“It’s just a toy designed to scare kids,” he said. “What’s to jump at?”
“Hmm, you make me wonder if I’m going to mentally scar my nephew forever.”
She tucked the toy into her shoulder bag, looking as if she might just reconsider giving it to the boy. She was also avoiding the real subject, but he let her get away with it, even as it ate away at him.
They left the building, finding themselves on a crowded sidewalk where they caught a bus to the town of Ensenada itself.
When they got there, they discovered a one-road strip teeming with street vendors, restaurant/bars and fellow cruisers who’d braved the iffy weather to explore outside.
They sauntered past a closed antique store, a place that sold metal sculptures, and one of many joints that offered cheap beer and booze to the delight of the college kids who’d embarked on this weekend getaway.
A little girl managed to persuade Wes to buy some gum, and Erin held back a grin.
“Easy target,” she said.
Stuffing his hands inside his jacket pockets, Wes fought his own smile and then they disappeared inside a minimall full of more stores. There, Erin delighted over some teeny leather purses and bought about five of them for her nieces who lived in Milwaukee.
As she scampered around the shops, oohing and ahhing over the shawls and kitschy T-shirts, Wes noted she’d made a sudden recovery now that they were away from the ship. Maybe it was because she was back on land.
Or maybe…
He didn’t want to ask himself if Erin was playing some kind of cock-teaser game with him by coming on this cruise and then avoiding what staying in a single cabin meant to a couple.
He blew out a breath, walking onto the sidewalk while waiting for her to buy a stack of those T-shirts.
Then it hit him: the niggling feeling he’d been so reluctant to identify.
He disliked what he’d become in life. Months before he’d met Erin, he’d started feeling uncomfortable in his careless skin: all the parties, all the dates, had started numbing him. Every weekend was the same old, same old, filled with cocktails, flirting, then a trip back to his condo. Rinse, lather, repeat. He’d gotten sick of himself.
But when he’d seen Erin across that room, laughing, full of life, he’d been attracted to what he’d never had: true feeling. And when he’d talked to her, she’d forced everything he’d been questioning into clear focus: he was disgusted with what he’d made of himself so far. Yeah, he was well off with the money, but what else? What really mattered? In her genuine way, down-to-earth, candy-shop-owning Erin had given him a glimpse into what could be. And when she hadn’t fallen all over herself to hop right into bed with him, he’d been intrigued, challenged, enlightened.
She could change what isn’t working, he’d thought, revitalized and even a little afraid of that conclusion.
But he was just Erin’s freakin’ “transition man.” There’d been no bones about that from the beginning due to that breakup she never wanted to talk about.
Rain began to sprinkle down from the sky, and Wes looked up into the gray.
What was he doing here?
“Wet alert!” Erin said as she barreled out of the minimall onto the sidewalk, clutching her teeming shoulder bag, grabbing his arm and hustling him to an overhang in front of a restaurant.
She was laughing again, infectious and cleansing. But he couldn’t smile with her this time. He was still swamped in his idiot, life-altering brooding.
“Hey, there.” She tugged on his arm, eyes wide and silvered with happiness.
Happiness? Why? Had he done something to make her that way? Was that his purpose as a “transition man”?
Erin wasn’t giving up. “What’s going on?”
He shook his head, extremely unwilling to get into it. He didn’t want to hear what she would say, didn’t want to know once again that he was just a passing thing. Hearing the truth-that she thought he could never change out of “transition” and into something else-would stab him.
The scent of spices floated out from the restaurant, woven with the heavier warmth of tortillas and beer. She tilted her head at him, as if trying to read what was going on under the facade he battled to uphold.
Then she stood on her tiptoes, placing a soft, unexpected kiss on his mouth.
The light pressure tore through him with more power than any climax. Shaken, Wes grabbed onto her hip, needing an anchor.
“Hungry?” she asked, her breath moist on his lips.
All he could do was nod, still overwhelmed by such a little gesture. He was hungry. Too hungry for her.
But she was talking about burritos and enchiladas, not anything else.
As she pulled him by the hand into the restaurant, he knew that maybe she could fill herself up with some lunch, but it wouldn’t help him one bit.
Because it wasn’t food he needed.
7
AFTER DALLYING AWAY the entire afternoon-eating, shopping, then drinking at the exuberant Papas and Beers bar-a much healthier Erin finally agreed to go back to the ship an hour before it set sail again.
Why return early? She didn’t know. After last night’s fiasco, she had no doubt that the curse was going to mess up any attempt at nookie anyway. And that had brought her to a definite conclusion: why not try to have fun in other ways when it was obvious that karma had it out for her in the bedroom? Surely she could at least show Wes a good time without the curse interfering. And, all in all, she was having great fun with him: he was everything she’d hoped for.
As they got ready for an early formal dinner seating-Erin had begged Wes not to miss it since she really, really wanted to try escargot-she watched him closely. He’d been quiet all day, and why not? He’d invited her to be with him for a reason and, even though she’d insisted on paying her own way when he’d brought up the desire to treat her to an all-expenses-paid weekend, there was some expectation on his end. There had to be. But he was being a gentleman about it, not pushing the issue.
And that surprised her. Wasn’t the Wes Ryan supposed to pretty much take what he wanted? That’s what they said, anyway. But how much of this man was just reputation? More importantly, how much of him was something more? How much of him was contained in that mysterious undertow she’d glimpsed in his dark eyes every time he thought she wasn’t looking?
Even with all the questions dogging her, dinner was just as wonderful as she’d expected. The escargot was nicely textured and prepared, but there was also lobster. Oh, lobster. Wes liked watching her devour it, so she played to him, catered to his visual fantasies as a substitute for what they’d been missing so far. And even though they chatted with the other guests seated around the table, it felt as if Wes were the only one there. The whole time, she was aware only of him: his masculine scent, his thigh inches away from hers under the table.
Afterward, to work off the food, they decided to stroll on the decks under a night sky that had somewhat cleared. A lazy wind ruffled Wes’s hair as he halted, then leaned back against a deck rail. Behind him, the water whispered by as the Lady Oriana meandered to sea. He was dressed in a crisp white shirt, which was opened at the collar, black pants and dark Italian leather shoes.
As Erin rested on the rail next to him, facing the ocean, she plucked at her seasickness bracelets: baby-blue sweatbands that clashed ever so slightly with her Roma-print evening dress. “I haven’t eaten this much during a twenty-four-hour period since…I don’t know. Maybe Christmas with my family? My mom’s a mad cook.”
“But does she fire up the Cherries Jubilee tableside?” he asked, referring to their dessert treat that night.
With his careless assurance, Wes turned to rest his side against the railing, slanting his body toward hers. Erin’s skin prickled, hyperaware with the trace memories of last night. His remembered kisses dusted over her face, neck, chest…