“Yo! Tony! The babes still playing volleyball?”
Alan’s irritated voice pulled him back. “Sorry. What?”
“I asked if you’re looking forward to your last week?”
“Yeah,” Tony said, absently, as his eyes scanned the floor for the object he’d been searching for. The sun was setting. Where the hell was it?
“Well, I gotta go. Miracle of miracles, we’re still on for tonight. Dinner and a movie. Am I original, or what?”
“You’re one of a kind.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll call you in a couple of days,” Alan said. “Check on your tan. See if you’ve hooked up with some island beauty. That would do you a world of good.”
“Right,” he said absently as Alan hung up, even though what he wanted to say wasnot damn likely.
The Tony Moretti who’d practically been the poster boy for the Cranston Township’s annual bachelor auction didn’t exist anymore. That was simply the cold, hard truth.
Besides, Alan had it wrong. It wasn’t just a woman Tony needed. It was something bigger, yet somehow intangible, some primal need that Merrilee had managed to awaken.
Of course, Alan didn’t know the full story, and Tony wasn’t inclined to confess all now. Easier to just let Alan believe that Tony was out and about, painting the town and getting it on with the ladies, healing his bruised ego with mythical women who didn’t care about his face.
Alan was right. That would be any man’s fantasy. Why muddy the waters by letting Alan know it wasn’t his?
Thanks to Merrilee’s package, Tony’d managed to become a familiar face on the island, so to speak. He was a hero again.
It may not have completely filled the hole in his gut, but he damn sure liked the feeling.
And he sure as hell didn’t intend to mess it up bygetting involved with a woman who’d want to know the truth, then would run from it just like Amy had. Some things were meant to stay hidden. Some people were meant to stay alone.
Alan would just have to look elsewhere for sordid stories of female conquests.
“There you are,” he whispered, finally finding what he’d been looking for—the single black eye patch that, along with a black cap and one vivid green contact lens, had made up the contents of Merrilee’s present.
He stood in front of the mirror and nodded at his reflection, hating the hideous scar that edged his left eye. The flesh was no longer tender, but it still looked raw. To Tony, it was as raw as ever.
A red-hot steel bar had fallen with the collapsing roof. He’d thrown his body clear, wrenching his back out in the process. As if that injury wasn’t enough, the rod had bounced up, cracking him in the face and gouging the tender flesh.
Despite legions of doctors, his prognosis wasn’t exactly inspiring. His back was permanently screwed up, and his doctor had ruled out plastic surgery for his face, citing Tony’s allergies and some other mumbo jumbo from Tony’s medical history.Sorry, kid, but just remember how lucky you are to be alive. Count your blessings, boy.
Some luck.
Slowly, as if performing an ancient ritual, he lifted the eye patch to his face. The scars disappeared. He putin the single contact lens, then slicked gel through his hair, darkening it. When he put on the cap, he was a new person. A different person.
Tony Moretti was gone. Only a hero remained.
* * *
STUART PULLEDthe Jeep up in front of the restaurant and tapped the horn, which wasn’t really necessary since Kyra was standing right there. “Ready to head on back?”
She fidgeted on the stone steps. “I don’t know. I’m thinking about walking.”
Frowning, he killed the engine, though the headlights stayed on, cutting a bright path through the dark. “You sure? It’s a long walk, and it smells like rain.”
Sure enough, when she sniffed, Kyra picked up on a freshness in the heavy air, along with a hint of restraint. As if the clouds were holding back, waiting for just the right moment. She and nature, it seemed, had something in common. They were both about to burst from pent-up energy, near to exploding in a torrent of need and desire.
“I’m sure,” she said. “I don’t mind a little rain.” She welcomed it, in fact. She’d spent far too much of the evening daydreaming about Stuart’s mysterious Michael, and as the hours wore on, her libido was ratcheting tighter and tighter. If she didn’t cool off just a little, she’d probably launch herself at the next man she saw before he could even say “How do you do?”
Of course, ravaging unsuspecting male guests probably qualified as a bit more adventurous than Merrilee intended. Still, the thought wasn’t typical of Kyra’s usually calm and reasonable self, and she suppressed a smile. Maybe the fantasy was already working.
