Moondance Beach

  “I had no idea we’d be subjected to this much scrutiny.” Duncan had made the same observation in a variety of ways through the evening. Each time, he’d looked uncomfortable.

  Lena knew bringing a date to such a public function—for the prying eyes of all of Bayberry Island to see—had been a major deal for Duncan. She had watched him struggle. Half the time he was enjoying himself. Half the time he was glancing over his shoulder.

  They were sitting at one of the banquet tables, a flickering candle between them. Everyone else who’d been seated at their table had moved to the dance floor.

  “I’m not much of a dancer.” He sounded apologetic.

  Lena nearly swooned. This new courteous and gentlemanly Duncan Flynn was almost too much for a girl to take. She was not the shallow type by any stretch of the definition, but Lena could admit the truth: Duncan would be hot even if he behaved like the biggest tool in the world. He was far hotter as a sweet and kind gentleman, even if it was in spite of himself, and tonight, as he focused on her with genuine interest, Lena had to work to keep her composure.

  For the occasion, Duncan had shaved and combed back his hair, and his smooth, olive-brown skin glowed against the white of his shirt. And those jeans? She had become dizzy at the sight of him standing there in her studio with flowers in his hand, the dark denim hugging the hard contours of his slim hips and muscled thighs. Sure, Duncan had looked sexy in his tight Island Day police department polo shirt, but tonight he was a sizzling-hot piece of man candy, and all she could think about was when she would taste him again. Lena fanned herself.

  “But if you’d like to, we can try.”

  She smiled at Duncan, placed her hand in his, and nodded. “Let’s throw caution to the wind, Lieutenant.”

  The music selection that night had been up and down the spectrum in an attempt to appeal to every demographic at the clambake. The unfortunate result was that a big-band number might be followed by heavy metal, which might lead into country and then rap. So when Lena stepped on the dance floor with Duncan, she expected fate to have a sense of humor.

  They burst out laughing as soon as the speakers came to life. It was the classic rhythm-and-blues tune “Sea of Love.”

  “So do you remember when we first met?” Lena asked.

  “I do now,” he said.

  Duncan was a much better dancer than he’d let on, and Lena enjoyed the sensation of easing in to his body as he moved. She rested her head against his chest and closed her eyes. At first she thought to herself, It’s been a long, long time since any man has felt this good. Then she realized that no man ever had.

  “You smell good,” Duncan said. “I’ve noticed it before. Do you wear a perfume?”

  She smiled, feeling her cheek press against his chest. “Yes. It’s called linseed oil and cerulean blue.”

  He chuckled. “Oh, it’s more than that.”

  “Okay—its linseed oil, cerulean blue, and Lena Silva.”

  “That’s what I’m talkin’ about.”

  They swayed to the music, and eventually Lena raised her head to smile at him. She caught him with the curtain open, and his eyes revealed a depth of feeling Lena hadn’t expected. He collected himself, however, and gave her a polite smile.

  “What’s on your mind?”

  Duncan took his eyes from hers and gazed over her head, toward the ocean. “Did you know that one of your paintings was in my room when I first got back? Over the fireplace mantel?”

  “Really? Which one?”

  He looked down at her. “You didn’t know it was there?”

  She thought that an odd question, but answered it honestly. “Duncan, even before Ash and Rowan renovated the house, my paintings were all over the bed-and-breakfast. Tourists would see them on the walls and buy them on the spot, and I gave a cut to Rowan.”

  Duncan seemed to mull that over.

  “And then, when the renovations were finishing up, Ash wanted to buy thirty-two paintings for permanent display throughout the house and guest rooms.”

  “Wow.”

  “Well, aren’t you going to tell me which one was in your room?”

  Duncan looked down at her, his eyes suddenly heavy and unmistakably sexual. Lena went still inside, wondering what just happened and where this conversation was headed.

  “It was just one little dark-haired mermaid on the sea floor. She was on her tummy, her head turned and resting on her bent arms. Her eyes were partly closed, and she had the smile of a woman who wanted a whole lot more of the somethin’-somethin’ she’d just had.”

  Lena laughed, a little uncomfortably. “Okay. I know the one.”

  “I had to take it down and put it in the attic. She would not give me any peace.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “But the next day another mermaid painting was in her place. After I took that one down, another appeared. I think my mother wanted to make sure I had a sexy mermaid roommate at all times.”

  Lena chuckled. “Mona and her mermaids.”

  “That first mermaid was you.” Duncan dipped his head to get closer. “Come on, now—admit it. That was you up there making it impossible for me to sleep.”

  “What?” She leaned away from him, only to feel his hands tighten around her waist. He wasn’t letting her pull away. “Not intentionally, Duncan. I suppose some of me slips into all of my paintings. But I never intend anything to be a self-portrait, and I sure didn’t arrange for it to be in your room.”

  “Whatever you say, Miss Silva.” He pulled her close again, encouraging her to rest her head on his chest, and sang along with the music, asking her to come with him to the sea.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Thank you, Duncan. I had such a good time tonight.”

  He knew how the evening should end. This was when he should get out of the car and open her door. He should walk her to the porch, give her a friendly peck good night, and make sure she got inside safely.

  That was what any sane man in his position would do. Any sane and decent man planning to leave the island as soon as possible would not think about taking Lena Silva into his arms and kissing her until she melted in surrender against him. A decent man wouldn’t still be fighting off the mental image of her appearing from the waves or the powerful vision of her bare flesh as she became lost in her painting. A sane man wouldn’t keep thinking of how she felt pressed against his chest and how magical it was to breathe in the scent of her skin and hair.

  It was settled then: Duncan was a crazy and selfish bastard. He said, “Since we couldn’t walk on the public beach, how about we end the night with a stroll on a private one?”

  Her face spread wide in a smile. “That sounds lovely.”

  He took her hand as they walked through the overgrown property toward the beach steps. As shocking as it was to him, this kind of intimacy with Lena felt natural. He couldn’t even recall the last time he’d walked around holding a woman’s hand, but with Lena he felt like he’d been doing it all his life.

  “Moondance Beach.” Duncan said those words once they rose over the dune. Immediately, he regretted every time he had made fun of the name she’d chosen for this piece of land. Tonight he saw why the name was perfect. The moon danced on the water, giving an ethereal glow to everything around them—the sand, the sea grass, Lena’s skin.

  Duncan looked down and smiled at her. It was like they were about to step into a magical fairyland.

  They took off their shoes and walked, arms swinging freely. For a few minutes they talked about nothing in particular, but then Lena dropped the bomb.

  “How did it go in Virginia? My mom told me you were going back to the joint base at Little Creek–Fort Story to talk with your higher-ups.”

  Duncan gave a nod. He knew Lena would bring up the topic sooner or later, but weren’t women supposed to kick back and enjoy moonlit walks on the beach? And what was with her use of the formal name for the home of SEAL Team 2?

  Lena explained before he could ask. “I’v
e always tried to get the latest news about you through my mom, Rowan, and Mona. I did some research on your team and what it does. But you’ve managed to remain a mystery man. Nobody ever knows exactly where you are or what you’re doing.”

  Duncan didn’t reply, but he noticed how strange it was that he really didn’t mind Lena asking him about his job. For some reason, he was less touchy about it with her.

  “When I heard what happened, I . . .” Lena didn’t finish her sentence. She looked out over the dune and kept walking.

  “Are you asking me to tell you what happened the night I was injured?”

  Her head snapped around, and she nodded quickly. “I don’t want to push you.”

  He chuckled. “You couldn’t if you wanted to.”

  He told her. Duncan shared with Lena the basic series of events, leaving out all of the gore and most of his survivor’s guilt. He got through it, though he did hear how detached his voice sounded as he talked about his friends dying.

  Lena was quiet for several minutes. She had slowed her walk and seemed to be lost in her own thoughts. Suddenly, she said, “You know it’s not your fault.”

  Fuck. This was the last thing he wanted to do—talk about his level of culpability the night of the ambush. Honestly, he’d been hoping maybe Lena would suggest they go skinny-dipping.

  It took him a minute to gather his thoughts. She cared about him, obviously, but she didn’t have a clue about his world. But he also knew she would stay clueless unless he shared some of it with her. It would take real effort not to sound like he was lecturing her.

  “Most people have the wrong idea about what it means to be a SEAL. We’re not action heroes, and it’s not all about surviving Hell Week and living a real-life Zero Dark Thirty. My only job—the only thing I became a SEAL to do—was to have the six of every man on my team.”

  Lena frowned. “The six?”

  “Yeah. The expression ‘I’ve got your six’ is the same as saying ‘I’ve got your back.’ My job was to watch over my teammates and make sure nothing happened to them. It’s what being a SEAL is about—building a team that operates as a single unit, a single living organism. Each part is responsible for the whole. And I failed the other members of my squad that night. They died and I didn’t.”

  Lena didn’t speak. She just kept her eyes trained on Duncan, letting him speak. He appreciated that.

  “As far as it being my fault—I realize I did not go out there intending to get my teammates killed. Unfortunately, the intent doesn’t matter if the end result is death.”

  “You tried your best.”

  “I failed them.”

  “Duncan, you were severely injured and you did the impossible to get to them.”

  “They were already dead.”

  “But you didn’t kill them.”

  Duncan thought it was sweet that Lena wanted to defend his honor, but she was out of her league. “You don’t understand, Lena. Let it drop.”

  She stopped walking and stood directly in front of him. “I do understand the burden of believing you let someone down.”

  Duncan decided to humor her. “How so?”

  She crossed her arms over her stomach, as if she were cold. The faint wind rippled her hair. “Six years ago, I was selected to study in New York with a gifted painter named Jacqueline Broussard. She was eighty at the time, still brilliant and beautiful and funny. She had an impeccable eye for color. Jacqueline passed down her knowledge of mixing custom pigments, which probably sounds silly to you, but it was a gift she bestowed to me—an inheritance. Out of all the students she’d had, she chose me to carry her method forward. Honestly, she was the most beautiful human being I’ve ever known, and I let her down.”

  He was genuinely intrigued. “What happened?”

  Duncan thought he saw Lena shiver before she spoke.

  “I took her to a doctor’s appointment in Manhattan one day, and since it was going to be several hours, she told me to go back to the studio and continue with my work in progress until she called me. She knew that I was right in the middle of a painting. So I did. But I lost track of time, and I didn’t hear my phone—”

  “Sounds familiar.”

  Lena smiled sadly at him. “She decided to go home on her own and hailed a taxi. As she was walking up the front steps of the loft, she had a stroke and died—half on the steps and half on the sidewalk. She was minutes away from safety and comfort. She died alone. I broke my promise.”

  Duncan touched her bare upper arms. “I’m sorry, Lena.”

  She nodded.

  “I hope this doesn’t sound insensitive, but she likely would have died even if you were with her. It sounds like she had a long and wonderful life. But with sudden strokes like that, you probably couldn’t have done anything to stop her passing, even if you’d been right there at her side. It’s not your fault.”

  She raised her face and her eyes flashed. “Then why is it your fault?”

  “Say what?”

  “Duncan, you left out a few details of your story. From what I understand, a burning car fell on you. Your side was on fire and your leg was broken in several places—yet you still managed to push that freaking car off of you and walk on your broken bones to try to help your friends.”

  “What’s your point?”

  Lena laughed. “My point is, Lieutenant, that you aren’t a machine. You’re a man, a mortal human being, and your friends were killed because something went horribly wrong, and you were not the cause of it.” She tipped her head. “Think about it, Duncan. If I am not to blame for Jacqueline, then you sure as hell aren’t to blame for the deaths of your teammates.”

  She turned and began walking again, and he fell into step with her. The fact that Duncan had no reply amazed him. Yes, Lena was a compact package of female, but she was a force all her own.

  Duncan felt something begin to unknot in his heart, loosen enough to accommodate an unusual concept. He dared to want Lena. He dared to wonder if there might be a place in his life for her. But as abruptly as the opening appeared, reality sealed it shut again.

  “Lena, I don’t have a normal job. I’m not a normal man.”

  She laughed. “Amen to that! Fortunately, I’m not a normal woman and I don’t have a normal job, so none of that freaks me out.”

  He looked sideways at her, stunned by how beautiful she looked bathed in moonlight. But she shivered again. “If I had a jacket or a sweater, I’d give it to you. I could take off my shirt . . .” Duncan began to unbutton his cotton dress shirt.

  Lena stopped him by touching his arm. “It’s okay. You don’t have to go all Chippendales on me.”

  “Ha. Well, if you won’t let me be a male stripper, then just let me be a gentleman.” Duncan wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close to his side. “Is this okay?”

  Her voice was a whisper. “It’s very okay.”

  They strolled together like that for several minutes, not talking, their feet kicking the surf in unison. Duncan reveled in the feel of Lena’s small body tucked up next to his. Soon he broke the silence.

  “You know, Lena, I’ve been wanting to ask you something.”

  “Now’s a good time.”

  Duncan smiled. “About that night in the Safe Haven kitchen . . .”

  “Go ahead.”

  “When you pushed me off—which you had every right to do, don’t get me wrong—you said, ‘This is not the way.’ What did you mean by that?”

  She slipped her arm around his waist, as if assuring him that tonight she would not push him away. “I didn’t want our first kiss to be like that. I had hoped that if we ever got to the point where we’d want to kiss each other, it would be after spending time together, getting to know the adult people we’ve become, you know . . .” She looked up at him and gave him a half smile. “Exactly what we’re doing now. Talking. Enjoying the process. Enjoying each other.”

  “Hmm. I hate to be a stickler about this, but technically, that wasn’t our first ki
ss.”

  She giggled. “Our first grown-up kiss, then.”

  Duncan pulled her tighter. “And it was pretty damn grown-up.”

  “It certainly was.”

  “And kind of wild.”

  “Kind of.”

  “But I still think there’s room for improvement.”

  “Oh, really?” She looked up at him with a teasing grin.

  “Sure—the pacing, the technique, the artistry of the execution.”

  “Oh, so you’re some kind of sensual artiste?”

  “Damn right, and my canvas is your lips.”

  Lena bent over and started guffawing. Duncan laughed, too, harder than he’d laughed in many months. The last person he’d laughed like this with was Justin, just days before he died. Not until this instant had Duncan realized how much he’d missed this kind of laughter.

  Lena pulled away from his embrace, walking backward in the surf, facing him. “You’re pretty funny, Duncan. You’re a lot funnier now than when you were a kid.”

  “No kidding? Well, you’ve changed some yourself.”

  She batted her eyelashes. “Do tell.”

  Duncan took in the whole picture Lena presented—an open and happy face, gorgeous eyes, a perfectly sleek body, and that great laugh—and he realized that he had been enjoying their conversation so much that he’d forgotten he was chatting with the most drop-dead gorgeous woman he’d ever known. But he decided to start his list with something other than the physical.

  “For starters, you were much quieter back then.”

  “And now I talk too much?”

  “Not too much, but a lot more than you used to. And you’re not nearly as shy.”

  “Huh.”

  “The shyness has morphed into something else, a mysterious quality. You’re interesting. You’re not like anyone else I’ve ever known.” He suddenly realized he was babbling. It wasn’t like him. Duncan stopped walking and refocused. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that I find you to be a fascinating woman, Adelena Silva.”

  “What else is different about me?” she asked.