RoxannesPirate Page 23

“I need time to think.”

  “Don’t send me away, Roxanne.” His voice caught. “I love you. You love me.”

  “I don’t know you.”

  “You know everything that matters.”

  She shook her head. “My father’s passion cost him everything he valued. I won’t be that self-destructive.”

  “This isn’t about your father!”

  “No. This is about me. It’s about the way you make me feel.” Hot tears welled in her eyes. “You put me through hell!”

  His face drained of color. His shoulders sagged. “Please don’t do this.”

  She wiped the tears from her face with the sleeve of her robe.

  “I’ll wait for you. Until you’re ready.”

  She shook her head. “Don’t.”

  “I don’t have a choice. I told you once I don’t fall in love often or easily. I’m in this so deep it would take me years to climb out.”

  She hugged her arms across her chest. He moved close to her. She turned from him. He touched her cheek with the tip of his finger. “I’ll wait for you, querida.”

  She did not move until she heard him leave the room. Then she lay on her bed and wept.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “I’ve made you a green smoothie,” Roxanne’s mother said. She looked down at Roxanne stretched out on the couch, an open book resting on her chest. “I added extra brewer’s yeast and protein powder. Your color is much better this week, but you need more energy. I think we should go for a long walk later, when it’s cooler.”

  “Okay, thanks. I’ll drink it in a minute.”

  “The mail came. You’ve got another letter.” She handed the envelope to Roxanne.

  Roxanne looked at the familiar bold, black script.

  “He doesn’t give up easily,” her mother said.

  “No, he doesn’t.” Roxanne had told her mother that she had fallen in love with one of the agents who had been part of the investigative team but the affair was over.

  “At some point, persistence becomes harassment.”

  “It’s not like that.”

  “Have you told him to stop writing?”

  Roxanne shook her head.

  “Do you want him to?”

  “I think so.”

  Her mother sat on the couch next to her. She slipped her elbow through Roxanne’s arm. Roxanne leaned her head on her mother’s shoulder. “You know what I think when I’m presented with challenges? I wonder what your father would have done.”

  Roxanne stiffened. She had not told her mother or her brothers the truth about her father. She had not told anyone what had happened in John Murkley’s house. She hoped she would never have to tell.

  “Would your father have approved of this man?”

  “I don’t know. Dad would have liked Carlos’ intelligence and charm. He would have admired his persistence.”

  Her mother squeezed her arm. “Your father would have liked Paul very much. He was so attentive when he was here and he seems to care a great deal for you.”

  “I know. He’s a good man.” A good man who’ll never fully understand me.

  “But you don’t love him.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  Her mother sighed. She stood and ran a hand through her cropped white hair. “Let’s do some yoga before you have your smoothie. Then we’ll have our walk.”

  Roxanne smiled. Her mother had the recent convert’s zeal about the benefits of yoga and healthful living. Roxanne had to admit this life suited her mother—she was slim and lithe and had a natural glow to her makeup-free face. “I think I’ll read this first.” Roxanne said. She took her letter to the guest room.

  In Carlos’ first letter, he had told her he wanted to right the imbalance between them—to reveal to her as much as he could about himself. In that letter and the four that had followed, he had told her details about his family, his childhood, his friendship with Spencer, his loneliness. He had described the affair he’d had with the older woman who had brought him into the intelligence world and how that affair had opened him sexually but made him cautious with his heart. He told her about Marit and how broken her loss had left him. He told her what he loved about Roxanne—her strength, her intelligence, her passion.

  She sat on the bed and opened the envelope and felt a flash of disappointment that there was only one sheet of paper and on that only a few brief lines.

  Querida,

  I can’t stay in this house. Everything in it reminds me of you. I’m going to sea to clear my mind. If you want to reach me, you can leave a message on my cell phone or you can write to me at my Miami office. I think of you all the time with profound love.

  Carlos

  She smelled the letter but there was no trace of his disturbing scent. She looked out the window at the cloudless Arizona sky.

  What peace could I have with him?

  She shook her head.

  In her passionate moments with him, she had forgotten herself. But now she was back to being the thoughtful, careful Roxanne Cline. She would not be foolish. She would make the sane, reasoned choice. She would write him a letter and ask him to leave her alone. She rummaged through the corner desk for a pen and a piece of paper. She sat down to write. Her pen moved quickly across the page. She looked at the page she’d written, folded it and put it in her suitcase. She’d mail it soon—after her yoga and her smoothie and her walk.

  * * * * *

  “I hope you had a pleasant flight into Fort Meyers, Ms. Cline.”

  Mrs. Bigelow looked like a tropical flower in her rose pink linen suit and light pink silk shirt. Her complexion was pleasantly pink as well.

  Roxanne felt drab in the navy pants and white blouse she’d worn with her hours of traveling in mind. She had flown home from Phoenix only the day before. When she got off the plane in Newark, she’d received Ariadne Bigelow’s email asking her to come to Florida in the morning for an important meeting. She’d slept that night in her condo and had rushed back to the airport early in the morning for her trip to Fort Meyers.

  Roxanne settled into the limousine’s leather seat next to Mrs. Bigelow. “We had clear skies all the way down from Newark. Very much unlike my flight home from Phoenix. We hit lots of turbulence.”

  “I hope our helicopter flight out to the island will be equally uneventful. I’m sorry that Ariadne won’t be joining us, but she wasn’t feeling well this morning. Touch of the flu. But she was adamant that we go without her. Ted Cooper has been so gracious in offering the land to our foundation and he was anxious to escort foundation representatives to see it before he left on a lengthy trip.”

  Mrs. Bigelow’s cell phone rang. “Excuse me, I must take this.”

  Roxanne looked out the window at the lush landscape. Ariadne Bigelow had explained the sudden turn of events in her email. A developer named Ted Cooper had purchased the ill-fated Dover Key and wanted to give the newly formed Bigelow Foundation a long lease to use the land for eco-tourism projects. Ariadne hoped to sublease the land to a group who planned on creating an eco-friendly campsite and education center—a project that had been high on Katie Hoffman’s list of approved local projects. Ariadne had urged Roxanne to join her on a tour of Dover Key.

  Mrs. Bigelow ended her phone call.

  “I’m sorry about that, Ms. Cline. I haven’t asked you about your trip to Arizona. Was it restful?”

  “Very. My mother had me doing yoga with her every day. She is a firm believer in the power of exercise and brewer’s yeast and protein powder to restore mental and physical health.”

  Mrs. Bigelow laughed. “I hope you won’t mind a little advice from an old woman. Forget the yoga and diet supplements.” She tapped Roxanne’s knee. “Find a lover who makes the earth move and the mountains tremble. That’s the ticket to mental and physical health.”

  “Love’s a lot riskier than yoga.”

  “I’ve loved deeply twice in my life. If I have any regrets it is that time is running out and I’m unlikely to love that
way again. If you have a chance at love, dive into it, Ms. Cline.”

  The helicopter pilot helped them into their seats and handed them each a set of earplugs. The ground dropped away and they rose high into the air, moving quickly over land and across clear blue water. They passed several islands before the helicopter dropped over a patch of green trees and white sand. Mrs. Bigelow touched Roxanne’s arm and pointed out the window. A slim figure in a linen suit stood on a stretch of green turf.

  Roxanne’s heart beat faster in anticipation. The man took off his hat and waved it in the hair. His white hair stirred in the breeze raised by the helicopter’s rotors. Roxanne sank back in her seat. He was not the man she hoped to see.

  The helicopter landed and the roar of the rotors stilled.

  They took out their earplugs.

  “Ted Cooper is really quite charming,” Mrs. Bigelow said. Her cheeks had flushed a shade pinker.

  Mr. Cooper was obviously delighted to see Mrs. Bigelow. He took her hands and kissed both her cheeks. She gave him a kiss on the lips. He blushed and chuckled. He shook Roxanne’s hand with a firm grip. She followed the pair as they roamed around the island. Mr. Cooper pointed out the features of the land.

  “This is a classic barrier island,” Mr. Cooper said. “It has a mangrove forest, tidal flats and acres of upland island forest. You get brown pelicans and dolphins, turtles and great white herons.”

  “Wouldn’t this make a lovely campsite?” Mrs. Bigelow asked. “Of course the camping I like is what you find on a well-organized safari—hot water bottles in your camp bed, attendants to cook your meals and give you tea.”

  “I’m sure that would go over quite well here,” Mr. Cooper said. “Don’t you agree, Ms. Cline?”

  “Sure,” Roxanne said. She tried to sound enthusiastic. “Sounds great.”

  “There’s something I want to show you around this curve,” Mr. Cooper said.

  Roxanne followed, berating herself for her dashed expectations.

  “Here we are,” Mr. Cooper said enthusiastically.

  At the end of a long steel pier a sailboat was moored.

  “She looks like a lovely boat,” Roxanne said politely. “What is she?”

  “I have no idea,” Mr. Cooper said. “But she’s a fine sailing vessel. You must come on board.”

  They walked to the end of the pier. Mr. Cooper whistled loudly. He seemed to be in high spirits. He helped Roxanne on board. She leaned against the side of the boat and stared toward the sharp line where the bright blue sky met the deep green sea. Her stomach was in knots and it wasn’t from the gentle rocking of the boat.

  “Lovely day for a sail!” Mr. Cooper called. His voice sounded oddly distant.

  Roxanne turned to see that the pier was yards away and the two figures on it were vigorously waving to her.

  “Remember what I said,” Mrs. Bigelow called. “He’ll be much better for you than yoga!”

  A head covered in dark wavy hair rose out of the gangway to the cabin. Here were the dark eyes and handsome face she loved—the high cheekbones, the irregular nose, the thick black moustache, the thin lips and cleft chin.

  “Welcome on board,” Carlos said. His mouth was set in a cautious smile, with only a slight lift to the corners of his lips. His eyes searched her face. “I promised to take you sailing. I keep my promises.”

  “Evidently by fair means or foul.” Her heart was hammering. “Mrs. Bigelow was very convincing, but I was suspicious when Mr. Cooper didn’t know what kind of boat he owned.”

  “Still, you came on board.”

  “I was hoping I’d find a pirate. Is Cooper really the owner of the island or was that part of your ruse?”

  “I arranged for Ted to buy the land from the Dover Key creditors. I couldn’t stand to think of someone else building on Spencer’s dream.”

  “I didn’t come dressed for sailing.”

  “You can go below and change. I picked up some clothes for you.”

  The cabin was finished in a warm brown wood with a neat galley. On each side of the cabin were built-in sofas with cushions covered in blue leather. A blue short-sleeve polo shirt and a pair of khaki shorts were set on one of the cushions along with a pair of white canvas deck shoes in her size.

  “If you need the head,” Carlos called down to her, “it’s in the bow. There’s directions how to flush on the door.”

  The toilet and all the fittings were in pristine white. Next to it, the door opened into another room with a double bed made up in white linen and a navy blanket. She changed and put on the clothes he’d left for her. She wasn’t sure where to put her own clothes. She wasn’t ready to claim space in the closet. She put her folded clothes on one of the sofa cushions. She reached into her handbag and took out the letter she’d written to him that morning. She slipped it into her pocket.

  “You have a nice boat,” she told him when she emerged from the cabin into the bright sun.

  “She’s new. I’m still learning her.”

  “What happened to your old boat?”

  “I still have her, but she’s a racing vessel. This one’s built for cruising. She’s a cutter rig with a full keel. More stability, more comfort and a bed that sleeps two.”

  “You can sail her on your own?”

  “She’s rigged for single handling, but you can help.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain.”

  For the next two hours she listened to his patient explanations and tried to follow his directions. He seemed to deliberately avoid any physical contact with her. Once he put her at the wheel and stood behind her. She listened to his voice, but her mind was fixed on the proximity of his body to hers. She looked up at one of his commands and caught him looking down at her. She quickly turned away.

  He brought the boat out of the wind and into the shelter of another island. They pulled in the sails and dropped anchor. She sat near the entrance to the cabin. He went below and brought up sandwiches.

  “Pesto, sundried tomato and mozzarella,” he said, offering her one. “You like that.”

  “I do.”

  He sat on the side of the boat and slipped off his shoes. She admired his long toes and feet, her gaze traveling up his calves. He had rolled his pants up below his knees. She thought of the times she’d explored his body, following the curves of his calves up to the swell of his buttocks. She glanced up his body to where his white shirt was open at his chest and she could see a triangle of olive skin and black hair.

  She looked in his face. His eyes met hers and she saw in them a hunger that matched her own, but he looked down at his sandwich.

  “How was your visit with your mother?”

  “It was good.” She told him about the yoga. “My mother liked taking care of me, and for a change I was genuinely appreciative. I even went with her and my brothers to the ceremony honoring my father.”

  “Did you tell them about your father and Murkley?”

  She shook her head. “I couldn’t.” A snowy white egret rose up from the trees on the island. “I’m hoping I never have to. Maybe it was due to all that yoga, but I had this revelation one night in the Arizona desert. I looked up at the thousands of stars in the night sky and thought about how impossibly small one person’s life is. What if I’d failed to do anything about Murkley, and my brief little life was defined by that failure?” She brushed her hair back from her face. “I realized I had to apply that kind of thinking to my father. There was so much more to his life than the wrong he did. If I let my memory of him be defined by that wrong, I’d be doing exactly what Murkley wanted me to do.”

  The egret spread its wings and rose high in the air, stark white against brilliant blue. “I can’t say I’ve completely succeeded, but I’m trying.”

  “You’re a remarkable woman.”

  “Hardly. You knew that lesson already. If you’d let your memories of Spencer be reduced to his last few weeks, you wouldn’t have cared what happened to his island.”

  His dark eyes were shining. He wi
ped them with his napkin.

  “Carlos,” she said softly.

  He balled the napkin in his hand and cleared his throat. “You got my letters.”

  “I did. I liked reading them. I liked getting to know you.”

  “I told myself as long as you didn’t tell me to stop writing you, there was hope. I knew I had to earn your trust all over again.”

  She stood, one hand resting on the side of the boat to keep her balance. “While I was in Arizona, I wrote this letter to you, full of logical reasons why you and I shouldn’t be together, but I couldn’t bring myself to mail it. Then on the way home I had an awful flight. All I thought about was that if something happened to me, the thing I would miss most was seeing you again. I got home and tore up that letter and wrote you another.”

  She slipped the paper out of her pocket and held it out to him. He took it and looked at the paper across which she’d written Come to me!

  His breathing was hard and ragged as if he’d been running.

  “I feel like I did when I was a child facing the waves,” she said. “I want to jump in but I can’t seem to move.”

  “I’ll wait until you’re ready.”

  She smiled. Her heart was lighter than it had been in over seven years. “What was the point of scheming to bring me here if you don’t intend to claim me?”

  “I couldn’t stand to be without you, but if you need more time…”

  She moved swiftly to him and wrapped her arms around his neck. She studied his face and saw his hunger and his need. She pressed her lips on his. Here was the heady taste of him, the scent of him, the feel of him she had so longed for. He put his arms around her and pulled her close.

  “It’s not just for now,” he said. His voice was thick with emotion.

  “No, it’s for now and long after.”

  She kissed him again, exploring the sweet pleasure of his tongue.

  He drew back. “I’ve missed you so.”

  She brushed the soft pad of her finger across the softer skin of his lips. “Enough talking.”

  She took his hand and led him down the stairs to the cabin. She pulled away from him and stood a few feet off. They held each other’s gaze. She took her shirt off over her head. She reached behind and unhooked her bra, dropping it on the floor. She undid the buttons on her shorts and dropped her shorts and panties to her ankles, kicking them away.