Going Deep (Coastal Heat #1) (16 page)

The feature on Brian was slated to run on Monday. Nels had turned the profile around with shockingly few edits. In two terse emails, she’d blocked what changes he tried to make. He’d given in without much fuss. Brooke couldn’t help wondering if the lack of hassle was a going away gift. But she didn’t think much more about it. Not when she had better things to think about. Like Brian.

They’d spent the past couple nights tangled in her bleached-soft sheets, whispering and kissing, teasing and tempting, hatching plans and making assumptions neither seemed to find presumptuous. His simple but effective statements at her parents’ house confirmed that she wasn’t the only one mapping out a future that included the two of them together. He planned to take her research documentation to the Horizon Institute to ask a few probing questions the following morning. She was a little nervous about that.

He’d once considered some of the people who worked at the Institute friends and colleagues, and they’d basically dismissed him. Now they worked for an organization founded on the tar money received in the petroleum industry’s settlement but dedicated to restoring the ecological balance to the Gulf region. And they wanted him to work with them. Though he hid his confusion well, Brooke knew Brian was torn over the offer.

This high-speed jaunt along the shore proved to be the perfect antidote to the disturbing uncertainty seeping through the cracks in his calm exterior. The boat ride was part of the price she paid for his appearance at her parents’ house. A bargain she’d be happy to strike again if necessary. The whipping he took at Emmaline’s table didn’t come as cheap as an afternoon of sun and waves, either. She was also scheduled to have dinner with his family the following week. A prospect more than a little daunting.

Brian’s father was a quiet, studious man with a razor-sharp intellect, but without the arrogance his son used as a shield. Brooke wasn’t the least bit intimidated by him, but she was downright nervous about spending time with his mother. Julia Dalton was the kind of woman who made
being
a woman look entirely too easy. Brian had kissed and cajoled, promising to make lasagna for her if she agreed. All in all, Brooke found his methods of negotiating risk and reward wholly agreeable.

He throttled back on the roaring twin engines and the boat turned in a graceful arc as it slowed. She opened her eyes to find Brian flipping various switches and pressing buttons. He wore a faded and stained sweatshirt over neon green board shorts. The hair on his legs bristled with gooseflesh. His ragged sneakers squished when he darted past her to set the light anchor. Shielding her eyes, she turned, watching with avid interest as he grasped the collar of the shirt and yanked it over his head, knocking the ball cap to the deck.

Brooke shivered for him when she caught sight of his small brown nipple pebbling in the crisp breeze. “What are you doing? It’s freezing.”

He smiled and toed off his shoes. “It’s seventy-three degrees.”

“Yeah, but the wind—”

He leaned down and silenced her with a hard, fast kiss. “Been a few days. I need to get my gills wet. I won’t be long.”

With two bounding steps, he launched himself over the side of the boat, showering the seats with a spray of glistening droplets. Brooke twisted in her seat, watching as his smooth, powerful strokes cut through the waves. Then he dove beneath the surface with a flash of neon butt and a fierce kick. His abrupt departure left her disconcerted and uneasy. The boat bobbed, drifting sideways on the gentle waves. She silently ticked off the seconds, scanning the surface for his sleek, dark head and trying to stave off the alarm rising inside her. He’d left her. Again. He left and she was literally cast adrift.

Her lungs started to burn and her eyes watered. The thrum of her heart slowed to a dull thud. Water licked and slapped the sides of the boat, but still no sign of Brian. Icy tendrils of panic banded her chest. Gripping the teak rail she rose from her seat, swiveling her head from side to side as her search turned frantic.

“Ahoy.”

What little oxygen she had left her on a squeak. Hand to her throat, she whirled to find Brian peeking over the opposite side of the boat, his biceps flexed and the tips of his fingers turning white as he fought the pull of the waves.

“Jesus! Don’t do that!” Stumbling back into the seat, she sank like a bag of bricks. Before she could muster enough air to really let him have it, Brian’s fingers slid from the rail. He’d disappeared again. Heart hammering, she shot across the boat to stare into the dark water where he’d been moments ago. “I swear, Brian—”

“What?”

She spun around to find him climbing the ladder affixed to the stern, but this time she felt no relief. Grinning, he shook like a dog, spraying water in every direction. Dark splotches dotted her jeans and beaded on the fleece. Anger bubbled up from deep inside her, liquid hot and pulsing. “What are you? Twelve?”

His eyebrows arched. “No. I was a lot skinnier when I was twelve.”

She opened her mouth to blast him, but he snaked out an arm and hauled her against him, fast as lightning.

“I couldn’t hold my breath as long, either.”

“You scared me.” She ground the words from between clenched teeth, but he simply smiled.

“Good. Now I know you care.”

Her jaw dropped in disbelief and his grin stretched wide. “Seriously? This was a test? I let you stink up my sheets. My mother fed you pot roast. Hell, I’m going to have to start wearing turtlenecks in May because you’re like one of those sucker fish—”

“Echeneidae,” he supplied helpfully.

“Stop it.” She slapped his arm. “What a crappy thing to do.”

“I’m sorry.” He crooned the words as he drew her close, tucking her face into the damp, salty curve of his neck. “I was only playing.”

“You’re a jerk.” She tried to pry herself from his grasp, but he held firm.

“Yes, I am.”

“You’re getting me all wet.”

“Oh. Would you look at that….” He pulled back enough to flash a playful leer. “I suppose I’ll have to take you below and get you out of those wet clothes.”

“You think I’d sleep with you now? After that stunt?”

“I don’t recall saying anything about sleeping.”

“Brian—”

“Brooke—”

“Don’t make me hate you again.”

The teasing gleam in his eyes gave way to a flare of genuine interest. “You hated me before?”

Like a match dropped on dry glass, ten years of indignation ignited. Fire blazed in her belly and a molten river of white-hot rage flowed through her veins. “You may have gotten by with walking away before, but I’m not going to stand here and take it again.”

“Walking away from what?”

“You walk away from everything,” she said with a scoff. “But the next time you get the urge to jump ship on me, just keep on going.”

He stared at her, his brows knit in consternation. “It was a joke. I was playing—

“Well, it wasn’t fun for me. Not then, and not now.”

“Not then?”

“You don’t do that. You don’t get to just kiss me and run away.” She tried to pull away, but he held strong.

“I didn’t run away.”

She waved a hand, dismissing the semantics. “Walk away, swim away, whatever.”

His eyes narrowed and his jaw drew taut. “Is that what this is about? What exactly would have happened if I stayed, Brooke? Would you have thrown yourself at me and declared your undying love for me in front of the whole school or would you have hauled off and slapped my face?”

“You didn’t stick around to find out, did you?”

“Hell no, I didn’t,” he growled.

“Coward.” She spit the word at him, trembling with anger and adrenaline.

“Like you were any braver than I was. You spent your whole life smiling and simpering, making everyone think you had nothing more than air bubbles in your head. Flat out apologizing when you aced an exam or denying when someone accused you of actually enjoying Shakespeare.” His upper lip curled into a sneer. “Don’t pretend you were less chicken than I was. At least I took the chance. You just stood there, smiling your vapid smile and waving to the crowd like you’d been crowned Miss America.”

Wrenching herself from his embrace, she wrapped her arms tight around her stomach. The wind whipped her hair into her face. Her cheeks burned with the heat of a thousand suns. “Take me home.”

His chest heaved as he let out a shuddering sigh. He reached for her again but she shrank from his hand, wounded and aching, unwilling to be consoled by the man who’d inflicted the hurts.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.” He croaked the words.

She felt the pull of his gaze, but she refused to give ground. Tension hung thick in the air.

“Don’t. Please. Don’t go all ice queen on me. Yell at me. Tell me I’m an asshole,” he implored. “I know I am, but damn it, Brooke….”

No. She wasn’t going to listen to his rebuttals. Not when he was riding his high horse. Not when he was hitting so damn close to the bone. Turning into the wind, she gazed at the strip of sandy beach visible in the distance. Gulping a deep breath, she injected every ounce of steel she had into her voice, praying it wouldn’t break or quiver. “Take me back now, or I’ll swim for shore.”

A flock of gulls filled the strained silence with catcalls. A pair of jet skis passed to starboard, one hotshot throwing off plumes of water as the other sped straight ahead. At last, Brian scooped his sweatshirt from the deck and shrugged into it. She dropped into a rear-facing seat before he could brush past her. The engines came to life with a roar and the boat cut a skidding circle through the choppy waves when he turned the wheel. Brooke barely had time to brace herself when Brian pointed the nose of the boat in the direction of the marina and did as she asked. Full speed ahead.

Waterlogged and seething, Brian slid into the driver’s seat of his car without a thought for the glove-leather upholstery. The sedan was low-slung and sleek, a marvel of European engineering, but cars never meant much to a man who lived his life underwater. Still, it got him from point A to point B. Most days. Too bad he had no idea how to get himself out of this stupid fight.

Sunday afternoon traffic was light, but the drive seemed endless. The acrid tang of regret lingered on his tongue. The angry impulse turned inward the moment he fired the engines and headed back to the marina. He didn’t dare glance over his shoulder until the boat was nuzzled safely in its slip. When he did hazard a look in her direction, he saw Brooke hop agilely onto the dock and take off without him. Thankfully, she couldn’t go far. They’d driven down to the island in his car.

He’d stopped sneaking peeks at Brooke’s silent profile once they hit the bridge to the mainland. No point in torturing himself. Nothing he could say would ease the sting of his words. He’d spoken the truth, and nothing hurt worse. He passed the time rehearsing his apologies, honing them in his mind, searching for the right words to get them back to where they’d been before he’d decided to soothe his own insecurities by messing with her head.

He didn’t bother looking for a parking space as they approached her building. The scientist in him rebelled against assumptions, but the waves of shimmering silence emanating from the passenger seat made him fairly certain he wasn’t going to be welcome in her cozy little apartment. He hoped his exile would last no more than a night. He didn’t think the damage would be irreparable. After all, it was a truly stupid fight. But it was damn hard to tell how deep he was in it when she refused to speak a word with more than two syllables.

Stifling a sigh, he coasted to a stop in front of the entrance. The click of her seatbelt rang through the plush interior like a gunshot. She reached for the door handle before the tires crunched to a complete halt and he gripped the wheel tighter. “Don’t.” The word tumbled from his mouth, soft and dense with emotion. “Don’t leave things like this.”

“I’m not the one who makes a mess then walks away. You are.” The bitterness in her tone shredded him.

“I’m not walking away from you this time. Talk to me. Yell at me. I’m sitting right here and I’m not going anywhere.”

Brooke hesitated long enough to draw a short, shallow breath. It was enough to give him hope. Then she dashed it.

“Maybe this is the risk in dating someone you know too well but not quite enough.” Her tone was cool and philosophical, but each word landed like a blow. “We know which buttons to push but not when to stop.”

He turned to face her for the first time since he’d hurtled those hurtful words at her, knowing he owed her a little of his own truth in exchange for the pain he’d caused her. “I had to walk away that day. I couldn’t believe you kissed me back. It felt like a trick. One last, cruel trick—”

“I was never cruel to you!”

“I know, but….” He swallowed hard, forcing the hard lump of his misplaced pride down as deep as he could. “It killed me to walk away, but I was too scared to do anything else.” He ran a hand through his hair, grimacing when his fingers tangled in the saltwater stiffness. “Christ, Brooke, you kissed me back. I never expected you to kiss me back. What was I supposed to do? How was I supposed to handle that? I’d only kissed one other girl, and that was because she kissed me first.”

The confession seemed to do the trick. Her eyes clouded with curiosity and confusion. “Who?”

“Louisa Perkins. She asked me to the Homecoming dance. I went because, well, you were….” He trailed off, waving a vague hand in the direction of her head, picturing her wearing a rhinestone tiara atop her coiled blond hair and a sparkling smile. “I couldn’t take my eyes off you all night. Poor Louisa. I was a lame date.” Managing a weak smile, he shrugged. “I don’t think Louisa cared. She just wanted to go. She had a checklist of things to do before graduation. I took her to the dance, participated in the obligatory goodnight kiss at her door, and helped her check a box.”

The corner of her mouth twitched, but her eyes remained sober and direct. “You always were good with a checklist.”

“Kissing you was the only item on mine. I spent all of senior year trying to make you see what an idiot Jack Tucker was. I talked to you every chance I got.” He chuckled and ducked his head. “Demeaning your boyfriend and listing all the ways Auburn was inferior to ’Bama wasn’t the cleverest form of flirtation, but short of kicking you in the shins I was at a loss on how to get your attention.”