Desire and the Deep Blue Sea Page 6

  “I’m worried,” she finally whispered.

  He inclined his head in acknowledgment, and then immediately addressed the nearby crew. “Please give us a few minutes.”

  To their credit, they didn’t grumble as they departed. Probably because the ferry captain had just announced the availability of unlimited rum punch and fresh fruit on toothpicks under the covered part of the deck.

  Then Thomas pulled her tight against his body and looked down at her with his Listening Face. Calm. Patient. Accepting. Interested.

  His Listening Face made her want to see his Kissing Face. But there was no time for that, even if he’d welcome her mouth on his. She had to take advantage of this opportunity to talk, because she might not get another for hours to come.

  She knew that for a fact, since this was their first truly private moment all day.

  For the second morning in a row, Thomas had woken before her and left the room without waking her. Which, frankly, was a miracle, given how often that man fumbled and tripped over things. And for the second morning in a row, he hadn’t returned until she was already dressed and ready for the day, the cameras poised and hovering nearby.

  On Parrot Cay, his absence when she’d woken had felt like a relief. A way to avoid potential awkwardness. And she’d appreciated how he hadn’t pushed her into intimacy, how he’d remained sensitive to any privacy concerns she might have.

  This morning, though…

  His absence had frustrated her. Disappointed her.

  She’d wanted to discover how Thomas looked first thing in the morning, still rumpled and warm and sleepy. She’d wanted to feel the frisson of possibility when they woke in the same bed, only inches apart. She’d wanted to see all the goodness his Kissing Face had to offer.

  To be honest, she’d wanted more than Kissing Face. Considerably more. Maybe even Lovemaking Face.

  But most of all, she’d simply wanted to talk to him. Because she was concerned and stressed about the day ahead, and talking it out with someone she trusted might help.

  His ability to listen was off-the-charts phenomenal. Now that she’d experienced how it felt to have his total concentration directed her way, she wanted more. Much more.

  No wonder all the patrons went to him. In their buckled shoes, she’d do the same.

  “Callie?” The stroke of his thumb along her cheek grounded her. Brought her out of her head and back into reality. “Talk to me.”

  She spoke in a blurted rush, the words jumbled and breathless. “I know I signed waivers and agreed to everything, and I don’t want to mess things up for the crew or make their jobs harder, but I wish I didn’t have to follow the itinerary for the day.”

  He nodded and didn’t say anything.

  “The thought of parasailing makes my stomach churn. Whoever tries to buckle me into my harness better be wearing washable fabrics, because I’ll probably throw up all over them.” She ticked her other concerns off her fingers. “I don’t like steak. Tess tells me the show we’re going to see is serviceable, but not spectacular. And I don’t think I can absorb another tour without at least one good night’s sleep beforehand.”

  He tilted his head. “Who’s Tess?”

  “A friend who recently visited Renaissance Island.” And snagged a much-younger, former-tennis-pro boyfriend during that visit, but that was a subject for a different conversation. “She and April talked to me about everything they saw, everything they did. They’re the reason I wanted to go on Island Match in the first place. Their descriptions made the island sound…”

  She splayed her hand on his chest and thought for a moment. “They made it sound magical. Peaceful. Quiet. Like a place where I could clear my head and get my feet beneath me again.”

  His brows drew together at the last part, but he didn’t pursue the remark. “So you planned to pick this third island from the beginning?”

  “From the first moment.” She snuck a glance at Gladys, who appeared to be enjoying the supply of free drinks. “But nothing I actually want to do, nothing that would bring me joy or peace, is on our itinerary. And yes, if you’re willing to go along with my plan, I know we’ll have three more days here, but I may not survive until then. Parasailing equipment isn’t made for people built like me, and I’m beyond terrified of heights.”

  She curled her fingers in his tee and summed up the situation. “I want to sit in clear, warm water and let the waves rock me back and forth until my brain quiets. I want to take a nap in the shade of a palm. I want to get a massage. I want to order room service. I want to eat more red snapper, because that fish was freaking delicious. I want to meet Tess’s new boyfriend, so I can determine whether he’s good enough for her. I want to go on a cruise around the island.”

  He was quiet. Concentrating solely on her, his eyes tempting and deep enough for her to drown in them.

  “I don’t even care if cameras are around for part of it. I just don’t want crowds or tour guides or set schedules.” She tugged at his fabric. “And I want to spend time with you. Private time.”

  She’d omitted her other, Thomas-specific worries. Her anxiety about whether she’d somehow misinterpreted his cues, about whether a romantic relationship with him would founder when they returned to work and he left her stranded on the desk, etc., etc.

  Maybe someday she’d be brave enough to talk about those issues with him. But not now.

  “That’s it,” she said. “That’s why I’m anxious today.”

  His hand covered hers on his shirt, surrounding it with protective warmth. “Callie, is this a situation where discussing your worries is enough? Or should one of us do something?”

  “Like talk to Gladys?” She grimaced and looked down at her sandals. “I don’t know.”

  Ducking his head, he regained eye contact. “Why does that thought scare you?”

  She had to laugh, the sound bitter even to her own ears. “Because I’m anxious, Thomas. Almost everything scares me, but especially confrontation. I hate making people angry or disappointed. Even the thought of it gives me hives.”

  “You think Gladys and the crew might be upset if you told them what you wanted?”

  “Yes.” She nodded. “And that’s the problem.”

  Every time she considered asking Gladys to change the schedule, her heart kicked into a gallop, her breath grew short, and her chest started itching.

  He thought for a moment. “How about we talk to her together? We can ask her whether the crew can accommodate what you want, at least for some of the day, without causing too much disruption. How does that sound?”

  Her gaze snapped to his. “You don’t have to do that. This isn’t your problem.”

  But what a kind, wonderful offer. What a kind, wonderful man.

  “Callie…” His hand tightened over hers. “I’m not like you. What other people think, what they might expect or want from me, doesn’t concern me. But you do. I’m happy to talk to Gladys or the crew or the president of HATV or whomever. Anyone who can help you get what you need.”

  She had to admit he had a point. His mind clearly didn’t work the same way as hers, as she’d lamented countless times over the previous six months. But she’d never imagined taking advantage of that often-frustrating difference.

  “Besides, I want to spend time with you too.” His lips curved in the sweetest expression of affection she’d ever witnessed. “Just the two of us. Do you want to find out whether we can make that happen?”

  All she had to do was nod, and they were walking toward Gladys.

  Ten minutes later, Callie had a new crop of hives on her chest. She also had a new itinerary for the next twenty-four hours, one that did not include death-defying heights over the cerulean waters.

  Speaking up hadn’t killed her. Almost, but not quite. Not with Thomas’s quiet support.

  With him by her side, everything seemed easier. Everything.

  Even falling just a tiny bit in love.

  Six

  The next morning, Thomas
slept longer than Callie.

  This was an unfortunate development.

  He was coming to consciousness beside the hottest woman who’d ever existed. They were alone, in bed together, and nestled in what appeared to be a suite for honeymooners.

  Worst of all, a sneaky squint through his eyelids established that she was awake and reading in bed, propped up against the quilted headboard. And from the look she was giving him right now, it appeared she’d caught his attempt at discreet observation.

  He was screwed, and not in the way he’d have preferred.

  “I know you’re not asleep anymore,” she said, closing the cover of her e-reader.

  She’d opened one of the curtains partway while he’d been dozing, so even a squint revealed all the wonderful details. Her sweet face was still rosy with sleep, her dark hair rumpled and gleaming with fiery highlights in the morning sun. And that pale-pink nightgown flowed around her body in a way that hinted at the braless bounty beneath.

  She was a ripe goddess who’d deigned to dally with mortals.

  So he couldn’t help but smile at her, even as he kept his eyelids mostly shut. “I might be. Perhaps I’m an inveterate sleep-squinter and sleep-talker. You can’t be certain after only two nights.”

  She raised those thick, dark brows. “Are you a sleep-squinter? Or a sleep-talker?”

  “No.” His back cracked a bit as he stretched. “But I appreciate your asking.”

  A giggle escaped her in a little puff of breath, and he laughed with her as he sat up. And against his better judgment, he didn’t spring out of bed and race to the bathroom, locking himself safely away from temptation. Instead, he too settled against the headboard, shifting until they were sitting thigh-to-thigh.

  He stifled a yawn. “Have you been up long?”

  When she twisted to face him, the neckline of her nightgown gaped a bit, exposing the top curve of her left breast. His yawn nearly turned into a groan of need.

  “About an hour. I just couldn’t sleep any longer.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe I collapsed into bed so early.”

  He could, given her restlessness the previous two nights. During their dinner at that seafood restaurant, her eyelids had been drooping, and at one point she’d nearly dropped face-first into her citrus-curd pavlova.

  As soon as they’d arrived back at their room, she’d stumbled to the bathroom, washed up, and essentially fallen onto the mattress. By the time he’d emerged from his own bedtime routine, she’d been out for the night.

  He considered that a blessing. She’d needed rest, and he’d needed to avoid spending time in bed with Callie while they were both conscious.

  But he still wanted to find out whether she regularly had trouble sleeping. Whether, given the opportunity and the right circumstances, he could relieve that restlessness in time-honored fashion.

  And during the course of yet another long, sleepless night of his own, he’d had the chance to formulate other questions too. Important ones.

  Do you ever feel anxious at work?

  If so, she hadn’t shown it. Then again, he’d watched her seem comfortable and confident during that lengthy tour of Parrot Cay and on the ferry to Renaissance Island, only to discover she’d been worrying the entire time about a panoply of issues. He now knew she was able to hide her emotional distress well. So well, he didn’t know whether to applaud or grieve that she’d clearly had so much practice.

  What went wrong a couple months after you started work at the CMRL? Were you stressed because of problems with Andre, or did something else happen?

  Only upon Callie’s arrival had he truly felt attached to anyone working there. But even that tie had become thin and frayed, for whatever reason.

  A reason he still didn’t understand. A reason he needed to understand.

  But those questions would have to wait, because he and Callie had more urgent matters to address. Preferably before the luscious pressure of her body against his scuttled his resolve for good.

  He cleared his throat. “As long as we have a few minutes alone, we should probably talk.”

  “Oh, Lord.” Her groan vibrated through him. “Those words strike fear into the heart of any right-thinking person.”

  If she didn’t want to talk, he wasn’t going to force her. No matter how much he ached to declare himself.

  He swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Never mind. We can talk later, if you’d prefer that.”

  “It’s fine.” With a sigh, she tugged his arm until he climbed back under the covers. “Let’s get this over with. Quickly, if at all possible.”

  All right. The direct approach it was.

  He took a fortifying breath and laid his heart bare. “I like you, Callie. Very much. Everything I said to Gladys during that interview, I meant. You’re wondrous. Lovely and smart and kind and capable.” He chanced a peek at her, just in time to see a rosy flush bloom on her cheeks. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone or anything. Which sounds generic and facile, but I mean it. I want you more than I wanted a completed dissertation and successful dissertation defense. More than I wanted a tenure-track position at a research university. More than I want my job at CMRL. So when I say I want you very much, I mean I could happily see nothing but your face, smell nothing but your perfume, touch nothing but your skin, and hear nothing but your voice for the rest of my life.”

  She’d been staring at him, her eyes wide. But at the last bit, she gave a tentative snort. “Just my face?”

  “Maybe more than your face.” He grinned at her. “Considerably more.”

  She scooted a bit closer, until the side of her breast pressed against his arm, and he had to close his eyes for a moment. “You missed a sense. What about taste?”

  Ah. She’d reached the crux of the matter with that simple tease of a question.

  “Your mouth haunts me,” he told her. “When you bite your lip, my hand slips on the microfilm machine controls, and I zip past weeks’ worth of colonial newspapers. I drop my pens. I run into desks and bookshelves, because I’m thinking about how soft and glossy your mouth looks. How you would taste. How much pressure you prefer in a kiss. Whether you’d squirm a little if I sucked on the tip of your tongue.”

  She squirmed a bit then, no sucking needed, so he was pretty sure he had his answer to that last question.

  “Thomas…” Her hand landed on his knee over the covers, and her gaze was soft and searching. “I don’t understand. If you want me so much, why have you been rushing to bed each night and leaving before I wake up?”

  He swept a hand, indicating the room. “Because of all this.”

  Her dark brows beetled. “You don’t like our hotel?”

  “The hotel is great. So were the others, in their own, extremely unique ways.” He took her hand and laced their fingers together. “And let me be clear. I jumped at the chance to spend an entire week with you. This trip has been the greatest windfall of my life, bar none.”

  She’d stiffened by his side. “But?”

  “I think…” How to say it in a way that didn’t sound patronizing? “I think it would be very easy for someone on this show to mistake forced proximity for real affection.”

  She shrank back against the headboard, hurt pinching her face. “You’re worried your feelings for me might disappear when we fly home to Virginia?”

  Oh, Lord. He was fucking this up via his clumsy attempts at subtlety.

  He jettisoned caution and spoke plainly. “Callie, I’ve wanted you for months, and that’s not going to change. I’m not worried that my feelings for you will fade. I’m worried you won’t want me once we get back home. I’m worried about taking advantage of you while you’re overwhelmed by the intimacy of the whole situation, and I’m worried I might override any hesitancy you might have because I want you so damn much.”

  He sighed. “And that’s a lot of worrying for a man who generally doesn’t worry, so I wanted to discuss my concerns with you.”

  Moments of sil
ence ticked past.

  Her plump lips had gone thin. “That’s patronizing as hell, Thomas.”

  Shit. He’d been right the first time.

  “Let me see if I have this straight. You want to kiss me.” In response to her questioning look, he nodded. “But you won’t, because you think I don’t know my own mind right now. That I might get lost in the process somehow and French you back in a sort of vacation-induced stupor. Is that correct?”

  Good thing she wasn’t turning that beetle-browed glare to the shore visible outside their window. As he’d noted, the tides would have stilled. Immediately.

  Her voice was a lash, and he winced at its sting. “How about if I kiss you instead? Is that acceptable? Or would it be further evidence of my maidenly confusion?”

  “Okay, I know what I said sounded stupid and condescending. I get it.” He held tight to her hand when she started to slide it free from his. “But Callie, be honest. Can you really tell me you don’t have any doubts? That you aren’t worried about what might happen when we’re back in Marysburg?”

  “I worry about everything.” She sounded beyond grouchy. “That’s not a fair question.”

  He waited.

  Eventually, she sighed. “But yes, maybe I’m a bit concerned about how I can reconcile this”—she squeezed his fingers—“with our work relationship.”

  “Callie…” Might as well say what he meant. All of it, while he had the chance. “As long as you still have doubts about me and our future together, I don’t want to become more intimate. Because if you and I kissed or made love and you regretted it afterward, I don’t know how I’d be able to move past that.”

  It would destroy him. Leave him desolate, the ground salted beneath his feet.

  Her voice had turned quiet. Tentative. “When we had to work together, you mean?”

  He sighed. “That too.”

  Finally, she understood him. He could tell by the glaze of shock in those dark eyes.

  “You want me that much?” The words vibrated with a kind of emotional intensity he couldn’t quite decipher. “You care about me that much?”