Devil and the Deep (The Deep Six) (21 page)

He blinked. “What was the question again?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Why is it no one can ever follow my line of inquiry?”

“Maybe because after you ask something, you keep talking for five minutes, and by the time you’re finished, people have forgotten the initial query.”

“Well, then
people
should learn to focus.”

“Consider me a camera,” he told her, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. Despite all the ways she exasperated him, it was fun keeping up with her lightning-fast mind.

She blinked at him. “I can’t tell if you’re serious or just being a smart-ass.”

“Can’t I be a serious smart-ass?”

“We’ve gone off the rails.”

“You act like that’s something new for you.”

“The
question
,” she stressed, “is whether you think Bran and Maddy are the kind of people where lust turns to love or vice versa.”

“Neither,” he said, popping an orange slice into his mouth. “Theirs is a lust-only situation.”

“How can you be so sure?” she asked curiously, taking a bite of orange. A drop of juice landed on her lip, and she absently licked it away. He gritted his teeth when the sight of her pink tongue caused an ache to form low in his belly.

“Because I know Bran,” he said, looking away from her. “And he won’t let love into the equation.”

“Why not?”

He turned back to stare at her the way he would stare at a blank wall. “He just won’t.”

He and Bran were peas in a pod in that respect. They both agreed that there were two kinds of love. The kind that flourished and left both parties stronger for its presence; the
rare
kind of love. And the kind that destroyed and made both parties weaker and warier for having experienced it; the more
common
kind of love. Turned out, neither one of them cared to play the odds on the former because both of them had already experienced the carnage left behind from the latter.

“Does it have something to do with his father or the way he was raised?” Alex asked.

And now Mason’s stomach ached for a whole new reason. “What the fuck do you know about that?”

“Nothing,” Alex said, blinking warily. “I just heard LT say something to Romeo once about Bran being the way he is because he was afraid of becoming like his bastard of a father, so I figured…” She let the sentence dangle.

“LT should keep his fuckin’ mouth shut,” Mason grumbled. They all had baggage.
All
of them. As far as Mason was concerned, they had an unspoken agreement never to talk about it.

“Is that your nice way of telling me it’s none of my business?”

“Was I being nice? I wasn’t trying to be.”

“Exchanged smart-ass for wiseass, huh?” Alex twisted her lips, and Mason noticed for the first time how small and plump they were. A rosebud mouth, he thought it was called. “Does Dorothy Parker know about you?”

“Who?” He was still distracted by her mouth.
How is it so red when she isn’t wearing any lipstick?

“You know.” Alex furrowed her brow. “Dorothy Parker. Queen of the snappy comeback? No?”

He shook his head.

She blew out a disbelieving breath. “Remind me to educate you once we get back to Wayfarer Island. Some of her satire, even though it’s fifty years old, is better than anything anyone is writing today. She’s super sarcastic. I think you’ll like her.”

“Mmmph,” he said, then a thought occurred to him. “Wait, she’s a writer? But you said you only read for educational or research purposes, never for enjoyment. If I remember correctly, you watch
Sex and the City
for enjoyment.”

“Well, that whole no-reading-for-enjoyment rule doesn’t apply to Dorothy Parker.” Alex narrowed her eyes. “And do I detect a hint of judgment in your voice? Don’t tell me you have a problem with Rachel McAdams movies
and
”—she stressed the word—“
Sex and the City
. Because I’ll be forced to agree with Maddy’s earlier assessment that you’re a big, ol’ misogynist.” She popped another orange slice between her succulent lips.

To distract himself, he did the same, savoring the burst of tartness on his tongue. “For your information,” he said sullenly, “I have no opinion of
Sex and the City
. I’ve never seen a single episode.”

Her eyes rounded behind her glasses, and he was struck by the deep, saturated hue of her irises. They reminded him of the wet jungles of the Amazon or the vibrant stands of bamboo in the Sagano Forest of Japan. Kelly green. Luck o’ the Irish green.
Gorgeous
green. “Seriously?” she asked. “Not even a clip?”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Forget Dorothy Parker,” she said. “We have to remedy your
Sex and the City
deficit first. We’ll fire up the laptop and do a marathon the minute we get back. I know you passed on the offer earlier tonight. But this time I’m not taking no for an answer. Besides”—she grinned and bobbed her eyebrows—“you’ll like it. Did I mention the boobs and boinking?”

He really wished she would stop talking about boobs and boinking. Every time she did, his mind immediately conjured up images of
her
boobs, and what
she’d
look like boi—

He shook his head, refusing to finish the thought. “Which begs the question,” he said. “Why do
you
like it?” And then it occurred to him. “Unless…are you…” His mouth was suddenly dry as a desert. He slid another slice of orange between his lips and chewed to wet his whistle. “Do you…ahem…bat for the home team?” Was it possible he’d read her wrong these last few months? “Or maybe you’re a switch-hitter?”

His gaydar was usually spot-on. But maybe his long, self-imposed dry spell had caused his systems to go wonky.

Alex frowned. “Your baseball jargon is flying right over my head. English, please.”

He wasn’t sure how else to ask the question except to just…ask it. And was it totally crazy he wasn’t certain what he wanted the answer to be? If she
was
batting for the home team, it definitely solved the little problem he seemed to be having with her, the one that made him question his self-imposed moratorium on all things sporting that double-X chromosome. Then again, he couldn’t help thinking,
But that’d be a crying shame.
In his not-so-humble opinion, Alex’s dainty
femaleness
seemed to cry out for a male counterpart.

“Do you like girls?” he blurted.

“Of course,” she said.

Holy fuck.

“I like girls, guys, transgender, transsexual, or any type of person you can think of,” she said. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t stop his eyes from widening. “I just like
people
. They’re endlessly fascinating and… Oh my God! I just realized you’re asking if I’m a lesbian!”

He didn’t say anything, choosing instead to sit and wait. There were two things he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt. One was that the sun would rise tomorrow in the east. The other was that there really wasn’t much need to talk when Alex was around. She was completely capable of carrying on whole conversations by herself.

And I’m cracked because I enjoy it.
The sound of her voice was soothing. And that lisp she developed when she got really worked up? Well, it was nothing short of adorable.

“
No
,” she said emphatically. “I am
not
a lesbian. Not even close.” She made a face. “Wait. I didn’t mean for it to sound that way. I’d be proud to be a lesbian. If I were a lesbian. Which I’m not. I like boys…er…guys. I mean
men
. I like
men
. Well, not
all
men. But in a general sexual sense I prefer the male to… Oh, for Chrissakes, I feel like I’m digging myself in deeper with every word.”

And he was totally content to watch her shovel. He took another bite of orange and watched her shift uncomfortably in her seat. She tilted her head and pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. For some reason, that gesture always got to him. And now that she’d unequivocally declared she liked boys…guys…
men
—inside he was quaking with laughter—it was worse. His blood started speeding, spinning, rushing like his heart was a clock that was wound too tight.

“Why did you think I was a lesbian?” she asked, peeling another slice of orange from her half, but not popping it in her mouth. “Is it because I don’t wear makeup? Because just so you know, I usually
do
wear makeup when I’m not living on an island that requires me to slather on sunscreen.

“Or is it because I don’t run around in a bikini the way Olivia does? If it is, then I would like to state that the reason I wear a one-piece is the same reason I don’t wear makeup. My skin is really fair, and if I wear a one-piece that’s just that much more surface area I don’t have to rub sunscreen into.” She frowned. “Or maybe it’s the unpainted nails and the baggy shorts and… Wow. I really
don’t
put out a very girlie vibe, do I? That would explain some things.”

When her face looked like it was ready to crumble, Mason figured it was time he opened his mouth. “I think you’re
very
girlie,” he reassured her.

“You do?” She blinked at him.
Fuck, yeah, I do.
“Then why did you ask me if I was… Oh!” She had a laugh like a shotgun. It blasted out of her and echoed across the boat and over the water. “Because I said I like
Sex and the City
for all the boobs and the boinking. Yup.” She nodded. “I can see how that might give you the wrong impression.”

He simply lifted a brow.

“But just so we’re clear, I watch
Sex and the City
for two reasons. Firstly, I like the female camaraderie on the show since I never had sisters or even really close girlfriends.” She stopped to toss another orange slice in her mouth. “And secondly, I find it educational since recently I’ve decided it’s time to take a lover.”

Mason wasn’t sure, but he thought perhaps the bottom had fallen out of the sailboat.

10:16 p.m.…

“And I figure I can use all the pointers I c-can…” Alex stuttered to a stop when she realized Mason looked like he was about two seconds from keeling over in a dead faint. If she wasn’t mistaken, that ruddy color riding high on his cheeks was there because he’d stopped breathing.

Well, crap on a cracker. What’s with him?

She barely had time to ask herself the question before she knew the answer. She slammed a hand over her mouth. “Sorry,” she said through her fingers, feeling like someone had dumped a bucket of hot water over her head so that heat washed down the entire length of her. “That was a definitely a case of TMI, wasn’t it?” She winced.

“And I know we don’t have the kind of relationship where we can talk about lovers, past, present, or future. But in my defense, I’m not a very secretive person. And that added to the fact that I tend to suffer from a severe case of verbal diarrhea means sometimes I just unload without thinking. Sorry,” she said again, seriously considering chucking herself overboard so the ocean could cool the embarrassment from her skin. “I can’t believe I… Maybe I’m having an aneurysm.”

She screwed up her face and waited for him to say something to diminish the tension in the air, to put her at ease. But he remained stubbornly mute.
Go figure.
And since she and silence had never been on friendly terms, she found herself saying, “And I know it might have sounded like I was propositioning you when I said I was determined to take a lover. But I wasn’t. Not that I don’t think you’d make a good one.” He started blinking rapidly. “I mean, come
on
.” She waved a hand in his general direction. “You’re, like, the very definition of
man
. So it stands to reason you’d be good at doing that quintessentially
man
thing.”

His eyes were bugging out of his head. Scared they might pop out and go rolling across the table, she hurriedly added, “But you don’t really like me. And the truth is, sometimes I’m not so sure I really like you. You’re rude and grouchy, and you
never
talk. I think you’ve said more words to me tonight than in the two and a half months I’ve known you. So even if I
do
look at you and think bow-chicka-wow-wow, I’m not sure—”

He started choking. She assumed it was on a slice of orange. Startled, she scooted around the bench seat and whacked him on the back.

“Fuckin’-A,” he wheezed. “You’re about to punch a hole through my spine.”

“Well, excuse me for trying to help.” She frowned at him.

“Stop talking.” He continued to wheeze. His eyes were watering.

“Sure, sure.” She nodded. “My pleasure.” She ground her teeth and picked up the discarded orange peel. Then, unable to stop herself, she said, “Look.” When he glared at her, his face a study in frustration, she rolled her eyes. “Just let me say my piece and then I’ll stop talking. I swear.”

There was a muscle twitching beneath his eye, and she was worried now that she might give
him
an aneurysm, but she just needed to get this last bit out.

“When I said I was ready to take a lover, I was talking in the general sense. Not about anyone in particular.” She firmed her chin. “And the reason I’m approaching it so pragmatically is because I’ve tried doing it the usual way, but it hasn’t worked out.”

She could have stopped there. But, as always, she figured,
In for a penny, in for a pound.
If she was going to open up her raincoat and show him the goods, she might as well stand there and let him take a good, long gander.

“See, I was a super-late bloomer in high school,” she explained, thinking back on Johnny Gallagher, the hottest boy in school, and the way he’d always ruffled her hair like she was his kid sister instead of someone he’d consider taking to the prom. Mason reminded her a little bit of Johnny. Same black hair. Similar blue eyes. Apparently she had a type.
Who knew?
Of course, right now she’d settle for a brown-eyed blond. Anyone who could get the job done.

“No boys were interested in flat-chested Alex Merriweather, I can assure you,” she said. “And then in college I was so focused on my studies that I really didn’t give much thought to guys or getting laid. And then there was grad school and research, and
that’s
when it started to occur to me that maybe I should really try to make this thing happen. But it was too late.”

Mason’s face was almost purple now, but she was certain she saw his left eyebrow quirk with interest. It was all the encouragement she needed.

“I mean, it’s fine to tell a guy you’re a virgin when you’re eighteen, right? They take it as a challenge, considering the average American loses their virginity at seventeen. Only twelve percent of twenty- to twenty-four-year-olds are still virgins.” Yes, she’d done the research. And like everything else she happened to read, the facts and figures had stuck in her head. “That stat drops to less than five percent for women between the ages of twenty-five and twenty-nine.
Five percent!
”

She realized she was rambling and reined herself in. “Which means that if I try telling a man I’m still a virgin at twenty-seven, he assumes I’m some sort of religious fanatic, frigid freak, or a woman itching to get hitched. For the record”—she skewered him with a look when he seemed like he might have something to say to that—“I’m none of those.”

There. Done. Now, say something!

But he pulled a classic Mason and just continued to sit there, staring at her as if she were a six-headed alien.

Before she knew it, her mouth was open and going again. “I’m watching
Sex and the City
so I’ll know what to do when I
do
finally take a lover.” She held up a hand. “And, yes, in case you were wondering, I’ve learned my lesson. No more virginal confessions. Are you sure you don’t want me to whack you on the back again?”

I mean, that must be the most stubborn orange slice in the history of the world.

“Y-you’re a
virgin
?” he managed in a strangled voice.
He speaks!
Thank goodness. Even
she
had a limit as to how long she could carry on a one-sided conversation.

“And
see
.” She pointed a finger at him. “That right there is my whole point. Just look at you looking at me like I have some sort of disease. If I could take a picture of your face right now I’d frame it and whip it out as the precise explanation of why it’s imperative I get a man in bed tout de suite.”

“N-not any of the Deep Six crew,” he said, still wheezing.

“Nah,” she assured him. “They’re too much like my brothers for me to set my sights on them.” She cocked her head and narrowed her eyes. “Well, except for
you
. We’ve never really gotten all that friendly. Why is that, do you suppose?”

“I need a drink,” he said by way of answer.

She watched him push up from the bench and stagger into the galley. When he reappeared in the doorway, he was guzzling a bottle of water.

Figuring he wasn’t going to answer her question, she decided she’d outline her strategy for him in the hope that he’d offer a second opinion on her plan. It was a small hope, given his propensity for aphasia, but she was a gambler by nature and had won on low odds before. “I’m thinking I should tag along with Romeo or Uncle John the next time they make a Key West run. How hard can it be to pick up a tourist in a bar? I mean”—she frowned down at her black T-shirt with the red lettering that read:
History…don’t make me repeat myself
—“I clean up pretty good when I try. What do you think?”

After he’d drained the contents of the bottle, he took a deep breath that made his chest expand to ridiculous proportions. “Your virginity…” He shook his head, still looking slightly ragged. “It isn’t something you should give away to some random fucknuts you pick up at a bar.”
Ya pick up atta bah
was how his accent made the sentence sound. She did so
love
how hearing him talk brought to mind Ivy League schools, crisp fall leaves, and steaming clam chowder. Which was one more reason his usual mutism annoyed her.

“Why not?” she demanded.

Now he just looked exasperated…or constipated. She wasn’t sure which. “Because it’s
special
!” he bellowed, throwing his hands in the air. “You should save it for someone you at least
like
.”

“Are you volunteering?” And it was beyond satisfying to watch his chin jerk back and listen to him sputter.

“B-but you just admitted that you
don’t
like me.”

“Not so.” She shook her head. “I said there are
times
when I’m not
sure
if I like you. That’s totally different.”

He blinked. And while he was blinking, the silence on the boat stretched. It was broken only by the
slap-slap
of the waves between the twin hulls. Finally, he opened his mouth. She leaned across the table, eagerly awaiting his reply.
Are my beaver teeth showing?
But to her disappointment, he snapped it shut again and grumbled, “I need another drink.”

When he turned back into the galley, she studied the wide V-shape of his torso, feeling a bit giddy that she’d managed to throw him for a loop. A man of Mason’s size didn’t get tossed around too often. And that meant she gave herself major kudos for accomplishing the feat.

Then it occurred to her that maybe asking him to volunteer wasn’t so completely ludicrous after all.

I mean, I’m a girl. He’s a guy. I’m not looking for love and neither is he. So it’ll be completely objective,
scientific
even.

Hmm.
The longer she thought about it, the more intrigued she became.

“Do you find me attractive?” she asked when he reappeared in the doorway with a second bottle of water. She watched his reaction closely. Of course, she didn’t have to watch
too
closely since his jaw hanging open was hard to miss. He choked again.

The man has some sort of throat problem apparently.

“It’s a really simple question,” she told him conversationally. “And don’t worry about hurting my feelings. I’m a big girl. I can take anything you tell me.”

And she convinced herself that was the truth, even though her insides were quivering around like pudding. She was
nervous
.
Why am I nervous?
Oh, right. Because she was putting herself out there and asking big, burly Mason McCarthy if he fancied her bod the same way she fancied his.

“So?” she prompted when he just stood there blinking at her.
Is he nearsighted or something? Did sand get in his eyes?

“Sorry.” He shook his head. “What was the question again?”

“Ugh.” She blew out an exasperated breath. “How many times am I going to be asked that tonight?”

He must’ve thought it was a rhetorical question, because he didn’t answer her, simply continued to play the part of a blinking mute.

“Do. You. Find. Me. Attractive?” She enunciated each word and punctuated the end of the question with a quick flutter of her lashes.

A muscle ticked beneath his eye again. It was joined by another in his jaw. And for a while she thought he wasn’t going to answer her at all. But then he muttered, “Yes.”

It was just the one word. No elaboration. But it was all she needed to hear. “Then it’s perfect!” she said, grinning and clapping her hands.

“How do you figure?”

“Well, because you think
I’m
attractive and I think
you’re
attractive.” She began ticking off the reasons on her fingers. “You’re not some stranger at a bar. I know you. And you know me. And considering we don’t really get along in our everyday lives, there’s no chance we’ll develop any of those pesky romantic feelings for one another, so it’ll just be a physical thing. What do you say? Do you want to be my first?”

He choked again.

Does he have a medical condition?

She started to ask him if he’d seen a doctor recently when the radio on the table squawked to life. “Garden Key, Garden Key, this is Captain Andrew Webber with the United States Coast Guard transmitting on—”

Alex stopped listening to the rest of the transmission. She was too busy trying to turn her eyeballs into laser beams so she could fry the radio.

Could the timing be any worse?

Mason marched over and grabbed the handset. “We copy you, Captain Webber,” he said. “This is Senior Chief…uh…” He stopped and shook his head. “I mean this is Mason McCarthy of Wayfarer Island and Deep Six Salvage Company. We’re happy as hell to hear your voice. You’re earlier than we expected. Over?”

“Rrrrroger that, Senior Chief McCarthy,” the captain responded, doing Mason the service of addressing him by his Naval rank. One thing Alex had learned in the short time she’d been on Wayfarer Island was that military men, regardless of which branch of the armed services they worked for, always treated each other with due respect. “Headquarters usually errs on the side of caution. When I got the call you all needed some help, I figured I better blow the cobwebs out of the engines. Over?”

“Copy that,” Mason said. “We appreciate the effort.”

“Rrrrroger that, Senior Chief. We’re ten minutes out and closing fast. Over and out.”

Mason placed the handset back on the cradle and turned to her. “What?”

“I hope you don’t think this means you don’t have to answer my question.”

Mason pointed to the surrounding sea like the Coast Guard was pulling up beside them right now. “The authorities are almost here.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What came out of your mouth was
The authorities are almost here.
But I’m pretty sure that’s
Saved by the bell
I see written all over your face.”

* * *

10:21 p.m.…

“I come here to chew bubble gum and kick ass,” Bran said. Maddy waited on the closing line and quietly mouthed it along with him. “And I’m all outta bubble gum.”