Falling Angel (15 page)

Cara could feel the weight and strength of Ben’s presence behind her as he steered the craft with strong, sure strokes. She kept her eyes trained on the water, letting him know when they needed to adjust their course to avoid a rocky outcrop or sandbar. After a half hour, she began to tire, and they turned back.

“You’re doing great for a first-timer,” Ben told her. Cara was surprised herself at how much she enjoyed the combination of physical exertion and natural beauty. Having a strong and handsome companion to pick up the slack didn’t hurt, either.

As they neared the shore, Ben jumped out and held the kayak steady while she got out. His rolled-up khakis were wet up to his knees as he stood in the shallow water. Cara stood up, still holding her paddle. As she rose unsteadily to her feet, the wake from a passing boat caused a large swell to tilt the kayak sideways. With a cry, Cara tumbled into the icy water.

Chapter Thirteen

Cara’s skin tingled with the shock of the cold as her body plunged underwater. Her feet touched the rocky bottom and she pushed up, gulping air as her head surfaced. Instantly, Ben was at her side, holding her arm and helping her gain her footing. She was completely drenched, her hair streaming with water.

“Are you ok?”

Cara spat out a mouthful of salty water and made a face. “I’m fine. Yikes, this water is freezing!” They looked at each other and cracked up. “Cara pushed her hair out of her eyes as Ben fished her paddle out of the water. “That was not the most graceful way to get out of a kayak.”

“You never cease to surprise me with your unusual entrances and exits,” Ben teased. He pulled a strand of seaweed from her hair. “Who is this beautiful creature I’ve fished out of the depths?”

“More like a creature from the black lagoon. I must look a fright.” Cara began to shiver from the cold.

Ben held onto her with one hand as he pulled the kayak to sure with the other. Once they were on dry land again, he hauled the kayak onto the beach. “Wait here and I’ll grab a blanket from the truck,” he said.

Cara moved out of the wind to sit by a low rock wall that separated the patio from the beach. She hugged herself for warmth, reliving the moment of the fall to see what she could have done to prevent it. Once again, she had acted like a complete klutz in front of Ben, and he’d taken it completely in stride. The whole scene was a funny, real-life metaphor for what was actually happening.

I’m falling for Ben,
she thought.
I’m falling for him, against all my better judgments. I’m splashing around in the dark now, trying to keep my head above water. I only hope I won’t get hurt.

He returned a moment later with a large Mexican blanket and an oversized sweatshirt. “Take those wet things off and put this on,” he ordered.

As Cara peeled off her life vest, sodden fleece, shirt, bra, and pants, Ben politely turned his back. She pulled the sweatshirt over her head, spread the blanket on the sand and sat down.

“Ok, you can turn around now.” He did, and sat down next to her.

“How do I look?” she joked. He pretended to consider the question seriously, taking in her hair, falling in bedraggled strands across her shoulders, her small frame enveloped in the large grey sweatshirt, her legs tucked up to her chest for warmth.

“Like you need warming up.” He moved closer and pulled her into his arms, kissing her hair, her forehead, her lips. Cara returned his kiss, exulting in the feel of his warm, salty lips, his tongue in her mouth. His touch coursed through her like an electric shock.

The world telescoped until it contained only the two of them on this small patch of sand. Cara shuddered as Ben’s hands moved under the sweatshirt and slowly up her rib cage. She let out an involuntary “oh” of surprise as he cupped one of her breasts in his hand. He took one of her nipples between his thumb and forefinger. She let out a small moan as he traced a line of kisses from her lips down to her neck.

Ben lay back on the blanket, his eyes dark with desire. “You are so damn sexy,” he said. Cara leaned over him. Slowly, she undid the buttons on his shirt, running her fingers across his broad chest and hard stomach. He lay back, watching her with hungry eyes. His hands moved to hold her hips as she straddled him and pulled the sweatshirt over her head so she was wearing nothing but her panties.

She saw the pleasure in his expression as he took in the sight of her. He looked into her eyes.

 “Cara.” The word sounded like a caress. “Do you have any idea how much I want you?”

She bent again to kiss him and he grasped her waist, pulling her to him. Cara leaned forward until her breasts brushed against Ben’s chest. She could feel his heart pounding under her hand, the warmth of his body in sharp contrast to the cold air.

That’s when something wet splashed onto her back.

A moment later, like giant buckets overturning, the clouds released their store and the rain poured down. Within seconds the sand turned dark and wet. The wind picked up, whipping Cara’s hair around her head as she squealed and struggled back into Ben’s sodden sweatshirt. Ben sat up and shook his fist at the angry sky. “Thanks a lot!” he shouted over the wind. “Just when things were starting to get fun around here!” He leapt to his feet, picked up the blanket and held it over their heads as they made a run for the shelter of the truck.

.   .   .

Leaning against Ben’s shoulder on the ferry ride home, half dozing as she listened to the thrum of the engines, Cara smiled to herself.

She felt as though she and Ben had crossed a boundary together, and not just a physical one. For the first time, she felt comfortable broaching some of the questions that had been on her mind ever since their first encounter.

“Ben?” she asked, sitting up. He was gazing out the window, but turned to look at her with an affectionate smile.

“How come you didn’t answer me when I asked about your parents the other night?”

Ben’s eyes darkened. “I didn’t want to ruin the moment,” he said. “My parents are dead.”

“Oh! I’m so sorry.”

“Car crash. It was a long time ago. I was only three. I was raised by my mother’s sister. Aunt Kay.”

“Did she have any other children?”

“No. She never married. She was a doctor, one of the first female surgeons at her hospital, and pretty fixated on her career. I don’t think she ever wanted kids. But my grandparents didn’t want me dumped on them. So she did the right thing and took me in.”

“Doesn’t sound like you were very close.”

Ben shrugged. “I was pretty much raised by a series of nannies until I was ten or eleven, at which point Kay figured I was old enough to stay home by myself while she was at work. Don’t get me wrong. We got along well enough, still do, and I respect her. But it’s never been a warm fuzzy kind of thing between us. How about you?”

“My dad and mom broke up when I was six. My mother and I lived with her parents for about three years, and then she got married again. I was adopted by my stepdad, Andrew. But I think our relationship was kind of like yours and Aunt Kay’s. He tolerated me.”

“Are you still in touch with your dad?”

“No. He abandoned us. I haven’t heard from him in years.”

Ben nodded. “That explains a lot.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, about your whole dating
schtick
.”

“My dating
what
?”

“You know. How you only want to date dull, conventional, rich men. You’re afraid that if you follow your heart, you’ll end up getting hurt.”

 Cara glared at him. “I’m not afraid. There’s nothing wrong with looking for someone who’s stable, hard-working, and willing to make a commitment.”

“And you need all that in writing, up front, right?”

“In triplicate, preferably.” Cara deadpanned.

“No, no. I get it. I’m the man your mother warned you about. I can’t blame her. She’s just trying to protect you, in her own totally misguided way.”

Cara bit her lip. “I know you really value your freedom. And your career, well, it’s not exactly stable, is it?”

Ben moved back, creating a small distance between them. “What was it, exactly, that convinced you that I’m broke and unreliable?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Ever heard about not judging a book by its cover?”

“I didn’t mean to . . . “

Ben leaned back and shook his head sympathetically. “Poor baby. You got yourself a bit of a wild card here. What are you going to do?”

“You’re teasing me again!”

“Sometimes a good offense is the best defense.”

His lips curved in a half-smile, but his gold-flecked eyes were serious.

Cara realized he was hurt. It surprised her that she had that much power over him. A flicker of doubt entered her mind. Perhaps it was too soon to judge this man, who she had met only a handful of times. Too soon to write him off as not her type, even though his past history sent warning bells ringing in her head. 

Could she really see herself living the lifestyle a man like Ben would want; full of travel, adventure, and almost certainly a complete lack of financial security? Could he really commit to one person, after living a life of complete self-sufficiency for so long? Could she, spacey, shy, insecure Cara Walker, possibly hold his interest, or was she no more than a spring fling?

“I really like you, Ben,” she said, carefully weighing each word. “Maybe I don’t know what I want right now.”

Ben didn’t respond. Instead, he turned to rummage through his faded khaki backpack. He pulled out a bulky, strangely shaped object, wrapped in newspaper. “Here,” he said, handing it to her without ceremony. “This seems as good a time as any. Happy belated birthday.”

Chapter Fourteen

Eagerly, Cara unwrapped the gift.

It was a sculpture, made out of clay, painted in warm earth tones of brown, gold and ochre. A woman with flowing tresses, dressed in Grecian drapery that clung to her curvaceous form, stood on a small base, one leg stretched behind her, arms outspread. A pair of delicately feathered wings extended from her shoulders. Her face, with its wide open eyes, flared nostrils, and large, sensual lips, slightly parted, conveyed an expression of fear combined with high excitement.

As Cara turned the sculpture in her hands, inspecting it more closely, she noticed that the tips of the wings looked as though they had melted in the heat of the kiln. It took a moment for her to recognize that of course, clay didn’t melt that way. Ben - for it was obviously Ben’s work - had fashioned the wings to appear as though they were melting under a hot fire. A hot sun.

She turned the statue over and read out loud the words he had engraved on the base: “Falling Angel.”

Suddenly, Cara grasped the symbolism. The statuette was a female version of Icarus, the boy from Greek mythology who didn’t heed the warnings of his father Dedalus, who had fashioned wax wings for himself and his son to escape imprisonment. Icarus flew too close to the sun, the wax melted, and he plunged into the ocean, never to be seen again.