I followed Dyce past the bar and its cushioned stools, through a door and then outside. Clouds blew fiercely, chilling my bones and making me almost turn around and run back into the warmth. But as if reading my mind, Dyce took off his windbreaker and wrapped it around me.
“Better?” he asked.
“Yeah. Thanks.” That feeling I’d noticed yesterday, a deep hot stirring inside, rippled through me. “Um … this wasn’t a good idea. I should go back in.”
“Why? Will your friends miss you?”
“Eventually.”
“Until they do, stay and talk with me.”
“Well … for a few minutes. You did save my life yesterday.”
“I was lucky to be nearby at the right time. Anyone would have done the same thing.”
“Not just anyone,” I pointed out. “You were really brave.”
“And you’re really beautiful tonight,” he said, in such a sincere way that I forgot how to breathe for a second.
“Um … I just feel cold.” I rubbed my hands together.
“If you’re too cold, we can go inside.”
I glanced back, unable to see more than reflections and light through the tinted windows. The raucous music seemed to rock the building and the buzz of voices — shouts, laughter, squeals — spilled through the air. Sharayah would never have left; she’d be dancing like a force of nature until she dropped. That’s what I should have done, too. But I just couldn’t work up the energy. Standing outside, under clouds that shifted to allow glimpses of a half-moon, with wind tousling my hair and tasting of salty surf, both bitter and sweet, I felt content. Underneath my party dress and makeup, I was still me. And I’d always loved quiet moments alone with nature.
But I was far from alone — Dyce was leaning close, studying my face as if it were a map.
I shrugged. “I’ll stay outside for a while.”
“Then you should move around, get your blood flowing so you don’t freeze.” He pointed beyond the parking lot to where night lamps twinkled over roofs and pavement. “Let’s walk on the path.”
I followed his gaze to a graveled path leading toward the marina; high masts and sails swayed in the distance like pale ghosts. Walking was the least offensive type of exercise, so I followed him.
We went along the path for a short way until we stepped up onto a wooden dock. It swayed slightly with the undulating breath of the sea, waves slamming against the wood and spitting spray.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Dyce said, leaning against a rail and staring off into the night-ocean.
Standing beside him, I stared off too, and nodded. Beautiful hardly began to describe the glinting half-moon’s glow on the silvery waves. I wrapped his jacket around me tighter, inhaling salty sea and a whiff of something I could only define as “Dyce”: musky, spicy, and mysterious.
“This night reminds of me of Robert Browning’s famous lines,” he said. “And the yellow half-moon large and low; And the startled little waves that leap, In fiery ringlets from their sleep.” He turned to peer down into my face. “I sense something in you, Sharayah, some sort of fire. Tell me about yourself.”
“What’s to tell? I’m here for spring break, just like a thousand other girls.”
“But you’re different than other girls.”
“That can be good and bad.” Okay, I was flirting a little, but it was harmless because he had a girlfriend and I (hopefully) had a boyfriend.
“From my view, it’s all good. You have a poet’s soul,” he said.
“Me? I can’t recite any poems, except a silly one about a fuzzy bear.” I laughed, taking all his flowery talk like a game. I mean, really! What normal guy talked like this? It was like he was a throwback to the Renaissance era. Still, I have enough of an ego that I loved the flattery.
“I can teach you poems and much more,” he said huskily.
“Whoa,” I said with a firm shake of my head. “This has been fun and all, but we both know it’s not going anywhere. I have a guy I like and you already have a girlfriend.”
“I do?” He arched his brows in a question.
“Come on, Dyce, you told me how you couldn’t wait to get back to her yesterday. Your girlfriend — Emmy.”
“Oh … Emmy.” The confusion on his face spread into a dazzling smile. “Right, she’s amazing and I can’t wait to get back to her.”
“That’s what I guessed. She’s probably waiting for you right now, so you should go.”
“I will, and you should, too. Come with me. I want you to meet her.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“But I am.” He reached for my hand, and while I knew I should resist, I didn’t. Our fingers touched with such a delicious tingle that I almost forgot how to think.
“I–I can’t.” It took all my energy to pull back my hand, and when I did, the sweet warmth faded away to a numb chill. “I really can’t. I’ve already been gone too long,” I added trying to convince myself. I glanced up the hill to the bright lights of the dance club.
“But it’ll only take a few minutes. Emmy is just over there.” He pointed toward the marina. “You’ll love her as much as I do.”
“I guarantee you — your girlfriend won’t love meeting me.” Guys could be so dense sometimes … yet it was kind of sweet. “Now I really have to get back to my friends.”
“Five minutes, that’s all it will take,” he persisted.
There was something so vulnerable and sincere about him that I hesitated, touched by how much he loved his girlfriend. And I owed him a lot after rescuing me yesterday. If this was all he wanted in return, how could I refuse?
So with a sigh, I nodded.
I followed him down a graveled path, around a boat repair yard and down steep steps to the marina. We passed sailboats and two huge yachts, then stopped abruptly at a mid-sized boat. Dyce pointed proudly. “Here she is.”
Under the yellowy light from a nearby lamp, I looked around for a girl but only saw boats. And then I noticed the name of the boat we faced: Emmeline.
“Emmy,” I said, finally getting it.
“She’s my girl,” he told me. “And my home.”
“You live here?” I asked, surprised because the boat didn’t look bigger than thirty feet, or deep enough to have more than a cramped room below the deck.
“Temporarily,” he answered. “I don’t sleep well on land, perhaps because I come from a long line of seaman and have saltwater in my blood. Although this isn’t actually my boat. It’s a rental, but she’s still a beaut. A 1991 Bayliner Cierra Sunbridge — fully equipped galley with stove, fridge, sink, shower, digital depth sounder, pinion power steering, and AM/FM stereo with four built-in speakers.”
I nodded appreciatively, although I only understood part of what he said.
“So come aboard and I’ll give you a tour,” he invited me, with such a sexy, intriguing smile that I was sorely tempted — which is exactly why I refused.
“Can’t,” I told him. “My friends will worry if I don’t return soon.”
“It won’t take long. And I think you’ll be interested in some special things I have — a poetry book that belonged to my great-great-grandfather and dates back to the mid-1800s.”
“Wow — that’s old.”
“Leather binding and signed by the author. It’s a work of art.”
“Is it safe to travel with such a valuable book? Shouldn’t it be under glass?”
“Books are meant to be read, not hidden. Besides, I keep it in an airtight trunk, along with several others.” He cocked his head, watching me expectantly.
“No. This all sounds interesting, but I have to go now. Thanks for the rescue and everything.”
“Come on, Sharayah,” he said in a tone as lulling as a gentle surf.
“I’ve already stayed longer than I should.”