Deeper Than The Ocean by Julie Ann Walker

 

 

Chapter 14

 

9:52 AM…

 

Chrissy dreamed she was held tight against a warm, solid chest. She dreamed she was being carried.

Correction. She wasn’t dreaming. She was held tight against a warm, solid chest. And she was being carried.

By Wolf.

Up the front porch steps of her little conch house with its yellow siding and teal hurricane shutters. She wasn’t the sort to fall asleep in the middle of a conversation. And she certainly wasn’t such a sound sleeper she wouldn’t wake up when someone picked her up out of a cab.

But pain meds are miracle drugs,she thought groggily, peering over Wolf’s shoulder to see Billy pulling away from the curb with a smile and a wave. Then her wherewithal returned. Quick on its heels were her pride and self-sufficiency. Her next thought was, What kind of grown-ass woman needs to be carried into her own house?

The kind who got shot? a small voice at the back of her head answered.

She ignored it and wiggled in Wolf’s arms.

“Be still, woman,” he commanded in a tone that made her realize his enemies must’ve shit bricks when they faced him on the battlefield. “Or I’ll drop you.”

“That’s the point.” She worried the next sound she heard might be his breaking back. She was tall for a woman, and she liked chicken wings dipped in ranch dressing as much as the next gal. So even though Wolf was big and powerful, and even though he managed to make her feel dainty in his arms, she wasn’t. “I can walk on my own. Put me down,” she insisted.

“When I’m good and ready.” He smiled at her. It wasn’t even a full smile, but her heart double-timed its rhythm all the same.

Ugh. So cliché!

Miracle of miracles, he made it across her front porch without crushing his vertebral column. Then, as if she weighed no more than a sea star, he set her on her feet in front of her door.

She wanted to glower at him for being autocratic. She’d perfected glowering at him, if she did say so herself. But she couldn’t muster any antipathy at the moment because…well…he’d been so wonderful the past few hours.

On second thought, he was always wonderful. Except for that night at Schooner Wharf Bar. That was the one and only time he’d been a complete and total asshat. Emphasis on the ass.

“What happened with Frank?” Chrissy remembered asking her mother one bright Sunday morning over Bloody Marys at Blue Heaven, their favorite brunch spot not only because it served up good food and good booze, but also because its outdoor dining area was home to a good portion of the island’s wild chicken population.

It was great fun indulging in warm pancakes dripping in butter and syrup while watching their colorful feathered friends strut around the tables, looking for dropped morsels.

“I cut him loose when I caught him hitting on another woman,” Josephine had replied with a long-suffering sigh. “It was just the once. But if life has taught me two things, it’s that once is enough, and once is never once.”

Chrissy remembered that day all too well. It’d been the last time they’d been blissfully unaware of her mother’s illness. The next morning, her mother’s doctor had informed Josephine she had stage four colon cancer.

Once is enough, and once is never once. Chrissy silently repeated her mother’s words lest, when it came to Wolf, the last dozen hours made her forget her mother’s hard-learned lessons.

“Chrissy?” he asked.

“Mmm?” She blinked at him.

“Key?”

“Oh! Right.” She dug into the plastic bag and found her jeans. The sling made it a struggle to pull her keys from the pocket of the wet denim.

“Here.” He took the bag from her, his fingers briefly brushing against hers. That’s all it took to make her nipples furl.

Since her bra was wet and in the bag with the rest of her clothes, she was free boobing it, and the cotton scrubs weren’t very thick. Any other time, she would’ve crossed her arms to hide her body’s reaction, but the sling made that impossible too.

For a second, she thought Wolf noticed her rebellious yabos. A muscle in the side of his jaw ticked. Then, he fished out her house keys without saying anything. And out of the five keys on the ring, he somehow chose the correct one and had her front door open in a jiff.

I wonder if he’s this proficient in the bedroom? The thought ran through her head before she could stop it.

Probably, that traitorous little voice answered.

Once is enough, and once is never once! she shouted to drown out any other perfidious thoughts or treasonous voices.

“You know,” he said as she pulled her keys from the lock and stepped inside. “If I had a time machine, I’d go back to that night at Schooner Wharf Bar.”

That Night…

Not for the first time, she got the eerie feeling Wolf could read her mind. After placing her keys on the occasional table by the front door, she slowly turned to him.

Sunlight streamed in through the open door, casting him in silhouette. But his expression snapped into view when he closed the door behind him. The black of his eyes always seemed impenetrable, filled with mysteries. But right then they appeared fathomless, deeper than the ocean.

She preferred to pretend that night hadn’t happened. It was too humiliating to think about much less talk about. So she was surprised to hear herself ask, “If you could go back, what would you do differently?”

“Everything.”

It was one word. But it was spoken with such vehemence the air between them grew thick and seemed to vibrate with an echo of the syllables.

Or maybe I’m imagining things. Maybe the change in atmosphere is due to the weather.

Another storm was gathering in the west. She’d noticed the buildup of cumulous clouds while standing in the hospital’s parking lot.

“The thing is…” He gestured for her to join him on the sofa. And even though her bed and a bath were calling, she found herself sinking into the soft cushions. He positioned himself beside her.

Right beside her.

His jean-clad thigh touched hers. His body heat wrapped around her and dulled her sensibilities while at the same time heightening her senses.

She could feel the bunch and flex of the muscles in his leg. See the faint freckle beside his left eye. And he smelled so damn good. Kind of spicy, like a desert flower, but with a hint of dry cedar.

Instinct had her trying to scoot away to a safe distance. If there was such a thing when it came to Wolf, which she was beginning to doubt. But the arm of the sofa pressed against her hip.

There was nowhere to run.

Nowhere to hide.

Nowhere to look except deep into his dark eyes as he kept talking.

“I liked you so much, Chrissy. I still like you so much that anytime you’re around, I’m hard pressed not to grin like a gopher in soft dirt. And rememberin’ how I was such an ass to you that night? Darlin’, it makes me want to tear out my own hair, shape it into some sort of weird art sculpture, and present it to you on a satin pillow or somethin’. You know, as a way of atonement,” he clarified when she blinked at him in bewilderment.

“And I know I’m ramblin’,” he continued. “And, yeah, it’s gettin’ weird.”

Was it ever. Two minutes ago, if someone had asked her if it was possible for Wolf to be fumbling and awkward, she’d have responded with a resounding no.

“But I feel like this is the right time and the right place to apologize to you the right way. I’m nervous as hell, and I know I’m gettin’ it all wrong.” He ran a hand through his hair, making a tuft stick up near his temple. She tried to imagine it formed into an art sculpture and felt her lips twitch. “I know I am,” he continued.

He looked chagrined. Never in their whole acquaintance had she seen him looking chagrined. Disconcerted? Sure. Annoyed? Plenty of times. Hell, despite his ultra-alpha, I-got-it-all-under-control demeanor, she’d even seen him bewildered a time or two. But never, ever chagrined.

It was…adorable. Enough to put a chink in the wall she’d constructed against him. Then, in the blink of an eye, she felt that chink grow into a crack that just as quickly spread into a spider web of fissures.

Uh-oh.

“Chrissy, I want to make sure you know—”

She shoved a finger over his lips, determined to stop him from saying anything more that might have her walls crumbling completely.

He sighed, and she ignored the puff of his hot breath against her skin. Or at least she tried to. Her brain ignored it. Her womb? Not so much. It clenched with desire.

Hey, baby box! Stop sabotaging me! You’re as bad as the nipples and the ovaries! she silently railed. Aloud she said, “Now I know why you quote other people. Left to your own devices, you’re a red-hot mess.”

She thought that’d make him laugh.

It didn’t.

His expression remained serious, and his eyes held a look she couldn’t quite read. Or maybe she didn’t want to read it. Maybe the thought of reading it scared her to death.

For a few moments they sat there, staring at each other, that ever-present awareness humming in the space between them. When she couldn’t take the silence any longer, she said, “It’s okay,Wolf. You can stop apologizing. I forgive you. I really do.”

His gaze drifted to the macramé wall hanging above her television. She’d found the pattern on Pinterest and had spent an entire weekend making one for herself and one for Winston. Like most bachelors, Winston was complete crap when it came to decorating. If not for her forcing him to equip his apartment like an adult, he’d probably still be sleeping on a futon and using milk crates as nightstands.

Thoughts of her best friend made her stomach clench, and reminded her that she needed to plug in her phone and shove it in a bag of rice. She didn’t want to miss the moment Winston’s parents called with an update.

Bending, she pulled her phone out of the plastic bag Wolf had dropped at their feet. Then she stood and turned toward the kitchen. She hadn’t managed a full step before Wolf stopped her with a hand on her thigh.

She frowned down at him. “I need to get my phone—”

“In a minute,” he drawled. “It’s time we finish this.”

She cocked her head. “I thought we just did.”

“Not by a long shot. What was his name?”

She blinked in confusion. “Who?”

“The bar owner from Fort Lauderdale.”

“Oh.” She hadn’t the first clue how that night at Schooner Wharf Bar had anything to do with Mr. Dick Pics. “Um, Drummer.”

“Drummer?” His top lip curled. “That’s not a name. That’s an occupation.”

“Says the guy who shares his moniker with an animal.”

“Touché,” he allowed. Then, “Did he break your heart?”

“Who? Drummer?” When he nodded, she shook her head. “No. But he certainly hurt my feelings and stomped all over my pride.”

“So you didn’t…” He looked at her like he was trying to see inside her head. “You weren’t in love with him?”

“God no. I liked him an awful lot though.” Now his eyes were black lasers, boring into her. “What?” she demanded.

“I’m tryin’ to reckon how it was you were hankerin’ to build a life with someone you weren’t in love with.”

“Oh.” She waved a hand through the air, noticing it was a little stale. She should probably light a candle. “That’s easy. He seemed like the solid, settling down type. And also, I don’t believe in falling in love.”

His face blanked. He blinked slowly. Just when she thought they were done, he said, “I’m sorry. I thought I heard you say you don’t believe in fallin’ in love.”

“That’s not quite right.” She screwed up her mouth and tried to come up with a way to put her thoughts and feelings on the subject into words that would make sense. “It’s not that I don’t believe in it. It’s that I don’t ever plan to do it myself. Falling in love makes you do stupid shit. Take it from me, I had a front row seat more times than you can imagine.” She tried to head toward the kitchen again, but his grip on her thigh tightened.

She sighed, not attempting to hide the annoyance on her face.

“Hell, no.” He shook his head. “You done gone and opened up a can, now you need to sit here with me until we’ve eaten it down to the tin bottom.”

She laughed. “Where in the world do you come up with all your country-fried sayings?”

“I grew up in an Oklahoma cattle town, darlin’. They float around on the wind there.”

“I don’t hate them.”

“No? Not like my quotes?”

She hitched her shoulder and resumed her seat. Might as well. He’s not going to let me go until he’s said whatever he needs to say.

“I don’t really hate your quotes either,” she admitted. “I just hate that you always have a sage saying that fits every scenario. It’s unfair and intimidating to the rest of us.”

He returned them to their original subject. “When you say you had a front row seat…” He let the sentence dangle.

“You’ve heard me talk about my mother and her four husbands, right?”

His eyebrows bunched over his nose. He looked so fierce she was tempted to kiss him.

Oh, who am I kidding? Fierce looking or not, I’m always tempted to kiss him.

So do it! that no good, double-crossing voice whispered.

It was time for an old-fashioned lobotomy. That’s all there was to it.

“You’ve mentioned them on occasion,” he said cautiously.

“Well, let me tell you, the four husbands were the tip of the iceberg. Before them, between them, and after them was a string of boyfriends that would stretch from here to Stock Island. My mother was always looking for love.”

“In all the wrong places by the sound of it.”

“I’m not sure there are right places,” she countered.

His eyes narrowed. “Maybe she was so unsuccessful because she confused lust with love. Lots of folks do that, you know.”

She handed him the framed photograph she kept on the end table. It was a candid of her mother. Blonde head thrown back. Big, Julia Roberts mouth spread wide around a laugh. Josephine’s sundress showed off a figure that would make starlets weep with envy.

“She’s stunnin’,” he said after studying the picture for only a moment. “You take after her.”

“Please.” Chrissy rolled her eyes. “I’m passably pretty. She was magnificent. And since she looked like that”—she hitched her chin toward the photo at the same time she replaced it on the end table—“she could catch a dick anytime she wanted.”

He snorted. “I wouldn’t have put it exactly that way, but—”

“My point is, I don’t think she confused lust with love. I think she confused falling in love with being in love.”

For a while he was quiet. Then he asked, “What’s the difference?”

“Falling in love is involuntary. That’s why they call it falling. It happens to you. You don’t have any control over it. Being in love, on the other hand, is a choice. It’s a state that happens with conscious effort, with agency.”

“And you think bein’ in love can happen without the fallin’ in love part?”

“Of course!” She tossed up both hands, forgetting one was in a sling. “Ow! Oh, god.” She put a hand over her bandaged shoulder. “Why did I do that?”

Her injury wasn’t unbearable, like she’d assumed a gunshot would be. Then again, it was only a flesh wound, not a bullet to a vital organ. Still, it throbbed like a bitch anytime she moved too quickly.

Wolf sat forward, skewering her with a hard look. “How many pain pills did you take back at the hospital?”

“Just one,” she admitted.

“The nurse said you can take two at a time.” Fishing out the pill bottle from the bottom of the plastic bag, he handed it to her. “I’ll get you a glass of water.”

“I can do it.”

“Woman!” His tone was exasperated. “For the love of all that’s holy. Lettin’ someone take care of you for ten seconds doesn’t mean you’ll lose your Badass Independent Lady card.”

Despite herself, she smirked. “It’s a Kick-ass Independent Lady card, if you must know. And like an American Express, I never leave home without it.”

“Sit.” He told her. “Stay.” He stood.

“Woof! Woof!” she barked while trying to muster indignation, but the annoyance on his face was too funny. Wolf was used to people asking how high when he told them to jump.

She found she quite liked being the exception to that rule.

“I’m not treatin’ you like a dog.” His tone was unusually neutral. “I’m simply askin’ in the simplest possible way for you to relax and let me help you.”

“Oh!” She fluttered her lashes at him. “I’m sorry. Were you asking me to sit here while you got me a glass of water? Somehow I missed the question marks on the ends of all your sentences.”

He put his hands on his hips and let his head fall back so he could stare at the ceiling. It made his Adam’s apple poke out in the column of his tanned throat. For some reason, she found that incredibly sexy.

Her mouth, proving itself as untrustworthy as her nipples, womb, and ovaries, began to water. What would it feel like to take a nip out of that apple? Just catch it between my teeth and then sooth the sting with my tongue?

No, no. No!

They were friends. Friends. Nothing more, nothing less.

Dragging her eyes away from his too-tempting neck, she concentrated on his face, which was still pointed toward the ceiling.

If she wasn’t mistaken, he was silently counting to ten. She thought she could see his lips move. When he finally dropped his chin, his expression was purposefully blank. “Christina.”

“Yes, Wolf?” She fluttered her lashes.

“May I get you a glass of water so you can take that pill?”

“You may.” She dipped her chin in a queenly fashion and thought she saw his lips twitch right along with a muscle in his jaw.

“Wait!” she grabbed his wrist when he turned toward her kitchen. “Take my phone with you and plug it in, will you?” She handed him the device. “There’s a charger in the kitchen.”

“Your wish is my command.” He dropped a stately bow. Five seconds later, she heard him opening her cupboards.

Traditional Florida Keys conch houses were small, usually consisting of little more than a bedroom, bathroom, living room, and kitchen. But the lack of living area was overcome by the abundance of outdoor space. Chrissy’s house had a wide front porch big enough for a swing, two rocking chairs, and a bistro table. And her back patio boasted a plunge pool, an outdoor shower, and plenty of seating, lounging, and dining options.

People in the Keys tended to spend most of their time outside. And why not? The weather was gorgeous. Even on a hot day, it was nice in the shade, especially if there was a bit of an ocean breeze blowing by.

“Glasses are in the cupboard to the right of the sink!” she hollered. “Oh! And there’s a bag of rice in the little pantry beside the fridge. Would you mind shoving my phone inside it once you’ve plugged it in?”

He didn’t answer. But she could hear him getting ice and water out of the refrigerator. She recognized the squeak of the pantry door when he opened it.

Not long after, he reappeared with a glass in hand. “Your beverage, my lady.” He’d donned a haughty English accent that bore a hint of an Oklahoma twang.

He really was charming.

The jerk.

She thanked him before tossing back the pain pill.

This time when he resumed his seat it wasn’t only his thigh touching hers. It was his entire side, thigh, hip, and shoulder. “Back to fallin’ in love versus bein’ in love,” he said.

“There’s a whole other end to this couch,” she complained.

He glanced at the wide stretch of unused sofa cushions. “So there is.” He didn’t take her hint. In fact, just the opposite. He placed his arm behind her, his fingers gently twisting in the ends of her ponytail. “So you don’t like the idea of fallin’ in love because you don’t like the idea of bein’ out of control, is that it?”

“No.” She shook her head. The fine baby hairs on the back of her neck stood up the second he touched her.

After That Night, she’d gotten good at tuning out their shared chemistry, but right then? She wasn’t sure if it was the exhaustion, the pain, the meds, or a combination of all three, but something had changed. She was more aware of him than ever.

“It goes back to falling in love making you do stupid shit.” She hoped he couldn’t hear the sudden scratchiness in her throat. “When you’re falling in love, you’re so infatuated, you’re blind. That rush of emotions knocks you off your feet and keeps you there. But eventually those heady feelings fade. And for so many people, they discover they’ve made a mistake. Either the person they fell in love with isn’t who they thought they were, or there are insurmountable incompatibilities that doom their relationship long term.”

“Okay.” He nodded, but she could see by his expression he wasn’t completely buying what she was selling. “So how do you square that with wantin’ to settle down and build a life? With wantin’ a father for your four kids?”

“That’s easy.” She hoped she sounded more confident than she felt. “Follow my head instead of my heart. Find a good guy, a solid guy, and make him part of my life. And if he is a good and solid guy, then love will grow. I’ll wake up one day and be in love with him without falling in love with him.” When he was quiet after this pronouncement, she ended with a flourish, “Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk.”

He watched his fingers play with her ponytail for a long while. Then he returned his gaze to her face. “And do you consider me a good guy?”

Her heart stopped beating. Her lungs stopped breathing. In fact, it felt as if the blood stopped rushing through her veins.

Why was he asking? Did he…could he…was he talking about a future together? Had the thought actually crossed his mind?

She knew he wanted in her pants. He’d made that abundantly clear. And for a while, she’d considered the possibility that something more might be in the cards for them.

But then That Night happened and she’d seen his true colors. Not since then had she entertained the idea that Wolf was the kind of man who was built to go the distance.

“You’re a nice guy,” she told him, forcing breath back into her lungs, hoping it would jumpstart her heart. “There’s a difference.”

“There is?”

Before she could answer, the sound of footsteps on the boards of her front porch proceeded a hard knock on her door. “Officer Ryan here!” The policeman’s baritone sounded through the hardwood. “I need to come in and make sure all the points of entry are locked! I also got Detective Dixon with me!”

Chrissy jumped up, glad for the distraction since it felt like Wolf had created a gravity well around them, and it was past time she broke free of it.