The Best of Me Page 3

  The bartender chose that moment to bring her drink. “Ah, so you know the lady already,” he said to Chris with a smile and a wink.

  Her face went up in flames. “No, I didn’t mean it like that. He was in the pool….”

  The bartender waved his hand. “No problem, lady. The island bring out the animal in lots of people.”

  “But—” The man had already walked away, and she turned to Chris who was chuckling. She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t move too fast to defend my honor, now. I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

  He shrugged. “Hey, I’m way out of practice coming to a lady’s defense.”

  She rolled her eyes. “To be sure.”

  “So what if he thinks we’ve had a round or two of wild, steamy sex? He’s a bartender in a foreign country.” He gestured toward the lot of people behind him. “Probably sees illicit affairs all the time.”

  Wild, steamy sex…just the thought of it sent blood rushing through her veins. She was not, absolutely not, picturing him on the other side of that steamy sex scenario. “But we are not having a steamy affair, I have not seen you naked, and I don’t want him thinking I have.”

  He leaned one arm against the bar, facing her. Those green eyes had a lazy glaze to them, probably from those Red Stripe beers he was drinking. “Would you like to?”

  “What?”

  “See me naked?”

  A tickle raced through her stomach even as she made a face and turned to her monstrous pink drink with the umbrella in it.

  “Given that tiny bathing suit you wear, I don’t have to see you naked.” Oh, that was great. You sure told him.

  He grinned even more widely. “I didn’t know you cared.”

  “I don’t.”

  She couldn’t handle those eyes sparkling at her, teasing her. She turned back to her drink and caught the bartender smiling, probably catching the word “naked” a few times. She pretended to look at the paraphernalia on the walls depicting all kinds of happy faces: buttons, posters, bottle caps, even round yellow faces with dreadlocks.

  Her gaze fell to Chris’s long fingers as they slid up and down the curves of his sweating bottle of beer. He had great hands, strong and capable, calloused and work-worn. He tossed back the rest of his beer and set the bottle in front of him. The bartender brought another. He tipped it to her and took a swallow. He seemed different away from his dolphin. More relaxed, open.

  He turned around on his stool and leaned back against the bar, one knee jiggling to the beat. His curls dipped to the top of his shirt in the back, and his biceps flexed as his arms balanced him. A few freckles topped his shoulders and that necklace lay over the curves of his collarbone. His tank top was deep blue, which brought out the green even more in his eyes. Did he have maps and beer and not much else wherever he lived?

  She turned around, too, after waiting the appropriate amount of time so he didn’t think she was copying him. She had to admit it was nice finding a familiar face among strangers. That was why she felt warm and easy sitting there with the fans pushing the air around and the music lulling her with its beat. Indeed, Barney’s was a happy place.

  “Where are you staying?” she asked, keeping her gaze just shy of his eyes.

  “At The Caribe Plantation, down the road a piece.”

  She remembered seeing the fancy entrance earlier. It didn’t seem like his style. “Sounds nice.”

  “The house is something, Colonial style with pillars and stuff. I’m staying in the boathouse.”

  That sounded more like Chris. When he didn’t reciprocate, she said, “I’m staying at my father’s apartment a few blocks from here.”

  He pulled one leg up and propped his chin on his knee. He leveled that gaze right at her, and she felt as though he were probing her mind. “So, Miz Lucy, what do you do back home?”

  Even though she knew he was being sarcastic, something about the way he said her name felt the same way the music did as it washed over her in waves. “I own an advertising firm in St. Paul, Minnesota. Well, I own half of it. My ex-husband owns the other half, unfortunately.”

  He lifted his eyebrows, but not in the admiring way most people did when they heard she owned her own agency. “Ah, so you own a company that promotes greed, materialism and bodily perfection that most people can’t live up to.”

  She didn’t know what to say for a moment. “We get our client’s product out there in the best light, the light that’s going to appeal to people. And what appeals to people is—”

  “Sex,” he said, that light expression now gone from his face. “And excess.”

  “If that’s what the client wants. We have some big clients, like Krugel. You know, the largest manufacturer of paper products in America…Soaker paper towels, Cloud Soft toilet paper.” Her biggest client, and what did the lout have to say about it?

  “So, you make your living telling people that if they wipe their tush with Cloud Soft, they’ll be sexier.”

  It was so ridiculous, she almost laughed. Luckily she caught herself. “Forget about the toilet paper. We sell the company first, then their products. My company…” She narrowed her eyes at Chris. “Why do you make me feel like defending a profession I’m proud to be a part of?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe somewhere deep inside, you aren’t so proud of it.”

  “I beg to differ with you.” Her shoulders stiffened. “I am very proud of my company and what we do. I’ve worked hard for my success.”

  He watched her, those eyes creating sensations that almost overruled her indignation. “What?” she asked at last.

  “I was waiting to hear you beg.” He swiveled around and grabbed his beer, which was already beaded with sweat.

  “I don’t beg for anything,” she said at last, lifting her chin. She grabbed her glass and turned back to the open area. When she glanced his way, she was unsettled to find him watching her again. She was still stinging from his earlier comments, not to mention the begging remark. “I suppose you think you’re some kind of hero, then. I mean, the irony of it—I push toilet paper and you save dolphins.”

  “Not at all.” He took a sip of beer, scanning the crowd. “I put some of these dolphins where they are. It’s my duty to get them out.”

  “What do you mean?” Despite his pigheadedness, she found herself wanting to know more about him.

  “It’s a long story,” he said with a shrug.

  “You’ve got a whole beer to go. Tell me.”

  He glanced at that beer as if it had betrayed him. “I worked at Aquatic Wonders down in the Keys for nine years. I started as the fish boy and worked my way up to head trainer, but in between, I also went out and caught wild dolphins for the park and to sell elsewhere. That was before I realized how unhappy they were in captivity, how wrong it was to keep them from their real home. Now I’m only trying to make up for my wrongs.” He shrugged, as if it were all so inconsequential, though she knew by the look in his eyes that it wasn’t. When he reached out and took hold of her wrist, she jerked responsively. “I hope your watch didn’t get ruined when you fell in the pool.”

  His fingers felt cool and wet on her wrist. Because he was leaning close, she caught a whiff of shampoo and sea air. She glanced down at her diamond watch with the steamed face.

  “I hadn’t thought about it, actually.” That watch had been her treat to herself the first year she made one-hundred-thousand dollars. But she wasn’t about to tell him that. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

  He wore the kind of watch that looked waterproof to about a thousand feet. “Or you can buy another one.”

  “Yes, I could do that, too.”

  “What kind of car do you drive?”

  She found herself wanting to lie for some reason. “A BMW.”

  “I knew it.”

  “What do you know, mister almighty?”

  “You’re a status girl, aren’t you?”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “A Beemer, a diamond watch, you’re probab
ly wearing designer clothes and perfume, too. Probably even designer underwear,” he added in a low, intimate voice that shivered through her.

  As a matter of fact, she was, now that she thought about it. That’s what she’d always worn, at least since her mother had married her wealthy stepfather.

  “My underwear is none of your business. And so what if I am? What’s it to you?”

  He shook his head lazily. “It’s nothing to me, Miz Lucy. Not a thing. Ah, you can’t help it—you’re another victim of the Great Green Lie.”

  “The what?” Why did it feel as though they spoke different languages?

  “Green, money, the idea that money makes you happy, and the more you have the happier you are.”

  “I am happy.” She wanted to shout it out, to somehow make him see how happy she was. “I am exactly where I want to be in my life. Not many people can say that when they’re thirty. Can you?”

  He lifted his chin in thought. “When I was thirty…let’s see, I was in jail.” He tipped back the rest of his beer and set it on the counter, then stood and pulled out some bills. “Have a nice vacation, Miz Lucy.”

  She watched him weave around the tables and out the front door, not a glance backward or a smile to soften his words. Her fingers clenched around the glass stem on her drink. She knew what he was trying to do: throw her off so she wouldn’t talk to him the rest of her stay. And in case that didn’t work, the jail thing might even scare her off.

  Well, he didn’t have to worry about that. She had no use for a man with an ocean-size chip on his shoulder. She realized then that she’d come down here to eat, and he had distracted her. She ordered ribs and people-watched as she ate.

  When the bartender brought her bill, she said, “My drink’s not on here.”

  “Your man paid for your drink, miss.” He shrugged, giving her a sympathetic look. “All that sex talk and begging, and he still leave. Maybe next time you should play coy.” He batted his eyelashes.

  She wanted to bat him. “If I need your advice, I’ll ask for it, okay?”

  He smiled. “No problem, mon.”

  She merely shook her head and slid off the barstool. This was not her night for men, and that was a fact.

  3

  THE BAHAMIAN SUN seemed even brighter and warmer than the one in St. Paul. Especially now that fall was moving in, rendering the air crisp and the skies muddy. But here in this strange world, the air was muggy and warm even at seven-thirty in the morning.

  Lucy’s heels clicked loudly across the concrete and echoed off the buildings as she made her way to the park’s office. At lunch she would go shopping for something casual. She had resolved that under no circumstances would she even glance at Liberty’s pool, but her gaze drew right to it. And right to Chris. All she could see of him was that head of curls and his shoulders gleaming in the early morning sun. Instantly she remembered his sultry words about seeing him naked. Worse, her body remembered, too, becoming hot and steamy itself. He wasn’t serious. And just because he was sexy didn’t mean she wanted to see him naked. As he started to glance up at the noise her shoes created, she averted her gaze to the wooden shutters of the office.

  The air was warm and stale inside, without sign of an air conditioner anywhere. Just one old-fashioned fan that made the articles taped to the walls flutter. She propped the door open with a pink conch shell filled with cement. Once safely inside the office, she opened those shutters and peeked out over the other pools to Liberty.

  “Good morning, Miss Lucy!” Bailey said in a loud, cheerful voice that made her jump.

  Her fingers involuntarily slammed the shutters closed with a loud clack. She turned to his beaming face and tried not to look irritated, or worse, guilty.

  “Good grief, Bailey, make some noise before coming in like that.”

  “Sorry, ma’am. I jus’ wondered if you needed any help with the figures, or deciding on whether to keep the place open.”

  “No, but thank you. Being left alone will be the biggest help.” She opened the shutters again, but did not look out. “I see the wicked man is back.”

  “Yah, in the wee hours this morning. I t’ink the man is part fish.”

  “That would explain a lot.”

  “Huh?”

  “Nothing. All right, I’ve got to get to work.”

  It was easy to reduce her father’s park to numbers. Business was her life, even if the creative side was her favorite part. Here, making it a business meant not looking at it as something her estranged father owned, and perhaps loved. Well, as much as a man like that could love something. He’d told her a few times that he’d loved her, too, but she felt neglected as perhaps Liberty was.

  Silvery reflections from the Touching Tank danced across the walls like restless ghosts. Her gaze went out the window again, where Chris’s long arms were outstretched and water splashed up to sparkle in the air. In some ways he reminded her of Sonny, or at least of the image she’d always had of him: seafaring, wandering and a loner. She wondered if he had ever been lonely, her father, and what he felt inside, and then she realized she was thinking about Chris and not her father at all.

  “Hellooo,” Bailey said in a singsong voice as he poked his head in the doorway a few hours later. “I didn’t scare you dis time, did I?”

  “Not much.”

  He stepped inside, looking crisp and professional in his white uniform. “Are you going to close us down?”

  “I’m still looking at the numbers.”

  “I t’ink you were looking out da window, Miss Lucy,” he said with a solemn nod.

  She felt a warm flush and hoped he hadn’t seen exactly where she’d been looking. “I was thinking. Now go away and let me think some more.”

  “Yes, Miss Lucy.”

  He disappeared, and she caught herself smiling. Miss Lucy. Her lips quirked even more. Miz Lucy. Chris only called her that in fun, but something in the way he said the words rippled through her. Ridiculous. Back to the numbers.

  Not thirty minutes later, Bailey was back in the doorway with that white grin. “Decision yet?”

  “No, and go away!”

  BAILEY HELD OUT until almost noon this time.

  She glanced over at her notepad full of numbers and calculations, then up at his hopeful face. “It doesn’t look good.” He dropped into one of the chairs in front of her desk. She felt as though she were firing the man, like she’d fired a few people back home. They looked the same way, and she felt the same way: bad. “This place was scraping by as it was. I don’t know how long even Sonny could have kept it going. Without the star attraction, I don’t see that it has a chance.”

  “We could buy another dolphin fish,” he said.

  “No, I’m afraid we can’t afford one, no matter what they cost. Besides, unless we get better facilities, Mr. Maddox will be back to take him away, too.”

  Bailey lifted an eyebrow. “You could beg him, you know, bat your eyelashes and say pretty please can we keep the dolphin fish?”

  She lowered her chin. “Have you been talking to a particular bartender at Barney’s?”

  He looked innocent enough. “No, why?”

  “Never mind. Anyway, I’m not the kind of woman who can convince a man to do things he doesn’t want to do.”

  “Sure you are. You’re very pretty.”

  “Thank you, but pretty isn’t going to cut it. It never has, to be honest with you. Anyway, forget the begging thing. I’m not going to ask him to leave Liberty because I already know he won’t.”

  “You’re right,” another voice said from the doorway. “You could be Marilyn Monroe reincarnated and you wouldn’t get me to give Liberty back to you.”

  That flush Lucy experienced earlier was nothing compared to the full fire that lit her face now. She met those green eyes that reeked of smugness. “How long have you been standing there?”

  “Since the begging thing.”

  She made a sound that combined embarrassment and irritation and wasn’t ladyl
ike by any means. “What do you want?”

  Bailey made a quick exit, mumbling something about feeding the squid. Chris wore that bathing suit that had to be illegal on a body like his, moving up to her desk and planting his hands on the edge. His long fingers were shriveled underneath. He wore a band made of colored threads on his right wrist, though sun and water had faded it a little.

  “I was wondering if Sonny kept any records on Liberty. Medical, training…anything like that.”

  If the person behind the desk was supposed to emit any kind of authority, she was doing a poor job. “You’re dripping on my desk,” she finally said, standing to face him.

  He glanced down at the droplets of water swirling down his curls and puddling on the Formica surface. “Sorry.” He stood, forcing her to look up at him again.

  “I’ll look around.”

  He glanced down at the paperwork scattered across the desk. “I can look if you’re busy.”

  “I need a break anyway.”

  She found a junk drawer, another filled with more maps and notes on places like Aruba and Barbados, and stacks of National Geographic dating back to the seventies. She walked to the four-drawer filing cabinet. He walked up behind her, so close she could feel the moist heat emanating from him.

  “Thanks for the drink, by the way,” she said, diverting her thoughts.

  “No problem.”

  Her fingers flipped through the hanging folders, nails clicking against the plastic tabs in Sonny’s small writing that read Moray Eels, Sea Turtles and Clown Fish. It was then that she realized she hadn’t only inherited numbers; she’d inherited living creatures that depended on humans to feed and take care of them. Who now depended on her.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “There are so many creatures here.”

  “Haven’t you seen them yet?”

  She glanced to her left, finding him right beside her. “Just a cursory glance. I wanted to look at the numbers first.”

  “Of course.” He glanced back at the desk. “Did you inherit a moneymaker or a money pit?”

  She turned to face him, finding him still too close to her personal zone. “I don’t care about the money aspect. I just need to figure out what I’m going to do with this place.”