick, I'm so sorry. I should have just asked it instead of letting my imagination run wild. I had no business blurting this out and jumping all over you about it."

  He pulled her close with one arm and walked her back down the beach toward the little dock in front of his house. Reaching for her sandals, he held them against his middle and took a deep breath. He looked as if he were going to say something, but he shook his head instead. "Forget it. It's all in the past."

  No it isn't, not for you and me anyway, she wanted to say, but she held her tongue while Rick sat her down on the edge of the dock. Brushing the sand from her feet, he slipped her sandals on while he talked about the obstacle course he and several men were working on for the 10K race. All smiles now, he started describing the planned course in detail. His tone was reminiscent of a moment they'd shared in Key West a few weeks ago. She'd mentioned how little she knew about him and he'd blown off the comment, telling her about a used piano for sale instead.

  Neither issue mattered to Bryn. The used piano sat ready and waiting at Pappy's Crab Shack. The obstacle course would be marked in plenty of time for the 10K race next week. The only thing that did matter was the man who still loved Angie.

  Chapter 9

  As Bryn stapled a spray of metallic stars above the bar at Pappy's, a cheer went up for another finisher in the 10K race in the parking lot below. Feeling anything but cheery, she made a perfunctory stretch to see over the rail. The last thing she wanted was a question about her mood.

  "You ought to be down there running in that race, Brynnie," Pappy Madison said as he pushed a section of an orange through Miss Scarlett's cage. "I don't need a babysitter."

  Bryn looked down from her place on the step-ladder. "I'm not babysitting you. I volunteered along with them to decorate for the ball tonight," she said, waving her staple gun toward the three other people in the bar. "And need I remind you that tonight is also the official reopening of the new and improved Pappy's Crab Shack?"

  Turning himself slowly around with the aid of his aluminum walker, he took in every detail of his bar. "Ah, Brynnie," he said in a husky whisper. "You did one hell of a fine job."

  Without stopping to think, she said, "I couldn't have done it without Rick's input. He knew what would work and what wouldn't."

  "Where is Rick? I thought I'd see him here this morning."

  Keeping his distance from me, she wanted to say, but didn't. Talking about Rick and their relationship was the last thing she wanted now that she knew that Angie Parrish was still a part of Rick's life. Besides, what else could her grandfather tell her? That Rick had loved his wife? She knew that, and she also knew that he still loved her.

  "Rick's one of the volunteers on the obstacle course over near Johnson's Cove. He's making sure no one drowns in the mud hole." When her grandfather didn't say anything, she checked to see that he was still there. He was. With his face raised in her direction, his thoughtful expression made her suspect he was up to something. "Do you need to see Rick about the Crab Shack? Is everything the way you wanted it?"

  Her grandfather's bony shoulders moved in a shrug. "I wouldn't change a thing."

  Relieved that he wasn't asking questions about her deteriorating relationship with Rick, she turned back to arrange the clusters of flexible metal stems into sprays of shooting stars. Until a week ago she and Rick had sat out on his deck almost every night, staring at the stars before they went to bed. She would snuggle between his legs, with his arms around her, and they'd take turns with his telescope while he pointed out the constellations. Once she'd asked him what the brightest star was that he'd ever seen.

  "You are," he said. "You glow, Miss Madison." Placing a kiss on her cheek, he pointed to a twinkling body high above the darkened horizon. "You light up the night sky like that wishing star."

  While she thought about that time, another round of cheering started gathering momentum down in the parking lot. This time she ignored it. Pulling on the shiny metal stems in her hand, she let go, allowing the stars to bounce around in a controlled explosion of reflected light. She'd never look at stars again without listening for the waves lapping against Rick's dock and feeling for Rick's body pressing against her back.

  "Brynnie, have you thought any more about my offer?"

  Shoving the star-tipped stems against the wooden rack in front of her, she jammed the stapler hard against them. "Please, Grandfather, don't start on that again. You're going to be able to run the Crab Shack without me just fine. Tweed MacNeil promised to tend bar as long as you need him, Misty and Shaniqua are starting back waiting tables tonight, and Rick and Jiggy are here to help you up and down the stairs until you can do it yourself." Raising her hand, she silenced his attempted reply long enough to add, "And you know I already have my own business to run."

  "You could live here and run that too," he insisted. "You've been running it from Malabar Key all summer. And I'm an old man. A crippled old man."

  When she opened her mouth to speak, he thumped away from her with his walker.

  "We'll sit down and talk about it after this fundraiser is over."

  Before she could reply, he was halfway across the room to where the mermaid mural was being repainted on the wall opposite the bar.

  Calling to him over her shoulder, she said, "You're becoming stubborn in your old age, Grandfather."

  "Am not," he said, not bothering to turn around. "Hey, Freddie, I remember my mermaid's, uh, scales being bigger."

  "If her 'scales' were any bigger, she'd sink. I think you were in the hospital too long, Pappy," Freddie said.

  Everyone in the room hooted with laughter except Bryn. In her case, their beloved Pappy had been in the hospital too long. She was beginning to suspect that what was love for her, was simply another affair for Rick. And now
that appeared to be winding down.

  Already she'd begun to feel him withdrawing from her. Once he'd made a game of sharing long, hot looks with her in a crowded room. Now he looked away the second she tried locking in his gaze. Their easy flow of conversation had dried up to a trickle, leaving her with an anxious feeling that anything she said would sound forced. His work at the marina had suddenly picked up too. At least, that's what he told her when she'd invited him to dinner the night her grandfather came home.

  Nothing was the same since she'd asked him about Angie. Nothing except the sex. Through the last week, that hadn't changed, and in fact had somehow increased in intensity. He managed stolen moments with her in out-of-the-way places, with each torrid coupling more passionate than the last. Where or when mattered little to either of them. She went with him without shame, at night in the storeroom below the Crab Shack, during her morning run on the beach at the end of Marina Road, and yesterday, at dawn, inside the cabin of the Coral Kiss. She smiled at the last memory; they'd knocked the boxed lunches onto the floor during their lovemaking.

  If anything, Rick's physical need for her had deepened to a point where words were unnecessary and only the power of their shared desire mattered. At the end of each encounter he would hold her in a desperate embrace until the outside world called to them.

  She tried convincing herself the reason for the change was that their lives had suddenly become hectic with her grandfather's arrival home, activity surrounding the fund-raiser, and Rick's charter business suddenly receiving an onslaught of new clients. Those were all legitimate explanations, but her heart and her head knew there was more to it.

  * * *

  All he'd wanted was his bar back, Rick reminded himself. In the midst of the semiformal ball that signaled the end to the Malabar Key Sports Festival, he unbuttoned the top of his tuxedo shirt and tugged on his bow tie. With the jukebox back in its rightful place and blasting, Miss Scarlett screeching questionable blessings, and familiar faces milling with new ones, he ought to be the happiest man at Pappy's Crab Shack this evening. Bryn had even had his old chair refinished, and presented it to him in front of Pappy and the fund-raiser committee an hour before the ball began. Easing into the chair, he smoothed his palms along the curved wood while he looked across the room for Bryn. As if his eyes were trained to seek her out, he spotted her immediately, standing by the jukebox admiring someone's blue ribbon. A flood of confused feelings assailed him as he watched her charm the winner of the handicapped division. She hadn't laughed with him like that in days. He could no longer locate the emotional shield he'd always managed to keep over his tender spots in the mix of emotions connected with Bryn. As she moved in and out of the crowd, his insides ached with a strange tension. Bryn wasn't going to be around forever, but, he quickly reminded himself, there was no reason to rush into reviewing his feelings on that subject just yet. Seeing her every day, working with her on the fund-raiser, and making love to her were the only thoughts he allowed into his mind, because he didn't feel right asking for more. Maybe he never would.