Читать книгу Double Take - Leslie Kelly - Страница 12

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FOR THE PAST few years, ever since her best friend, Callie, had gotten married and moved to an island in the Great Lakes, Lindsey had promised to visit. More than once, she’d made plans to come for a week between semesters, or even a long weekend.

But something had always come up—schoolwork, research, her job. Once, there’d been a fellowship opportunity, another time she’d been offered a prestigious study abroad. For the past two summers, Lindsey had been asked to work seventy hours a week, rather than her usual fifty, to cover for one of the partners’ vacations. As much as she loved Callie, and wanted to get to know her husband, Billy, she’d just never been able to make it work, because of work.

Now, though, she was going, and nothing would stop her. Her friend needed her, and Lindsey wasn’t going to let Callie down. She hadn’t had many friends during her childhood; hell, she didn’t really have many now. Callie had always been the best of them, and still was.

The two of them had gravitated to each other in kindergarten, both poor kids who wore secondhand clothes and had firsthand chips on their shoulders. They’d dared anyone to look down on them. Of course, Callie’s parents had been loving and hardworking, and had done the best they could for their daughter.

Lindsey’s? Well, not so much. Neglectful would probably be the nicest way to refer to their parenting style. Emotionally abusive wouldn’t be too far off the mark.

She’d never seen much in the way of love in her own house, and hadn’t been entirely sure she recognized it when she later spotted it in Callie’s. Still, the two of them had been inseparable through high school graduation. After that, Callie had decided to stay close to home. Lindsey had been determined to go anywhere else, as long as it was someplace that didn’t include an absolute dearth of trust, intimacy and tenderness. Like home.

She’d clawed her way into the Ivy League with sheer determination and excellent grades, being the poster child for poor-kid-makes-good. She’d worked hard, methodically controlling every aspect of her life, allowing nothing to distract her from her goals. Her parents hadn’t been around to see her succeed—her father had taken off more than a decade ago, and her mother had died when Lindsey was twenty.

Callie, though, had been there every step of the way, even if they only connected by phone. The disparate paths their lives had taken couldn’t ever change the genuine connection they had. They were sisters in every way except biologically.

Now, with a preemie baby in the hospital fighting to survive, the last thing Callie needed to worry about was whether she had a job to go back to in the fall. And Callie had been right to worry. Given its size, the Wild Boar Community School couldn’t go without a science teacher for an entire quarter.

Her friend was supposed to have given birth at the end of the school year, and then have the summer off for maternity leave. Now, though, with almost another full grading term to go, the school board had been panicked. Nobody on the island was qualified to teach the wide variety of science classes, and nobody off it would be willing to move for just a short-term position. So they’d informed her friend that if she had to take more time off work than her allotted leave, they might have to hire a full-time replacement and try to find another spot for Callie the next school year.

As a result, Callie had spent too many hours worrying about her job, when she should be worried only about her health and her son. Lindsey was not about to let her expend any more energy on career woes. If Lindsey hadn’t been forced into her not-so-voluntary sabbatical, she might not have been able to work it out. As it was, though, she had the time and the desire to help.

Since it was a substitute position and they were under pressure to hire someone quickly, there hadn’t been too many hoops for Lindsey to jump through. The school officials had confirmed she had a Bachelor’s Degree from Johns Hopkins, with a double major in Chemistry and Biology, and leaped on her offer to be a short-term sub. They didn’t even know about her PhD.

Only after she’d agreed to do it had she realized Wild Boar Island might also be the answer to her own prayer. Callie’s remote slice of heaven, which she’d always gushed about in her emails and phone calls, had internet access and TV, but, as far as her friend knew, they weren’t talking about Dr. Lindsey Smith and her Thinkgasms. The administrators hadn’t said a word about it during her phone interview, or questioned why she was not currently employed. She suspected they subscribed to the don’t-look-a-gift-horse-in-the-mouth adage. It was entirely possible she’d actually found a place in the country where she wasn’t being laughed at or whispered about.

“Oh, please let that be true,” she mumbled, tired beyond belief of being fodder for the scandal-happy, soft-story media.

Even if it wasn’t, she’d still have come to the island. Callie needed her. Not many people had ever needed her, and Lindsey wasn’t about to turn away someone she loved who so desperately did.

So for the next several weeks, she would help her dearest friend, keep herself busy so she didn’t stress and anguish over the mess her professional life had become, and hide out from the tabloid journalists who had nothing better to do than stalk a psychologist who liked talking about orgasms. In that respect, Wild Boar Island did sound like a piece of heaven.

At least, until she started to drive across it.

“Have you people never heard of blacktop?” she grumbled as she drove away from the ferry landing, her bones jarring with every bounce of her Prius on the roughly graveled drive.

She’d gotten directions to her rental cottage from her new landlady—whom Callie had put her in touch with—figuring there wasn’t much chance of getting lost on this spit of land. Still, nothing was marked and her pampered hybrid was already unhappy.

Her cell phone rang, and she pushed a button on her steering wheel to answer it, using the car’s Bluetooth since she had to keep her hands right where they were. It was her friend. “Callie, what have you gotten me into? I’ll bet there’s not one charging station on this island.”

“You’d win that bet. But give it a chance—you’ll love it.”

“Love” might be an exaggeration, but she would do it because she’d promised Callie. “How are you doing? You sound tired.”

“I’m fine. Does any new mother sleep well?” Callie sniffed. “Even one who doesn’t have to get up for nightly feedings?”

That sniffle indicated tears, and the comment had revealed a lot about what her friend was feeling. For Callie, not being able to hold her son was probably the second-hardest part of this ordeal—after not knowing if he would live or die.

“You’ll be doing that soon enough. Right now, rest and get better. You’ll need your energy when that sweet boy comes home.”

Callie cleared her throat. Lindsey could almost see her petite, curly-haired friend blinking away tears and straightening her shoulders. “So update me. How was the ferry crossing?”

“Hideous. Painful. Awful. This is not the heaven you described.” Then, wanting to cheer her friend up—and to distract her—she said, “Though, I have to admit, I did meet a man who looked like a male angel. Or, well, maybe hot, sinful devil would be a more appropriate comparison.”

Mike, the guy she’d met on the ferry, had been so dark and seductive with all that thick, windblown brown hair; the deep-set, chocolate-brown eyes; square jaw and powerful body. His height had made her feel positively petite, though she stood five-foot-seven. And his mouth was something that should have been carved by an artist. Pretty couldn’t describe such masculine lips. No, they were...perfect.

No doubt, he’d looked nothing like a safe, innocent seraphim and everything like a wicked, sultry devil sent to seduce women out of their clothes and their good sense. Yum.

“Ooooh! Do tell!”

“This superhot, brown-haired guy was on the ferry, too, and he saved my life.”

“Did you fall overboard?” Callie squealed.

“Well, no, but I definitely considered leaping.”

“I understand. It’s a lousy mode of transportation. Now spill on this guy. What was his name?”

“Mike.”

“Last name?”

“I never got it.”

Callie harrumphed. “You so suck at this. Hmm. Mike, brown-haired Adonis? Not ringing a bell. Why didn’t you get his full name? Or at least make plans to get together for wild-monkey sex?”

Ahh, Lindsey was glad she’d been able to distract Callie, and that her friend was now feeling better.

“No time. He hurried off the ferry before I had the chance to do either of those things.”

Mike had apparently ridden across to the mainland without his car. As soon as they’d docked, he’d gotten a call on his cell phone. His frown as he’d answered said the call was a serious one. Assuring her they’d see each other soon, he’d said goodbye and hurried off the boat, heading toward a big SUV in the parking lot.

Lindsey had been too busy falling to her knees to give thanks for their safe arrival—at least, mentally—to watch him drive away. But during the interminable wait for her car to be unloaded, she’d thought a lot about the handsome stranger.

“Tell me more,” Callie ordered. “Gorgeous... What else?”

Her friend knew her well enough to realize Lindsey wouldn’t have been fascinated by just a handsome face. “He was funny, quick-witted, and had the sexiest smile, complete with dimple.”

Realizing she was gushing over a virtual stranger, she fell silent, though she didn’t stop mentally ticking off Mike’s attractive qualities. Like his charming protective instincts—he’d assured her he’d dive in after her should she leap overboard, and she believed he’d really meant it. He also had a great, throaty voice and a warm laugh.

Then there were the shoulders. The chest. The powerful arms. Oh lord, the entire package. How could she not have noticed his physical appeal, especially once he’d caught her in his arms, holding her safe and steady while her heart lurched far more than the boat had?

And how absolutely crazy that she was so interested in him, considering she had, years ago, built a mental barrier between herself and every man she met?

Sex was fine; she’d have it occasionally, but she never considered how decent a guy was, or if he was protective, or kind. Not having experienced those qualities in many men in her personal life, she’d learned to never look for them. That way she’d never be disappointed when she didn’t find them. How strange, then, to find herself realizing that, on the surface at least, this near stranger possessed them all.

“So, he’s definitely worthy of the Dr. Smith method, huh? Wait, lemme put on my thinking cap.”

Lindsey snickered. Callie was probably the only person who could tease her about the whole mentally inspired-orgasm thing. There’d even been one night at a Mexican restaurant, after a few margaritas, when they’d dared each other to try to think their way into a public climax. But they’d dissolved into giggles almost immediately.

“Definitely Thinkgasm worthy,” she replied.

“You know, I bet if you’d researched a man’s ability to ejaculate purely by mental fantasy, you’d have gotten a gajillion dollars to fund further study on the subject and a column in Psychology Today.” Her friend sounded indignant.

“Uh-huh. Instead, I got a Jeopardy! question and a meme.”

“My mom thought the Jeopardy! question was severely cool.”

“Well, yeah, it kinda was.”

Other than that, though, nothing about her work situation was very cool. Far, far from it. After all her hard work and the passion she had for her field, her research—and now Lindsey herself—was a laughingstock. Which was why it was a very good thing she had something else to do, someone else’s problems to focus on. Just hearing Callie’s voice had lifted her spirits, and she found herself thankful—again—that she had the other woman for a friend. Knowing how much Callie appreciated her help made it easier for Lindsey to forget about what was going on in the real world. She had work to do on Wild Boar—a new home, a new job, eager students. This would be good for her, very good.

“Anyway, this two-month break should be long enough for the tongues to stop wagging. When I leave here, I’ll have hopefully stayed out of the limelight for enough time to get back into my bosses’ good graces. I’ll be able to reclaim my career and reputation without coming across like the modern-day version of Dr. Ruth.”

“Cucumbers...pfft! Amateurs,” Callie said, with a go-you tone. “Look, I’ve got to run. Billy’s getting out of the shower and we’re heading to the hospital.”

Wishing her friend a nice day, she hung up and refocused on her driving. She wasn’t going to spend any more time thinking about her work problems, any more than she was going to let herself think about sexy Italian-looking dudes with great bodies and killer smiles.

Coming to what she suspected was Wild Boar’s main road, she turned right and proceeded toward the south side of the island. There was, Callie had told her, a thriving downtown area to the north. She’d bet the “downtown” consisted of a general store and a total of three restaurants, one of which regularly served a blue-plate special of meat loaf or turkey-and-gravy. She’d save that fun trip for tomorrow since she also needed to find the school where she’d begin teaching on Monday. Right now, though, she just wanted to locate her new home, unpack and lie down to get rid of the lingering seasickness.

Lindsey glanced down at the sheet of paper on which she’d written the landlady’s verbal directions, trying to make sense of her own scrawled writing. She was coming to a split in the road, and couldn’t tell whether her directions indicated to go right or left.....

“Should’ve paid attention in Mrs. Dickey’s second grade penmanship class,” she could hear Callie whispering.

This island wasn’t that big. Even if she took a wrong turn, somebody would be able to point her in the correct direction. From what Mike had said, every resident here knew she was coming and where she would be living. Besides, she didn’t have a penis; she was capable of stopping and asking for directions.

Praying she wasn’t making a mistake, she swung to the left at the fork, looking back down at the paper for the name of her next turn. Apparently, though, she spent too much time staring down, because, before she’d even realized anyone was behind her, she heard the quick blurp-blurp of a siren.

“Hell,” she mumbled, hoping it wasn’t a cop and that she wasn’t the one being blurped at.

Looking in the rearview mirror, she saw a big, dark vehicle. She noted the spinning dome light on the dash and sighed. Definitely a cop. And right behind her. Blurping.

Wow, her luck was so great lately, she ought to go out and buy a lottery ticket.

Pulling over onto the side of the narrow, unlined road, hoping no big trucks would come by to cream her, she plucked her driver’s license out of her wallet, lowered the window and waited.

“What a fantastic way to start my new life,” she muttered, rubbing at her eyes with the tips of her fingers. “Can this day get any worse?”

“That depends on how your day’s been going so far.”

She jerked her hand away from her face, swinging her head to stare at the man standing right beside her car.

The familiar man.

The one who had just kept her from falling overboard into the choppy lake.

The one she’d just been comparing to a heavenly angel and a sexy devil.

Mike. Who was, if the lights and siren on his vehicle were to be believed, an officer of the law.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“We meet again.”

“Please tell me that’s a fake light and you’re not a real cop.”

“Would serial-killer-posing-as-cop-to-lure-unsuspecting-victim work better for you?”

“So not funny.”

“Sorry.”

She leaned out to gaze up at him, as she wasn’t comfortable with the view directly out the driver’s-side window. She’d never been more aware of the height of her Prius before now, when she was face-to-crotch with a superhot guy wearing khakis that hugged some of her favorite boy-parts.

“You really are a cop?”

“Chief Mike Santori of the Wild Boar Island P.D., at your service.”

Santori. So her Italian speculation had been dead-on. She’d always had such a thing for Italian men. All that dark hair, energy, handsomeness and machismo. Potent.

Of course, she rarely got involved with the macho type. Few of them were willing to let a woman call the shots in a relationship. And Lindsey wasn’t about to give that up for a well-hung dude with pecs.

There was a second strike against Mike—his niceness. She didn’t get involved with men who would expect trust and emotion from her. That way, she wouldn’t expect anything like that from them. Safer that way.

He might be worth it.

Perhaps. And if it had just been his sex appeal that attracted her, and she hadn’t come here to help a friend, she might have given some serious thought to getting to know him better.

She had, however, come here to do a job—and to hide out. There was no room in her plan for any man, especially one so unlike the sexy-and-forgettable type she usually went for. Protective, heroic, fun and witty guys weren’t the kind of men you could sleep with and forget. Since those were the only men Lindsey would allow herself to get involved with, Mike was definitely off-limits.

Maybe if she kept telling herself that, she’d start to believe it. And maybe she’d stop wondering what it would be like to be touched by those big, strong hands and kissed by that incredible mouth.

Just get through this and drive away.

“Here,” she said. Without him asking for it, she thrust her driver’s license toward him.

“Lindsey Smith,” he said, reading the card aloud, then handing her back the license, barely glancing at anything else. “I don’t think I’ll need this.”

Hmm. That made it sound as if this wasn’t a legitimate traffic stop. Despite her instinctive reaction to him—that he was one of the good guys—annoyance flared within her. Hot and sexy or not, she didn’t appreciate people who threw their authority around for their own purposes. But she would give him the benefit of the doubt until she found out what he was really after.

“Were you following me?”

“Not intentionally,” he said. “I was told there was an emergency—a missing child—which was why I hurried away from the landing so quickly.”

“What happened?”

“It turns out the kid had broken a window playing ball this morning, and was afraid he’d get in trouble. So he was hiding in his own backyard tree house. His mom found him safe and sound right after she called it in.”

“That’s the best outcome.”

“Not for the kid. He’s probably going to lose his video games for a month.”

Lindsey was glad Mike’s mind had gone right to that consequence instead of corporal punishment, which was sort of a hot button for her. Probably not surprising, given her field—she’d certainly dealt with a lot of people traumatized by physical abuse. Still, Mike’s comment added to the picture of the kind of person he was. A good one. She already knew that much.

Damn, why couldn’t she just keep thinking of him as hot? Speculating that he was nice, decent or trustworthy was useless. Though it would almost certainly prevent her from even considering giving in to the attraction she felt for him, despite her protestations.

“Anyway, I got the call that he’d been found before I even got to town.”

“So were you coming back to the ferry to make sure I hadn’t fallen overboard coming down the gangplank?”

“Nope. It was just a coincidence that I spotted this yellow monstrosity in my rearview. I had to remind myself that Big Bird doesn’t live here.”

She patted her steering wheel. “Don’t make fun of her.”

“I recognized it, obviously. When I saw which way you were going, I turned around and came after you so I could pull you over.”

“Are you allowed to pull me over when you’re off duty?”

“What makes you think I’m off duty?”

“You’re not in uniform.”

A wry grin lifting one corner of his mouth, he slowly unzipped the front of his heavy-duty windbreaker, revealing a buttoned-up, khaki uniform shirt beneath it, complete with a badge on the breast pocket.

“That’s not fair. You were practically undercover.”

“Were you doing something illegal on the ferry that I missed? Are you a secret Twinkie smuggler or something?”

“Twinkies aren’t illegal here, are they?” she asked, feigning horror.

“Not yet, but there is a new eat-healthy initiative at the school.”

“I’ll be sure to stock up, like those Doomsday Preppers did when the world thought Twinkies would be gone forever.”

“Good plan. Now, Lindsey Smith, why don’t you tell me why you were so worried about me pulling you over?”

Yeah. Why was she worried? She hadn’t been speeding—heaven knew it would be hard to get her car up to any speed on these roads. So why had he pulled her over...just because he wanted to see her again?

Even as she reminded herself she didn’t like these tactics, a thrill of excitement raced through her. There’d definitely been attraction between them; she knew he’d felt it, too. She hadn’t for one second really believed he was gay.

Maybe his spiel about not being interested in women or relationships had been a cover, just a line to keep from seeming too interested. Maybe he’d recognized her car and followed a crazy impulse, stopping her so he could ask her to meet him for a drink, or a pleasant walk along the beach, or for hot, steamy sex in the nearest bed.

Cool it.

Whatever the reason, she forced herself to remember she wasn’t interested. Okay, she was interested—definitely aware of him, as any woman would be aware of a guy so hot he should come with a warning label and oven mitts. But, aside from already having decided he was so not her type, she, for one, had meant it when she said she wasn’t on Wild Boar for romance, or sex. Those were the last two complications she needed to add to her life. Lying low and hoping people forgot about her supposed obsession with orgasms wouldn’t be easy if the local police chief started giving her lots of orgasms. Although, she had to admit, it would certainly be fun.

“I’m not worried,” she finally replied, forcing orgasms out of her head. She’d work on her own think-method later, when she was alone. “I’m just surprised you didn’t mention your status as the island’s chief enforcer.”

“That makes me sound like a mobster, not a cop.”

“Sorry. Now, come on, tell me why you pulled me over. Could you just not resist following me?” she asked, flirting a little, despite her own best interest and good intentions.

He admitted it, slowly nodding. “You got me. I had to come after you. I couldn’t help myself.”

She swallowed hard, wishing she hadn’t started something she knew she couldn’t finish. Flirtation was fun—she usually enjoyed it, especially with a guy as attractive as this one. But she was here to lie low, not to get laid.

But she just couldn’t resist. “It’s the hair, isn’t it?” she asked with a feigned sigh. “Yes, it’s my natural color.”

He bent down so he was squatting beside the car, resting a forearm on the door. They were practically face-to-face now, and the position gave her the chance to study those dark, dreamy eyes, framed by the thickest, longest lashes she’d ever seen on a man.

He watched her just as intently, answering, “It’s not the hair, but thanks for clarifying. It’s not your pretty eyes, either.”

She licked her lips, enjoying the way his stare roved over her face, as if he not only liked what he saw, but was memorizing her features to think about later. Hmm.

“Well?”

“Two things. First, you have my gloves.”

His gloves. Damn, she’d totally forgotten to give them back, had simply stuffed them into the pockets of her raincoat. She flushed, immediately grabbing them and shoving them toward him. “I’m so sorry. I was just so relieved to get off that ferry I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m the one who raced off for the near-emergency.”

He took the gloves from her, his fingertips brushing against hers, lightly, softly, and he didn’t immediately pull away. She sucked in a surprised breath at the excitement she felt at such simple skin-to-skin contact. They’d been mashed together, full-frontal, during their choppy boat ride, but through the bulk of their clothes and coats, she hadn’t been able to register much more than a quick acknowledgment that he felt as strong and powerful as he looked. This brief, innocent connection of fingertips somehow seemed more intimate. Quick pictures flashed through her head of those strong, warm hands touching lots of other places on her body.

Lindsey was a big advocate of women taking care of themselves, being in complete control—financially, emotionally, physically and sexually. But oh, lord, did she love big, strong, man-hands.

“What’s the second reason?” she whispered, not sure whether she wanted him to say she’d forgotten something on the boat, or that he wanted to take her out for a blue-plate special.

Meat loaf’s good. I like meat loaf.

“Well, there’s also the fact that...”

“Yes?”

“You’re going the wrong direction down a one-way street.”