Playing With Fire (Five Senses Series), page 17
“Oh, jeez, I’m sorry.” He splashed backward, his tone apologetic.
Rikki scrubbed her hands over her face and hair, slicking briny water away. A quick glance to the shore assured her that the camera had remained on dry land.
The photography club stood on the bank, staring at the spectacle—water trickling down her face, clothes clinging like second skin. The males, in particular, hungrily eyed her chest in all its wet T-shirt glory.
Heat flared in her cheeks and she spun away from the shore to face the man who’d felt up her boobs when he’d helped her to her feet. The guy stood in water up to his knees, rubbing his palms together, staring at the double Ds that had adorned the front of her body since she’d turned thirteen.
The warmth in her face approached blast-furnace temperature when she shot a surreptitious glance down her body. Yep, her yellow shirt molded to her frame, and the super-cute, super-supportive lacy bra she’d chosen that morning had turned transparent, providing an unmistakable glimpse of her areolas. Her rock-hard nipples completed the risqué look. Great, she’d turned into a beacon for every red-blooded male in the area.
Good God! Twenty-five years old and her damn chest continued to be a source of embarrassment. Shouldn’t she be beyond this by now?
Mortified, she crossed her arms in front of her chest, wincing as she hugged her shoulders, partly to minimize the view, partly because she was cold, which only made matters worse. Behind her, one of the boys let out a low wolf whistle, and several other kids snickered.
The sound of laughter broke her rescuer’s focus on her body, and he frowned at the kids on the bank. He snapped his fingers. “Hey. Eyes on the skies, knuckleheads. The light is fading and I bet not a single one of you has taken the pictures for this assignment. Show’s over. Get busy,” the man ordered.
“I took a great shot just now, Mr. K,” a boy with a nasal voice said. Distinct female twittering followed his remark.
“I’ll bet you did, Brett. Your job today was to get shots of the horizon.” Mr. K turned his attention back to Rikki, apology painting his handsome face. “Jesus, I’m really sorry. I’ll be sure he deletes any images he shouldn’t have taken. The last thing you need is for racy pictures of you to hit some high school boy’s social media pages. Teenage boys can be hound-dogs, you know.”
“What’s your excuse, Mr. Handsy?”
Looking down, he seemed to realize he still rubbed his palms together. Shoving his hands in the pockets of khaki slacks, his face scrunched up. He lost the battle to keep his eyes on her face. Long, dark eyelashes swept down and back up, an infinitesimal movement she would have missed if she’d blinked. She’d grown accustomed to callous leers when men finally looked her in the eyes again. This guy was no different.
Anxiety and anger rose in her throat. She hated the choking sensation that had accompanied any scrutiny of the physique she’d been cursed with her entire life. Men saw her chest, and any manners they’d learned evacuated their bodies. All they saw was fair game for their eager advances, even when she’d turned the attention aside. Every girl she’d ever met either expressed pity or jealousy. Even the authority figures in her life, supposedly mature individuals, hadn’t been immune.
He raised his eyes to hers and held them, determination evident in his knitted brows. “At least I enjoy the view with a more adult sense of appreciation. So sue me.” He’d lowered his voice, a too-little, too-late effort if he meant to keep the students from hearing.
She narrowed her eyes at the tone of the man’s voice. His grin revealed even white teeth. Damn him for the charming dimples that creased his cheeks and cobalt blue eyes lit with humor. He was gorgeous, but that did little to alleviate the humiliation twisting in her gut.
“I am sorry Brett knocked you into the water. He forgets to leave his tackling instincts on the football field.”
It was difficult to maintain her anger when faced with the warmth of his smile. She sternly reminded herself that she was soaking wet, bitterly cold, and embarrassed, thanks to his student’s carelessness. And this jackhole had the audacity to smile at her. Her lips thinned as a result of her festering indignation. Unfortunately, the effect was lost when her teeth started chattering.
“Oh God, you’re freezing. Here, take my jacket.” He unzipped the fleece he wore and shrugged out of it. The movement pulled his shirt taut across his chest, outlining broad shoulders, lean muscles, and hinting at a six-pack abdomen.
Jeez, none of her high school teachers had anything near this guy’s beautiful, hard body. Clearly, he didn’t spend his off-hours grading papers.
Careful not to let the coat drag in the water, he wrapped it around her shoulders then slogged away from her a step or two. He shoved his hands back into his pockets and shifted his gaze discretely to the horizon. She grudgingly approved of his attempt to allow her privacy to pull it on. The jacket she’d tied around her waist was as soaked as the rest of her. When she climbed out of the water, his consideration would at least save her from flashing the teens still ogling from the creek bank.
Slipping her arms into the sleeves, she winced when pain shot across her shoulder blade. Damn shame rocks weren’t made of cotton candy. She should be grateful her head hadn’t connected with them. Or her camera.
“I’m Sam Kerrigan. And the dolts on the bank are the Granite Pointe High School Photography Club. I teach there and volunteered to be the club sponsor.” He pulled his hand from his pocket and extended it toward her, palm open, a gesture of apology.
The sight of his long fingers reminded her of how warm his hands had been when he’d pulled her from the water by her breasts. She didn’t reach out to take his hand; doing so would send another shard of pain straight to her shoulder. “Rikki Salerno,” she replied through chattering teeth. Suppressing a shiver, pain bloomed anyway and she sucked her breath in sharply.
When she gasped, Sam’s brows drew together. “Are you okay?” he asked, concern deepening his voice.
“I hit a rock when I went under. My shoulder blade stings a little.”
“Did you hit your head?”
He reached toward her, as if he planned to check for bumps or contusions.
Shying away from him, she risked the pain to cross her arms around her waist. “No, just my back.”
“Let me take a look. Lift your shirt.”
Sure, that would happen. As soon as hell froze over. “Are you freaking kidding? Haven’t you seen enough already?”
“I’ve seen it before. Besides, it’s not your front I want to look at. Unless…wait, you’re not put together backward, are you? Because that would be bizarre and make me glad I have a camera.”
Those irresistible dimples made another appearance. She locked her knees and tried to convince herself it was in order to defeat the shivering caused by her wet condition. She scowled, knowing she could put the attempt in the fail category. Damn him, again.
“Come on, I just want to help.”
He had a point. She winced as she shrugged and presented her back to him. The heat of his fingers against her chilled skin sent shivers up her spine. He tugged the back of his coat and her T-shirt up, exposing the lace of her bra. She grasped the front of his jacket together over her chest. His students continued to watch the action in the creek instead of the skyline. One boy in particular had focused his camera their direction.
“Um, looks like your kids want to buy tickets to the show.”
“Christ,” he exclaimed, circling around so his back was to the curious teens, pulling her with him. He called over his shoulder, “I better hear shutters clicking in the next three seconds or the astrophotography trip will be canceled.”
Masculine grumbling rose over the sound of the slow running creek, but the whirring noise of multiple cameras soon replaced it. Sam resumed gently probing the spot where her back had connected with the rocks. “It doesn’t look like anything is broken, but you’re going to have a wicked bruise. You should probably ice it as soon as you get home. Do you live nearby?”
“I’ve rented a place in town for a couple of months.”
“What brings you to Granite Pointe?” He earned a few points for trying to distract her while he prodded her shoulder blade. Jeez, his fingers were warm.
“Business. I’ll be traveling up and down the New England coast and it seemed like a good spot. I need proximity to the airport. Plus, this area is a spectacular place for photos. I’m assembling a portfolio.”
“It is a great place to snap some of nature’s rampages,” Sam agreed, pulling her shirt back into place while he talked. He led her to the shore then stepped behind her to help her up the embankment. She slipped along the way to the top. He gasped sharply when she slid backward, her butt connecting intimately with his groin.
Good, I’m not the only one uncomfortable right now. Serves him right.
Once on stable land, Rikki sat on the ground and pulled the ugly boots off to empty them. Sam had bent over to squeeze excess water out of his khakis. Crap, in addition to his fleece, he’d probably ruined his pants and brown work boots rescuing her. She refused to feel bad about it. He should have had better control over the teens in his charge.
The worst part was missing the opportunity to snap the one picture she desperately wanted to add to her portfolio. Although Sam’s warm hands on her breasts weren’t bad as consolation prizes went….
Oh, Christ! Where the hell had that thought come from?
“You can keep the jacket if you want.”
She gave him a tight smile. “I couldn’t do that. Where should I return it after I wash it?”
“Do you know where the high school is? On the corner of Spruce and Third Street?”
“I think I can find it.”
“The club meets after school on Mondays and Wednesdays. If you’re ready to return it, why don’t you drop by next Monday? We’re taking a stroll to the jetty for a lesson in light and shadow. Actually, we’ll be there for the next two weeks. You’re welcome to join us.”
“Hmm, maybe,” she said, mentally reviewing her schedule to see if she could be free. “Otherwise, I’ll drop it by the school office.”
Sam nodded then turned toward his students, urging them to finish up as the wind shifted, blowing in waves across the long grass dotting the marsh.
Standing, Rikki retrieved her tripod and camera, glancing wistfully at the clouds. Damn! In the few short minutes she’d been in the water, the spectacular light had faded. The sun had angled lower in the western sky, and the storm over the water had broken as it traveled north. The sweet spot in the clouds had disintegrated along with the fleeting chance to get the one picture she’d waited her entire life to take.
It sucked to be dependent on the whims of Mother Nature, the bipolar bitch.
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Keep Reading - Heart In Harmony Excerpt
for more of Pippa Mathers’ story
Five Senses Book #2
Excerpt from Hearts In Harmony, copyright 2014 by Gemma Brocato. Published by Lyrical Press, an imprint of Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
Chapter One
As days went, this one was made to order. Misty. Gloomy. A perfect day…for a funeral.
Dark gray skies over Granite Pointe, Massachusetts contrasted with the unrelieved black of the mourners surrounding an open grave. Mother Nature shared her grief for the loss of one of her warrior sons with the world, her complaints audible as wind gusted through the leaves overhead, making them tremble and dance. The only people not grieving were the fools who’d decided to turn a soldier’s solemn goodbye into a protest zone.
Pippa Sanders stood behind the minister, the corners of her mouth pulled south, struggling to control her anger at the group of zealots standing a mere one hundred yards away. Their chants and songs might be muffled, but she heard. And sweet baby Jesus, children the same age as her own twins held signs proclaiming God hated some of His children. Pippa shook her head slightly and blinked away tears. These people were making a statement. Even if she disagreed with it, this funeral was for Corporal Colin Wright, a man who had given his life defending their right to make it. The worst possible expression of irony.
A line of people dressed in leather coats, jeans and bandanas stood tall and silent, at parade rest, a human barricade between the protesters and the mourners. The faces of the men and women guarding a position beyond the gravesite were stoic. If they were angry with the protesters behind them, it wasn’t evident. In a way, they reminded Pippa of the Queen’s Guard around Buckingham Palace. Eyes level…no emotion. Cold. Their flinty-eyed forward stares suggested they battled to maintain a shred of composure against the hate spewing behind them. Their military training held true. They didn’t react. Each person steadily obeyed orders to not respond. They did their jobs.
Pippa’s job—to lead the gathered mourners in a song at the end of the ceremony—would begin shortly. She loved to sing, almost as much as she hated military funerals. Forcing her gaze away from the protesters, she focused on the minister’s comforting words, taking several deep, calming breaths in preparation for her portion of it.
God give me strength. Please help me get through this. She repeated the words in her mind to bolster her courage.
“Let us bow our heads and pray the Lord’s prayer… Our Father,” the minister intoned as the crowd around him took up the prayer in unison.
Pippa bowed her head and spoke the words along with others. She’d never understood how it could be the Lord’s will to take a father away from a son, a husband from a wife. She glanced at Mary and Ethan Wright when the prayer ended, huddled together, clutching each other for comfort.
Reverend Crane cleared his throat. “Mary told me that Colin and Ethan ended every video chat with a song. They loved singing. And, any of you here today who ever attended Sunday morning services when Colin came home on leave know that Ethan and his father shared of love of gospel music.” A ripple of laughter fluttered over the assembled mourners. Reverend Crane held his hand out to the young boy, an invitation to step to the head of the casket. When Ethan came forward, Pippa moved next to him, taking his hand. “They had a favorite song, Soon, and Very Soon. A song that sings of rejoicing and celebration. Of seeing the face of the Lord. Ethan specifically requested this as our final prayer today. Colin used to say nothing was sweeter than the sound of his boy’s voice. Are you ready, son?”
Ethan nodded his head.
Pippa bent to whisper in his ear. “Okay, Ethan. Hold my hand and think about how big your daddy’s smile will be when he hears your voice. If you get sad, just squeeze. Alright?” At the eight-year-old’s nod, she hummed in his ear and straightened.
On cue, the child began singing a gospel spiritual. “Soon, and very soon, I’m going to see the Lord. Soon, and very soon…”
Pippa joined him and looked at the congregation, lifting her hand, a request for them to sing along. Tears shimmered in nearly every eye, but the faces were lined with encouraging smiles. Once they got going, several mourners began clapping their hands, even Mary, although she stopped frequently to brush her tears away. Ethan squeezed hard, drawing Pippa’s eyes. She swung their joined hands, singing louder, covering for the boy until he regained his control. He was doing remarkably well, considering he was only eight. Much too young to lose a father.
When the song ended, Pippa turned and embraced Ethan before steering him back toward his mother, who waited with tears on her cheeks, her arms wide. The boy flung himself into her hug as the sun peeked through the clouds, sending warm light across the cemetery.
Mary looked up at the light shining through the top of the awning, then back at her son. “Oh, Ethan. Your daddy heard.” She smothered the child with kisses, then stood, holding him close, and accepted the condolences of family and friends who’d come to bid her husband farewell. In the background, the sorrowful sound of a bagpiper playing Taps echoed against the gray sky.
“Thank you, Pippa. For being here for Mary and Ethan,” Crane said as mourners moved toward their cars. He gestured toward the protesters behind the unbreakable line of the motorcycle Honor Guard. “Funerals like this are just made harder by people who breathe hatred. But when you were singing, even they shut up.”
“I’m glad the Guard was here. I hope the celebration of Colin’s life blots out what the protesters chanted.” Pippa watched the line of former soldiers snap to attention as Mary and Ethan walked to the waiting limousine. The ride would carry them forward to their new life—without a husband and father. She shook her head sadly. “My heart breaks a little more with each of these funerals.”
Reverend Crane patted her shoulder. Pippa raised her hand and laid it over his, acknowledging the thought behind the knowing, comforting gesture.
“Are you coming back to the church now?” he asked.
“Not right away. I want to talk to Mark. I’ll try to stop in later,” Pippa responded, glancing across the cemetery toward a towering maple tree that had started to put on its fiery red autumn coat.
“Well, don’t stay too long.” Crane’s eyes echoed the concern in his voice. “It’s getting dark, and I’ve heard some protesters linger behind to harass straggling mourners.”
Most people had left the cemetery. The Patriot Honor Guard, released from their somber duty, made their way to the parking area. Motorcycles thundered to life as they prepared to leave as well.
“Thanks, but I don’t plan to stay long. I’ll be fine,” she reassured him.
He shook her hand and walked toward his car.
Pippa traveled the short distance to the maple tree, noting only a handful of people remained. Some stood in small groups, chatting, while others visited gravesites, as she was about to do. One of the men who’d stood with the Honor Guard sat quietly on a stone bench. His posture was pure military, rigidly upright in spite of his seated position, making him appear cast in stone. If he hadn’t been wearing blue jeans and a dark red t-shirt, Pippa might have mistaken him for another sculpture. He nodded toward her as she crossed in front of him, then returned his attention to the headstone he’d been contemplating.
