He slowly lifted his eyes to the guy again. "Is that so?"
"I made a move on her earlier, and she blew me off completely. "
Nick leaned forward slightly. "Ever think maybe it was just you?"
The guy laughed. "Possible, but I just don't think she digs guys. I mean, look at her."
Nick was looking. And it was true, something wasn't quite adding up when he thought about Lucky's assessment, but as for the guy next to him, he was clearly an idiot. "If it's all the same to you," Nick said, "I think I'll take my chances with her."
He weaved through the room until he located the bar, then ordered a Jack and Coke. Although he stood drinking it only a few feet behind Lauren, he knew she hadn't spotted him.
"Do you remember me?" The voice belonged to a clean-cut guy gazing anxiously into Lauren's eyes.
"Urn ... Jeff, right? Phil's friend." She nodded. "Yes, I remember."
Jeff flashed a dynamic smile. "Did you know I've been wanting to ask you out?"
"No, I didn't. But no thanks."
His face fell. "What? That quick?" He worked to find his smile again. "You won't even give me a chance?"
"Sorry, Jeff," she replied matter-of-factly. "But the last time I saw you, there was a naked woman in your lap, using her breasts to accept a five-dollar bill from your teeth. She was a birthday present, I believe. I'm afraid the picture forever scarred my image of you."
With that, she turned and walked away, and Nick had to stifle a laugh. He hadn't realized the princess possessed that much spunk.
Keeping his eyes on her from his spot near the bar, he saw the same old guy from earlier approach and tap her on the shoulder, then succeed in backing her against the wall. She rolled her eyes in clear disgust, but the old guy didn't notice, still too caught up in her breasts to see much else. Nick couldn't stand watching for another minute; he downed the last of his drink, set the glass on the bar, and crossed the room.
He curled a hand over Lauren's shoulder. "Let's go for a walk on the beach."
Her jaw dropped as she gazed up at him, but her eyes remained glued blissfully to his. "The beach is miles away." "I know." He reached down to take her small hand in his. "Trust me."
Chapter Six
Lauren thought she should have been more surprised to find herself approaching Nick's motorcycle, but things were happening too fast for her to feel it. She peered up at him as he fastened the strap beneath her chin, his fingertips brushing over her skin. He had only one helmet, but had insisted she wear it. She couldn't see the stars-the tall evergreens surrounding Phil's house blotted out the sky-yet she felt the night all around her, swallowing her. Trust me, he'd said. She hadn't responded, but had simply allowed him to lead her by the hand out into the darkness. Despite Sadie's admonition, she was going into the water with Nick Armstrong.
After climbing on the motorcycle, he motioned for her to follow, and she swung her leg over the seat behind him, heedless of her short skirt. Reaching down, he closed one strong fist around her left ankle-bare but for a circle of beads and the thin strip of leather extending to the heel below-then firmly lifted it to show her where to place her feet. He glanced over his shoulder just long enough for her to catch the glimmer in his dark eyes. "Wrap your arms around me and hold on tight." With no other choice, she slid her arms around his waist. Nervous about riding a motorcycle for the first time, she locked her hands together in front, sandwiching herself against him, pressing her breasts into his back. Everywhere she touched him, his body was like a brick wall, hard and sculpted, and familiar sensations desire-snaked up her thighs, down her arms, through her breasts. The heavy vibrations of the large motorcycle beneath her only added to everything she felt. "Ready?"
"Yeah." And it was only then, as Nick used one boot to flip up the kickstand before easing the bike out onto the isolated, twisting drive in front of Phil's house, that Lauren realized what this was. Surrender.
She wasn't proud of it; she already hurt for how she would feel later when he was gone and she was alone. But why else would she have let him lead her out of the house and onto a motorcycle with him? Why else would she be speeding through the night with her arms crushed around this man she hardly knew? It could only mean she was giving in to him. But hold on a minute. Just because he feels irresistibly solid and hot in your arms doesn't mean you're going to have sex with him. He asked you to walk on the beach. That's all you promised by coming with him. Nothing more.
Maybe the implication for more existed, yet the choice remained hers, and it weighed on her. Despite her heated encounters with him, she knew in her heart Nick Armstrong wasn't some rapist barbarian. If she said no, he would accept it; she knew it instinctively. Trust me.
Maybe that's what he'd meant. Trust me to let the decision be yours. Trust me to seduce you into believing this is okay. It made her less afraid in one sense, yet more in another. It meant the only person she had to fear was herself.
The motorcycle leaned as Nick took a green light, turning right onto Alternate 19 and heading north toward Tarpon Springs. The road was nearly empty, and Nick picked up speed. She peered over his shoulder, still clinging to him like they were lovers, and let herself forget all her fears, at least for now. As they raced through the warm night air, she closed her eyes and simply basked in it: the breeze, the rock of masculinity in front of her, the wild sense of adventure-even if laced with uncertainty. She often thought of freedom as escape, from a party or from a guy she didn't want to be with. But freedom for Lauren tonight was about flying toward something, an unknown destination, and her heart beat faster as she accepted the uncertainty with an almost eager anticipation she couldn't have predicted.
When she opened her eyes, they'd left Alternate 19, and for the first time, she wondered where he was taking her. When he'd said the beach, she'd assumed he'd meant Clearwater, but he'd headed in the opposite direction. A few minutes later, they wove through residential stop signs, and soon they approached the entrance to Fred Howard Park, a beach only the locals knew about, a beach that closed every night at dark.
As they slowly neared the steel barricade lowered across the road each evening, she waited for Nick perhaps to swear, then turn the bike around and take her somewhere else. But instead he only eased the motor- cycle off the pavement and around the gate, through the tall, thin trees that scattered the flat ground, until the wheels climbed back up to the road on the other side.
She swallowed, then held on tighter, becoming undeniably aware of how very alone they would be here. As they wound through the park, her sense of isolation grew. And as the motorcycle hit the causeway that shot across to the small island beach, she knew that absolutely anything could happen between them now and no one would ever know.
A moment later, the bike slowed to a stop in the large oblong parking lot, surrounded by dark, shadowy palm trees and sand on all sides, its motor dying away to leave an unnerving silence broken only by the sound of the tide in the distance. She eased off the motorcycle, breathing in the salt air, glad she'd drunk enough wine to quell much of her nervousness. He followed suit, and neither of them said a word.
She began fiddling with the helmet strap, trying to undo it, when she suddenly felt Nick's fingers there. She lowered her hands while he deftly freed her from it. He smoothly lifted the helmet from her head, lowering it to the bike's leather seat. While his back faced her, she bent down, then swung her long hair back over her head-the best way to manage it without a brush. When she looked up, Nick's eyes were on her in the moonlight. She felt his hungry look at the juncture of her thighs, everything inside her pulsing madly.
It's up to you, Lauren. Remember, it's all up to you. At the moment, however, that wasn't very reassuring. After a few long, tense seconds of pure temptation of wanting simply to start kissing and touching-she took a deep breath and started toward the beach, her heels clicking across the pavement.
Knowing that crossing the sand in her strappy shoes would be impossible, though, she took a seat on one of the wooden benches lining the walkway, then bent to undo the strap on her left one. Just as she was about to slide the shoe off, Nick stooped in front of her, gently removing it before she could even think about stopping him. His fingers brushed lightly across her foot and sent shivers up the small of her back. Lifting the shoe to the bench, he reached for her other foot, unhooking the strap with a skilled precision that said these weren't the first women's shoes he'd taken off. Lauren feared her heart would beat right through her chest.
When he was done, she swallowed hard, took a deep
breath, got to her feet, and reached for the shoes.
"Leave 'em here."
She raised a skeptical look.
"Who's gonna steal 'em?" he asked, then took her hand.
Soon her bare feet sank into the cool night sand, and she let Nick lead her down to the water. They paused for a moment as the surf rushed in, the tide washing over her toes before retreating. A slight tug on her hand and they began walking along the surf's edge. Noticing Nick's lack of concern when the water met his heavy boots, she appreciated the surge of tide over her feet, the rhythmic repetition somehow calming. It gave her something to concentrate on besides the nearly overwhelming desire that threatened to wash over her, as well.
They continued in silence, the only sound that of the crashing waves, and when Nick's gaze traveled slowly out over the dark water, then up to the stars that dotted the black expanse above, Lauren looked, too. She felt small. yet amazed to be sharing it with him, to know they both saw it all, were both thinking about the vastness, the endlessness, without having to say it. She wanted to squeeze his hand tighter, but resisted.
Instead, she dared bring up something she'd almost forgotten. When she'd gone out to fill her bird feeders after Nick had left her house today, they'd already been full. ''Thank you for filling my feeders." She regretted the softness of her voice. He glanced at her slightly, looking-strangely almost timid. "Glad to help."
As they neared the rocks at the beach's north end, Nick silently led her higher, back to softer sand. He sat down. facing the ocean, so she lowered herself next to him. He still didn't look at her, so she didn't look at him, either, and together they gazed on the nearly invisible water, moonlight arcing across it in a shimmering streak.
"You didn't seem too comfortable back there."
Surprised he'd spoken. she lifted her eyes to him, but he still focused on the ocean. "Back where?"
"At the party."
She sighed, thought of lying, then gave it up. "I wasn't."
"How come?"
She turned her gaze back to the sea. as well. It made honesty easier, and wine plus the surreality of the moment made that the only sensible option. ''Too many guys hitting on me. Too many guys who think I'm like Carolyn."
Stunned at her remark, Nick stole a glance at her from the corner of his eye. "What's Carolyn like?"
She met his gaze. It was the first time in a while that they'd looked at each other. "Are you serious? You met her. She's ... " "Wild," he said when her voice faded off.
She answered with a nod, then shifted her eyes back to the Gulf. Nick did, too, and the renewed silence gave him a chance to think, to try to decide if he believed her when she said she wasn't like Carolyn. Her behavior at the party certainly reflected the claim, but when he recalled the way she'd looked at him by the rose trellis, or the previous night on the patio, it was still hard to convince himself she was very innocent.
And he didn't want her to be. He wanted her to be ... hell, it was hard to narrow it into words. He thought maybe he wanted her to be a bad girl, wanted her to be every bit the girl who'd composed the entries in the red book ... but he also somehow wanted to be the only recipient. He wanted her to be some beautiful, chaotic mix of innocence and sex that couldn't really exist.
He dared glance over at her and his voice went lower than before. "And what are you like?"
Even in the pale moonlight, he could see her cheeks suffuse with color. Finally, she bit her lip and let out a small, nervous laugh. "A little more complicated, I suppose. Sometimes I don't even understand myself."
I want to understand you. Give me the chance to try. He couldn't voice the words, though---they sounded too sentimental, and he didn't quite know how to do sentimental.
She looked uncomfortable, as if she was sorry she' d been so open, then changed the subject. ''The ocean's so beautiful with the moon shining down on it."
He followed her lead and kept his gaze there. "It's kinda like a Monet tonight."
"You know Monet?"
He felt her look at him and answered with a sideways glance. "I'm not a complete clod."
"I didn't mean to imply you were. I just .. ." She bit her lip. "So you like the impressionists, huh?"
He replied slowly, thoughtfully. "I like the way they can take anything and make it more beautiful than it really is." How, he wondered, would Monet paint his life, his past, this moment? He had the vague wish to make all of them prettier. And then his chest grew a little hollow at the realization that now maybe he'd been too open, shared too much.
On impulse, he reached down to touch the black beaded bracelet around her ankle. He'd noticed it when she'd gotten on the bike with him, and again when he'd taken off her shoes. "What's this made of?" He turned one of the thick, clumpy beads between his fingers.
"Hematite. It's supposed to ground you." "Ground you?"
She bit her lip, keeping her eyes on the black water.
His fingertips rested on the anklet, on her smooth skin. "It's supposed to help you stay true to yourself, stay connected to what's important to you, that sort of thing."
"Does it work?" Even if you're not like Carolyn, can I persuade you to open yourself up, let yourself go? Just for me? He gently traced an invisible line halfway up her calf with one fingertip, having the feeling she'd heard the silent questions as well as the spoken one.