“He works out of a couple of different clubs.” He puts his coffee cup on a white table attached to a pole beside the sofa.
“There’s a place for everything here, isn’t there?” I say. “No wasted space.”
“That’s one of its many advantages over reality. Do you sail much?”
“Are you kidding? In the Valley? All we have is a couple of Clorox lakes where the rich people live. We won’t have waterfront property until after the big quake.”
“I’d like to take you sometime.”
I’m aware of how close we are, pushed together here on this pillow-lined bed posing as a sofa. I know what I would like to happen and how easy it would be to let it. Everything is moving that way—the boat stirring against the quiet urging of the water, the unobtrusive breeze, the patch of sunlight on the wooden floor. Lyle Lovett’s voice.
I straighten on the sofa and hold my coffee cup with both hands. “This is the first time I’ve ever been on a boat.”
“Do you like it?”
“Yes.” I realize that it’s true. Realize that if I never set foot on one again, he’s given me a gift. “It feels more natural than land in some way and much more natural than a plane.”
“That’s how it is for me, too.” His gaze is intense. “Come with me. I’ll show you the Channel Islands first. And then—
“Lucas.” I touch his arm, and the contact surprises both of us. I take my hand away, staring at it as if it is not part of me. “I can’t.”
“Why not? You want to.”
“Yes,” I say. “Yes, I do.” Sitting this close to him, pressed against the pillows, I don’t even consider lying. “I can’t, not now.Wecan’t.”
“When this is all over, then?”
“Maybe.” Did I really say that, and worse, did I really mean it? “Maybe when it’s over.”
He moves closer to me. “There’s nothing like waking up in the morning and smelling bacon cooking on another boat, or someone making coffee before the sun is even up. Or sailing to Catalina, before the island comes into view yet, and Los Angeles just fades from sight as if it’s dropped into the water.” He takes my coffee cup and places it on the table with his own. “I want to show it to you. Want you to have that feeling of just you and the sea, no land before you or behind you.”
It’s one of the sexiest things anyone has ever said to me, maybe because he’s saying it, maybe because he could read last week’s newspaper to me, and I’d think it’s sexy.
“Maybe.” It is the only word I know.
I’ve barely spoken before his arms slip around me, and he leans down to kiss me. My arms go around his neck, slide down around his shoulders. It’s like embracing a rock. His body must be pure muscle.
He tastes of coffee and desire. The kiss flattens us down, among the pillows, against the upholstery. My fingers dig into his flesh.So long,I think.It has been so long. But not now, I can’t.
I tear my lips away from his and come up gasping for air. He releases me.
I reach for my cup with shaky hands, trying to quiet my breathing. He looks stunned and lurches for the stove, his back to me, fiddling with the coffeepot. Finally, he turns.
“I’m not sorry that happened.”
I look at his lips, freshly kissed, swollen and flushed. “Neither am I.”
His expression makes me want to run to him.
“But it can’t happen again. Not now.”
The light in his face fades as rapidly as it appeared. His nod is almost curt. “If that’s the way you want it.”
“It’s the way it has to be until we get to the bottom of what happened to Julie Larimore. That has to be our focus.”
“Then tell me where we need to start.” He’s a strictly business Lucas now. No suit and tie required; it’s all there in his voice.
“With the personal trainer, maybe? How can we find out where he is?”
