Wet Part 3 (3 page)

He hadn’t stopped telling her about the camera when she reached up, pulled his face to hers and kissed him gratefully. He forgot about the camera and kissed back.

“This is a wonderful gift—it’s perfect—you’re perfect. Thank you. I can’t wait to use it—but you’ll have to help me the first few times. I have no idea what any of what you just said means.”

“Of course.” He smiled. “Now, can I open mine?”

He took the package from her, looking back and forth between her and his gift, waiting for her to give him the word to rip off the wrapping paper.

She nodded and he tore into it. He pulled out a photo album and an empty picture frame. He frowned.

“You hate it,” she said. He hadn’t even looked inside the album, but the look on his face made her regret her gift.

“I don’t hate it. How could I hate it?” He hurried to open it up, stalling to think of a way to explain how his other gift to her was almost the same thing.

She’d filled the photo album with pictures of the dive shop, a compilation of what she’d been doing on the shop’s blog. There were photos of the people, the activities, the boats, but when he got to the end, there were some aerial photos of the shop.

“How’d you get these?” He’d mentioned he wished he had a good picture of the shop to hang in the office. 

“Remember that guest who showed up and left in his private helicopter? I asked him to help. He graciously let Regina stowaway when the chopper picked him up. She took these pictures, and then he landed, and let her off at the air strip.”

“You’re a sneaky little thing, aren’t you?” He stared at them. “They’re perfect—much better than what I thought I wanted.”

“I left the frame empty so you can pick out the one you want for the office wall.” She reached down and flipped to the last page in the album. “I kind of like this one.”

It was a picture of him, set against the sunset. He stood next to one of the posts of the gazebo, one hand on the post, looking at the shop . . . his shop. The picture caught, with true and precise proof, the look on his face, leaving no doubt how he loved his little slice of heaven on the water.

“
I
actually took this one. You and I were alone at the shop. You had your camera out because you’d just downloaded the day’s pictures to your laptop. You got up and when I looked to see what you were doing, I saw you like that. I carefully hijacked your camera and took the shot. I’m amazed it turned out, but I really love this picture.”

“Thank you.” He sounded genuinely touched. He closed the album and opened it at the beginning to look again. “I’m going to need more frames. I can’t decide on just one.”

“My turn again?” she asked, looking at the last unopened gift.

“Oh, this? I’ve changed my mind.” He pulled it out of her hands. He really had changed his mind, maybe. The gift suddenly made him feel a little too exposed and vulnerable.

“Okay.” She looked disappointed but accepted too readily. Just like her, always putting his desires and needs above her own.

He steeled himself and handed her the gift.

“Are you sure?” she asked. He nodded and nervously watched her open it.

“A photo album. Wow. Great minds really do think alike.” She laughed, and with that one little comment, she’d erased his misgivings about it. She turned the first page and gasped, covering her mouth with her hand, looking up at him. “It’s you.”

He nodded, and she began turning the pages, almost reverently, studying each one, filled with pictures of him, baby pictures, his childhood, up through college.

“You said you wished you knew what I looked like as a kid, but that isn’t an easy task when you’re not speaking to your parents. You have no idea how hard it was for me to get these.”

“So how’d you do it? You said you didn’t have any of the pictures.”

“I asked the guys if they’d go through their pics and send copies of any they had of me. Taye somehow ran into Mary, and he mentioned what I was after. I guess she raided the family’s stash of photos and got them to Taye without my dad’s ever-watchful eye catching on—at least Taye swears they got away with it. I honestly doubt it, but . . . it’s okay. You’re worth it.”

oOo

Rhees looked through the pages, taking in how beautiful he was, always had been. A few of his younger pictures proved to her he’d been born with his icy glare. She smiled as she studied each and every one. The pictures were organized in chronological order so she could see how he’d grown.

“You grew a lot from here to here.” She pointed to two pictures that were similar in age but in one, he was much taller than the other.

“I grew six inches that summer.”

“You look so serious in a lot of these.”

He shrugged but didn’t offer an explanation. He watched her look at his life, the past he never wanted to talk about. Nothing in the pictures gave her any clue as to why he’d felt the need to get away from home, but whatever it was, she could tell it’d been building since his teens. Even in the photos, something in his eyes revealed the weight of the world, weight no boy so young should have to bear.

He kissed her cheek, but the cheek wasn’t good enough for her. She set the book down and planted a juicy kiss on his mouth, full of tongue. He didn’t protest and she climbed onto his lap, pushing the gifts and wrapping paper out of the way. She straddled his lap and continued to kiss him, passionately.

“Hey,” he said, trying to slow things down, but she wouldn’t have it. “Behave.”

He used his strength to muscle her away enough to make her stop and look at him. “I may have relaxed my rules a bit, but I still have every intention of getting your hymen to the altar unscathed.”

“Paul.” She let out a pitiful whine. “I love you so much—I don’t want to wait. Just promise me you’ll marry me, and we’ll call it good. I know you keep your promises.” She ground herself into him and whispered into his ear, “I
waannt
you.”

A ghost flashed across his expression and she sighed with frustration. She braced herself for the reaction she knew would surely come.

His breath caught while the possibility of what she’d suggested ran through his mind. He closed his eyes and shuddered before he found the necessary strength to react. He picked her up and set her off him, retreating promptly to the other side of the room. He paced—trying to convince himself, and
He
, that he’d done the right thing.

She flopped herself onto her back on the couch and let out a frustrated groan. He scrubbed his hands over his face and had to think about every breath he took, in, out, in, out.

“Where did you find such intestinal fortitude?” she asked, breathlessly. They both laughed. “You win, as usual, but if you expect me to behave, you’ll have to stop looking so . . . like a stud-muffin.”

“I’ll wear a mask.” He chuckled at her description.

She sat up and faced him. “But it’s not just your face.” She started waving her hands at him. “It’s that . . .
body
. It’s those jeans. You gotta stop wearing jeans until after the wedding.”

“It cools off when the sun goes down. I don’t like to be cold.”

“It gets warm, Paul. It’s hot all day long, and when the sun goes down, it gets warm, not cold.”

“Says the girl I gave my favorite sweatshirt to, because she was cold.”

“Three days. I’ve been here since the end of last March. It’s the end of December, so after almost a year, I’ve been cold three days—total.” She giggled and started waving her hands at him again, like she was outlining his jeans in the air with her fingers.

“So those—the way those jeans make your butt look.” She blew air through her lips like a whistle, but the only sound was that of air blowing through her puckered lips. Her inability to whistle never stopped her from trying. She made him smile, again. He listened and watched with fascination as she carried on. 

“Oh, my! And in the front, the way they just . . .
hang
. . . off your hips. And when you walk around without a shirt—those hip muscle thingies you got going on. Oh, my goodness, and the . . .” She put the bottom portion of her palms together, forming a V with her hands. “The way it all just points . . . down.” She rattled her head like it was all too much for her.

“What do you suggest I wear then?” He couldn’t help but laugh at her, suddenly feeling a little worried—or
scared
.

She thought a minute. “You know those bright, neon golf clothes old men wear? That might make me stop
objectifying
you, maybe.”

“I’ll keep my eyes open.” He laughed again. “But I don’t think I’ll find anything like that around here.”

“Cargo shorts then.”

“I wear cargo shorts. You don’t like cargo shorts?”

“They’re fine, practical, but I’ve never really thought,
‘Ooo! Cargo shorts are so hawt,
’ on anyone—but this
is
you we’re talking about. You’d better wear them with sandals . . . and socks. I think the whole cargo shorts-sandal-sock look is goofy. Goofy is good if you don’t want me salivating over you every day until we’re finally married.”

He folded his arms and leaned against the wall as he watched her entertaining display of pent-up sexual energy. He’d only seen it one other time, on Duna Caye, the day they’d ended up engaged.

“You need to stop wearing button up shirts too. They accentuate how broad your shoulders are.” She made the V with her hands again. “And how narrow your hips are—comparably. Baggy! You need to wear baggy T-shirts, even around the shop, with your trunks. Maybe Dobbs will lend you some. When you’re shirtless—your abs, and your back, all those muscles . . .
mmm.
And again, those muscle thingies you got going on, on your hips, you know the ones that form, yet
another
V. They just point
down
to—I need to shut up, don’t I?”

“How about we sew me up in one of those bundling bags? I’ll just hop around and use my teeth instead of my hands, until the wedding.”

“Good idea . . . or we
could
just—” She raised a brow and looked at him suggestively.

“Rhees! You’re killing me.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Once again, I need to ask, where’s my little Dani Girl—my virtuous,
naïve
little Rhees?” It was his turn to arch a brow at her.  

oOo

Three teenaged girls walked into the office.

“We’re looking for Rhees Williams?” They seemed shy and uncomfortable. “Is this where she has dance club?”

Both Paul and Claire jumped up from their seats.

“Yes! Let me get her for you.” Claire beat him to the microphone. “Rhees, darlin’, it’s dance club time.” Paul and Claire smiled ridiculously large smiles at the girls.

After hearing about Olivia and the rampant teenage pregnancy problem on the island, an idea stuck in Rhees’ head. She’d made some flyers, and with a little help from Paul and his
knack
for persuasion, the school principal finally agreed to let Rhees perform a short dance recital at the school to launch her idea to form a dance club.

She’d downed a couple of drinks at lunch, to give her the courage to perform her routine. He’d sat quietly by, amused that she’d put herself through all this, and then she’d dragged him to the school with her.

“If they aren’t tempted to join for the dancing, maybe they’ll show up to ogle you.”

“I never would’ve believed you’d pimp me out this way. I’m nothing to you but a piece of good-looking tail, am I?” he’d teased, but then later, he’d voiced his concern. “I understand where your heart is with this. I just don’t want to see you get your hopes dashed. You’re trying to fight centuries of ingrained culture.”

Claire had told her the same thing.

“If it doesn’t work, at least I’ll know I tried. In the meantime, it could be fun. It’ll give me something worthwhile to do to keep up with my, all-of-a-sudden,
Mr. Civic Duty
, fiancé. I feel like such a slouch since you’ve been running off to all your council meetings.”

Paul had recently convinced the local elected officials to form a tourism council. With the united help of the other dive shop owners, and his Williams family connection—he was marrying in—he’d been elected to sit on the council. They needed to somehow convince the locals that tourism would do more to improve the poverty level around the island. If they’d concentrate on the draw of the diving community, stop overfishing, stop selling lobster at only four dollars a plate, and start protecting their reefs, everyone would benefit.

“You’re no slouch.” He’d acted annoyed she’d say that, but then grinned playfully. “Keeping me out of trouble is a full-time job, and you do it
very
well. But seriously, it’s something I’ve meant to do for a long time, not all-of-a-sudden. I just never got around to it. I was too busy getting drunk and letting loose women have their way with me.”

He’d grimaced at the truth of his life over the years before sweeping her into his arms and kissing the top of her head.

A month after her attempted kickoff, not one girl had shown up for dance club, and Paul knew she had to be disappointed, despite her insistence that she was fine.

Rhees almost scared the girls off by the way she came barreling into the office, but Paul watched as her kindness and genuine concern for the girls put them at ease. He was reminded again how sweet and innocent Rhees was. He’d once compared her to a teenaged girl—on the inside—the outside screamed full-grown, sexy-as-hell, woman.

Paul hung back, giving her space, but he spied on them as Rhees led them out on the deck, sat them around the table in the gazebo, and started by getting acquainted with each girl. When Rhees asked them to show her their moves, they were too shy, so Rhees showed them hers, well, a handful of them. She had to start someplace.

Paul watched in admiration as Rhees slowly worked her way into the girls’ hearts, the way she had his—maybe not exactly the same way. He couldn’t get the silly grin off his face—or rid himself of the involuntary reaction his body had while watching his girl, yeah,
his
girl, move to the music.

He cursed himself for choosing Valentine’s Day—how much freakin’ longer was it? Three and a half more weeks? He couldn’t very well go for a swim off the deck in broad daylight.

“I’ll be across the street,” he yelled at Claire as he passed the office, on his way to his apartment.