West Wind (19 page)

"Are you checking me out?"

"Yes ma'am. You sure have nice legs."

Erin shuffled her feet to the left, giving
him a profile of her rear instead of full-on view. "Perv," she
muttered. She pulled two more beers from the ice box and, again,
slid lime slices into bottles. She walked to the hammock and put
the icy beer into his hand. Then she picked up her purse and went
back to the bar. She lifted her long neck bottle in salute and took
a deep pull before hopping back up.

"I'm told you're having problems meeting your
deadlines."

Spence did not reply, just rocked slowly in
the hammock, the cold beer cradled in his right hand.

"You do understand why I'm here, don't you
Mr. Spence?"

"Spence."

Erin felt a flash of impatience. "You do
understand why I'm here, don't you?"

"Yep."

She pulled a small notebook out of her purse
and clicked her ink pen, the tip poised over a fresh sheet of
paper. "I think the first thing we should do is make a
schedule."

Spence snorted softly and raised his beer to
his lips.

"You think that's funny?"

He lifted his sunglasses and winked at her.
"Honey, I don't have a schedule."

"Well, now you do, Mr. Spence. You've signed
a contract to produce a book, and there are deadlines to meet. I'm
here to make sure you do. And," she added, "I'm not your
‘honey.'"

"Touchy, eh? You married?"

"No. Not that it's any of your business,"
Erin said, stonily staring across the wetlands.

"Relax, sweetheart. Just don't want some
angry husband knocking on the door next week."

"Well, you won't. And don't call me
sweetheart, either."

"Don't you like men?"

Erin sputtered angrily. This conversation is
getting way out of control, she thought. "Mr. Spence …"

"Spence."

"Mr. Spence! I'm here to do a job. My sexual
preferences are none of your concern."

"So hands off, huh?"

"If I want a relationship, I'll get a puppy,"
she snarled.

"Hmmm. Sounds like the voice of experience,"
Spence observed.

Erin frowned. In the distance, the Pamlico
Sound shimmered.

* * *

Four beers later Erin was sitting on the
deck, her legs stretched in front of her, burning in the
mid-afternoon sun. She felt loopy. Her continental breakfast had
consisted of a plain bagel and a Styrofoam cup of bitter orange
juice. She missed dinner the night before. She began chewing on
lime rinds and peeking into the cracks of the deck for stray
peanuts.

So far she had learned that Stephen Spence
rarely got up before noon, and it was only because he fell asleep
in the hammock late last night that she had the pleasure of his
company now.

He also talked a bit about Ocracoke, telling
her how his family came to the small island.

"I was born here. There's not many of us;
about 800 or so year-round residents. My folks came to the Outer
Banks in the ‘60s and opened one of the first dive shops in the
area. My dad was in the Navy and learned how to dive. He taught my
mom, and they worked together for years."

Erin nodded gently, relaxing at his soft,
Southern accent.

"How long have they been married?"

"My dad is gone now. He died a few years
ago."

"Oh, sorry to hear that."

Spence sobered. "He died of emphysema. He
smoked."

"What about your mom? How is she?"

"She gets along. Still runs the dive shop.
She's a tough old lady."

"How old is she?"

"Well, I'm the youngest, and she had me late.
She was in her forties, I think. Surprised as hell when I came
along. She's in her seventies now, but she doesn't act like
it."

Finally, he swung his legs out of the hammock
and walked over to his guest. She licked her lips. They felt
swollen and more hairy than the kneecaps in front of her. He
offered his hand. She put her left hand into his and waited.

"One, two, three."

He pulled her to her feet at "three" and
smiled. Devastating, she thought, her gut clenching at his
brilliant, white smile.

She leaned against the bar and burped.

"Oh, my gosh! Excuse me," she said. "I'm not
used to drinking beer for lunch." She valiantly swallowed the next
burp.

"Don't apologize. I'm impressed. " Stephen
Spence smiled again, disarming her. "Let's go inside. You've had
too much sun."

He picked up her purse and slung it over his
shoulder. Then he put a hand on her shoulder and steered her
towards a sliding glass door. Once inside, her head began to clear.
It was at least ten degrees cooler and she spied a large, white
sofa.

"Sanctuary!"

"I take it you're not from the South?"

Erin slumped on the couch and, uninhibited by
the alcohol, stretched out and sighed.

"No. I live in D.C. but I'm from
Pennsylvania."

"You tired?"

"Mm hmm."

"How ‘bout I let you take a nap while I
shower? You mind if I leave you alone for awhile?"

Erin snored softly.

"I'll take that as a yes."

He stood in the middle of his living room a
few moments and watched her sleep. Honey blonde hair spilled out of
her ponytail and covered her face. He was tempted to brush it
back.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Erin woke up and
realized she had to pee. She sat up and immediately felt woozy.
Whoa, she thought, what have I done? No matter; her bladder was
more important. She walked slowly down the hall and opened every
door she came to. She found the bathroom on the fourth try. She
frantically pulled her shorts down and sat on the toilet. Relief
was immediate. She put her elbows on her knees and began rubbing
her eyes. They were filled with salt.

"Could you hand me that towel?"

Her head snapped up and she looked towards
the shower. Stephen Spence, half hidden behind a fogged glass door,
had turned off the water and noticed that his guest had found him
once more.

She hid her face in her hands and muttered,
"Good lord." She shook her head slightly then, reaching to her
left, picked up the towel he had asked for and proffered it in his
direction.

"Thanks. ‘Preciate that."

He closed the shower door and turned away,
whistling "How Much Is That Doggie in the Window?"

Erin peeked through her fingers and watched
through the foggy glass as he rubbed down with the towel, his back
to her. Despite her best intentions, she let her eyes slide down,
taking in the wet curls against his neck, the broad expanse of his
back tapering into a slim waist. A few seconds later, she was
slipping through the door but not before stealing one last peek at
the man in the shower. He finished drying off and wrapped the towel
low around his waist. As he stepped out of the shower, she quickly
closed the door and sprinted towards the living room.

Spence didn't bother dressing. He followed
her into the living room and collapsed into one of the large
armchairs. He exhaled loudly.

"That's a chore. You ever notice that taking
a shower is a lot like work?"

Erin looked away.

"No. I, um, generally take showers early. I
find it very refreshing."

"That so? I don't generally get up
early."

Erin laughed. Embarrassed, she attempted to
act and converse normally, though she still looked away. "Mr.
Spence, I apologize. I didn't mean to intrude. I had to use the
bathroom and didn't realize you were there also."

"Spence. Call me Spence."

"I don't think I've gotten off on the right
foot here. I …" Erin trailed off. She stared out the sliding glass
doors at the back bay and licked her swollen lips. "If you want me
to leave, I understand. I'm sure I can find a hotel on the
island."

"Are you thirsty?"

"What?"

"Are you thirsty? You keep licking your lips
like you're thirsty."

She bit her lower lip, confirming the fact
that they were still there although she still couldn't feel them.
Alcohol did that to her. "I am. I could use some water."

He stood up, retied his towel, and walked
into the kitchen. Now she was looking.

Erin heard ice clinking into a glass followed
by a stream of water. He brought her the glass and, as she reached
for it, sat down next to her. She downed it in several large gulps.
He watched as her throat jiggled. She lifted the glass to her
forehead and closed her eyes.

"It's so hot here. It feels like summer
already."

Smiling, Spence took the glass from her.

"Why don't you lie down and relax. You got a
little burned out there. You may have sun stroke."

"Really? Is that serious?"

"Can be. Some people die from it. You're
probably just dehydrated."

Erin's head swam. She closed her eyes and
sank into the cool, white sofa. Spence stood up and, after placing
a pillow under her head, went into his bedroom to dress.

* * *

Hours later, Erin woke up. For a moment she
felt lost. She blinked to clear her vision then sat up and
straightened her clothes. She heard music in the distance and
followed it down the hallway. She found him in his studio, standing
at one of his canvasses.

He frowned as he concentrated, then glanced
back and forth from the painting to several photographs he had
clipped to the corner. A tackle box filled with paint tubes sat on
a tall table next to his hip. He had pulled out the tackle box tray
and was using it as a palette. The table top also served as a
palette with layers of dried oil paint stacked one on top of
another like an artistic archaeological dig. He had a brush behind
one ear and was chewing on another. He didn't move for several
minutes, studying the scene before him. He didn't notice Erin, her
footsteps muffled by the carpet.

He glanced first over his shoulder at the sun
now sinking into the Pamlico Sound then back at his canvas before
he spied her. She didn't move.

"The light's wrong now." He put his brushes
in a bottle of linseed oil and the tray on a table behind him, then
sauntered towards her. "How ya feeling?"

"Fine. I think I should find a hotel on the
island and freshen up."

"Thought you were going to stay here?"

Erin backed up as he came towards the door.
"I think you and I need a bit of privacy and maybe a fresh start."
Even as the words came out, she realized they did not sound
convincing.

"Nah, no worries. I've already put your
suitcase in your room. It's at the end of the hall," he said,
taking her arm and escorting her to the opposite side of the house.
He opened a door and Erin was dazzled by the view from the large
windows. The room seemed to float in light as the mirrored closets
on the far wall reflected the blues and browns of the wetlands.
Centered in the middle of the room was a king-sized bed covered
with a champagne silk spread. Minimally decorated, there was no
other furniture in the room other than mahogany floating shelves
attached to the walls. He moved to one of the mirrored doors and
opened it.

"See? Your own bathroom." He emphasized the
word "own" and his smile was overly bright.

Erin cringed. She was embarrassed but it was
the memory of his wet, tanned, muscled body that flushed her cheek,
not his gentle teasing.

"I unpacked for you," he added, stepping
towards the built-in dresser and opening the top drawer. He pulled
out a lacy bra and swung it around his index finger.

She gasped. He had retrieved her suitcase out
of the SUV while she slept and put her clothes away? She blushed
furiously. He dropped her bra, closed the drawer and changed the
subject.

"Hungry?"

"Yes," she replied, disarmed by the simple
question.

"I don't have much in the way of vittles here
so we'll go out. I suppose you'll want to take a shower? You might
want to lock the door. You know, to keep out intruders."

He stifled a laugh, backed out of her room,
and closed the door.

Functioning on auto pilot, Erin stepped into
the bathroom. It was exactly like the one she had barged into
earlier, except this room had her toiletries on the counter, her
shampoo and conditioner in the shower. She opened the mirrored
medicine cabinet and found her toothbrush, her floss and even her
birth control pills.

She stepped out of the bathroom and into the
closet area. Pulling open drawers she found her lingerie, her
stockings, shorts and shirts. Her dresses hung on satin-padded
hangers. He had left out her red La Rok, a short-waisted cocktail
dress with a cut-away back and short tulle skirt. He had even
arranged her silver Stuart Weitzmore slingback sandals, with their
corsage straps and four-inch heel, beside the dress. So, he had
even decided what she should wear tonight.

Erin sat on the bed and fumed at the invasion
of her privacy. She thought about calling Patricia. Instead, she
went back into the bathroom and turned on the shower.

"It's on," she growled.

Soon Erin was sleek and polished. The skirt
of her strapless red dress flared high above her knees in baby-doll
fashion. Her high heels made her legs appear long. They were a bit
sunburned from her morning on the deck so she decided not to wear
stockings. Instead, she slathered them with fragrant lotion. She
used makeup sparingly, but the dress called for a bit of war
paint.

The casual, tomboy approach hadn't worked.
Sharing a few beers on the deck had been a bad idea. Maybe the
glamour puss would succeed.

She stepped into the living room, her small
silver evening bag in her hand. Spence, sitting in an armchair and
toying with the TV remote, whistled.

"I didn't think you'd wear it," he said,
referring to her dress.

"Why not? That's why I brought it."

"You clean up nice."