Swept Away (23 page)

“My undercover name.”

She tilted her head, freshly amazed at how differently Brock’s life had turned out than she
would have expected. “Is that weird, to go by another name?”

“Only if you ever start to forget who you really are.”
“Do you ever?”

He grimaced slightly. “Unfortunately not.”

“Unfortunately?”

He let out a long sigh, his look confiding. “I shouldn’t tell you this, but that’s how I fucked
up—they called me by my real name, and I answered to it.” He peered warm into her eyes.
“Sorry, kitten.”

For some reason, she could barely find her voice. “For?”
“If I hadn’t done that, you wouldn’t be in this situation.”

If he hadn’t done that, she’d be safe now. She’d be sunning and tanning and reading and swimming and transitioning. She’d be safe from bad guys. And safe from the temptation
Brock Denton had always held for her.

If she could change it, would she?

For Brock’ s safety, yes. And for her own. Hell, she was a practical girl, always had been—so
yeah, all things considered, if she could turn back time, she’d wish all this away in exchange
for knowing she’d live to see another day.

And yet, deep inside, she also couldn’t be sorry Brock had reappeared in her life, couldn’t be
sorry to know what it was to have him near, to feel his arms around her, to seek solace in his warmth. Even if she still couldn’t have him in the way she’d always wanted him, and even if
the circumstances were downright shitty, she couldn’t be sorry he was here. “It’s okay,” she
whispered.

He gave his head the slightest tilt. “You know, sometimes, kitten, you can be surprisingly
sweet.”

“Don’t get used to it,” she said, then turned back around and let her head rest against his chest
once more.

The cold, hard truth was if she had to die, this wouldn’t be a bad way to go.

Debra glanced at herself in the rearview mirror, but regretted it immediately—that close a look always made her notice wrinkles more than any remaining beauty in her face. It’s an illusion,
she reminded herself. Across the table, you’ll look fine.

She’d dressed carefully—pretty yet professional, summery but mature—a light blazer over a
soft pastel blouse cut just low enough to remind anyone who cared to notice that she was a
woman. She didn’t have the same figure she’d possessed as a girl, of course, but she generally
put herself in that category of women who “looked good for her age,” and she knew how to
find clothes that worked well on her. So all things considered—even the wrinkles in the rearview—she couldn’t complain about her appearance and was actually much more concerned
over what they would talk about. Sure, the last lunch with Michael had gone fabulously, but
what if today was different? What if there was nothing left to say?

Calm down. You’re making too much of this. For all she knew, it would be a quick meal—a few pleasantries, then a succinct chat about the book and her impending critique, nothing more.

Only she was hoping for something longer.

After digging blindly for her cell phone in her purse as she drove toward the ocean, she finally
managed to try Kat again—and for the third time in as many days, didn’t get an answer. “Hate to be a worrywart, honey, but at least let me know you got there and all is well, okay? Call me.”

She wasn’t worried—exactly. It wasn’t as if Kat had never forgotten to call her before. But
never for three days after leaving on vacation.

So at the next light, she scrambled for her datebook and found Nina’s cell number, which she’d scribbled there for just such a need. She succeeded in keying it in by the time the light turned
green.

Three rings and no answer later, a real knot of concern began to grow in her stomach. Then
came Nina’s groggy, “Um, hello?”

It was as if Debra’s heart started beating again. This meant they were okay. “Nina, it’s Kat’s
mom.”

“Oh. Um, hi.”

She did a quick calculation—9:00 A.M. in Vegas, and Nina was still fast asleep. “I’m sorry to
wake you, but I haven’t been able to get hold of Kat. Can I speak with her?”

“She’s in the bathroom.”

Worshipping the porcelain god? Given the way Nina sounded, Debra suspected serious hangovers all around, but since the old saying was probably pass by now, she gently ventured, “Sick?”

“Uh yeah. So she might be in there a while.”

Debra sighed. Her mother’s instinct made her feel almost sick herself to know Kat was ill—
even if she’d brought it on herself.

“And you know how cruddy you feel when you’re that hungover, so she probably won’t really feel like talking much after.”

Actually, no, Debra didn’t know how cruddy her daughter felt at the moment, since she’d
never gotten drunk enough to throw up. And oddly, just now, it made her very aware of how
young she’d married, how little fun she’d had with her girlfriends as a grown-up, and even if
Kat was miserable this morning, Debra was thankful Kat had waited so much longer than she
had before settling down. “Of course,” she said, as if she’d been there herself a thousand times
before. “Just tell her I hope she feels better and to call when she can.”

“Gotcha,” Nina said, sounding somewhere between drunk and about to drift off.
“Are you girls having fun and being careful?” she couldn’t help asking anyway. “Both. Promise.”

Debra smiled. “Sorry I woke you, Nina.” “No prob.”

“Go back to sleep now. Bye.”

After spending a few minutes of worry imagining Kat bent over the toilet, she reached Tin
City, the collection of shops and restaurants that overlooked Naples Bay. Soon wending her
way along the plank boardwalk toward Merriman’s Wharf, she felt pleased that Michael had suggested someplace so casual, comfortable. Clark never took her anyplace like this, and it
seemed like the perfect departure from her usual life.

Her pulse skittered as the interior of the open-air restaurant came into view and she caught sight
of him, at a table next to the wooden railing that bordered the water. He was just as handsome
as she remembered, and when he looked up, spotting her, she found herself immediately
captured by those eyes. So human. Kind. The type of man who let you see his soul in his gaze.
And who also wasn’t afraid to spill it onto the page. Odd how those two things, added
together, produced the illusion that she knew him far better than she actually did.

“Hello.” She smiled, hoping it didn’t come out in an overly beaming sort of way.

To her surprise, he stood to greet her, leaned in for a small hug. A manly, earthy scent
permeated her senses along with the warmth of his quick, polite touch—which she felt in more
than a quick, polite way. It sizzled through her, leaving her rather deliciously singed in every spot where their bodies had made contact.

As she sat, her eyes fell on the flat cardboard box on the table. “The book,” she said, and
something about its mere presence struck her as magical. She’d never read a book when it was
still just someone’s story on unbound paper and, despite knowing he worked on a computer,
the thought drew to mind someone like Hemingway, sitting at an old typewriter, pounding out prose that would become art and legend. She felt as if she’d been selected to hold in her hand a
diamond that others would only someday view from afar.

He returned her smile. “Yes.” Then, to her surprise, widened his eyes in an almost sheepish
expression. “My latest tome. Take mercy on it.”

Self-deprecation was the last thing she’d expected from him—and she found it oddly
endearing.

“Ignore that,” he added, sounding more resolute. “Don’t take mercy on it. I mean it. Be critical
—that’s what I need at this point in the process. Look for anything that feels wrong to you.”

She glanced from his handsome face to the box, then back again. “I promise to give an honest
assessment, be it praise or criticism or some of both.”

“Fair enough,” he said, then shoved the box toward her across the small wooden table, an
official handing-off, the slight gesture delivering his trust.

After a waitress arrived to take her drink order, they turned their attention toward the menus, perusing in a silence that felt comfortable that fast. A soft breeze blew in off the water, and
somehow she knew this was going to be okay. More than okay. A good lunch. Easy
conversation. She would go away feeling vital, noticed, respected. She would go away thinking
of his eyes. She would probably go home and look at the dust jacket of his last novel too many
times.

A hint of guilt nipped at her. Was this wrong? To want to spend time talking with a man who
made her feel good about herself.

She bit her lip, peering at the list of seafood choices without quite seeing them. Yes, it probably
was wrong, because she’d looked forward to today too much, and because each time she lifted
her eyes to him she felt something more, something new, and because it wasn’t the reaction a
woman had to a purely platonic relationship.

But she also couldn’t see any harm in it, either. She didn’t even flirt with Michael, for heaven’s sake—she wouldn’t have the first idea how to. She certainly had no intention of acting on her
crush. She was married, and so was he—he’d mentioned his wife and young daughter in their
interview. So even if she felt an attraction she shouldn’t, no one would ever know, not even
him. As transgressions in life went, this one seemed minor. And safe.

“So, Kat’s wedding is this weekend, right?” he asked after they’d given their order.

She couldn’t help being pleased he remembered, and that he called Kat by name as if he knew
her. “Yes, and I was so glad you could meet today, since the rest of my week is filled with last-
minute mother-of-the-bride work. Kat’s off for a trip with the girls to Las Vegas, so I’m
holding down the fort until she gets back on Thursday.”

He raised his eyebrows, looking mischievous. “Vegas, huh? Sounds like trouble.”

Debra laughed softly. “A few years ago, maybe.” When Kat had been younger, Debra had held
her daughter’s hair back after more than one of those too-much-to-drink nights and been
witness to many you’ll-wear-that-out-of-this-house-over-my-dead-body matches between Kat
and Clark. Kat had possessed a wild streak that didn’t come from either of her parents. Yet it
seemed to have died... somewhere around the time of Ian’s appearance as a suitor. “And the
truth is, even as we speak, I happen to know she’s suffering a brutal hangover. But she’s a lot more settled now than in her younger days, so I don’t have to worry so much anymore.”

Since her engagement to Ian over the holidays, Kat had become decidedly more... staid. Still
talkative, even lively. Still herself. Yet... different. And—it only in that very moment dawned
on Debra for the first time—Kat smiled a lot less lately.