Chapter 9 #2
Austen stepped close again, put her arms around his waist, and laid her head on his chest. He settled his cheek against her head, moving with the music again.
So maybe the night wasn’t in tatters. “You mentioned your sister getting lost. How old were you when that happened?”
“I was about twelve too,” she said, lifting her head to look at him. “She got lost on a camping trip and was gone for three days. My brother Jack helped find her. But it really affected the entire family, especially my grandmother. It was the first time she ever collapsed.”
“The first time?”
“Yes, she had cancer and she was in a lot of pain, but she didn’t want to tell anyone.
When Boo went missing, my mom left me, Stein, Conrad, and Doyle with her.
My grandpa took the boys out to work on his sailboat while my dad and mom and Jack hunted for her with the local community.
Grandma stayed in the kitchen with me, and we were baking—a common ploy she used to get my mind off things.
That’s when she collapsed. So one tragedy led to the next, and pretty soon we were at the hospital with her.
My mom came to the hospital, and I remember her pacing the floor, praying for Boo and my grandma. ”
The music stopped and switched to something peppier. Declan took her hand and led her off the floor. “You ready to head back to the hotel?”
“I guess so,” she said. The way she said it, though...
As they walked toward the door, he handed the server a couple of big bills, then motioned to the driver. He came over, and Declan said, “We’re walking back to the hotel.” Most likely, the man would follow them in the car.
Declan laced his fingers through Austen’s as they headed out into the street.
Stars sprinkled the night sky overhead, the heat of the cobblestones rising around them.
A few dogs barked, but other than that, the streets were quiet—nothing but the sounds of their feet and the swish of wind in the towering palm trees as they strolled along the street.
“The crazy part of the whole Boo story is that after she was found, my mom was so grateful not just because Boo was found but because Grandma had collapsed.”
He glanced down at her. “Really? Why?”
“Because when Grandma collapsed, the doctor found her cancer, and they were able to treat it. She ended up living for five more years, much longer than she would have if they hadn’t found it. Her collapse prolonged her life.”
She looked over at him. “That was the first time I heard my mom say that sometimes God leads us into a place where we can’t fix it so that he will. He lets us get in over our heads.”
“Like Paul being shipwrecked.”
“Yep. ‘Humble yourselves, therefore, under God’s mighty hand. Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.’”
“That sounds like a Bible verse,” he said.
“It is,” she said. “I need to remember that a lot more.”
“To be clear, Austen—it’s not that I don’t believe in God. I do. But somehow, I just can’t help but think that I messed up somewhere long ago and He said, ‘Declan, you’re on your own now.’” He hated how his throat burned at the admission.
She looked up at him. “But you don’t have to be.”
Wow, he hoped that she was talking about the two of them.
He stopped, and when she did too and turned to him, he took her other hand.
“Austen, you are good for me. You have a fresh perspective on life, and that’s something I desperately need.
I know the last forty-eight hours haven’t gone quite like we’d planned, but I would really like to get to know you better, and frankly, let you get to know me better—preferably in less challenging, pirate-enhanced situations. ”
She laughed then, and he smiled as he ran his gaze over her face. “Can I... ?”
She stepped up to him, closing the gap. “Yes.”
So he kissed her, keeping it slow, trying for perfection, cradling her face, angling his mouth to press against hers.
She tasted of the sweetness of her smile, smelled of the allure of the night as she returned the kiss, her lips softening, receiving, giving.
Oh, the woman was goodness and light, and he just wanted more of her.
Maybe she felt that way too, because she wound her arms up around his shoulders and stepped closer.
The sense of her rushed over him, and fine —he let himself just a little off his rein.
And maybe this wasn’t the right place for this kind of ardor, but it was a dark street in the middle of sultry Havana, and he didn’t care that the chauffeur was watching every second of it.
At least that meant they were probably safe.
He made a sound, deep inside, and felt her relax. He could stay here all night, holding her.
Finally, he lifted his head. “I do know that I don’t deserve you,” he said softly.
“Oh,” she said, “don’t be so sure.” Then she smiled. “I might be more trouble than I look like I’d be.”
He laughed then, and she smiled, and light poured into his soul. For the first time in years, he felt that maybe, yes, everything was going to be just fine.
* * *
It wasn’t a date. Really, it wasn’t. But tell that to her heart as Austen walked hand in hand with Declan through the Plaza Vieja, the stars sprinkling down from overhead. The scent of the sea layered the air, and coconut trees rustled in the scant wind, lifting the heat from the air.
Streetlamps lit the plaza, puddling light on the cobblestones, and a fountain in the center cast mist into the air.
Spanish-style buildings from blue to pastel pink ringed the square on each side with ground-floor arched porticos.
A number of patrons sat at the cafés and restaurants, drinking coffee or late-night cocktails, while buskers sang folk songs and people dropped coins into upturned hats.
The taste of Declan’s kiss still lingered on her lips. Really, through her entire body, the way he’d woven himself into her senses, perfectly, gently, the sense of him overtaking her.
As if he knew she needed time and protection, he had waited for her to step in, to deepen the kiss. And then he’d kissed her with a sort of depth and need that had her bones turning to liquid as she clung to him, needing him right back.
No, she’d never been kissed by anyone the way Declan Stone kissed her. And now he walked beside her as if he hadn’t shattered her defenses and staked a place in her heart.
Oh boy.
Please, let him be a good man. Because she believed it, despite the words of Phoenix and even Steinbeck. And it was more than just wanting to believe. His dark-gray eyes possessed an earnestness, and his explanations about their accusations made sense.
It didn’t hurt that the man looked like his billionaire self, in a pair of black linen pants and a light-gray linen shirt and leather loafers. Smelling of aftershave and a shower. The Declan Stone who made deals and ruled a kingdom.
“Would you like some coffee?” he asked as they passed a café.
“Oh, I won’t sleep for a week if I have coffee at this time of night,” she said, “but maybe some ice cream?” She pointed to a gelato shop, and he nodded.
“Good call.”
They’d passed their hotel on their way to the square, and he’d suggested the stroll. She felt pretty and even safe with his hand in hers. She’d turned into Cinderella at some tropical ball, the velvety night overhead, the music of romance in her heart.
They stood in front of the gelato shop, peering through the glass at the flavors.
“Pistachio,” she said, pointing to the light-green gelato in the bin.
“In a cup?”
“Yes.”
He ordered in Spanish, then, “I got chocolate.”
“Boring.”
“I’m a simple man.”
She laughed. “Hardly.”
“Well, some things need to be simple in my life. I need to leave room for the more complicated problems.”
“Like getting your boat back?”
He sighed. “I hope I’ll get my boat back. It means something to me. In my head, I sort of thought if I had a yacht, then the rest would come after that.”
“The rest?”
“I don’t know. A wife? A family? I saw us taking trips through the Caribbean, the kids jumping into the pool or taking out the Jet Skis.”
Us. She didn’t let the word land. But...
“And your wife? What is she doing all this time?”
He glanced at her. “Swimming with the sharks?”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Kidding,” he said and winked.
But her throat had warmed. Really? She’d be lying if she didn’t admit that the thought had bumped into her a few times yesterday in the sun. What might it be like to ? —
“Maybe she’s helping me figure out our next charity.” He paid the vendor. “I’m not looking for a trophy wife. I want a partner. Someone who sees life the way I do and wants to do something about it.”
“How do you see life?”
He received his gelato and she did hers. They’d both gotten cups, and now he let go of her hand and ate his chocolate with a spoon. “This is good,” he said.
She took a bite of her pistachio. “Yes, it is.”
They walked over to a table, and he pulled out her chair. She sat down, watching the foot traffic as couples walked by hand in hand.
“I don’t know—I guess I see life as a problem I need to solve.” He sat opposite her. The night settled over him, his gray eyes hooded, and he embodied a subtle sense of intrigue and confidence. Superman in a suit.
“I look at medical issues or defense issues or communication issues and think, what can I do to fix that? I think it’s my mom in me.
She was a trauma nurse, always trying to figure out how to think faster on her feet, helping the doctors respond better and quicker to patient problems. She worked very hard, but she also loved her job.
Her only vacations were to see me in San Diego, where I was stationed, except for the year she won a cruise.
She got it as a prize for being the top nurse at her hospital.
We went together. It was an interior cabin and we got seasick because of a storm, but we had a great time.
That was right before I shipped out to Afghanistan. ”