Bermuda Nights - The Boxed Set (3 page)

Kayla’s bright laugh carried across the patio, and I looked up. She was dressed in a hot pink bikini, and her arm was curled possessively through the Viking’s. He had on a dark grey t-shirt and black shorts. He gave her ass a sharp spank, then stepped up onto stage. He looked around, his head swiveling to where the bass player lounged at the bar. He lifted his hand in a calling motion.

I drew to my feet. “I guess it’s showtime.”

His dark green eyes held mine. “Shall I make some music for you?”

When he looked at me that way, it was all I could do not to melt into a puddle at his feet. I found I could only nod.

The corners of his mouth turned up, and he ran his eyes down my body for a moment, caressing me with his gaze. Then he swept up his guitar, settled the strap across his shoulder, and nodded to the Viking.

The blond stepped up to the microphone. His voice belted out across the expanse. “Welcome to your vacation! How many of you are here from Massachusetts?”

It seemed like half of the crowd bellowed in response, waving arms and cheering.

The singer smiled. “I’ve got two words for you guys – Boston Strong!”

The cheers and hollers shook the ship, and he let them go on for a long time before speaking up again.

“The Sox are in the World Series, and we’ll be running every game on the big screen! Are we gonna win this year?”

If I’d thought the noise was thunderous before, now it was downright deafening, and the singer gave a long, rich laugh in appreciation. He turned to the drummer …

In the next beat the band was in motion,
Three Little Bird’s
rich harmonies pouring out of them as if they shared one mind.

Kayla’s arm looped around my shoulder, and she jiggled me in excitement. “There you are, Amanda! God, girl, I have so much to tell you! If you thought Sven was amazing on the balcony -”

My eyes brightened in disbelief. “Sven?”

She pulled me back to a pair of chairs by a wrought iron table. “Maybe it’s a stage name, but I don’t care,” she laughed. “The man is a Norse god. He’s hung like a horse, and he has the endurance to match. First he ...”

I let her enthusiastic, elaborate description of every sex act they participated in wash over me. Kayla didn’t want me to listen as much as she wanted to relive the event in its Technicolor glory. In the past she had gone on these long monologues while I’d been cooking dinner, showering, or even studying for final exams.

A sound caught my ear, and I turned. It was a rolling guitar riff I knew well, and my breath eased out. Somehow, amidst the island tunes, they had nestled in …

From the Edge of the Deep Green Sea

Kayla laughed. “Amanda, are you listening?”

Would he lie? Did I care? I just wanted the music to play, the lyrics to spin around me, encircling me, drawing me up …

I downed the rest of my mimosa and raised to my feet, spinning in bliss. Kayla joined me with a bright smile, swaying in place before her Viking. He belted out the lyrics to her as if a bright spotlight shone on them. But it was the guitar player’s rhythmic fingers which drew me in, the focused attention in his eyes, the sense that we were connected, merged.

The lyrics circled, pounded …

The guitar player was looking down at his fingers as he rocked with the rhythm, his whole being immersed in the music. I could feel it, his energy pouring out through the song, the rippling of the notes and the aching of emotion. The girl wanted the guy with all her heart, and when he took her in his arms ...

His head raised, and he looked straight at me.

It was as if a lightning bolt speared me through my soul, searing tendrils of snapping, golden energy throughout my body. It was all I could do to breathe, to hold his gaze.

His look was dark, swirling with emotion.

Then he turned and swept the head of his guitar neck up. The band drew the sound up, in, and spun it into a close with the precision of a long pass landing perfectly into a receiver’s waiting hands.

Applause cascaded around us, surged like a towering ocean wave, and time stood still.

Thor leant forward into the microphone. “Drink up, everyone – we’ll be back in just a few.”

Kayla leant forward to pop a kiss on my cheek. “Gotta go, hun – see you later!” Then she was striding to the gazebo like a model on a catwalk, her swaying breasts clearing a swath through the other dancers. Sven’s eyes lit up at her approach, and he had a thick, muscular arm around her the moment she came within range.

I watched as the two of them walked off toward the bar. I wished I could be like that. Kayla had always been confident and secure in herself, and her past few years bartending had only bolstered her attitude. Her latest gig had been at a swanky spot right around the corner from Boston Common, and we’d met up there occasionally for drinks and talk. Somehow no matter what she wore, there would be men coming up to the table, looking down at her with that smile –

A man’s voice spoke from over my shoulder, warm, holding that hint of amusement. “Enjoy the set?”

I flushed, turning around. It was the guitar player, of course, and my eyes went automatically down to those fingers which had teased such rich music out of his instrument. They were amazing. Of course, all of him was amazing, and the fact that he was standing here, talking to me –

His grin widened. “That good, huh?”

My blush deepened, and I looked over to the table I had been sitting at with Kayla. “Would you care to have a seat?”

His eyes twinkled. “I believe I would.” He walked me over to the table and pulled out the chair for me. Then he stretched back into his own, his biceps rippling as he raised them over his head. “That guitar’s fantastic, but it’s heavy,” he commented. “There’s always some sort of a trade-off in life.”

“Checks and balances,” I agreed.

He looked me over. “So, let me guess. Family comes from money?”

I blushed, looking down. “How did you know?”

He grinned. “Your manners, for one. In my family, we were what you might call ‘barely civilized’. My mother was lucky to get us all to sit down at the table at one time without one of us throwing things at the others. I think she’d have used paper plates and plastic silverware if she could have gotten away with it.”

He shrugged. “And you talked about the country club in Lenox. Can’t imagine that’s a cheap place to belong to.”

I shook my head. “No, and my parents are sure to let everyone they talk to know it, too.”

He raised an eyebrow. “So, not too fond of the family fortune?”

I took a sip of my drink. “Money like that comes with more than strings – it comes with heavy chains. Rules about how you’re expected to act, who you’re expected to see, and how you should live your life. I had to put up with it for the first eighteen years of my life.”

I looked out over the water, back to where the Boston skyline was lost in the distance. “When I turned eighteen, I cut all ties. My parents pushed hard to make me go to Yale. They would have paid for everything. Bought me a new Lexus to celebrate.” The darkness swirled in, as it always did. “And I would have been theirs forever.”

I shook myself. “Thank God, I had my scholarship to Boston University. They were furious, but I went. I severed the cord and left. I wanted to live my life on my own terms, not relying on an allowance from Daddy or worrying about what Mommy might say.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Lots of folks would be eager for a rich relative.”

I chuckled without mirth. “Those would usually be the ones who haven’t had to deal with said relative,” I pointed out. “I think people don’t realize just how much they already have, in their blindness of looking for something better. Just think of all of the billions of people in the world who struggle just for food. Here we are, worrying about what types of shoes we wear or what restaurant we should go to. And we think we don’t have enough?”

He tilted his head to the side, his eyes refocusing on me as if drawing me into a new awareness.

My shoulders slumped. I’d done it again. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to –”

“No, no,” he assured me, his gaze holding mine. “It’s all right. It’s just, I don’t hear that type of talk much on the ship. It’s refreshing.”

A waiter stopped by, taking up the empty glasses. “Would you like another, miss?”

“Sure, why not.” I reached for my purse.

The guitarist waved me off. “Put it on my tab, Rico,” he instructed the waiter.

The waiter winked at him. “Sure thing, Evan. And good job on the set. Lucky break for you, that other guitarist falling sick like that.”

Evan grinned. “Lucky, indeed.”

The name rolled around in my mind. Evan. A solid, Irish name. He looked the part, too. I could see it now, the sturdiness in his face, the sense of taking on all comers that I’d seen in the men in Boston’s many Irish bars.

I turned to Evan as the waiter headed back to the bar. Rico’s words swirled in my mind. “So you’re not the regular guitarist?”

He shook his head. “Just a fill-in. It’s a long story.”

I glanced at the stage. “OK, you probably don’t have a long break. Can I have the elevator speech version?”

He chuckled. “Your degree’s in something business related, I take it.”

I flushed. “I’m afraid so.”

His eyes held mine. “That’s all right. Short version it is.” His tone became somber. “It’s because of the Boston Marathon bombing. I was at the finish line when those bombs went off.”

I reached a hand automatically for his, laying my fingers over his warmth. My voice hushed. “God, Evan, I’m so sorry. I had several friends running in that race, and I was further back in the crowd when that happened. Those first few days – they were like a nightmare. Even now, I think about it any time I go into that area of the city.”

He nodded. “Something like that changes you forever. There was the shock, and the injured bodies, and I raced to help. I did what I could, but in some cases it just wasn’t enough.”

He looked down. “So I turned my shows into benefit gigs. Supporting the victims, supporting the recovery efforts, and it just never seemed to be enough. I poured every drop of my savings into the cause.” His shoulders tightened. “I had this small apartment in the combat zone, not much, but I got evicted. A friend of mine convinced me to sign up for a four month tour on this cruise line as a bartender. Free food, free board, and it’d help me get my feet back under me. Most of the people taking this run are from the area, so I’d still be helping out – I’d help them heal. And … and I suppose I needed some of that too.”

My fingers wrapped around his. “Of course you did.”

He let out a long breath. “I brought my guitar, of course. I don’t go anywhere without it. I’d play for the crew, in our free time, and got a loyal following. Then, about three weeks into my tour, the band’s guitarist got ill, and the band needed someone to fill in.” He gave a low chuckle. “You’re on a ship at sea – there aren’t too many spare musicians lying around. The guys had heard me play, and they lobbied for me to get transferred.” He spread his arms. “And here I am.”

“You’re quite good,” I praised. “They were wise to choose you.”

His eyes lit up. “Glad you think so.”

Rico came back with my drink, placing it before me with a wink. “On the house.”

Evan glanced up. “No, Rico, I’m paying.”

Rico’s smile widened. “God, Evan, you help us out when it’s not your shift, and you spend all your free time playing for us. Think of it as just a tiny bit of good karma, coming back your way.”