Deeper Than The Ocean by Julie Ann Walker

 

 

Chapter 19

 

12:11 PM…

 

Chrissy’s throat closed up.

Sweat popped out on her upper lip at the same time panic rose inside her.

Is someone stabbing me in my pupils? It sure felt like it. That, or she was milliseconds away from bursting into tears.

But why?

Was it because hearing those words on Wolf’s lips sounded like poetry? Made her feel more alive than ever? Made her feel worthy and adored in a way she never had before?

She’d spent her entire life trying not to become her mother, and all it took was one overused phrase to have her wanting to ditch those hard-learned life lessons.

Those words, when spoken by a man who was staring at her with a sincerity in his eyes that flamed so hot it burned her from the inside out, had power.They made her want to believe.

No wonder Josephine had fallen so easily so many times. A person could become addicted to hearing those words.

But it’s not real! she silently reminded herself. It’s just hormones and brain chemistry, and when that fades, what’s left? Will there be anything left?

There never had been for her mother.

Her voice sounded like seashells stuck in a garbage disposal when she finally said, “You don’t, Wolf. Not really. You want me. There’s a difference.”

A muscle ticked in the side of his jaw. His next words were measured. “There are a few things I’m good at, Christina. Knife play, navigation, and puttin’ up with the machinations of a big, boisterous family.”

Not for the first time, she imagined him surrounded by an adoring crowd of nieces and nephews. Although, if she was honest with herself, her mind’s eye conjured other children into the mix. Little ones who shared his flashing, dark eyes, and her straight, slightly upturned nose.

“But what I’m really, really good at is knowin’ my own mind,” he continued. “I do want you, darlin’. More than I’ve ever wanted another woman. But it’s more than that. I’ve fallen in love with you. With your smart mouth and quick wit. With how you get quiet and introspective when you’re out fishin’. With how you always mean what you say and say what you mean and—”

“Wolf—” she tried to interrupt, but he talked right over her.

“I’m not braggin’ or anything, but I’ve known my fair share of women. Have even been downright infatuated with a few of ’em. And yet, I’ve never felt a connection like the one I feel with you.”

“Wolf—” she tried again, but a strong gust of wind whistled by outside and rattled the fronds of the saw palmetto against the side of the house, distracting her.

The storm was nearly upon them. Its tumultuous arrival matched the emotions roiling inside her.

“Wolf”—this time she managed to finish her thought—“what happens six weeks from now or six months from now when we’ve scratched our itch and we’re no longer running on that heady, tingly feeling? Are you willing to settle for comfort in place of adventure? For convenience in place of excitement? I think if you’re honest with yourself, you’ll realize you’re not the settling down type and—”

“No,” he interrupted. “What I’m not,is the settling type.”

“Meaning what?”

“Can’t you guess?” For the span of a dozen heartbeats, he stared at her. Hard. But she couldn’t read what was in his eyes.

She gave a helpless shake of her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He glanced at the drops of rain pattering against the windowpane. “I have to go to the airport to get somethin’ from Romeo.” His voice was quiet but edged in steel. “We’ll finish this when I come back.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again when he pushed past her and quietly disappeared down the hall.

She became the human equivalent of a party balloon poked by a pin. All the air leaked out of her until she was limp and lifeless.

Sitting heavily on the side of the bathtub, she immediately regretted the move since it jarred her injury. Strange, she hadn’t remembered she had a bullet wound while Wolf was kissing her. All she’d felt was pleasure.

All-encompassing, all-consuming pleasure.

The kind of pleasure she’d only ever read about in books or seen in the movies. The kind of pleasure that stole her breath and gave it back to her in a way that made her feel like her lungs had never truly been filled before. The kind of pleasure that had her body making decisions without the benefit of her brain.

The kind of pleasure that was very, very dangerous indeed.

“Stand up, darlin’.” Wolf reappeared in the doorway, scissors in hand. “Let me cut your shirt away so you can have that bath while I’m gone.”

Her mind was mush. Complete and total pulp. Which meant following instructions was easier than coming up with solutions of her own.

“Turn around.” He twirled one finger. “I reckon if I cut it straight up the back, you can slide out of it like a hospital gown. Hopefully, that’ll keep you from havin’ to move your arm too much.”

When she did as he asked, he pulled out the hem of her borrowed scrubs shirt. The first snip of the scissors had a wheezing breath escaping her lungs.

She’d never thought about a man slicing her out of her clothes before. Peeling them off? Sure. Ripping them off? Plenty of times. But never had scissors played a part in her fantasies.

I need to work on improving my imagination, she decided. There was something incredibly erotic—and maybe a little dangerous—about standing perfectly still while he slowly cut a line up her back.

He must’ve thought so too. She heard his breath catch. Thought for sure, she felt him pause for a bit, as if he needed to collect himself before continuing.

With every snip, the bathroom walls closed in. With every new inch of skin that was exposed, it became harder to breathe. And by the time he’d cut his way up to her mid-back, she barely refrained from groaning.

It took every ounce of willpower she possessed not to turn and claim his lips. Those incredibly talented lips that were far too pretty to be wasted on a man. That mouth that was all the things dreams were made of.

Oh, who are you kidding, Chrissy? Every part of him is pretty.

From the top of his inky-black head to the soles of his perfect feet, he was a spectacular example of masculine beauty. Even his scars didn’t detract from the overall aesthetic, but instead enhanced it. Added character. Gravity. Spoke of a life that’d been hard-lived and hard-won.

“Almost there,” he said as he cut the thicker material of the collar and spread the two halves of the now-destroyed shirt wide across her back.

The air from the vent was cool against her naked flesh. Which made the warmth of his breath feel that much hotter when he slowly exhaled. Her shoulder blades hitched together, and she was reminded of what he’d said.

Christina, you gorgeous thing, why don’t you let me take off your clothes and kiss every new inch of you once it’s exposed?

She shivered, waiting breathlessly for the feel of his hot mouth on her back. For the warm, wet swipe of his tongue as he tasted her waiting flesh.

When he stepped aside to lay the scissors on the vanity, she didn’t know if she should crow with relief or growl with disappointment.

“All done.” Was it her imagination or was his voice about three octaves lower than usual? She’d swear she heard it with her ovaries instead of her ears.

“Wolf, I—”

“I need to get to the airport before Romeo leaves,” he cut her off.

“But I—”

“Plus, I have to clear my head before I say somethin’ I might regret. It’s not every day I tell a woman I’ve fallen in love with her only to have her throw the words back in my face.”

All the desire that’d been keeping her warm seeped from her body, leaving nothing but coldness behind. She shivered.

“Go on, then.” He hitched his chin toward the water steaming in the tub. “Take your bath. I’ll be back in less than an hour.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, desperately wishing there were better words for a situation like this.

His eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly. “You’re something, but I don’t think sorry is it.”

Before she could ask what he meant by that, he turned on his heel and quit the bathroom. She watched his swift, sure steps as he made his way down the hall. Then he disappeared around the corner, and a couple of seconds later, the front door clicked shut.

She realized she’d been holding her breath when it whooshed out of her. “What the hell just happened?” she asked the empty room.

It didn’t answer, of course. But she didn’t need it to. She knew what’d happened.

A man she admired and respected claimed to have fallen in love with her. But despite his protestations to the contrary, what he’d truly done was fallen in lust.

She’d fallen in lust too. From the first moment she laid eyes on him.

But how in the heck could she convince him he was wrong and she was right?

Kicking off her shoes, she decided she should boil some water for a cup of tea. Nothing better than a hot bath and a warm cup of oolong to help her think.

And she needed to think. Because she might not want to fall in love with Wolf, but there was no question she cared for him. Cherished his presence in her life. Only wanted what was best for him.

She felt an extra pep in her step every morning she woke up knowing she’d fly to Wayfarer Island to see him. The sun shone brighter when they were engaged in salty banter. The hours of drudgery while carefully removing the sand and crustaceans from the Santa Cristina’s delicate carcass went by quicker when he was working beside her, writing funny jokes or drawing ridiculous pictures on the white, underwater slates they used to communicate.

The thought of giving that up? Of not having him in her life? Or worse yet, having him in her life, right there, but not being able to talk and joke or attempt to one-up each other like they’d been doing from the beginning?

It made her sick to her stomach.

And yet, she couldn’t see a way around it. They couldn’t continue on as they had been. Not now that those words had been spoken.

Not to mention, after that kiss, it might be impossible for her to go back to keeping her hands off him.

Five minutes later, her tea steaming on the lip of the tub, she slowly undressed, being careful when removing the sling from her arm. After lighting the lavender and vanilla-scented candle sitting on the toilet tank, she lowered herself into the warm water and mulled over her problem.

Water had always been her medium. Something about its wet, weighty embrace. About the sound of it lapping against the sandy shore or the side of her porcelain tub. It grounded her. Focused her.

Soon, an idea began to form. Trouble was, she wasn’t sure she had the nerve to see it through. And more troubling still, if she saw it through, what happened after?

After she’d proved her point? After he’d come to his senses?

Was she strong enough, smart enough, brave enough to follow her head and keep her damned heart out of it?

Mom never was.