Tidewater Lover (8 page)

In her room, Lacey stripped off her slacks and knit top down to the bathing suit beneath. The suit was the promised vacation present to herself. Its slick material gave its blue stay color a metallic sheen and molded itself to her slender figure like a second skin.

Draping a beach towel around her shoulders, she closed the door to her room behind her. Lacey avoided the kitchen, where she could hear water running in the sink, and slipped out through the glass-paneled balcony doors to the steps leading down to the beach.

The water was cool. Lacey had second thoughts about her swim, her skin shivering as she immersed herself in the waves. But after some vigorous strokes, striking a parallel line to the beach, she soon became acclimatized to the temperature of the water and relaxed to do a bit of body-surfing.

Floating buoyantly, Lacey let the wave carry her toward shore. Before she scraped bottom, she righted herself and started to wade back to deeper water. As she made her turn seaward, she saw Cole farther down the beach. In hip boots, he was casting a fishing line into the surf. At least she had her answer as to what he planned to do and why he hadn't mentioned joining her for a swim.

An hour later, she decided she'd had enough of the sun and sea for a while and waded onto the beach. Shaking the sand out of her towel, she dried herself off and danced toward Cole. He lifted a hand in greeting and she waved back.

"Having any luck?" she called.

He shook his head and shouted back, "None!"

It wasn't a response that encouraged more conversation and Lacey walked back alone to the beach house. A shower washed away the ocean salt and shampoo cleaned her hair. Dressed in fresh clothes, Lacey rinsed out her swimsuit and hung it over a towel rack in the bathroom to dry.

She wandered onto the balcony, leaning a hip against the rail while she idly toweled her short hair damp-dry. After several minutes, she hung the towel over the rail. The afternoon sun could finish drying her hair, she decided, and haphazardly combed the strands into order with her fingers.

She could see, up the beach some distance away, Cole still engrossed in his fishing, apparently in the same spot as before. She thought back to their extremely brief exchange when she ended her swim.

Of course, Lacey hadn't expected him to suddenly turn into her companion just because they were temporarily staying in the same house. It was just—she sighed inwardly—it would have been nice to sit and chat with him for a while.

But she also remembered his statement that he was there for the peace and quiet. That was why she hadn't forced her company upon him. It had just seemed right and proper that she should respect his wishes.

As she watched him, Lacey saw him pick up his pole and tackle box and start down the long stretch of beach toward the house. She darted into the house to the bathroom, where she quickly ran a comb through her nearly dry hair and added a touch of strawberry gloss to her lips.

Inwardly she was laughing at herself all the while she was doing it, because it was quite laughable to think she might want to impress Cole. She was just stepping onto the balcony again when the doorbell rang.

Her first thought was that it was Monica returning for some nefarious reason, and she glanced toward the beach to see Cole still a considerable distance away. Then, shrugging in resignation that she would have to face the green-eyed lioness alone, she walked unhurriedly into the house and down the stairs to answer the door.

But it was Mike Bowman who was standing outside when she opened the door, and her brown eyes widened in surprise at the sight of him. He gave her a crooked smile.

"It took you long enough to answer the door," he teased good-naturedly. "I was beginning to think either I had the wrong house or you'd gone somewhere."

"Hello, Mike," Lacey murmured, not fully recovered from the shock.

He waited patiently for her to invite him in. When she continued to stare at him, he tilted his head to one side in an inquiring fashion.

"You did invite me over this afternoon, or have you forgotten?" he prompted gently.

An embarrassed pink rouged her cheeks. "I didn't forget," she lied rather than admit it had completely skipped her mind that she had asked him over this afternoon. "I simply wasn't expecting you so soon." Glancing down at her beige checked shorts and the orange midriff top, she tried to pretend it was a concern for her dress that had caused her to look so uncomfortable. "I'm not dressed or anything." She lifted a hand to her shining crown of silky brown hair. "And my hair isn't even all the way dry."

"You look great to me," Mike insisted. "Are you going to invite me in or do you want me to wait in the car until you're ready?" he teased as she continued to block the doorway.

"Do you see how flustered you've made me?" Lacey forced a laugh. She swung the door wider and stepped away to let him in.

Actually, she knew exactly why she was so flustered. In a minute she would have to explain to him about Cole Whitfield's living in the same house with her.

The situation was bizarre enough to her. She wasn't certain how Mike would react to it or exactly how she would go about telling him, considering the biting things she had said about Cole in Mike's company.

As she led the way up the steps, she was still trying to decide whether she should just blurt it out or make a joke out of it or what. One thing was certain—she had to make up her mind pretty soon or Cole would be walking in and the whole thing would be out in the open before she could prepare Mike for the news. The entire situation was becoming more complicated by the minute.

"This is quite a place," Mike declared as they reached the top of the stairs and entered the living room.

"It is beautiful," Lacey agreed absently, and began, "Mike, I—"

"It's custom-built, isn't it?" He surveyed the room, his gaze narrowing as he studied its construction.

"I believe so. I—"

"It shows," he nodded. "I don't see anything that looks at all slipshod. And that fireplace is a masterpiece." He smiled at her. "No wonder you so readily accepted your cousin's request to stay here while she was gone. Oh—" he suddenly remembered the sack he carried "—here're the steaks I promised to bring. I had the butcher cut them special. He promised they'd be so tender you could cut them with a fork. There's also a bottle of wine in here." He handed the sack to Lacey. "You'll probably want to open it so it can warm a bit before we eat."

"Yes, I will." She started toward the kitchen, certain that Mike was following her. "Mike, there's something I have to tell you."

Setting the sack on the counter, she waited for him to ask what. But when she glanced around, he wasn't anywhere in sight.

"Mike?" She took the bottle of wine from the sack and opened it. Looking around again, she saw the door to the balcony standing open and hurried to it.

"This is some view," he commented, turning as he heard her approach.

"It is spectacular." Lacey rushed on before he could interrupt, "There's something I have to explain to you."

"Look!" He pointed out to sea. "See that ship way out there?"

Lacey glimpsed the silhouette of a large ocean-going vessel on the horizon. She saw it strictly by accident as she scanned the beach and the path to the house for Cole. He was nowhere in sight. She felt as if she were sitting on a time bomb with the seconds ticking away.

"This is impressive," Mike nodded, his gaze sliding to the beach. "You practically have this whole area to yourself."

"Not exactly," Lacey qualified. "I—"

"It's fairly isolated," he reminded her. "Does it bother you to be here alone?"

This was her opening. "Not a bit, because I'm not—"

"Lacey!" Cole's voice sliced off the end of her sentence. She froze as Mike jerked his gaze to the interior of the house. "I rummaged around the garage and found Bob's grill." His voice was coming steadily nearer to the balcony door. "I decided that since you fixed breakfast this morning, it's only fair that I cook dinner."

The time bomb had exploded. Lacey saw the shock waves reverberating through Mike as Cole stepped onto the balcony carrying the charcoal grill.

Cole stopped, drawing his head back when he saw Mike. "Bowman," he identified him before his questioning blue eyes swung to Lacey.

"I invited him over for dinner." She didn't add that she had forgotten. It was written in the look she gave Cole.

Cole set the grill down. "I know the way this must look to you, Bowman, but, believe me, it's really quite innocent."

"Are you staying here, Whitfield?" Mike frowned, his voice lifting to a pitch of disbelief.

"I was going to tell you," Lacey inserted, trying desperately not to sound guilty.

"I see." He sounded grimly skeptical.

"I don't think you do," Cole joined in. "You see, there was a mix-up. Lacey's cousin asked her to stay in the house and her husband asked me. When Lacey and I discovered what had happened—" he fortunately didn't explain the circumstances of their discovery "—we couldn't decide which of us would leave. Finally we mutually agreed that we would both stay."

"Do you mean—" Mike's frown deepened "—you two are living in this house together?"

"I was trying to find a way to tell you," Lacey repeated, sensing his rising anger, "so that it wouldn't sound as if we'd come to some illicit arrangement."

"We're sharing the house, not the beds," Cole stated bluntly.

Mike turned away, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't believe this," he muttered beneath his breath.

He glanced bewilderedly at Lacey. "You're actually living with the same man that just last week I heard you wish would take a flying leap into a dry lake?"

Her darting look at Cole saw his mouth twitch, with amusement, a mocking glitter in his blue eyes. Even though she hadn't made any secret of her previous opinion of Cole, she wished Mike hadn't repeated her words.

"I think it will be better if the two of you talk this thing out on your own, so I'll make myself scarce." Cole nodded briefly to Lacey, a rueful smile of apology touching the firm line of his mouth.

Lacey nodded her agreement to his suggestion, but offered no words of goodbye. She couldn't very well say "I'll see you later"—not without aggravating the situation.

His departure left an uneasy silence in his wake. Below her, Lacey could hear the opening of the garage door, followed by the sound of Cole's car reversing into the driveway. She glanced at Mike's profile, determined not to apologize for this situation that was so completely innocent.

"I can't believe you've actually agreed to this," Mike declared, slapping his palm on the railing in a mixture of anger and confusion.

"Honestly, Mike," Lacey sighed, "you make it sound as though I've suddenly deserted to the enemy camp! It isn't like that at all."

"I know," he admitted grudgingly. "It was just such a shock, seeing Whitfield here with you, then finding out that the two of you are living together."

Lacey bridled at his continued use of that term to describe their arrangement. "You wouldn't consider it living together if we were both living in the same apartment building or staying in the same hotel. This isn't any different."

"It doesn't matter how you put it, Lacey," Mike retorted, "sharing a house is not the same as living in the same building. Good God, you cooked breakfast for the man. You don't do that for someone who is only living under the same roof."

"That's not the way I see it."

"You're a fool," he muttered beneath his breath.

"Look, we can argue about this all night, but I'm not going to change my mind," Lacey flashed, her chin stubbornly thrust forward.

Mike turned from the rail to confront her. "What do you want me to do, Lacey? Do you want me to leave?" he challenged. "It's apparent that you forgot you invited me today, so if you'd rather forget about dinner, I'll go."

"I don't want to forget about dinner," she insisted, because she didn't want to give Mike the impression that she preferred Cole's company for the evening—a conclusion he would surely reach no matter how she tried to deny it. "I want you to stay for dinner—as long as you agree to drop this subject. After all, you don't have any right to criticize my behavior."

Breathing in deeply, he eyed her for several seconds. "All right," he agreed tautly. "No more discussion about this."

Pretending that something didn't exist didn't make it go away. It was like sweeping dirt under the rug: it couldn't be seen, but it was still there. Subsequently it was one of the most miserable afternoons and evenings Lacey had ever spent. The atmosphere had crackled with Mike's disapproval, stringing Lacey's nerves to a fine tension.

They were both relieved when he left early. The time they had spent together had been uncomfortable rather than like the companionable good times they had previously known. Even after he had left, Lacey remained irritated with Mike for making her feel guilty about a situation that was completely innocent.

She walked the beach to try to rid herself of her inner agitation with no success. The rush of the surf did not soothe her nerves. There was no magic in the play of the moonlight on the ocean swells. The tangy salt breeze didn't change the sour taste in her mouth. Finally Lacey returned to the house, but the vision of the night's dinner haunted her. She chose to stare out the window at the empty beach.